Shock of War

“I’m going to have to improvise something. We’ll put the charges under a tank, come back, blow it. We don’t need more of a plan than that.”

“What good is blowing one tank?”

“We can get two.”

It did seem like a pathetic gesture — where was the wild man who’d just inhabited Christian?

But it might delay the Chinese even so. They’d think they were under attack. Even a few hours might help the Vietnamese.

“We string the wire as far back as we can, we blow it, and move back here,” said Zeus, sketching the route with his finger in the air. “We go that way. We get as far from the camp as we can, then cross over into Vietnam.”

“That’s a bullshit plan.”

“You got something better?”

“I’m not going to be a martyr for Vietnam.”

“Just wait here.”

Zeus stuck his elbow under the fence, then pushed himself through.

He didn’t bother looking back, crawling on his belly through the weeds.

Something was better than nothing.

What if he blew the entrance to the tunnel? Could he get close enough?

Doubtful.

He could string the explosives together, push them down the air tube.

That might work.

He started crawling in that direction.

“Where are you going?” hissed Christian in the darkness behind him.

Startled, Zeus stopped. “Where are you?”

“Jesus, I’m right here. Two feet away.”

“I thought you were staying back,” said Zeus.

“What’s the plan?”

“I’m not sure yet. There are air vents — ”

“I have an idea,” said Christian.

“Okay.”

“They won’t get very far if we blow up their fuel.”

“Their tanks must be underground.”

“They have some trucks lined up near the personnel carriers. Didn’t you see them before?”

It was a brilliant, logical, simple plan. But the most amazing thing was that it had come from Christian.

“Show me,” said Zeus.

* * *

They didn’t see the guard walking along the line of tanks until he was less than ten yards away. Fortunately, the man was looking toward the fence line, and Zeus was close enough to the armored personnel carriers to cut between them and hide. Christian followed.

“Guard,” whispered Zeus as he squatted.

“Yeah.”

Zeus waited, chest tight.

They’d take the guard if he came this way. Zeus put the charges down, ready to leap out.

The man didn’t appear. Finally, Zeus leaned forward and looked around the end of the vehicle.

The soldier was gone.

“Stay here,” Zeus told Christian. “I’m going to scout ahead. I want to make sure we won’t be seen”

“Go.”

There was no light in the compound, but the moon was strong enough for him to see fairly well. The row of APCs gave way to tanks. As Zeus reached the back of the second tank, he saw the fuel trucks off to the right. Two were parked next to a pile of bulldozed debris, dirt, tree trunks, and rocks in a long mound. The fence cut toward the mound, running along to the right as far as Zeus could see.

He made his way to the mound, crawling along the side nearest the fence. There were more fuel trucks — a half dozen. Another row behind that.

Blow up one with each charge. Shrapnel from the blast might damage others. In any event, it would slow their advance considerably — the tanks could only go so far without topping off.

How many trucks were there? He lay at the top of the hill, staring.

Two dozen.

What was the ratio the Chinese used? God, that he should know — that was a factor in the game somewhere.

Five tanks to one truck?

Six?

No. Three?

It had to be more than three, or there were more trucks.

He couldn’t think. And what did it matter now? Just blow the damn things up and be done with it.

Voices came to him as the wind shifted. Belatedly, Zeus realized there were men on the far side of the trucks all the way to his right.

He slid closer, trying to see.

Gradually, he realized what they were up to — filling the tankers with fuel from an underground tank.

He slipped back to Christian.

“They’re putting fuel in them now. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Come on.” Zeus shoved the demo packs back into his pockets. “Come on.”

“What do we do after we plant the charges?”

“Go back the same way we came.”

Zeus leapt up, heart pounding in his chest. He was suddenly on an adrenaline high, feeling no pain, completely focused on his mission. He rounded the corner of the APC. The moist jungle air felt heavy in his chest, thick.

Zeus glanced up, trying to gauge how far he was from the pile of debris. As he did, he saw the soldier he’d spotted earlier come out from behind the truck, then look directly at him.

2

CIA headquarters, suburban Virginia

Mara was on her way upstairs to see Peter Lucas when she decided to take a detour to Starbucks. The coffee shop, located on the ground floor of the CIA’s main building at Langley, was reputedly one of the busiest Starbucks in the country. Mara could agree with that — the place was always jammed. She took her place in line.

“Well, speak of the devil and she appears,” said a voice behind her as she debated whether to go for a regular or a latte. She’d moved about two feet in five minutes. “Mara Duncan, I hope you are well.”

Mara turned and saw Jimmy “Grease” Parnel standing with his arms folded in front of his chest. The ceiling lights glared off his bald head, and his round face sported a wide smile. Grease had earned his nickname long ago, when he’d been able to make things happen: “greasing the wheels of progress” as he put it when he deigned to explain where the name had come from.

“Grease,” said Mara. “How are you? I thought you were retired.”

“No kiss?” He offered his cheek. She snorted in derision. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said.

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“I can vouch for that.”