Nark was on the verge of replying but changed his mind. Bolan was right; the mission came before friendship. He remounted. "Take care, John," he said and rode away.
Bolan tied his horse to a tree and went to the edge of the woods. Nearby was a large boulder, and he dropped behind it and waited. He did not have to wait long because they were gaining on them faster than he had thought, and for good reason. They had torches, and the woods flickered with light.
On the third horse rode a man with a pistol strapped to his belt. There was one individual who would have benefited from the Vietnam War, thought Bolan. Nam taught officers not to advertise rank by such telltale signs; the VC always fired on officers first.
Bolan counted nine men. As the leading rider reached the bridge, he sighted the officer. A flame stabbed the night, and screeching birds rose from the treetops. The ambush was on.
Bolan picked them off one by one. The ponies in the ravine milled as the riders toppled. The flaming torches that had helped the Tiger soldiers to catch up quickly now helped Bolan to kill them quickly. They lit the target, complicating Tiger's defense. To reach the rifles on their backs, the soldiers had to drop their torches.
But the horses were panicked by the torches flaming on the ground, which made it even more difficult for the soldiers to unsling their rifles.
When the ambush was over eight corpses lay on the trail. Over them stood a few dazed horses. The rest of the animals had gone back the way they had come, along with the sole surviving soldier. From behind the boulder Bolan observed the silent scene, lit by the dying torches on the ground. Not a soul moved.
Bolan shouldered his rifle and walked back to the woods. He mounted his horse and resumed his journey.
Chapter 7
Bolan and Nark reached the ridge overlooking the village late in the afternoon. One glance at the activity below told them something was up. An armed crowd milled outside the headman's hut, everywhere horses were being loaded with household belongings, and children were rounding up animals.
They dismounted and led the horses down the slope. That way they could descend faster. By the first house they came to, a woman was tying pots and pans to a horse already laden with bales of tobacco.
"What's going on?" Bolan inquired in Meo.
"Chinese are coming to kill Hmong," the woman replied.
"Why?"
"To punish the Hmong for helping white men."
"Who told you this?" Nark asked.
"Ask the headman," the woman said with a nod in the direction of his house.
They rode into the village past doorways from which women emerged, arms full. Piles of furniture and bedding lay everywhere. Pigs were squealing and hens were cackling. The entire village was preparing to move out.
In the square, men were loading a large crate onto the back of the village elephant. The beast knelt with the driver, the mahout, astride its neck. Nearby lay sacks of corn and rice for loading.
As they reached the crowd, the people parted to let them through. Faces watched them in silence, impassive. There was no hostility, but there was no friendliness either. The men were armed with muskets and crossbows. Where were the rifles they had captured? Bolan wondered.
They dismounted and entered the headman's gloomy home. The place was packed with people, the air thick with smoke. A shouting match was in progress at the far end. So absorbed was the audience, Bolan and Nark's entry went unnoticed.
"Did we not tell you?" a man shouted. "We told you not to have anything to do with him. We told you he would bring us trouble."
"You told me, you told me," shouted back a voice which Bolan recognized as Vang Ky's. "You told me many things. But when he offered you money you also accepted."
"Only because you vouched for him. You said he could be trusted. You said we would get the arms and money before we went to war."
"Pao is right," added a third man. "The agreement was for arms and money first. They tricked us."
"Why are you saying this?" Vang Ky retorted. "You know it is not true. It was the arrest of the first man that delayed the money."
"Who are these long noses, anyway?" broke in a fourth man. "I don't believe they are Russians. My son says they speak English to each other. He thinks they are Americans."
"Of course they are Americans," said someone. "They want to destroy Tiger for the poppies. Remember in Xiengkhouang? They were always after us to stop growing opium."
"Is this true, Ky?"
"Is what true?"
"That they are Americans."
A long silence followed. "Ky, we want an answer," the man persisted.
"Yes, they are Americans," the headman admitted.
On the rim of the audience, in the shadows, Bolan and Nark exchanged glances. The cover was blown.
"So, Ky," said a voice rising in anger, "you lied to us. You told us they were Russians when all the time you knew they were Yankees. Tell us, Ky, how much are they paying you to be their agent? How much for lying to your own?"
"Ky always did like licking American asses," observed someone.
"You'd better watch your tongue, Xan," said Vang Ky.
"Headmen, headmen," a new voice called. "We did not meet to exchange insults. We are here to find a way of saving the villages."
"You have a suggestion, Ly?"
"Yes, I do."
"Let's have it."
"What I propose is that we offer the Chinese a deal. As soon as the white men return we arrest them. Then we send a messenger to the Chinese. We offer the white men in return for peace."
Nark glanced at Bolan, alarm in his face. Bolan calmed him with a hand on his arm. Let them get their rancor out.
"And if the white men don't return?" someone asked. "Tiger is looking for them. They have patrols everywhere."
"They might be dead already," another suggested.
"They'll come, don't worry," said the man called Ly. "The one in the black scarf won't let Tiger get him, you can be sure of that. I was here two days ago when he polished off that squad out on the grazing fields."
"Yes, a real fighter," said Vang Ky.
"And lucky," Ly continued. "A man under the protection of spirits. He'll be back, you'll see."
"But we can't hand them over to Tiger," said Vang Ky.
"Why not?"
"We can't. That would be betrayal."
"Betrayal? And what is it they did to us in Vietnam? Was that not betrayal?"
Grunts of approval rose from the crowd. Ly's argument hit a nerve.
"Yes, it was betrayal!" A white man's voice spoke up from the back, loud and clear.
Faces turned and a buzz ran through the hut. An aisle opened and Bolan advanced to the circle of the stools. An empty one materialized from nowhere, and he joined the dozen headmen.
"Yes, it was betrayal," he repeated. "Politics is a dirty business." His eyes swept the assembled company. "As we all know."
At that the tension building up in the room diffused. Bolan could see his message had struck home. True, they had got a rough deal in Vietnam, but politics had its own rules, and none knew this better than the Meo. During their four-thousand-year history they had sold more allies down the river than anyone cared to remember. In politics, no nation is lily-white.
Taking advantage of the new mood, Bolan announced, "The arms and the money will be dropped after midnight tonight in the Valley of the Spirits. The drop has been confirmed." He turned to Vang Ky. "How near are the Chinese?"
"The Chinese will be here in four hours," the headman replied. "They are traveling on the Nam Tha trail. I have horsemen tracking them. We have reports every hour."
"Our homes will have gone up in flames before we see those arms," someone said.
"That is if we ever see them," threw in Pao skeptically.
Bolan looked straight at Pao. "Do I leave the room or do I continue?" he asked.
"Continue, continue," the others urged.
Once more Bolan turned to Vang Ky. "What is the strength of the Chinese column?"