Don Pendleton: Tiger War

"We go," said the corporal.

But Bolan did not budge. He stood there with his eyes on Ty Ling, trying to decide how he could let her know he would return for her. He did not want to call out. It could antagonize the Shans who might decide she was going to cause trouble and have her beaten later.

The soldier behind him brought the muzzle of his gun up and pushed him with it.

So Bolan simply raised his hand.

In reply, Ty Ling gave him a wave, a sad, resigned wave, the gesture of someone who was not expecting to see him again.

Bolan's throat tightened. She did not expect to see him again, yet she did not ask for her money or jewels.

They set out on the trail in the direction of the rising sun. Walls of steam rose from the jungle. By noon the countryside would be completely dry, Bolan told himself.

So much the better, because with all that rising steam the helicopters could miss him.

Bolan was sure the helicopters would look for him. That was not the problem. The problem was that he still did not know in which direction the Shans were taking Ty Ling. He had hoped to engage the house guards in conversation that morning, but the arrival of the corporal spoiled his plan.

This pair was his last chance. He must not let it go by. He must get into conversation with them before they left him. Unfortunately, the speed at which they moved was not conducive to talking.

The two soldiers kept up a grueling pace, barreling up and down the hills like goats. The Montagnards can do this because they always walk on the balls of their feet to avoid jarring the nerve in the heel.

"Shoot me if you like, but I'm taking a rest," said Bolan. He sat down by a tree. "I'm not used to walking like Montagnards," he lied, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.

The soldier said something to the corporal. The other announced, "We take a rest. But not long."

"Agreed," said Bolan. He watched them squat down and light up cigarettes. "That was not nice of the captain to take my horse," he began.

"We need horses to fight," said the corporal.

"In Burma horses expensive," said the soldier. "Not like in America. In America plenty horses. Cowboys. Bang! Bang!"

Both men laughed.

"Have you been fighting long?"

"Me five years," said the corporal.

"Me three," said the soldier.

"A long time," said Bolan.

"Not so long," said the corporal. "Some men fight ten, twenty years. Shans fighting for independence since end of war against Japanese." He meant World War II.

"Where will you fight next?"

"What you mean?" asked the corporal.

"Where is your unit going to fight after the village?"

"We are not allowed to tell you," said the corporal.

"What about yourselves, where will you go when you leave me on the ridge?"

"We join unit."

So. They knew which route the unit was taking, Bolan realized. Now part two of the plan. He stretched himself on his back, hands clasped behind his head, and closed his eyes.

"No sleeping," said the corporal.

"Don't worry," said Bolan. "I won't. I just have a headache."

The soldiers went on smoking in silence. After a while the corporal called, "American."

Bolan ignored him, pretending to be sleeping.

"American, we must go."

Bolan did not budge.

The corporal finished his cigarette and came to Bolan. "Get up," he said, shaking him.

"Let me sleep," Bolan mumbled.

The soldier joined the corporal. Each took an arm and they pulled. "Get up!"

"Okay, okay," Bolan said sleepily.

Bolan's hands closed around their wrists as if to pull himself up. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, pushing and twisting their arms. The soldiers screamed in pain. It was ayonkio hold in jujitsu.

"On your knees!" Bolan snarled.

As they went down, he let go of the soldier and delivered a closed-fisted chop to the base of his neck. The soldier went out cold. Bolan disarmed the corporal and ordered him to lie on the ground, facedown.

He took a dah, a Burmese machete, and with an eye on the corporal, gun in one hand, he proceeded to chop lianas with the dah. He tied them both, then resuscitated the soldier.

They resumed the journey, Bolan walking behind them, holding the Sterling. Once again he was a free man.

"Where are we going?" asked the corporal.

"To the next ridge," said Bolan.

They reached it an hour later. Bolan found a nearby clearing and tied the Shans to trees. He prepared a bonfire with leaves and twigs, packing the inside with wet leaves so it would give off smoke. Then he sat down under a tree, the Sterling in his lap.

"What we wait for?" asked the corporal.

"My helicopters. They will come to pick me up."

"When will they come?"

"This afternoon, maybe. Or maybe tonight. We will wait until they come. And when they come you must tell me where your unit is going so I can get my woman back."

"We will not tell you," said the corporal. "If we tell you, the captain will kill us."

"And if you don't tell me, I will kill you," said Bolan. "I don't want to, but I will. I am sure you would do the same if someone stole your woman."

"We did not steal your woman," said the soldier.

"Yes, but by not telling me where she is going, you are helping another man steal her. Same thing."

"We are soldiers," he went on. "We must obey orders."

"And I am a man," Bolan retorted. "A man has a duty to defend his woman. Is that not right?"

"We still won't tell you," said the corporal.

"We shall see," said Bolan. "We shall see."

A trio of dots in the sky, the helicopters flew toward him. As they neared, Bolan recognized them as a Chinook cargo and two Huey gunships. They flew in pyramid formation, low and slow, following the trail, obviously looking for him.

He ran to the bonfire and lit it. At first there were only flames, but as the fire spread to the wet leaves inside, smoke rose. Immediately one of the gunships flew ahead to investigate. It passed over the clearing and circled.

Bolan took off his shirt and waved it, mainly so they could see the color of his skin, in Asia the surest id of all. But the crew was not waving back. Something was making them suspicious. The side gunner panned his weapons as if he were shooting it.

The second helicopter joined in, and the sky filled with the clatter of blades. The gunner of the second helicopter pointed out something in the clearing to a man inside.

Suddenly Bolan understood. It was the soldiers under the trees. To the gunners it must have appeared as if they were hiding and that Bolan was the bait for an ambush. Bolan ran to the corporal and brought him out in the open, pointing to his tied wrists.

That did it. The first gunner held out a thumbs-up, the Hueys widened their circle, and the Chinook approached. It had been sitting out the inspection in the sky at a safe distance.

The helicopter came to a hover above Bolan, the shadow of its huge shape filling the clearing. Treetops swayed from the rotorwash. From portholes gunners leaned out inspecting the ground.

Bolan waited for the message container that would tell him where to proceed for the pickup. The clearing was too small for the Chinook to land. Instead, Nark stepped out the side door and sailed down harnessed to a rope. The Chinook was equipped with a winch.

"I have passengers," Bolan shouted over the din. He held up two fingers.

"There's room," Nark shouted back.

Nark took off his harness, then they cut the corporal's bonds and harnessed him in. Nark waved to the crew chief in the doorway, and the corporal sailed up like a package. The soldier was next, then Bolan, and then finally Nark. The helicopter moved off.

"Where's your lady friend?" asked Nark, taking a seat next to Bolan on the side canvas bench.