DRAGON SLAYER

South Vietnam 1968

Taiwanese Operations Compound and Antenna Field at Dong Hoi

THE young Taiwanese radio operator leaned back in his patched rattan chair and stared out the heavily reinforced window of the operations compound.  Above the encroaching jungle he could just make out the tips of the antennas.  Soaring over the thick and unruly Vietnamese shrubbery and palm trees and flame-of-the-forest trees, the antenna field's silver towers glittered in the eerie morning sunlight like exotic birds frozen in mid-flight. 

It was the man's last month in Vietnam, and already his mind was drifting back to the familiar streets of Taipei.  To a small lane off Chung Shan North Road where in less than twenty days his wife and four-year-old son would welcome him home.  Home from a boring tour of duty in a compound in a remote mountainous area of Vietnam surrounded by impenetrable jungle growth.  He glanced at the pictures of his family on the nearby bulletin board and again felt the pride in being the father of a healthy, chubby son; a “Little Emperor.” 

Then his eyes fell on the photograph he'd taken of his team of radio operators and linguists.  The eleven Taiwanese were standing and clowning with an American helicopter gunship crew in the compound's landing zone.  The gunship crew was on standby at all times to bail them out in case of emergency.  The number on the tail of the chopper read 7-4-6.  The seven and the six were of no consequence, but the sound of "four" in Chinese was similar to the sound for "death."  Still, the radio operator regarded himself as a modern Chinese and traditional Chinese superstition seldom troubled him.  The man let his eyes fall on the two flags farther along the wall - one American and one Taiwanese - and the photographs of LBJ and Chiang Kai-shek.  Both were looking very serious indeed. 

Suddenly his earphones crackled to life and he began intercepting his fourth message of the day.  Chinese in southern China communicating with one another unknowingly being listened to by Taiwanese in South Vietnam.  No doubt it would be another "Mother sick, send money"-type message.  During his entire tour of duty he had intercepted almost nothing of military value.  Still, the Taiwanese compound was located in what the American army had designated a "Hazardous Duty Zone" and, regardless of the dubious value of their interceptions, he and his crew were well paid. 

The team chief, a short stocky and broad-faced martinet from northern China, stood beside his desk and spoke curtly to him.  "Hai mei-you ne? (Still nothing?)"

The Taiwanese radio op sat up straight and shook his head.  The team chief was an elderly ex-Nationalist Colonel whose tone suggested that those around him were more slaves than subordinates.  The son of a general in one of Chiang Kai-shek's defeated armies which had fled the communist takeover of China in 1949 and brutally forced its authority upon the Taiwanese.  The man still spoke Chinese with a heavy Beijing accent, and the Taiwanese-born radio operator often grimaced inwardly at the man's speech, usually sprinkled with difficult-to-decipher "r" suffixes. 

The team chief grabbed the messages the operator had intercepted in the previous hour and took them to his own desk where he began translating them into Chinese characters and then into English.  Each page was covered with rows of numbers and an outsider (i.e., someone outside the "intelligence-gathering community") would have no idea that each four-letter combination represented a Chinese character. 

Just out of the operator's line of vision, along the perimeter of the compound, two South Vietnamese soldiers stood guard at a rear entrance gate, a strange but sturdy contraption of bamboo and barbed wire.  The senior ranking of the two men suddenly pricked up his ears and turned to his companion, motioning silently toward nearby jungle growth.  His subordinate obediently held his M-16 at the ready and turned to walk toward the source of the noise.  His superior slung his M-16 on his shoulder, slipped a knife from a sheath, and followed closely behind him.

He quickly clasped one hand around his companion's mouth then plunged the knife into his back.  As he pulled the knife out, dozens of well-armed, black-clad Viet Cong emerged from the jungle.  One of them slit the throat of the dying soldier and then joined the others as they rushed through the gate and into the compound.  As silent as the jungle itself.
 

                           Chapter 2

     THE shadow of the United States Army Bell UH-1C helicopter skimmed over the triple-canopy jungle stretching endlessly across Vietnamese hills and valleys.  Anyone below would have heard the roar of its engine and the "whoomp" of its blades but would not have glimpsed the chopper's nose art where, depicted in vivid colors, a fierce dragon was being ridden by a scantily clad and very well-endowed young woman.  The dragon was roaring and sending out streams of fiery smoke from its nostrils.  The woman waved a sword with one hand and held on to the dragon’s green scaled-neck with the other.  Beneath the nose art were the large, carefully painted black letters: 

Dragon Slayer

On each side were the helicopter's two rocket pods and two 7.62 mm rotary, six-barreled mini guns.  The helicopter's tailboom read "United States Army" and on its tail was the number:  7-4-6. 

On the underside of the fuselage was the irreverent crew's large bullseye painting of a target with scores inside each circle.  Over the target were the words:

               VC TARGET RANGE: HAPPY SHOOTING!

Inside the plexiglas cockpit of the chopper a pilot and co-pilot wore olive green flight helmets and their normal chest armor.  Behind the cockpit area was a crew chief, door gunner and two passengers.  Behind them on the bulkhead were neatly painted black letters:

                82ND ASSAULT HELICOPTER COMPANY

                       MAJOR BRYON WHITE

                          COMMANDING

The crew chief and door gunner manned M-60 machineguns positioned for action in each of the two open cargo doors.  They and the two passengers were squeezed in between bandoleers of Claymore mines and crates of grenades which had been crammed into every available space.  Of the two passengers, one was a prisoner in handcuffs.  One was a military policeman. 

Except for the MP, the men in the helicopter were combat-hardened veterans.  It was especially obvious in their eyes: the Vietnam "thousand yard stare."  The crew chief sat on ammunition boxes lining the cargo deck's bulkhead, his flight helmet off, and tugged on the stubborn string loops of its earphones.

Most of the men were in their mid- to late-20's, suggesting, perhaps, that this was their second or even third tour of duty in 'Nam.  The MP, on his first tour, was about 19.  His helmet liner was unspotted and his boots were spit-shined.  The others wore faded fatigues, dirty combat boots, flak jackets and .45's. 

The magic marker message on the back of the door gunner's flak jacket read:  HAPPINESS IS A COLD LZ.  That on the back of the crew chief read:  DON'T SHOOT - I'M SHORT!

Only the prisoner, a man named Greenwood, wore a soft, narrow-brimmed flop hat.  He was also the only one wearing green-and-black striped "tiger" fatigues -- symbol of the hunter-killers of the LRRPs -- Long Range Reconnaissance Patrols.  In addition to poorly healed shrapnel wounds, his hands and face bore the scars of long nights lying in wait in jungle ambushes -- lacerations from elephant grass and bites from ants, mosquitoes, termites, leeches.  Areas of his face retained traces of his greenish-black camouflage paint; as if he just came out of the bush.  If anything, he appeared even more the classic picture of a combat-hardened veteran than the others.  By comparison, his MP guard appeared boyish and unseasoned.

The pilot, John Haggerty, known to his men affectionately as Hard Bones, spoke to his co-pilot -- a twenty-three-year-old from Chicago named Fox.  "I'd say it's about time we let Big Daddy know our whereabouts, don't you?"

"We'd better," Fox said.  "Otherwise, he might worry himself to death."

Hard Bones initiated his radio conversation between helicopter and base.  "Dragon base, this is Dragon seven.  Do you copy?  Over."

It took only a few seconds for a response.  "...Dragon seven, this is Dragon base.  Over."

"Dragon base, Dragon seven has accomplished its mission and is on its way home.  Over."

"...Dragon seven, your CO requests your present position and estimated time of arrival.  Over."

"Dragon base, we are 35 clicks southwest of Phu Bai and ETA is one hour.  Over."

"Copy, Dragon seven.  Your CO requests mission report on Firebase Alpha.  Over."

"Firebase Alpha completely evacuated.  The slicks took the troops; we took the weapons.  However, please be advised we have one prisoner and one MP on board as our first priority and will be making an unscheduled stop at Ahn Lo.  Over."

"Say again, Dragon seven.  You have one VC prisoner on board?  Over."

"Negative, Dragon base.  Prisoner is American.  Over."

"...Copy, Dragon seven.  However, CO asks for a report on weapons.  Over."

"Dragon base, please advise CO we have a shitload of armament on board including enough Claymores to mine every rice paddy in Vietnam.  Over."

"...Dragon seven, your CO refuses to believe you could have loaded all the weapons he requested and be back so soon.  Over."

"Dragon base, while it is true that a shitload of weapons does tend to affect one's flying speed, please be advised that a United States Army Bell UH-1C Huey gunship knows how to haul ass when the right helmsman is at the wheel.  Over."

In the few seconds of silence, Hard Bones and his co-pilot exchanged smiles.  Both men had had several run-in's with their CO, Major Bryon White AKA "Big Daddy".  White took pride in presenting himself as a tough-as-nails, "no-nonsense" officer and in reminding anyone who would listen that he was a decorated veteran of the Korean War.  When he'd first arrived in country, Major White had tightened up restrictions and brought charges against several of the men in his unit whom he said were having intercourse with their hootch maids.  Hard Bones and his crew fought back with ingenuity and, when charges were dropped, were credited with persuading the Major that men facing death every day do not appreciate chickenshit from a turkey.

Whether harassing American military martinets or fighting communist armies, Hard Bones had proved himself to be one of the best helicopter pilots in Vietnam.  He was daring, innovative, skillful and often totally disregarded deadly enemy fire to support soldiers on the ground.  And the men on the ground knew this.  In more than one action, grunts facing a well-entrenched enemy were reliably reported to have cheered wildly when a voice over their field radio reported that Hard Bone's unit was the one sending assistance.  But the same independent spirit which motivated him throughout his years of flying had led to his being reprimanded and grounded on two occasions.  The next order he disobeyed would be the cause of the only thing Hard Bones was afraid of:  He would be permanently grounded. 

"...Roger that, Dragon seven.  Happy flying.  Dragon Base out."

"Roger, Dragon base.  Dragon Seven, out."

In the doorway, the watchful door gunner, known as Kool-Aid, gripped his M-60 machine gun slung on its elastic bungee cord from the roof of the cabin and looked down at the jungle as it grudgingly gave way to the smoke of cooking fires, ricefields, rubber plantations, banana trees and the tops of thatched roofs. He wondered idly which figures were VC and which weren't:  The villagers leading their water buffalo; the fishermen net-casting for fish; the farmers peddling traditional chain-pumps and cone water buckets raising water from one level to the next.  What this war needed was an invention to tell which pajama-clad farmers were innocent and which were aiding VC to lay deadly ambushes for American grunt patrols or hiding VC in the villages so American troops would never find them.

Inside the cockpit, Hard Bones Haggerty keyed his radio to tower frequency.  "Ahn Lo Tower, this is Dragon seven...Ahn Lo Tower, this is Dragon seven..."

Suddenly, a frantic voice broke in on the emergency frequency radio; a voice in Taiwanese-accented Mandarin interspersed with occasional cries for help in English.

The co-pilot wrinkled his brow.  "What the hell is that?  Charlie on our frequency again?"

Hard Bones listened intently before speaking.  "Chinese.  Something about...Jesus Christ, it's Dong Hoi!  They're being overrun!"

Larson shouted above the inrushing wind.  "I thought we were fighting Vietnamese."

The prisoner gave the MP a slight smile.  "No, sonny, this is the listening post at Dong Hoi.  Chinese radio ops were brought over from Taiwan.  They're on a mountain listening in on communications inside China."

"Dong Hoi?!  That's VC territory."

"Yeah.  The Brass decided that if the shit hit the fan these boys could get them out in time.  How much you want to bet they won't?"

Hard Bones could tell the excited radio operator was becoming hysterical.  He began to hear the sound of gunfire.  All four crew members could hear everything clearly in their earphones; the MP and the prisoner listened to Hard Bone's side of the conversation over the sound of the chopper's turbines and blades.

Fox shook his head.  "Jesus Christ!  They haven't got a chance!"

Hard Bones spoke into his mike.  "Dragon base.  This is Dragon seven.  Over."

"Dragon seven, this is Dragon Base.  Over."

"The Taiwanese ops at Dong Hoi are on the air screaming for help.  Request permission to assist.  Over."

"...Dragon seven, this is your company commander.  We are aware of the situation at Dong Hoi.  Carry on with your present mission.  Over."

Hard Bones glanced at Fox as if to reassure himself that he had heard correctly.  "Sir, I repeat, the VC are apparently overrunning Dong Hoi.  I can be there in minutes!  Over!"

"Dragon seven, I repeat, your request is denied.  You could not reach them in time and, in any case, at the moment, Dong Hoi is not your mission.  Over."

"Dragon Base, Dong Hoi is our mission and twelve Taiwanese linguists are about to be killed!  I might be able to save them. Over!"

"Dragon seven, you will proceed with your present mission!  You will not- repeat - not render assistance to Dong Hoi!  That is a direct order!  Any attempt on your part to do so, and I will have you up for an immediate court-martial!  Over!"

"Are you insane?  If you don't care about the men, what about the intelligence documents!  That station is handling top secret, cryptographic material!  Over!"

"Request denied!  Proceed with your mission!  Over!"

"If the VC get their hands on those documents, they'll know every move-"

As Hard Bones stopped talking abruptly his co-pilot reacted.  “What!  What's the matter!"

Hard Bones spoke each word into the radio clearly and distinctly. "You son-of-a-bitch!  You bastards want Charley to overrun the base; you've planted false documents.  Over!"

As Hard Bones and Major White screamed to interrupt each other on their keyed radios, it created static and jammed their frequency until the other relinquished.

"Dragon seven, get off the air immediately!  That is a direct order!  So help me God, I'll have you crucified!  Get off the air!  Dragon Base out!"

"That's why you sent us to help evacuate Firebase Alpha.  That's not our mission; you just wanted us out of the way.  You goddamned- (static)"

"Captain Haggerty, I am ordering- (static)"

"A dozen Taiwan linguists sacrificed for some kind of CIA stunt.  What did the spooks promise you for cooperating, Major?  A promotion?  Over."

"That's it!  You get back here immediately and consider yourself under arrest!  I will personally- (static)"

Hard Bones abruptly cut him off.  For several seconds the crew listened to the radio sounds of AK-47s and the screams of Taiwanese ops.  Then there was silence; then the sound of Vietnamese voices.  Then nothing.

Greenwood turned to the crew chief.  "Some hot-shot chopper crew.  If you'd been flying instead of bullshitting on the radio, you might have saved them."

The crew chief was known to the rest of the crew as "Wizard," because of the way he could repair a helicopter with few tools and lots of improvising.  Still in his early 20's, he was nevertheless a religious man.  He glanced at Greenwood, then turned away, ignoring him, and pulled out a Bible looking for a quotation.  Amid the weapons and ammunition, the Bible's silver clasp, large red capitals and black text, seemed like something from another world.

Greenwood scratched his chin with his handcuff link and continued his harassment.  "You boys gonna be known as the crew that fucked up at Dong Hoi.  The hot-shots that got the Chinks killed.  You boys were their security.  Some security."

The prisoner and the MP were seated close together but, except for them, aboard the helicopter, anyone not speaking into the intercom system had to shout to be heard over the whine of the turbine engine and the sound of the rotors.  When the crew chief shouted to be heard the prisoner smiled at his pronounced southern accent.  "Your problem, Greenwood, is that you don't know when to shut up!"

The MP joined in the shouted conversation.  "His problem is he killed a man and he's going away for a long time!"

Greenwood moved closer to the crew chief.  "See, chief, the thing is, I only killed one man -- not counting dinks, of course; whereas you -- you boys got a dozen killed.   All because good little soldiers got to obey orders.  Now, what does your good book say about that?"

Wizard suddenly lurched at Greenwood with his hands at Greenwood's throat.  Kool-Aid took his own hands from his M-60 machine gun and turned to aid the MP as he struggled to separate them. 

Fox, the co-pilot, heard the commotion and turned around.  Fox was a big man and he had both the confidence and the authority of a big man.  "All right, knock it off!"

Wizard released Greenwood and recovered his Bible.  Kool-Aid shoved Greenwood against an ammunition crate then turned back to his M-60.  Hard Bones had seemed unaware of the commotion.  He stared straight ahead and spoke softly.  "I could have saved them."

Fox started to say one thing then settled for another: "We followed procedure."

"Yeah, Fox, I followed procedure; and let twelve men die."

Fox stared at Hard Bones Haggerty.  He had lost count of the American ground troops they had rescued under fire, but he knew Hard Bones seemed only to remember the ones he hadn't been able to get out safely.  "Hey, buddy, don't always be so damned hard on yourself; it was the Major's call.  The Taiwanese were sacrificed and we were set up."

Hard Bones still spoke mainly to himself.  "I wish to God I had a second chance."

At the sudden eruption of loud ground fire, Hard Bones sharply banked the chopper and immediately spotted dozens of muzzle flashes.  Green tracers of Vietcong automatic weapons fire were coming at them from a partial clearing in the jungle.  For every round they could see, there were four rounds they couldn't see.  And from somewhere below 51 caliber machine gun rounds chased them across the sky.  And the clearing itself was surrounded by the strangest formation of low rolling hills Kool-Aid had ever seen.

Below the chopper, surrounding huts clustered together in the middle of several rice paddies, an entire company of Vietcong was defiantly out in the open, the men energetically emptying their AK-47's and larger caliber machine guns at the chopper.  As bullets hit the chopper, one sailed cleanly through the Plexiglas cockpit chin bubble.  Another ricocheted off Hard Bone's frontal ceramic plate knocking the wind out of him and causing a bloody shrapnel groove along his cheek. 

"Hard Bones!  You OK?"

"Yeah, Fox.  I'm OK.  The chicken plate stopped the bullet.  But that makes it personal."

Kool-Aid spoke into the wind.  "Oh, shit.  Here we go!"  The door gunner pulled a handful of pills from his fatigue shirt pocket and looked them over.  He picked three of them.  "You, you and you.  Step out of formation."  Kool-Aid popped them into his mouth and shoved the rest back into his pocket.  "The rest of you are dismissed.  But do not leave the immediate area."

As the chopper climbed steadily to 1500 feet, Hard Bones wiped blood away from his cheek, opened a console cover and pushed a toggle switch, arming the guns and rockets.  Red lights appeared on the console.

Hard Bones spoke the words, by now long familiar to each member of his crew.  "Going hot!"

The MP screamed at him.  "What are you doing!"  It took Larson a few seconds to realize that, because of his earphones under his flying helmet, Hard Bones couldn't hear him.  Larson turned to the crew chief and spoke nervously.  "What... what does he think he's doing?"

Wizard almost laughed at the man's evident fear.  And his failed attempt to disguise it as indignation.  "Just what he should be doing, Mr. Larson.  Fighting a goddamn war!"

Larson raised his voice.  "This helicopter has been commandeered by my commanding officer to transport my prisoner.  Your orders are-"

Ignoring the MP, Wizard tugged his flight helmet on, positioned his earphone and grabbed hold of his M-60 machine gun while Kool-Aid readied his own M-60 in the opposite cargo door.  Hard Bones continued preparing for battle and spoke to the crew through the intercom system.  "I hope Charlie appreciates the fact that we're taking time out from our busy schedule to shoot back at him."

The MP moved to Kool-Aid and shouted next to his helmet.  "This is not proper procedure!" 

"That so?"

"I mean...if a helicopter is shot at, the pilot can't just shoot back.  Not here!"

Kool-Aid spoke while keeping his eyes on the series of low hills.  Since he'd been in 'Nam, he'd never seen any terrain quite so bizarre - long, low ridges of earth rising in and around otherwise flat ricefield terrain.  He'd been in battle with Hard Bones dozens of times and his stomach hardly tensed anymore, but something about those hills—not to mention an unnaturally darkening sky--gave him the heebee-jeebies.  "Oh, you mean, when fired upon, we should climb to altitude, find the village on the map, call headquarters and request permission to return fire?  Something like that?"

"Yes!  And your headquarters will call the province chief to see if-"

"Yeah, and then assuming by that time the war ain't over and that the province chief ain't a VC plant, we can shoot back.  Fuck you very much!"

Despite his handcuffed wrists and the roll of the gunship, Greenwood inched his way closer to Larson.  "At last!  A little action.  Hey, Larson, how about unlocking the cuffs?  If somebody's hit I can-"

The increasingly nervous MP ignored Greenwood and moved between the seats of the pilot and co-pilot and shouted to Hard Bones.

"Listen, I think you should radio-"

Hard Bones snapped out the radio circuit breakers.  "Sorry, son, I just lost radio contact."  He then spoke to his crew through the intercom.  "Weapons check!"

Fox pulled the minigun sight down from its stowed position. He felt both the fear and exhilaration of going into battle.  Especially speeding through the sky over Vietnam in a tiny metal-and-Plexiglas bubble, as vulnerable as it was deadly.  "You got it."

Wizard had grown up in Louisiana, the youngest of three mean brothers.  He had learned early that life was a series of battles.  If any man on board actually looked forward to combat, he did.  He screamed into the wind.  "Ready!"

Kool-Aid stopped staring at the strange ridge formations long enough to turn toward the cockpit.  "Let's pop some caps!"

Hard Bones pulled up on the collective and pushed the cyclic hard forward, abruptly pushing the nose down, and sending the chopper into a steep dive.  As it approached the target, still taking enemy fire, Hard Bones fired a pair of 2.75 inch HE (high explosive) rockets, while Fox fired two 7.62 miniguns, each with six rotating barrels, slamming 4000 rounds per minute into the target area. 

As the helicopter broke off and banked, Kool-Aid and Wizard began firing their M-60 machine guns.  Their spent brass cartridges ejected at an incredible speed.  Red tracers were heading earthward, green tracers upwards, rocket pods were flaring, streaks of grey smoke trailed the rockets.  Trails of brass cartridges tumbled out of the chopper like rain, silhouetted black against the blue sky, light coruscating off them like dozens of little suns.

Several huts, along with chickens, buffalo, cattle, trees and bits of Vietcong soldiers soared up in a big boom of dirt, straw and wood flying in all directions. 

Hard Bones again worked the collective and cyclic, abruptly sending the nose down, and buzzed straight over the area at treetop level.  The helicopter then began its climb.  The crew ignored the sights and sounds of bullet holes appearing in the chopper, the sudden vibrations and the inexplicable engine noises and continued to climb in preparation for another dive. 

Fox looked down at the bright yellow chip detector warning light as it came on.  "Uh oh!  We got metal chips in the transmission."

Hard Bones smiled and spoke calmly.  It had not gone unnoticed that in the heat of battle Hard Bones Haggerty became a kind of serene Buddha.  "Could be a short circuit."

Fox shook his head ruefully.  "It's your call, Hard Bones."

Suddenly, a red hydraulic light lit up.  Despite his best efforts, Fox heard the slightest hint of panic in his own voice. "Number two hydraulic system out!"  He turned and motioned to the door gunner.

Kool-Aid stuck his head out the door into the slipstream, looked to the rear and spotted the hydraulic fluid squirting from the cowling.  He ducked back inside and yelled above the sound of the chopper.  "Hydraulic fluid leaking!"

Greenwood began thrashing about, yanking at his handcuffs.  "We're taking too many hits!  Larson, for Christ sakes, get these goddamn cuffs off me!"

Larson ignored Greenwood while trying to control his own voice.  "I think you should...I am ordering you to head back!"

Hard Bones Haggerty maintained his insouciant attitude.  The helicopter began its near-suicidal dive, swooping noisily and erratically toward the target area again like an enraged, wounded eagle.  Again the gunship let loose on the VC and again the ground exploded sending up bits of huts, men and animals.  Suddenly, there was the almost deafening sound of a loud roar sending an incredibly strong vibration through the chopper.

Fox spoke while trying to steady the mini-gun sight.  "What the hell was that?"

Hard Bones exerted every effort to stabilize the gunship.  "Nothing I ever heard before!"

The swirling dust from the ground thickened, almost blinding the crew.  Within seconds the day darkened.  In the face of an enormous roar of wind, the crew clung to whatever was at hand.  The badly vibrating helicopter was almost helplessly spun about as it gyrated in narrowing spirals while being sucked deeper into some kind of irresistible whirlpool. 

Hard Bones fought desperately to control the Huey while the others did their best to brace themselves.  In the cockpit, levers, switches, buttons, circuit breakers and antitorque pedals were pushed to no avail.  The entire instrument panel warning system now lit up in meaningless flashes of red, yellow and green.  Gage indicator needles -- airspeed, torque, tachometer, engine oil pressure, altimeter, etc. -- spun out of control.  Live ammunition, brass cartridges, and other items in the cargo area broke free and began flying about.  Chalky white foot-long soft clay bars of C-4 explosive wrapped in olive-drab cellophane began slipping one by one out of their mesh container.  Cartons of C-rations broke loose from their ropes and tumbled over.

The howling roar increased in volume and the wind increased in strength.  Hard Bones screamed above it.  "Instruments have gone crazy!"

Kool-Aid pulled a vial of pills from a pocket of his fatigue shirt.  He hurriedly swallowed one while spilling several and replaced the vial.  Greenwood and Larson jammed their thumbs into their ears against the deafening roar.

The velvety blackness surrounding the bucking chopper was total, eerie and unnatural.  For a few quick seconds, an intense, blinding white light dispelled the darkness and the craft seemed almost aglow, suspended in time and space.  It seemed to the men on board that everything now moved in slow motion.  Then, as the darkness returned, the helicopter seemed to be traveling at incredible speed through a narrow tunnel. 

Again, for only a few seconds, the intense white light dispelled the darkness and the helicopter was suspended in time and space.  Then, again, darkness returned.  Gradually, the roaring stopped, and the unnatural black smoke about the Huey began to dissipate.  The worst of the vibrations ceased.  

Fox took several deep breaths.  "What happened?  I feel like I've been mugged."

Hard Bones looked at his badly shaken co-pilot.  "If that's a new weapon, Charlie's won this war."

Fox suddenly screamed.  "Hard Bones!  Look out!"

Hard Bones peered through the cockpit window just as the mist parted.  The gunship was heading directly for a mountain formation.  Hard Bones immediately pulled up.  As they climbed, the chopper began vibrating dangerously and emitting noises like a machine straining to fly apart.  Hard Bones fought desperately to control it.

The day was again perfectly clear.  They were still flying over mountains but these were completely unlike anything they'd ever seen.  The men stared at the mountains that seemed to rise unnaturally straight out of the ground in a series of bizarre limestone formations. 

Fox's voice had almost returned to normal.  "Where in God's name are we?"

Hard Bones flicked switches and checked gages.  Needles were no longer spinning but neither did they move.  Only the two original warning lights were on.  He reconnected the circuit breakers.

"Dragon base, this is Dragon seven.  Do you copy?  Over...Dragon base, this is Dragon seven.  Do you copy?" 

His gloved hand grabbed the cyclic and squeezed the radio trigger switch several times.  There was no click in his ear.

Fox tried a few more buttons and switches to no avail.  While he reached into a compartment and pulled out a map, Hard Bones continued to fight the controls.  The Low-RPM warning horn began buzzing loudly.  "Instruments are out.  Radios are out.  I don't think I can stabilize this baby much longer.  If I try for altitude, it wants to shake apart.  We'll have to put her down."

Fox studied the map.  "Not one thing down there matches with anything on here.  Blue lines, nothing!"

Kool-Aid spoke while straining to shove crates of displaced Claymore mines away from his M-60.  "Maybe they made the map during the monsoon.  When the waters are down it's all different."

Fox looked out at the terrain and back to the map.  "Negative, Kool-Aid!  I don't know where the hell we are, but I guarantee wherever it is isn't on this map."

As the chopper approached a narrow river, it flew over a cluster of sampans and a junk with huge butterfly-wing sails.  Men along the shore as well as on the junk looked up at the chopper in pure terror.  Most ran in panic.  Some jumped into the river.  A few knelt and kowtowed as the chopper passed overhead.

The chopper passed over another boat, long and narrow -- a "scrambling dragon" -- with enormous sails.  Over two dozen brightly dressed oarsmen were seated on low benches along the port side and another equal number of men were plying their huge oars at starboard.  Many dove into the water. 

Kool-Aid spoke in disbelief.  "Hey, Hard Bones, what do you make of that?"

"Damndest thing I've ever seen.  VC haven't run away from a chopper since the beginning of the war."

Fox forced a nervous laugh.  "Maybe they heard Hard Bones Haggerty himself was flying it.  Or, maybe-"

Wizard interrupted.  "Look!" 

On a hillside was an ancient pagoda, its crumbling brick base overrun with weeds.  As the chopper approached, the remains of a burned-out village came into view.  A few houses with sun-dried brick walls and hipped tile roofs smoldered but were still standing.  The thatched roofs of wooden houses had collapsed upon sparsely furnished rooms below.  Several bodies were lying on the ground.  Vendors' baskets and farm implements lay overturned and abandoned in the dirt.  As the chopper banked over a patchwork quilt of green and yellow ricefields, several terrified farmers either dove for cover or ran in complete panic.

Kool-Aid shook his head in disbelief.  "Did you see those rice paddy daddies?  They act like they never saw a chopper before!"

Larson spoke while rubbing his shoulder where a box of ammunition had slammed into him.  "I don't know where we are but when we get back I think you may be faced with a court martial for-"

Hard Bones chuckled.  "Roger that, son!  But first we'll have to land and check the damage."

Larson started to continue when his anger turned to uneasiness.  "How'd it get so cold in here?"

Kool-Aid stared at the sun's position in the sky and checked his watch.  "Hey, Wizard, what time you got?"

"What time I got!  Fuck you care what time I got?  You got a train to catch?"

"Well, maybe it don't matter.  But, before the storm, the sun was rising over there."

"So what's the problem?"

"Well, the problem is now it's setting over there!"

As the men reacted and looked toward the sun, the helicopter began to shudder dangerously.  Hard Bones motioned to Fox toward a small clearing on a low plateau.  The only visible occupants of the plateau were several emaciated sheep and goats. 

For nearly a minute, Hard Bones fought with the heavily vibrating controls to guide the disabled chopper into the landing zone.  He lowered the collective to reduce the pitch and strained to pull back the heavily vibrating cyclic.  He applied pressure on the right rudder to maintain his heading and maintained rpm with throttle adjustments.  The Huey's rotor wash pressed blades of grass to the earth and sent dust and leaves swirling about the LZ.  The chopper flared as it decelerated, landed bumpily on the heels of its skids and then glided several yards to a sudden halt sending sheep and goats running for their lives.

The men in the cockpit quickly unbuckled their safety harnesses.  Following Hard Bones's command to "Secure the perimeter," everyone exited the chopper and hit the ground running.  Larson and Fox moved about the helicopter with their .45 pistols drawn and ready. 

The second Greenwood had understood they would be making a forced landing, he had begun calculating the odds on an escape attempt.  While the others inspected the perimeter of the clearing, he moved out of the line of sight of either Hard Bones or Wizard.

Larson and Fox walked quickly about, checking the perimeter. To their south and west, beyond a field of waist-high grass, was a forest of banyan trees.  Wild doves swirled about groves of speckled bamboo.  In the distance, rocky slopes tumbled downward, one after the other, leading to the South China Sea.  To the north and east a series of rugged hills rose in the distance and formed mountains.  A steep cliff between their position and the next hill offered them some protection on that side.

Kool-Aid noticed Greenwood edging away from the helicopter. He jumped into the helicopter's cargo compartment from the other side.  He quickly extracted an M-16, inserted a clip, and sighted on Greenwood.  "Hey, white boy!  You gonna make my day?"

Greenwood gave him a smile balanced somewhere between a smirk and a sneer.  "Maybe when I get these off."

"I see you with those off and you'll wish to God you'd left them on.  Get your ass back here.  Now!"

Hard Bones and Wizard climbed to the roof of the Huey, first to look about the LZ, then to check the chopper for damage.  As Larson returned to guard Greenwood, Kool-Aid moved out to join Fox.  Greenwood lay down on the ground, resting his head against a helicopter skid, his hat over his eyes, at peace with the world.

Kool-Aid and Fox walked cautiously toward the banyan trees, single file, weapons at the ready.  Kool-Aid kept his voice low. "Anything?"

"Nothing I can see.  But I don't like it.  This place is spooky."

"'Nam always spooky."

"Not like this."

"You think Charlie saw us comin' in?"

"I don't know.  If he did, we'll know about it soon enough.  Come on, let's check those trees out."

The banyan trees were incredible in size and girth.  The hundreds of thick columns towered high above the two men. 

Kool-Aid held out his hand and spoke just above a whisper.  "Hold on a second.  I got to make an unscheduled stop."

Kool-Aid unbuttoned his fatigue trousers and was just stepping behind a bush when Fox and Kool-Aid both saw the boy and the old man simultaneously.  In a knee-jerk response, Fox raised his .45 and fired a round but before he could fire another, Kool-Aid knocked the .45 lower with his rifle barrel.  The shot went wild but the Asians hiding in the trees and in the grass began screaming and crying and running about.

Kool-Aid hastily buttoned up his trousers.  "Cool it!  All right, get out of there!  Move!  Di-di mau!"

Dozens of Asians, mostly men, moved out of the trees.  They ranged in age from child to elderly.  Although a few wore decent outer robes, most were poorly dressed in threadbare jackets and baggy trousers and were barefoot.  Many carried their few possessions on bamboo poles and held (unlit) lanterns.  Some of the men had flintlocks or matchlocks or swords or spears.

Each Asian male had most of the crown of his head shaved except for the plaited queue hanging down at the back, i.e. the pigtail.  They moved toward an increasingly tense Kool-Aid and Fox and surrounded the two men.

Kool-Aid took aim at the nearest and, almost without conscious thought, began squeezing the trigger, but suddenly all knelt and kowtowed on hands and knees, offering up their weapons.      Fox was stunned.  "What the hell?"

Kool-Aid began yelling.  "Hey!  Knock that shit off!  Get up!  Yeah, up!  Now, move it!"

Kool-Aid pointed with his M-16 and motioned for them to move toward the helicopter.

"I never saw Dinks dressed like that," Fox said.  "They got pigtails!"

"Must be some Dink festival bullshit."

By the time they herded the Asians to the landing zone, Hard Bones and Wizard had already grabbed their weapons and climbed down.  Hard Bones stared at the dozens of fear-filled Asians.  Closest to him was the teenaged boy who had frightened Kool-Aid. He stood beside a very elderly man with a Ho Chi Minh-type beard. Everyone was wide-eyed and very much afraid.  Hard Bones lowered his weapon.  "What have we here, Kool-Aid?  A costume ball?"

"I found a reception committee in the woods."

Wizard kept his shotgun at the ready.  "Come on, Hard Bones, you're the linguist.  Talk to them.  Then let me know if I should blast them or not."

Fox glanced at Wizard and back to the Asians.  "He's a Chink lingy; not a Dink lingy."

Hard Bones stared at the old man and several of the others.  "They don't look Vietnamese, Fox."

Hard Bones spoke to the men in Vietnamese.  There was no response.  Then he spoke in Chinese mandarin.  One of the men responded.  Hard Bones sighed.

"What's the matter?" Fox asked.

"He doesn't speak Vietnamese."

Kool-Aid followed Hard Bones's lead and lowered his rifle.  "So what does he speak?"

"Chinese."

Wizard was growing impatient.  "So ask the Dink why he doesn't speak Dinkenese."

"How am I supposed to ask him?"

"You learned Chinese in Taiwan, right?"

"I learned mandarin; he's speaking cantonese."

Wizard spat.  "Motherfuck."

Suddenly the old man with the boy spoke to Hard Bones in mandarin.  Hard Bones responded.  As everyone's attention was completely on their conversation they failed to notice Greenwood's movements.  Despite his handcuffs, Greenwood managed to edge his way beside a rucksack torn open during the storm.  He reached in and withdrew a knife with a serrated blade.  He slipped it inside his boot and quickly jumped from the cargo door to the ground.  He walked slowly back to the group as Hard Bones turned to his crew to translate.

"He said: why should they speak Vietnamese?"

Kool-Aid took a step back.  "Oh, shit.  You telling me we not still in the 'Nam!"

"He says we're in southern China.  Kwangtung Province." 

Kool-Aid quickly took a pill from his pocket and popped it into his mouth.  "China!  I got R&R in Bangkok Monday morning with names and addresses of the most beautiful Siamese women in the world and you're sayin' you flew us into China!"

"He says we're near the coast."

"Great.  I can swim to Bangkok."

Wizard at last lowered his shotgun.  "That's bull!  No way we could have flown that far!  We didn't even have the fuel for that kind of trip."

Fox looked at his watch.  "Ask the old man what day it is."

Hard Bones hesitated.  "I did."

"So, what'd he say?"

"You're not gonna like it."

"Try me."

"He said: it's the 12th day of the 2nd moon of the 7th year of Hsien Feng."

Kool-Aid broke the silence.  "Say what?"

"Hsien Feng was a Chinese emperor in the Ch'ing Dynasty."

"Say what!"

"In the 1850's, I think.  Or, thereabouts.  Anyway, he wants to know if we're gods." 

Kool-Aid spoke to the old man.  "I'm God; these assholes are impostors!  Translate that!"

"I told him we're men from across the sea.  So he wants to know which tribute-bearing nation we're from and if it's true our emperor is a woman."

Despite his pills, Kool-Aid's laugh was tinged with nervous anxiety.  "Ask him what kind of acid he's on and if he wants to sell some."

"He must mean Queen Victoria.  That means he thinks we're English."

Greenwood spoke while glaring at the Asians.  "I say we waste the fuckers."

Larson spoke.  "Yeah, sure; destroy what you don't understand, right, Greenwood?"

"Always worked for me."

Fox took a musket from one of the Chinese and looked it over.  He looked out at the other muskets the men were holding.  "These are flintlocks!  And matchlocks!  And this is a wheelock! These are antiques!  They're beautiful!"

The boy moved closer to Kool-Aid but seemed almost hypnotized while looking at his black skin.  He hesitated then cautiously reached out and touched the back of Kool-Aid's hand then looked at his own finger.

Kool-Aid then hesitantly reached out and touched the back of the boy's hand, then looked at his own finger and gave an expression of mock horror.  The boy was torn between fear and laughter.  Finally, overcoming his fear, he laughed.  "Mastah, you numba one first chop!  How you dooa?  My chin-chin you werry fine day."

"Huh?  'How I dooa?'  What planet you from?"

As the boy reached out his hands, Kool-Aid reached out to shake but the boy held onto his own hands, and "chin-chined" Kool-Aid traditional Chinese style, holding one fist inside the other and bowing.  Kool-Aid was left with his hand out and his mouth open.

"Mastah, no savvy my?"

"What language is he talking now?"

"Pidgin English."

"Pidgin what?"

The boy took a step closer to Hardbones.  "How many piecey man hab got come this side?" 

Fox could tell that Hard Bones was becoming excited.  "Six piecey man hab got come this side!"

"What for you makee so fashion come China in flying dragon ship?" 

"Uh, no savvy.  Muchee no savvy how we makee so fashion come China!"

"OK."  The boy turned to Kool-Aid.  "Mastah, my tink you numba one first chop!  My chin-chin you, one good flen, take care for you." 

"He wants to be your friend, Kool-Aid." 

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna be needin' some."

"My God, pidgin English is how the foreigners in China communicated with the Chinese for hundreds of years!  And he speaks it!"

Fox spoke the thought for all of them.  "So what exactly are you saying?"

"We're really here!"

Greenwood and Wizard spoke simultaneously.  "Where?"

"In the nineteenth century!  In the Ch'ing Dynasty!"

Kool-Aid stared at the boy's baggy clothes, shaved head, thin thigh-length queue and cotton shoes.  "Fuck me silly with an Easter lily!"

"Somehow we've flown into the past!  I knew that storm wasn't natural!"

Fox shook his head.  "Boo coo (beaucoup) dinky dau!"

Wizard nodded.  "Roger that, son."

Hard Bones looked over the chopper.  "Gentlemen, wherever we are, we're not goin' anywhere if we don't get this chopper fixed." 

Wizard was happiest when he had something to fix.  Something concrete he could put his hands to and work on.  "Right.  So maybe we should stow the bullshit and get to work.  When and if we get it fixed then we can jawjack about where we are and when we are."

Hard Bones gestured in the direction of the trees.  "Kool-Aid, you and Fox check out the perimeter.  And watch your asses. Wizard will check on the chopper.  I'll interrogate these people and try to make some sense of this."

"What about me?"  Larson asked.  His Marine Corps belt buckle glittered in the sun as if the light came from within.

Hard Bones grinned.  Something about Larson's incongruous innocence and smooth boyish features made him smile whenever he dealt with him.  "You, Larson?  You I want to check out the pagoda.  That'll be our observation post."

Larson gestured toward the prisoner.  "What about him?"

"Secure your prisoner temporarily to the skid.  Fox, check out the baggage compartment.  There’s military gear in there we can use.  Not to mention C-rations."

Suddenly, one of the Chinese noticed the dragon painting on the nose of the helicopter and excitedly called to the others.  They approached the nose and immediately fell to their hands and knees, this time kowtowing the "dragon" helicopter itself.

"Oh, shit," Kool-Aid said.  "Here we go again."

As some of the Chinese searched under the chopper, one asked Hard Bones a question in mandarin.

“Now what?” Kool-Aid asked.

“They want to know if it’s male or female.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I been wondrin’ about that chick you was with on Patpong last R&R.  ‘Cause her Adam’s apple was-”

Kool-Aid avoided Hard Bone’s kick just in time.
 

                           CHAPTER 3

AT the edge of the landing zone, Larson sat on a rock using his P-38 can opener to open one of his C-ration cans.  He smelled the canned fruit inside, dipped in his spoon and began eating.  In the growing darkness, the shape of his thin body blended in with the night sky and he appeared as an almost disembodied wraith hovering above the hillside.  Other crew members worked about the helicopter with flashlights or also ate from C-ration cans.  Small chunks of C-4 plastic explosive being used to heat some of the C-rations emitted bright flames as well as an unpleasant chemical odor.  Wizard read his Bible by lantern light.  Two Chinese villagers with lanterns and flintlocks were posted at the highest lookout of the pagoda.

Hard Bones sat on the ground near the chopper still conversing in mandarin with the old man.  The Chinese formed a semi-circle around him keeping close to their lighted lanterns and the fire Wizard had started.

Except for Greenwood, the men had changed into full combat gear -- Bandoliers of M-16 ammunition clips slung diagonally across chests, smoke grenade canisters and baseball grenades clipped to waists.  Bands tied about camouflage helmets secured such items as insect repellent, spoons, and packs of matches.  Survival knives were sheathed at their belts.  Rucksacks and M-16s were nearby on the cargo deck.

In the grass near the MP, Larson turned his head at the sound of someone urinating.  He then noticed the head and shoulders of Kool-Aid appear above some bushes.  "I never heard anyone piss for five minutes before."

"Larson, my man, do you realize that the Budweiser I drank in the 20th century I am now pissing out in the 19th century?  This piss is straddling two centuries!  In reverse!"

“You think?”

“Damn right.  This may seem like just a piss to you, but it is an historic moment in the urinary history of mankind.”  Seconds after the sound stopped, Kool-Aid appeared, doing up his fly.  He sat on a nearby rock and picked up his own C-ration can and continued eating.  Larson glanced at Hard Bones.  "Why do you call him 'Hard Bones'?"

"Hard Bones?  'Cause every time he gets shot down he breaks another bone.  The Wizard got his name 'cause he can fix anything.  The man is a genius.  Fox is Fox; loves guns the way I love women."

"And 'Kool-Aid' because you're cool under fire?"

"No, my man.  They's having a bit of fun with that one.  'Cause they know I tend to get my balls in an uproar under fire."

Kool-Aid finished eating and began rolling a joint.  He lit it and offered a hit to Larson who refused.  "Anyway, don't you worry, my man.  Hard Bones got us out of worse scrapes than this."

"You like him, don't you?"

"Like?  Try 'respect.'  That white boy just happens to be the bravest son-of-a-bitch I ever met.  Even among chopper pilots he's rumored to be totally stark-raving mad."

"And that's a compliment?"

"They don't come any higher, my man."

Hard Bones left the Chinese and moved over to sit with Kool-Aid.  He motioned to Wizard and Fox to join them.  "All right, listen up.  For tonight, we'll put out guards and some trip flares.  Tomorrow, Wizard will tell us how long he needs to fix the chopper."

"If it can be fixed, I said."

"Right.  If it can be fixed.  While he's working on that, the rest of us will have a chat with some people about a misunderstanding."

Kool-Aid rolled his eyes.  "Uh, oh." 

"Just talk I said."

"Yeah, that's what you said just before the last three bar fights we been in."

Hard Bones gestured toward the Chinese.  "These people live in the burned out village we saw from the air.  Pirates have been demanding money from them for years.  They've been paying it.  This morning they tried to fight back.  They lost.  Badly."

"So that's it," Fox said.  "Why they're hiding in the woods, I mean."

Hard Bones nodded.  "That's why they're hiding in the woods. So I promised tomorrow we would escort them to their village and have a chit-chat with the pirates."

Kool-Aid tossed his C-ration can toward the trees.  "Man, I'm going on R&R to Bangkok on Monday; I got no time to be messin' about with pirates."

"Don't worry.  As soon as we can get out of here we're out of here.  I don't want to get involved in local disputes any more than you do."

Fox looked in the direction of the village.  There were almost no lights.  "No law around here?"

"The old man says the local magistrate is paid off by the pirates; so he executes villagers and sends their heads to Peking claiming they're the heads of captured pirates.  That's how he gets promoted."

Fox whistled.  "Whew!  Nice place to visit but I sure wouldn't want to live here!"

Larson had been staring into the fire for nearly a minute.  He looked up at Fox.  "How can you people take this so lightly?  We may have actually traveled through time!"

Kool-Aid laughed.  "Don't sweat the small stuff, kid.  Just so long as the Army finds a way to get my pay check to me, I don't really give a rodent’s ass about the rest of it."

Wizard let out a long sigh.  "I still don't understand what the hell happened to us."

"I think we fell into a wormhole," Kool-Aid said.

Wizard cupped his hand to his ear: "Say again?"

"You know, the way gravity bends time and space into black holes and shit.  But with wormholes, it's like a worm on an apple, only instead of goin' around the apple, we burrowed through it.  Into a different time and space.  Now we got to burrow the fuck out of it!"

"Don't look now, Kool-Aid, but I think you got a wormhole up your ass."

"My mama always told me, 'Never talk philosophy with a cracker.'"

"Who you calling 'cracker,' spearchucker?"

Both men jumped up and walked toward each other, seriously angry.

"I'm callin' you 'cracker,' numbnuts."

"How'd you like to bite my ass?"

"You'll have to move your nose over first."

“Your mama have any kids that lived?”

“How about I cross my legs and break your glasses.”

Just as they began pushing one another, Hard Bones interfered. "Gentlemen, the Civil War hasn't even started yet, so could you cool the bullshit.  And, that’s an order!”

Kool-Aid stood his ground but turned toward Hard Bones.  "I think this bullshit is just some goddamn dream you having!"

"Me?  Why is it my dream?"

"'Cause you the one that loves this shit."

"What shit?"

"Chinese shit!  You studied it and you wanted to see it.  So now I'm caught up in some goddamn fantasy of yours and I want you to wake the fuck up so I can get the fuck out!"

Fox took a swig of water from his canteen, rinsed his mouth and spat.  "Maybe it's like the guy in "Manchurian Candidate." 

Wizard sat back down.  "You sayin' we been brainwashed?"

"Yeah.  We must have been captured in 'Nam, and Charlie brainwashed us into thinking we're in China.  In the past."

Kool-Aid stared at Fox.  "You sayin' we're being mindfucked by the Dinks to think we're with the Chinks?"

"Yeah!"

"What the fuck for?"

"How do I know what the fuck for?  I'm not Charlie!"

Hard Bones stood up.  "Gentlemen, I think we're all a little on edge here.  Let's call it a night."

Greenwood stood and stretched.  "I'll take first watch."

Hard Bones glared at him.  "That's real funny, Greenwood.  But I intend to guard you myself."

Larson was indignant.  "My prisoner is my responsibility!  I'll     watch him."

Hard Bones hesitated, then reluctantly nodded his head.  "All right, you guard him.  Just make sure he's cuffed at all times.  But, remember, he's already killed one American; if he gives you any trouble, shoot him."
 

                           Chapter 4

Several hours later, the landing zone's camp fire smoldered.  The men had fallen asleep to the soporific sounds of crackling logs and bamboo rustling in the wind.  Like the rest of the men, Kool-Aid was snuggled inside an Army blanket against the early morning chill of the mountains.  Although almost asleep, from the corner of his eye, he could see a figure stealthily approaching.  Just as the feet were beside him he drew his .45 and grabbed the intruder's legs, tumbling him to the ground. 

The boy looked more puzzled than afraid.  "Mastah, my one good flen you."

"You one good flen me?  Ok.  I one good flen you.  Just don't creep up on me like that.  Not unless you want to get blown away."

Kool-Aid released the boy and sat up.  The boy sat down beside him.  Kool-Aid holstered his .45 then stared at the boy and lowered his voice.  "Hey, kid, you got any sisters?"

"Hab got one piecey sist.  Beforetime hab got two piecey sist.  Baba no hab dollar; he sell sist for catchee chow."

"One of your sisters was sold for food!"

"Yes, mastah.  Now here hab too muchee fightee - too littee chow.  Pirates velly bad heart.  One piecey sist fightee too muchee!  Kill Many!"

"Your sister is fighting the pirates?"

"Yes, mastah.”  The boy gestured toward the mountains.  “She somewhere.  Watchee for chance make pirate-man die."

Hard Bones, lying near Kool-Aid, rolled over to face the boy.  "So where's your parents?  You know, mama-baba."

"Them catchee die.  Pirates -- too muchee bad heart man -- makee them catchee die."

"Well, tomorrow we go see pirates.  Maybe we makee them catchee die."

"My too muchee thankee you."

Kool-Aid stared at the boy.  "Pidgin English, huh?  Well, I think 'Pidgin' is just the right name for you.  OK with you?"

"Yes, mastah.  And 'spose you wanchee any first chop t'ing, my can catchee for you!"             

"Great!  You catchee me the fuck outta here and I catchee you boo coo dollars."

Hard Bones chuckled.  "You still don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"You don't have any money."

Kool-Aid reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of Vietnamese piasters and military payment certificates.  "So what do you call this?"

Hard Bones grabbed the money and flipped through it.  "There isn't any Vietnam yet, Kool-Aid.  Just independent kingdoms.  This is play money, you get it?  Funny money -- and the people who authorized it haven't been born yet."  Hard Bones tore up the money and watched it flutter off in the wind.

Kool-Aid's eyes widened.  "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Be sick in the morning.  Let's get some sleep."

Several yards away, on the cargo floor of the helicopter, Greenwood and Larson prepared their ponchos for bed.  Greenwood held up his handcuffed wrists.  "Come on, man, at least let me sleep without these damn things on!"

"No way."

"Larson, we're surrounded by people!  I'm not goin' anywhere.  And I'm not about to leave the chopper!  What if we're attacked and you're hit?  I'm a sitting duck who can't even fight for his life!"  Greenwood smiled inwardly as Larson hesitated.  "Jesus Christ, man, I haven't even been found guilty of anything yet!"

Larson dug out his key and unlocked the cuffs.  "You even so much as snore and I'll slap these back on you."

Greenwood rubbed his wrists, then rolled over to sleep facing away from Larson.  "Hey, thanks, man.  Now let's grab some shuteye when we can.  Charlie'll probably attack at dawn."

"Charlie!  You still think we're in the 'nam?"

"Damn right I still think we're in the 'nam.  I'll believe pirates when I see them.  Just like Charlie to come up with some trick to mindfuck us."

Larson settled down to sleep, his .45 near his hand.  He had wanted to keep his eye on Greenwood until he was sure he was asleep, but the excitement quickly took its toll.  Before long, he was dreaming of the girl he’d almost married in high school; the one who still sent letters to him.  As he began to snore, Greenwood reached for his boot and, in the dark, his hand found the knife.

                           Chapter 5

AS the misty gray morning light broke through the banyan trees and over the clearing, a hand reached up and touched Kool-Aid's ear. Kool-Aid, in sleep, brushed it away, and rolled slightly in the  blanket.  The hand tugged his ear harder.  Kool-Aid spoke, still more asleep than awake.  "Yeah, baby; later, baby.  You had enough now, you hear?  Don't be greedy.  Ole Kool-Aid need his sleep."

Again the hand tugged at his ear, this time hard enough to wake Kool-Aid up.  He turned quickly to see Pidgin staring at him wide-eyed.  "Mastah!  You looksee!  Hab plenty much trouble!"

"Whoa!  Slow down.  What trouble we got?"

"You looksee!  One piecey man hab die!"

Kool-Aid and Hard Bones jumped up.

Hard Bones laced his boots as he spoke.  "One piecey-man have die!  What man?"

"Flen you inside flying dragon ship catchee die!"

Kool-Aid grabbed his .45.  "My friend died?"

"Bad heart man hab knifo!  Him makee flen you catchee die!"

They rushed to the helicopter.  What they saw on the cargo floor stopped them in their tracks.  The body of Larson lay across the cargo floor.  His throat had been cut and his eyes were open in death.  Blood pooled beside his head.  His .45 was missing.  So were his ears.

As the men jumped on board, Fox and Wizard rushed up.  While Kool-Aid closed Larson's eyes, Hard Bones looked over the chopper.

Pidgin stared at Larson's body.  "He no 'cassion makee so fashion!  No b'long reason."

Hard Bones continued his frantic search.  "Some ammo missing.  M-16!  .45!  Grenades!  Jesus!  The starlight scope's gone!"

Fox whistled.  "If that sucker got the scope, he owns the night."

Hard Bones moved Pidgin away from Larson.  "It's my fault.  I never should have left the kid alone with Greenwood."

"He allo same bad heart pirate-man.  My t'ink bad heart man walkee chop chop pirate ship-side."

"Great!" Fox said.  "Greenwood joined the pirates."

Wizard was the only one who seemed unperturbed.  "So the sick son-of-a-bitch found his true calling at last.  Anyway, that just evens up the odds."

Hard Bones stared in the direction of the South China Sea.  "I'm afraid it more than evens up the odds.  Greenwood is a LRRP, a hunter-killer who didn't care in 'nam who he killed.  He enjoyed it and he was good at it.  He killed ARVN troops for the fun of it and when his own patrol leader tried to stop him, he killed him."

Wizard looked over the helicopter with concern.  "I don't give a damn what he stole.  He tries to destroy my chopper and I'll be waitin' for him."

"He won't try to destroy it.  He wants it for his own.  So you can be sure he'll be back to get it.  It's us he'll try to destroy.  We'll have to post guards, use passwords and clear the grass around the LZ.  And we'll have to put out Claymores, flares, trip wires and any tricks we learned from Charlie."

"Punji traps?" Fox asked.

"Yep.  He'll dig his, we'll dig ours."

The men exited the chopper.  Wizard walked around the helicopter shaking his head and mumbling: “hydraulics needs work, electrical system needs work, battery is shot up, engine oil reservoir took some hits, sheet metal of the cowling got more holes than a golf course….”  He began collecting the scattered tools and an overturned tool box near the chopper.  Fox gestured toward the Chinese now crowded around the helicopter.  "What about them?"

"They'll have to wait.  First we prepare our defenses, and then    we go after Greenwood."

Kool-Aid was genuinely shocked.  "Go after Greenwood?  I thought you said you didn't want to get involved.”

"Greenwood killed a man on board my chopper.  That makes it personal."

Kool-Aid groaned.

"What's your problem?"  Fox asked.

"Every time he says it's 'personal' the shit hits the fan."

"You don't want to live forever, do you?"

"I hope to shit in your mess kit I want to live forever!"

Wizard reappeared at the tail of the helicopter.  "I reckon there's another reason we'll be going after Greenwood." 

The others followed Wizard's gaze to the rotor head.

Hard Bones threw down his M-16.  "Jesus Christ!  He stole one of the pitch change links."

Wizard spat into the dirt.  "That he did; and without that, we won't be goin' nowhere."

As the men attempted to absorb this disastrous news, the Chinese old man stared at the MP's body and spat out some words.

Fox turned to Hard Bones.  "What's he sayin'?"

"He says, whoever we are, we're not gods."

Suddenly, Hard Bones spotted something emerging from the woods.  He retrieved his M-16.  Everyone turned in that direction and quickly secured their weapons. 

About three dozen Chinese warriors walked toward them under silk banners fluttering in the breeze.

They wore turbans and sashes at their waists.  Their tunic-like tops with loose sleeves hung low over loose petticoat trousers.  They carried bows-and-arrows and some had flintlock pistols tucked into their waist sashes.  Wizard lifted his rifle.  "Trouble."

As soon as Kool-Aid noticed their tight-fitting garments clearly revealed the swelling of breasts, he lowered his rifle.  "Women!"

Hard Bones stared in disbelief.  "Jesus Christ!  They're Taipings!  They must be a small part of a Taiping Army, Christian Chinese rebels.”  Hard Bones stared at the four Chinese characters on their stylish, close-fitting, green-and-yellow uniforms.  “The characters mean "Great Peace Holy Warrior." 

Kool-Aid began running toward the Taipings.  “Far out!  Somebody sent us some Donut Dollies!”

Hard Bones shouted after him.  "Kool-Aid, for God’s sake, wait!  They’re not Donut Dollies!  Taiping women warriors are fierce!  They might-"

Kool-Aid kept running.  "It's all right.  Old Kool-Aid got a way with women!"  He shouted to the women as he ran.  "Hey, girls!  Hey, over here!"

In a flash, several arrows were shot into the dirt inches from Kool-Aid's feet, effectively tripping him to his knees.  Kool-Aid's eyes widened in surprise.  "OK, OK!  First dates always make me nervous too!  Just unbend the bows a bit, will you?"

Hard Bones and the others moved forward with weapons at the ready.  There was a dangerous stand-off.  The only movement was a startled songbird with black-and-yellow plumage which flew up and away.  In the distance wind rustled through the stems of bamboo. The first rays of morning sunlight streaked down through billowy clouds and glittered on the womens’ swords.  Pidgin shouted to the leader of the Chinese who was training her bow-and-arrow on Hard Bones; Pidgin then shouted to Hard Bones in Chinese.

“He says these are Taiping women warriors fighting against the Manchu emperor.  They came to protect the village.  The leader is Pidgin's sister."

Fox kept his M-16 aimed directly at the women.  "What do we do?"

Hard Bones stared at Pidgin’s sister.  Her well proportioned face was the same shade of brown as her brother’s, the copperbrown of the Hakka Chinese.  Her turban was the same shade of red as her short red jacket which reached just to her waist.  She wore a loose, embroidered skirt open at the sides, and beneath that broad blue silk petticoat trousers tucked into Chinese boots.  A short-sword was tucked into the black sash at her waist.  Hard Bones spoke as she slowly fitted another arrow into her bow and pointed it at him.  "Just take it easy, men.  The way to handle a woman is to impress her right off the bat.  Leave this to me."  Hard Bones shouldered his M-16 and drew his pistol.  "Kool-Aid, you got your fatigue cap in your pocket?

"My cap?  Yeah, I got my cap; what about it?"

"Throw it into the air."

"I already used it for target practice in 'nam.  It's already got bullet holes in it."

"You know that and I know that; she doesn't know that."

Kool-Aid shrugged and threw the cap into the air.  Hard Bones fired three times.  Several white-collared crows flew up from the banyan trees.  Pidgin grabbed the hat before it hit the ground and handed it to his sister.  The girl looked over the hat.  It had five bullet holes in it.  She gave Hard Bones a look of disbelief.  Hard Bones smugly holstered his gun and crossed his arms.

Pidgin's sister motioned for one of her warriors to fling her banner into the air.  She did so and the woman quickly let fly the first arrow and with amazing speed strung her bow again, fired, strung her bow again and fired.  Each arrow pierced the banner and kept it in the air.  When it came down, Pidgin ran under it, caught it, and handed it to Hard Bones.  The arrows formed a perfect triangle in the center of the banner.  Pidgin's sister smugly replaced her bow in its case and crossed her arms.

Kool-Aid tried not to laugh.  "You sure handled her."

Fox joined in the fun.  "Yeah.  I've never seen a woman so impressed."

Hard Bones threw the cap to Kool-Aid.  "I hate show-offs."

Pidgin returned the banner to the woman warrior and walked to Hard Bones.  "One piecey sist name Ai-ling.  She no likkee foreign man; all bringee muchee yapien into China."

"Well, you tell your sister we don't have any opium."

Kool-Aid tapped his fatigue shirt pocket.  "Roger that.  A bit of marijuana, maybe, and some uppers and downers, and a very minor quantity of LSD, but opium, hell no!"

Hard Bones motioned for his men to holster or sling their weapons.  Pidgin's sister did the same with her women warriors.  The Taipings then joined the villagers who supplied them with what food and drink they had, mainly poor quality rice and sweet potatoes boiled together and seasoned with pickled cabbage and ginger.  Hard Bones and Pidgin's sister stared warily at one another even as she sat nearby.  Hard Bones opened up a carton of C-rations and passed cans of food out.  Wizard stood beside Hard Bones. "What do you think?  They friendlies or we grease ‘em?"

Hard Bones smiled and saluted Ai-ling while she drank rice wine from the woody shell of a dried gourd; she stared at him with wary eyes.  "I think an enemy of my enemy is my friend.  So as far as this Chinese beauty goes, we can use each other."

Fox joined them.  "When do we go after Greenwood?"

"First we prepare our own defenses in case Greenwood strikes first."  Hard Bones glanced in the direction of the helicopter.  He put his can of C-rations down and stood up.  "But right now we've got a grave to dig."

                           Chapter 6

AN hour after dawn, Greenwood stood on a hillside overlooking a three-masted pirate frigate below, watching as its crew on shore haggled with local Chinese soldiers for provisions.    

The square-rigged ship was anchored offshore with nearly all of its twenty thousand square feet of white canvas sail reefed or furled.  Colorful flags flew from its masts, including a Jolly Roger pirate ensign -- a white skull and bones on a black flag.  Beneath the skull was a white hour glass.  Chinese in bumboats sculled provisions across the dark blue water of the bay to the side of the ship.  Some of the crewmen were in swimming.

Suddenly, Greenwood heard a voice behind him.  "Slide that rifle off your shoulder and be real careful not to make me trigger-happy."

Without turning, Greenwood did as he was told. 

"That's real good.  Now turn around, mate.  Slow and easy."

Greenwood turned to find himself facing three Caucasian crew members from the frigate.  They covered him with flintlock pistols.  Greenwood chuckled.  "No eye patches?  No parrots on shoulders?  No wooden legs?"

The men stared at Greenwood.  And at the pair of human ears strung about his neck.  “Who the devil are you?"

"I'm a man with crates of modern weapons for sale.  Your captain on board?"

The men moved forward.  One reached to pick up Greenwood's M-16 and one moved behind him to tie him up.

“Don't you worry about where our captain is, mate.  But we'll take you on board, all right.  And shackle you in double irons.”

With lightning speed, Greenwood spun about, using the man behind him as a shield.  He slit his throat, and kicked the man picking up the M-16 in the face.  He spun sideways, throwing the knife into the chest of the first crew member who tried to cover him with the pistol. 

Greenwood recovered his knife and slid his M-16 back on his shoulder.  He reached down, picked up a flintlock pistol and looked it over.  The flash pan was filled with priming powder and a slice of flint was fastened in its cock, ready to fire.  He pointed the pistol in the direction of one of the moaning men.  "How's this pirate shit work?"

He aimed the long barrel directly at the man’s face and pulled the trigger.  The man’s left eye and parts of his brain disappeared.  Greenwood watched the blood spurt out of what was left of the man’s face.  Only when the sharp crack of the pistol faded, did he lower it.  As bluish-white smoke rose about him, Greenwood gave the weapon a look of mock surprise.  "Oops."

As he walked off he pulled the ring of a grenade and tossed it into the center of the three men.  He spoke with a cold smile on his face.  "I'll find my own way, thanks.  I don't want to be a bother."

At the sound of the expected explosion, Greenwood didn't bother to turn back. 
 

                           Chapter 7

At the periphery of the landing zone, while the Taipings listened to the complaints of the displaced villagers, the helicopter crew gathered around Larson's grave.  Two red-and-yellow swallow-tailed butterflies flew playfully around the gathering.  From somewhere in the nearby woods, the cooing sound of wood pigeons punctuated the silence.  Hard Bones held Wizard's Bible.  On the wooden cross erected at the head of the grave was the inscription:

ROBERT LARSON

U.S. MARINE

B. 1947

D. (about) 1857

REST IN PEACE

Hard Bones spoke softly.  “...Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.   And may he find peace before...he rises in eternal life...May he-“

Hard Bones was interrupted by an incredible racket from Chinese beating gongs, pots and pans, blowing Chinese horns and setting off firecrackers.  The crew grabbed their weapons. 

Wizard grabbed his shotgun and looked around.  “What the hell?” 

As an unusual darkness began to fall, they looked up at the sky.  The moon moved between the earth and the sun.  The disc of the moon gradually concealed the sun's face until its umbra passed over the landing zone creating a total eclipse.  Flaming red prominences of the sun flared violently at the periphery of the black circle of the moon.  And all around the sun, magnificent yellowish-white streams of corona stretched hundreds of thousands of miles through space in every direction.  It was dramatic, breathtaking, spectacular.

Wizard spat into the dirt.  “I’ll be damned: An eclipse.”

The noise the Chinese made grew in intensity.  Pidgin and others ran to the crew while beating gongs and pots and pans.

“Mastah, this plenty much trouble!  Hab got one piecee largee dog topside catchee sun!”

Wizard looked at Hard Bones for an explanation.  “Chinese always panic during an eclipse.  They think some monster is gobbling up the sun.”  He yelled to them in mandarin to calm them down.  It had little effect.  Some of the Taiping women warriors began fitting arrows to their bows and shooting them at the sun.

“I've never seen people so scared,” Fox said.

“I just wish they'd stop that damn racket!”  Wizard said.

Kool-Aid looked at the sun and back down to Pidgin.  “Run that by me again, my man.  You think a dog is eating the sun?”

“Yes!  Velly largee dog!  He wantchee makee chow chow!  Supposey topside no hab sun!  Aiyaah!”

“You likee Kool-Aid makee the velly largee doggie go bye bye?”

“Yes, mastah!  Must makee fixum!  Can do?”

Kool-Aid raised his M-16 and aimed it toward the still blackened sun.     “Fuckin'-A I can do!  I'm Kool-Aid - King of the Ch'ing.”

Kool-Aid began firing intermittent bursts toward the sun while swearing at the dog.

Hard Bones took a step toward him and got a tight grip on his shoulder.  “Hey!  What the hell are you doing?”

Kool-Aid twisted about, shaking off Hard Bones’s grip.  “I'm shooting the dog's ass so it will get the fuck away from the sun so my Chinese compadre will be happy again.”

Kool-Aid continued firing.

“Are you nuts?!  We don't have ammo to waste!”

“You said he’s my friend.  Well, my friend has a problem.  If you ain’t part of the solution, you part of the problem.”

Wizard suddenly racked his shotgun.  “Kool-Aid is right.  No damn dog gonna pig out on the sun while    ole Wizard is around!”  He took aim at the sun and fired.  “Take that you crass canine creep!”

Fox aimed his M-16 at the sun, slid it into full auto, and began firing.  Wizard and Kool-Aid continued to fire.

Fox was indignant.  “Keep your fucking paws off my sun, you foul droppings of a misbegotten she-pig!”

The noise from the three of them firing, plus gongs, horns, firecrackers and the yelling of the Chinese was ear-splitting.

Hard Bones stared at them.  “What is the matter with you people?  Are you all loony?  It's an eclipse!”

Hard Bones watched them as they ignored him.    “Oh, fuck it!”

Hard Bones pulled his .45 from his holster, gripped one hand in the other, spread his feet apart in a classic Weaver stance, aimed toward the sun and began firing.  “Take that, you mangy dog!”

The crew continued to scream insults at the celestial dog, unleashing all the firepower they had in their chambers.  Taiping arrows continued to fly. 

As the umbra gave way to the penumbra and the sun began to reappear, Hard Bones, Pidgin, Kool-Aid and the others congratulated one another on their victory.  Hard Bones finally interrupted.  “All right.  Lots to do; let’s get it done.”

Hardbones queried the villagers about the landscape and the paths leading through what was left of the village and up to the helicopter.  Once everyone was agreed on where to set traps they moved out and walked for nearly fifteen minutes.  They stopped beside a small creek beyond which was a marsh, its soft wetness sparkled in the sun.  Wading birds with long straight bills and others with slender curved bills moved through the marsh untroubled by the arrival of the group.  The hills beyond were flecked with copses of camphor and chestnut trees and with patches of deep red tallow leaves. 

The men dipped their canteens into the creek and dropped in their Army-issued Halozone tablets.  They began working side-by-side with the Taipings and the villagers.  They cut and sharpened stakes for Punji traps, dug holes, set the stakes upright at the bottom of the holes and covered the holes with a tilting lid camouflaged with bamboo sticks, dirt, grass and leaves.

The Chinese were already familiar with the whip.  As soon as Hard Bones described it, several village men moved toward the hills to collect strong lengths of green bamboo. 

Pidgin and Ai-ling watched warily as Kool-Aid, Hard Bones and Fox set out claymore mines and trip wires for flares.  Hard Bones took the curved fiberglass case from the equipment bandoleer and set it on its scissors-type folding legs, placed the blasting cap into a top hole and unrolled the firing wire connected to the hand detonator.  He and Kool-Aid began the task of teaching Pidgin, the Taipings and village men about modern weapons.  Not without difficulty. 

While shooting an M-16 for the first time in his life, Pidgin immediately fell over backward from the force of the weapon sending Hard Bones and Kool-Aid ducking for cover as the shots went wild.  As Kool-Aid instructed Pidgin on grenade-throwing, Pidgin threw the grenade but it landed a mere 20 yards away.  Kool-Aid grabbed Pidgin and they both ducked for cover as it exploded.

When the villagers returned with the bamboo, they quickly fashioned sharp spikes and attached them to the bamboo.  The bamboo was then affixed to a tree and bent back and held by a catch.  Anyone walking the trail and hitting the trip wire would cause the bamboo to be released and the spikes would be whipped into his chest.

During the first break, Ai-ling and the other women prepared rice and vegetables.  They boiled water chestnuts in a pot and boiled dumplings in a sweet syrup.  Hard Bones watched Ai-ling eat her rice with the chopsticks and walked over to her.  She stared up at him and stopped eating.  He asked her to teach him how to use them.  As he sat beside her, her hand moved to her short-sword and then gradually relaxed.  She placed his fingers on them and laughed at his incredible clumsiness.  

Kool-Aid stood behind him.  “Hey, didn’t I see you use those things back at-”

“Just mind your own business, son.”

“Oh.  I get it.  Sure, OK, carry on fraternizing with the ladies.  I’ll never tell.”

Pidgin taught Kool-Aid a gambling game played with fingers and thumbs; Ai-ling suspended an old gong on a branch of a camphor tree about fifty yards from them.  She began teaching Hard Bones to shoot the bow-and-arrow.  Whenever she fired, an arrow made the gong ring.  Hard Bones’s arrows always went wild.   Village children finally dared approach members of the crew. They touched their noses and laughed at how big they were compared to theirs.  Hard Bones and Kool-Aid swung the children about, and started marching them in cadence:  “I feel pretty and I feel good; I should be in Hollywood.  Mr. Charles is makin’ me sore; I’m kickin’ his ass but he’s winnin’ the war!  Sound off!”

Pidgin and other Chinese males stared at the nose art on the chopper, and reached out to touch, not the dragon but the woman. Until they were shooed away by Kool-Aid.  “All right, don’t be messin’ with mah woman!  Scram!  Anyway, she hasn’t been born yet.”

The crew an