Don Pendleton - China Crisis

Kang called his sergeant. “Spread out. If the missile has been destroyed there may be a good reason.”

“Sabotage?”

“Exactly. I can’t believe the missile has been down for so long and has only just exploded. That traitor Kam Lee must have passed information to the group he was spying for.”

“Pity he died before he gave us any more information.”

Kang shook his head. “He died because he made us kill him. It was pure luck we caught him trying to reenter Guang Lor before we left. My suspicions were simply confirmed that he was the one working undercover.”

“And he had discovered the American circuit board was used in the missile? Passed it to his people?”

“A logical conclusion. Which is why they were heading for the crash site. If they got their hands on that board, it could cause Beijing great embarrassment.” Kang waved an arm in the direction of the WZ-11 helicopter that had flown in to join them from Guang Lor. “Sergeant, take command of the squad. I will fly over the crash site and relay anything we see from the air. Stay in radio contact.”

“Yes, Major.”

Kang took his seat in the helicopter. “Get this thing airborne. Take me to the site.”

Over his shoulder he instructed the door gunner. “If we see anyone moving in the vicinity, don’t waste time waiting for orders. Shoot. If we are correct and Kam Lee’s friends have been at the crash site, they have most probably located and removed that circuit board before sabotaging the missile. I want that board back. Understand?”

“Yes, Major Kang.”

T HE HELICOPTER MADE a direct flight to where the dark coils of smoke stained the sky. It took them less than ten minutes. The pilot took the chopper over the crash site. Looking down, Kang saw that there was little left of the missile. The explosion, powerful in itself, had also detonated what had remained of the missile’s fuel. The resulting detonation had torn the missile apart, scattering debris in a wide circle. The actual spot where the missile had landed had been turned into a blackened crater. Kang felt his anger rise.

Damn those dissidents, he thought.

They were causing major problems. If their fate had rested in his hands, they would have been rounded up and executed long ago. Beijing hadn’t been strong enough in its actions against the Pro-Democracy groups. Perhaps now they would admit the error of their ways and strike a harder blow against these people. The longer they were allowed to survive, the more popular they became among the masses. Hero status had the strength to increase their appeal.

“Take us lower,” Kang instructed the pilot. “Let’s see if we can spot any tracks. They won’t be on foot.”

The helicopter began to make wide sweeps, covering an ever-widening circle out from the crash site.

Over the next hour Kang and his ground troops checked and cross-checked the area. It was starting to reach late afternoon before they spotted anything. It was Kang’s sergeant who was the first with a positive report.

“Vehicle tracks, Major. Fresh. Heading in a easterly direction. By the condition of the tire marks they can’t be more than a few miles ahead.”

“Good. Keep moving after them. I’ll fly over and check ahead.”

D AR T AN SAW the helicopter first.

“It’s coming this way.”

“Military?” Hung asked.

“In this part of the country, what else would it be? No one else is allowed to fly here.”

“Try for cover,” Hung said, “before he spots us.”

“We may be too late.”

Cho’s remark was punctuated by the harsh rattle of a machine gun. A stream of slugs curved down from the pursuing chopper as it dropped lower to line up with the 4x4. Loy Hung watched, almost fascinated, as the line of slugs slapped the dry earth, moving closer to the speeding vehicle. Then the solid thump of the slugs hitting the ground changed to metallic sounds as they rose and peppered the rear of the 4x4. A startled cry rose from one of the team sitting in the rear as ragged slugs, deformed by the thin metal, drilled into yielding flesh. The man slumped across the rear floor of the vehicle, clutching his bloody side where the ragged chunk of metal had torn into his body. The 4x4 veered from side to side as the driver tried to escape the hovering bulk of the helicopter. The problem was the lack of escape routes. The foothills offered little in the way of substantial cover.

The helicopter dropped even lower, aligning itself alongside the 4x4. Turning his head, Hung saw the black muzzle of the 7.62 mm door-mounted machine gun swing around. He tried to shout a warning, but his words were lost in the harsh rattle of the machine gun. The heavy stream of slugs tore into and through the bodywork of the 4x4. Window glass shattered, shards hitting exposed flesh, Hung himself felt a sudden burn of pain across his cheek, then felt the warm stream of blood. The lurching 4x4 hit a rough stretch of ground, and the wheel was being wrenched from the slack hands of the driver. Only now did Hung realize the man had taken a number of the 7.62 mm rounds down one side of his body. He was slumped back in his seat, sightless eyes ignoring the hazards ahead. More machine-gun fire sounded, bullets clanging against the sides of the vehicle as it ran out of control. It made a sharp right turn, careering over a steep ridge, and bounced its way down a long, rocky slope, finally coming to a jarring stop at the bottom of a gully.

T HE GULLY was too narrow to allow the helicopter access. All it could do was hover while Kang screamed into his handset for his ground troops to locate the stricken vehicle. It would take them almost thirty minutes to reach the base of the gully, where they found the 4x4 and three dead occupants.

Loy Hung, Dar Tan and Sammy Cho were gone.

And so, too, was the circuit board.

I T WAS near dark, freezing cold with food or water, and Sammy Cho was wounded. He had taken a couple of bullets in his right side.

But at least they had their weapons and the circuit board.

Loy Hung hoped that was enough. They were alone in the foothills, being pursued by Major Kang and his squad, which was as bad as it could get. At least, Hung thought, the major was denied the use of his helicopter until dawn. The machine was of little use in the dark, so Kang was having to depend on his ground troops.

It gave Hung and his men something of a chance to stay ahead. Not much, but at least a little advantage.

“Loy, we have to stop,” Dar Tan called. “Sammy’s wounds are bleeding again.”

They crouched in the semidarkness, able to see only what the thin moonlight allowed. While Hung kept watch, Tan did what he could for Cho. Tan had managed to rescue the first-aid bag from the 4x4 when they had been forced to abandon it. The bag held only basic first-aid items, certainly not advanced enough to deal with two bullet wounds. Tan had used some of the sterile pads to cover the holes, then bound them in place with some of the bandage from a roll. For his part Sammy Cho made no sound, offered no complaints and managed to keep up with his partners.

That had been three hours ago. Now Cho was showing signs of slowing down. He kept stumbling and when Tan had a look at his bandage he saw it was oozing blood heavily. When Cho fell to his knees this last time, he couldn’t get up.

“You should leave me. I can hold them off for you.”

“So you can be a hero?” Tan smiled at his friend. “You’d love that. So all the girls can flock around you while you tell the story?”

While he spoke to distract Cho, his fingers loosened the sodden bandage. Peeling back the inner dressing, he saw that the bullet wounds had swollen around the entry points. They were still bleeding, too. Tan feared they had become infected. His problem was that he had little idea what he really needed to do. The bullets needed extracting and the wounds cleaning and sealing. For once in his life Tan felt utterly helpless.