“How did the plane go down?” Flaherty asked.
“You don't have a need to know that,” Foreman said.
“What about the pilot and recon officer?” Thomas asked.
“The crew is assumed to be dead,” Foreman answered.
“Did they make any radio contact prior to going down?” Flaherty wanted to know.
Foreman's answer was abrupt. “No.”
“How did it go down?”
“We don’t know,” Foreman said. “That’s why you’re going there. To get its black box.”
“You say it went down last week. Why have we waited this long?” Flaherty asked.
“Because that's the way it worked out,” Foreman said. His dead stare indicated he wanted no further questions.
“How accurate is the plot of the wreckage?” Flaherty asked.
“It's accurate,” Foreman said.
“Who's the enemy?” Flaherty asked. “Do we fire up anyone we come across or do we run and hide? What are our rules of engagement?”
Cambodia was a nightmare of warring parties with shifting alliances. There were the Khmer Rouge, the Royal Cambodian Army, and of course, the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong.
“You won't make contact,” Foreman said.
Flaherty stared at the CIA officer in surprise. “That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.” The team leader stood. “These men are my responsibility and I'm not about to send them out on a half-assed operation like this.”
Foreman pointed at Flaherty. His voice was level and cold. “Sit down, sergeant. You will go wherever I want you to. Those are your orders and you will follow them. Clear?”
“Not clear,” Flaherty said, forcing himself to calm down. “I report to CCN, MACV-SOG, not to the CIA.”
Foreman reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He negligently threw it at Flaherty. “No, you report to me for this mission. It's been authorized at the highest levels.”
Flaherty unfolded the orders and read. Then he refolded it and started to put it in his pocket.
Foreman snapped his fingers. “Give it back.”
“I'll keep this copy,” Flaherty said.
Foreman's hand slid down to the pistol on his right hip. Dane was up, his pistol pointing at the CIA man's forehead.
“Whoa!” Flaherty yelled, more shocked by Dane's action than Foreman's.
“Tell your man to back off,” Foreman said, his voice under tight control.
“Dane,” Flaherty said, his tone indicating what he wanted.
Dane reluctantly holstered his pistol.
Foreman tapped Flaherty in the chest where he had put the copy of the orders. “You are mine for the duration of this mission. There will be no more questions. Your chopper leaves in ten minutes. Get to the landing zone.”
Castle had remained still throughout the confrontation. Now he pointed to the door. “Let's go.” The CIA man picked up his own rucksack and threw it over his shoulder.
Flaherty jerked his thumb and the team walked out. Flaherty felt the straps of his pack cut into his shoulders as he got close to Dane. “What's with you?”
“This is screwed,” Dane said. “Foreman's lying about something and Castle is scared.”
“Hell, I'm scared,” Flaherty said.
“Castle's more scared than just going on a deep mission over the fence,” Dane said.
“Maybe he's a cherry,” Flaherty said.
Dane just shook his head.
Flaherty knew Foreman was full of crap but the part about Castle being scared was news.
Dane stopped and pointed. Two Nung mercenaries, powerful looking Chinese men armed to the teeth, were watching them from the edge of the landing zone, their hands moving in certain gestures toward the recon team.
“What's with them?” Flaherty asked.
“Do you wonder why they had to get us when the CIA usually uses people like them?” Dane asked.
“Yeah, I been thinking about it,” Flaherty said. “But I figure now it's cause of the SR-71. Maybe they don't want anyone to know they lost one and they're keeping this American only. That's why we had to leave our little people behind.”
“I've never seen Nungs afraid of anything,” Dane said, “but those guys are scared. Those symbols are to ward off evil spirits.”
“Oh, crap,” Flaherty muttered as they continued to the chopper. “Just what we need. Evil spirits.”
“And they're not even going with us,” Dane noted.
The refueled black Huey was waiting for them, its blades slowly turning. RT Kansas, along with Castle, got on board and the chopper immediately lifted, heading southwest.
Flaherty looked at his map, noting the location where Foreman had indicated the plane had gone down. It was near the Mekong River, about a hundred klicks from where the river crossed from Laos into Cambodia. The map was mass of dark green and contour lines in the area. No sign of civilization.
Flaherty glanced over at Dane. The younger man was tense, his hands holding his M-60 tightly. Flaherty didn't know how Dane knew what he did about Foreman and Castle and the Nungs, but he didn't doubt that it was the truth. Dane just knew things, like he had known about the cobra at the base camp.
Flaherty knew little about Dane, only what had been in his thin personnel folder he’d had with him when he’d signed in to CCN six months ago. Dane never got any mail and he kept mostly to himself, not joining the others when they unwound by getting shit-faced at the CCN bar in their compound. But Flaherty had instinctively liked the younger man when he’d first met him and over the months that feeling had deepened into mutual respect.
Flaherty shifted his gaze from Dane to the terrain below. They were flying high, over six thousand feet and the landscape below was bathed in bright moonlight. Flaherty oriented himself, but it was hard as fast as the chopper was flying. He had no doubt though, when they came over the Mekong. The wide river reflected the moon and he could see occasional rapids. They flew above the river for an hour, then the chopper suddenly banked and headed west.
Flaherty felt a hand on his arm. It was Castle. “No maps,” Castle said, his hand on the edge of Flaherty's map.
“Where the hell are we going?” Flaherty demanded as the Mekong disappeared to the east. “The crash site you indicated is south.”
“Just do what you're told,” Castle said. “We'll be in and out in twenty-four hours.”
Flaherty gave up the map. He had hoped to leave this behind when he went into Special Forces: following stupid orders that could get you killed for reasons you would never know. Flaherty now knew that Castle and the CIA were playing secret games. They didn't want the team to know exactly where the SR-71 had gone down. For all Flaherty knew they might be going into China, but that would require another right turn and a long flight north.
They flew west for an hour. Flaherty had to shrug when Dane and Thomas wanted to know why they had left the Mekong so far behind. There was nothing he could do. They were under orders and they were on board a CIA bird.
Finally, Castle turned to them, holding up a finger. “One minute out. Lock and load.”
Flaherty looked out. The land below was triple canopy jungle with mountains poking through here and there. There was no sign of humanity. No roads, no villages, nothing. He took a magazine of 5.56 mm ammunition out of his ammunition pouch and placed it in the well on the bottom of his CAR-15. He slapped it to make sure it was seated, then pulled the charging handle on the weapon to the rear and let it slam forward. Then he placed the weapon between his knees, muzzle pointing down. He also took a 40 mm flechette round and loaded his M-79. He watched as Dane carefully fed a 100 round belt of 7.62 mm into the M-60 machine-gun, making sure the first round was locked in place, then attaching the canvas bag holding the rest of the belt on the side of the gun, insuring it could freely feed, yet be covered. Flaherty had seen plenty of grunts carrying the belts of ammunition across their chests or over their shoulders; he’d also seen plenty of those guns jam up as the dirty rounds fed into the machine-gun. The other three members of RT Kansas all gave Flaherty a thumbs up.