Wave Rider

[Robbie C.]

Just my take on a defining event in Martin Castillo's life. I located it in Laos and moved one or two things around to make it fit in both my timeline and reasonable historical reality. You'll see familiar faces, both from the show and my fiction.

 

Jess grinned his sloppy surfer smile and laughed. “Look who came back to our neck of the woods! Run out of work down south?”

Martin Castillo nodded, shaking the blonde man’s hand and smiling in return. “They said you needed adult supervision again.”

“Then why’d they send you?” Jess laughed again, turning and shouting back to one of the huts in the compound. “Get your sorry asses out here! Marty’s back!”

As the rest of the team piled out of the hut, Castillo felt an unfamiliar lump rising in his throat. He’d worked with the men for years, except for his stretch with Project Phoenix down in the Delta region of South Vietnam. What was supposed to be a temporary assignment turned into one of the longest years of his life, capped by a frustrating hunt for a serial killer he hadn’t been allowed to finish. Pulled away from the case, he’d been sent back to the Laotian highlands and his old team. No one would say why except an urgent request had come down.

Sill, he smiled as the men surrounded him. Ti Ti, with his grim eyes and stone expression actually smiling as he stuck out his hand. Hoang, his dark eyes bright with recognition as he repeated “Martin, Martin” like he’d just learned the name. And Gus, the third American. Dark and thick where Jess was light and slender, his bass voice booming loud enough to drown out the helicopters on the nearby pad. “Goddamn! It’s good to see you, boss! Been kinda scary up here without you.”

There had been others when he left, but Martin knew not to ask. The jungle war had taken them, a hungry tiger out under the triple canopy demanding its regular diet of flesh. There would be new faces to learn, and he would like he always did. But these men somehow always came back. Like he did.

Jess stood back until the greetings were done, then he moved closer to Castillo. “Hard to believe, ain’t it?”

“That we’re still here?”

“In more ways than one, Marty. Hell, we been here what? Three years now?”

“A bit longer, maybe. You took leave once.”

“Yeah. And I got my orders home. That’s why I’m glad you’re back. I keep thinking about those righteous waves off Malibu. Not a place a team leader’s head should be.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“The new guys seem pretty good. The elders sent their best men as always when we put out the call.” Jess stopped, and his eyes seemed far away. “But…”

“Their best isn’t what it was. I know. The war’s taken their best warriors. Long ago. Now we get boys.”

“It makes me sad, thinking what the war has done to this land. Marty. It’s time I went home. Hell, it’s time you went home.”

“Maybe.” But Castillo knew that was a lie. You had to have a home to go back to, and he didn’t. Not anymore. Home was his team. His mission. He went where those things were.

“I get it, man. You don’t hear the waves. When you do, you’ll know you’re home.” Jess slapped his arm. “Let’s get in there and help them celebrate. Gus ain’t been talking about anything else since we heard you were coming back north to our little circus.”

It was dark inside the hut, except where sunlight streamed through windows screened in a vain attempt to keep bugs out. Sitting at a rickety table, Gus tossed Castillo a beer. “So how was it down south? Lotsa action?”

“No. Just digging VC out of hiding.” Castillo shrugged. The idea behind Project Phoenix struck him as solid, but the execution left much to be desired. It was too open for abuse, as ARVN officers and political hacks looked to settle old scores. In areas where it worked it worked well, but where it didn’t it was another boot on the neck of peasants who’d already suffered too much from both sides. And then there were the butchered hookers no one chose to saw except an South Vietnamese police captain. “No,” he repeated, taking a deep pull from his beer. “Nothing good down there at all.”

“Been quiet since you left.” Gus drained his beer and opened another. “A few patrols, some sneakin’ around in the bush. But nothing major. Not since that smuggler got his head blown off, anyhow.”

“So they had you on ice?”

“Be a damned sight cooler if they had used ice, but yeah. They put us on the bench. We lost of the new guys in skirmishes with the Pathet Lao, but mostly when we ran into NVA. They’re gettin’ thick down here now.”

Jess nodded. “Whole companies now. At least that’s what the sky riders say. But now that you’re here I’d wager it’ll get hot again real soon.”

Ti Ti looked up from his own beer. “Smugglers are still moving. Bringing their heroin through the mountains.”

No one asked how Ti Ti knew things. He just did. Castillo knew he’d fought for the French, and has to be in his late 50s. But even he had trouble keeping up with him in the bush, and the man had his own extensive intelligence network. If Ti Ti said something, it was true. No question. “Where are they?”

Ti Ti waved a calloused hand. “Mountains. Where patrols don’t go. NVA lazy. They stay out of high ground. Money help, too.” He smiled, showing teeth capped with red metal. “Money pave all roads.”

Gus nodded. “That ain’t no shit, brother.”

Castillo shook his head, his eyes dark. He’d seen the results of that heroin up close in Saigon when he was splitting his time between the Delta and the capital. GIs ODing and dying in dark rooms in 100p Alley. Glassy-eyed clerks strung out on heroin they loaded their Kool cigarettes with and smoked on duty. His hit on the smuggler had slowed them for a time, but it was a speed bump on the road. He either had to hit higher or more often.

Jess touched his arm. “I know that look. We can’t go after them without authority, Marty. And so far there hasn’t been any. They keep us lookin’ for mystery NVA and just busy enough that we don’t blow up the camp.”

“That’s about to change.” Castillo helped himself to another beer from the case on the table. “You have my word on that.”

 

A window air conditioner labored in the thick, humid air, doing its best to cool the small room. It wasn’t enough. Dale Menton felt the sweat dripping down the hollow of his spine. Even though he’d been in Southeast Asia for close to ten years now he’d never adjusted to the humidity. His companion wiped his forehead with an already soaked handkerchief, but he’d only been in-country for a few weeks and had an excuse.

The man sitting across from them had a faint sheen of sweat on his high forehead, but nothing more. It would be undignified, and Lao Li was never undignified. He still looked like the general he had been in Chiang Kai-shek’s army before Mao kicked them all to Taiwan. What he didn’t look like was one of the biggest heroin smugglers in Southeast Asia. But that’s what Lao Li was, and it was Menton’s job to smooth the path for him. The CIA’s cut of the trade helped keep a Hmong army in the field, propped up certain government officials in Thailand, and otherwise worked to keep all of Southeast Asia from going Communist.

“What I do not understand,” Lao Li said as he sipped at his tea, “is why you brought this man back here. If, as you say, he killed my lieutenant should he not be kept away? He is clearly dangerous.”

“Sure he is. But not if he’s dead.” Menton leaned forward, ignoring the sounds coming from Jocko next to him. The kid would learn soon enough what was required to get the job done in this part of the world. “I don’t have the resources in South Vietnam that I do here. He’s got a thing about the heroin. Dangle it in front of him and he’s careless as hell.”

“You are suggesting I risk more of my men?”

“Not at all, general. But if he thinks you are, he’ll be right where we want him.”

Lao Li leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled before him. “Explain.”

“It’s simple. We let him learn of a mule train moving through the mountains with a big load of heroin. There ain’t no such train, but he don’t know that. He’ll set his whole team up in an ambush, right? And then…”

“And then we crush him” Lao Li smiled. “It is a good plan, Menton. And should something go wrong, he is none the wiser.”

“Nothing will go wrong, but yeah if it does he’s got no clue what happened. Either your guys got lucky or one of his guys sold him out.”

“I stand corrected. It was a wise move to bring him back north. We are at a delicate time, with your troops leaving and the future of South Vietnam in doubt. I must secure my contacts in Thailand. We will not be able to remain in Laos if the Hmong fail. And they will in time. It is a question of numbers.”

“Sure.” Menton nodded, not caring either way. He’d be out well before anything went south, unlike those idiots in Special Activities who were down in the trenches with the stupid jungle hillbillies. No, Menton preferred Bangkok. Where the best hotels were air-conditioned and the whores were clean. “I’ll set it up. I’ll let you know, general, when the hook’s baited. Won’t take long.”

Out in the hall Jocko cornered him. “We’re actually setting up one of our own guys?”

“He ain’t a team player, Jocko. Not an inch of him. He’s had his chances, and spit on ‘em every time. Our orders are to keep Lao Li in business so the national interest can go humpin’ along in this sweaty corner of the world. And if that means offering up one self-righteous asshole on a platter, then it’s what we do.” Menton grinned, wanting a cold beer more than anything right about now. “Ours ain’t to reason why and all that shit. Just follow orders and collect our pay. And the bonuses out here are damned good.”

 

Martin Castillo sat on the sandbag revetment surrounding one of the helicopter pads, looking out over the surrounding jungle and from time to time adding a word or to in his notebook. Poetry never came easy for him, but he found it both relaxing and a good way to collect his thoughts. He’d been back for almost a week now with nothing to show for it.

The voice was familiar. “You still pretending you’re some kind of warrior poet, Marty?”

“Jack!” Castillo stuffed the pencil and book into a baggy fatigue pants pocket and jumped to his feet. “When did you get in?”

“Twenty minutes or so back. Jess said I’d find you out here pretending to write.” Jack Gretzky was shorter than Castillo by an inch or so, but his eyes belonged to a taller, older man. Among the few CIA agents who knew of him he was a legend. Operating mostly alone, he went deep into NVA or Pathet Lao territory, returning with critical intelligence or word of a high-value target’s demise. But they also spoke of Martin Castillo in almost the same breath. The two men had operated together a time or two and were good friends. It was Jack who’d gotten him started on poetry.

“What brought you back in?”

“Finished the job. That and I heard you were back north. Thought maybe you could use a straphanger on your next mission.” Jack looked out over the trees. “I could stand working with a team for a few missions.”

Castillo nodded. “Of course.” He understood the man’s need and his dilemma. Working alone was sometimes easier, but it took a toll on a man. One that accrued fast and took a long time to pay down. “If they give us a job, that is.”

“Oh, they will. I can’t imagine them bringing you back to sit on the damned bench. But it’s different out there, Marty. A lot changed in a year. The Hmong are weaker and the NVA are stronger. The Pathet Lao don’t even count anymore. It’s front line NVA out in those jungles. Hanoi means to finish this one way or the other.”

“And they can do it with fewer Americans in the South.” Castillo shook his head. “South Vietnam is a weak house of cards. One breeze and it falls in on itself. I saw that down there. They need time they’re never going to have.”

Jack looked around. “I guess Gus and the rest told you about the interdiction mission?”

“Yes. The one that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I still do what I can. Operating alone has its advantages. You’d be surprised how many of those heroin mule trains are also carrying NVA supplies. Airstrikes can’t tell the difference.” Jack smiled, a mean thing that didn’t touch his eyes. “But it’s like they know we’re coming sometimes.”

“They might.” Castillo looked around. “I was told to stand down on interdiction before I went South. By one of our own.”

“Menton? He might be Agency, but he’s not one of us.” Jack spit into the dirt by the side of the revetment. “He’s as bent as they come. Uses a corkscrew to put his pants on in the morning, I’ll bet.”

“He’s in someone’s pocket. And he has ears and a mouth.”

“True enough.” Jack slapped him on the arm. “Damn I missed having you around, Marty. Let’s go have a drink and talk some more. Like about those damned Hmong who turned on us.”

“The temple assassins?” Castillo nodded but didn’t smile at the memory. “They died hard.”

“And we didn’t. That’s enough for me.” Jack grinned. “Still, you have to admit it makes a damned good bar story.”

The next morning Martin Castillo was up with the sun, working through a series of martial arts drills before the heat made it too uncomfortable. His head hurt a bit from the night before, but nothing he couldn’t handle. And the workout would sweat the alcohol out.

Jack joined him without a word, and together they went through the warmup exercises and even sparred a bit. Jess came out halfway through and watched with a curious expression. When they were done he spoke. “That looks a bit like dancin’.”

Jack nodded. “In a way it is. Martial arts are often about movement and coordination. The line between them and dancing is often thin.”

“I’ll take a good wave any day. And that day’s gettin’ closer.” Jess sighed and looked off to the east. “I can almost hear the waves now.”

Castillo nodded. “Still taking a month at Malibu?”

“Yeah. See if those blondes are as tan as they used to be. I keep hearing tell of this new topless thing and I got to know if it’s just hippie propaganda or something real.” He chuckled. “Of course back when I was ridin’ it wasn’t any trick to get a girl out of her bikini top. It was the bottoms that took some work.”

Turning, Castillo followed Jess toward the mess hall. “That what you miss the most?”

“Ya know, Marty? It’s not. I miss the ocean the most. Just listening to her out there on a board. Waiting for word that the right wave is forming up out there where I can’t see it. She talks if you know how to listen. The wave pitch changes a bit. Gets up high and then down low instead of just steady high-low. And there’s even a sound she makes if it’s a wave you should let pass by. Some of those big ones are wild. Don’t care to share their space with no one.”

Castillo nodded even if he didn’t understand. He’d seen Jess surf once on an R&R to Australia, and the man was a wizard on the board. Like he was part of the water that stood up and decided to share their space before returning to his true liquid form. And in a way he understood. The highland forests spoke to him the same way. Reminding him of his dim memories of Cuba.

They were in the camp’s chow hall eating breakfast when word came down. The runner was a skinny man who never seemed to venture far from the radio hut or the supply bunker. “Castillo. Get your team into the briefing room ASAP. We got a mission for you.”

Castillo didn’t look up. “We’ll be there when we’re done eating. Not before.”

“But I said…” His words died when Castillo looked up and fixed him with a cobra-like stare.

“I”m sure you ate your fill before you came here with that order. We’ll do the same.” He kept his eyes pinned to the man until he nodded and slunk away without a word.

Gus laughed. “Damn, did I miss that! Little punk’s been ridin’ our asses for weeks now. But one look from you an’ he pisses his pants and turns tail.”

Ti Ti shook his head. “All cowards dangerous. We should take care.”

“That desk jockey tries messing with us I’ll snap him like a damned twig.”

Castillo looked up from his food. “We’ll finish and head over. They might actually have a mission.”

The ops bunker was a metal CONEX container buried in a slit trench to give it some protection from the mortar shells and rockets that occasionally hit the base. The walls were papered with large-scale maps of this part of Laos, and radios hummed and chattered in the corners. Two small offices had been partitioned off with plywood toward the back of the container, but the rest was left as a large briefing area. Castillo, Jack and Jess were the only three attending the briefing. Gus didn’t care, and the indigenous team members weren’t considered to have a need to know. Not that it mattered; Ti Ti usually had the skinny on any mission and supplemental intel ten minutes after they left the bunker.

The outpost commander was a tall, lean man reputed to have been at the Bay of Pigs. His gray hair was cut short as a reminder of some unspecified military career before coming to the CIA, and he always looked sideways at Castillo’s ponytail. When they arrived he was standing in front of one of the maps showing both the Laotian and Thai border regions. He didn’t turn around. “Castillo. Good to have you back. I understand Gretzky already found you. Good. This mission should suit both of you.”

Jess chuckled. “Don’t forget I’m short, boss. You got any nurses that need guarding?”

“No, but this is as close to that as you can get.” He pointed at the map. “Interdiction’s back on, gentlemen. President Nixon has declared a war on drugs, and we’re gonna do our little bit in our corner of the world. We’ve got solid intel that a mule train carrying both heroin and medical supplies for the NVA are moving along this trail in the next few days.” He traced a thin brown line with his finger. “The medicines are Western in origin, and with the president ordering the mining of North Vietnamese ports they’re getting creative.”

Jess nodded. “What’s the size of the train and escort?”

“Forty mules and their handlers and an escort said to be about platoon size. Maybe one hundred men total. But the escort’s Pathet Lao, not NVA.” The man allowed himself a thin smile. “Seems the NVA charge too much these days. So our boy went on the cheap.”

“Who’s drugs are they?” Castillo stared at the map, trying to see what it was hiding.

“What do you mean?”

“Who’s moving the drugs.” He spoke slow this time. “Who bought them and where are they going?”

“Our source didn’t have that information. He’s one of the contractors for the mules.”

“I see.” Castillo shook his head. It didn’t feel quite right, but these kind of missions never did. Sometimes they were dry holes, bad information given by men who needed money, but other times they paid off. But they always left him uneasy until they were on the chopper headed home.

“Sorry, Marty. But that’s all we have right now. And the boss wants this one done. My boss.”

“I understand.”

“The good news is we have enough birds to lift your full team. And Gretzky if he wants to be a straphanger.”

“I’ll check the target area folders and get back to you with my plan.” Castillo picked up the folders on the table. “Is there anything else?”

“No. You’ll need to launch in forty-eight hours, though.”

Once they were outside, Jess groaned. “Guess I shouldn’t complain. Lots of guys wouldn’t mind a dry hole before they catch the freedom bird home.”

Castillo nodded. “You’ve seen enough action for ten men, Jess. Go home to your waves. You’ve earned them.”

“It just sucks leaving things undone.”

Ti Ti appeared, as always, from out of nowhere. “You Americans crazy. War here never done. Never! Go when you can and don’t look back. There always mission.”

Jess nodded, grinning his usual surfer grin. “You got that right, man. And I bet you know more about this than we do.”

Ti Ti nodded. “Some. Mule train come sudden. First nothing then poof someone hire mules.” He made an exploding motion with his hands as he said ‘poof’. “Maybe Pathet Lao, maybe someone else. No can say.”

“You can’t say or your source can’t say?” Castillo was interested now.

“Source no can say. Ti Ti can always say. Maybe source don’t know, maybe he scared to say.” The older man shrugged, consigning the mystery to the universe.

“What do you think that means, boss?” Jess turned to Castillo.

“It means we plan well.”

Jack nodded. “And plan for damned near everything. As best we can, anyhow.”

Ti Ti shook his head. “You Americans. What happens happens. Make sure you have enough bullets. Enough grenades. The rest just happens.”

Castillo nodded. “We will. See to the team, Ti Ti. Make sure the new ones know their places.”

“They do or they be gone.”

Once Ti Ti was out of earshot, Jack turned to Castillo. “You think he’s right?”

“I know something doesn’t feel right. But it could be a dry hole. Ti Ti makes those noises when it turns out to be a dry hole. He’s also not happy Jess is leaving.”

“That old bastard?”

“Yes. He likes you. He thinks you feel the jungle like he does.”

“Well damn.” Jess shook his head, looking over to the team hut. “Remind me to get him something nice before I leave. A good pipe or something. I know that one of his is damned near burned through in the bowl.”

“He’d like that.” Castillo thought back on the many talks he’d had with Ti Ti after the others had gone to sleep, both in camp and in the field. The old Nung had forgotten more about fighting than most of them would ever know, and his advice was worth its weight in gold. When his time finally came, he’d miss Ti Ti most of all. Jess he was sure he’d run into again. But the old Nung would never leave Laos.

Jack chuckled. “A convoy ambush. Good way to get back in the swing of things up here, though. Bet you didn’t do many of those down South.”

“No. Lots of village sweeps. Some police work in Saigon working with the provost marshal’s office.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could be a policeman. Too much waiting.”

“And I never thought I could be in the Agency. Too much time alone.” Jack grinned. “And look at me now.”

Nodding, Castillo looked at Jess. “You don’t have to go. With Jack here we have a full team.”

“He’s right, Jess. You can sit this one out. Hell, you owe it to yourself. Hide out in the team hut and mark time until it’s your time.”

Jess looked from one man to the other and sighed. “I’d love to, but it just don’t feel right. Me skatin’ back here while you two do all the work. And Gus would never forgive me.”

“He would.” Castillo touched Jess’ arm. “He might make noise, but he would understand. Just like you would if he did the same thing.”

“But it’s your first mission back, man. Maybe the only chance we have to go out before I leave. I can’t pass that up.”

Castillo smiled. “I wouldn’t think less of you if you did, but I understand.”

“I still think you’re being an ass, but it’s your call.” Jack chuckled, turing toward the hut. “Now let’s go let Gus in on the secret and get the planning started. I’ve run in that area a time or two and have some ideas about where an ambush would be most successful.”

 

Ejecting the empty magazine from his smoking CAR-15, Martin Castillo slammed a new one home and hit the bolt release with his thumb. The drills were going well, and it felt good to be with the team again. Ti Ti still grumbled about the new men, even as Hoang tried to build their spirits and walk them through the drills. They made a good pair, though; the younger Hmong and the older Nung. He’d seen them turn raggedy teen-agers into warriors in almost no time.

Jack, as always, moved like quicksilver with his weapon. Even Ti Ti wasn’t quite as good, which was a testament to Jack’s almost unnatural skill. Gus was Gus, wielding the cut-down RPD he’d picked up from an SOG armory like an artist and somehow managing to move his considerable bulk like a dancer. And Jess…Jess just flowed in the field. It was like he heard his waves in the gunfire, riding it until the next one came and moving without effort to it in turn. But almost three years of constant conflict would do that to a man.

Sometimes Castillo wondered what he looked like in the drills. If others saw him flowing or noticed only the mistakes, the moments when he fumbled or missed his mark. He knew he saw them, cataloging them in endless detail and punishing himself with repetitions until they vanished. Laos was an unforgiving place, more so now than it had been a year ago. He couldn’t afford mistakes.

Jess looked over and grinned. “Nice reload! I think you’re faster than Jack now.”

Jack chuckled. “He should be after as many reps as he’s done with that drill.”

“What I lack in gifts I make up for with practice.” Castillo allowed them a thin smile before sending controlled bursts downrange, watching as dirt puffed up behind the targets. “How does Ti Ti feel about the new men?”

Jess grinned again, showing his white California teeth. “Bitching as usual, but he allows they’ll do for ‘simple mission’ as he calls it.”

“High praise for him.” Jack jerked his head toward Gus. “He gonna be ok with that big gun?”

“You try taking it away from him and see how you do. He’s fallen in love with the damned thing. We’re expecting a wedding announcement any day now.” Jess winked. “I just hope he don’t try sleeping with the damned thing.”

Castillo flipped the selector switch to single shot and squeezed off the rest of the magazine one at a time. They had the new thirty-round mags now, and he wanted to get used to the change. When the bolt locked back after the last shot he gave a sharp whistle. “Cease fire! We’ll go over the plan one more time. Launch is dawn tomorrow..”

 

The air was cool once the Air America Huey reached cruising altitude and leveled off from its climb out of the camp. Castillo looked at the men on his bird. Gus had his cut-down machine gun close at hand, extra ammo drums obvious on his web gear and no doubt stuffed in his rucksack as well. Hoang sat next to him, staring off into space as usual. The rest of the men were new, and Castillo didn’t really know their names yet. That would change by the next mission. As usual he had Jess and Ti Ti on the second bird, and Jack had gone there as a straphanger. That way if anti-aircraft fire got one bird the other would still have command staff able to continue the mission.

Twelve men, thirteen with Jack. Unlucky thirteen if a man believed in such things. Castillo didn’t, but he knew some of his men did. So he had the camp shaman bless the team before launch, blocking evil spirits from sensing the number and being drawn to it. Little things mattered, and in this job you had to conform to local customs as much as possible while still completing the mission. And in this case the lift capacity of the Hueys.

As they flew, he went over the plan again in his head. When he’d briefed it back to the camp commander it had seemed simple enough. Set up at one of two locations on the mule trail in a classic ambush and wait for them to amble into the kill zone. But now he wasn’t sure. What if something went wrong? He’d done this often enough he trusted his veterans to react with no problem. But over half the team was green. And he wasn’t sure if he trusted them all.

Ti Ti said the same thing the night before, cornering him as they left the chow hall. “New guys not all good,” he said in a low voice. “Something not right.”

“What?”

“Don’t know. And that bothers me. Be careful tomorrow, Martin. One may be bad.”

Even with that, he thought the plan was solid. Use Claymores to block and scatter the column, then gun them down when the tried to run. He didn’t like killing the mules, but there was no help for it. He thought about using tear gas, but if there happened to be any wind it wouldn’t work as well. That and the smugglers could just recapture them and keep using them. So it was like blowing up trucks. The thought didn’t help.

The pilot gave his signal. Five minutes out. Castillo looked at the men on his bird and chambered a round in his CAR-15 but left the safety on. Hoang followed his lead, while Gus settled a belt into the feed tray of his RPD but didn’t pull the operating lever back. The new men locked and loaded as well, under the watchful eyes of Castillo and his veterans. Mistakes had happened before, and birds fell from the sky when rounds shattered rotor blades.

The LZ was a small clearing deep in Laos, within spitting distance on the map of Thailand. The bird didn’t quite touch down, and Castillo and his men spilled out both sides of the open cabin and sprinted for the edge of the clearing. Then the bird was up and the second Huey spilled its cargo before shooting into the sky to join the first one. They were gone in under two minutes, leaving only the echoing thumps of their twin rotors to mark their passing.

Castillo hunkered in the bush on the far side of the LZ, his ears tuned to the sounds of the jungle. There had been no warning shots, so the NVA or Pathet Lao didn’t have LZ watchers this far west. It didn’t surprise him. These days teams worked closer to the Trail, interdicting supplies flowing south or to other parts of Laos. Out here it was more or less untouched.

Within minutes the bird songs returned and he could hear monkeys chattering to each other through the trees. Looking around, he made eye contact with each member of the team and pointed west. His hand signals said ‘form up and move out,’ and they flowed into position just like he’d shouted a command. He smiled in spite of himself.

They moved at a slow but steady pace determined by Jess on point. Ti Ti had wanted to take point, but Jess insisted. It was his turn, he signaled as he slipped into position. Gus nodded and fell in behind him, the sawed-off RPD ready for action. With a resigned shrug Ti Ti followed them, and so on down the line. Hoang took the last position, doing what he could to obliterate any obvious signs of their passing. Castillo was in the middle, with Jack close by carrying the radio. The signal was weak even with relay stations and aircraft, but they’d need it to call their ride home.

Jack signaled Castillo over just before they moved out. “I’ve got a frequency for a Jolly Green Giant unit in Thailand if we need an emergency lift,” he whispered.

Castillo nodded. “Good thinking. Let’s go.”

Jess didn’t move through the jungle as much as he flowed through it, moving his weapon around hanging vines and contemplating each step before putting a boot down. His eyes flickered over each streak of sunlight, every blotch of shade, before he took a step. Castillo chalked part of it up to his surfer background, where he’d learned to read the water when riding the waves.

Behind him Gus moved with a more burly caution, leaving more sign but possibly seeing more in the jungle around them. His awareness came from a different place, one he couldn’t explain or understand. Raised in the city, he’d attuned to the jungle like he’d been born there and sometimes sensed trouble before it happened. Only Ti Ti was better, but he moved more like Jess.

Castillo’s relationship with the jungle was more complex, more intellectual, than that of Jess or Gus. At times it reminded him of his dim memories of Cuba, and at others it was something from a nightmare. He could more in it, flow in it, but was never quite comfortable in it. There was nothing neutral about the jungle, no matter what all the training films said. Something in it was always trying to kill you, and if you let down your guard for a second it would.

Before the war Jack had been posted in Japan, and he’d learned his skills there in a different school with different goals. By himself he was a ghost in the jungle, but Castillo thought he always struggled in a group. He always fought the pace set by the point man, either wanting to go faster or slower. No matter how much he wanted to be part of a team he just wasn’t. He could operate as a duo, but that was as far as his accommodation went.

They moved at a steady pace, making good time toward their objective. From time to time Castillo halted the column, letting the men drink while he checked the map and compass and relayed any direction changes to Jess. They ate during the usual NVA pok time, deciding it was safer than risking running into a wandering NVA patrol or ambitious Pathet Lao during their break. He wasn’t worried. They’d reach the first ambush site in plenty of time and be able to strike when the train appeared.

About an hour after their break, Jess raised his hand and brought the team to a halt. ‘Trail ahead’ he signaled, waving Castillo up. The undergrowth went right up to the edge and stopped as if someone had manicured it. Castillo looked at Jess and nodded. This wasn’t an abandoned game trail or some small affair used by woodcutters. Turning, he indicted the direction to Gus, who relayed it down the line. They’d move beside the trail without crossing.

Turning back, he saw Jess studying the trail with intent eyes. “Looks like woodcutters came through here not to long ago,” he mouthed, the words almost lost in the routine jungle noise. “Two, maybe three at the most.”

“You’re sure?”

“Bare feet made those prints, boss. Not boots or Ho Chi Minhs. Shallow so they weren’t carrying a heavy load. And they’re just boppin’ along.” He flashed his winning smile to say ‘I’m sure’ without words.

Castillo nodded, pulling out the map. There was a small ville a couple of klicks down the trail, and the tracks looked to be coming out and heading back. So it could be cutters, or maybe hunters looking to supplement the daily rice and tubers with fresh meat. Forcing his doubts into the back of his mind, he nodded and gave the signal to move out. They needed to get into position before the mule train arrived.

Years gone Castillo might have been surprised that the briefing officer had a good time estimate for the train passing through this area, but experienced had dulled the surprise and made it routine. Someone was always for sale, and that was doubly-true in the Laotian smuggling community. Add in the markets in Thailand and it wasn’t difficult to get the information the officer had shared back in the ops bunker. And he’d never complain about an easy mission to see Jess off and break in the new men on the team. His mind wandered, wondering if he’d get another American to replace Jess. Drawdowns weren’t just for the military, and he knew the Company was scrambling to find another playground. Maybe Africa. So fewer case officers were coming to Southeast Asia, or at least his corner of it.

Jack came up next to him and nodded toward the trail. “Woodcutters?”

“Yes. At least Jess thinks so.”

“And you don’t.”

“They could be.”

“But…you’re not sure.” Jack looked around. “What did I always tell you?”

“Listen to my heart, not my head.” Castillo stopped, raising his hand. Every sense on full alert. Sniffing the air. Tasting it. Ears straining to filter through the jungle clatter that suddenly…

“AMBUSH!” The single word exploded from his mouth at the same instant four Chinese claymore mines hidden in the trees and aimed down when off with a roar louder than thunder. He felt the concussion from one lift him in the air like a giant, clenching hand before it slammed him to the hard jungle floor. One of the new men standing close by took the brunt of the blast and was sprayed all over Castillo’s uniform and exposed skin.

His ears rang like a thousand church bells, and his eyes refused to focus. Every inch of his body cried out in pain, but through the fog he could see parts of his team. Jess had been right in front of a mine when they were detonated, and the man he’d fought beside for years was nothing more than a red smear on the foliage and broken bones and torn organs. Gus, big Gus, was up and shooting, his mouth open in a roar Castillo couldn’t hear, blood streaming from his ears and multiple holes torn in his body. But the RPD had a muzzle flash almost three feet long, and it blazed as he fired into the jungle behind them.

Ti Ti came up fast, running past Castillo with his CAR-15 blazing. His ears streamed blood, too, and one eye had vanished in a welter of red. He threw one grenade, then another, before reloading his CAR and firing tight bursts into the jungle.

They came up behind us. Castillo’s mind refused to function. No, they were already here. They knew we were coming and where we were. But how? His brain sent signals to his body, ordering his hands to pick up his weapon and return fire. But nothing happened. He could only watch as Gus was cut to ribbons by at least three AK-47s as he tried to reload his big gun. He felt tears forming as Ti Ti looked back, screaming, and threw himself on a grenade aimed for Castillo. The muffled explosion lifted his warrior’s body off the jungle floor before dropping it again.

The new men, those who survived the mines, tried their best. As the bells stopped ringing he could hear them shooting, yelling to each other. But the incoming fire was a steady rain of death, and they were swept under one by one. Men whose names he never learned fought and died with honor. And he… His vision kept tunneling, and it took every bit of strength he had to hold that tunnel back.

“Marty.” It was Jack’s voice, close by his ear. “We gotta play dead. Hell, maybe we are dead.”

His heart screamed no. They had to pay. For Gus. Ti Ti. And Jess most of all. But his head won out. There was no way to make them pay if he was dead, and if these bastards could kill Gus and Ti Ti he’d be little more than an afterthought. And there was the pain. Shooting through every nerve in his body. Sighing, Martin Castillo gave in and embraced the darkness.

 

The smell of death choked his nostrils. Voided bowels. Torn flesh. Acrid blood. And the unique rotting found in the tropics. He tried to open his eyes, fear flooding his body for an instant when they refused to cooperate, and then he remembered the blood. Willing himself to calm again, Martin Castillo turned to his ears, still ringing but not as bad, to scout the ambush kill zone.

He heard the jungle. Birds squawking. Animals moving through the underbrush. All the bodies would draw scavengers sooner or later, though. Maybe tigers. He moved his hand. Slow. Making no noise. Just in case…

“Marty? Thank God.” It was Jack’s voice. Off to his right, but not far. “They’re gone. I watched the bastards go. They kicked us both to make sure we were dead. You were so out of it I was afraid you were.”

Reaching up he scraped at the dried blood, prying his eyes open to see it was going on evening. Shadows fell long from the trees, and the air was starting to cool. He tried and found his voice. “How many?”

“At least ten that I saw. I think we’re the only survivors from the team, though. They shot two of the wounded Hmong through the head. Someone wanted this thorough.”

“And you’re sure…”

“Yeah. They lined up like they’d won the fucking World Series and headed off up the trail. Back toward Thailand. Heard a bird not long after, but don’t know whose it was.” Jack chuckled, a dry sound more like dead leaves rattling together. “Mine got me pretty screwed up, too.”

Martin tried to push himself up, but the simple movement was almost beyond him. “Our equipment…”

“They took the radio and Gus’s RPD. He must have killed more than a few of them, cause they kicked his body quite a few times. They didn’t care much the gear, though. Not like any NVA or Pathet Lao I’ve ever seen. Especially those Pathet Lao bastards.”

Rolling on his side, Castillo looked where Jess had been. He didn’t want to see the remains now. Better to keep the memories he had instead of replacing them with a package of hamburger. “Are you hit?”

“No worse than you. The new guys soaked up most of the blast. My ankle’s twisted, maybe, and my hearing ain’t too good.” He heard a grunt, and then saw Jack using his CAR as a makeshift crutch to lever himself to his feet. “And they missed my emergency radio. Yours, too, I’d guess.”

“Yes.” Castillo felt the heavy weight in his fatigue vest’s lower pocket.

“Clean out your eyes while I bandage some of my holes. We need to get clear of here before tigers show up. Or the Pathet Lao realize there’s weapons for the taking.” Jack shook his head. “We can’t risk a bast to destroy them.”

“Get the bolts. I won’t leave anything they can use.” Reaching down, he found his canteen punctured with shrapnel holes. But there was enough water below the holes for him to scrub away the dried blood from his eyes and nose.

Now that he could see, he examined his body. Looking for the source of the pain. What looked to be a hundred little cuts dotted his arms and holes in his fatigue pants, but there was nothing more serious than a deep gouge in his upper left forearm. Most of the blood on him came from other men.

Jack seemed to read his mind. “Yeah, we both look like hell but came out pretty clean. Your head ok? You caught more of the blast than I did.”

“Slow.” He shook his head, regretting the moment an instant after he made it. “And foggy. Concussion.”

“I’ll check Jess for gear.”

“Thanks.” Castillo appreciated the gesture. He still couldn’t believe the man was dead. Jess had been charmed in the field, walking through ambushes that killed more experience men. Survived years in the Laotian battlefield. And to be killed on what should have been a simple mission…

They moved carefully, slowly, leaning on each other for support as they made their way through the jungle. Moving away from the trail and the ambush. Darkness wrapped itself around them, hiding them from prying eyes but making movement more difficult. Castillo kept his CAR-15 ready on its assault strap, enough though he feared the recoil would knock him flat if he had to fire. He estimated they’d covered almost a kilometer when he touched Jack’s shoulder. “I’m going to try to reach Moonbeam.” Sensing rather than seeing the other man nod, he dug in his pocket and pulled out the small radio.

It didn’t have much range, but they weren’t in a valley and he could hope the big radio relay aircraft was in a position to hear his call. Orbiting Laos every night, the specialized aircraft relayed messages for both SOG and the CIA. With any luck he’d get through. Switching on the radio he keyed the mic. “Moonbeam. Moonbeam. This is…” His voice almost broke when he hit their codename. “This is Wave Rider.”

Static hissed in his ear, and then a voice rich with Southern drawl echoed over. “Wave Rider, this is Moonbeam. Authenticate. Over.”

“Tango X-Ray Charlie Five Niner.” The code was to make sure they hadn’t been captured. He had a second one, close to the first, to use if they had. Out in the secret war in the Laotian jungles rules didn’t apply.

“Good to hear from you, Wave Rider. We heard you’d been overrun. What can we do for y’all?”

“Extraction. Two men. Over.”

There was a moment of silence. “Confirming two souls. Over.”

“Roger that.”

“Call ya back in ten, Wave Rider. Save that battery, ya hear? Moonbeam out.”

Jack nodded in the darkness. “They want to be sure. You can’t blame them.”

“No.” Shutting off the radio, Castillo stuffed it back into his pocket. His wristwatch had been shattered by the blast, so he started counting off the seconds.

“I know what you’re thinking, Marty. We may never know who set us up. You how the game’s played. Hell, you’ve been in it as long as I have. Maybe longer.”

“I’ll find out.” Castillo’s voice was flat, but in the blackness his eyes blazed. “Maybe not today or tomorrow. But I will find out.”

“You have to let it go, man. Look, that’s why I work solo. It’s easier that way. Only you screw up and only you get killed. No messy letters to write. No friends to mourn. It ain’t easy, but it works.”

“But you can only do so much. Remember how you told me once a fist is stronger in a fight than a finger?”

“I did say that, didn’t I? Sounds like the kind of crap that comes out of my mouth sometimes. But you choose if you make a fist or use a finger.”

“I know.” Castillo went quiet, listening the the insects and animals moving around in their jungle home. He’d tried the finger in Saigon, and a killer had slipped through his outstretched fingers. Next time it would be a fist. One broken finger in a fist could be protected and healed. A broken finger on its own was useless.

Moonbeam came back on the radio right on schedule. “Wave Rider, we can’t get you a bird until dawn. Hole up and lay low. You got a PZ in mind?”

Castillo pulled out his map and transposed coordinates into code. He’d picked out a handful before the mission in case things went wrong, and the standard precaution had paid off. It was another two kilometers ahead, but the going didn’t look bad and they could make it before dawn even going slow.

Moonbeam read the code back and verified two souls. “See ya in the mornin’, cowboys. Moonbeam out.”

Putting the radio away again, Castillo showed Jack the map in the faint moonlight. “We can make it if we start now. Rest near the PZ instead of here.”

“I’ll shoot an azimuth and let’s get to it. Don’t want to be late for our own party, do we?”

The Air America Huey appeared out of the rising sun like a chariot surrounded by flame, and it picked the two men out of the small jungle clearing without any trouble. The flight back was quiet, the helicopter crew doing their measured best to ignore the two men covered in dried blood and reeking of death. For his part, Castillo had no words. Just his dark eyes making all conversation a dangerous proposition. Even Jack sensed it and let him be.

The bird flared sharply and settled into the revetment at the operating camp. Castillo was out without a word, anger lending strength to his battered body. The briefing case officer came striding across the PSP runway, his look demanding answers. “What hell…”

Martin Castillo’s hand flashed out like a striking cobra, catching the man right in the Adam’s apple. He fell like a sandbag tossed from a board tower, his body making a sickening thud as it hit the metal planking. Gasping for breath, he clawed uselessly at his throat as his face went pale. “Who gave us up?” The words were a hiss. Castillo glared down at the man, his eyes black as night and frozen in a stare no one could face.

The officious clerk scamped up. “You can’t…”

Jack’s voice was almost conversational. “He’ll kill you, you know. Unless I do it first. Who did you talk to? How much did they pay you?”

“I…”

Castillo aimed a kick at the prone case officer and turned to the clerk. His eyes saw nothing, focused on a distant wave and a blonde man riding it to nowhere. “Talk.”

“But…”

The sound of a round being chambered echoed across the camp. “Talk.” Castillo brought up his CAR-15, the flash suppressor touching the man’s forehead right between his eyes.

A dark stain spread across the front of the man’s starched fatigue pants. “They had papers. The right authority. Said they needed to know the team’s mission ASAP.”

“Who?” There was a sharp click as the safety came off.

“I don’t know! Jesus Christ, I swear I don’t know! Never seen them before! They came in on one of the log birds right after your team left. They were gone five minutes later!”

Castillo felt Jack’s hand on his shoulder. “That’s all he knows, Marty. He’s a little fish.”

Castillo took a deep breath. Held it a moment. Then let it hiss out. He flicked the safety back on, then pivoted his left wrist and thrust forward with his right arm. The metal collapsable stock of the CAR streaked up, catching the clerk square in the jaw and shattering three teeth. He fell, clutching at the bloody mess that had been his mouth. “That’s for Jess.”

 

“To a successful mission.” Lao Li raised his glass in the air-conditioned hotel bar in one of Bangcock’s finest hotels.

Menton raised his own. “So your boys got ‘em all?”

“So they say. I expect you shall make certain of this.”

“You bet. I’ve heard rumors that an Air America bird pulled two palefaces out of the bush near there the other day. We’re checking, but we gotta be careful. Too many people are sniffing around about this, and they ain’t all friends.”

“If my men failed to finish the job they will be dealt with. But eliminating this team had the desired effect?”

“Looks that way, general. The camp they launched from has turned its attention back to the border region and the Plain of Jars. They just got a couple of replacements, so I don’t know for sure what’s going on there. But the other camps are dancing to the same tune.”

“Your information was beyond value, Mr. Menton. Your bonus will reflect my gratitude.”

“To a long and fruitful relationship, general.” Menton raised his glass to his own toast, trying to crush out the doubts in the back of his mind. If they missed Castillo…

 

Martin Castillo looked down at the last lines he’d written in the letter. “Your son died fighting for his comrades, doing a job he loved.” It looked so trite on paper. Not at all like it sounded in his head. But he wouldn’t change it. It was true, and there had been enough lies for many lifetimes in Laos. He couldn’t lie about this.

The box contained what was left of Jess’s life. A wooden elephant. A small carved surfboard one of the Hmong had made for him after he’d been enchanted by Jess’s tales of the waves. And a charm Ti Ti had given him. There were one or two other things, and he’d explained the meaning of each in his letter. Finally, he took off one of the tribal bracelets he’d been given by Montagnards he worked with in South Vietnam and slipped it into the box before taping it shut. His own addition to the memories. He’d carry Jess in his soul forever.

Jack came in, the bandage across his eye making him look like a pirate straight out of central casting. “No one’s looking for you, not after that clerk spilled his guts. Turns out the case officer had some unexplained cash in his hootch, too. So the brass are going make it all go away.”

“I’m tired.” The words came out unbidden. “Maybe it’s time I went back, too. Or at least someplace different.”

“It will be over here soon, Marty. You can feel it in the air. Maybe Thailand would be good for both of us. A fresh start.”

Picking up the box, Martin Castillo said goodbye to one of his best friends. “Let’s get this mailed, Jack. And then I need many beers.” He wouldn’t forget the ambush, but the beer would fuzz the memories for a time. And that, sometimes, was all you could ask for.

[mjcmmv]

Ah, man this was so good. It almost made me cry, for Jess and for Castillo. Now, whenever I watch Golden Triangle, it will have a whole different feel. A new memory will be added and the  story will be richer. 

Great job, as always, Robbie. 

 

 

[Matt5]

Just fantastic - great detail Robbie.

[Matt5]

6 minutes ago, mjcmmv said:

Ah, man this was so good. It almost made me cry, for Jess and for Castillo. Now, whenever I watch Golden Triangle, it will have a whole different feel. A new memory will be added and the  story will be richer. 

Great job, as always, Robbie. 

 

 

I agree so good.

[Robbie C.]

Glad you both enjoyed it. 

[vicegirl85]

On 8/5/2019 at 9:44 PM, Robbie C. said:

By himself he was a ghost in the jungle, but Castillo thought he always struggled in a group. He always fought the pace set by the point man, either wanting to go faster or slower. No matter how much he wanted to be part of a team he just wasn’t. He could operate as a duo, but that was as far as his accommodation went.

I love this.  And both of these:

On 8/5/2019 at 9:44 PM, Robbie C. said:

“To a long and fruitful relationship, general.” Menton raised his glass to his own toast, trying to crush out the doubts in the back of his mind. If they missed Castillo…

On 8/5/2019 at 9:44 PM, Robbie C. said:

“I did say that, didn’t I? Sounds like the kind of crap that comes out of my mouth sometimes. But you choose if you make a fist or use a finger.”

Awesome story !

[mjcmmv]

11 minutes ago, vicegirl85 said:

I love this.  And both of these:

Awesome story !

It sure was an awesome story!!

Edited August 9, 2019 by mjcmmv

[Robbie C.]

Glad you liked it! It's always tough making a character just so he can die, but I hope I did Jess justice. Him, Ti Ti, and Gus. Lost like so many others in Laos. A nasty war pretty much forgotten today.

Edited August 9, 2019 by Robbie C.

[mjcmmv]

19 minutes ago, Robbie C. said:

Glad you liked it! It's always tough making a character just so he can die, but I hope I did Jess justice. Him, Ti Ti, and Gus. Lost like so many others in Laos. A nasty war pretty much forgotten today.

It was sad, but meaningful and believable! I could see these guys on his team. And I could see their interactions almost in real time!

[vicegirl85]

28 minutes ago, Robbie C. said:

Glad you liked it! It's always tough making a character just so he can die, but I hope I did Jess justice. Him, Ti Ti, and Gus. Lost like so many others in Laos. A nasty war pretty much forgotten today.

I could see them, too.  Sad, meaningful and believable.  And while I don't think Jess was a Sonny-clone at all, I think he had something that Sonny also had, that Castillo responded to when he met Sonny.

[mjcmmv]

1 minute ago, vicegirl85 said:

And while I don't think Jess was a Sonny-clone at all, I think he had something that Sonny also had, that Castillo responded to when he met Sonny.

Oh, yes!! I think you're right!

[Matt5]

8 hours ago, mjcmmv said:

It was sad, but meaningful and believable! I could see these guys on his team. And I could see their interactions almost in real time!

Yes very well done.