Don Pendleton - Tiger War

"Everything going okay?" Bolan asked.

"Very good, Colonel," replied Vang Ky, his mood visibly improved. "The men are very happy. Plenty of guns."

"And the money?"

"Already divided."

Bolan watched him explain to a younger man how to use the pepesha.

As with most older Montagnards, Vang Ky was familiar with World War II Russian weaponry from the war fought from 1946 to 1954 between the Vietminh and the French in which the Montagnards sided with the French.

When Vang Ky finished, Bolan asked, "Can I have a word with you in private?"

"Important?"

"Yes."

The headman signaled to an assistant to take over, and they went back out onto the field. A plane was coming in for a drop. Bolan waited until the plane passed and the noise subsided, then he explained the problem and made his proposition. In return for a defensive follow-up, the Meo could have the Tiger gold.

Vang Ky considered it for a while, eyes on the ground, teeth sucking the air. Bit by bit his head began shaking. "No, Colonel," he said finally. "No good. If we must defend, we must be paid more. And not with gold. The gold belongs to the Hmong.''

"Not quite," said Bolan.

For the next quarter of an hour they haggled like a couple of fishmongers. It was a role Bolan did not relish, but he did not shirk it. As Bismarck once observed, three things are necessary to win a war: money, money, and money. And he who talks money by necessity talks like a fishmonger.

"Okay, Major," he said at last, "if that's how you feel, you can lead the attack yourself. Nark and I are pulling out."

The headman started, taken aback. A ruse or for real? He was well aware the Meo needed Bolan as much as Bolan needed the Meo. Without Bolan, the chances of them destroying Tiger were nil. Instead, Tiger would destroy the Meo. "Pull out?" he exclaimed. "You cannot do that!"

"You don't think so?" said Bolan. "Listen, Major, the whole point of attacking Tiger is to exploit their files. Without security they can't be transmitted. The attack becomes pointless."

Again Vang Ky lowered his eyes and sucked through his teeth. Again, his head began to shake. "No, Colonel, I still cannot agree."

"Sombaj, Major," said Bolan and walked off.

"Wait!" Vang Ky called after him. He ran up to Bolan's side. "Let us say I agree. Could you obtain immigration visas for my sons?"

Bolan stared down at him in amazement. You son of a gun, he said to himself. Talk about a horse trader. All the while Vang Ky had been building up to this. "That could be arranged," he said.

"Then I agree. A defensive perimeter in return for the gold. And visas for my sons. Shake?"

They shook hands, and Bolan went back to Nark.

"Well? "asked Nark.

"We're back on the rails," said Bolan.

"I knew you'd do it."

"Romeo one to Phoenix!" The voice was frantic. "Low-flying aircraft closing in from the south. Unidentified."

"I thought those gizmos were supposed to blind their radar," said a voice in one of the planes.

"Goddamned Russian equipment," spat another.

From over the ridge came the sound of jets. Two F-86 Sabre fighters roared over the valley, and Bolan caught sight of red-white-and-blue rondelles: Royal Thai Air Force. The planes banked and went into a tight circle over the valley, effectively blocking any further drops.

"Romeo one to Phoenix. Fighters demanding we identify. What do we tell 'em?"

"Stall them," Bolan replied. "You don't understand. Ne panimaiyu. In the meantime, what is status of cargo? Romeo one?"

"Clear."

"Romeo two?"

"Clear."

"Romeo three?"

"We still have to drop the mortar," replied the pilot of the llyushin.

"Got to have that," said Nark to Bolan.

"Not if it's going to cost us a crew, we don't," Bolan told him. "The moment he tries to make an approach, they'll shoot." Bolan jabbed the talk button. "Okay, guys, we'll forego the mortar. Prepare to split."

"Romeo one to Phoenix!" The voice was frantic again. "We're ordered to proceed to Oudon."

"Keep saying you don't understand in Russian and standby."

Bolan slung the radio over his shoulder and ran for the woods. He grabbed a Degtyarev machine gun, inserted a drum of ammunition, and ran out. He climbed the slope to a rocky tower and took up a position in the entrance to a cave, gun at his hip.

The Sabres were curving toward him, coming from the left. They went out of sight, and he heard them fly past behind him. They reappeared on his right, exhaust glowing. They curved once more and straightened out over the opposite ridge.

Bolan pulled the trigger and a line of tracers arched over the valley. The rounds came nowhere near the planes, but Bolan was not interested in hitting them; he only wanted to attract their attention. And attract it he did. The fighters zoomed and peeled. Two Immelmann turns followed, and they came shrieking down at him.

"Split, Romeo!" Bolan shouted into the radio. "Split!"

The nose of one of the fighters winked, and colored tracers from its cannon flew at him. Bolan stepped into the cave. It was a trick he picked up from the VC though they, he had to admit, were much more sophisticated. The VC pulled the stunt using artillery.

The rocky tower thudded under the impact of the projectiles. The planes roared over, and a bomb exploded outside. The ground shook, the cave blurred. A section of the wall collapsed, and the cave filled with dust.

Bolan ran out, coughing. There was a crater ten yards from the tower. As for the planes, they were banking, coming out of their dive. One left the valley, heading after a plane, the other prepared to pay Bolan another visit.

Bolan teased it with a burst and stepped inside. Once again, the tower thudded. Another bomb exploded. As it did so, the entrance of the cave flashed white and a blast of hot air swept the inside. Close!

Bolan ran out and tumbled headfirst into a crater just outside the entrance. As he was scrambling from it, the radio came on. Over the crash of static a voice was shouting.

"Fighter on your tail! Fighter on your tail! Look out!"

"Oh, shit," a voice said calmly. In the northern sky something flashed.

"Fire! Fire! We're burning! We're hit!"

"Pipe down," the calm voice told him. "Damage report."

"Fire in number four engine. Fuel pressure dropping."

"Phoenix to aircraft on fire," said Bolan into his set. "Can you make it back to land here?"

"We'll try," the calm voice replied. "Thanks for the invitation."

The sound of cannon in the sky sent Bolan diving into the crater. The Sabre roared over, the rocky tower flashed as if hit by lightning, the ground shook, rocks and dirt rained on Bolan.

When he finally got up, the tower was no more. Nor was the cave. Had Bolan gone back into the cave for the third time, he would be climbing the ladder to heaven, as the Meo put it so poetically.

A drone filled the sky, the Ilyushin was returning. From its starboard wing trailed two tongues of flame. Both engines were now on fire. On the field, Nark was supervising the clearing of the drop zone. The last crates were being dragged off by teams of ponies. Bolan scanned the sky for the fighters, but they were gone. Gone to refuel, which meant others would be coming.

"Romeo three to Phoenix," said the voice in the sky. "We're coming in."

The Ilyushin approached, one of its two remaining engines coughing. Then both fell silent. The plane lost height rapidly. It flew over the first bonfire, and Bolan could hear the rush of air and the noise of flames sounding like flapping cloth. The silver fuselage gleamed red from the bonfires. The landing gear was not extended. The plane touched down and with a crunching noise slid on its belly, raising a cloud of dust. It plowed through the second bonfire, a wing tipped, and it spun to a halt.