the Last Run (1987) (27 page)

Matt Wade put down the radio handset and brought his CAR-15 to his lap. They had reached the foothills an hour before and found enough dense vegetation to laager in the standard wheel formation-sitting back on their packs shoulder-to-shoulder and facing out in a circle. One at a time, each man would watch for an hour and hold the radio to make periodic commo checks. The radioman at Mustang had just called him, and he'd replied by pushing the side bar twice. Two squelch breaks was the code for "all is well, no change in situation."

Wade was about to wake Thumper, but hesitated and looked up at the stars. The air had a twinge of dampness that only the night could bring, and the chirping crickets reminded him of the evenings on which he had sat with his granddad on Buggy Creek Bridge.

They often turned the dogs loose in the creek bed and let them run coons to the draw just below the bridge. His granddad would sit on the tailgate of the old Chevy pickup and chew tobacco, hardly ever speaking, and Wade would sit with him, always wondering what his granddad was thinking in his silence. One night, when he was sixteen, Wade finally had the courage to ask: "Granddad, what do ya think about when sitting out here?"

His granddad had stood and walked to the edge of the old wooden bridge and spat into the darkness.

"Me and Elma used to sit here for hours listenin' to the dogs and crickets. I come out here to be with her again."

He had walked back and sat down beside his grandson and looked up at the stars. "The night is special time, Matt. It's got a life of its own . . . and it holds a lot of good memories."

Wade cleared his thoughts and lifted the heavy medallion from his chest, thinking of the auburn-haired woman. "Memories," he said to himself, and tapped Thumper.

24 September

Le Xuan Can reached out and turned up the wick of the kerosene lamp, basking the earthen walls in a golden hue. The wooden slats creaked as he sat up and placed his feet on the slanted, clay- packed floor and looked around. The room had changed litde in the seventeen years since he'd been there last. That time he had been wounded in the legs by a French mine. The old underground complex had been a hospital; now it was used as a headquarters and supply base for the People's Liberation Armed Forces. The tunnel complex, known as The House, was dug into the side of the hill. It had three large rooms connected by tunnels. A bamboo thicket hid the main entrance, and the escape tunnel was on the far slope near a boulder. Three cell members used The House as a permanent base and received the coded radio messages over the AM transistor radio from Hanoi. From here the struggle had been coordinated and planned for the district in the past years. The House was only three kilometers from An Chon, yet few knew of its existence.

He slept in the first room nearest the entrance, where the others still slept in hammocks supported by huge teak support timbers. His was the only wood-slat bed, a place of honor.

Le Can rose to the sound of a faint whisding. Above him were the bamboo ventilation tubes that passed through the earth ceiling to the outside. He walked through the small, narrow tunnel to the second room that served as the headquarters and radio room. A young soldier of sixteen sat at a desk monitoring Hanoi Liberation radio.

"Any news, comrade?"

The boy turned with a smile to Thach Sanh and held up a notepad. "The fighters have taken a puppet base in Binh Dinh province, and the Province Commissar asks for an update from all districts in two weeks."

Le Can nodded. When he went to Kim Suu to transmit his report, the leaders would be pleased.

Returning to the sleeping room, he pushed open the clay- and root-matted door and climbed the cut-out earthen steps. Gray, early morning light greeted him as he stepped out of the entrance and closed the door. He stood in a small open area which, except for a narrow exit leading to a leveled spot alongside the hill, was completely enclosed by thick bamboo. He stepped out of the thicket to where three of his men lay on ground sheets and a fourth stirred the embers of a small fire. The old man stirring the embers, gave him a casual glance. "We will eat soon if you bring wood."

Le Can, putting on his French hat, smiled at the old man's lack of respect. It was the teacher, Doan Ty, a contrary old man, but a master both of words and of cooking. Le Can picked up several sticks and set them down by his friend, who wore tattered khaki shorts and a black peasant shirt.

"We eat, then I go with the others to An Due and talk to the hamlet chief. I will return this afternoon and we go to An Chon, where you will begin teaching."

Doan Ty placed a blackened tin pot partially filled with water on the coals and cocked an eyebrow.

"You call it teaching. I say it is preaching. It is no matter. The result is the same. Is the medical team going with us?"

"Yes, but they go with me to An Due first. The hamlet is in need of them. It will not take us long. The puppets and Yankees have given this area up. They only hold on to their precious road.''

"How long before you strike their outposts?"

"Not for another four months, when we have enough support. In another month we will begin mining the road to show the people we are fighting."

"How many children does An Chon have?"

"Nine that will be old enough. An Dat has twelve, but is close to the road. I will talk to the chief today and have the children go to An Chon." Le Can smiled and patted Doan TV's back. "It will save your old legs many steps, yes?"

Rose halted the team and motioned Wade forward. They had gotten up at first light and climbed the first small hills to get deep into the forest. They planned to move a kilometer into the foothills, then head west toward a trail that led to the mountains and set up their ambush.

Rose whispered faintly, "Somebody's got a fire."

Wade sniffed the air and caught the faint but distinct odor of burning bamboo. It was coming from the south. "Let's check it out, but stay on the high ground and parallel this slope we're on."

Rose patted his M-16 affectionately. "We gonna get some, I can feel it."

Wade motioned the others up and told them about the change in plans, then nodded at Rose to move out. They stalked along the face of the hill, weaving their way through scrub trees and thick thorn bushes for fifty meters until the land suddenly sloped away into a small valley. They could see a small, dissipating cloud of smoke drifting up from the trees below.

Cautiously, Rose began to move down the hill, keeping close to a large banana tree grove. He came to a slight outcrop and froze. The team immediately knelt down. Rose lay down slowly and peered over the outcrop. Thirty yards below, five Vietnamese squatted by a fire.

Rose raised his hand and motioned his team sergeant up. Wade crawled forward and peered over the outcrop just as four of the VC stood. One of the Vietnamese, wearing a strange, wide- brimmed hat, walked into a thicket of bamboo and disappeared. Wade crawled back a foot and waved the rest of the team toward him. He was about to assign positions and targets when Rose poked him and pointed down the hill. The VC wearing the strange hat reappeared from the thicket holding a khaki satchel. He spoke to the other men as he picked up his rifle and began walking down the slope. Three other soldiers slung their weapons and followed. They were all carrying AK-47s, and one of them, who also carried a large medical shoulder bag, turned and waved to the remaining soldier, an older man who wore shorts.

Wade cussed under his breath. There was no time to assign targets. He'd have to let them go. Damn! Had the dinks waited only thirty seconds more, his men would have been in position and . . . Shit!

Wade tapped Rose and pointed to his own eyes. Then he pointed to the remaining soldier. It was a signal for Rose to watch the old man. The sergeant backed up and motioned Thumper to him as he pulled out his map.

"Thump," he whispered, "We gotta wait here and see what the dink does. We can't get any closer or he'll hear us and we can't shoot or the guys that are left will hear. We'll wait awhile. If he looks like he might leave, grease him."

Wade tapped Preacher and held out his hand for the radio handset.

Sergeant First Class Childs was shaving, using a small signaling mirror, when the RTO yelled from the TOC. "We got a sighting from Three-one!"

Childs tossed down the razor and ran for the bunker with half his face still covered with white shaving cream.

The radio operator handed the handset to the sergeant.

"This is Hotel Three. Go."

"This is Three-One, spotted five VC, from John, one right, two point one up. Four carrying AK-47s heading southeast. One VC remains by fire, am observing, will initiate later. Out."

Childs stood and looked at the map where scattered black dots had men's names beside them. He found 4 'John'' and plotted over one grid square to the right, then up 2.1 grid squares. The location was almost three kilometers due west of An Chon in the foothills. Come on Wade, kill the bastards.

Doan iy finished cleaning the rice pot and squatted by the fire. He couldn't help wonder how many such fires he'd been warmed by in the past years. The orange and red embers were old friends and had provided his ancient bones much comfort. It should be a simple mathematical problem, he thought. I have been with the struggle for ten years, multiplied by 365 fires a year is 3,650.

The thought of so many days made him lower his head in reflection. It was ten long years ago that he had left his school classroom and joined the struggle. Uncle Ho had told him, "Words are more important than guns. The people's struggle must have teachers to educate the young for the future ... for the future holds our ultimate victory."

iy smiled to himself, thinking of the many young faces he'd made followers. Uncle Ho would have been pleased to know his recruit of ten years before had become a master teacher.

iy shoved dirt on the dying embers and stood. He decided to listen to the radio and talk to the remaining three men in the underground complex to pass the time. He stretched his arms upward and headed for the thicket.

Wade waited five minutes for the old soldier to come out of the bamboo before finally deciding to check it out. He whispered to Thumper, "I'm going down there and see what's in that thicket. Somethin' ain't right."

Thumper nodded and signaled to the others that the sergeant was going down and for them to cover him. Wade took off his pack and checked his CAR-15 one last time before going over the outcrop.

He low-crawled for ten meters and stopped. In front of him, sticking out of the ground by a thorn bush, was a two-foot-high, four-inch-round bamboo post. Several inches down from the top were cut-out square holes. It looked almost like a periscope.

Damn* it's a breathing tube or chimney, he thought. His stomach knotted into a ball and his throat craved moisture. He knew what the tube meant. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he continued crawling down the hill.

Thumper couldn't see his sergeant through the vegetation. He waited for what seemed like hours until he noticed a movement by the bamboo thicket. Wade had crawled to the side of the bamboo and was trying to see through the thick stalks. The sergeant stood, took a step to the side, and peered through the small opening. Cautiously, he stepped forward into the thicket and disappeared. Thumper raised die M-79 launcher and clenched his teeth, waiting for the sound of the CAR-15. Seconds passed, but nothing happened. Suddenly he saw Wade's back as he stepped backward out of the thicket. Wade looked up toward him and motioned them down quickly.

Childs sat holding a cigarette. He wanted desperately to light it, but he wouldn't. He'd gone two weeks without one, and he'd promised himself he wouldn't start again. The radio speaker crackled and a whispering voice filled the bunker.

"Hotel Three, this is Three-one, over."

Childs brought the handset up. "Hotel three, Go."

"We found an underground bunker with at least one dink inside. He doesn't know we're here, we're checking it out. Out."

Childs turned to the radio operator. "Get on that other radio and call Fourth Division S-3, wow!"

Wade positioned Russian up the hill to watch for anyone approaching, and whispered to the others. "We got an underground bunker of some kind. The entrance is in that bamboo. I'm gonna toss in a grenade and follow it, then ..."

Woodpecker stepped closer, interrupting in a whisper, "There's got to be an escape hatch somewhere. If any more are in there, they'll flank us."

Wade's eyes widened. "Damn, you're right. Preacher, you stay here and cover the entrance. If that door opens, shoot the son of a bitch and toss in a grenade. The rest of us will scatter out and try and find the escape door."

The Indian nodded apprehensively and took a grenade from his ammo pouch.

Woodpecker pointed up the hill. "It's gotta be on the side of the hill where they could sneak out without being seen. It's on the far left or right."

Wade pointed to Thumper. "You and Woodpecker take the left. Me and Rose will take the right. If you find it, signal Russian and he'll signal us. I'll tell Russian what's hap- penin'."

The two teams broke up and began the search. After fifteen minutes, Wade was beginning to think it was hopeless. Rose leaned against a tree and was about to reach for his canteen when he noticed something. Black wire was attached to the tree. When he backed up, he could see a small antenna hidden in the branches. He followed the wire down to where it was buried in the soil. Rose snapped his fingers at Wade and began pulling the wire up. The American-made communications wire yielded easily to the pressure as it had only been buried an inch. A long furrow quickly kicked up and snaked down the hill toward a large boulder. Wade and Rose followed the wire to the rock and saw the faint square outiine on the ground. Both men looked at each other at the same time-the escape door!