Don Winslow - Satori

“Should we invite De Lhandes?” Nicholai asked.

“Yes, of course,” Solange answered, “but he must leave straight after coffee so we can make love.”

“Out he goes, then.”

She kissed him, long and lovingly.

THEY WERE ONLY fifty yards into the sword grass when the shooting started.

Turning to his left, Nicholai saw the line of Legionnaires come onto the dike, and to the far right of the troops he thought he saw a soldier with a vermilion beret directing their fire.

Signavi.

Nicholai lifted his rifle to his shoulder and returned fire, shooting to his left but moving ahead. The copse of trees was their only faint hope and they had to keep moving, for getting bogged down in the grass was certain death.

Quoc saw it and ordered a dozen men to form a screening line to their left to try to slow up the French advance and buy enough time to get the weapons into the trees. The porters were amazingly disciplined, not pausing to shoot, or drop to the ground, or even duck. They just kept shouldering their loads and moving ahead at a slow trot.

Signavi saw what they were doing, directed fire on them, and several of the porters dropped. The others strained to carry the weight, and a couple of Viet Minh lowered their rifles and took their places on the bamboo poles.

Two Legionnaires fell as the screening line came into action, and Nicholai saw Signavi direct a squad to his left, toward the copse, to cut off the Viet Minh. If the French got into the trees first, it was over.

He shouted to Solange, “Can you run?”

She nodded.

They took off, the saw grass slicing their faces and chests as they ran toward the copse, angling off to the left to block the French. Several Viet Minh joined them, and they ran through the grass as bullets zipped around their heads. One man dropped, and then another, and then it was as if they had disturbed an angry nest of hornets and the air buzzed around them.

But most of them made it to a tiny rise above a ripple of ground, and from there they could lay down fire on the flanking Legionnaires, forcing them to stop, drop to the ground, and engage in a firefight.

Behind him, the porters moved toward the trees.

Nicholai looked back to the dike and saw Signavi talk into a radio attached to the backpack of one of his soldiers.

No, Nicholai thought, please no.

He raised his rifle, sighted in, took a deep breath, and fired. The bullet hit Signavi in the high spine, and he clutched at his back and then fell.

But it was too late.

Only a minute later, Nicholai heard the plane engine, and then he saw it, but this time it didn’t drop low to strafe, but stayed high until it was directly above the rectangle of grass, and then it dropped its load.

Napalm.

The grass caught fire immediately, and a wall of flame rolled toward them.

Men ignited like torches and spun madly around, shrieking. Others seemed to simply melt.

Nicholai took Solange’s hand and ran.

The wave of flame rolled behind them like a fiery red tsunami from a nightmare. Nicholai felt it scorch his back and singe his hair as the intense heat seemed to suck the air from his lungs.

He pushed Solange into the trees.

Quoc was thirty yards ahead of them, waving them forward.

But leaves above him were inexplicably dropping. Leaves don’t fall in the springtime, Nicholai thought weirdly, then he saw that bullets were clipping them off the branches and at the far end of the copse he saw Vietnamese militia coming toward them.

We are dead stones, he thought.

The flames were fast coming up behind, the French rapidly working their way to the left, and the militia was in front and on the right. If we run to the front, right or left, Nicholai saw, we will only run straight into the guns. If we stay here, we will burn.

Surviving was not an option.

They had only a choice of death.

Quoc waved violently. “Here! Here!”

Nicholai looked more closely and saw a Viet Minh crouch at Quoc’s feet and then -

– disappear.

Into the earth.

Tunnels, he thought.

Our motherland will swallow us.

Sure enough, when he reached the middle of the copse, Nicholai saw small square openings. The Viet Minh were taking the rocket launchers out of the crates and handing them down the tunnel entrances.

“Come on,” Quoc said, pointing to the little square hole at his feet.

It was narrow.

Solange could squeeze through it, maybe Nicholai could.

“You first,” he said.

She balked. “I told you – I’m claustrophobic. I can’t.”

“You have to.”

He helped Solange get down into the square hole and watched as she wiggled her shoulder and made her way down. Then he looked forward to the far end of the copse. He could make out individual soldiers. They were advancing too quickly for the Viet Minh to get the rest of the weapons down the tunnel. Even if they did, they wouldn’t have time to cover up the entrances again, or escape in what could only be a vast and complicated maze of tunnels.

They would be trapped and caught.

Solange with them.

Quoc misapprehended his hesitation. “You are also afraid of tight spaces?”

Nicholai smiled, thinking of his blissful days exploring caves with his Japanese friends. “No.”

He pointed toward the advancing troops. “We need more time.”

“Yes.”

“Take care of her,” Nicholai said. “She isn’t one of your ‘ten.’ ”

“You have my word.”

Quoc quickly chose five of his best men and Nicholai went with them toward the edge of the copse. The gunfire increased, branches dropped on them, men fell. When they got to the edge of the trees, one of the Viet Minh bent over and opened a square of earth.

Then they lay down and started to fire across the open ground.

Nicholai felt a body fall beside him, then he was face-to-face with the blazing green eyes of angry Solange. “I said I wasn’t leaving without you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

She laid the stock of the machine pistol against her cheek and started shooting.

Diamond flattened himself onto the ground and peered through the grass at the copse of trees.

Nicholai Hel was trapped between the approaching flames and the rifles.

He hoped Hel chose the fire.

A harsh roar came up as the fire hit the trees.

Nicholai turned and saw them go, the flames climbing up the trunks and then igniting in the leafy branches with a hideous whoosh.

A Viet Minh ran from the center of the trees and signaled.

The weapons were in the tunnels.

“Time to disappear,” Nicholai said.

They crawled back to the tunnel entrance.

Solange balked, but Nicholai helped her and she squeezed down. When she was clear, Nicholai lowered himself into the hole, his wide shoulders snug against the entrance. It was a very tight fit, and for a few seconds he thought he might not make it at all. But his caving experience had taught him how to narrow his shoulders, and he felt Solange tug at his legs, and then he slid down the entrance shaft.

Four Viet Minh came behind them, and the last one pulled the tunnel entrance shut behind him. Another one gave his life to replace the camouflage on top.

Nicholai found himself in a small oval chamber that opened to a narrow horizontal shaft, just high enough to crawl into on all fours. Lanterns, apparently run off a generator, were hung every twenty feet, and although the light was dim they could see to move. He eased Solange into the next tunnel and crawled behind her.

A minute later, Nicholai heard the flames erupt above them.

It would have been a bad death.

“Are you all right?” he asked Solange.