trying to push the men away from the building.
The first round from the tanks missed very high, whipping well overhead. But that was enough to convince the Vietnamese that Zeus’s idea was the right one. They stopped fighting and scrambled away from the building.
The next round from the tank shot clear through the front of the wooden structure. The shell, designed to pierce a tank, exploded halfway into the field.
The third obliterated its target. By that time, Zeus and the others had joined the two-man demolition team behind some rocks thirty yards from the far end of the bridge.
“Ten bucks says they stop right there,” said Christian, watching the Chinese tee off on the few splinters that were left of the building.
Zeus raised his head as high as he dared, looking at the area. The surrounding marsh was relatively deep and muddy; even without more rain the tanks might not be able to make it through.
Assuming the bridge was blown.
There was a loud clap overhead.
“Is that them or thunder?” asked Christian.
“I think it’s thunder,” said Zeus.
“Man, we are soaked.”
“We need all the rain we can get.”
“They’re moving!” said Christian.
The Vietnamese commander had apparently seen it as well. He huddled next to the engineers.
The tanks moved forward slowly. They must be blind, or nearly blind; in this downpour, their infrared sensors would be useless, and it was a good bet that their optical sights were fogged and cloudy as well.
But obviously they’d been given orders to advance. Did they realize that was a bridge they were coming close to? In the rain, the guardrails didn’t look like much.
First one, then the other went onto the bridge. When the first one was about halfway across, the commander raised his hand and gave the order to blow the bridge. The engineer pushed the detonator.
Nothing happened.
They tried again. Twice. Nothing. The first tank reached their side.
“Shit!” yelled Christian, rising.
“Where the hell are you going?” said Zeus.
“You’re not the only nut!”
Christian started running for the bridge. One of the engineers joined him.
Zeus stared for a moment, then got up and followed.
Hate
1
The storm intensified with every step. It was a blessing — it meant the Chinese would be trapped — but it was a curse as well, limiting the Vietnamese counterattack. And if they didn’t blow the final bridge right now, everything would be lost — the Chinese tanks would ford the first ravine and stay on the road past this low area, moving to Hai Phong despite the rain. The tanks would simply speed past any effort to stop them, and once in the harbor, the armored spearhead could wait for reinforcement, which would surely arrive as soon as the winds died down.
So they had to blow the bridge.
He heard a splash in front of him, then saw something moving on the ground. The first thing he thought was that it was an alligator. Then he saw an arm — Christian’s. He’d fallen.
Zeus grabbed his arm and pulled him upright.
“Goddamn rain,” complained Christian as he pulled away. “Come on.”
Zeus followed. The two tanks that had headed the column were now across the bridge, moving down the road. Zeus heard the rattle of a machine gun over the roar of the rising wind, but it was impossible to know if the gunfire was coming from the tanks or the Vietnamese.
Zeus cupped his hands over his eyes, trying to see through the rain. Someone was moving on the right side of the bridge. Assuming it was the Vietnamese soldier, he started in his direction. After only a step he slipped and fell facedown into the flooded marsh. The water pushed hard against his side. The rain was falling so hard that the marsh was becoming a stream, and an angry one at that.
It’d be a river before this was done.
A man was climbing along the steel understructure. Zeus made his way toward him. The water was already above his knees.
It was the Vietnamese engineer, checking the wire lines. He yelled something to Zeus. The wind carried his shout, but it was in Vietnamese, and Zeus had no idea what he was saying.
The steel beam that supported the bridge was just wide enough so he could put his knees on either side of the rise that split it. He began crawling upward, grasping the metal to steady himself against the wind. He found a wire running up the support and followed it to the charges.
“Got it! Got it!” Christian’s voice came on the wind, but Zeus couldn’t see him. And he had no idea what he meant.
The first charge was taped around the beam about a third of the way up. Zeus followed the wire to the posts. He tightened the screws though they were already hard against their stops, and moved on.
Zeus ducked down as the arch approached the underside of the bridge. A charge had been planted at the very peak, in the little triangular curve at the top of the arch. To reach it, Zeus had to lay down across the steel, the metal rib in his face and chest. He hugged the beam as the wind picked up, his fingers crawling across the charge as he attempted to find the connection posts. He found them. The wire seemed secure. He tightened the bolts, his fingers so slippery he couldn’t even tell if he was turning them or not.
The beam began to vibrate. Zeus let go of the charge and hugged the bridge, wrapping his legs as well as his arms around the metal. He thought it was the wind, gusting, then realized from the heavy, throaty sound that another tank was approaching… was, in fact, already on the bridge, driving above him.
And maybe another and another.
It was too late.
They could still blow the bridge. It would still slow them down. Four or five tanks weren’t going to make a difference.
Go.
Zeus started to crawl back down. He couldn’t see where he was going because of the rain. He raised his hand to wipe his eyes clear, but as he did, he slipped and started to fall.
He threw himself back against the beam, clinging for dear life.
It was no good. He was too wet to get a grip. He let his feet down, then fell into the flooded marsh
