2

So here he was eighteen years later, a lieutenant in special forces by way of the paratroops, his knowledge of Vietnamese had seen to that and half way through his second tour, decorated, twice wounded, a combat veteran who felt about a thousand years old.

The helicopter drifted across the delta at a thousands feet. Cazalet had hitched a lift because he was told that it was a fortified camp at Katum and they needed him there to interrogate a high-ranking Vietnamese regular officer.

Cazalat wa only five feet six or seven, with the kind of hair that had red highlights. His eyes were brown, his broken nose a legacy of his boxing days and, in spite of the of the tan, the bayonet scar that bisected his right cheek was white. It was to become his trademark for years ahead.

Sitting there now in his camouflaged uniform, sleeves rolled up, the special forces beret tilted forward, he looked like what war had made him, a thoroughly dangerous man. The young medic *** air gunner, Harvey, and Hedley, the black crew chief, watched him and approved.

'He’s been everywhere or so they say,' Hedley whispered, 'Paratroops, Airborne Rangers and now special forces. He’s old mans a senator.'

'Well excuse me,' Harvey said. 'So what do you get for the man who has everything?' He turned to toss his cigarette out of the door and stiffened. 'Hey, what gives down there?'

Hedley glanced out, then reached for the heavy machinegun. 'We go trouble, right here in River city, Lieutenant.'

Cazalet joined him. There were paddy fields below and banks of reeds stretching in to infinity. A cart was blocking the the causeway that crossed the area and what passed for a local bus had stopped, unable to continue.

Harvey peered over his shoulder. 'Look, sir, it’s pajamas night at the Ritz again.'

There were Viet Cong down there, at least twenty, in their conical straw hats and black pajamas. A man got out of the bus, there was the distinctive crack of an AK47 and he fell. Two or three women emerged and ran, screaming, until the rifle fire cut them down.

Cazalet went to the pilot and leaned over. 'Take is down and I will drop out and see what I can do.'

'You must be crazy,' the pilot said.

'Just do it. Go down, drop me off and then get the hell outta here and fetch the cavalry, just like good old John Wayne.'

He turned, found himself an M16 and several pouches of magazines and slung them around his neck. He clipped half a dozen grenades to his belt and stuck some signalling flares in the pocket of his camouflage jacket. They where going down fast and the VC were shooting at them, Hedley returning the fire with the heavy machine-gun.

He turned, grinning, 'You got a death wish or something?'

Cazalet said, and as the helicopter hovered just above the ground, he jumped.

There was a call, 'wait for me.' When he turned, Harvey was following him, his medical bag over one shoulder.

'Crazy man,' Cazalet said.

'Aren’t we all?' Harvey replied, and they ran through the paddy field to the causeway, as the helicopter lifted and turned away.

There were more bodies now and the bus was under heavy rifle fire, windows shattering. Screams came from inside, and then several more women emerged, two of them running for the reeds the three Viet cong appeared on the road further along, rifles ready.

Cazalet raised his gun and fired several short burst, knocking two of them down. There was silence for a moment and Harvey knelt beside one of the women and tried for a pulse.

'She’s has it, for a start,' he said, turning to Cazalet, and then his eyes widened. 'Behind you.'

In the same moment, a bullet took Harvey in the heart, lifting him on his back. Cazalet swung, shooting from the hip of the two VC who had emerged on the cause way behind him. He caught one and the other slipped back into the reeds. Now, there was only silence.

NEXT EPISODE TOMORROW.

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