Two more tanks came around the bend. There was a whistle in the air — mortar fire.
The shells popped around the two tanks, black hammers pounding through the dark curtain of rain. One hit against the hull, but did no damage. One of the tank commanders began firing his 12.7mm gun, though he couldn’t possibly have a target.
More mortar shells. More tanks. The ground rumbled with explosions.
Zeus raised his head. The platoon commander had been a short distance away on his right. As soon as the bridge exploded, he had jumped up with one of his men and run down to a position near the road, covering the ravine where the tanks had fallen in.
“Zeus, we gotta get across to the other side!” yelled Christian behind him.
Another tank came around the bend. The tank commander in the turret was firing his 12.7mm machine gun, spraying the road near the blown-out bridge. He was firing blindly, but the spray of bullets was deadly nonetheless.
A line of mortar shells walked up toward the tank. There was a flash and a puff of smoke; an acrid smell filled the air.
The tank stopped dead. One of the mortar shells had struck the top of the open turret, scoring a direct hit inside.
“The Vietnamese are damn good with those mortars!” yelled Christian. He tugged at Zeus’s arm. “Come on! Back!”
Zeus turned and ran back up the hill. Three tanks seemed to burst around the corner. The mortar shells rained down; the tanks continued forward. Two entered the ravine. There was another explosion — one had hit a mine.
Zeus slipped and fell. A tank round whipped through the air. It didn’t land anywhere close — the large shell cleared the hill and traveled several miles — but the sound was frightening, as if the air was splitting wide open. He was wet, drenched; the rain pounded him.
Zeus struggled to his feet. He started moving again, toward what he thought was the ravine, only to realize he was moving toward the road. He slid down on his butt, freezing in place as he tried to make sense of the scene before him.
He was supposed to cross the ravine and the creek at its bottom about seventy-five yards from the bridge, well away from the antitank mines. He began moving backward, then turned and finally found the edge of the drop. He ran alongside it for a few strides, then slipped and fell, tumbling down toward the water. Along the way he hit his head on a rock, smacking it hard enough to hurt, though not enough to do any real damage.
Thunder cracked overhead, and the sky flashed with lightning. In the flash he saw that he was still close to the bridge — not more than twenty yards away.
He stood, then saw the leading edge of a tank coming straight for him.
Zeus threw himself down as the ZTZ99 loomed overhead. The driver attempted to steer through the ridge at a right angle, but either the wet grass or his own lack of skill made that impossible.
There was a roar. Exhaust and mud packed into Zeus’s face and body.
He thought he would be run over, but in fact the tank missed him by six or seven yards. He lay there for a moment, stunned, unsure exactly what had happened. Then something took hold of him, something deep in his soul. He got to his feet and began running after the tank as it climbed the other side of the ravine. It was in its lowest gear, sure-footed against the mud and rocks. Zeus grabbed onto the light at the right rear, pulling himself onto the back of the tank.
There was a rail at the back of the turret. He took hold and hung on as the tank stood nearly straight up, rising up the side of the ravine. The angle was so severe he thought the tank would fall off backward, and he would be crushed beneath it, this time for real. But it pitched down sharply as it neared the top of the ridge, gravity helping it over the summit.
Zeus pulled himself forward to the hatchway. It was closed, the tank buttoned down.
“Open up, you bastard,” he screamed, pounding on the hatchway.
He’d lost his mind. It was worse than when he’d been at the border, when they’d attacked the depot. He was completely insane, rain pounding through him.
And yet he was confident he was going to take this tank. He was going to wait until the hatch opened, and pull out the man who popped up, kill him, and then take the tank. He pushed over to the side, grabbing the machine gun, steadying himself as the tank rumbled across a patch of rocks and uneven ground.
Something moved behind him.
Zeus turned, saw two men leaping upward. Thinking they were Chinese soldiers, he started to swing the gun around, then realized they were part of the antitank team — the volunteers with the grenades.
One of them gave him a raised fist, recognizing him.
“The hatch is locked!” yelled Zeus.
Neither man made any sign that they had heard him. Instead, one placed a charge on the hatchway. His companion pulled Zeus off to the side.
The charge exploded as they hit the ground. As Zeus rolled down, the Vietnamese soldiers sprang to their feet. Already the third man in the team, who’d been running alongside the tank as they set the charge, had scrambled to the top. He had a long pry bar, and in one smooth motion, pushed the damaged hatchway far enough aside to squeeze in a grenade.
He jumped, then all three men on the team ducked down, signaling at Zeus to do the same.
There was a barely audible pop. The tank stopped moving.
Zeus followed the Vietnamese soldiers as they ran back toward the second bridge. The mortars had stopped firing. The tanks were launching their own shells, though all seemed to be aimed too far away.
Christian met him a few yards from the bridge.
“What the hell happened to you?” he shouted into Zeus’s ear.
“I went crazy.”
“You look like it. Come on.”
The Vietnamese engineers were still configuring the explosives under the structure. Though six or seven tanks had been destroyed, the Chinese had found a route across the ravine. They mustered the tanks on the road near the burned out shell of the pickup and the Z99 it had damaged.
“They won’t go over the bridge,” predicted Christian. “They’ll be too careful now.”
“That’s fine with us,” said Zeus. “We want them to stop.”
The company commander was in a small building about a hundred yards from the bridge. Zeus and Christian ran across the open field toward it. With every step, Zeus was sure the tanks would spot them and begin firing.
When they made it to the building, they saw the CO standing in the front room behind the blown out window, gazing intently at the bridge with his binoculars.
“You can’t stay here!” yelled Zeus. “The Chinese will blow up any building they can see.”
The commander gave Zeus a puzzled look.
“You gotta get out,” said Zeus. He motioned with his hands and arms.
The commander stayed put.
“Where the hell is Chau?” asked Zeus.
“Damned if I know,” said Christian. “I thought he was with you.”
“Out,” said Zeus. “We gotta get out.”
Two of the Chinese tanks had been sent down the road as scouts. They drove at about five miles an hour. Both commanders had their tops open and were scanning the ground ahead, firing their machine gun indiscriminately. They couldn’t have many targets — the rain was heavy and the Vietnamese ambushers were well hidden.
There were several more tanks behind them. A few had lights, but the others had either been damaged or turned off by the crews, who realized they were helping the Vietnamese attack.
The two lead tanks stopped.
“Out of here now!” shouted Zeus.
He grabbed the Vietnamese commander and dragged him shouting from the building. One of his men jumped on Zeus as he pulled him out of the door, and they collapsed in a tumble. Christian threw himself against the scrum,
