Shadows of War

Mara flashed her small LED flashlight: two greens.

Someone on the team flashed a response: three greens. The man closest to the runway rose and circled his arm. The plane’s engine revved and the Cessna shot down the field, airborne in seconds.

As soon as the plane was away, the men rose and began stalking over. Even though they’d just gotten the all-clear signal — and knew that the plane would have been the first target in an ambush — they nonetheless moved across the field with guns ready, scanning back and forth as they came.

All except the last man, who sauntered over as if he were walking down the boardwalk at Atlantic City after hitting a double jackpot.

“Hey, CIA,” said Jimmy Choi. “You must be Mara.”

“You’re Choi?”

“My friends call me Jimmy.”

“What do your enemies call you?”

“Enemies? Enemies all dead.”

Jimmy laughed and stuck out his hand. He was tall, and not just for a Korean. He squeezed her hand; she squeezed back.

“So, you find yourself trouble here, huh?” said Jimmy.

“No. I’m getting somebody out of trouble.”

“Ho-ho. You don’t worry now. Jimmy Choi here. We get you out and gone before you can sneeze.”

“Ah-choo.”

“Ha-ha, funny, funny. This our truck? Good. Get in. I drive.”

“I’ll drive, thank you.”

“Jimmy good driver.”

“No doubt. Who’s who here?”

“Eenie, Meanie, Moe,” said Jimmy.

“Ha-ha.”

Jimmy laughed, but it turned out that two of the mercenaries were named Meanie and Moe. Meanie was a short but unusually wide Korean, whose right cheek was intersected by a thick and jagged scar. Moe looked to be a Russian or maybe a Mongol. Neither man said anything when they were introduced, nor did they add their full or real names, which was just as well — Mara really didn’t need to know.

The last mercenary was an American, though Mara wouldn’t have known for certain had Jimmy not told her he was a countryman. His name was Jeb and he had a chiseled light brown face that made him look even thinner than he was. He had an East Coast accent.

“Where you from?” Mara asked.

“Eritrea.”

“What state is that?”

“It’s in Africa. My mother’s American. Most of my life I grew up in Africa.”

“Well, glad to be working with you.”

She shook his hand. His grip was soft, barely there.

“We go now,” said Jimmy.

“Hold on. I have to run down the situation for you,” said Mara.

“I know situation.”

“You know where our subject is?”

“General area.”

“I’ve already mapped out a route. Let me show you.”

“Show on way. I drive. We’re waste of time here,” he added in his funky English.

“I drive,” said Mara. “Get in.”

As soon as the others had their gear in the back, she started out, going as quickly as she dared in the dark. Even with the night glasses, it was hard to see the edges of the road, and she found herself constantly hitting the brakes. It didn’t help that Jimmy kept interrupting her as she tried to lay out the game plan.

“Easiest way to get there, we go over border, come back around,” he said.

“What border?”

“China.”

“That’s crazy. We’ll never get across,” said Mara.

“I cross the border all time. Very, very easy.”

“We’ll do much better in Vietnam,” she insisted. “We go where troops aren’t.”

“Ho-ho. Suit self.”

“I will. And it’s yourself.”

“Jimmy very suited. Thank you.”

* * *

Mara drove for roughly an hour, heading southwestward. Jimmy Choi was quiet, occasionally consulting a small clamshell computer. Mara thought it was a GPS unit until Jimmy gave her directions.

“Have to change your road,” he said. “Troops on road to south.”

“How do you know that?”

“I know where troops are,” said Jimmy. He tapped his clamshell.

“That’s a computer? What are you looking at? You have your own satellite?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” said Jimmy. But he didn’t explain where the image came from. Mara guessed that he was hacking into someone’s system, probably the Russians’.

“Can I see that?” she asked, reaching for the computer.

He pulled it back.

“You ask questions, I answer them. You go to 178 — ”

“I’m not going north. It’s too dangerous, and we’ll be too far from where our target is,” snapped Mara.

“Okay, okay, don’t have cow. We go it your way.” Jimmy laughed. They could have been deciding on what restaurant to try. “Tell me route. I check.”

The route, at least according to Jimmy’s photos, was still clear. They made it across the Chay and then the Hong, speeding through the small village of Pho Lu before seeing the first signs of the war — a huge crater that blocked the roadway about a mile out of town. Trees on both sides had been knocked down by the blast.

“Ho-ho. We fix,” announced Jimmy Choi. “Quick, quick.”

He leaped out of the truck. Seconds later, two chain saws started up. In five minutes, there was enough of a path on the right side for Mara to squeeze past.

“It’s going to be light soon,” said Jimmy when he got back into the cab. “We should stop and rest until they have the spot.”

“I want to make the Hoang Lien Son Mountains first. We’ll be safer there.”

“Hour drive. Maybe more.”

“We can make it.”

“We change into Chinese uniforms there,” declared Jimmy. “Closer to their lines than the Vietnamese.”

“You have one for me?”

“Ha-ha, we find you one, too.” Jimmy took out his little clamshell computer and began fiddling with it. “Turn left at next road.”

“Why?”

“Need pit stop. Yes?”

“Yeah, all right.”

“There, dirt road.”

They were almost on it. Mara had to hit the brakes to make the turn.

“Park here. Quick. Pull off.”

Mara pulled onto the shoulder. Jimmy Choi jumped from the truck and ran into the back. Mara climbed down and was surprised to see the mercenaries scrambling into the jungle.

“Hey! Hey!” she yelled, charging after them.

The men were moving at a good pace, and Mara felt a stitch start in her right side. She ducked through the