Casca 11: The Legionnaire (15 page)

The ground attacks continued until dawn, then the Viet Minh artillery took over. Their favorite target, as usual, was the airstrip. Accurate fire kept the strip pockmarked with shell craters, making it extremely hazardous for any aircraft to attempt to land. Crews of native laborers and Legionnaires worked endlessly to keep it open. There was no getting out now. They were stuck. Their only hope had to come from the outside world and all that world would do was sit and watch. Only four men of the platoon they had jumped in with survived that night.

Two days later they were ordered to go to Isabelle as replacements. Hermann didn't like the orders very much. Isabelle was the furthest away from the airstrip. If anyone was going to get out alive it wouldn't be from there. The airstrip was the only way out. They were still managing to get some of the wounded evacuated now and then. Hermann considered the merits of a self
-inflicted wound, then dismissed it. He was too fond of his own body to be able to damage himself to any degree.

At Isabelle, Hermann lauded the capabilities of his three survivors, saying they were the best scouts in the Legion. His praise was not designed to do them any good. All Hermann wanted was for them to get their asses shot off and night patrols were the best way to accomplish that without any danger to himself. He would not be going with them.

A wiry young Vietnamese named Xuan attached himself to the three Legionnaires. He had been part of the company of indigene volunteers who had come in last week. He had been sent as a runner to Isabelle and remained there once Captain Boissy learned that he had once lived in this area and knew the terrain. It seemed logical that if he was going to send out the three men of Hermann 's squad to scout then they would need someone like Xuan to help. The only benefit that had come from the attack on Beatrice was that it seemed to have blasted Dominic out of his growing madness. The same things that drove him mad brought him back to his senses. Gus as always was hungry.

During the third week of March, a feeling began to grow among the defenders that things were not as good as they seemed. Especially when on the fifteenth of March after Beatrice fell, Colonel Piroth, in charge of the defender's artillery, apologized for his failure to deal with the Viet Minh guns and exploded a grenade against his body.

Intelligence had at last gotten some true idea of the Viet's capabilities, reporting that they had stockpiled huge amounts of ammunition for their artillery mortars and anti-aircraft guns, much greater amounts than they had thought the Viets capable of. And now they were in a position to control all access to Dien Bien Phu by either land or air. None of this was a surprise to those in the dusty valley. It became clear to General Cogny when on an inspection visit for General Navarre, his plane was bracketed by very accurate fire from the Viet 105's, which destroyed several other planes on the ground. He managed to get away by the skin of his teeth.

Behind the first ridge of mountains, General Giap went over his plans by the light of a kerosene lantern. He sat with Thich and his officers in an underground bunker, one of a series of tunnels that served the Viets. Giap swore this time he would win. This was the right place and the right moment. Once before he had made the mistake of trying to fight before he was ready. The results of that had been disastrous, setting them back years in their plans. He would not make the same error again. The lesson learned years ago was indelibly impressed on his every waking thought. Here he would win, if only the Americans didn't intervene. He knew the French ego and their reluctance to try new tactics. They were slow to adapt to change; the Germans had proved that. He would use those weaknesses of pride and stubbornness to bleed them dry. He would make them pay the price for their rape of his country and people.

Langer wondered how much this piece of useless real estate was going to cost France in terms of blood. He moved forward hunched over slightly, his Mats 49 submachine gun extended in front of him ready to fire. The heat of the night was the kind that one could only find in the tropics. It caused a heavy, damp, cloying stickiness that sapped the strength and dulled the senses. Sweat ran freely causing the body salts to streak one's uniform, making its own camouflage patterns. Just in front of him, on point, was Xuan. His slight figure moved in and out of the shadows of the night, blending for a moment to be lost in the darker patterns of the trees and brush. Then it would emerge again for a second when the moon broke through the leafy canopy over their heads.

This was a reconnaissance mission, not a killing patrol. They were to avoid action if possible. Langer had been ordered by Captain Boissy of the 1st BEP try to locate where the staging area for the next Viet attack would be coming from. If they could spot that then they would be able to zero in their guns on the area and have an air strike standing by to blast the hell out of them.

Xuan moved slow but steady, twisting in and out to avoid the grasping claws of thorn bushes and branches. Behind Langer was Dominic who was very good at silent killing.

Langer and Gus knew about his circus career but didn't
know what had brought him to this place. It was the deaths of two of his female partners during his shows that had led him to accept the hospitality of the Legion in order to avoid embarrassing questions about his love life.

They had made a semicircle after leaving their own perimeter and were now nearly three kilometers to the northeast of their outpost in the woods between Isabelle and the fortifications of Dien Bien Phu. Langer gave a low hiss to catch Xuan's attention and indicated to him to find a place to take a break. Xuan led the way unerringly to a spot where they had a clear view of Dien Bien Phu below them. They could also watch the muzzle flashes of Viet snipers taking pot
-shots. Langer removed his field glasses from their case and held them to his eyes. Taking his time, he made a slow scan of the area spotting enemy positions and marking them on his map. Thanks to the clear night and a full moon the extra strength of the binoculars enabled him to observe clearly anything that wasn't concealed by trees and brush. A man could learn a lot if he just stayed in one place for a time and watched. If he knew how to analyze what he saw, little things could mean more than they appeared to. Dominic stayed a bit behind them, lower down on the hill in a clump of brush to make sure that they hadn't been seen or followed. It took some time but finally Langer caught a glimpse of something that looked to be important. A line of Viets came out of the trees and were crossing a clearing several hundred meters below them heading toward the junction of the hills between what had been the villages of Ban Ten and Ban Nhong Nhai. What made them of interest was that they were carrying stretchers and Langer could see several of them with bags hanging from their shoulders by straps. He made a note of their direction and pointed them out to Xuan. He raised his hands, held up one finger and touched his watch with it. Xuan nodded his head in agreement at the unspoken order and slid off down the hill after the stretcher bearers. Langer needed to have his suspicions confirmed, but for now all he could do was wait. He had given Xuan one hour to return. If he wasn't back by then they would leave and hope that Xuan could make it back to Isabelle on his own.

A rumble of man
-made thunder rolled over the hills as a barrage of Viet artillery rained destruction down on the main base. It was answered by a like response from the deceased Colonel Piroth's own heavy guns. Each fired three salvos then fell silent to let the lesser arms have their chance. Eighty one and 60mm mortars from both sides reached out for each other in the dark as their spotters tried to figure out the location of their enemies. They followed the thin trail of fire left by the burning charges on the tails of the mortars as they streaked silently overhead to land with dull thumps in either the bush or on a sandbagged bunker. A distant shriek came from the hill to the left where one of the bombs had hit, and then all was silent again, each side waiting for the next event.

After ten minutes, Langer snapped his fingers twice to signal Dominic to come up. The Italian slid on his belly and came up beside Langer. Even in the dark, Dominic's teeth appeared to be twice as white and large as anyone else's had a right to be. He didn't ask where Xuan was and really didn't care. He knew that Langer would do the right thing. He had wondered about his sergent more than once. Though the man had been with the Germans he didn't really seem to be one of them and he spoke Italian, though he used phrases that were sometimes very old fashioned. He also had an accent that he couldn't place. But then, many who spoke several languages had accents that were a blending of the tongues they knew.

A night bird screamed somewhere. Its cry faded off into what sounded like the laughter of a hysterical woman. A chill ran through their bodies, now that they had been still long enough for the body heat of their exertions to ease off. A thin breeze slipped over them to cool their sweat. Dominic sucked the back of his teeth wishing that he was back in Rome on the Via Veneto, having coffee and watching the round hipped girls of Rome walk past him. These Oriental women! Their butts were too small for a man to get a good grip on. He wanted to feel the fullness of a ripe European woman again.

Langer checked his watch. Xuan still had twenty minutes to go then they would have to leave. He didn't like staying in one spot too long.
It was always easier on his mind when he was moving. He shifted around to where he could get a look at the dark shadows of the mountain behind him. His face touched his submachine gun. The smell of gun oil was not unpleasant. He thought to himself,
take care of your weapons and they will take care of you
. The dark shadow that rose behind them was where the artillery fire of the Viets came from. He wished that he was able to pinpoint them, but the Viets were clever, and most of the time they fired from the opposite side of the mountain so their muzzle flashes couldn't be easily seen. And they moved their locations frequently. A single crack jerked his head around. His eyes tried to pierce the gloom looking for its source. It came again and he breathed a bit easier, lowering his weapon but still ready to fire if need be. A dark form detached itself from the base of a mango tree and swiftly moved up to him. Xuan lay down beside him. Langer could smell the sweat on him as the small man tried to control his breathing. They spoke in hushed whispers. Once Xuan had made his report, Langer motioned for them to begin the return journey to the dubious safety of Isabelle. They still had two hours till dawn; he didn't want to be caught out of their positions when the sun rose. Dominic took his place at the rear of their mini column as Xuan led the way again, taking them back along a different route than they had used on the way out. It was wise never to use the same path twice if it could be avoided. Patterns were certain death sooner or later. They all knew it, and made no protest when the way back was rougher than the one they'd come out on.

The most delicate part of their mission was when they neared their own wire. That was when they had the greatest chance of being spotted by the Viets, and if they didn't identify themselves fast enough, they would have a good chance of being shot down by their own men. It wasn't unusual for the Viet Minh to know the passwords. They would torture them out of prisoners, using them to let them get close to the wire. Besides that, Hermann was on guard duty tonight and Langer didn't quite trust him not to take advantage of the opportunity and settle his score with them by overreacting a little when they came in. It had happened more than once that members of a patrol had been shot up by their own men upon returning.

They stopped for a moment to catch their breath at the edge of a cluster of bamboo trees. Then Langer sent each of them off for a quick look to see if any Viets were close to them. They returned within five minutes, shaking their heads in the negative. They had seen nothing, which really didn't mean anything except that the Viets were well hidden.

They would come back in on the southeast side of the camp and Langer hoped the defenders had their signals right. This time he took the lead. Leaving Xuan in the lead might make the patrol a bit more jumpy. Dominic moved up beside Langer and they left the bamboo trees on their bellies, crawling through knee high grass until they reached the ditch that led into the stream bed. Langer wished that he'd had some pads for his elbows and knees. All the crawling he had been doing for the last few days was wearing sore spots on them.

They had about two hundred meters to go, fifty more until they reached the stream. Freezing in place, Langer sniffed the air. A wisp from the predawn breeze brought something to him. The smell of
nouc nam
! the pungent fish sauce that no self-respecting Vietnamese would dine without. As Xuan was behind him, that meant there was someone else up ahead that was, more than likely, not very friendly.

Dominic bumped into his heels and Xuan came to a dead halt. Pointing up ahead, Langer made a questioning gesture with an open palm. Dominic nodded in understanding and raised his own head to sniff the air. Xuan reminded himself where he was; it was too risky for him to take a chance on making any sound by passing Langer to take the lead.

Langer loosened his combat knife in the sheath strapped to his boot, then moved on, keeping his belly raised a couple of inches off the ground so there wouldn't be any sound of his clothing or gear scraping the earth. He moved one careful inch at a time. The gully they were in took a turn to the right. He nearly put his hand on the hard rubber sole of a sandal made from a truck's tire. His heart stopped for a moment. He tried to focus his eyes to see further ahead, beyond the prone figure of the Viet Minh he was behind. He could make out several other shapes and in the shadows of a hollow he thought he could see the figures of several men bunched together. They were probably a group of sappers with bangalore torpedoes and explosives to blow holes in the camp's apron of concertina wire.

If there was one unit, there had to be more. And there would be others to give covering fire to their comrades who would soon try to blast a path through the wire. That also meant there was more than one light machine gun out there that he couldn't see. He felt a hand on his leg and nearly jumped out of his skin. Dominic was touching him in a questioning manner, wanting to know what the hell was going on and why he had stopped again. Langer reached back with his Mats 49 and tapped Dominic twice on the hand, then twice more saying that he could make out four men for certain. Dominic did the same to Xuan. They were too near the enemy to hold a conference, so they just waited, ready to follow up on whatever Langer planned to do. Whatever it was, they knew it would happen soon. The false dawn was beginning to appear
. From the bed of the stream, mist rose in ghostly tendrils over the high grass and drifted into every dip and hollow. A door opened in the camp, probably from the communications bunker, giving off a dim glow and then winked out seconds later as the door was shut. They had nearly fifty yards to go and they had to run for it now, before the Viets began their attack. If they didn't they would be caught between the two forces.

Dominic and Xuan could sense Langer tensing. After fighting this long they didn't have to see things to know they were happening. It was like working with good musicians who had played together many times before. Instinctively, they knew what the next note from the others was going to be. The Viet Minh in front of Langer shifted his position a bit. Moving his leg, he nearly kicked Langer in the face. This one had to go. Langer lay his Mats 49 down and gently pulled his combat knife from his boot. Raising up on his fingertips and toes, he cleared his body from the ground, his belly wet from the damp of the mist and his sweat. He moved his legs up under him quietly, ever so careful not to make the slightest sound. Then, with a half sliding motion, he covered the Viet's body with his own. One hand went for his mouth to shut off any cry as the knife struck deep in the body, under the right rib cage. Langer used his heavier weight to keep the smaller man pinned as he struck three times more. Dominic moved up when Langer made his attack and held the Viet's feet still so they couldn't hammer against the earth. For what seemed an eternity the little man struggled under the weight of the man on his back. Then gradually his struggles lessened as his life force drained into his inner abdominal cavity. Langer was careful not to let go of his mouth too soon. He eased his hand off
slowly so the last breath of air trapped in the dead Viet 's lungs wouldn't escape in a death rattle that could be heard by his comrades up ahead.