Warren Murphy - Walking Wounded

"You killed him. For that I have killed many Americans. Now I kill you. Crackadill, bien?"

The American looked blank. Captain Dai swore. If only he knew the English word for "kill."

The Master of Sinanju freed the prisoners by a simple method. He found the hut where they were imprisoned. It was easy to identify. It was a little way from the others, and had two armed soldiers standing at the entrance.

Chiun slipped up to the back and with a fingernail sliced a low rectangular hatch out of the wall. He slipped in and invited the Americans and Amerasians to accompany him to safety.

"I am sent by the American government," he whispered. "Follow quietly. There is a submarine waiting for us."

They looked at him without comprehension. A ripple of expressions greeted him: doubt, suspicion, fear. They didn't budge.

Chiun nudged them with his lightninglike fingernails. The pain made the prisoners scramble out of the hut as if it'd been filled with swarming hornets.

Chiun beckoned them to the safety of the bush, and motioned for them to stay hidden. There was still the girl. Naturally, she would be the one who would make the rescue difficult.

Then he saw the black man, Youngblood, lumbering from hut to hut like a bear. Chiun rolled his eyes. Americans. They were like children, never staying where you told them.

He raced after Youngblood and saw Remo standing in the shadow of a building with his hands raised in surrender. A Vietnamese officer had him covered. The Vietnamese was babbling some nonsense at Remo. Chiun could tell by Remo's puzzled expression that he did not understand the Vietnamese's angry words.

"Remo!" Chiun called.

Remo's head turned. He looked frightened. "Hey, Uncle Ho. Give me a hand here."

Chiun hesitated. He was too far away. If he moved on the Vietnamese, there would be shooting. He did not want to lose Remo to a stupid little rock.

"If you harm my son," Chiun told the officer in his own language, "a terrible death will descend upon you."

"I fear no death, old man."

"I am Sinanju. That white man is also Sinanju. Think hard upon that fact," Chiun intoned.

"Hey, Ho, whatever you're telling him, better stop. He's only getting madder."

"This American killed my father," the Vietnamese told Chiun, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

"I think he's going to shoot, Ho!" Remo yelled.

"Remember your training, Remo," Chiun called sternly.

"What?"

"Your mind calls them bullets, but they are only rocks."

"I'm about to be cut down and you're talking geology."

"You fear the little rock only because your mind tells you to," Chiun went on, stepping forward carefully. "You would not fear a man throwing a big rock at you."

"I fear bullets," Remo said, his eyes fixed on the quivering gun barrel.

"Yes," Chiun said. "That is right. Look at the barrel. Do not take your eyes from it. Relax. Do not move until you see the bullet coming."

"Move? I'm petrified."

"Old man," the Vietnamese said, "tell this American for me that he killed my father, Captain Dai Ma Qui, and I will spare his life."

"Remo," Chiun said, "this idiot says you killed his father."

"Tell him I know," Remo said, his eyes so intent upon the barrel they almost crossed.

"He says he knows," Chiun said. Captain Dai fired.

"Remember!" Chiun called as he flashed ahead, but Remo did not hear him. The dark gun muzzle filled with fire and smoke, the bullet a grayish blot speeding just a microsecond before them. Remo's head seemed to expand. He was no longer in control of his body. It was moving on its own, moving with a deliberate speed that made the world seem to stand still.

The bullet sped toward Remo's chest. It seemed so slow. Remo jerked aside. The bullet passed him, not an inch from the front of his T-shirt. The sharp bullwhip sound of the bullet's passing was a sharp pain in his ears.

Remo batted the pistol out of the Vietnamese's hands before he could squeeze off a second round. Remo kicked him in the groin, and when he slipped to his knees, clutching himself, Remo knocked his shovellike teeth loose.

Chiun appeared beside him. "Sloppy. Bad technique."

Remo turned. "Are you kidding? I side-stepped a live round at point-blank range and bashed this clown's face in."

"Why do you not kill him?"

"Can't."

Chiun almost staggered. He braced himself against the building and placed a stricken hand to his breast. "Can't!" he squeaked. "My son, the assassin who cannot kill. Why not?"

"It's against the Geneva Accords to kill a prisoner."

Chiun blinked. "Against . . ."

Dick Youngblood came up behind them, an AK-47 clutched in his big hands.

"You got him, huh? Guess you'll want me to polish him off for you?"

"What do you mean?" Remo asked.

"I looked for your girlfriend, Remo. I found her." Remo's face went stony. His mouth parted. Nothing came out.

"She was in his personal interrogation room. Looks like he tortured her before he shot her. I'm sorry, man."

Remo's lips formed the name Lan. The sound wasn't even a breath. Woodenly he turned to face Captain Dai. Still clutching himself, Dai looked up at Remo with a face that possessed all the agony of twisting, hot metal. His rage radiated like spilt slag.

Remo reached down and took Captain Dai by his collar. He lifted him off his feet effortlessly. Captain Dai hung with his boots not touching the ground. Remo cocked a fist. His fist hovered before Dai's face, quivering as if all of Remo's energy was being focused into it.

When Remo let fly, there came a crack like a baseball bat connecting for a home run, and suddenly Captain Dai's head was no longer there. His sheared stalk of a neck pumped like a scarlet fountain.

Remo dropped the corpse. There was no sign anywhere of the head. Then, out of the, bush, came a series of noises like a coconut falling through heavy foliage. It ended with a soft thunk. Then there was silence.

Dick Youngblood disappeared around a corner and got audibly sick.

Chiun examined Remo's fist. There wasn't a mark on it. Not even a drop of blood.

"Better," he said firmly. "I thought you couldn't kill him."

"I remembered something."

"Yes?"

"The North Vietnamese never signed the Geneva Accords."

"Is that all?"

"What else should I remember?"

"We will find that out later," said Chiun abruptly. "Come. We must leave this place."

Chiun led them to the bush where the American POW's and the Amerasians were hiding. Youngblood cut off their questions and got them organized.

"Listen up. The old guy's gonna lead us out of here. Don't give him no shit. Got that?"

"We cannot walk," Chiun told them. "We must have a vehicle."

"I'll grab a tank," Remo said. Without another word, he disappeared.

The tank came lumbering up moments later. Remo's head stuck up from the driver's hatch.

When Dick Youngblood saw it, he started swearing. "Williams, you idiot!" he yelled. "That's the T-54. The cannon ain't real."

"Someone ran off with the other one," Remo told him.

"Well, it's better than nothing," Youngblood grumbled. "Let's hope we don't have to do no fighting." Those who couldn't fit inside the tank clung to the deck. Chiun took a commanding position in the turret hatch.

He pointed south and called, "Forward!" Then he folded his arms imperiously.

Remo looked up at him sourly. "Who died and left you in charge, Chiun?"

"I am merely pointing the way to the waiting submarine," Chiun said defensively. Then, reacting, he added, "Chiun! You called me Chiun!"

"Of course," Remo said blandly. "That's your name, isn't it?"

Chiun eyed the back of Remo's head wonderingly. Along the way, they came upon the elephant. The elephant was calmly tramping a circle in the middle of the jungle path. The circle was greenish and soaked in red, like a blanket that had been drenched in cranberry juice. Except that from the edges of the mushy patch human hands and limbs protruded. They did not move. They were attached to a communal blob.