the Last Run (1987) (47 page)

Foley slammed his foot on the transmit button.

"Thank God, One-three. Report everything you saw. How big was the camp? Which direction did it spread? What was your exact location? How many did you see? What was their activity? Give it all to me nowl Over."

Selando gasped in several breaths and began whispering back the information.

Russian crawled toward the distinct smell of smoke. Wade and Gibson inched along the ground behind the Czech. They knew they'd found something big. They had crawled down the slope for a hundred meters before smelling the faint trace of smoke. In another fifty meters they heard voices along with the chopping sound. Russian halted. They'd come to an expanse of smooth rock covered with moss. Russian could see the valley, but not what was direcdy ahead. He motioned for the others to wait, and he crawled forward. He moved for twenty feet and stopped. There was no rock ahead, only sky. From the sounds and the faint cloud of smoke, he knew he was on a ledge. Somewhere below was what they were looking for. He inched up to the rock's edge and peered over. One glance was enough. He quickly lay flat and pushed back.

Russian crawled back to the others and got so close to Wade's face to whisper that they touched noses. "It is a camp."

Gibson began to crawl forward but Russian put out his hand. "Is too dangerous here."

Gibson understood immediately. A man's head peering over the ledge would be easily seen. He raised up and saw a tree next to the ledge fifty feet away. A strangler fig had attached its twisting tentacles to its base and to a nearby boulder, providing cover and an observation point.

Gibson crawled toward the tree. The others followed.

The message that came through the radio speaker caused Major Shane to smile. Team One-three was out of danger and heading for the pickup zone.

The Air Force liaison tapped Colonel Ellis's shoulder. "Sir, can we go with the B-52 mission now?"

Ellis listened to the last words of Foley's transmission and stood up.

"Ed, what's the status from the other teams? Are they far enough away to go with the strike?"

Shane studied the map for a minute, calculating the distance. The minimum safe distance from a B-52 bomb run was 1500 meters. The team's teeth would ratde and they'd be shaken a bit, but if they took cover, they could ride it out safely. It was five kilometers from the western end of the Stadium, where the NVA camp was located, to the eastern end. Shane motioned the Air Force officer over and handed him a red grease pencil. "Mark on the map how the strike will go in."

The officer drew a long rectangle box as he explained: "The three BUFs will come in at 30,000 feet at four hundred knots in a vee formation. They're carrying 108 five-hundred-pound MARK 82s apiece. They'll make their strike perpendicular to the western end of the Stadium, guided by ground-based radar. There's a five- hundred-meter plus or minus error factor ..."

Shane computed the error factor and looked up at Ellis. "Sir, they'll be safe enough. Go with it."

The Air Force liaison shrugged his shoulders. "Why don't you just pull the two other teams? We found the camp."

Shane was about to answer when Ellis clapped the young Air Force major on the back and pointed to the map.

"The two teams still have to check out the mountains to ensure there aren't more of them. I'm sure the western end holds the main base camp, but it's unlikely the whole division would be there. If the other teams find more, we'll finish them off with your fast movers and our gunships. Somebody needs to be on the ground to direct them, right?"

The major smiled sheepishly, realizing his question had been dumb, and raised his wrist to look at his watch. "Well, gentlemen, I've gotten a lot smarter in the last couple of minutes and, just so you know I'm good for something, it's exactly two hours and ten minutes before bombs away."

Shane nodded toward Childs. "You'd better call Gibson and tell him to warn his teams."

Gibson lay beside the tree, observing from between strangler roots the small NVA camp below. He'd been watching the scene for several minutes and counting the personnel. He knew within seconds it was not the main base camp. There were less than fifty people. But he also knew this camp was special. There had to be big brass here. He'd never seen so many NVA officers and senior enlisted before. They were easy to identify by the K-54 pistols they carried. It had to be a headquarters of some kind. On several occasions he saw soldiers carrying papers to the large hut thirty- five meters from the ledge. Each time the soldiers came back empty-handed. Another interesting thing was a terrain model of the valley fashioned on the ground in the center of the camp. A platoon of regular infantry was camped just below the hut and seemed to have positions dug in facing the valley.

Russian and Wade, lying away from the tree, protected the lieutenant's back. Wade poked Gibson's leg and whispered, "We'd better get back and report this."

Gibson was about to back out when a soldier emerged from the hut. He was extremely tall for a Vietnamese and had silver- gray hair. He had no rank on his khaki shirt, but by the actions of die soldiers who all stopped work to look at him as he walked down the steps, Gibson knew he had to be the big cheese.

Gibson backed out slowly and looked into Wade's anxious face. "It's a headquarters of some kind."

Wade whispered over his shoulder as he started crawling. "Let's get the hell outta here."

Chapter 25

Thumper looked nervously at his watch, then stared down the slope again. "Where are they?" he asked himself for the tenth time. Preacher had received a message twenty minutes before that One-three had found an NVA camp and that a B-52 strike was on the way.

Thumper's eyes caught a movement. He immediately tapped Woodpecker to get ready to fire just in case. Thumper eased the safety off his weapon, but didn't put his finger on the trigger. Lieutenant Gibson's head became distinct, then his shoulders. Thumper marveled at how effectively camouflage fatigues and painted faces made the approaching men difficult to see.

He raised up and walked toward the lieutenant, repeating the radio message in an excited whisper.

Gibson's eyes widened and he looked quickly at his watch. It was 1220. The strike would hit at 1400 hours. He walked past Thumper and held his hand out toward Preacher. The small Indian immediately gave him the handset and whispered, "Zu- beck's team already knows about the strike and has laagered up to wait it out."

"Have they seen anything?" asked Gibson.

"No, sir, they're on a trail on the top of the ridge, but they haven't seen any signs."

Gibson brought the handset to his mouth and smiled. "Wait till the major hears this." He pressed the side bar and began whispering.

The operation center's inhabitants were quiet and still as Fo- ley's voice filled the room, relaying Gibson's report: NVA Headquarters had been found.

Colonel Ellis showed the only reaction by clapping his hands together when Foley reported the sighting of a tall Vietnamese officer with silver hair.

Shane looked at Ellis with a questioning stare. Obviously the Colonel knew something he and the others didn't.

Ellis stood up and spoke in a rasp, as if his throat was parched. "The team has got to kill him."

"Kill who?" asked Shane, perplexed.

Ellis stared at the wall map as if in a trance.

"General Binh Ty Due, the commander of all Communist forces in the south. I thought he'd be in the main camp, but Gibson's description is unmistakable. It's him."

"Sir, you never mentioned him before. We didn't plan.

Ellis interrupted, talking as if to himself. "I didn't think it mattered. He was supposed to be in the main camp. But now . . . now, we've got him!" Ellis's far-off look dissolved and he looked direcdy into Shane's eyes. "Your men have got to kill him!"

Shane shot up out of his chair. "What the hell are you talking about? You heard the report. There are forty men in that camp! It'd be impossible to kill one man and escape."

Ellis's eyes didn't leave Shane's as he spoke coldly. "It's got to be done. The general is more important than the NVA Division-or ten divisions, for that matter. He's the mastermind, the tactical genius of the whole southern war effort. He has to be killed!"

Shane's jaw muscles rippled as his eyes burned holes through the colonel's forehead. "Sir, there is no way that. . ."

Childs stood up abrupdy between the two men, facing his major. "Sir, may I speak to you outside, nowV'

Shane ignored the sergeant and began to finish his reply to Ellis when Childs stepped closer and spoke roughly. "It's important, Sir!"

Shane spun around and marched up the TOC steps, followed closely by the sergeant.

Ellis looked around the room at the other faces staring at him. He knew they felt as Shane did-he was ordering the team to commit suicide.

Once outside, Shane angrily turned around. "I'm not doing it! The son of a bitch can go fuck himself!"

Childs lowered his head and spoke quiedy. "He's right."

"No! No, Jerry, God damn it! You can't mean it."

Childs looked up at his major with eyes set. "He'll relieve you. He'll relieve you on the spot and order the mission himself. Believe me, I know. Ed, he's looking at a bigger picture than you and me. He don't see faces, he sees only statistics. He's got a job to do, a shitty job in a shitty war, and he knows he's right. He'll do it and he'll be able to live with himself after it's over." Childs stepped closer, almost as if pleading. "God damn, Ed, you gotta do it! We know those men. They're ours. With our experience we can plan out the mission, and they'll have a chance. If Ellis takes over . . . then it's finished for them."

Shane stared at his sergeant for a long time, then lowered his head. "Ellis may be able to live with himself, but how about me? How am I if I order that mission?"

Childs turned slowly and began walking toward the TOC steps. He paused in the entrance and looked over his shoulder. "How ya gonna live if you walk away from it?"

Childs stepped into the lighted room, walked to the radio, and sat down. He avoided the stares from the others by looking up at the hanging aerial photo map.

Colonel Ellis, still waiting, was about to speak to Childs when Shane walked down the steps and strode up to the seated Air Force liaison. "How much time we got?"

The Air Force officer quickly lifted his wrist. "Uh . . . one hour and twenty-one minutes."

Shane nodded toward the radio. "Jerry, call Foley and have him relay to Gibson he's going to hit the general. . . . Tell him to plan the hit to coincide with the B-52 strike. Other info will follow in fifteen minutes."

Shane looked into the surprised face of the Air Force major. "Get me a pair of Phantom-4s over the Stadium once the bomb run is over. Gibson will direct them if they're needed. And make sure others are standing by."

Shane turned to the Army Air liaison.4 'I want two sets of Guns orbiting a couple of miles from the Stadium. Once the bombing is complete, have them report immediately to Gibson for instructions. Have two more sets ready, and get two Slicks rigged with ropes so we can McGuire-rig the teams out if needed."

Both liaisons reached for telephones as Shane looked up at Colonel Ellis without showing any expression. "Sir, you better call Corps and make sure no paper-pusher denies or fails to understand the importance of these requests. I need first priority on every air asset this Corps has till this is over."

Ellis stared at Shane for an instant, then smiled. "You've got it!"

Childs finished his radio transmission to Foley as Shane yanked the aerial photo from the wall and spread it on the table.

"Jerry, give me the exact location of the team and the NVA camp . . ."

Sergeant Thong stood in front of the tired private and smiled. "You have cut enough wood for today, Nuu. Stack what you have cut by the hut. You will find a cup of cool tea on the first step for you."

The young soldier wiped his sweat-beaded brow with his shirt sleeve and began to offer his thanks when a signal corporal yelled out to Thong.

"Comrade Thong, you are needed!"

Thong walked to the terrain model where the signalman was standing holding two pieces of string.

"Old one, Colonel Sy wants you to place the string on your model to represent the phone communications wire we laid this morning."

Thong beamed with pride. Colonel Sy respected his skills and knew he would place the strings expertly.

The old sergeant had seen the signal team walk into camp earlier that morning holding the bamboo pole, unreeling the spool of commo wire. Thong took the first string. "Tell me now exactly the route of the wire team."

The signalman knelt at the western end of the model. "The Second Division Headquarters is located directly across the valley and five hundred meters into the forest. We ran the wire out to the edge of the open fields, then, to hide it, we skirted along the mountains to the north. It is along the path hidden by the trees."

Thong knew the trail. It was the trail they had taken to reach their present camp.

"And the second string?"

The signalman pointed to the ring of mountains to the north. We ran wire from the Thirty-third Regiment down the mountain to the trail and followed the same path to here."

"Is the Thirty-third still camped along the top of the mountain?" asked Thong.