Part 9 (1/2)

”Nice going, Captain. That will get you a Cee Eye Bee,” Lopez said in an excited voice, then returned to get the mortar firing.

Toby turned back to his position at the rim, wondering what a CIB was.

Then he heard sounds that made his stomach leap.

From beyond the wire came the unmistakable squeak and clank of treads and the loud roar of diesel engines revving up. At the same time he heard a cry from one of the forward posts.

”Tanks in the wire. Tanks in the wire.”

”Over there,” Toby yelled at Lopez, He pointed to the closest perimeter, where two huge shapes were rumbling over the wire and posts as if they weren't there. Flames from the burning outpost buildings reflected red from their sides.

A man in a tiger suit rose from a fighting pit and fired a recoilless rifle at the tank on the left. When it punched a hole in the hull, two tankers boiled out of the top hatch. The man in the tiger suit grabbed an automatic weapon and blew the two men off the tank. The turret of the second tank swung aroun tiger suit disappeared in the explosion of the sh.e.l.l.

d, its 76mm gun coughed once, and the man in the Lopez wrestled a box out from the side of their pit. ”Give me a hand,” he said. They ripped it open and took out the containers of six LAWs (light ant.i.tank weapons). Lopez showed Toby how to take a LAW from its container, arm it, brace it on his shoulder, flip up the sight, aim, and press the rubber trigger mechanism.

The first one Toby tried did not fire. Lopez grabbed one and the same thing happened. The tank pointed its main gun at them and started firing its coaxial 7.62mm. Both Vietnamese mortarmen fell dead, their chests ripped open by the barrage. Lopez pulled Toby down next to him.

”Got to try again,” he yelled above the uproar. They set up two more LAWs, Lopez double-checked Toby's. At Lopez's command, they both rose and fired. As before, nothing happened with Toby's. But Lopez's LAW fired. The rocket left the tube with a whoosh, trailing fire and sparks, and struck the tank squarely on the hull. Instead of penetrating, it rocketed skyward into the night fog.

”Heysus Christos,” Lopez breathed. ”We gotta get outta here. C'mon.”

He grabbed the radio, dialed in the CP frequency.

”d.i.c.kson, Lopez. We're coming in. It's too hot out here.”

They peered over the rim, waiting their chance. ”My G.o.d, look at that,”

Toby said. A figure clad in a tiger suit got up from a pit and ran up to the side of a tank and exploded a grenade in its treads, causing it to lurch sideways and stop.

A companion tank blew the man to shreds with its co-ax machine gun.

Neither tank was concentrating on the pit where Toby and Lopez hid. A second figure, carrying a rifle, got up from the sh.e.l.l hole and ran in a crouch toward the command post. Toby could see it was Ryder.

”Now!” Lopez yelled. He grabbed the radio and bolted for the CP, Toby running behind, pain forgotten. Toby looked back as he ran. In the light of the flames, he saw three tanks at each end of the camp, climbing and churning over the wire, surrounded by infantrymen with a.s.sault rifles. All the defensive positions had been overrun, and except for a few scattered pops, the defensive firing had stopped.

Lopez screamed into the handset of the radio he carried, ”We're coming in, we're coming in.” They tore past the 55-gallon-drum concrete stoppers and down the stairs, around the 90-degree grenade-trap turn, and through the thick door that d.i.c.kson held open for them. Ryder slid down the steps behind them. When they were through, d.i.c.k son slammed the door shut and slid two thick planks into place like giant barn-door bolts.

Toby stood panting and gulping for air. In the room were d.i.c.kson, the radio operator, and three Vietnamese Special Forces men. Toby noticed the main generator must be running, because there was still light from a bare bulb hanging from a crossbeam.

”That was Olson out there,” Ryder said, b.l.o.o.d.y and hollow-eyed. ”He just blew that tank.” He shook his head and sank down onto one of the cots. ”I thought we were dead.

We had just made the rounds. All the posts are overrun.”

”Who got the tank with the 1067 Lopez asked about the man with the recoilless rifle.

”One of the Viet SF guys. Then he got blown away,” Ryder said. The radioman pointed to his p.r.i.c.k-25s. ”There isn't a d.a.m.n one of them on the air anymore. We've lost contact with everybody,” he said.

”The tanks are through the wire in two places,” Lopez said. He was the ranking NCO, and now in charge. ”Captain Parker, you see what Spooky can do-hook this into an outside antenna.” He handed him the p.r.i.c.k-25 and showed him how to screw in the lead wire from the outside antenna.

”And you,” he said to the radioman, ”contact Jacksonville.

Find out why they haven't been shooting. Tell them to put the arty on Position Niner.”

”Niner? That's us. You want it on top of us?” the radioman said, eyes wide.

”You got a better idea?” Lopez said. ”This is a strong, deep bunker. We can take a direct hit from anything except a five-hundred-pound bomb.

Get talking.” The man bent to his task.

Before Toby could call Spooky, the lights went out. In seconds the men had flashlights on and lit a Coleman lantern. Toby picked the handset.

”Spooky, Covey Four One. How do you read?” he transmitted.

”About Three By, Covey. There is a solid undercast now, can't see a thing down there. Not even sure we're kicking the flares out over the right spot. Understand, we can't see, so we can't shoot. In about thirty minutes we got to RTB for fuel. We can get a standby up here, but the weather's bad bad and forecast to remain that way for a couple days. You copy?”

”Roger, Spooky, copy.”

”Sorry 'bout that, old son. But them's the cards tonight.

We'll stick around long as we can so at least you'll have someone to talk to. Spooky listening out.” Toby put the handset down.

The radioman reached Jacksonville, the Marine artillery unit at Khe Sanh.

”s.p.u.n.ky, Jacksonville. We got problems here. We're under heavy attack.

We're taking rounds from a couple of NVA 152s on Co Roc.”

Lopez grabbed the microphone. ”Listen,” he said. ”We've got tanks on top of us RIGHT NOW. We need fire support.

Put it on Position Nine.”

There was a pause while the man at Jacksonville looked up from his code table. ”s.p.u.n.ky, you must be in big trouble.

Position Niner is right on your location.”

Twelve long minutes later the big sh.e.l.ls from the Marine artillery at Khe Sanh screamed into the overrun Lang Tri compound. There were three barrages, each two minutes long, then silence. The men inside the bunker listened. There was no activity outside.

Lopez spoke on the radio. ”Okay, Jacksonville, it's quiet.

We're going out for a look-see.

”Come on,” he said to d.i.c.kson, ”take the three Viets and cover me outside the door. Ryder, you take care of Captain Parker here.” d.i.c.kson spoke a few words to the Vietnamese Special Forces men. They followed him out the door with Lopez, who still carried the radio. In seconds Lopez was transmitting back.

”It's a shambles out here. Nothing left standing. I'm checking the forward positions.” There was silence for five minutes, then a boom followed by heavy rifle fire.

”I'm hauling a.s.s. Everything's occupied by the NVA. Get that door ready. They're coming out of the ground, and the tanks are moving again.” Lopez was breathing hard and speaking as he ran.

”We're in deep s.h.i.+t,” Lopez yelled when he came in the door. d.i.c.kson fired a long burst and came in behind him with the two of the Vietnamese supporting the third. They slammed and bolted the door. The Vietnamese lowered their wounded man to a cot and tended to a fragment wound in his left thigh.

Lopez got on the radio to Jacksonville. ”We can maybe hold out until morning, but once it's daylight and those guys see where the entrance to this bunker is, they'll just keep blasting and open us up like a sardine can. We got to have a relief force in here by first light or we're dead meat.”