JASON STEED Absolutely Nothing (25 page)

“Is that
all
the extra men you brought?” he said in a hoarse voice.

What happened next seemed like a blur to the guards. Jason rolled over onto his back and brought his foot up, catching the man in the groin and pulled the guard down on himself. He drew the guard’s revolver and shot three shots across at a guard who had a rifle aimed at him. The fourth shot was for the guard on top of him. Jason pushed the body off and leapt to his feet. The three other guards made a grab for their rifles. Jason unloaded the last two bullets in one and swept the feet away of another soldier. As he was falling, Jason took his gun hand and twisted it back, aiming the gun back at the soldier. A single shot in the abdomen made him fall. The last two guards scrambled for their guns, but Jason threw himself at them.

His right fist smashed into one guard’s throat, rupturing his trachea. Jason’s right foot demolished the last guards face. He hopped on his left leg, striking the man again and again with his foot. The man’s nose and jaw fractured with the unwavering strikes to his face. As he was falling Jason hopped onto his right leg and threw a Mae Geri kick with his left leg sending him flying back several feet.

Jason stood in a fighting stance. His fists clenched, dark dilated eyes darting, looking for anything that moved. He could hear others approaching, swashing through the undergrowth. More Vietcong soldiers where coming. He picked up his water bottle, map, compass, and a rifle. As he fled, he could hear some of his wounded victims moaning and crying for help. He was exhausted. He dug deep inside himself to breathe heavy and move. His pace was slow. He was desperate to rest and catch his breath. His earlier adrenaline rush had sapped all his strength. With gritted teeth, he picked up his pace and started moving faster. He could hear the snapping of branches behind him. He was being pursued.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

After nearly an hour, he eventually stopped running to catch his breath. For once, he welcomed the heavy rain. It washed the mud and his urine stinking clothing. He removed his pants to examine his leg that he had caught on a lower tree branch; it was cut across his thigh and bleeding rapidly. Pulling off his shirtsleeves, he made a bandage. “Don’t you ever give up?” he said as he squashed a mosquito that fancied dining on his bare leg.

As he continued on, his pace was slower. His leg burnt with every stride. He had to ignore it and pushed on. The day eventually came to an end. The moonlight, unable to penetrate the thick rain clouds, made it difficult to see ahead.

The clouds cleared and shone a pale blue light across the rainforest. The village was gone, burnt to the ground. It made him feel sick to his stomach that he was the cause of the destruction of the village. The orphanage was just ashes. The slate blackboard that was once supported on a wall lay among the rubble. The chalk writing was still visible.

He took his bearings and set off, hoping that his guess was right and he would find the children. After going back twice, retracing his steps, he eventually found the entrance to the underground tunnel. Making sure he was not being followed, he lifted the bamboo trap door and climbed down swiftly through the twists and turns in the narrow tunnel.

It was warm and damp like he experienced before but smelt of burning kerosene; the top level was lit up with a burning lamp. He took the steps down to the lower level.

“Jason?” Claudette asked in her strong French accent.

“Well it’s not Santa Claus.” Jason said in French. The children were relieved to see it was Jason and not the Vietcong. Claudette moved closer to Jason and brushed his long blond fringe away from his eyes and examined his forehead.

“Your hurt! Come here,” she said, taking his arm. She sat him down and cleaned a large cut on his forehead. He hadn’t noticed it himself and assumed he was sweating, not bleeding. The Vietcong heard we took you in; they destroyed most of the village. It was with God’s grace we are still alive and that some of the children knew of this old tunnel.”

“No they destroyed
all
the village.” Jason sighed. “Can you look at my leg? The cut is deep. A tree branch stabbed me when I was running.”

“We thought you had gotten away or had been killed,” Claudette said, removing his makeshift bandage on his thigh.

“Ouch, that’s painful.” He cursed and was given a slap on the back of the hand for cursing. “I came back to help you and you slap me?”

“If I had any soap I would wash out your mouth. Don’t use that language in front of the children,” Claudette snapped.

“They don’t understand French,” Jason argued.

“God does. He can hear it.”

Jason liked Claudette. She mothered him. He could see why the Amerasian children took to her. When she had finished dressing his wound, he got dressed and looked around and armed himself. He counted twenty-three children. They watched him constantly in bewilderment.

“Can they all walk?” he asked Claudette.

“Yes, but walk where? We are safe here until our food and water runs out.”

“You can’t stay here. We have to move and get to the South river.”

“That’s a four hour hike, and it’s not going to be easy. Some of these kids are only small. We have a three- and  four-year-old.” Claudette paused. “If the Vietcong catch us, I dread to think what they may do to the children. They shot some of the villagers.”

Jason looked at her wide-eyed. The burning of the village was bad enough. This news made it more painful. “Tell them it’s a game or something, but they must be quiet and follow me. We go now. It’s dark. We need to make the river before morning.”

“No Jason, it’s too dangerous.”

Jason looked at her and paused while thinking. “You believe God is watching you and has saved you so far. I’m sure your God will look after everyone and keep them all safe.”

“Jason he is not my God, he is
our
God. He looks out for you too.” Claudette smiled and kissed the cross she was wearing around her neck.

“Well he didn’t look out for Cookie.” Jason sighed. “Come on, we have to move.”

*

Max Fisher was given an audience with President Ford to give him an update. The President was sat at a large table in the Pentagon, signing papers.

“Morning Fisher. What’s this I hear that boy stole a boat and went back to 'Nam? Can’t the Brits manage to prevent a school boy taking a motor boat?”

“Morning Mr. President, Sir, Yes he got his father and two other British back on the British carrier HMS Hermes and took off,” Fisher explained. “Although he stole a plane from us...” Fisher trailed off wishing he hadn’t made the comment.

“Why? He rescued his father. What’s his plan now, take on the whole Vietcong army single handed?”

“From what I can gather, Sir, he is a little... shall we say, upset that the Vietcong burnt down a village and an orphanage full of Amerasians. When he heard nothing was being done to help them, he went AWOL,” Fisher finished, speaking slowly and softly.

President Ford threw the papers off his desk and stood. He leaned over his desk glaring at Max. “There are no Amerasians. There may be some orphans but they are
not
American and have nothing to do with us. Do I make myself clear?”

“Er, yes, Sir,” Fisher stammered.

“Whatever possessed the British to make a person like Jason Steed?” President Ford asked, taking his seat.

“By all accounts, Sir, he is just an ordinary boy. I’ve met him. He’s a normal, cheeky twelve-year-old with vast martial arts knowledge. Add the fact he has faster than average reflexes and was trained to induce a high adrenaline rush into his system, he is a walking lethal weapon. Because of his size and good looks, many under estimate him, and he is able to achieve more. The truth about Jason Steed is that there is not a boy in the world like him,” Fisher said.

The president rose from his seat again and wagged his finger. “I’m not sure what he’s planning Fisher, but I want to hear no more about Amerasian orphans is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, Mr. President.”

*

Jason took the lead. The children snaked behind, following him. Claudette was at the back of the line. The pace was slow. It frustrated Jason. An hour had passed and they hadn’t gone very far. He stopped and waited for her to catch up.

Claudette caught up. She had the two youngest boys with her. They held her hand and were both sobbing.

“Shush keep them quiet,” Jason snapped. “Why are they crying?”

“They have no shoes and their feet hurt. Don’t shush them,” Claudette snapped back.

Jason paused and looked at them. He threw away the rifle he was carrying and picked up the four-year0old and sat him on his shoulders.

“You carry the smaller one, but tell them they must be quiet. We are going on a trip, on a boat to America.” Jason sighed.

“What about the rifle?” Claudette asked.

“It won’t help. If we get caught, I can’t start shooting at the Vietcong. If they shoot back one of the children may get hit. Come on, let's go. Besides, I have some grenades, and I thought you said God would protect us. Let's hope he’s watching.”

After just a few paces, Jason regretted his bold decision to carry the boy. He was heavier than he expected and it made the going much harder. The journey was agonizingly slow. Torrents of rain cascaded down on them; in some places, the water was waist deep for some of the smaller children. Jason gritted his teeth and pushed on. His neck and shoulder muscles screamed in pain carrying him.

On higher ground, they paused for a rest. Jason was relived to lower the smiling boy down. He held Jason’s hand and asked “Phong ve sinh?”

“What did he say?” Jason asked Claudette.

“Phong ve sinh, means he wants to pee. Can you take him behind a tree? I will check the others,” Claudette said as a matter of fact. Jason looked down at the little boy who was standing crossed legged.

“Em, what, me take him? Okay but if he needs more than a pee I’m not cleaning him.” Jason walked the boy behind some shrubs. “Go on then Phong ve sinh.” Jason gestured.

When the boy finished he came back to Jason and held his hand. “That had better be rain water on your hand and nothing else.” Jason grinned. The small boy had no idea what his new friend had told him but he felt safe with him.

“Jason, we have to rest. They are tired and their feet are rubbed raw. Even those with shoes, they are poorly fitting and soaked,” she said and passed Jason a water bottle; he shook it.

“It’s almost empty,” he said unscrewing the cap.

“I had some. That’s the last of it. Drink it.”

Jason put it to his lips and paused. The small boy he had been carrying watched him.

“What about Tiny Tim here? He hasn’t had any.” Jason asked.

“He’s called An Dung. You need it more than him. You are carrying him; he won’t survive unless you make it,” Claudette suggested.

“
An Dung?
What kind of name is that! The poor thing. Who is gonna name there kid An Dung?” Jason grinned.

“It means peaceful hero. It’s a common name here,” Claudette said.

Jason took a mouthful of water and passed the bottle to the small boy. “Here, Tiny Tim. Not much left, but drink it.” The boy greedily gulped down the last few drops of water. “And don’t worry, I’m not gonna be calling you no
Dung
, Poo, or Manure names. From now on, you are Tiny Tim.” Jason smiled as he watched his little friend drink the last of the water.

“We must keep going. We can’t spend the day out here tomorrow with no water. I know it’s hard, but they must keep up,” Jason said picking up, Tiny Tim and lifting him onto his shoulders.

“Very well, but slower, Jason. They are only little and all tired, hungry, and thirsty,” Claudette pleaded.