The Marines were lightly loaded as they filed aft. Quite a few sailors were there to watch them. Albie and Irvin counted them off as they headed out onto the flight deck, directing them to their choppers.
The last sailors in line were Maxwell and Podulski. Both were wearing their oldest and most disreputable khakis, shirts and pants they'd worn in command at sea, things associated with good memories and good luck. Even admirals were superstitious. For the first time the Marines saw that the pale Admiral - that's how they thought of him - had the Medal of Honor. The ribbon caught many glances, and quite a few nods of respect that his tense face acknowledged.
'All ready, Captain?' Maxwell asked.
'Yes, sir,' Albie replied calmly over his nervousness. Showtime. 'See you in about three hours.'
'Good hunting.' Maxwell stood ramrod-straight and saluted the younger man.
'They look pretty impressive,' Ritter said. He, too, was wearing khakis, just to fit in with the ship's wardroom. 'Oh, Jesus, I hope this works.'
'Yeah,' James Greer breathed as the ship turned to align herself with the wind. Deck crewmen with lighted wands went to both troop carriers to guide their take-offs, and then, one by one, the big Sikorskys lifted off, steadying themselves in the burble and turning west towards land and the mission. 'It's in their hands now.'
'Good kids, James,' Podulski said.
'That Clark guy is pretty impressive, too. Smart,' Ritter observed. 'What's he do in real life?'
'I gather he's sort of at odds at the moment. Why?'
'We always have room for a guy who can think on his feet. The boy's smart,' Ritter repeated as all headed back to CIC. On the flight deck, the Cobra crews were doing their final preflight checks. They'd get off in forty-five minutes.
'snake, this is cricket. Time check is nominal. Acknowledge.'
'Yes!' Kelly said aloud - but not too loud. He tapped three long dashes on his radio, getting two back. Ogden had just announced that the mission was now running and copied his acknowledgment. 'Two hours to freedom, guys,' he told the prisoners in the camp below. That the event would be less liberating for the other people in the camp was not a matter of grave concern.
Kelly ate his last ration bar, sliding all the wrappers and trash into the thigh pockets of his fatigues. He moved from his hiding place. It was dark now, and he could afford to. Reaching back in, he tried to erase the marks of his presence. A mission like this might be tried again, after all, and why let the other side know anything about how it had happened? The tension finally reached the point that he had to urinate. It was almost funny, and made him feel like a little kid, though he'd drunk half a gallon of water that day.
Thirty minutes' flying time to the first LZ, thirty more for the approach. When they crest the far hill, I go into live contact with them to control the final approach. Let's get it on.
'Shifting fire right. Target Hotel in sight,' Skelly reported. 'Range... nine-two-five-zero.' The guns thundered once more. One of the hundred-millimeter gun mounts was actually firing at them, now. The crew had watched Newport News immolate the rest of their antiaircraft battalion and, unable to desert their guns, they were trying, at least, to fire back and wound the monster that was hovering off their coastline.
'There's the helos,' the XO said at his post in CIC. The blips on the main radar display crossed the coast right over where Targets Alfa and Bravo had been. He lifted the phone.
'Captain here.'
'XO here, sir. The helos are feet-dry, going right up the corridor we made them.'
'Very well. Prepare to stand-down the fire mission. We'll be HIFR-ing those helos in thirty minutes. Keep a very sharp eye on that radar, X.'
'Aye, sir.'
'Jesus,' a radar operator observed. 'What's going on here?'
'First we shoot their ass,' his neighbor opined, 'then we invade their ass.'
Only minutes now until the Marines were on the ground. The rain remained steady though the wind had died down.
Kelly was in the open now. It was safe. He wasn't skylined. There was ample flora behind him. All of his clothing and exposed skin was colored to blend in. His eyes were sweeping everywhere, searching for danger, for something unusual, finding nothing. It was muddy as hell. The wet and the red clay of these miserable hills was part of him now, through the fabric of his uniform, into every pore.
Ten minutes out from the LZ. The distant thunder from the coast continued sporadically, and its very continuance made it less of a danger. It sounded even more like thunder now, and only Kelly knew that it was the eight-inch guns of a ship of war. He sat back, resting his elbows on his knees, sweeping the glasses over the camp. Still no lights. Still no movement. Death was racing towards them and they didn't know. He was concentrating so much with his eyes that he almost neglected his ears.
It was hard to pick it out through the rain: a distant rumble, low and tenuous, but it didn't fade. It grew in intensity. Kelly lifted his head from the eyepieces, turning, his mouth open, trying to figure it out.
Motors.
Truck motors. Well, okay, there was a road not too far away -no, themaim road is too far... other direction.
A supply truck maybe. Delivering food and mail.
More than one.
Kelly moved to the top of the hill, leaning against a tree, looking down to where this spur of a dirt road reached out to the one that traced the north bank of the river. Movement. He put the glasses on it.
Truck... two...three... four... oh, my God...
They had lights on - just slits, the headlights taped over. That meant military trucks. The lights of the second gave some illumination to the first. People in the back, lined on both sides.
Soldiers.
Wait, Johnnie-boy, don't panic. Take your time... maybe...
They turned around the base of Snake Hill. A guard in one of the towers shouted something. The call was relayed. Lights came on in the officers' quarters. Somebody came out, probably the Major, not dressed, shouting a question.
The first truck stopped at the gate. A man got out and roared for somebody to open it. The other truck stopped behind it. Soldiers dismounted. Kelly counted... ten... twenty... thirty... more... but it wasn't the number. It was what they started to do.
He had to look away. What more would fate take away from him? Why not just take his life and be done with it? But it wasn't just his life that fate was interested in. It never was. He was responsible, as always, for more than that. Kelly reached for his radio and flipped it on.
'cricket, this is snake, over.'
Nothing.
'cricket, this is snake, over.'
'What gives?' Podulski asked.
Maxwell took the microphone. 'snake, this is cricket actual, what is your message, over?'
'Abort abort abort - acknowledge,' was what they all heard.
'Say again snake. Say again.'
'Abort the mission,' Kelly said, too loudly for his own safety. 'Abort abort abort. Acknowledge immediately.'
It took a few seconds. 'We copy your order to abort. Acknowledged. Mission aborted. Stand by.'
'Roger, standing by.'
'What is it?' Major Vinh asked.
'We have information that the Americans may try to raid your camp,' the Captain replied, looking back at his men. They were deploying skillfully, half heading for trees, the other half taking positions inside the perimeter, digging in as soon as they picked their places. 'Comrade Major, I am ordered to take charge of the defense until more units arrive. You are ordered to take your Russian guest to Hanoi for safety.'