Брайан Гарфилд - The Last Bridge

All of them looked at the newcomer.

Tyreen said, “I’m Colonel Tyreen. I’ll be running this show. Captain Saville explained to you what we’re after. You’ve had the opportunity to back off, and you’re still here, so I’m assuming you’ve all volunteered. It’s too late to quit now.”

McKuen gave him a restless grin.

Shannon showed no expression whatever; his lean young face was lowered, and he was considering the progress of an ant crossing the floor in front of his feet.

J. D. Hooker stared at Tyreen with instinctive dislike across the gulf separating every officer from every career enlisted man :

Sergeant Sun looked troubled. He fiddled with the tool in his fists.

Sergeant Khang smiled faintly; he seemed to find something secretly amusing.

Theodore Saville entered the hangar dripping. He nodded his big round face and took a post near Hooker at the door. Hooker had turned his head to stare at the two Vietnamese sergeants. He looked back at Tyreen as if he were about to speak, but his lips never moved, and presently he looked away.

McKuen, redheaded and rawboned, showed Tyreen a friendly grin and snapped a wooden match alight with his thumbnail to light his enormous cigar.

Tyreen said, “You’ll have to remember one thing. The United States will repudiate us if we’re caught up there. You understand that, all of you? If we get caught, we’re all civilians. They’ll execute us for spying, anyway, but don’t even give them your rank and serial number.”

No one spoke until Lieutenant McKuen got to his feet with one eye squinted against the smoke of his black cigar. “One thing before we start, Colonel.”

“Right.”

“About that airplane. Could you be givin’ us a few hours to patch it up? It’s in bad shape. Terrible bad.”

“No time. You’ll be flying south into Da Nang with that typhoon right on your tail, Lieutenant. Anyhow, I doubt you’d find any usable parts around here.”

McKuen said morosely, “I wonder if she’s insured. I looked at the bloody number plate — I’d like you all to know this crate was manufactured in nineteen thirty-seven. It’s two years older than I am. Colonel, this bloody aeroplane’s an antique.”

“That’s all right, Lieutenant,” Tyreen said mildly. “So am I.” He swept the others with a glance. “About oh-five-thirty hours we’ll be making a HALO-SCUBA jump into the Gulf of Tonkin just below Lak Chau. Corporal Luther Smith will be there to guide us inland. If he doesn’t show up, it’s your job, Sergeant Khang. We’ve got two jobs. First priority is an American captain being held for interrogation in Chutrang. After we get him and his exec out, we’ll have a try at the railroad bridge on the Sang Chu.”

McKuen arched an eyebrow and said, “Assignment for you, Mister Shannon. Capture Hanoi for us to keep them busy, while we search the rest of North Vietnam for the missing captain.”

“Okay,” said Shannon, “but you’ll have to wait till after I take a crap.”

McKuen said to Tyreen, “What’s the jump altitude going to be, Colonel?”

“Twelve hundred feet.”

McKuen pursed his lips. “If we overshoot the reefs they’ll be able to pick you up with a blotter.”

“We’ll just have to hope there’s enough weather turbulence to confuse their coastal radar.”

“Maybe they won’t pick up the chutes on radar,” McKuen said, “but they’ll sure as hell pick out the plane clear as day.”

“That’s why it’s unmarked,” Tyreen told him.

McKuen said, “There’s somebody I want to see in Honolulu right away.”

“Who?” asked Mister Shannon.

“Me,” McKuen replied.

Tyreen said, “Captain Saville has your chart coordinates for the drop zone. Get your engines warmed up, Lieutenant.” He nodded at McKuen. “I’m sorry we can’t do better for a ship. The old bird will have to do — and we’ll just have to hope the engines don’t fall off. Any other questions?”

Sergeant Hooker drew his heels together. “What about the Red security system up there, sir?”

“Tight. Plenty of patrols. There’s a ten o’clock curfew, and they’re likely to shoot anything that moves after curfew.”

“I’m due back in the States in two weeks,” said Hooker. “I’m real short, Colonel. What’s our chances — on the level?”

“Maybe one in ten,” Tyreen said, and held Hooker’s angry eyes.

McKuen was on his way out of the hangar. Tyreen said, “I haven’t got time to fool with toughs and heroes on this job. Given a choice we’ll run, not fight. Avoid a firefight whenever possible.”

It was all he had to say. He surveyed them bleakly. At the door, George McKuen grinned. “Anybody got a stick of gum? I may find a place for it.” He went out. Tyreen looked around slowly. Big Saville, cleaning his inky fingernails with a stubby pocketknife. Shannon frowning and J. D. Hooker frowning, each in his way — Shannon young, puzzled, trying to be as cocky as McKuen; Hooker tough, tougher than a man should have to be, with a streak of viciousness across his broad, rubbery face. Young Sergeant Sun rubbed the knuckles of his fist into his palm. He was a heavy-shouldered shadow under the hangar wall, his face half-invisible but for the shine of his little button eyes. Sergeant Khang watched Tyreen with almost a leer, somehow furtively amused.

Sour lines pulled at Tyreen’s mouth. He turned and spoke privately to Theodore Saville:

“McKuen will take a few minutes to go through his checklist. Let’s go over this.”

“How much have you got mapped out?”

“Depends on how far we get before we run into snags,” Tyreen said. “How about our gear?”

“Enough to weigh down a platoon. Weapons, food, radio stuff — the usual warehouse full of crap. I hope these kids have got strong backs. Parachutes and underwater breathing gear. I blackmailed half a dozen miniature high-pressure oxygen tanks out of a Navy supply officer. That cuts down on weight, but not a hell of a lot. But the tanks are only good for about fifteen minutes.”

“It’ll have to be enough,” Tyreen said. “After takeoff, check the men out with the scuba gear.”

Saville grunted affirmatively. “And one other item.”

“Demolitions.”

“At least you don’t act senile yet,” Saville said amiably. He began to look pleased, like a child when he has mastered a problem in arithmetic. “What can you get that’s small enough for one man to carry, but powerful enough to blow up a big steel bridge?”

“Riddle me no riddles, Theodore.”

“Got it from the Air Force,” Saville said in a satisfied voice. “Same as they put in the warhead of the Redeye missile. I forget what you call it, but a cupful will make charcoal out of a medium bomber.”

“Can Hooker handle it?”

“Hooker can handle anything that goes bang.”

Tyreen looked across the hangar. Hooker was watching patiently, but Hooker’s eyes were never in accord with the expressions of his lips.

Saville said, “You’d better fill in the lurid details, David.”

Tyreen prowled to the door and back again. “I guess we’ve got time.”

“Every silver lining has its cloud.”

A faint palsy touched Tyreen. He covered it with a lazy smile. “All right, let’s rough it out. They’ll be trying to grind up Eddie Kreizler, and we want to get to him as fast as we can.”

“Okay,” Saville said. “But you be the candle, David. You light the way.”

“We’re practically playing without any cards,” Tyreen said. “But it looks like this. We jump into the bay before dawn. Corporal Smith meets us on the beach and we head inland. If we’re lucky, we can steal a jeep or a truck. Otherwise we walk across the mountains, six or seven hours if we’re not held up. I wish we could parachute in closer, but the country’s too rugged for a night drop. There’s a—”