Silent Vengeance

Chapter 24

Change in engine noise, increased vibrations, meant deceleration. "Sir, ramp lowering in two!" Milton announced, holding up two fingers. "Confirm signal for extraction is flare!"

"Affirmative!" Grant turned to the men, held up two fingers, then pointed to the ramp. Throat mikes were adjusted, earpieces inserted. A.T. was ready for departure.

Grant took off the helmet, put on his watch cap, then the NVGs. He looked toward the ramp, waiting. But in the back of his mind was another worry. They might be too late. The chopper, and possibly the barge, could've left for parts unknown since the last satellite overfly.

The motor started whining. A rush of humid, warm air and increased noise circulated inside the cargo bay. Team A.T. popped open seat belts, grabbed rucksacks and MP5s. They were used to the same routine from so many previous ops. Yet, stomachs tightened with anticipation. Pulses would race until they were out the door.

Gore maneuvered the chopper until the nose pointed west. The ramp was fully open, offering a view of total blackness toward the east. Perfect. Wheels settled on earth, as rotor wash flattened grass, kicked up dirt, swirled a cloud of dust.

Grant turned briefly toward the cockpit, offering a quick, smart salute to the crew. Then, he and the Team were gone. Within a matter of seconds, the chopper lifted off, quickly moving from hover to flight, banking to port, heading back over water, on a course for the island of Ko Sichang.

Varieties of mangrove, and thick, coastal strand vegetation covered the coastline along the Bay of Bangkok. Pointman Ken Slade kept the men moving east at a steady pace, staying close to the low-growing mangrove, and following meandering dirt trails. A distinct sound of congregating frogs broke the otherwise silent evening. On the north side of the water were acres and acres of rice paddies. Nearly at their full height of three feet, the plants fluttered in a slight breeze. Rice harvesting wasn't until November when the rice plants would be bound into sheaves.

Grant pressed the PTT. "Break." Moving off the trail, the men mustered alongside, raising their NVGs. They drank from canteens, while Grant checked the GPS.

"We getting close?" Adler asked, whispering.

"Less than half a klick." He stashed the GPS then took a quick drink. "Okay. Let's move."

Holcomb turned the Daihatsu off the main road, after traveling nearly south 15 miles. He drove slowly for another five miles following paths alongside rice paddies. The car rocked back and forth, running over chunks of dirt and ruts carved out from the constant passing of oxen-drawn carts.

Flores was in the front passenger seat. Banyon reached around him, and pulled down the cloth gag. "How much farther?" Flores didn't respond. Banyon tapped him on the side of his head with the .38. "I asked you a fuckin' question!"

"I don't know kilometers! I never did the driving! But there's a landmark, a sugar factory, along the river. The docks aren't far from it, where the river meets the bay."

Banyon replaced the gag. "Just keep in mind, that you'll be leading the way. So, I'd advise you not to draw any attention to us."

Ten minutes later, a three-tiered building, with smoke billowing from a stack, appeared as a black shadow on the horizon. Holcomb pointed toward the windshield. "There. Is that the sugar factory?"

"Yes.

Holcomb turned off the path, and onto a one-lane road, then he switched off the low beams. "This is close enough." He pulled off the road. "We walk from here."

Once they were out of the car, Banyon got alongside Flores, keeping the gun pressed against his ribs. The three started walking, staying close to the edge of the road. With their eyes becoming more accustomed to the dark, they were finally able to distinguish shapes of buildings in the distance, but the barge remained out of sight.

"What are those buildings?" Holcomb asked, smacking his fist against Flores' arm.

"I don't know what they were before. They're vacant, mostly in ruins."

Holcomb figured the odds were in their favor — so far. With only three men on board the barge, the element of surprise might be all they needed to finish the hunt for the man who headed up the destruction of his operation.

Bangkok's city lights were on the horizon when Slade pressed the PTT. "Clearing ahead." The men caught up to him, except for James and Stalley who remained vigilant, watching their teammates' backs.

Grant tapped Novak's shoulder, then whispered. "Mike, find that barge."

Novak got down on a knee. Aiming his rifle, he looked through the powerful scope. "Three flat top barges, partially submerged, then … Oh, you're gonna love it, boss! Barge and chopper in sight."

"Yes!" Adler gruffly whispered, punching Grant's shoulder.

Grant blew out a breath of relief. "Any movement?"

"Can't see forward of the chopper; otherwise, nothing." Novak scanned the dockyard. "Don't see signs of life anywhere. Looks like a rough place; too nasty for 'peeps' to hang out."

"What about the barge?"

Novak refocused the scope. "Port side's moored to the dock. Wheelhouse at stern, possibly made of steel. Antenna's attached to its starboard side. Chopper's ass end facing stern. I can see two winches aft. Don't see a window in the wheelhouse, so can't tell if there are lights inside. All running lights are out."

"What about access?"

"Gangplank midships."

"What's opposite docks?"

"A chain link fence, west side, is blocking access at the docks; stretches all the way across." As Novak focused on the west end of the buildings, he spotted something. "Vehicle. Maybe a Rover." More possible proof UFs were on board.

"What else, Mike?"

"Old buildings, a couple of vacant lots stretching for maybe 150 to 200 feet. Looks like alleys between buildings, running east-west. A narrow road's leading north out of the dockyards. Streetlights busted."

"Would we have any cover alongside the docks?"

"Couple of small shacks of some type, but won't be much help if anyone shows. Might be better approaching from the opposite side. Just have to cross that road. It'll be quick."

"Okay, Mike." Grant processed the information gleaned from Novak. Cutting through the wire was too risky. They'd have to get to the other side.

"Think that antenna means a short wave on board?" Adler asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Let's hope so. We can use it."

"Now what?"

Grant turned to Slade and James. "Ken, DJ, do a recon on the north side, then report. We'll wait for your all clear. Mike, keep an eye on them … and then the barge, just in case." Novak remained on one knee, prepared for any scenario.

Flipping their rucksacks onto their backs, then the MP5s straps over their heads, Slade and James headed out. They hustled to within 25 yards of the fence. Slade contacted Novak. "Seven-Three, are we clear?"

"Clear."

Crouching low, both men ran parallel to the fence, and toward a derelict building that could have been a warehouse at one time. Standing alongside the wooden structure, they paused, trying to detect any unusual sounds, besides frogs. Slade moved toward the corner, then paused again. Taking a breath, he leaned enough to see a second row of ramshackle buildings, smaller in size, lining a wide alley. Doors and windows were either boarded or missing. Broken glass was scattered along the alley. He turned to James, motioning for him to investigate the Rover. Within a couple of minutes, James came back shaking his head.

The two stayed close to whatever structures lined the alley, walking cautiously, avoiding broken glass, checking inside any buildings that allowed access.

One third the way down the alley, there was a space between buildings, barely five feet wide, that led to the docks. The target still wasn't in sight.

Slade motioned for James to head north to the second alley. "Zero-Niner. Six-Eight proceeding to back alley."

"Copy that," Grant answered.

Slade continued forward. A vacant lot, with remnants of broken pieces of wood, window glass, bent metal, finally allowed a view of the target. He took a step back, getting into the shadows, while keeping his eyes on the barge. "Zero-Niner. Four-One. Eyes on target; no movement."

"Roger," Grant responded, while silently wondering: No guard?

Approaching the end of the alley James stopped, then leaned his head around the corner. No lights or cars were along the one-lane road leading north away from the docks. Less than 100 yards east of his position was the mouth of the Chao Phraya River. The opposite shore was nearly two miles away.

"Zero-Niner. Six-Eight. Road going north is clear."

"Copy that. A.T. moving in one."

As the four men were preparing to take off, Slade pressed the PTT again. "Hold positions. UF on deck."

Novak quickly raised his rifle, trying to zero in on the man. "Got him! Near chopper!"

"Shit!" Grant said under his breath, before contacting Slade and James. "Four-One, Six-Eight. Hold positions."

"Roger."

Adler came alongside Grant. "At least we know one UF's home."

Grant nodded, but his frustration was obvious. "Four-One. Does UF have 'glasses' or scope?"

"Negative. Sixteen (M16) only."

Grant and his men were ready to haul. "Waiting for all clear. Copy?"

"Copy that."

Slade kept his eyes on the UF, who finally walked toward the starboard side, then continued toward the bow, looking over the side at the coal black water.

Slade gave the word: "Go!" Without wasting a second, and with Grant in the lead, they hurried to the building.

Novak took a position close to the fence, covering everyone's back. The other three men continued to Slade's location.

Grant whispered, "Still on deck?" Slade nodded. Holding his MP5 close to his chest, Grant leaned slightly, seeing the UF, now walking around the chopper. One guard. But how the hell many were below deck? It didn't matter. They were going in.

Novak was still on watch near the fence when he heard Grant's voice in his earpiece. He flipped down his NVGs and hustled back to join the Team.

"Mike, set up where you've got a clear view of the entire barge, maybe a roof. Go."

Two-storied structures were limited on either side of the alley. As he neared the end, Novak glanced at a roof, then stepped through the doorway. Broken wood, paper, trash, rusted tools, mooring ropes covered the floor. Stairs were toward the back. He stood at the bottom, trying to determine if they were at least semi-safe, when a sound made him swing around. Rats — scurrying toward a hole in the back wall. He couldn't waste any more time, and started climbing, staying close to the stair supports. The second floor debris was worse than the first, with everything soaked from rain pouring through holes in the roof. But he finally spotted an old wooden gangplank. He braced it against the edge of the roof opening. The angle was steep, so he leaned forward and held onto the wooden sides, as he carefully climbed.

Once on the roof, he crouched low, and advanced cautiously toward the front, avoiding wet spots that could mean a weakening. Getting down on his belly, he crabbed his way forward, working toward the edge of the flat roof. Laying his rucksack next to him, he raised the NVGs, then looked through the scope. He pressed the PTT. "Seven-Three in position. Target at one o'clock."

"Copy that," Grant responded. "Advise when clear."

With Novak assuming responsibility for the barge, Stalley covered their sixes, watching for any unfriendlies that could approach from the west side of the alley.

On the barge, Carlo Reyes stopped his pacing and paused on the starboard side of the chopper. It wouldn't be much longer and Salazar would relieve him. For the past few hours, Salazar and Mendoza were taking inventory, securing boxes and weaponry, while Mendoza waited for Artadi to call. Perhaps they'd be updated on the new supervisor for the factory. Flores would train him on the day-to-day operation. It shouldn't take long. Once that was completed, Reyes hoped they could begin retracing their voyage back to Saigon, then onto Olongapo, delivering the long-awaited weapons to Artadi. Finally, they'd be home.

Novak breathed slowly, saying quietly, "C'mon you bastard! Move!" As if on cue, Reyes reappeared, puffing on a cigarette. He walked toward the bow and paused again, blowing smoke rings, obviously bored with his guard duties.

Novak was ready to give the all clear, when James' voice sounded in everyone's earpiece: "Zero-Niner. Six-Eight. Eyes on three UFs. Approaching from north."

"Shit!" Grant whispered through clenched teeth, before requesting, "Distance."

"Seven five yards, closing slowly."

"Copy that." Grant wanted identification, with a very remote possibility the three could be civilians. The AN/PVS high-powered scope would be the best means for facial recognition. "Seven-Three, put eyes on. Report."

Novak scooted backwards, then got into a crouch and hurried to the back corner, immediately getting on his belly and crabbing his way close to the edge. Focusing the scope, he slowly moved the rifle until three men came into view. "Eyes on. Stand by."

"Roger." Grant shook his head. What the hell else would go wrong?

Novak zeroed in on the UFs. "What the fuck?!" he mouthed. Two had weapons drawn, the third was gagged with hands tied. "Zero-Niner. Confirm deuce with weapons; third is Asian; gagged, tied."

"Copy that." So much for the possibility of civilians, but … a prisoner? More PNA men? "Can you identify?"

"Stand by." Refocusing the scope, Novak lined up the crosshairs on each face, recognizing one immediately. "Hawk! Eyes on Hawk! Do you copy?"

Grant's brain kicked in. "'FUBAR'?!"

"Affirm. Wearing Steelers T-shirt, jeans."

"Second guy?"

"Unknown; in camies."

"Copy that. Six-Eight, do you have eyes on?"

James reported: "Affirm."

"Seven-Three, put eyes back on barge."

"Roger." Novak hustled to the front. Quickly setting up, he aimed the rifle, trying to locate the UF on the barge.

Adler whispered, "Take no prisoners?"

Grant clenched his jaw. "I want that sonofabitch Hawk alive." He turned to Stalley. "Join up with DJ. Go." Immediately pressing the PTT, Grant notified James: "Six-Eight. Hold position. Five-Two approaching." Grant motioned for Slade to maintain his position, before notifying everyone: "Roundup. Repeat. Roundup. Zero-Niner, Two-Seven going in." They all knew the plan: take prisoners. Grant and Adler were going aboard the barge.