Don Pendleton: Tiger War

"I think we're safe now," said Ty Ling.

"You're quite a pathfinder," admitted Bolan.

"I told you I could be useful."

"I need some high ground," he said.

They rode to a ridge and dismounted. Bolan set up the radio and lit a cigarette.

From inside his shirt he brought out a cloth sack and gave it to her. It contained money and jewelry.

At the sight of her jewelry she gasped in surprise.

When she had given him the sack it contained only her money. He had told her not to take anything else, so they would not be encumbered, and she had taken him literally. But after she had gone to the wake it occurred to him that he had been a little harsh, so he added the contents of her jewel box.

"No point in arriving in Germany a refugee," he said.

She held out a diamond bracelet. "For you."

"I don't wear jewelry, but thanks," he replied with a smile.

"For your wife," she said.

"I don't have one."

"You may some day."

"I doubt it," he said. "I believe in it, yeah. I'm told that love over the years makes you live longer. But I'm not made for marriage. Thanks all the same."

Ty Ling handed him the sack. "Please keep it for me." She had no pockets.

They waited for midnight. On these missions it was SOP that when a man failed to answer a radio check, his partner went on a twenty-four-hour standby, turning on the set at midnight for five minutes, three days running.

"What point is there in radioing now if they left this morning?" asked Ty Ling.

"They were supposed to leave this morning," said Bolan. "That doesn't mean they actually left. Often extract times are changed at the last moment. The weather interferes or some machinery breaks down. Things seldom work the way they're planned."

A lightning bolt zigzagged on the horizon. A storm was approaching. Already over the next range they could see a mass of dark clouds.

"It is midnight," she said, looking up from her watch.

Bolan turned on the set, gave it a half minute to warm up, then pressed the talk button. "This is Phoenix calling Nark. Over."

The radio hissed silently. Occasionally loud crackling broke in as lightning flashed. But there was no reply.

"This is Phoenix to Nark," Bolan tried again. "Come in, Nark, or Heath or anyone else."

The radio went on hissing and crackling.

"What will we do if they have left after all?" asked Ty Ling.

"I don't know yet," replied Bolan, "We could take a train as you suggested."

"Or we could try leaving by river," said Ty Ling. "It might be safer and quicker. The trains don't run every day. We could go down the Tyak River. I know a village on it. It's not far from here. They might sell us a sampan."

"There's an idea," said Bolan. He tried calling again. No answer.

A bolt of lightning lit the sky, and this time they heard a rumble. The storm was approaching fast.

"We'll have to find shelter," said Ty Ling.

"Are there any villages in the area?" asked Bolan.

"Only the village I mentioned," said Ty Ling. "On the other side of the next range."

"Phoenix to Nark," Bolan went on. To her he said, "We'll have to get you some clothes."

Ty Ling wore a white silk cheongsam. In the Orient, white is the color of mourning. Now it was shredded from their ride. But even in a torn dress she looked like a million dollars, Bolan observed. Not only was Ty Ling a beautiful woman, she had class. She told him her mother, who died when she was a child, was a Chinese princess.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Five past," said Ty Ling.

Suddenly the radio blared. "Nark to Phoenix. Over."

Bolan started in surprise. "What do you know?" he exclaimed. He pressed the talk button. "This is Phoenix."

"Greetings," said Nark. "Where are you?"

Bolan told him his story. "What about you?"

The extract from Thailand had been canceled due to Thai air activity. The attack on the Tiger hardsite had raised something of a hornets' nest. Stony Man Farm had ordered them to cross the border into Burma where they would be safer.

"You still have the chopper?" asked Bolan.

"Negative," said Nark. "Damage was more complicated than Heath thought. That's why we couldn't come looking for you. What is your present position?"

"The name of the village," Bolan asked Ty Ling.

"Pegu," she replied.

"We're one range south of a village called Pegu," Bolan told Nark.

There was a pause as Nark checked it on the map. "You're only a day's ride from our location," said Nark.

"What time is extract?" asked Bolan.

"Control will advise this morning," said Nark. "They'll be sending helicopters this time. I doubt they'll arrive before nightfall. Correct that — Heath says they could arrive during the day. Seems we have an overflight agreement with Burma. But if you're not here we could pick you up. There's a trail."

"Okay," said Bolan, "we'll bed in Pegu for the night and head for your location in the morning. If the birds arrive before us, you'll come to meet us. Fly along the trail. Agreed?"

"Ten-ten," said Nark.

They arranged for radio checks and signed off.

Bolan dismantled the antenna. "The way things are going you'll be in Dusseldorf by the weekend," he told Ty Ling.

"And you, where will you be?" she asked.

"Home in bed sleeping," he replied. "After this I'm taking a week off just to sleep." He loaded the radio on his back and helped her to her feet. "How long will it take to get to Pegu?" he asked.

"Two or three hours," she replied.

They mounted their horses and rode off. Everything was going perfectly... so far.

Bolts of lightning illuminated the village. Several hundred houses, some on the ground, others on stilts, lay astride a bend in the river. A wooden bridge linked the two sides. On horseback, dripping with water, Bolan and Ty Ling observed it from a nearby ridge. The storm continued unabated, sheets of rain sweeping the countryside, trees creaking in the wind.

"Who are they?" Bolan shouted above the noise.

"Kachin," Ty Ling shouted back. A tribe of Montagnards.

"Looks all right to me," said Bolan. If there were Tiger soldiers around, he would have seen horses.

"Please, let's go," said Ty Ling, her teeth chattering from the cold.

They descended the slope and rode into the village, sloshing through pools of water, hooves sinking in mud. Bolan reined by the first house that looked big enough to accommodate visitors. He dismounted, went up to Ty Ling, and she slid into his arms. No point in both of them getting their feet muddy.

He kicked the door open on the Montagnard principle of your home is my home and carried her in. Inside was a large room with a beaten earth floor on which glowed a fire. They threw logs on the fire and pulled up stools.

A pair of feet shuffled from behind a partition, and a man in a nightcap appeared. He and Bolan exchanged grunts, then the Montagnard pulled up a stool and joined them. A conversation got underway with Ty Ling translating from Burmese to English.

The gist of it was that they were welcome to stay, and the Montagnard would sell them food for their journey as well as feed for their horses. He also would sell Ty Ling a black pajama suit. Everything would cost five dollars, which Bolan gave him.

Bolan went outside and led the horses to the Montagnard's stable, a roof supported by poles. He unsaddled them, gave them hay and water, and walked back to the house. The storm was finally letting up. On the horizon Bolan could see clear sky. The helicopters could come.

When he got back Ty Ling already wore the black suit. Her dress was suspended from rafters over the fire. On the ground lay two sleeping mats with blankets, and by the fire was a low wicker table with a bottle of tieu and glasses. There was also a plate of dried pig intestines to nibble on, a Montagnard delicacy.