Kelly could do nothing more than watch. Forty-five, maybe more. It was hard to count them as they moved. Teams digging machine gun pits. Patrol elements in the woods. That was an immediate danger to him, but he waited even so. He had to be sure that he'd done the right thing, that he hadn't panicked, hadn't been a sudden coward.
Twenty- five against fifty, with surprise and a plan, not hard. Twenty-five against a hundred, without surprise... hopeless. He'd done the right thing. There was no reason to add twenty-five more bodies to the ledger sheet that they kept in Washington. His conscience didn't have room for that kind of mistake or for those kinds of lives.
'Helos coming back, sir, same way they went in,' the radar operator told the XO.
'Too fast,' the XO said.
'Goddamn it, Dutch! Now what -'
'The mission's aborted, Cas,' Maxwell said, staring down at the chart table.
'But why?'
'Because Mr Clark said so,' Ritter answered. 'He's the eyes. He makes the call. You don't need anybody to tell you that, Admiral. We still have a man in there, gentlemen. Let's not forget that.'
'We have twenty men in there.'
'That's true, sir, but only one of them is coming out tonight.' And then only if we're lucky.
Maxwell looked up to Captain Franks. 'Let's move in towards the beach, fast as you can.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Hanoi? Why?'
'Because we have orders.' Vinh was looking over the dispatch the Captain had delivered. 'Well, the Americans wanted to come here, eh? I hope they do. This will be no Song Tay for them!'
The idea of an infantry action didn't exactly thrill Colonel Grishanov, and a trip to Hanoi, even an unannounced one, also meant a trip to the embassy. 'Let me pack, Major.'
'Be quick about it!' the little man snapped back, wondering if his trip to Hanoi was for some manner of transgression.
It could be worse. Grishanov now had all his notes together and slid them into a backpack. All of his work, now that Vinh had so kindly released it back to him. He'd drop it off with General Rokossovskiy, and with that in official hands, he could make his case for keeping these Americans alive. It was an ill wind, he thought, remembering the English aphorism.
He could hear them coming. Far off, moving without a great deal of skill, probably tired, but coming...
'cricket, this is snake, over.'
'We read you, snake.'
'I'm moving. There are people on my hill, coming my way. I will head west. Can you send a helo for me?'
'Affirmative. Be careful, son.' It was Maxwell's voice, still concerned.
'Moving now. Out.' Kelly pocketed the radio and headed to the crest. He took a moment to look, comparing what he saw now with what he'd seen before.
I runespecially fast in the dark, he'd told the Marines. Time now to prove it. With one last listen to the approaching NVA, Kelly picked a thin spot in the foliage and headed down the hill.
CHAPTER 30
Travel Agents
It was obvious to everyone that things were wrong. The two rescue helos touched down on Ogden not an hour after they'd left. One was wheeled aside at once. The other, flown by the senior pilot, was refueled. Captain Albie was out almost the second it landed, sprinting to the superstructure, where the command team was waiting for him. He could feel that Ogden and her escorts were racing into the beach. His dejected Marines trailed out as well, silent, looking down at the flight deck as they cleared their weapons.
'What happened?' Albie asked.
'Clark waved it off. All we know is that he's moved off his hill; he said other people were there. We're going to try to get him out. Where do you think he'll go?' Maxwell asked.
'He'll look for a place the helo can get him. Let's see the map.'
Had he had the time to reflect, Kelly might have considered how quickly things could go from good to bad. But he didn't. Survival was an all-encompassing game, and at the moment it was also the only game in town. Certainly it wasn't a boring one, and with luck not overly demanding. There weren't all that many troops for the purpose of securing the camp against an assault, not enough - yet - to conduct real defensive patrols. If they were worried about another Song Tay-type mission, they'd keep their firepower in close. They'd put observation teams on hilltops, probably nothing more than that at least for the moment. The top of Snake Hill was now five hundred meters in his wake. Kelly slowed his descent, catching his breath - he was more winded from fear than effort, though the two traded off heavily against each other. He found a secondary crest and rested on the far side of it. Standing still now, he could hear talk behind him - talk, not movement. Okay, good, he'd guessed right on the tactical situation. Probably more troops would be arriving in due course, but he'd be long gone by then.
If they can get that helo in.
Pleasant thought.
I've been in tighter spots than this, Defiance proclaimed.
When? Pessimism inquired delicately.
The only thing that made sense at the moment was to put as much distance as possible between himself and the NVA. Next came the necessity of finding something approximating an LZ so that he could get the hell out of this place. It wasn't a time to panic, but he couldn't dally either. Come daylight there would be more troops here, and if their commander was competent one, he'd want to know if there might be an enemy reconnaissance element on his turf. Failure to get out before dawn would materially degrade Kelly's chances of ever escaping this country. Move. Find a good spot. Call the help. Get the hell out of here. He had four hours until dawn. The helo was about thirty minutes away. Make it two or three hours to find a spot and make the call. That didn't seem overly difficult. He knew the area around sender green from the recon photos. Kelly took a few minutes to look around, orienting himself. The quickest way to a clear spot was that way, across a twist in the road. It was a gamble but a good one. He rearranged his load, moving his spare magazines within easier reach. More than anything else, Kelly feared capture, to be at the mercy of men like plastic flower, to he unable to fight back, to lose control of his life. A quiet little voice in the back of his mind told him that death was preferred to that. Fighting back, even against impossible odds, wasn't suicide. Okay. That was decided. He started moving.
'Call him?' Maxwell asked.
'No, not now.' Captain Albie shook his head. 'He'll call us. Mr Clark is busy right now. We leave him be.' Irvin came into the Combat Information Center.
'Clark?' the master gunnery sergeant asked.
'On the run,' Albie told him.
'Want me and some people on Rescue One, riding shotgun?' That they would try to get Clark out was not a question. Marines have an institutional loathing of leaving people behind.
'My job, Irvin,' Albie said.
'Better you run the rescue, sir,' Irvin said reasonably. 'Anybody can shoot a rifle.'
