Don Pendleton: Mission To Burma

Dai had suspected that, but he’d had to check the entire circumference of the fields regardless. The American had known that, too, and he would be using it to put distance between them. Dai’s snake-hand formation closed into a white-knuckled fist. He would take Lily Na while his men cheered him on. The Burmese bastard that was helping her would die staked out over a fire. As for the American…Dai snarled over his shoulder, “Corporal Khoay-Peng!”

Khoay-Peng snapped to attention. “Yes, Captain!”

“Do you have your needles with you?”

“Yes, Captain!” Corporal Khoay-Peng was the team medic, and an accomplished acupuncturist in both the little-and big-needle style. With skillful application he could relieve headaches, unlock muscles in spasm and cure any number of maladies. He knew the nerve meridians and energy channels of the body like the back of his hand. Khoay-Peng was also a master of the poison-needle tradition. The same skills that could bring the sick and injured back to health could also plunge a human being into an agonizing hell where they would regurgitate any knowledge they had to make the horror end. Dai had read after-action debriefings where the victims had likened the pain to having their living nerves drawn from their body and pulled through heated sand.

“The American will require field interrogation.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Dai turned away from the swamp that had swallowed Sergeant Hwa-Che’s bones. “Big-needle style.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Dai turned to his communications specialist. “Private Po.”

Po trotted forward. “Yes, Captain.”

“Set up the secure line. I need to make a phone call.”

BOLAN CAUGHT UP again far too quickly. Lily was sitting on a tree stump while Nyin puffed on a clove cigarette and then pressed the glowing tip into the gorged bodies of the leeches covering Lily’s legs. She had more than a dozen bleeding circles on her thighs and calves. Nyin surveyed his handiwork and then rose rubbing his hands. “We heard explosion, Coop. How many you kill?”

“I got four. Pretty sure three were Chinese, one was a tracker.”

“Good!” Nyin smiled. “Very good.”

Bolan turned to Lily and held up three pairs of sandals he’d found in the village. “I went shopping for you.”

Lily began sizing them against her feet. “I see I am reduced to peasant chic.” She chose a pair that just about fit her feet while Bolan cut her dry pairs of silk sock-bandages. “Nyin, you have any more ideas?”

Nyin chewed his lip. “Yes. A little way southwest is northern Myanmar railhead at Myitkyina. We ride on top of train and can jump off any time, and Chinese don’t know where we jump off. We lose them.”

“How far?”

“We can’t go in Myitkyina. Full of soldiers. We have to skirt city and then hop train. Say…twenty-five kilometers?”

Bolan clicked on his PDA. “Base, this is Striker.”

Barbara Price instantly answered. “I have you, Striker.”

“I need satellite recon and train schedules for every freighter heading out of Myitkyina.” Bolan glanced up at the sun and calculated. It was almost fifteen and half miles exactly, and they would be losing the light in a few hours. “I’m going to be there in three hours.”

“Copy that, Striker. Will have intel for you ASAP.”

“Striker out.” Bolan powered down everything on the motherboard except for the signal the Farm was tracking. He would have to change batteries soon. He only had two spare sets and he had almost drained the first within twenty-four hours.

Lily took a deep breath. “Twenty-five kilometers, cross-country, in three hours.”

Bolan nodded. There was no way to sugarcoat it. “You’re going to have to run.”

“So I suspected.” She sighed.

“I’m going to run you till you puke and then run you until you puke again. Then I’m going to carry you, and then Nyin is. Then we’re going to switch. We have to make time. We have to catch a train. We need to leave the Chinese eating our dust.”

Lily stood. “I am ready.”

Tom Marchant frowned as his phone rang. He had not been expecting the call. He turned on his voice scrambler and picked up the phone. “Variance,” he answered, using his code name.

Captain Dai spoke in Mandarin. “Variance, this is Tiger Fork.”

“Go ahead, Tiger Fork.”

“We have encountered unexpected resistance. We believe Miss Na and the American commando are receiving aid from local Western assets.”

Marchant rolled his eyes but kept his tone professional. “Impossible. I would know of any CIA assets in play.”

“We believe the American knows he has been compromised somewhere along the line. We believe perhaps he is receiving aid from MI-6.”

Marchant quirked an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

“We believe he must be a local MI-6 asset. The Ministry of State Security believes it is most likely to be a man involved in drug interdiction, probably in league with or under the aegis of Interpol. Can you be of assistance?”

“I believe I can. Though it will take me a little time. What is your situation now?”

Dai paused. “We have taken casualties. We are down to two trackers.”

Marchant stared at the map of Burma on his computer. “Do you require local reinforcements?”

“We believe the mission can be accomplished with the present force level. The enemy is leaving a fairly clear trail and we are gaining. Give me an update on their current position.”

Marchant poured himself two fingers of cognac and swirled the snifter as he watched the satellite stream on his computer. “They are currently 8.4 kilometers north of Myitkyina. Five kilometers south of your position. They are currently heading straight for the city, and slowing. They are paralleling the main road. I suggest you make all effort to run them down now. If they reach the city, they will have multiple venues of escape, refuge and perhaps even allies.”

Dai clearly didn’t like receiving suggestions. “We are making every effort.”

Marchant made another suggestion. “Who is your fastest runner?”

“Despite his age, Sergeant Cao.”

“You can’t afford to put your team on the road and be spotted, but send Cao. Send him with just a pistol and knife and in native clothing. Have him run ahead into the city along the road. If you fail to overtake the American on the trail, I will vector Cao in to intercept.”

Dai’s silence was stony, but it was clear he didn’t have a better idea. “I will dispatch Sergeant Cao immediately.”

“I will contact you as soon as I have the information you requested. Variance out.” Marchant killed the connection and gazed once more upon the map of Burma. He was surprised that the Chinese were having such problems with their quarry. Burma was practically their playground. English interference was an interesting gambit, but one he had a counter for. Marchant connected to another sat phone. An English-accent voice answered. “Hullo?”

Marchant spoke in English. “Morris, you dizzy bastard! How’s it hanging?”

Hugh Morris was MI-6’s head man in Southeast Asia, and he and Marchant had worked on some very successful operations together. “Bloody hell, haven’t heard from you in a while. Don’t tell me, you need another bloody favor.”

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