Viper Strike

CHAPTER 14

They'd left the camp in the late morning, traveling not on the road which descended down the valley, but up the forest-clad slope to the north, following a maze of nearly invisible paths which zigzagged among the trees toward the crest. The girl, Phya Nin, had been put in charge of the Americans. Two teenage boys under her command were detailed to carry Malibu in a bamboo litter. This made for slow going, but it was faster than if Malibu had tried to negotiate the climb on his crutch. From time to time the way grew too steep for the litter bearers, however, and Malibu had to get off and walk, helped along by Batman and one of the Karen boys.

They walked for three hours, negotiating one forested ridge after another. As nearly as Batman could tell, judging by the sun and his compass, they kept heading north, deeper into Burma. His fears that the natives were going to double-cross them somehow grew sharper.

While they were inside Burmese territory, control of this section of the country was still an open question. The Golden Triangle was the private preserve of various warlords. If the Karens somehow suspected that he and Malibu had come to this remote corner of the globe as part of the ongoing war against the drug producers, they might reason that those warlords would pay handsomely for their capture.

The thought made Batman shiver. If Malibu had been able to travel freely on foot, Batman would have urged an immediate escape. But he couldn't abandon his RIO, and it seemed certain that the Karens would run them down in minutes if they tried to E&E together.

No, they would just have to wait and see what happened.

In mid-afternoon, the group stopped for a twenty-minute rest. When they set out again, it was toward the east. By the time the sun was setting that evening and the group stopped again, Batman was certain that they were now heading in a generally southeasterly direction.

Toward U Feng.

His second night in the jungle was more comfortable than the first. The Karens built small, closely guarded fires, and Batman gratefully accepted a bowl of hot rice mixed with chunks of some unidentifiable meat, the origins of which he refused to question. He ate the meal with his fingers, sitting by the fire between Malibu and Phya. The night sounds of the jungle surrounded them, a cacophonous symphony of shrieks, chirps, and insect twitterings. The air smelled of wet earth and rain. Mosquitoes swarmed from the darkness, and the shadows of huge bats darted and swooped beyond the circle of the fire's light.

As Batman ate, he watched the girl. He wanted to talk, to make conversation… but he was at a loss as to how to begin with this young woman, barely out of her teens but wearing fatigues and carrying an assault rifle. Her conversation during the long day had been limited to phrases like "Hurry up," and "More quiet! Don't thrash in leaves so much!"

"I understand your people have been fighting for a long time, Phya," he said at last. He slapped at the mosquitoes gathering on the backs of his hands despite the repellent coating them. "Why do you do it?"

"For Katoolie," she said, echoing what Colonel Htai had said that morning. Somewhere in the darkness, near another fire, a child laughed. The ghost of a smile played at Phya's lips. "Children see country perhaps.

Someday."

"No, I mean you. Why are you a soldier, Phya?"

"I kill Burmese." Her eyes glittered. "Kill Burmese forever."

He heard the ice in her voice. "Why do you hate them so much? I mean, you've been fighting them for forty years! You can't hope to win!"

"We win. Someday. Or we die. Mostly we win."

"Against the Burmese Army?"

She bristled. "You no believe?" She paused. "When I bring you to camp today, leave you by tree. You remember tree?"

The tree with the letters made of empty brass cartridges hammered into the bark. Batman felt cold. "CJ," he said. "Initials?"

"Not letters. Numbers," she said. "Burmese way write number twelve."

"Twelve?"

"For the 12th KNLA Brigade. Is way we mark victories. We take place from Burmese, we mark. That camp, we take from Burmese two months ago. Kill one hundred fifty enemy." She fingered the red triangular patch on her hat.

"Take this from Burmese soldier."

The matter-of-fact way she said it sent a shiver down Batman's spine.

She might have just admitted stepping on a spider. He swallowed. "You sound like you enjoy killing them."

"Not enjoy, no." Her dark eyes watched him from beneath the brim of her boonie hat. "Is not much choice. Either fight… or die. Burmese want kill all Karen. Wipe out forever."

Her words had a cold finality about them. Mass genocide? Surely Rangoon wasn't bent on exterminating these people. "You not believe?" she said.

"It's a little hard to accept," Batman admitted.

"Americans help Burmese… not know they want kill Karen?"

Batman didn't like the way the conversation was going. Did she blame the United States for helping the Rangoon government? More to the point, did she hold him and Malibu responsible? "Believe me, Phya, I don't know anything about the Burmese! I certainly don't know about them trying to wipe out your people."

"Hell, Phya," Malibu added. "We didn't know anything about this war until we landed in it!"

"War last many year," she said, staring into the fire. "Burmese not beat Karen, until they start killing villages."

Batman exchanged glances with Malibu. His RIO shrugged. "Sorry.

Killing villages?"

She gestured toward the dark jungle around them. "This place, this part jungle not our home. Not Katoolie. Karen live… far southwest. One hundred… two hundred mile. Mawchi. Pa-an. My village near Mawchi, on Salween River.

"Burmese come my village six… maybe seven month ago. Their… how you say? Sky machines, make noise like thunder."

"Helicopters?" Malibu volunteered.

"Exact. Hel-copters. Kill my people. Kill my village."

"They shot your people?" Batman asked. "From helicopters?"

She nodded. "Sky machines hang above village. Use rocket. Use machine gun. Kill people, cows, goats. All die. They land then, burn whole town."

She raised her head. Firelight glowed red against her skin, illuminating the curve of her jaw, her eyes. "My… my husband there. He die. All die."

"How did you get away?"

"I washing clothes in Salween, with other village women. See machines, hide. See smoke of village in sky. Karen soldiers come, tell me. Later, when safe, I see. Then I join Twelfth Brigade, KNLA." A sad pride touched her voice. "I join. Kill Burmese who want kill all us!"

"They wiped out your village." Horror pricked at the nape of Batman's neck.

"Not just my village, but others. Many others. You want know why I fight? I fight for children, for place they can live."

"War to the knife, compadre," Malibu said quietly.

Batman nodded. His mental image of the typical revolutionary guerrilla was of a ragged character fighting for some political goal, supplied by one superpower or the other. The Karens were literally fighting for their survival as a people, were carrying out that fight with virtually no outside support… and they'd been doing it for over four decades.

Batman shivered at the thought. "Good God!"

"Yes," she said. "God good. He give strength. We kill many Burmese."

He watched her for a long moment as she leaned forward, arms around her knees, rocking slightly back and forth. The top two or three buttons of her tunic were undone, and he could see a small, gold cross on a chain, resting on the smooth, dark skin above her bosom. It caught firelight as she moved.

Batman remembered Htai telling him that most Karens were Christians. He felt an overwhelming sadness. The Burmese did not have the greatest army in the world, not by a long shot… but they had an army many, many times larger than the scattered tribesmen living in the jungles along the borders of their country. The Karens were a tiny minority… among the Burmese, and among the other religions in an area overwhelmingly Buddhist, Hindu, or spirit-worshipping animist.

"You're fighting against such terrible odds," he said. Somehow he wanted to help, but didn't know the words, didn't know what he could do, He wanted to reach out and take Phya in his arms, but knew that so familiar a gesture would be wrong. Like Htai, she was not looking for sympathy.

She looked at him quizzically. "Odds? What mean odds?"

"Uh… there are so many of the enemy. So few of you. Your enemy outnumbers you terribly."

To Batman's surprise, she laughed. "No, Lieutenant." She stopped, laughed again.

"What's the matter, Phya?" Malibu asked. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing matter, Lieutenant," she said. "But you not understand. You see, God with Karens, make us outnumber them!"

The Americana Hotel was a survivor of Bangkok's Vietnam-era economic boom, when the Americans on leave found the city the ideal spot for R&R. The boom had ended in the early seventies when the Americans pulled out of Nam, turned their bases in Thailand over to the Royal That Air Force, and went home. Many of the businesses, from cheap brothels to deluxe hotels, had failed, but the Americana, and others, had struggled on.

The Thais were a resourceful and resilient people, however. Somehow, they'd managed to turn their surplus of hotels, resorts, and places of entertainment into what amounted to a natural resource; Thailand, as it turned out, was one of the very few countries in the area where Westerners felt either comfortable or welcome. It was the burgeoning tourist industry which kept hotels like the Americana going.

This establishment's economic recovery, Tombstone noted as he entered the hotel's lounge, was not yet complete. The dirt was well-hidden by dark colors and the dim light, but the paint on the walls was chipped and cracked in places, and water stains marred both the expensive-looking teak floor and the plaster ceiling.

A That waiter approached, his hands folded before his chest as he bowed in a traditional wai. "Commander Magruder? Your party is waiting for you.

Please follow me."

Tombstone followed the waiter past tables and booths, past potted tropical plants and softly bubbling aquariums. A large American flag was dimly visible in the poor and smoky light, draped across one wall. At a table near the back of the room, a small, dark man with a neat mustache rose to greet him as he approached.

"Commander Magruder?"

"That's right. You must be Colonel Kriangsak."

The colonel gave Tombstone a polite wai. "At your service, sir." He gestured to the seat across the table from him. "Do me the honor of joining me!"

"Thank you, sir." He sat down. "I certainly appreciate your seeing me.

I was surprised to get your call this afternoon."

"Not at all. Can I order you a drink?"

Tombstone glanced at the glass by Kriangsak's elbow, and recognized the heavy fragrance of the That drink known as Mekong wine. "A rum-and-coke'd be fine."

Kriangsak signaled a waitress, then folded his hands before him on the table. "My people tell me you wish to take part in the search for your missing comrades."

"If possible, yes, sir." Tombstone felt a new thrill of hope. Colonel Kriangsak, certainly, had some pull with the various That military bureaus and bureaucracies. As liaison between the That and American forces, he might at least know who Tombstone could talk to.

"I fear that will be difficult, Commander. At least until the area is secured from rebel forces."

Tombstone tried to mask his disappointment. "Rebel forces, Colonel?"

Kriangsak smiled and held one hand up. "Nothing I'm really at liberty to discuss. I shouldn't have spoken of it, even. But…" He leaned forward over the table, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "You have heard reports of an attack up there, I'm sure. I tell you, quite frankly, such an attack could not have been carried out without inside help. Traitors, if you will, or rebels within the government. We must ascertain the extent of this, this rebellion before we risk the lives of more of our American allies. We really have no idea who the real enemy is."

"You must have some idea. Burmese? Communists? Or are we talking about a coup?"

"Let us say, simply, elements which oppose the current government. In any case, my people believe it would be unfortunate if more Americans lost their lives during the crisis on our northern border."

The waitress returned with Tombstone's drink. He accepted it, took a sip, then nodded. "I can understand that. But what now? Are you people looking for Batman ― I mean, for Lieutenants Wayne and Blake? It's possible they are alive, but down in the jungle somewhere."

"Commander, everything that can be done is being done, I assure you. And I personally will let you know the moment we learn anything."

Tombstone sat back in his seat. The disappointment was sharp… but he knew he could realistically have expected no more. "I can't ask for better than that," he said. He started to slide out from behind the table. "I certainly appreciate your taking the time to talk to me."

"You're not leaving already, surely!" Kriangsak looked surprised. "Stay and have dinner, at least. I would like to discuss modern air tactics with you." He hesitated. "By the way, Commander, are you staying here in the city tonight?"

"No, sir. I expect I'll go back to Jefferson."

"Duty?"

"No. Just no particular reason to stay."

Kriangsak pursed his lips. "You know, I could arrange for-"

"Well, well, well!" a slurred voice brayed from close by. "Look who's here! Our own hero of Wonsan!"

Tombstone turned and saw Bayerly, obviously drunk, leaning heavily against an ornamental palm. Several other people in the lounge were looking in his direction.

The man's unexpected appearance was a shock to Tombstone. What in the name of all that was holy was Bayerly doing here?

"Thought… thought I'd find you here, ol' buddy," Bayerly said. He was wearing his whites, his lieutenant commander's shoulder bars askew, and clutched a glass of ice and amber liquid in one hand. He lurched forward three steps and dropped his free hand on Tombstone's shoulder. He turned and seemed to see the That officer for the first time. "Who's your gook friend here? Hey… bet y'didn't know my ol' buddy Tombstone here was a genuine American Navy Cross hero, did you?"

"You are drunk, Commander," Tombstone said, his voice low and level. "I suggest you get back to the-"

"Uh-uh. No way." Bayerly grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table, slid it up close, and sank into it. "Gotta drink the health of our goddamned hero here first, don't we?"

Colonel Kriangsak was watching Bayerly with narrowed eyes. "Sir, I believe Commander Magruder has an excellent idea. I can call some of my men who will escort you back to the Jefferson. It appears to me you could use a good night's sleep."

Bayerly ignored the That officer. "You know what being' a hero is, Tombstone Magruder?" He held up his drink and examined it closely.

"Bein' ― being' a hero is being' in the right place at the right time. Did you know that?" He turned and smiled at Kriangsak. "You shoulda' seen my buddy Tombstone here at Wonsan. He got the dream duty, let me tell ya! Flyin' lead for an alpha strike over Wonsan, while yours truly flew CAP over the carrier.

Hey, CAP's not a hot-shit glamor job, but someone's gotta do it, right? Can't all be aces, right?"

His voice had been getting steadily louder. Tombstone rose. "Colonel, I'm sorry about this. Thanks for seeing me… but I'd better get Commander Bayerly back to the Jefferson."

"I don't need your help, goddamn it!" Bayerly stood suddenly, knocking the chair over with a crash. The transformation in his face, from drunken amiability to murderous fury, was so abrupt that Tombstone was taken aback.

"You've ruined me, you bastard! You've ruined me!"

"Look, Made It-"

"CAG yanked my flight clearance. Because of your report. 'Pending investigation," the man says… but you know how the Navy works, don't you, Magruder? It's all for one and one for all, ain't it? Just as long as you're part of the fuckin' Navy club! As long as you have the right name… and an admiral for an uncle to help you over the rough spots!"

"Shut up!" Tombstone snapped, his voice intense. It felt as though every eye in the lounge was on the two of them, and he saw a couple of That waiters hurrying across the room in their direction. "Come on, Bayerly. We're going for a walk!"

"It's fine for the boys in the club! But screw up once… just once, and if you don't have the right connections, barn! You're fucked!"

"Is there a problem, sir?" the headwaiter asked.

"I'm sorry for the trouble," Tombstone said. He started guiding Bayerly away from the table. "My friend here had a little too much to-"

"Damn right I had too much! You ruined me, you sanc… sanct…

sanctimonious son of a bitch! How's it feel to be a hero? Hey! Tell me!

Why aren't you ballin' your new girl friend, Magruder? You know, that stacked, sexy blond with her own TV show… Is that one of the perks of being' a goddamned hero…?"

Tombstone's grip on Bayerly's shoulder tightened. He whirled the man around to face him, his own fury rising. "I've had just about enough of you, Bayerly! Can it, right now!"

"Fuck you!" Bayerly threw a clumsy, roundhouse punch in the general direction of the side of Tombstone's head. Tombstone blocked the punch easily with his left arm, then snapped out with his right, catching Bayerly squarely in the jaw. Bayerly sagged back, landing in Kriangsak's arms.

The two of them lowered the drunken officer onto the seat of the booth.

Kriangsak looked across the room, raised one slim hand, and gestured.

Tombstone saw two Thais in civilian clothes hurrying across the floor toward them.

Bodyguards? Tombstone gave a mental shrug. Perhaps That army colonels never went anywhere without their personal plain-clothes guards or aides. He turned to the headwaiter, fishing in his hip pocket for his wallet. "I'm terribly sorry for the disturbance, sir. We'll get him out of here right away." He'd exchanged some of his money at the hotel desk earlier that evening. He produced three of the purple 500-baht notes ― about sixty American dollars ― and pressed them into the frowning waiter's hand.

For a moment, he thought the man was going to refuse. Then the money vanished and the waiter smiled. "No problem, sir. Permit us to help." Two more waiters materialized to help Kriangsak's men maneuver Bayerly's dead weight toward the lounge entrance.

Tombstone turned to face Kriangsak, who had drawn one of his men aside and was whispering hurried instructions to him. "Koon krahp!" the man said, all but saluting before hurrying after the entourage surrounding Bayerly.

"I'm sorry to leave so abruptly, Colonel," Tombstone said. "But I'd better see him back to the Jefferson."

"That is not necessary, my friend," Kriangsak said. "Please! Sit down!

I have given orders for my men to drive Commander Bayerly back to Sattahip.

They will see to it that he gets back to your ship."

"That is very kind of you, Colonel."

"Not at all. Now, please! Sit down!"

"No. Thank you just the same, sir, but I really have to go." The confrontation had left him feeling weak. He needed air… a walk and a chance to think.

Kriangsak looked across the room toward the lounge entrance. "Commander, my men have already gone. If I cannot offer you a ride home, I insist that you allow me to find you lodgings here in the city."

"Actually, Colonel, I think I need a walk." He hesitated. Suddenly, he felt the need to see Pamela… to talk to her. This hero business, he thought. It's got to stop. Now! "There's someone in town I need to see," he added.

"I will not take no for an answer, Commander." Kriangsak smiled, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. "I'll tell you what. I have some duties to attend to at the Ministry tonight… and possibly, just possibly, I can talk to someone about your request." He shrugged. "Who knows? We might find a place for you on one of our planes."

Tombstone's eyes widened. "That's very kind of you, sir."

"It is nothing. Let me talk to some people I know. But please, tell me where you will be. I will arrange for a driver to pick you up there later.

Or if you prefer, I will arrange bachelor quarters for you at the air base at Don Muang and call your ship. Is it agreed?"

Tombstone found it hard to resist the man's friendly pressure. He allowed himself a small smile. "Okay, Colonel. You win."

"Excellent! Where can I meet you?"

"Well, my friend is staying at the Dusit Thani. You could reach me there. I can leave my name at the desk."

"Splendid. It's almost eight. In… shall we make it two hours then?

Is that time enough for your meeting?"

"Two hours will be fine, Colonel. It shouldn't take longer than that."

Kriangsak rose, dropped several baht on the table, then extended his hand again. "In that case, Commander, I will see you later."

"Fine. Thanks for the drink."

"Anytime, Commander. We'll talk more later." The smile broadened. "I'm looking forward to it very much!"

Bayerly struggled against the grip of the men supporting him. "I can do it myself!" he mumbled.

The car was already waiting for them, its engine running. One of the colonel's men opened the rear door. "Inside."

"I'm not going' with you gooks!" Bayerly said, his voice rising once more.

"Get your goddamned hands off-" He heard a metallic snick-snick behind him.

Turning, he found himself staring into the black muzzle of a Colt.45 automatic. "What the hell…?"

"Inside!" the That said, his voice a menacing hiss.

"What is this? You can't-"

Something struck Bayerly from behind, a smashing blow to the back of his head which sent him crumpling to the pavement. Dimly, he was aware of hands grabbing his shoulders and legs, of several men stuffing him into the open backseat door of the car. Then darkness closed in and he was aware of nothing more.