Don Pendleton: Tiger War

"Take off your suit," said Ty Ling. "You'll catch cold."

Bolan undressed in the shadows. He wrapped himself in a blanket and joined her by the fire. She took his suit and, using a pole, hung it from the rafters.

"What about your socks and underwear?" she asked.

"They're on the mat," he said.

"They have to dry, too," she said. She fetched them and hung them up in turn. She resumed her seat by the fire, poured a glass of tieu, and handed it to Bolan.

He took the glass. "What about you?" he said.

"I don't drink," she replied. She held out the plate of dried food.

Bolan took a handful and munched. It was delicious. He chased it down with the whiskey. "Who's our host? "he asked.

"His name is Alosak," said Ty Ling. "He's got three wives. Each has a house. He rotates a week with each wife." She took a piece of dried food. "What do you think of polygamy?"

Bolan smiled. "Never having been married I don't have an opinion."

"I once had a Montagnard patient who had four wives," said Ty Ling. "This was at the hospital in Mandalay. He said it worked out very well. The wives fought each other and left him in peace." Ty Ling gave Bolan one of her scrutinizing looks. "I'm surprised no woman has hooked you yet."

"I wouldn't be much of a husband," said Bolan. "Always away."

"I don't know," mused Ty Ling, surveying him. She was about to say something, then changed her mind. She refilled his empty glass. "Where will the helicopters take us?"

"Indian Ocean, probably," said Bolan. "We have an island base in the Bay of Bengal. From there we'll take a plane. Most likely it will stop in Frankfurt to refuel. You can fly on from there to Dusseldorf. Only a hundred and twenty miles from Frankfurt."

"I've never been to Germany," said Ty Ling. "Gunther says..." She stopped, seeing Bolan's raised hand.

From outside the door came the sound of feet and hooves sloshing through water and mud. They could also hear the sound of webbing, buckles and metal. It sounded like an army on the march.

The Montagnard appeared from behind the partition. All three listened to the column march by. The sound receded, and Bolan asked the Montagnard to find out who they were. While their host investigated, Bolan dressed.

The Montagnard returned a quarter of an hour later. Ty Ling translated for Bolan. The column was a unit of the Shans. They had stopped for the night in the village on the other side of the river. Some men were wounded.

"I'm going over," said Ty Ling.

"I'll come with you," said Bolan.

"No," said Ty Ling firmly. "Better if they don't see you. They could take you for an Englishman. The English have advisers helping the Burmese fight the Shans. Get some rest," she said, going out with the Montagnard.

Bolan went back to the fire. A bossy woman if ever there was one. But that was typical of Oriental women. Outwardly docile, behind the scenes they could be slave drivers. Gunther was going to have his life cut out from A to Z, he reflected.

Stretched out on a mat, he was dozing off when the Montagnard returned. But Ty Ling was not with him. Instead, there entered a tall, intelligent-looking individual in a camouflage uniform topped by a gaung poung, the traditional Burmese head scarf.

Four soldiers crossed the threshold after him, all four armed with British Sterling submachine guns. Two carried lanterns, two had their weapons in hand, though the muzzles were pointed at the ground.

"Good evening," said the individual in Oxford-accented English. "I am Captain Yeu of the Shan Liberation Army. I understand you're an American."

"Yes, I am," said Bolan.

"Your name?"

"John Phoenix. Colonel."

"I won't ask what you are doing here," the captain began. "I really don't care. I have come to tell you that Dr. Ty Ling will not be leaving with you in the morning. Our doctor has been killed, and we are requisitioning her services for the duration of the campaign."

"You can't do that," said Bolan.

"Really?" said the captain, amused.

"I promised to take Dr. Ty Ling with me," said Bolan.

"Too bad, isn't it?"

"I intend to keep my promise."

An annoyed expression crossed the captain's face. "Look, Colonel, I'm trying to be nice about this. You're an American and we have nothing against Americans. If you were English I would simply have you shot. Let's settle our differences in a civilized manner, shall we?" He held out his hand. "Your gun belt, please."

At that, the two muzzles rose.

There are times when discretion is the better part of valor, and Bolan chose this to be one of them. He unbuckled his belt and handed it over. The captain passed it to one of the soldiers and spoke in Shan. Another soldier held up a lantern and inspected the room. The AK-74 and the radio went the way of the gun belt.

"I need my radio to get out of the country," said Bolan.

"Or perhaps to tip off the Burmese," said the captain. "You should consider yourself lucky we're letting you go alive, Colonel."

Bolan smiled easily.

"Your protest is noted," the captain acknowledged sarcastically. "Meanwhile, I advise you not to try any heroics. There will be four men on guard outside. You'll be escorted out of the village at daybreak." He opened the door. "Good night."

Good night but not goodbye, thought Bolan, watching him leave. No way am I leaving Burma without Ty Ling. A promise is a promise.

In the morning he was awakened by the crowing of cocks. Light filtered through cracks in the mat walls. The household was already up. They served him pancakes and tea, which he took outside to eat. As soon as he stepped through the door, bolts snapped.

"Okay, okay," he gestured, calming the four guards. "Just came out to take some fresh air."

He squatted down and ate. It was sunrise, and the sun was streaking the sky red and violet. There wasn't a cloud in sight. The helicopters would come for sure.

A couple of soldiers appeared, walking from the river. They came up to the guards and had a conversation in Shan. It was about him, he could tell.

One of the soldiers, a corporal, motioned to him to come. "We go," he said in English.

Bolan downed his tea and returned the mug to the Montagnard. Pancake in hand he walked with them across the bridge. In a field of grazing land, beyond the houses on the other side, the Shan unit was undergoing morning inspection prior to marching out.

There were several hundred soldiers, including two or three hundred riders. The riders were being inspected by Yeu. Bolan caught sight of Ty Ling in the front row, a man's raincoat over her shoulders, a wide straw hat on her head.

Bolan's spirits rose. He would get a chance to talk to her, to tell her not to lose heart, that he would not abandon her, that no matter what, he would rescue her.

But he was deluding himself, for as he approached the riders, Yeu rode to meet him. The corporal stopped the procession, and his sidekick poked the muzzle of his gun in Bolan's back. It was clear they did not want him to go any farther.

"Good morning, Colonel," said Yeu cheerfully.

"Good morning, Captain," Bolan replied. "I wonder if you could ask my escort not to poke me with his gun. It could go off."

Yeu spoke to the man in Shan, and the other lowered the weapon. "Done," said Yeu. "Any other requests?"

"I would like to say goodbye to Dr. Ty Ling."

"That, I regret, is not possible."

"Why not?"

"It is not possible, Colonel," Yeu repeated. "In which direction do you wish to go?"

"I am heading east," said Bolan. "But where is my horse?"

"Your horse has been requisitioned by the Shan Liberation Army," replied Yeu. Again he spoke to the man in Shan. "Have a nice trip." He touched the peak of his cap and rode off.