Ten minutes later, Zeus and the two Vietnamese privates who were acting as point men drew close to the back of the buildings at the southeastern quadrant of the intersection. There were three structures, all squat and dark. The tallest was a service station.
Zeus used two garbage cans as a makeshift ladder, scrambling up the garage roof. It was made of metal, and between the pitch and slippery rain, Zeus had to climb on all fours.
Just as he reached the apex, his AK-47 slipped off his shoulder and clanked against the metal roof. He cursed himself, pulling the gun strap back in place.
When he put his head up, he saw dozens of Chinese armored vehicles scattered along the road around the intersection. A pair of Z99 tanks sat in the middle of the crossroads.
The Chinese had moved south during the storm.
13
“Believe it or not, no,” said Josh. “I mean, it could be, but a warm day like this in February? That sort of thing has been happening forever. Climate change is more subtle.”
“Droughts are subtle?”
“I mean, the effects of climate change are very complex.” Josh picked up his sledgehammer and positioned the splitting wedge over a log. It had been Tex’s idea to cut the family some firewood. Josh had readily agreed, not so much because it was an easy way to thank them for putting him up, but because the exercise would make him forget about Mara.
If he could forget.
He swung the hammer down, getting the wedge in place for the real blow.
“So droughts — they’re the result of climate change?” said Tex, picking up the ax again.
“Yeah. Well, in aggregate.”
“Jesus, Doc. I hate to say this, but you sound like a politician. Mincing your words. You never say what you mean.”
Josh sighed. Actually, he could be extremely precise, talking about numbers and percentages and statistics.
“It’s the trend that’s important,” he told Tex. “Climate change means more droughts. More warm winters like this. Which, for some places is good.”
“I like it,” said Tex. “Don’t need a coat.”
Josh swung the sledge. The log split cleanly in half.
God, he missed Mara. He’d tried calling twice, but his calls went straight to voice mail.
He hadn’t bothered to leave a message. Too much to say.
He bent and took another piece of wood from the pile.
14
The two team leaders peering over his shoulder mumbled something as Chau translated the aiming procedure. Zeus leaned back, letting them take a look.
The clouds were moving away. Though it was still a good hour before the sun would rise, the sky was already light gray with a false dawn. The dark smudges they’d seen when they landed were now reasonable facsimiles of trees and buildings.
Zeus had set up two teams on a small rise on the west side of the road, with a clear line to both tanks. Two other crews were gathered around a launcher a short distance away, their weapon aimed at the second tank. Little more than a kilometer separated the launchers from their targets. Easy shots.
“They are ready,” said Chau.
“All right. Wait until I say fire.”
Zeus trotted over to the other teams. He’d already sighted their weapons.
Just as Zeus reached them, there was a loud pop behind him. Zeus turned to see smoke billowing from the rear of the launcher he had just left.
“Fire!” he yelled. “Fire! Fire!”
The missile leapt from the launcher next to him. There was a hiss and a low
The men inside the tank never knew that they had been fired on. From their perspective, there was a brief, terrible premonition of death, then nothing.
“Load the next one, the next one,” Zeus told the men. “Aim at the APCs. As we planned. As we planned.”
“Yes, Major,” said the team leader. He spoke a little English. The others were already loading a second missile.
Zeus ran to Chau. “Why the hell did you fire?” he yelled.
“The top of the tank opened. We were afraid we had been seen.”
The other missiles were launching, whizzing across the field. Zeus ran to the squat flat-roof building next to the service station, where he had set up two more teams. As he started to climb, he heard one of the missiles being launched. He got to the top and saw steam furling from the nearest APC.
More missiles fired. Figures began stumbling from the houses up the street. The Vietnamese began firing their AK-47s, gunning them down.
It was working.
“Major! Major!”
Zeus went to the back of the building, where Chau was calling up to him.
“We have to get back to the boat,” said Chau. “We have to get back for the second attack.”
“You’re right,” said Zeus. He leapt off the back of the building, rolling to his feet after he hit the ground.
“Yeah,” said Zeus, steadying himself against a spar at the side of the boat.
Chau’s point was that the second attack would be made during the day, greatly increasing the danger. But there was no sense waiting now. The other units would be on alert because of this attack.
As soon as they fired all of their missiles, Captain Kim and the teams would work their way south toward the second attack point; with luck they would meet up by nightfall to be evacuated.
The Stolkraft met the PBR about two miles north of Hai Phong, the rest of the teams crowded so tightly on the deck of the boat they looked like refugees escaping the war. The PBR took on three men, a full team, then turned and followed the Stolkraft north to the second landing point, a marshy area inland from Dong Dui.
The two boats treaded through a run of islands and jutting fingers of land, heading for a narrow estuary stream that extended nearly sixteen miles from the ocean. They were near Halong Bay, an upended jaw of earth,
