3
He felt it, though, the earth moving beneath his chest in a long, violent ripple. He watched from his knees, shielding his eyes with his hand. A bank of steam filled the air where the bridge had been. He rose, leaning forward to see through it, then immediately threw himself down, ducking below the tracers from one of the tanks that had already crossed.
A yellow light moved into the space where the bridge had been, crawling forward at a snail’s pace. Had the driver not seen the bridge go down? Suddenly the light dropped, the dark shadow behind it disappearing.
Zeus crawled to his right, toward the edge of the ravine. The water was rising rapidly, filled not only by the rain but the runoff from higher ground.
There were figures in the water, and big black boxes — overturned tanks.
Another ZTZ99 started firing from the right side of the ravine, before the bridge. Men moved. Zeus heard shouts on the wind.
Where the hell was Christian?
Zeus heard a motor whine nearby. He looked to his left and saw one of the tanks that had already crossed. It was backing up in his direction. He got up and began to run to his right, trying simply to get out of the way.
A flash of lightning revealed a soldier on the top of the tank. He whirled the machine gun around and began firing into the ravine, raking it with gunfire.
One of the other tanks began returning fire. The tank reversed course, starting back onto the road.
The soldier dropped from the tank.
Zeus found him curled up in the field a short distance ahead. A fresh volley of rain fell in a ferocious swoop, pelting him from all sides as the wind shifted back and forth, unable to decide on which path offered the maximum chance for destruction.
The body didn’t move. Zeus reached the legs and pulled himself forward, turning the man over as he crawled next to him.
It wasn’t a Vietnamese soldier. It was Christian.
Christian remained motionless.
Zeus pulled himself up to a kneeling position, then tucked his shoulder down into Christian’s chest. He gathered the major’s legs and rose, staggering in the slippery, wet grass. There was gunfire somewhere — the high-pitched metallic sound of the machine gun cut through the whine of the wind — but he ignored it. Zeus took two steps. Realizing he was heading the wrong way, he changed course and began moving to his left in the direction of the road.
The tank that Christian had fallen from had stopped about twenty yards ahead. Zeus decided it would be safer to pass behind the tank, cross the road, and move toward the spot where the Vietnamese company was supposed to fall back to.
He’d just started behind the tank when the turret began to move. The gun barrel swung in his direction, so close at first that Zeus thought it was going to hit him. He jerked right, nearly losing his balance, then staggered forward, clear of the gun.
A shadow came at him, moving.
Zeus started to move to his right, to get out of the way. The shadow came right at him, materializing into a man. They collided, falling down.
“Leave the tank,” Zeus shouted, figuring that the man was one of the Vietnamese soldiers attacking the tank. “Help me get my friend out of here! He’s hurt!”
The other man didn’t move. Zeus pulled Christian up over his shoulder. He heard a groan — the first sign of life.
He turned back to the soldier he’d run into. The man was two or three feet away, saying something. In the wind and the rain it was impossible to hear what it was, or even make out the language.
Lightning flashed. Zeus saw an insignia on the man’s lapel. He was an officer.
Chinese. With a gun in his hand.
Zeus dove at him, using his body and Christian’s to bowl him over. The gun went off near his head, and Zeus felt something burn the side of his face.
There was a rumble. A whistle — the mortars were firing again.
He couldn’t see where the Chinese officer was, even though he had to be very close. Still holding Christian over his shoulder, Zeus pushed up to his knees, then to his feet. And began to run with every ounce of his strength. His feet sunk deeply into the soft, mucky earth.
The shells exploded everywhere, fists pounding the earth. Zeus spotted a low mound on his left and headed for it.
It was the house that had been blown up earlier. He detoured right, barely avoiding a crater that had been left by one of the tank shells.
His lungs ached. The rest of him was numb.
His pace, slow to begin with, slacked until he was barely making progress.
A figure rose about thirty yards from him. Another.
“I’m a friend!” he yelled. “American!”
He kept moving forward. They yelled again. Their guns were pointed in his direction.
Exhausted, he slipped to his knees. As he crumbled, he felt a hand catch him and looked up into the face of Major Chau, the translator.
4
The wind, still strong, shifted. The waves, still high, continued to pound. But the
There was no longer a question of survival. The worst of the typhoon had passed.
Silas, still manning the wheel, turned to his crew. A relief team had come up; the seamen who’d been injured had been helped to sick bay.
When? Hours ago? Minutes? He couldn’t remember or calculate.
His hands trembled when he took them off the wheel, turning it over to petty officer Gordon.
“Lieutenant Cradle, I’m going below to check on the ship,” he told the officer of the deck.
“Sir.”
It was a good, bracing response. Silas nodded.
Lt. Commander Li met him in the CIC. Her face looked bleached white, except for the purplish welts beneath her eyes.
“Commander, you were right,” he told Li. “I owe you and the ship’s crew an apology.”
Her lower lip trembled. She half nodded, then struggled to respond. “Commander, the merchant ships…”
