Pink and purple colors of daylight began to show on the horizon, just enough light allowing Stalley and James to get a clearer view as they half slid, half ran down the side of the hill. Finally reaching the riverbank, they searched frantically, looking in every direction.
Novak propelled himself through the water, constantly bumping into and pushing aside large and small pieces of debris. He suddenly pulled up, seeing what looked like a body almost totally hidden under floating palms and bamboo, snagged on the sharp, jagged remains of a pole. "Christ! No!" He stroked hard, until seeing the man was Burmese. He stopped and swiped water from his face, as he rotated his body, trying to see in all directions.
"There! Over there!" James shouted, pointing up the hill. He and Stalley started running, keeping their eyes focused on what appeared to be bodies.
Novak fought against the pressure of the water, finally reaching the bank. He crawled and clawed his way up the hill.
Grant, Adler, Diaz, and Slade were sprawled out midway up the bank, on their bellies, covered in silt, burned and jagged pieces of wood, palm fronds. Patches of blood had spread across their water-soaked camies.
"Are they alive?!" Novak asked nervously as he was running.
"Don't know!" Stalley responded loudly, as he and James frantically slung away debris. They finally saw signs of movement in Adler.
Novak rushed to him, helping him sit up. "LT! You all right?!"
Adler looked up at him through squinted eyes, as he wiped mud and blood from his face. "Yeah, think so, but my ears are still ringing." He pressed his hands against his ears, as he swiveled his head slowly, spotting Grant, Diaz and Slade still on the ground. He crawled closer to Grant.
Stalley was checking Grant's pulse, when he heard him moan. "Boss is comin' around!" He spun around and knelt next to Diaz, while he shouted at James, "DJ! Check Ken!"
"C'mon, Skipper!" Adler said, shaking Grant's shoulder. Grant rolled over on his back. Splotches of mud covered his face. Blood oozed from cuts. Slowly opening his eyes, he had a tough time trying to focus. Finally, he saw the familiar face leaning over him. "Joe. You okay?"
"Pretty much."
"The other guys?"
"Doc's checking 'em."
Grant held a hand toward Adler, who grabbed it and pulled him up. "Where're those kids?!" Grant asked, as he wiped blood trickling from a cut above his eye.
Adler looked over Grant's shoulder. "There they are." Almost unseen were the four boys, huddling together farther up the hill, trembling with fear. "Guess they crawled out from under us when it got quiet. What are we gonna do with them?"
"We don't have much choice. We've gotta take them back to the ship."
Grant's eyes went to each of his men, settling on Diaz, who Stalley was kneeling next to with his medical bag open. "Doc," Grant called quietly. Stalley stood, then walked closer. "What's the prognosis?"
"Think Frank might have some internal bleeding," he indicated by pointing under his left ribcage. "Might be his spleen."
"Oh, Christ!" Grant looked toward Diaz, who was in obvious pain. "What can you do for him?"
"I'll start an IV, then monitor his blood pressure. He's refused pain meds, but that may not last."
Grant rubbed mud from the crystal of his submariner. "The chopper's due at 0730. He's not gonna be able to make that trek, is he?"
"Best if he doesn't."
Grant patted Stalley's shoulder. "Okay, Doc. Listen, that was a helluva job you and DJ did on the hill. Good work."
"Thanks, boss." He immediately returned to his injured teammate.
Grant motioned for Novak, Slade and James. "You all okay?"
"Yeah. We're all good, boss," Novak answered for the three.
"Okay, Mike. You and Ken bring our gear across. We should have enough time to check it." The two men ran toward the waterway. Grant turned to James. "DJ, like I told Doc, helluva job on the hill."
"Sure, boss. You might talk with Mike. Think he may have had longest eyes on that chopper."
Grant shot a quick look across the waterway, seeing Novak and Slade, hustling out of the water, and onto the opposite bank. "I will, DJ. Thanks."
"What can I do now?"
Grant put a hand on his shoulder, leading him away from Diaz. "Listen, Frank's not doing so good. That chopper's due at the LZ in forty minutes."
"You want me to meet it?"
Grant nodded, as he reached into his chest vest, then handed James the map. "Take this, and get one of the radios. The chopper's call sign is 'Foxtrot 5–5.' You're gonna have to hustle, DJ."
"That's my middle name!" Securing the map inside his vest, James readjusted the small compass attached to his watchband, before picking up his MP5. He started running toward the water.
Grant called out, "Watch yourself!" James waved a hand high above his head.
Grant reached for his canteen and shook it. "You got any extra water for those kids, Joe? Think I've got enough until the chopper gets here." He looked toward the waterway. "Can't take a chance using the iodine, with the shit that could be floating in that."
Adler unhooked his canteen. "I can do it."
"Okay. Let's go. We'll check on Frank first."
If the chopper returned for a second look, the only secure place was over the hill. But for now, the kids were safely out of the way, where they could still be watched.
Twenty minutes later, Novak and Slade had finished hauling gear across the waterway. Gear was checked and rechecked.
Stalley went from man to man, quickly and efficiently cleaning, bandaging or using butterfly closures on wounds. Then, he turned his full attention to Diaz. As the rest of the men took defensive positions, waiting for extraction, Novak filled them in on the chopper's attack — and his return of fire.
Chapter 12
About 200 yards from where the shacks once stood, a creek branched off, flowing southeast, the same creek as the drugs were transported on. Fifty yards down the narrow waterway, a wooden boat was tied to a fully matured bamboo stem (culm).
Sonny Holcomb had stayed out of sight for over an hour. There was always a possibility the chopper would return. While choppers weren't the norm for Burma in its ongoing struggle for control of the government, gunfire and explosions were, as the regular army battled rebels.
What was it that made him decide to visit the prostitute, Kyi, last night? He'd been with her co-worker only three days ago. That should have satisfied him. But if he'd returned a half hour sooner, or never gone in the first place, he might now be dead.
He tried to sort out reasons for what happened, tried to understand. Whether or not there was still danger, he had to go investigate.
Drawing the revolver from its holster, he began walking cautiously through the forest, while he thought back to when he was maneuvering his boat along the creek earlier that morning.
He'd heard the sound of a chopper, immediately followed by a horrific explosion. Not long after, the distinct sound of a machine gun. He'd hastily rowed to shore, then pulled the boat under some brush. There he remained until it grew quiet. When he thought it was clear, he cautiously headed toward a secure location, well within the forest, just in case the chopper returned.
But that was earlier. This was now. He knelt down behind some brush, staring in disbelief. The shacks were gone. Boats were gone. Bridge destroyed. Broken, jagged pieces of support poles stuck out of the water. The force of the explosion had hurled debris across the waterway, now scattered up and down the shoreline. Everything — gone, all blown to fucking hell.
Suddenly, something caught his attention. Movement. The guards? Myint? Straining his eyes, he spotted several men, none he expected to see, all dressed in camies. And who else? Kids? They could only be the ones who worked for Myint! Something wasn't adding up.