Black Market (10 page)

The choppers were greeted on the long runway by the Green Beret camp commander who escorted the team into the briefing room
of the teamhouse.

“Thanks for coming out here to help us.” The captain nodded at Youngbloode. “We’ve got a little internal problem in this camp.
There are NVA spies who have a way of finding out where we’re going to patrol and either avoid us altogether, or they attack
and kick our ass.”

Arnason didn’t like what he was hearing, especially when he was sitting inside of the camp, in the operations room that had
bamboo mats for walls.

The Green Beret captain continued his briefing. “Your operational area has been changed along with your mission. You will
be walking into this area”—he tapped the map with his pointer—“and your mission will be to intercept any vehicles or people
using Highway 19 during the hours of darkness.” The captain’s voice lowered. “There will be
no
friendlies using the road after it gets dark.”

The Special Forces operations sergeant handed Youngbloode and Arnason new mission packets with 1:50,000 scale maps with their
new mission AO marked out for them.

“Stay within the boundaries marked on the map and you’ll be safe from friendly ambushes and H and I fires from the ARVN artillery.”
The captain’s voice lowered. “Gentlemen … We are very sure that the NVA are running supplies
from
the coast to their units fighting in the highlands. I know … everyone thinks that the NVA units are being resupplied from
the Ho Chi Minh Trail with their sources coming from Hanoi … but we’re sure that a large amount of special supplies are coming
from the
coast
. The problem is
how
. We’ve set up ambushes all along Highway 19 and have failed every single time to catch anything, yet we know they aren’t
using the jungle because the volume of the supplies is too great. They have to be using conventional means of transportation
like trucks and motorbikes.”

Arnason raised his hand.

“Yes Sergeant?”

“Why don’t your Special Forces people do this?”

“Like I started this briefing … we’ve got a spy somewhere in our system … we’ll find him and handle it in our own fashion,
but right now we want to try and stop the enemy from getting supplies from Amer—“ The captain caught himself just in time.
“… aahem!” He cleared his throat and glanced over at the black captain, who showed with his eyes that his peer had almost
blown it. “Anyway … we’ll have three China Boy Company sized units located here”—he used his pointer to tap the map—“and here
… and here. They will be on call if you need a helping hand.”

“But…” Arnason was about to protest. The three units were far to the west, positioned along Highway 19 right before it crossed
the border into Cambodia. There was no way any of those units could get to his team in time to offer any assistance in a firefight.

The Special Forces captain held the index finger of his right hand to his lips and shook his head slowly. He didn’t want Arnason
to ask any questions. “The China Boy Companies are composed of Chinese Nungs, some of the best fighters in Vietnam, and as
you can see, they’re no farther away than a thousand meters from your position.”

Arnason understood what the captain was doing. They had posted the mission on the operations map and had used the original
data he had been given for their mission. A spy inside the Special Forces camp would find a way to get access to the map and
copy the camp’s future battle plans.

“Now, I’d like to wish you good luck on your mission. You can reboard your choppers for your insertion. Thank you.” The captain
nodded and smiled over at Arnason.

Captain Youngbloode walked next to Arnason on the way back to the waiting choppers. “Interesting?”

“Very.” Arnason grinned.

“It gets better or worse, depending on how you look at it.” Youngbloode’s statement told Arnason that the captain had been
aware all along that the original mission had only been a cover for something much bigger.

The chopper flew low, parallel to the old asphalt French-built highway that ran east and west across the southern half of
South Vietnam, from the port city of Qui Nhon, west to Pleiku, and then southwest to the Cambodian border, where it continued
until it intersected with the Cambodian Highway 13. The highway didn’t look like much compared to American standards, but
in Southeast Asia, Highway 19 was an artery that was too important to both sides in the war to ignore.

The lead chopper slowed down almost as if it had air brakes and dropped down in a small elephant grass clearing while its
sister ship continued flying east. The lead ship barely touched down and started taking off while the second ship circled,
pretending that it was looking at an object on the ground, and was replaced in orbit by the lead ship while it dropped back
to the LZ and unloaded. The complete maneuver took only a couple of minutes, and to an NVA observer listening in the jungle,
it sounded like a pair of hunting gunships that were common along the sides of the road.

Arnason immediately took command of the team and pointed in the direction he wanted Woods to go. The new replacements fell
into line and started moving quietly through the jungle. It was easy to stay parallel to the road because of the traffic.
Arnason paced himself in the thick jungle and guessed the distance as they traveled. He knew roughly where the site was that
had been marked on the map, but it was Warner who stopped the team and pointed to his right. The boy’s ability to locate himself
accurately after just studying the map on the wall of the Special Forces team house was amazing. Arnason wondered just how
much of the huge area Warner had memorized off the exposed map. He was afraid to ask.

Woods made the turn and walked only a few meters before he could smell the dust from the highway. He stopped and lowered himself
down to one knee. Arnason and Youngbloode slipped past the rest of the team members up the newly created trail to where Woods
waited.

Arnason waited until a truck passed before risking a sentence. “We’ll wait here and eat until the traffic dies down in about
an hour and then we’ll set up our ambush.” He rushed the words out in one long breath.

Youngbloode and Woods both nodded and guided the rest of the team into a small, tight circle. There was a slight risk that
an NVA unit would be moving during the day, but it was very unlikely and Arnason didn’t want his team to burn themselves out
listening to the bamboo clicking in the wind. He planned on letting them eat and then sleep until it was time to get ready
for the ambush.

Woods looked hard at the faces of the new men, trying to detect any unusual nervousness, and saw three very confident recon
men staring back at him. Koski scooted over to where Woods sat with his back leaning against his pack and whispered into the
sergeant’s ear, “I’m not hungry. I’ll move off a few meters in the jungle and pull guard.”

Woods nodded his approval and pointed in the direction he wanted him to go. Arnason beckoned with his finger for Koski to
come to where he sat; at the same time the team sergeant reached into his backpack and removed a black-dyed Marine fatigue
cap like the one he wore for good luck when he played cards. He handed the cap to Koski. The huge Pole took the gift and looked
at the front of it. A tab that had been sewn over the bill and centered on the cap read
BAD NEWS
, stitched in black thread on an olive drab background. Koski smiled and nodded his thanks. He replaced the cloth cap on his
head with the one Arnason had given him and adjusted the bill. It fit perfectly. Arnason reached into his pack and removed
a handful of the black caps. He checked the size in each of the bands before handing one to each team member. Even Kirkpatrick
had to smile when he read the new name for the recon team. He liked the idea of being bad news for the NVA.

Youngbloode smiled. Arnason was a superb team leader and knew how to use psychology to his advantage.

The sergeant looked over at the captain and handed him one of the caps. The officer took the gift and turned it around so
that he could read the embroidered word above the tab. He smiled and mouthed the words
You’re good
to Arnason. The sergeant winked. The word stitched above the captain’s team name was
HONORARY
.

Traffic was starting to die down on the highway as the afternoon waned. No one wanted to get caught halfway between outposts
when darkness fell. Arnason tapped Youngbloode and nodded toward the road. It was time to start setting up the ambush. Warner
woke Koski and Sanchez, who had been dozing in the hot jungle underbrush. Kirkpatrick was pulling outpost.

Warner, Sanchez, Koski, and Sergeant Woods removed the two claymore mines that each of them had been carrying in their backpacks
and followed Arnason out to the road. Captain Youngbloode stepped out on the edge of the highway with Arnason and checked
both ways before signaling that it was clear. The team members with the claymores ran out from their cover and started setting
up the deadly antipersonnel mines.

Sanchez fixed the prongs on his first mine and shoved the legs down into the clay. He slipped back into the jungle and lay
down behind the mine so that he could aim it perfectly before getting back up on the road and setting his second mine in place.
He ran the detonating wires back into the jungle and smashed down a place for himself to lie down. Each of the other team
members had done exactly the same thing except Warner; he angled his second mine fifty-five degrees down the road away from
the kill zone of the claymore ambush. He was thinking about catching a second vehicle that would be following at least a hundred
meters behind the ones that would enter the deadly ambush. He looked for Arnason or Woods and couldn’t see either one of them
on the road. He would have liked to get approval before he broke the traditional pattern for a claymore ambush. He hesitated
and then went ahead with his own idea; one claymore wasn’t going to make a difference to anything caught by seven other mines.

Arnason waited nervously on one knee in the shadow of a large clump of overhanging bamboo for Warner to reemerge on the road.
Everyone else had set up their claymores and returned for their gear. Warner was almost to the edge of the bamboo thicket
before Arnason noticed him. The boy was getting very good and was learning that being small was an advantage in the jungle.

The sound of a truck’s engine reached the team as they squatted in a tight circle receiving their last instructions before
they moved back to their two-man sites for the night. Arnason looked over at Woods and then at Youngbloode. The puzzlement
in his eyes was shared by everyone in the circle. The sound of the truck was distinctly coming from the left side of the road
and heading
perpendicular
toward Highway 19.

Arnason gave the hand signal for the men to take their places. Woods and Warner were teamed up and Koski was with Kirkpatrick.
Arnason had kept Sanchez and Captain Youngbloode with him. He would feel better splitting the men up after their first shakeout
mission, but the first night in the jungle on a recon patrol was bad enough when you had an experienced recon man with you.
Arnason didn’t believe in practicing suffering.

The highway curved slightly before it came to the ambush kill zone and curved again before it straightened out for a fifteen-kilometer
stretch. That’s why the site had been chosen for the ambush; trucks would have to slow down for the curves.

Arnason’s eyes were starting to water from the strain as he stared hard down the road. There were still three hours of good
light left and he wondered if an ARVN convoy was trying to make it out to Due Co before dark. He had to be careful, because
his orders were that he could attack anything
after
dark.

The edge of the jungle opened up exactly where the road had started to curve and Arnason’s question about the truck was answered
instantly. A perfectly camouflaged set of bamboo gates were being held open by four NVA soldiers dressed in neat khaki uniforms.
The front end of a camouflaged truck pulled out of the hidden trail and stopped before negotiating the shallow ditch that
bordered the road. A bamboo roof had been attached over the Russian-built truck that camouflaged the vehicle perfectly from
the air when covered with fresh vegetation.

Youngbloode grabbed Arnason’s arm and squeezed. A lot of very complex problems for the staff were being answered, and the
NVA were so damn confident that they were moving during the day! Youngbloode couldn’t help but render a tight-lipped grin
in respect for the NVA tactic. They planned their convoys perfectly to time with the mess hall hours of the helicopter pilots
and the American patrols! The NVA knew that they could expect the Americans to stop patrolling around four o’clock and get
set up for their night lager sites and for the gunships to head on back home for chow. The camouflaged entrance to the road
also told Youngbloode that the NVA had their own road network that skirted around the American and ARVN fire bases and used
Highway 19 only when they were far enough away from the bases so that they wouldn’t be detected.

Arnason held his hand up with the palm facing his men. They were waiting for the signal to attack or to allow the convoy to
pass their location.

The driver of the truck opened his door and looked down at the ditch as he slowly maneuvered onto the road. He laughed and
called back to the NVA operating the camouflaged gates. One of the soldiers ran up to the side of the truck and reached up
for the package of cigarettes the driver was holding out for him to take. There was no doubt in Youngbloode or Arnason’s minds
as to the brand the NVA was giving away; the bright green-and-white package unmistakably said SALEM.

The guard ran back to his friends laughing and holding up the cigarettes. Arnason wondered how they could have missed seeing
his team out in the road when they were setting up their claymores and felt a finger of fear sear its way into his guts. Maybe
they had and were baiting him! He felt the sweat of indecision beading up on his forehead and then Youngbloode’s voice whispered
in his ear. “We attacking?”