Robert looked down the trail, seeing only vegetation at first. “Britta, where are you?”
“Down this way. I’m tangled up in a bunch of tin cans or something.”
“Oh, God! DON’T MOVE!” Dan yelled. “BRITTA? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? DO NOT MOVE A MUSCLE. DO NOT TRY TO GET YOURSELF UNTANGLED, UNDERSTAND?”
Dan leaned close to Robert and Steve. “Listen to me very, very carefully. I should have warned us all not to get on anything that looks like a trail. This country, and this area in particular, was lousy with Vietcong booby traps during the war. Some of them are still here.”
“Jeez!” Steve said.
“You’ve… got to guide me closer to her,” Dan said, “and then describe in minute detail what we’ve got. Let’s get everyone away from this path. Go around it, and carefully penetrate the wall of the trail adjacent to where she is.”
“DAN?” Britta was calling.
“HOLD ON, BRITTA. STAY PERFECTLY STILL.”
“YOU’RE SCARING ME, DAN,” she replied.
“Steve, you stay here,” Robert said, watching the flash of anger on Steve’s face as he released the copilot to Robert’s care.
Robert guided Dan carefully away from the trail Britta had found. “Dan, I can see her through the ferns now,” Robert said.
“Carefully part the ferns, but if you see any wires or anything man-made, don’t touch them.” Dan could hear Robert reach out and rustle the plants slightly.
“I’ve got a good view now,” Robert said. “She’s only about eight feet away, standing in the clutch of a banana tree, her shoulders and arms dripping with a tangle of what appears to be just some old Coke cans.”
“Worst case!” Dan muttered under his breath. “Okay, Robert. Look closely. Are there bottoms on those cans, or are they cut off?”
Robert looked carefully before answering. “The bottoms look open.”
Britta was watching them from across the trail. “What have I gotten tangled up in, fellows? Please! You’re really scaring me now,” she said softly, watching the expression on Dan’s face.
“Stay still, Britta. I’ll explain in a second. Just, for God’s sake; do — not — move.”
“Dan,” Robert reported, “the cans are all connected by some sort of cord.”
Dan shook his head. “And each can has the bottom and top cut out, and each is connected to the others, right?”
“That’s right. What are they?”
“Any one of those could blow her apart,” Dan said, too low for Britta to hear.
“Come on, what are you men saying over there?” Britta snapped.
“Britta, stay still!” Dan commanded. “Don’t talk unless I ask you something. Whatever you do, do NOT move a muscle. Move your lips and face as little as possible, okay?”
Britta’s eyes grew huge, darting all around her as she tried to speak without moving her mouth. “What… what’s wrong? What are these things?”
Dan was breathing rapidly, trying to figure out how to handle it without being able to see. He turned to Robert. “Everyone must stay back at least twenty yards.”
Robert relayed the command.
“Okay,” Dan said, “first, without moving your head, Britta… can you glance through the open top of any of the cans? DO NOT NOD. I can’t see the gesture anyway. Just do it, and tell me what you see.”
“Well… there’s something in there that looks metallic and bronze, and it has something clipped to the top of it. Some mechanism.”
“Do those seem heavy?”
“Yes. Very.”
He nodded, taking a deep breath, his mind racing. “Britta, you’ve blundered into what’s left of an old Vietcong booby trap, probably from 1969. The brown things in each can are hand grenades.”
“Oh, God!” she said, flinching slightly. “How do I get them off of me?”
Dan held up his hands. “Stay frozen! That’s the first rule. That’s called a daisy chain. The grenades are”—he tried to slow his breathing—“delicately suspended in there with the pins pulled. As long as they don’t fall out of the cans, we’re safe, but… there’s a big trip wire around here somewhere and a bent-over tree that’s connected to it.”
“I don’t understand!”
“They were… designed to kill our troops, Britta. Some poor lieutenant would come down the trail leading his patrol, thinking he was taking the greatest risk by being in the lead. He’d hit the trip wire, yanking out the little strings holding the grenades in the cans. They’d all fall down along the trail at the feet of his soldiers, and before anyone could react, the poor guy had lost up to a dozen of his men.”
“Are they still… deadly?”
“Britta, we’re going to get you out of there, but yes. Any one could kill you.”
“Oh, God!” Britta swallowed hard.
“This trap is old, Britta. That means it’s even more dangerous. It will have deteriorated, but the grenades will still be lethal.”
“Can’t I just take these off?”
“NOT YET! We’re going to need to study it for a second. We’ve… got to make sure we don’t hit the trip wire getting to you. Especially now that we’ve disturbed it. It’s sat here for decades without going off, but now that the apparatus has been disturbed, it could be a hair trigger.”
“What do we do?” Robert asked.
Dan was still breathing hard. He gripped Robert MacCabe’s shoulder. “I… don’t know how I can ask you to risk your life, but I can do nothing without seeing.”
“Forget that!” Robert commanded. “I’m responsible for getting all of you into this, and I’ll do whatever I can to get you out.”
The words stopped Dan for a second, but he recovered and continued.
“All right. Let me describe this in great detail… then you tell her what you’re going to do. Basically, it’s two things. First, you have to make sure you don’t hit the master trip wire getting to her. That means slow, deliberate movements across the trail. No sudden footfalls. Second, you have to… cup your hand under each can so the grenade can’t come out. Then cut the can loose, being… absolutely certain that the action won’t cause another to drop. Then you place each can gently on the ground. If the grenade doesn’t come out, it simply can’t explode. Okay so far?”
Robert nodded, his mouth as dry as cotton. He was familiar with grenades and mines and much of the killing paraphernalia that armies used, but since he had never been trained as a military man, manipulating such things was something entirely different. He felt the perspiration beading up on his forehead as Dan walked him through all the things he could think of that might help avoid a fatal mistake.
“Okay, Britta,” Dan said, “now, I’m going to turn you over to Robert. I’ve told him everything he needs to know.”
“Can you, ah, hear me, Britta?” Robert MacCabe asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay. First, I’m going to move very slowly toward you.”
“Please be careful.”
“I’m going to.” Robert stopped to look at her and saw huge tears running down her cheeks. “I’m going to get you out of this, Britta. It’s going to be okay.”
“I… I don’t want to die, Robert.”
He shook his head vigorously. “You’re not going to die. Stay calm and still.” He gingerly moved his foot up and forward in an exaggerated, slow arc, carefully testing the foothold before shifting his body weight.
“Robert?” she called. “Dan? Something’s stinging me on the back.”
“Bear with it, Britta. Don’t flinch!” Dan called out. “But speak only to Robert. I’m here, too. We mustn’t jostle those cans.”
Robert could see Britta’s face contorting in pain. “Is it bad?” he asked.
“Yes. Maybe a scorpion or something, but I can stand it.”
There was a rustling in the leaves behind her. “Britta, are you moving?”