Viper Strike

CHAPTER 13

The girl with the AK led Batman north along a jungle trail which followed the ridge for almost a mile, then descended the east face of the slope in a series of sharp switchbacks which left the American completely disoriented.

In a steep-walled pocket of a valley shrouded by towering, murk-shadowed trees they reached the camp.

Batman saw only twenty or thirty people in the encampment, though he suspected there were many more. Most were young men, wearing army fatigues or camouflage uniforms, but he saw other women like his captor, and there were children as well, most carrying weapons. One boy who could not have been older than eleven watched him with solemn, black eyes, his grubby hands clutching a folding-stock M2 carbine which must have been left over from World War II.

It was a strange mix of old and new. The hootches were constructed of bamboo and leaves, but a Toyota pickup truck was parked just off the dirt road which wound up to the pocket valley from the deeper valley below. The youngest children were naked, riding slings on their mothers' hips; everyone else wore military uniforms, though many were ragged or mismatched items from several different armies. The weapons in view included U.S. M-16s, M-79 grenade launchers, the ubiquitous AK-47, and an RPG-2 with its bulbous snout.

One ancient, toothless man, however, carried what looked like a muzzle-loading cap-and-ball rifle from another age. Batman's escort led him past a silent row of armed children and gestured, indicating that he should wait beside a tree. "You stay here," she said in her accented, singsong voice. "Wait."

"Fine by me, love," Batman replied easily.

She turned her back on him and walked off toward one of the hootches.

Batman was not sure how to read the situation. Was he a prisoner or not?

The militarization of the camp suggested that these people were rebels or, possibly, the private army of some local drug lord. As the girl walked away he realized that he could make a run for it. But those kids watching him might be more Proficient with their motley collection of weapons than they looked. Besides, the girl had let him keep his survival knife, which was riding in plain view in its scabbard clipped to his life vest.

It would be better to wait, he decided. Things might not be as grim as they seemed.

Looking around curiously, he noticed a strange decoration in the tree trunk, a backwards C and what looked like the letter J, picked out in spent brass cartridges hammered into the bark. Some sort of memorial perhaps? A grave marker? He assumed that the letter C had been reversed out of ignorance, as in a child's attempts at writing.

"Batman, you son of a bitch! You're alive!"

He turned at the yell and saw Malibu leaning on a forked-branch crutch and making his way out of a hootch. Except for a bandaged left ankle, the RIO appeared fit and well. "Malibu! Here I thought you were wandering around lost in that jungle! I might've known you'd be the one to find civilization first."

"Hey, dude, wasn't me! Civilization, like, found me!"

Quickly, his RIO explained that he'd come down near the top of the ridge, and even managed to steer for a relatively open spot and avoid the bigger trees. His landing had been less than textbook, however. He'd hit hard, spraining his ankle and smashing his SAR radio against a rock with a blow that might have cracked a rib or two. He'd lain there Stunned for Several hours.

Then the Karens had found him.

"Karens?" Batman asked.

"Yeah, compadre," Malibu said. "And they're the good guys. Seems like you and me, old buddy, are way inside the Socialist Union of Burma. They say they've been fighting the Burmese since 1949. From the sound of things it's lucky they found us, and not the other guys."

Batman grinned. "I was wondering there for a while. The one who found me doesn't seem to care much for Americans!"

"Americans are something of an unknown here, Lieutenant," a new voice said at his back. "Trust does not come easily to some of us."

Turning, Batman saw a black-haired man of perhaps fifty, wearing American combat web gear and holding an AK-47. An unfamiliar rank device of some kind was pinned to his fatigue cap. The young woman stood behind him, her face an unreadable mask.

"Batman, this is Colonel Htai of the 12th Brigade, Karen National Liberation Army."

"Welcome, Lieutenant Wayne," the colonel said in perfect English. "We have been looking for you since we found your comrade yesterday."

"Thank you, Colonel. I'm real glad to be here."

"Come to my headquarters, and we will talk."

Htai's headquarters was a hootch raised on stilts, with a single sentry outside. Malibu, unable to navigate the spindly ladder up to the entrance on his bad foot, remained outside.

Inside there was no furniture but a kind of low, foot-tall desk on the split bamboo floor. Tacked to one wall was a British Army topological map dated 1952. A number of weapons leaned against another wall ― M-16s, AK-47s, and several RPGs ― beneath a faded color print of Jesus.

Htai seemed to note Batman's surprise at the picture. "Most Karens are Christian, Lieutenant," he said. "Does that surprise you?"

Batman admitted that it did.

"We are also anti-Communist, and we forbid our people to deal in opium.

We fight to have our own nation… one where… what is it you say? There is liberty and justice for all." He squatted cross-legged on the floor behind the desk and gave Batman a hard look. "You Americans do not seem to know much about our struggle here."

Batman remembered having heard something about the Karens in a briefing about the That-Burmese border, but beyond the fact of their existence, he knew nothing. He accepted the man's wordless invitation and sat down. "I'm afraid not, sir."

Htai shook his head slowly. "We do not understand the American attitude.

Burma is ruled by a vicious socialist military dictatorship, by communists in all but name, yet your country and many others send them money and weapons, have done so for years… hoping to buy their friendship." He gestured toward the weapons against the wall. "Still, we manage to provide for ourselves. We survive."

"What are you fighting for?"

"For our country, Lieutenant. For the land we call Katoolie." Htai leaned over and spat, expertly directing a stream of red betel nut juice between two bamboo slats in the floor. "Year after year, the bastard Ne Win tries to exterminate us. Always he loses."

Ne Win, Batman remembered from his briefings, had been the military dictator of Burma for many years. He'd been replaced by a coup several years before, and the colonels who ruled that unhappy country now had promised democracy and a new constitution, but most analysts felt that he was still the real power in Rangoon.

Batman heard a step behind him and looked around. The girl who had brought him here stood in the door. The colonel said something in an unintelligible language, and she replied in a rapid-fire barrage of singsong words.

That red patch pinned to her boonie hat… When Batman had first seen the gold-star-on-red device, he'd assumed it meant his captor was Communist.

He saw now that it had been cut from a uniform. Probably a Burmese uniform.

The device was a war trophy.

It spoke of this people's abilities… as warriors, and as survivors.

If he and Malibu were going to survive, they needed the Karens' help.

The soldier left, and the colonel turned to face Batman again. "You seem to have attracted some attention here, Lieutenant. An enemy column is approaching our valley. They search for you and your friend."

Batman licked his lips. There'd been ice in Htai's voice when he spoke of not understanding American foreign policy, as though he might hold Batman responsible. He plunged ahead, speaking quickly. "We need your help, sir.

Somehow, my friend and I have to get to Thailand. I know you don't have any special love for my government, but I can promise that you will be rewarded."

Htai looked away, his black eyes going to the picture on the wall.

"Rewarded how?"

"I don't know, Money perhaps. Gold. Something can be worked out, At the least Your help will generate sympathy for your cause back in-"

"We do not need sympathy, Lieutenant. We need mortars. Assault rifles.

Ammunition. Grenades." The colonel's lips quirked back in what might have been a smile. "With a thousand 81-mm mortars we could drive the Burmese from our land once and for all.

He was tempted to promise the colonel any thing, but sadly, Batman shook his head. "I can't promise you anything like that, Colonel." If the U.S.

government was trying to buy Rangoon's friendship, Batman doubted that military aid for the Karens would be forthcoming.

Htai appeared to consider the question for another moment. "At least you are honest," he said at last. "We will help you. Money we need too… for we must buy rice from the Thais to feed those of our people who live in camps along the border."

Batman let out his breath. "Thank you, sir."

"You may not thank me later. The Burmese have been in this area in great numbers lately. The trip will be hard and dangerous." He nodded toward the open door. "The woman who brought you here is Sergeant Phya Nin. She is waiting with your friend. Have her get the two of you something to eat, then make ready. We leave in one hour."

Batman left the hootch wondering if he and Malibu could trust these people. The colonel seemed willing enough… but if the Burmese were closing in, the Karens would be a lot better off without having to look after a pair of tenderfeet on an overland trek through the jungle.

It would be so much easier to dispose of the Americans quietly or sell them to someone who might be interested in them like the Bunne se or the drug lords.

But as Batman stepped back into the filtered green light of the jungle floor, he saw the armed Karens gathering outside and knew that he and Malibu had very little choice in the matter.

Tombstone leaned back from the table, his mind racing furiously. He was unaware of the clatter of silverware and dishes in the mess, or the low murmur of conversation among the other officers around him. The submarine sandwich he'd bought lay untouched on his tray. He'd been chewing on the problem of Batman and Malibu for three hours now, and he could think of little else.

CAG had said there would be no SAR flights off the Jefferson, that the Thais were insisting on handling the search for Batman and Malibu themselves.

It was possible that the other problems breaking loose ― rumors of invasion in the north and an impending coup in the city ― were enough to make them sidestep the whole issue. The two Americans could easily get lost in the cracks.

But there were many ways to address the problem. The Thais didn't want massive U.S. intervention, and Tombstone could appreciate that… but what about a single plane on TARPS recon? Sure, it had been a TARPS aircraft which had been shot down the first time, but that didn't mean it would happen again.

Perhaps a flight of RTAF planes in the area could be diverted as escort. They were supposed to be up there looking for Batman anyway, weren't they?

CAG had mentioned that Batman and Malibu might have gone down on the Burmese side of the line… but what if they hadn't? Or what if they were close to the line, a few miles to the north, close enough that a friendly plane making a sweep could pick up their SAR broadcast? At least Jefferson would know then that they were alive, and could work out a decent plan for bringing them out.

And maybe the Thais, with all of their political problems, would actually be glad to be rid of this one extra problem. If he played his cards right on this one, maybe the Thais would wind up asking for his help…

What was the That liaison officer's name? Kriangsak. Maybe there was someone in his office he could talk to. CAG had told him yesterday to take an evening off. He wasn't scheduled for duty this night… so why not? He could check out with CAG after chow and catch a bus into Bangkok.

The chances were that no one in the That bureaucracy would be able to help, but at least, Tombstone thought, he'd be trying to do something. it was better than moping in the wardroom, picking at his food and feeling sorry for himself. And besides, he might get lucky.

"Come in." Admiral Magruder looked up from his desk as Captain Fitzgerald and Vince Glover, the ship's Exec, walked in. He knew there was trouble by the look on their faces, before they even said a word. "Let's have it."

"We've got a strange report, Admiral," Fitzgerald said. "Tell him, Vince."

"There's a kid down in CATCC, Admiral, SA Howard. I just got a call from his chief. Seems he thinks three of his shipmates were kidnapped."

"Kidnapped? That's a new one."

"The guys he's named are AWOL, sir," the Exec said. "The chief said he figured it was a… uh… rather imaginative attempt by Howard to keep his buddies out of trouble. But if they did just miss the last bus, they could've caught the first one this morning. It kind of lends credence to the story."

"How sure is Howard of his facts?"

"Hell, Admiral, this is an eighteen-year-old. He's not sure of anything.

I think he's still freaked out by his first time ashore in Bangkok."

Magruder chuckled. "The city has that effect."

"But he's sure enough to be pretty excited about it," the Captain added.

"He insists that if it was all a joke, his buddies would've been back aboard before he was. I've reviewed these men's records. They're all steady. No reason to think they might desert."

"Who were the victims?"

"Radarman Third Paterowski. Signalman Third Bentley. Seaman Rodriguez."

"We're doing some more checking on them," Glover said. His frown deepened. "But Admiral, there's something more. It maybe nothing."

"Spit it out."

"One of the men is a radarman working in CATCC. Another's an RD striker… also in CATCC. And this kid Howard was assigned as CATCC message runner."

Magruder understood what Glover was saying. "Three out of four of these guys from CATCC," he said, rubbing his chin. "Doesn't necessarily mean it was deliberate. Three buddies, all from the same department, all hit the beach together. Get into trouble together…"

"Yes, sir. But we can't ignore the possibility that there was more to it than that."

Magruder sighed. "Agreed." He looked at Fitzgerald. "What do you think, Captain?"

Fitzgerald shrugged. "Could just be a case of grabbing three guys off the street at random. They could've gotten rolled and be laying in an alley someplace."

"But…?" Magruder prompted.

"We ought to proceed dead slow, Admiral. There have been anti-American demonstrations… and according to our That sources, the communists have been cheering the downing of our Tomcat yesterday. I'd say we should treat this seriously."

Magruder sighed. "Agreed." He was worried, more worried than he wanted to show.

When addressing the men of his carrier battle group, the admiral liked to stress the fact that no man's job on board the Jefferson was less important than any other, that everyone had a part to play. In the sense that the ship was a seagoing city with each department supporting all of the rest that was true.

But he would have felt a lot less worried had the missing men been from the ship's laundry. Men assigned to CATCC knew a hell of a lot about how things worked on a carrier, about call signs and radio frequencies for regular air traffic, about daily schedules for carrier ops and exercises.

"It's probably nothing," he said again. "Nothing worse than some of our boys getting rolled, that is. But we won't take the chance. Vince, put out the word through the SPs. Liberty is cancelled for all personnel."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Have Intel debrief Howard. Maybe he can tell us something more, something we've missed."

"Yes, sir." The Exec paused, then scowled. "Damn."

"What is it, Mr. Glover?"

"I just remembered, Admiral. CAG just showed me a list of senior personnel ashore. Your nephew… uh… Commander Magruder, sir. He's on it."

"Tombstone? Why?"

"CAG said he was under some stress, and he'd told him to take some time off."

"We have any other squadron COs ashore?"

"Yes, sir. Bayerly, VF-97."

"Thank you for telling me." He felt a sharp disquiet. Three men from CATCC missing… and now both Tomcat skippers were ashore as well. Bayerly had been temporarily replaced as squadron CO, of course, but it still didn't seem to be a good idea to have both men off the ship now.

Fitzgerald interrupted his bleak thoughts. "Do you really think there's a connection, Admiral? Between the kidnapping and the attack at U Feng, I mean."

"Hell, I don't know. We can't know. But if we wait until we get the facts straight, it may be too late."

Fitzgerald nodded. "Agreed. Problem is, if I don't have the facts I get to feeling a bit paranoid."

"Sometimes, Captain," Magruder said evenly, "that's the best way to be."

The unconscious man's hands had been shackled together, then slung over a meat-hook suspended from the warehouse ceiling. His head lolled forward against his bare chest. Silently Hsiao went through papers and iDs found in the man's wallet. "A third class petty officer," he said. "Not a man of high rank."

"They were not wearing uniforms," Phreng said. They were gathered at the edge of the harsh circle of light which illuminated the naked prisoner. His personal effects, together with certain tools, were spread out on a nearby table.

"Never mind, Phreng," Hsiao said. "You did well. If these men work in air traffic control, as you say, they will have information we can use."

"Thank you, General!"

"You know what we are looking for." Hsiao nodded at a bucket of water standing on the floor nearby. "Revive him and proceed with the questioning.

You know where to reach me when you're through."

"Yes, sir!"

Hsiao turned, his eyes meeting those of a man who stood in the shadows outside the circle of light. The agent known as Sword had arrived only moments earlier. "Come with me."

"This is insane, General," the man said as they walked away. "Kidnapping American naval personnel was never part of the plan!" The stacked crates rose like canyon walls around them, creating privacy, and Hsiao allowed the challenge to pass without rebuke. Sword was tense, on edge… and would have to be handled with great care.

"It would be better if we had officers for questioning as well," Hsiao said softly.

"Officers! No! Impossible!"

"Flight officers would be best," Hsiao continued as though he'd not heard Sword's words. "They are certain to know the procedures we are interested in.

These low-ranking seamen" ― he jerked his head back over his shoulder to indicate the prisoner ― — "may not be sufficiently trained for our purposes."

Behind him he heard Phreng's voice questioning… demanding.

"You do not understand, General!" The man was almost frantic now. "It is far more dangerous to kidnap officers."

"I fail to see how." He walked several more steps, then added, "There will probably be a number of Jefferson's pilots in Bangkok tonight."

"Yes, sir." Sword stopped.

Hsiao paused, waiting for him to go on. "You know where such officers could be found, do you not? You are in a position to know, certainly."

"I want no part of this, General Hsiao. I never anticipated this. My position in the government could be-"

"Your position, Colonel, is with me!"

The words seemed to shock the other man.

Hsiao was aware that his entire plan could never have been carried off without this man… senior aide to the That Army's General Duong… and liaison officer with the visiting American naval forces. Colonel Kriangsak had been invaluable already, but his greatest service was yet to be carried out.

"An American officer has been calling my office all day," Kriangsak said reluctantly. "One of their pilots. He's talked to several of my people, says he wishes to discuss the possibility of his helping out in the search for the Americans who vanished the other day near U Feng."

Hsiao nodded. "Excellent. Excellent! Call him. Set up a place and time to discuss it with him. And you will take some of my people with you."

"Sir, I don't-"

"This may be the best opportunity we have for capturing one of their people. Two would be better if you can manage it. We can use one against the other that way."

"But General-"

He was interrupted by a long, shuddering, drawn-out scream from behind them. The scream went on and on and on before lapsing into a throaty gurgle.

Then Phreng's voice could be heard once more, harsh and insistent.

Hsiao kept his face impassive. Perhaps Kriangsak simply needed to be reminded of the stakes in this game.

"Yes, General," Kriangsak said slowly. They reached the door, where a guard saluted. "I will see what can be done."

As the door closed behind them, the screaming started again.