Page 127 of Cry Havoc

You need a team.

You are on your own.

Tom went through the pockets on his modified uniform. He still had his signal mirror, notebook and pen, map of the target area, morphine syrettes, pen flare, whistle, and an orange marking panel for signaling aircraft. His Swiss Army Knife was still in his pocket.

He took a deep breath, which caused him excruciating pain in his right side from the broken ribs.

You can sit here, wait until you hear aircraft overhead in the morning, and signal with your flare. You can survive.

That lets the NVA get farther away with Quinn.

If he’s alive.

If.

You need to get to the crash site.

If they are all dead, you can wait for the cavalry.

If any bodies are missing, you will need to track them.

Track them all the way to fucking Hanoi, if that’s what it takes.

Then what?

Don’t think that far ahead.

Your first priority is finding that crash site.

The best chance they have is for you to track them and then get back to Phu Bai to lead a rescue team in after them.

There has yet to be a successful U.S. POW rescue mission in the war. The military knows where prisoners are and has not launched into North Vietnam to get them. You need to hit them in Laos under Colonel Backhaus’s orders before they are moved closer to Hanoi.

Find them and then get back to Phu Bai.

That is your mission.

Maybe God spared you so you could save these men.

Maybe. Or maybe you are just lucky.

I’d rather be lucky than good.

Be both.

Light began to sift through the triple canopy above. Tom looked at his watch. Just after 5:00 a.m. It was time to get to work.

Tom pushed himself to his feet, unholstered the .22 caliber High Standard with its one cartridge, and followed the stench of burning fuel and flesh deeper into the jungle.

CHAPTER 44

EVEN MOVING SLOWLY, ITdid not take long to find the crash site. Tom used the smell, stopping every few minutes to assess his surroundings. The light breeze brought with it the nauseating odor of roasted human bodies; the muscles, skin, and fats reminiscent of roasted pork while burning hair, spinal fluids, organs, and blood carried with them a putrid, coppery-metallic stink.

Tom spit, trying to rid his mouth of the taste that he knew came from the bodies of his dead friends. The closer he got, the stronger the smell became. He desperately wanted to get upwind of the noxious fumes, but he forced himself to continue moving deliberately. He would be no use to any survivors if he was dead, if in fact there were any survivors.

He saw the tail rotor first. It had snapped off as the bird came down and was suspended in the canopy above.

He stopped and listened for any unnatural sounds, his eyes scanning ahead looking for anything that did not belong.