"Okay, okay," he gestured, calming the four guards. "Just came out to take some fresh air."
He squatted down and ate. It was sunrise, and the sun was streaking the sky red and violet. There wasn't a cloud in sight. The helicopters would come for sure.
A couple of soldiers appeared, walking from the river. They came up to the guards and had a conversation in Shan. It was about him, he could tell.
One of the soldiers, a corporal, motioned to him to come. "We go," he said in English.
Bolan downed his tea and returned the mug to the Montagnard. Pancake in hand he walked with them across the bridge. In a field of grazing land, beyond the houses on the other side, the Shan unit was undergoing morning inspection prior to marching out.
There were several hundred soldiers, including two or three hundred riders. The riders were being inspected by Yeu. Bolan caught sight of Ty Ling in the front row, a man's raincoat over her shoulders, a wide straw hat on her head.
Bolan's spirits rose. He would get a chance to talk to her, to tell her not to lose heart, that he would not abandon her, that no matter what, he would rescue her.
But he was deluding himself, for as he approached the riders, Yeu rode to meet him. The corporal stopped the procession, and his sidekick poked the muzzle of his gun in Bolan's back. It was clear they did not want him to go any farther.
"Good morning, Colonel," said Yeu cheerfully.
"Good morning, Captain," Bolan replied. "I wonder if you could ask my escort not to poke me with his gun. It could go off."
Yeu spoke to the man in Shan, and the other lowered the weapon. "Done," said Yeu. "Any other requests?"
"I would like to say goodbye to Dr. Ty Ling."
"That, I regret, is not possible."
"Why not?"
"It is not possible, Colonel," Yeu repeated. "In which direction do you wish to go?"
"I am heading east," said Bolan. "But where is my horse?"
"Your horse has been requisitioned by the Shan Liberation Army," replied Yeu. Again he spoke to the man in Shan. "Have a nice trip." He touched the peak of his cap and rode off.
"We go," said the corporal.
But Bolan did not budge. He stood there with his eyes on Ty Ling, trying to decide how he could let her know he would return for her. He did not want to call out. It could antagonize the Shans who might decide she was going to cause trouble and have her beaten later.
The soldier behind him brought the muzzle of his gun up and pushed him with it.
So Bolan simply raised his hand.
In reply, Ty Ling gave him a wave, a sad, resigned wave, the gesture of someone who was not expecting to see him again.
Bolan's throat tightened. She did not expect to see him again, yet she did not ask for her money or jewels.
They set out on the trail in the direction of the rising sun. Walls of steam rose from the jungle. By noon the countryside would be completely dry, Bolan told himself.
So much the better, because with all that rising steam the helicopters could miss him.
Bolan was sure the helicopters would look for him. That was not the problem. The problem was that he still did not know in which direction the Shans were taking Ty Ling. He had hoped to engage the house guards in conversation that morning, but the arrival of the corporal spoiled his plan.
This pair was his last chance. He must not let it go by. He must get into conversation with them before they left him. Unfortunately, the speed at which they moved was not conducive to talking.
The two soldiers kept up a grueling pace, barreling up and down the hills like goats. The Montagnards can do this because they always walk on the balls of their feet to avoid jarring the nerve in the heel.
"Shoot me if you like, but I'm taking a rest," said Bolan. He sat down by a tree. "I'm not used to walking like Montagnards," he lied, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.
The soldier said something to the corporal. The other announced, "We take a rest. But not long."
"Agreed," said Bolan. He watched them squat down and light up cigarettes. "That was not nice of the captain to take my horse," he began.
"We need horses to fight," said the corporal.
"In Burma horses expensive," said the soldier. "Not like in America. In America plenty horses. Cowboys. Bang! Bang!"
Both men laughed.
"Have you been fighting long?"
"Me five years," said the corporal.
"Me three," said the soldier.
"A long time," said Bolan.
"Not so long," said the corporal. "Some men fight ten, twenty years. Shans fighting for independence since end of war against Japanese." He meant World War II.
"Where will you fight next?"
"What you mean?" asked the corporal.
"Where is your unit going to fight after the village?"
"We are not allowed to tell you," said the corporal.
"What about yourselves, where will you go when you leave me on the ridge?"
"We join unit."
So. They knew which route the unit was taking, Bolan realized. Now part two of the plan. He stretched himself on his back, hands clasped behind his head, and closed his eyes.
"No sleeping," said the corporal.
"Don't worry," said Bolan. "I won't. I just have a headache."
The soldiers went on smoking in silence. After a while the corporal called, "American."
Bolan ignored him, pretending to be sleeping.
"American, we must go."
Bolan did not budge.
The corporal finished his cigarette and came to Bolan. "Get up," he said, shaking him.
"Let me sleep," Bolan mumbled.
The soldier joined the corporal. Each took an arm and they pulled. "Get up!"
"Okay, okay," Bolan said sleepily.
Bolan's hands closed around their wrists as if to pull himself up. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, pushing and twisting their arms. The soldiers screamed in pain. It was ayonkio hold in jujitsu.
"On your knees!" Bolan snarled.
As they went down, he let go of the soldier and delivered a closed-fisted chop to the base of his neck. The soldier went out cold. Bolan disarmed the corporal and ordered him to lie on the ground, facedown.
He took a dah, a Burmese machete, and with an eye on the corporal, gun in one hand, he proceeded to chop lianas with the dah. He tied them both, then resuscitated the soldier.
They resumed the journey, Bolan walking behind them, holding the Sterling. Once again he was a free man.
"Where are we going?" asked the corporal.
"To the next ridge," said Bolan.
They reached it an hour later. Bolan found a nearby clearing and tied the Shans to trees. He prepared a bonfire with leaves and twigs, packing the inside with wet leaves so it would give off smoke. Then he sat down under a tree, the Sterling in his lap.
"What we wait for?" asked the corporal.
"My helicopters. They will come to pick me up."
"When will they come?"
"This afternoon, maybe. Or maybe tonight. We will wait until they come. And when they come you must tell me where your unit is going so I can get my woman back."
"We will not tell you," said the corporal. "If we tell you, the captain will kill us."
"And if you don't tell me, I will kill you," said Bolan. "I don't want to, but I will. I am sure you would do the same if someone stole your woman."
"We did not steal your woman," said the soldier.
"Yes, but by not telling me where she is going, you are helping another man steal her. Same thing."