The Wounds of War. Gary Blinco

Чтение книги онлайн.

      The New Zealand sergeant was dark, probably about a half or quarter Maori, Bishop reasoned. He was a huge man, his barrel chest strained against the fabric of his jungle green uniform and the biceps in his arms were almost a big as Bishop’s thighs. His dark eyes darted suspiciously around the room and his tongue flicked nervously across his lips. The Australian captain was small and had freckled skin. He was dwarfed by the huge New Zealander, slight even when compared to the Vietnamese officer. Everything about the captain appeared to be small and delicate. His hands, his features and his build and stature. He looked, Bishop thought, like an effeminate schoolteacher. But he appeared relaxed, even a little amused by the proceedings as he took a seat. The small man’s brows creased as he studied the brigadier. He was clearly anxious for the plot to unfold. The American private, who wore the badge of the Special Forces on his beret, hovered on the sidelines like an unobtrusive waiter until he was directly requested by the brigadier to be seated. The man looked detached, surly and defiant in the presence of his higher ranked companions.

      The South Vietnamese captain, who sat somewhat apart from the rest of the group, intrigued Bishop. He was small and stocky like the men of his race, immaculately presented in a spotless uniform with razor-sharp creases down the sleeves of his shirt and up the front of his trouser leggings. While the others had removed their headdress, the Vietnamese sat with his back ramrod straight, his beret remaining firmly on his head. He seemed aloof, defensive and curious. When they were seated the brigadier strode to the front of the room and cleared his throat.

      ‘Gentlemen’, he began, ‘you have all been carefully selected for a particular task. I won’t bore you with the selection details or criteria, but it is sufficient to say that each one of you has an impeccable record in his particular field. Every one of you has demonstrated a commitment to the direction of this war, and your loyalty and security clearance is beyond question’. He glanced around the room, meeting and holding each of their eyes in turn before continuing. ‘It will be obvious that each of you represents one of the allied forces in this particular campaign, with apologies to the Koreans who are non-combatants this time around. Without wishing to be too melodramatic about it, we are here for a very specific purpose, with a very delicate mission before us.’

      The brigadier paced up and down the small, elevated stage in front of his now captive audience. ‘Perhaps I should begin with an overview of the operation we are planning, and then cover the more intricate details after that. As you are no doubt aware, the North Vietnamese regulars support the Vietcong with supplies, troops and training resources. These supplies come largely from the North’s allies, and I don’t need to tell you who these are. Traditionally, most of the supplies have filtered down from the north via the Ho Chi Minh Trail.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘There are all kinds of feeder arteries that run like a delta into the main route to form the Ho Chi Minh trail from the north. ‘Trucks, ox-carts, boats and couriers, in fact, all manner of transport is used in the operation. They come from all directions, from the far north, from China, from Russia, but by the time they reach the South Vietnamese border, they have mostly degenerated to ox-carts and porters. They do it the tough but silent way to bring the enemy’s precious supplies south. Now the brave lads of the American forces bomb the shit out of the Ho Chi Minh trail.’ Bishop looked at the American captain who grinned smugly. ‘And while no ground forces actually enter North Vietnam, at least not officially or willingly’, the brigadier continued, ‘constant air and artillery strikes are directed at the area in an effort to break up the supply lines, and to intimidate the Cong’.

      ‘All of this is history, and that’s the easy part.’ The brigadier paused again to walk back and forth across the small stage. No one spoke, a wall clock ticked audibly in the pauses, the ceiling fans whirred quietly overhead and outside the helicopters throbbed about the heavy, humid sky above the task force area. The artillery battery nearby suddenly pounded out a fire mission in support of some distant infantry unit in combat, or perhaps it was just one of the routine harassment fire missions that were spotted over the province on likely enemy concentration areas.

      ‘What is not generally known, however’, the brigadier continued, ‘is that the North Vietnamese and the Vietcong are not as stupid as our politicians seem to assume. We know in fact that they are now moving significant supplies through the safety of Laos and Cambodia as these areas are politically outside the combat zone. You don’t have to be Einstein to study a map of the two parts of Vietnam and notice that it is a long thin country, hugging the coastline. While it’s thousands of miles long, a good golfer with a number one wood could almost hit a ball across its narrowest extremity, which just happens to be somewhere near the Laos, Vietnamese and Cambodian borders. We have always believed this configuration made our job of interrupting the supply lines easier.

      ‘But while we are busting our arses bombing the shit out of the Ho Chi Minh trail, our enemies are simply slipping across the borders. Then they move south just inside Laos and Cambodia, bringing the necessities of war south to our doorstep. There are still some supplies ferried down the Mekong River, but like the Ho Trail, that is also under constant bombardment. Our biggest problem is the one we must now address, the supposedly non-existent motor roads.

      ‘Therefore, the mission for which you erstwhile gentlemen have been chosen is to form a surveillance unit to observe, and report on, these activities. The Green Berets, the SAS and some crack ARVN units are watching the Ho Chi Minh Trail and the various arteries that lead into the trail. But jack shit is happening to observe the passage of weapons, troops and other supplies that are streaming south under the political protection of the Laotian and Cambodian borders.’

      The brigadier glowered at the group. ‘So what this means, put succinctly, is, if our enemies see fit to break or stretch the rules, then we have to be able to observe and report on these activities.’ He paused to let his words sink in. Bishop watched the young American captain who postured, glancing around the room dramatically, once again as if the cameras were rolling.

      ‘Hence gentlemen’, said the brigadier, ‘the rather multinational composition of this meeting. While this mission must be discreet and secret, if the shit does hit the fan, so to speak, at least it will be seen as a defensive exercise by the various allies — a sort of spirit of cooperation thing — to combat the breaches of the strange protocols of this fucking war by our enemies. Now, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty details because we have only one week to prepare our operation’.

      It was after eight at night when the old man finally called a halt for the day. He looked around the group, seemingly pleased with the results to date. ‘I am happy, gentlemen, with the way we are progressing’, he said confidentially, looking from one to the other. ‘But you will understand that we are now confined to barracks. You will see that you are more or less ordinary soldiers, rather than the so-called crack units of SAS and Green Berets class.’

      Hackman frowned, clearly put out by the comment. His frown was not lost on the old man who smiled. ‘Some of you, of course have the credentials of these specialists, but are not currently serving in that capacity. Sadly, the security of some of our special force operations has been compromised. We cannot take any risks, hence the reason why this group must remain isolated from the rest of the task force and, indeed, from your own comrades. We will be spending the next few days together in getting to know each other, and in understanding our respective roles.

      ‘You will have no contact outside this group, and a few other carefully selected interfaces, before the mission actually takes place. In fact, you will eat together, sleep together and shit together until we get you inserted into the mission area. Put simply, we cannot risk any breaches of security, there is too much at stake. The big picture and the objectives are far more important than any one of the individuals here.

      ‘However’, he added, searching the eyes of the group again, ‘if anyone gets cold feet, or decides, for whatever reason, not to proceed, that is your choice. СКАЧАТЬ