Shadows of War

The soldier he’d hit lay crumpled at the foot of the damaged truck. The gunfire was coming from the rear of the truck.

“Zeus!” yelled Christian from inside the van.

“Stay down!”

“No shit — I’m coming out your side. I’ll cover you from the front.”

“Come on then.”

The soldier who was firing at them sent another burst into their windshield, taking out the rest of the glass. Zeus fired a warning shot, then yelled again.

“Stop!” he shouted.

The soldier came around the front of the truck, leveling his rifle at Zeus. Something automatic took over. Zeus squeezed off two shots, striking the man in the head. The soldier stood dead still for a moment, then teetered backward, falling back behind the truck.

Zeus ran to the first man, who’d been hit by the truck. He was still breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Zeus told him.

He pulled at the raincoat, which was bunched up around his neck, trying to make him more comfortable. As the top fell open, he saw the man was wearing a uniform different from the ones the soldiers in Hanoi had been wearing.

Very different. It was Chinese.

So was the truck.

“What’s going on?” asked Christian, running over.

“These guys are Chinese,” said Zeus. “They must be scouting.”

“This is a troop truck. Where are the rest of them?”

“They must be along the road somewhere.”

“We’d better disable the truck,” said Christian. “Then get the hell out of here.”

He started to pull the hood open. Zeus stopped him.

“Let’s take it.”

“We have the van.”

“The van is beat to crap. This is better. It’s bigger, and probably has six-wheel drive. We can get through the rain a hell of a lot easier.”

“I don’t know.” Christian looked at it doubtfully. “It’s Chinese.”

“So is half the stuff you buy in America.”

Zeus pulled open the door. The cab of the truck, a two-year-old six-by-six Dongfeng transport, was almost identical to those of the German NATO trucks Zeus had been in. It had a diesel engine mounted under the cab, with a five-speed transmission.

He pushed the Start button. It rumbled to life.

“Coming?” he yelled, rolling down the window.

“Go!” yelled Christian, jumping onto the side of the cab. There was no running board; he gripped the rail with his right hand and pushed his legs against the door, hanging off as if he were a monkey.

A bullet slammed into the top of the cab. Zeus struggled to get the truck into reverse. They lurched backward, then stalled.

“Shit!” yelled Christian, raising his rifle and returning fire over the top of the cab.

Zeus hit the starter and the truck grumbled back to life. He overrevved it, spinning and kicking mud as he backed up toward the road. He threw the clutch in, jerked the tranny into first, then overrevved it again. The truck lurched and moved forward very s-l-o-w-l-y.

Low gear was very, very low.

“Get us the hell out of here!” screamed Christian, ducking as fresh bullets hit the vehicle, spitting through the canvas back.

Zeus slammed the shifter into second and then third, grinding the gears. As the truck gained speed, he hit the corner of the van and pushed it out of the way. He continued up the hill, building speed.

“Go! Go! Go!” yelled Christian.

“You think you can do better, come inside and try,” muttered Zeus.

Two Chinese soldiers stood at the side of the road, not sure what was going on. Zeus popped on the headlights and saw them. Stepping on the gas, he swerved to the side as he passed, knocking one over and sending the other running for cover.

He strained so hard to see if he’d gotten him that he nearly ran off the road.

“You’re going to get us killed,” hissed Christian, still hanging on outside.

“Stop whining.”

“Stop so I can get in.”

“Not until we put some distance between them and us.”

“One of these days, Murphy, you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

“I already have.”

Zeus stopped a half mile down the road. Christian climbed in the cab.

“I know what they’re doing,” Zeus told him. “We blocked them off, so now their flank is vulnerable. They have to come down Route 70, shut off all the little routes west. Their flank is even weaker than I thought. They’re adapting.”

“Wonderful. Can we get the hell out of here?”

Zeus started moving again, this time beginning in second gear rather than first. It didn’t seem to mind.

“The satellites and UAVs probably haven’t seen the advance because of all this rain,” said Zeus. “Call Perry and tell him what’s going on. The Vietnamese may want to pick off some of these units. They should get them now, while they’re still weak.”

“Are you out of your mind? The first thing he’ll do when I tell him that is ask how I know. We’re not supposed to be here, remember?”

“Call him.”

“No f’in’ way. You call him.”

“Give me the satcom.”

Christian held it out to him. He started to take it, but Christian pulled it back.

“I’ll talk to him. You’re a pain in the ass, Zeus. You’ve always been a pain in the ass.”

Perry took the news calmly — or at least didn’t raise his voice loud enough for Zeus to hear as Christian explained what was going on.

“We’re less than a half hour from the pickup, General. Then we’re on our way back,” he said. “Piece of cake…birthday cake…Yes, sir…Oh, yes, sir…. I will…. No, sir. Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely not what?” Zeus asked when the radio call was over.

“I told him it was a piece of cake.”

“And?”

“He said don’t let the Chinese blow the candles out.”

30

Northern Vietnam

Mara was the first to hear the helicopter, and began shunting the others to the side of the road before its search beam came into view. The light seemed to cut physically into the rain, pushing it aside with a burst of steam that fell back as it flew. The chopper passed over the road very slowly, only a few feet over the treetops, moving so slowly an octogenarian could have kept up.

“I got it,” said one of the SEALs, loading up the grenade launcher on his gun as they crouched a few feet from the roadway.

“No,” said Mara sharply. “If you shoot them down, they’ll know exactly where we are. No way.”

“The spook’s right,” said Kerfer. “Hold your fire. Let them pass.”