Snakes in the Mist

[Robbie C.]

More Castillo backstory. Deals with an element of the Vietnam War and has a guest star from another show...

 

The thin man behind the desk adjusted his glasses. “It’s for the best. After that business with the smuggler and his NVA contact, Menton’s out for blood.”

Martin Castillo nodded, not quite relaxing in his camp chair. Any time he met with his station chief he felt a current of tension running through his body. The man looked after his interests, but at the end of the day Castillo knew he was out for himself. It was the Company way. “It couldn’t be helped.”

“Oh, I agree. But I need to get you out of his crosshairs for a time. Until this all dies down. And trust me, it will die down. But that means you have to move south. The Delta probably. And Project Phoenix.”

“I understand.”

“Your team will be safe. And from time to time you’ll likely have to work in Saigon with the Provost Marshal. Phoenix tends to be…” He paused for a moment, his narrow face expressionless. “…draining.” He looked back down at the neat piles of papers on his makeshift field desk. Even at a forward operating base in Laos he tried to create the image of orderly office work. “But I’ve got a mission for you before you rotate south. You and at least part of your team.”

“What’s the mission?”

“Oh, I won’t be briefing you.” Colby smiled his enigmatic smile. “Report to the operations room. You’ll get your initial briefing there.”

“Anything you can tell me about the mission?”

“Only that it’s…interesting.” Colby closed the folder in front of him. “Good luck, Martin. Your travel orders will be waiting when you get back.”

It was a short walk from Colby’s hooch to the sandbagged conex bunker housing the compound’s operations complex. Like most of the CIA’s Lima Sites in Laos, about half the camp was above ground while the important buildings were sandbagged in as protection against Pathet Lao or North Vietnamese Army artillery or rocket attacks. Once a relatively minor threat, the attacks were becoming more common as the tides of war shifted. Castillo had never been sure of victory, and didn’t even know if that was the actual intent. But now it seemed even more unsure, and the intent less clear.

The operations center was guarded by a pair of Hmong fighters who looked like they’d stepped out of another era except for the M-16s they cradled in their arms. Castillo nodded to the older of the two. “I’m expected.”

“Of course. She say you come. Second door.”

She? Keeping his face blank, Castillo nodded and ducked through the low entrance. The interior of the steel container was partitioned off with thin plywood into a series of rooms, with a narrow and dim hall running down the center. The first doorway opened into a makeshift ready room for the guards, and he was familiar with most of the others. The second door had always looked like a plain office to him, occupied from time to time by visitors to the Lima Site but never home to any one person. Deniable, just like this whole operation. The doorway was covered by an olive drab poncho liner, and he rapped his knuckles on the door frame.

“Come in. Come in.” The voice was lowish, female, and modulated to sound almost, but not quite, British. “You must be Case Officer Castillo. Have a seat. There’s tea. I managed to find a decent Pekoe, but…”

Pushing through the poncho liner, Castillo looked around the room, seeing the large-scale map of Laos on the wall before taking in the woman sitting behind a desk made from aerial rocket crates. She was small, smaller than some of the Hmong on his team, and had bright brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. A tea cup sat close to her right hand, and he noticed an identical one placed near where he was expected to sit. Nodding, he took his seat. “I understand you have a mission for me.”

She nodded, an amused smile crossing her face. “I’m glad to see the rumors don’t disappoint. Your directness is legendary, Mr. Castillo.”

“You have me at a disadvantage.” The tea was hot and fresh, and he inhaled the steam rising off the cup before taking a sip.

“Oh, of course I do. How careless of me.” The voice said one thing, but her eyes told a different tale. “Normally I work Cambodia. Laos is a bit out of my normal bailiwick, I’m afraid. My name is Lange.”

He nodded, letting the tea warm his throat. He’d heard rumors of a female case officer working Cambodia and South Vietnam, but they were just vague enough he’d never put much stock in them. “Why my team?”

“We’re getting to that.” She nodded toward the map. “I’m told your team has worked this region a few times in the past.”

“Yes. Three operations in the last eight months. It’s just far enough south it’s more in SOG’s AO.”

“Yes. SOG. I had thought of using them, but so many reams of red tape to go through. It’s so much easier to use one’s own people, don’t you think?” She sipped tea and set the cup down. Her movements were quick, calculated. Castillo was sure she had at least one pistol hidden close to hand…more out of habit than because she didn’t trust him.

“But they have access to much more firepower. If your target is NVA…”

“That’s the thing. It’s not.” She paused for a moment, staring down at the desk top. “It’s…more complicated than that. And we can’t use SOG because so many of their RTs use Montagnards. Your team is Hmong?”

“About half.” His mind started working. What is it about Yards she doesn’t like? They’re excellent jungle fighters…better than most of my Hmong.

“Good. Can you run without them?”

“Yes.”

“Even better.” She sipped more tea. “We’ve been hearing reports for some time about an area in Laos the NVA won’t enter. It’s called Alpha Seven on SOG’s target box map.” She waved a hand in the direction of the map on the wall. “No NVA. No Pathet Lao. And no SOG RTs. It seems the Montagnards won’t go into the area. SOG sends a team in now and then just to make sure there are no NVA, and there never are. That’s good enough for some.”

“But not for you.”

“No.” She smiled again. “Not for me. I’ve spoken with some of the SOG team leaders, the One-Zeros, who’ve taken their teams into that box. They say to a man their Yards have warned them about the Snake people and claim they’re the reason the NVA stay away.”

Castillo nodded. Maybe it was a simple tribal ghost story, but he’d been in the jungle long enough to know there was often at least a grain of truth in each of those stories. “You want my team to check it out.”

“Yes. I’ve read your file, Mr. Castillo. Your team is one of the best in the region. And strong enough to run without any Hmong support.”

“What exactly is the mission?”

“I want you to find out if these Snake people are real, and if so who they are. If they exist they haven’t attacked any American teams yet. At least that we know of. SOG has had a few RTs simply disappear, but in different target boxes.”

“And if we find them?”

“Good Lord, Mr. Castillo. I don’t want you to call in air strikes or anything like that. No…just see what you can learn in a reasonable period of time and then bring your information back. If they exist I think it means we can stop concerning ourselves with that target box aside from the occasional overflight. If they don’t exist, there may be something else going on there. Either way we need to know, don’t you think?”

The air in the conex was thick, stale from heat and no circulation. Castillo took another sip of tea, the heavy air taking him back to Miami in younger, happier days. Or at least he liked to remember them that way. He knew this woman wasn’t telling him the full story. And he wondered just how official the mission was. Shifting his gaze from the desk top, he gave her a short nod.

“Excellent.” She pushed a thick manila envelope across the desk. “Your briefing information and maps are inside. I’ve arranged for Air America support for your insertion and extraction. Your team will have full support, Mr. Castillo. Have no fear on that score.”

Then why is it I always worry when a Company person says that? “And there are no NVA or Pathet Lao in the area? What about smugglers?”

“Oh, you mean Mr. Menton’s friends.” She chuckled, but it wasn’t exactly a happy sound. “Even his associates give this area a wide berth. One of the things that originally drew my interest. I thought this would be a nice final assignment for you before you move down to IV Corps.”

He nodded, not quite trusting his own voice. This stranger seemed to know a great deal about him, and he knew next to nothing about her. But that was the CIA way. She could have been running operations two hundred meters from him and he’d never hear a thing.

“Good luck with your mission, Mr. Castillo. I’ll expect a full debriefing upon your return.”

Back in his hooch, Castillo broke the heavy wax seal on the envelope and dumped its contents on his cot. There was the usual bundle of maps and background material, along with intelligence reports and an overview of past missions run in the area. He sorted through the paper until he found a sealed envelope marked ‘team leader.’ He used his combat knife to open it and unfolded the two sheets of paper inside.

The first sheet was a blanket authorization for air support and supplies signed in the rapid scrawl of the Ambassador to Laos and countersigned by his own station chief. His team was assigned a specific call sign, and if they used it all available assets would be diverted to them. The distribution list in the lower left corner read like a who’s who of U.S. Commanders in the region, and he was impressed in spite of himself. This Lange, whoever she is, has pull. And then some.

The second sheet was closely-typed, and contained what was known about the group SOG’s Yards called the Snake people. Someone had gone through and noted in the margins with a firm hand in blue ink what he was authorized to tell his team. Castillo had already decided to ignore any limits, and chuckled when he saw the note at the bottom. ‘Mr. Castillo, I’m sure you’ll ignore the restrictions, and well you should. But they asked me to add them, so I did.’ It was signed with a bold capital L.

The font half of the hooch was given over to a team common area, with four smaller rooms partitioned off toward the back. Castillo had his own, while the other two Americans on the team shared a room and his veteran Nung had the fourth room. Normally indigenous personnel didn’t bunk with the Americans, but Ti Ti was an exception. He knew Ti Ti was in his room, while Jess and Gus were off somewhere…likely the range shooting in their weapons. Jess had just drawn a new CAR, and Gus was testing out a cut-down RPD he’d picked up from an SOG team not too long back. Folding the paper, Castillo stuffed the rest of the items back into the envelope. He’d wait  until they were all here to deliver the warning order for the mission.

A chuckle form the open doorway broke into his thoughts. Ti Ti stood there in his faded jungle fatigues, his red and gold enameled teeth bared in what passed for a grin. The Nung was somewhere between forty and sixty, and cut his teeth fighting for the French during the late 1940s and into the 1950s. A warrior to the core, he’d forgotten more about fighting in the jungle than the rest of the team knew combined. “You get mission from little lady?”

“Yes.” There was no point in trying to fool Ti Ti. He always knew.

“Ti Ti work for her before. During White Star missions. One tough broad.”

Castillo smiled in spite of himself. Ti Ti’s English was a mixed bag, learned from Special Forces troopers and old movies in equal measure. And if he’d worked with her during White Star, she’d been in Laos in the early 1960s. Before he’d even joined CIA. “I don’t think she’d like you calling her a broad.”

“She not complain last time.” The grin faded a bit. “Her missions always hard, Martin.”

“This one is…different. Let me know when Jess and Gus are back. I’ll brief you all then.”

Ti Ti nodded and turned away. “Lady always have more question than answer. Always.”

By the time Jess and Gus returned to the hooch smelling of cordite spiked with a whiff of LSA, Castillo had read through the briefing information twice. The target folder for target Alpha 7 was open on the makeshift ammo crate table in front of him, and he’d arranged camp chairs in a loose circle around it. Ti Ti was already there, nursing a beer and staring at the map with his casual intensity.

Jess stopped just inside the door and grinned. “Hell, Gus, we’re in trouble now. Dad waited up.”

“No shit?” Gus laughed, his new weapon held loose in his big right hand. “We grounded, dad?”

Castillo didn’t smile. “No. We have a mission.”

Jess nodded. “Want me to get the rest of the team?”

“No. It’s just us.” Castillo motioned for them to sit. “It was hand-carried to me by…”

Ti Ti raised his hand. “No use name. She know.”

“She?” The canvas groaned as Gus settled his bulk into the sagging chair. “You runnin’ missions for nurses now?”

“No. She’s an Agency asset. Maybe a Deputy Station Chief based on the pull. We’ve got blanket authorization for any needed air assets. Signed by the ambassador himself.”

“No shit?” Jess flopped in his chair, pushing his California surfer blonde hair back away from his eyes with a hand stained dark by gunpowder. “All that just for us?”

“Yes. She wants us to run an area recon into this target box.” He waved his hand over the map. “SOG calls it Alpha 7 and it’s supposed to be quiet. No NVA or Pathet Lao for at least a year.”

“A quiet target box in southern Laos? That shit just don’t happen. Bigfoot move in there or somethin’?” Gus pulled a tab on a beer he’d grabbed from the hooch fridge on his way to his chair.

“We don’t know. That’s what she wants us to find out.” Castillo unfolded the Snake tribe briefing sheet. “All we know for sure is SOG’s Montagnards won’t go near the place.”

Ti Ti nodded. “That so. I hear same-same from some Hmong from that country.”

“And that’s why the rest of the team ain’t going.” Jess nodded. “Guess it makes sense. But I don’t get…”

“According to this report there’s supposed to be another tribe living there. Montagnards. SOG’s people call them the Snake tribe. Apparently it’s bad luck to even mention the name. Any time a team runs in Alpha 7 the Montagnards go into isolation when they get back. Cleansing rituals.” Castillo shook his head. “Whatever’s in there, they’re afraid of it.”

“An’ the area’s not hot at all?”

“Ice cold according to the target folder. Even the smugglers stay away.”

Gus sat up a bit now. “Now that’s damned interesting. Those bastards ain’t got no fear, an’ if they’re afraid of something they pay it off.”

“I hear they try once. Few years back. Whole group disappear.” Ti Ti clapped his hands together. “Maybe one or two heads found on a trail leading out. No one try again.”

Castillo turned to the older Nung. “Did the French ever work that area?”

“No. No good road so they not go. Some patrol drop in, but walk right out and not stay. Yards and Hmong not go there then, either.”

Jess shook his head. “Am I the only one who thinks this smells damned bad?”

“No.” Castillo paused. Any time the Company took an interest in something he always wondered why. What was in it for them? “But we have our orders.”

“Yeah, an’ that don’t sit right, either. Why did they come to us this way instead of through normal channels?”

Ti Ti cleared his throat. “I work with this woman before. She is not one for normal channels.”

Castillo shifted in his chair. “What do you think she’s doing, Ti Ti?”

“What she say she is.  She want to know if Snake people are real.”

Gus took another drink. “So she can bomb ‘em outa the Stone Age, since they’re already there?”

“No. If they real and hate NVA, she leave them alone.”

“You really think so?”

Ti Ti nodded, showing his decorated teeth again. “I do. This her mission, her rules.”

Castillo nodded, knowing the Nung was holding something back. But there was nothing to be gained from pressing him. Ti Ti would tell them when he was ready…if it was something they needed to know. “There are notes in the target folder about at least one French aircraft that went down in the area. Another RT found evidence of what might have been a patrol camp, but both were from the early 1950s. None of the teams found any Red Balls, and the small footpaths only showed signs of small, barefoot traffic. No bikes or mules.” He turned back to the briefing sheet. “But they did find what one RT One-Zero called ‘totems’ near some caves. Skulls and bones mounted on poles.”

Gus groaned, draining his beer and opening another. “Great! Now we got fuckin’ headhunters. Maybe we’d better leave Jess behind. They might need a virgin sacrifice.”

“Fuck you, Gus. You know livestock doesn’t count, right? Maybe we’d better leave your big ass behind.”

Castillo felt a small smile growing on his lips. The banter meant the two had accepted the mission. “Air America has identified a handful of possible LZs. Some have been used by SOG, but not often enough to establish a pattern.”

“Unlike the big guy I ain’t into sloppy seconds.” Jess grinned, showing his white California teeth. “Let’s go with one of the unused ones.”

The planning took the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Castillo listened more than he spoke, letting the other two Americans toss out and shoot down ideas before making a final decision. Always he waited for Ti Ti to speak, knowing from past experience silence from the older Nung meant he approved of something. From the way he looked at the map, or more accurately didn’t look at the map, Castillo was sure he’d worked the area before. Years ago, perhaps, but he’d been there before. But had it been with the French or at the behest of this Lange woman? He wasn’t sure, but something in the back of his mind told him he needed to know.

Jess ended the meeting by getting to his feet with a yawn. “I know we aren’t done, but someone’s gotta tell Hoang and the boys they aren’t goin’ out with us.”

Castillo nodded. “We can finish tomorrow.” He paused. Jess had a bond with the Hmong team members, and since he’d be running the team when Castillo went South it was time. “I want you to tell Hoang.”

Jess nodded. He knew about the impending transfer and what it meant for the team. “I’ll tell ‘em the Great White Father in Vientiane is having a birthday or some shit and they get a seven-day pass. Better that than telling them they can’t go because someone doesn’t trust them.”

“It’s not a question of trust as much as it is their reaction to the area. But that’s a good plan.”

“You comin’ with, Gus?”

“Yeah. Lemme finish this beer. Someone’s gotta tell ‘em not to shoot up the Royal Laotian Army checkpoints on their way home.”

Ti Ti didn’t get up when the others left. Instead he reached into a fatigue jacket pocket and pulled out a battered briar pipe and a pouch of tobacco. He didn’t look up as he filled the pipe. “You know.”

“That you’ve been in that area before? Yes.” Castillo watched the older warrior light his pipe with a lighter that could have come through World War II. “The question is with who.”

A cloud of smoke surrounded the Nung as he drew on the pipe, filling the hooch with the slightly sweet tobacco smell. It was one of Ti Ti’s pre-mission rituals. He wouldn’t touch the pipe again until after they returned from whatever mission they’d been assigned. “The Legion,” he finally said. “We jump in and walk out. 1951 I think. So many missions…”

“Yes.” Castillo knew better than to push. The story would come out on its own. He hadn’t known Ti Ti was jump-qualified, but it didn’t surprise him. Lacking reliable helicopters, the French used paratroopers instead. Sometimes it had worked, but then came Dien Bien Phu…

“It quiet then, too. We find some sign of Viet Minh, but they never base there. We find one spot where they stop and were attacked.” The Nung puffed more smoke into the air. “We find casings, and arrows. Dead Viet Minh. But no heads. Those we find down the trail on stakes.”

“As a warning?”

“Sergeant, he think so. I know someone follow us out, but never attack.”

“And Lange knows about this?”

“That broad know everything.” He grinned through the smoke. “But yes. She know. She talk to me when we were on White Star. Always interested in the Snake tribe.”

Castillo nodded, staring down at the map. He knew better than to ask if Ti Ti knew why she was so interested. And in the end it didn’t really matter. They had a mission.

 

They started again the next morning, looking at maps and aerial photographs of Alpha 7 and putting together a plan. At least it was shaping up to be a simple area reconnaissance. Not that anything was ever simple in Laos…Castillo knew that. But it did mean there was no specialized gear to pack. No wild requests from higher offices to answer. Area recon was hard enough without the extra baggage and expectations.

Jess looked up from the map, a smile lightening his eyes. “Looks good, Marty. A solid primary LZ and two alternates, and the same number for extraction. Terrain doesn’t look too bad on the map or the photos, and from the target folder it looks like the RTs had pretty clear movement, too.”

Gus nodded. “Yeah. Almost feels too good.”

“We will be watched.” Ti Ti’s voice was flat. “As soon as we land until we leave.”

“Ain’t nothin’ new.” Gus pointed at a spot on the map with a thick, blunt finger. “I ain’t sure about movin’ so close to that plane wreckage the RT reported, but if you think we gotta, boss…”

“Yes. They reported seeing sign there, but didn’t know what it was. Lange will want pictures.”

Jess sighed. “Does that mean I get to play combat cameraman again? It’s always such a bummer when there’s no girls in bikinis or waves to shoot.”

“Come on, man. We’ll get R&R after this op, so you can take all the pics you want then.” Gus chuckled. “And this time TRY to leave at least one nurse for me.”

Jess flashed a toothy grin. “Ain’t my fault they prefer surfer to caveman.” He turned back to Castillo, his eyes serious again. “Those RTs leave any other breadcrumbs in the target folder?”

“No. Just that their Yards were always spooky in the target box.” Castillo flipped through the pages, comparing them to the summary he’d gotten. “Looks like the average time on the ground was three days, which is a long time in that part of Laos. And none of the teams were shot out of LZs or pushed off an objective. There just wasn’t any contact.”

“You’d think at least one branch of the Trail would run through there. Good water, cover, everything Uncle Ho’s little rice-powered devils want.”

Ti Ti shook his head. “Snake people make cost too high.”

Gus turned to the Nung. “I don’t figure it. NVA could just wipe ‘em off the map.”

Castillo shook his head. “But they’d have to do it on their own. No Hmong porters, and the Pathet Lao won’t go near the place. For what they’d gain the cost would be too high.”

“They remember last war. Take beaucoup losses trying to go there. Find other ways.” Ti Ti pointed to the surrounding target boxes on the smaller-scale map. “These areas hot. Always hot.”

“And out of their damned way. No water worth shit here, an’ the other is almost open ground.”

“I think that tells us just how tough these people might be. If they’re there.” Castillo narrowed his eyes, trying to see the terrain represented by thin, concentric lines and blotches of color. “We are all creatures of habit. Even the NVA. Maybe especially the NVA.” Castillo looked at the map one final time. “We launch tomorrow morning unless you feel there’s more planning to do.”

The two Americans exchanged glances, and Jess spoke for both. “Naw. We done what we can here. It’s time to get out in the jungle.”

Ti Ti nodded, but his eyes were hooded. “Plan good. Mission stink like shitter before it burned. But tough broad speak, so we go.” Sending a last cloud of smoke into the air, the Nung knocked out his pipe on the heel of his battered jungle boot and headed for the door.

“Man, what gave him a case of the ass?”

“He’s been in that AO before, bro.” Jess looked out the hooch door. “Something bad musta happened there. Something he doesn’t want to talk about.”

“Well, shit. If it’s got him spooked we’d best be loaded for bear.”

Castillo nodded, listening to both men without speaking.  The plan was good, good enough to get them in and out without any real trouble. Unless the Snake tribe was actually there and decided to take a run at them. That must be why Lange gave us the air support codes. Our ace in the hole. One I’d rather not use.

“Where you at, boss?”

“Right here, Gus. Just thinking about the mission.”

“The part we know about or the one you ain’t told us about yet?”

“We know there are no NVA there.” Closing his eyes, Castillo let the terrain form itself in his mind. “It’s rough terrain, good for hiding but not good for large units. Easy to defend, especially if you have known it for generations. Breathed it in for decades.”

Jess nodded. “Whoever’s there isn’t looking for a fight, but they’ll give you one if you poke them.”

“What I wanna know is who they are. If they’re Yards they’re gonna be damned good in the woods. But they can’t have much in the way of firepower. Ain’t seen many Yard ammo plants out in the hills.”

“She did give us some additional information about these Snake people.” Castillo unfolded the sheet and passed it to Jess. “There’s not much, and I think she might have gotten some of it from Ti Ti.”

“Yeah. He did work with her during White Star.” Jess scanned the sheet and whistled. “More than I thought she’d have, but it’s still not much, is it?”

“No.” The single word hung in the air. “Not as much as I’d like for an operation like this. But these people seem to be good at hiding from everyone.”

“No shit.” Gus looked up from the page. “Looks like the Frenchies tried t’ reach out an’ touch ‘em but didn’t get too damned far. I wonder how they figured out they might be an offshoot of the Sedang?”

“The heads. The French always assumed the Sedang had been headhunters at one time.” Jess chuckled. “Got a friend over at one of the other Lima Sites who was a Green Beanie down in I Corps before the Company lured him away with the big payday. He said the French knew quite a bit about the little people but always had some damned crazy ideas mixed in with it.”

Castillo suppressed a sigh. They were going in circles now. Getting nowhere. “The plan’s good. We gear up for five days. Standard ammunition load.” He traced a path on the map with his finger. “We move from insertion to extraction. Check the crash site the SOG RT found and a few other places. Move close to water so we can pick up sign, but not close enough to look like a threat.” He folded the map. “Get some rest. We’ll load up and be ready to move in the morning.”

 

The Huey had a different engine sound than the old H-34s. Its twin blade rotor slapped at the air, making a distinct thump in the still-cool morning. Castillo looked at his three team mates and nodded before giving his CAR-15 a last check and running for the hovering bird.

The Air America pilot wore mirrored aviator sunglasses and a wide grin. “Hop in, boys!” he shouted over the engine noise. “Ain’t got coffee or tea, but at least it’s cool up there. We got about a twenty or thirty minute flight in, so settle back an’ enjoy.”

Nodding, Castillo took the headset offered by the long-haired door gunner and slipped it over his boonie hat. The sounds of a quick preflight check filled the earphones and then the bird shot into the blue sky.

The copilot looked back into the passenger compartment. “Got a FAC up ahead givin’ things a look-see before we go in. Been over this area a time or two an’ it ain’t what you’d call hot.”

“Have you ever taken ground fire?”

“Not here. On the edges a time or two, but never over Alpha 7.”

The Huey worked its way around cloud-shrouded peaks, the door gunners resting their hands on the pedestal-mounted M-60s like they were enjoying the ride. And maybe they were. After lifting teams into the Plain of Jars and other hot areas in northern Laos, this must have seemed like a Sunday drive in the country.

“Five minutes.” The pilot’s voice broke into his thoughts, and he nodded, raising his hand with all five fingers extended so the others could see. Jess nodded, tucking his sunglasses into a fatigue jacket pocket, while Gus just patted the cut-down RPD and grinned. Ti Ti, as usual, showed no reaction. Out of reflex he looked for the Hmong team leader and then remembered they were on their own.

Jess caught his eye and grinned. “I was looking for them, too,” he shouted over the engine thump and the roar of air whistling through the open cargo compartment.

The Huey flared in a small clearing and within three heartbeats Castillo was on the Laotian jungle floor, his carbine up and following his gaze guiding his feet to the edge of small open space. No more than five seconds later the bird was gone, the thump of its rotors receding in the distance.

They moved as fast as the undergrowth would allow, putting some distance between them and the LZ before Castillo raised his hand. Controlling his breathing, he motioned for Jess and reached for the radio handset. “Good day,” he whispered, letting the Raven FAC orbiting just out of earshot know they were on the ground and starting the mission. Handing the handset back to Jess, he pulled out his folded map sheet and compass, orienting their position with the lines on the paper.

When they moved again it was slow, each man stepping in the tracks of the man in front of him with Castillo taking the lead. He scanned the surrounding bush with wary eyes, letting his ears adjust to the returning jungle noises, taking a step every thirty seconds or so. Birds screeched in the triple-growth canopy overhead, and he paced his steps with their noises. If they went quiet, he froze and didn’t move until they started calling again.

In two hours they covered just over a kilometer on the map before he motioned for another halt. Making eye contact with Ti Ti, he crooked his finger and pointed. Take point. The older warrior nodded, his red-capped teeth flashing in the slanting rays coming through the high branches, and moved to the front of the line. Castillo didn’t like to navigate when he was on point. It divided his attention and put the team at risk. Besides, Ti Ti had a gift beyond measure in the woods.

There was no trail, just ghosts in olive drab fatigues moving from shadow to shadow. Ti Ti kept his CAR-15 at hip level, moving around the wait-a-minute vines like a dancer on a dimly-lit stage. Castillo didn’t like the smaller team formation, which left Gus and his big gun bringing up the rear, but there was no helping it. He needed Jess and the radio close by. He’d planned the route through rough country for the first day, avoiding any known trails until they’d been on the ground for a time. But the area was relatively unknown, and there was a good chance they’d just come across a trail as they moved through the jungle.

Still, something didn’t feel right about the area. Like a scent in your nose you couldn’t place or really locate, but was just there. Taking another compass bearing, he made a noise in his throat and motioned Ti Ti a bit to the left when the Nung looked back. There was a small stream marked in thin blue on the map, and he didn’t want to pass up an opportunity to fill canteens. That and check for sign. Man and animal alike looked for water in the jungle…even the Snake tribe. If they existed.

They found the trail as soon as they moved down from the high ground toward the water; a narrow track that could have been a game trail. Ti Ti raised his hand and pointed. Shifting his gaze, Castillo nodded. Footprints. Old, but there. Maybe three weeks or more. Toes are spread, so it’s someone who doesn’t wear shoes. And small. Montagnard. The tracks were too old to tell much more, but there hadn’t been many of them and they were moving toward, but not away from, the water. The trail must continue on the other side. Unless they use the stream to move. Drawing his Browning Hi-Power, Castillo set it by the tracks and took a quick picture. The pistol provided scale, and he was sure Lange would want proof of what they’d seen.

From the way the trail just appeared from the undergrowth he guessed it had originally been a game trail. There were no ruts, no signs of human improvement, or the subtle markings the NVA used to mark their routes.

The stream was clear and swift, rolling over a polished rock bed tucked between high ground on both sides. Ti Ti halted the team as soon as they could hear the water, and they moved forward inch by inch until the stream came into view. Castillo waited, listening to the water and the jungle around them, until after half an hour he was satisfied there was no one else around. Then he raised his hand slightly and gestured. Go down. Fill canteens one at a time. He and Ti Ti first, and then they’d cover Gus and Jess from the other side.

Down by the water, he kept his carbine ready and his eyes sweeping the surrounding jungle while Ti Ti filled his canteens, then took his turn while the Nung kept watch. The tracks on this side may have been old, but there was no guarantee someone wasn’t watching from the other side. Ti Ti met his gaze and nodded. He feels it, too. Someone is out there.

They crossed the stream on rocks, keeping their boots out of the water to avoid leaving sign on the other side. As he’d expected, a narrow trail snaked its way up the steep far bank, vanishing into the ever-present jungle. He knew Jess and Gus would start moving as soon as they started for the high ground, so he motioned for Ti Ti to move. The Nung nodded, slipping into the rocks beside the trail. They’d move close to it, but not on it. No reason to make someone’s job easier than it has to be.

The footprints continued on the far side, and he and Ti Ti stopped as soon as they had a good view of both the stream and the trail, settling into the undergrowth without a sound. Birds and monkeys continued their almost constant chatter, but Castillo wasn’t sure if it had any real significance. He’d seen Hmong move through the jungle without disturbing a thing, and was sure the Snake tribe would be at least as skilled. He didn’t doubt their existence now, not after seeing the footprints. But he also knew that wasn’t enough. From the look in the Nung’s eyes he knew Ti Ti had reached the same conclusion.

They stayed in the undergrowth, close enough to the trail to see it but back enough to avoid easy detection if someone happened to wander down. Castillo kept them moving slow, inching through the jungle with as little noise as possible. From time to time he’d halt the small column and dip back close to the trail, checking to see if the same faint footprints were there. Each time they were.

Castillo made a final radio check just before the sun vanished behind distant mountains peaks and eased the team into their RON position. They’d moved forward and circled back at least twice, moves designed to throw off trackers…though he didn’t think the move would fool the Snake people if they were watching. In the end the team settled into a thick clump of bamboo about fifty meters from the game trail. Each man set up a Claymore mine before eating what they wished from the long plastic tubes holding indig rations…spices, dried meat, and rice each had added water to during the stop at the stream.

Sitting in a rough circle, their backs to each other so they could face outward, each man was alone with his fears and thoughts. If they spoke at all it was in whispers calculated to carry less than five feet.

Chewing a mouthful of rice and partly-rehydrated shrimp, Castillo could just see Ti Ti from the corner of his eye. The older warrior hadn’t eaten with the rest. Instead he kept his carbine ready, his head and eyes sweeping his sector like a radar dish. Never lingering too long on one spot. Looking for movement rather than shapes or colors. The mark of a true jungle fighter. “Are they out there?”

The Nung’s head bobbed in a quick nod. “Not close, but there.”

“How many?”

“Two. Three. Not many.”

Jess shifted. “They gonna attack?”

“No. I think they not sure who we are.”

There was a low slurp as Gus finished his meal, draining the last of the seasoned water from the tube. “I didn’t see anyone behind us.”

“No. They not want to be seen. But jungle sees. Birds move.”

“You mean they’ve been in front of us?”

“Since we leave stream.”

Castillo nodded, knowing the men would sense rather than see the motion in the gloom on the jungle floor. “Normal watch shifts. Jess, check in with Moonbeam at 0100. We start moving before the sun comes up. It won’t fool them, but it might throw them off their game.” He paused. “Ti Ti, can you talk to them?”

“Maybe.”

Castillo nodded. The Montagnards spoke a number of dialects, and he knew Ti Ti spoke some and understood a couple more. He listened for a time as the jungle sounds changed, the animals changing the guard as day became night under the triple canopy. With luck they’d make the crash site the SOG RT had noted in their report. And maybe something pointing them in the direction of the phantom tribe.

 

His eyes snapped open before his brain realized he was awake. All around him was the black of a jungle night. He’d pulled first watch, and his internal clock told him it was around 0300. Not time to move, and in any case Gus could be trusted to wake everyone on time. It was then his ears registered nothing. The jungle had gone silent.

He felt Ti Ti’s hand on his thigh, the quick squeeze telling him to remain quiet and still. Two heartbeats later a “fuck you” lizard cut loose with its distinctive call. Soon the jungle was back to its usual sonic rhythm.

The older Nung shifted, his lips less than an inch from Castillo’s ear. “Snake tribe move close. Maybe two of them.”

He nodded without speaking. There was no need for words. He hadn’t expected to fool the Yards with his RON position, but he also hadn’t guessed they’d come this close. Unless they wanted him to know they were there. Why else would they make enough noise to silence the night creatures?

Without moving his head, he scanned the darkness around them, his eyes sweeping left then right then back again. Not looking for shapes so much as movement. The eye was much better at detecting motion in darkness, and he’d also learned to search at an angle, looking about fifteen degrees away from the point he wanted to search. It was both an art and a science, and he was better than some but worse than others in the darkness.

There was nothing there. At least nothing he could see. Soon enough he eased back, content to snatch a few more minutes of rest before they had to move. Whoever was out there posed no threat…at least for now. If they wanted to attack, they would have by now. Or we’d be dead.

Gus touched his leg, snapping him back to wakefulness. “Time,” the big man said in a voice no louder than a soft breeze. Nodding, Castillo moved his hand and touched Ti Ti. He didn’t speak, knowing the Nung was likely already awake and waiting for the signal. He could hear Jess click the radio handset, making the morning call letting whoever was up there know the team was ok.

Shifting, he started working the morning cool out of his muscles before disarming and bringing in his Claymore mine. Tucking the mine into an outside pocket on his rucksack, he poured canteen water into another ration tube and tucked it inside his fatigue shirt. Gus, he knew, would eat something before they moved, and maybe Jess. Like Ti Ti, Castillo didn’t eat much in the field.

Before they moved, Castillo took out the map and shot a quick compass bearing. They’d reach the vicinity of the plane wreckage by mid-afternoon, and he planned to push past that before circling into another RON position. But his mind wasn’t fully on the map. Instead he kept thinking back to the sudden quiet during the night.

Jess eased close. “Woke me up, too,” he whispered. “You think they were checking us out?”

“Letting us know they’re here.” Castillo folded the map and stuffed it into the thigh pocket of his fatigue trousers. “It was no accident or mistake.”

“No shit.” Jess sighed and looked around. “It just don’t feel right looking for them, you know? Anyone who can manage to be left alone in this shit deserves to be left that way.”

Castillo didn’t reply, but as usual Jess had managed to put his thoughts into words. His team would complete the mission. There was no question about that. But what he did with what they learned was a different question…one he wasn’t sure he could answer.

They eased out into the cool of the morning before light started breaking through the canopy above them. Ti Ti circled the position first, raising his hand and then pointing to a spot on the ground just beyond where they’d placed their mines. Castillo saw a single bare footprint and snapped a picture, even though he knew it had been left for them to find. A calling card. Something to show they’re not NVA, maybe. Then Ti Ti guided the team through the jungle, moving with the terrain toward the spot where an SOG RT had found aircraft wreckage.

Again their progress was slow, steps measured by the minute instead of by the second. Dawn broke slowly in the jungle, the sunlight almost dripping down from the higher canopy to dapple the vegetation below. Castillo found himself torn between the beauty around him and the serious work of keeping his boots in Ti Ti’s footprints in the soggy ground. It never really dried out under the triple canopy, a stark contrast to the hard-baked ground he’d encountered down around the DMZ.

They’d been moving for close to four hours when Ti Ti stopped and raised his hand, a short gesture summoning Castillo up to the point position. Jess and Gus both crouched and trained their weapons to the left and right respectively, watching their sectors while the other two men conferred in whispers lost in the chatter of birds high overhead.

Ti Ti jerked his head. “Plane there.”

Castillo looked toward the small clearing. “I see it. Hard to tell, but it might be a P-51. There’s not much left.”

“Yes. And there.”

Shifting his gaze, Castillo nodded. He could just make out the shoulder-height poles rising from the ground on the far side of the clearing. And the skulls perched at the top of each one. “A warning?”

“Maybe. Or prizes.” Ti Ti kept watching the undergrowth on the far side of the clearing. “Snake people close.”

Nodding, Castillo looked back at the other two, motioning them up with a simple hand signal. “I’ll move in and take pictures of the wreckage. The rest of you fan out so you can cover the clearing but stay back.”

Jess shook his head. “They know we’re here. You think this will fool them?”

“No. But I want to show them respect.”

Gus chuckled. “Makes sense. We all come marchin’ out it looks like we don’t take ‘em serious.”

Ti Ti nodded. “Snake people warriors.”

Castillo eased his way into the sunlit clearing, noting where snapped trees had been cut back to allow new growth to take their places. The plane had come down hard, and he could follow its path through the jungle by tracing the younger trees and ragged undergrowth. Even here, where things grow fast, it takes time for nature to restore herself. Pulling out his map, he traced a faint line to show the direction of flight and then turned his attention to the torn hunk of metal.

He could see where another SOG team had gone through the wreckage before, shifted bits of metal and broken, rotting harness showing where they’d searched. They’d done a good job, and he didn’t really expect to find anything new. The lack of human remains bothered him. It was possible the pilot had bailed out before the plane plowed into the clearing, but he didn’t think it happened like that. The plane had come in under control if not under power.

Looking toward the edges of the clearing, he caught Ti Ti’s eye and motioned the Nung in with his head. “You think they took the pilot?”

“No.” There was no doubt in the voice or eyes. “French come for their pilots same-same Americans do.”

Castillo nodded. He’d also given the skulls a quick once-over, and none of them looked big enough to be European. Of course anything was possible, but he’d seen nothing to convince him the Snake People had done anything with the pilot. “I’m almost done here. We move toward the high ground and circle into a RON.”

The second night in the field was no different than the first, except the jungle noises never stopped. Dawn was just starting to break when Castillo got the team ready to move again. Gus was the first to mention it. “You figure they’re gone?”

Jess chuckled. “No,” he whispered as he turned off the PRC-25 to conserve its battery. “You can bet a week in Singapore they’re out there. They let us know they’re there, now they just wanna make sure we don’t make a mess.”

Gus nodded. “Sure. What’s the plan today, boss?”

Castillo unfolded his map sheet. “We move down toward the blue line here.” He pointed to a twisting line indicating a stream on the map. “Then we recon up and down as much as we can. I want to see if we can find proof of life. These people aren’t ghosts. They need water and food just like anyone else.”

It was slow going to the stream, with Castillo halting the team every few minutes to listen. But he knew it was mostly for show. He could feel the Snake People out there, watching in the jungle just past the point his vision could reach. He knew Ti Ti had the same feeling. He didn’t think they’d attack. If they wanted to, they would have already. No, something else is going on. And I don’t like not knowing what.

The cool water felt good flowing through the vent holes in his jungle boots as Castillo crossed the stream. The bottom was a mix of rock and mud, moving slower here than the one they’d filled their canteens in the day before. Still, he motioned for his men to fill canteens as they crossed, seeing to his own before settling in on the far bank to keep watch.

Jess met his eyes. “You want me an’ Gus to check downstream?”

“No. Take Ti Ti. I’ll take Gus and we’ll work upstream. Don’t go more than a few hundred meters, though.” He looked past Jess toward the dense undergrowth. “We don’t want to get too much distance between us. Use the survival radios to stay in contact.” He waited until Jess nodded before turning to find Gus. “We move as soon as you’re through.”

For his size, Gus was surprisingly quiet in the jungle. Castillo gestured toward the far bank, and the stocky man grinned and moved out, his cut down RPD loose in his hands. Castillo checked his own CAR and picked his way along the bank, alternating between checking the ground for sign and the undergrowth for movement. Their pace was slow, measured, putting stealth above speed. With the Snake People watching, to do anything else might be seen as a sign of disrespect.

They’d moved perhaps thirty meters when Castillo heard a low click from Gus over the babble of the stream. Looking over, he saw the thickset team member grinning as he looked down at the ground near the stream. “Got something,” he whispered as soon as Castillo crossed over.

It wasn’t a trail as much as it was a thin snake of red dirt through the tall grass lining the creek. Looking down, Castillo pulled out the camera and took another picture of a footprint not unlike the one he’d seen earlier. The difference this time was there were at least three distinct sets of prints, and they looked to be barely a day old.

Gus leaned close, his eyes focused on the jungle. “Took a quick look. The trail disappears as soon as you hit the undergrowth.”

Castillo nodded. “I saw nothing on the other side. They must go up or down stream from here.” He keyed the survival radio. “Find anything?”

Jess’s voice was a whisper. “No. Ti Ti says we’re being watched, though.”

“Come to us.”

Gus shook his head. “Sure that’s wise, boss?”

“If they wanted us dead, we’d be dead. I don’t doubt that for a moment. And do you think that footprint was the result of carelessness?”

“Lotta trouble just to get a look at us.” Gus looked downstream and motioned with his head. “Our boys comin’ in now.”

Jess and Ti Ti picked their way along the side of the stream, and Castillo could tell they were trying to move as quietly as possible. That worried him, and he lifted his CAR. Without a word, Gus shifted his RPD into a firing position, and Castillo could see his eyes flicking from spot to spot as he scanned the jungle on both sides of the water.

As soon as they were in whisper range, Ti Ti’s lips moved. “They behind us. At least three.”

Castillo was about to nod when he stopped, lowering his carbine when he saw the men break cover. Again Gus mimicked his movement, the cut-down machine gun shifting toward the ground.

They were Montagnards. That much was clear from their skin tone and the slight builds. But they were like no Yards Castillo had ever seen. Their dark hair hung straight down around their faces, cut and tied back to keep their eyes and ears unobstructed. He hadn’t worked often with Yards, but he’d noticed they all seemed to wear their hair the same way. What stood out were their faces, high cheekbones streaked with light paint likely made from stream bank clay. They wore simple clothes designed to allow free movement and some protection from the jungle, but not uniforms. The older man carried what looked like a crossbow while the two younger men cradled French MAT-49 sub machine-guns. Castillo couldn’t see any rust on the weapons and each man had at least four extra magazines. That means they’re getting supplies from somewhere.

“Lower your weapons.” He kept his voice low. “Then turn around and smile.”

Jess shook his head, a big surfer grin on his face. “They’re right there, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” He turned to Ti Ti. “Can you talk to them?”

The Nung nodded, letting his carbine hang by its strap and raising both his hands palms out. Castillo knew enough French from the Company’s pre-Laos training to understand most of what the man said, even though what sounded like a Marseilles accent. “We are friends. See? We lower our guns. Can we talk as friends?”

The older Yard let his gaze slide over the entire team before giving a slow nod. His own French was thick with an accent, and he used some words Castillo guessed were in his tribal dialect. Ti Ti translated quickly, indicating when he wasn’t sure of words. “He says we talk. Not as friends yet, but not as…I think he mean enemies.” There was a pause. “He want to know what we do here.”

“Tell him we’re looking for Vietnamese. Bad Vietnamese.”

The old man chuckled and said something to the younger men who also laughed. “He say all Vietnamese bad, so you have lots of work.”

Castillo nodded. “Thank him for keeping them out of this country. It takes great warriors to do that.”

Ti Ti chuckled and translated. The old man grinned and nodded again. “He say maybe we friends now. Men who fight, not like snail-eaters. But like the men with no families.” He paused. “I think he talk about French now.”

“I’d guess he means the Legion when he says men with no families.”

More rapid French and Yard dialect flew back and forth. “He say the men with no families wear suits like lizards.” Ti Ti nodded. “Legion for sure.”

“Ask him if he needs weapons.”

“He say no. They get bullets from sky. Cloth for clothes, too.”

“Someone’s droppin’ them supplies.” Gus looked at Castillo and raised his eyebrows. “An’ I bet we know who.”

“Yes.” He thought back to the small woman in the Conex bunker. Ti Ti was right. She knows much more than she let on. But why send us?

Ti Ti cleared his throat. “He say we turn back. No need to go this way.” He winked. “Families must be close.”

“I think you’re right. Tell him we hear his wise words and will start for home. Now that we know they are safe and don’t need any more help.”

Jess spoke fast, his voice low enough to almost disappear in the stream’s babble. “You ain’t gonna try to recruit them, boss?”

“I think someone already has. In her own way, at least.” Castillo nodded to the old man. “They have nothing to fear from us.”

As soon as Ti Ti translated the last words, the older man gave Castillo a wide grin and motioned with his left hand. The younger men slipped back into the undergrowth near the stream and vanished as if they’d never been. Seconds later the older man followed, leaving Castillo and his team standing by the stream.

“Now what the fuck just happened?” Gus shook his head. “I feel like we just ran into Geronimo’s uncle out in the damned jungle.”

“Maybe we did.” Castillo watched the undergrowth intently, but could detect no movement. They’re good. I’ll bet those three are long gone but there are six more in an arc around us. Making sure. “We’re still being watched. Fall back from the stream. We’ll RON on the far side of the plane crash and set up extraction in the morning. I want to put some distance between us and whatever they are protecting.”

They moved as quickly as stealth would allow, always careful to leave no signs of their passing. Castillo let Ti Ti take the lead again, knowing his thoughts were too divided to effectively walk point. One side of his mind listened to the jungle, while the other wrestled with what they’d just seen.

The Snake people were obviously warriors, and skilled ones in the bargain. But they also weren’t making do with spears and simple bows. Someone was dropping in ammunition and, likely, more modern weapons. MAT-49s needed 9mm ammunition to function, and from what he’d seen in the simple web gear worn by the younger warriors the ammo was untarnished and new. Even the web gear looked to be more modern than what he’d expect if they were still using equipment scavenged from the French fifteen or more years ago.

Behind him Jess muffled a chuckle with the back of his hand. “You’re thinking about it, too, aren’t you, boss?”

“Yes.” His voice was a whisper swallowed by the breeze.

“And I bet we got the same answer.”

He just nodded, not trusting his voice. If she knew they were there, why send Castillo’s team? Why risk men to confirm something you already knew? Even the CIA wasn’t that thorough, and if they had the urge they’d send a plane rather than a valuable team.

They moved past the wreckage of the P-51 and put another few hundred meters between themselves and the blue line before Castillo signaled for a halt. “Set up your Claymores and eat,” he whispered as the team gathered around. “Normal watches. We move before first light.”

Ti Ti nodded. “Something in air. Something not good.”

Now it was Castillo’s turn to nod. He’d felt the same thing when they closed on the clearing. It wasn’t something physical…not an odor or sound he could name…but there was something out there giving him pause. “Jess, check in with the FAC and see if they have intel updates. Also let them know we’ll be coming out tomorrow.”

“Roger that, boss.” Jess switched on the PRC-25 and extended the antenna.

Gus made a noise deep in his throat. “Somethin’ just don’t feel right. Like you an’ Jess said. I’m gonna be extra creative with my Claymores tonight.”

“Roger, Moonbeam. Will advise. Out.” Jess shut off the radio and took down the antenna, his dirty face twisted into a grimace. “Just heard from the FAC, boss. Says we got NVA moving our way. Slow and lazy, though. Not like they’re hunting us. He’s gonna make some calls and get back to me in an hour.”

“How far away?”

“He said at least ten klicks. They aren’t in Alpha 7 yet. But they’re moving in our direction.” Jess paused. “One of the things he’s gonna try to confirm is the identity of the unit. He thinks it’s a command group  of some kind. Battalion or maybe a regiment.”

“NVA planning to take out Snake People.” Ti Ti's voice was firm. “First they set up command post then they move troops in.”

Castillo nodded. The command group would set up on the edge of Alpha 7 to control units moving in to sweep the area. Now I know for sure why she sent us. An NVA battalion doesn’t move overnight, let alone a regiment if that’s what this is. Lange knew they were moving and sent us in to take them out. But I don’t like the risks she’s taking with my team.

Ti Ti looked down at his CAR. “That what tough broad do, Martin. Always what she do.”

Without speaking, Castillo pulled out his map. He found their location, and used the coordinates the FAC had given Jess to mark the general location of the NVA command group. Then he worked his way from that position back to the clearing, letting his mind form pictures of each contour line on the map. Slipping into the NVA commander’s head as best he could.

They’d be looking at about company-sized unit. Two hundred men at least. Depending on the unit they could either be skilled jungle fighters or a mix of sickly recruits fresh down the Trail mixed with a few veterans. Given the location he suspected the latter, but he was smart enough to plan for the former. The headquarters would move into position at least a day before the combat units it controlled slid into their positions. There’d be scouts, but in terms of preparing the battlefield the NVA liked to have command elements close at hand to make sure plans were executed like they’d been drawn up at higher headquarters.

There’d be a security element as well. Maybe another hundred men. And some REMFs hauling rice, stringing phone lines, and doing all the menial work a combat unit needed to function. Castillo had been around long enough to know the NVA had its own cadre of what the Army called Real Echelon Mother Fuckers, and they were just as good at avoiding work details as their American counterparts.

Castillo knew they couldn’t take on a headquarters element. And now he understood the letter. She knew we’d find them. Why else would she give us all the airpower in Southeast Asia? He could feel his eyes going dark as he stared at the undergrowth, trying to force the anger deep down inside so he could focus on what they needed to do now.

But they had time until the FAC got back in contact. “Eat and sleep if you can,” he whispered to the team. They formed into a small circle, their backs to each other so they could cover their sector. “We’ll move out while it’s still dark.”

“You plannin' on taking that bunch on?”

“We don’t have a choice, Gus. If the FAC is right, they’re between us and every LZ we identified for extraction. We could slip by a squad. Maybe a platoon. But a headquarters element? No.”

“Then how…” Jess stopped and answered his unfinished question. “TACAIR.”

“Yes. We can call on everything in the theater, and I plan to.” Castillo smiled in the gathering darkness. Night came quick to the jungle floor. “Alert Moonbeam when they come back on air. I want everything from Bird Dogs to BUFFs on our frequency and ready to deliver ordnance as soon as it’s daylight.” He looked back at the map, filling in from memory what he couldn’t see in the shadows. “There’s high ground near where that command element is likely setting up. We slip in, direct the first few strikes, and then evade out while the Air Force expends tax dollars.”

Visibility was down to inches when Moonbeam came back on the air. Jess exchanged whispers with the orbiting aircraft, far enough away they couldn’t even hear its engines. When he shut down the radio Castillo could hear his smile in his voice. “FAC says the HQ is from a battalion of the 5^th Infantry Regiment. Part of the 304^th Division. They’ve picked up signs of the rest of the battalion moving into position in an arc about twenty klicks north of our position at its furthest point. And he’s got an update on the HQ location. They settled in right where you thought they would. Less than four klicks away.”

Gus shifted, chewing rice and dried shrimp from an Indig ration. “They must know SOG don’t have teams out if they’re movin' that fast.”

Castillo nodded without speaking. He’d suspected for some time that the North Vietnamese had penetrated either MACV-SOG or any one of the South Vietnamese agencies with access to their plans and products. This time it might work in their favor. If the NVA thought SOG was staying home, they’d be careless.

“Moonbeam said he’d have everything that can fly in the air tomorrow. Got excited as hell when I gave him that code word.”

Later, Castillo couldn’t be sure if he’d actually slept that night. Each time his eyes closed he saw those strange figures with the painted faces and clothes made from American parachutes. Feeling the accusation in their eyes as they looked at him and his team. Intruders into their world.

He’d never been comfortable with how they used the Hmong. Even though he knew the fate awaiting them if the North Vietnamese won, he’d never been certain about his own country’s staying power. And he also knew the Hmong, like the Montagnards in the south, had their own agenda. Their own dreams. And he also knew some case officers played off those dreams, making promises they had no intention of honoring. And ones their agency and country certainly wouldn’t back.

For his part Castillo had always been honest with his Hmong fighters. Sometimes brutally honest. But he’d learned they respected that kind of honesty. They were loyal to each other, not to some distant flag or shouted cause. It made it easier to live with. But the Snake People…he wasn’t sure what the game was there and he didn’t like his team being dropped in the middle of it.

They gathered in their Claymores by memory, fingers finding and removing detonators based on experience and not sight, and had covered almost a klick by the time the first rays of sun peeked red and gold over the horizon. But below the triple canopy it was still dark, and Castillo only knew it was daylight somewhere up there when Jess made the morning check-in call.

“Stay off the radio until we get into position.” His voice was a hiss lost in rustling leaves. “That headquarters might have radio detection gear.”

“Roger that.” Jess shut off the PRC-25 and tucked the handset into his fatigue jacket pocket, stopping to allow Gus to take down the antenna and stuff it in an outside pocket on his pack. “Air support is standing by. Sounds like we got everything including the kitchen sink up there.”

“Good. Ti Ti, take us along the ridge, but below the crest. Everyone else, watch for security patrols. The NVA might get lazy when they think it’s safe. We can’t afford that luxury.”

Ti Ti nodded. “We make good time. Better soon when ground open some. We find spot to watch.”

“Good.” Castillo folded the map and tucked it back into his pocket. Their luck only had to hold for a couple more hours.

The morning was halfway gone by the time Castillo followed Ti Ti up the side of a rock formation. They’d left the canopy behind about an hour ago, and even though their pace had picked up so had Castillo’s nerves. It was always easier to spot movement in the open. But they’d made it, and now he was almost ready.

He could make out the camp through his binoculars…a clearing carved from the jungle and growing with every passing moment. The NVA didn’t seem too concerned about hiding their presence, which made him think this was a short-term operational headquarters and not the beginnings of a base area. Not yet, at least. The smoke from cooking fires rose in straight lines in the still air, and he could see men moving around as the unit went about the business of the day.

Shifting slightly, he could see more smoke trails in an regular arc stretching out to the north from the headquarters. From the number of trails he guessed each camp held one of the battalion’s companies, and he used his compass to shoot bearings on them before marking each on the map. The subordinate units needed to be hit at least as hard as their headquarters if a message was to be sent. Turning, he caught Ti Ti’s eye. “Send Jess up.”

Jess managed to keep his fluid surfer’s moves even when he was picking his way around boulders. Slipping into a low spot in the ground next to Castillo, he took the offered binoculars and pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “That’s a lot of bad guys, Marty.”

“Yes. I want you to confirm my coordinates. You think our FAC’s up to handling this much air?”

“Shit. I don’t know if I’m up to handling this much air.” Jess grinned, his white teeth flashing in the warm sunlight. “But I’ll give it the ol’ college try.”

“Never knew you went to college.”

“I didn’t. So I guess we’re screwed.” Jess grinned again and then his voice changed. “There’s gonna be more than one FAC up there, boss. Maybe three or four. And the BUFFs? Hell, they don’t need FACs.”

Castillo thought about the big bombers and the unimaginable firepower they carried. Three bombers carried enough ordnance to level a square kilometer easily. “How many cells did we get?”

“At least two.”

Now Castillo was impressed. “If you can, use them against the far camp. It’s far enough away we won’t be in any danger from misses.”

“Yeah. And it keeps the airspace free down this way for the other TACAIR.” Jess looked from his compass to the map, still grinning. “I figure if you’re a fighter jock nothing ruins your day more than getting hit by a 750 pound bomb dropped by a B-52.”

Castillo kept watching the camp. He could see men digging fighting positions along the rough perimeter, others hauling sacks of what he assumed was rice or rolls of comm wire. There even looked to be a spindly antenna going up near one of the completed bunkers. Has to be the command post he thought as he panned the glasses over the area. It looked like any other military camp. Men working, a few trying to sneak rest breaks in the shade thrown by trees, sergeants stomping around try to keep the men working and rounding up the slackers. And then…

“Gus. Ti Ti. Set up your Claymores to cover the base of the slope. Jess, do the same. One of the sergeants is gathering a patrol.”

“Shit was too good to last.” Gus grinned as he pulled two green plastic mines out of his rucksack. “Tripwire or command?”

“Command. And set some toe-poppers close by. Out of the backblast fan.”

“You got it. Got just the thing in mind. Zap those little bastards either way they come.”

Ti Ti shot Castillo a look. “They see us?”

“No. But once the air starts coming in they’ll be looking for spotters.” Castillo lowered the glasses. “We’ll fall back over the ridge. There’s a good LZ about a klick away on that side. We’ll use the mines to cover our retreat.”

“How long until they…”

“At least ten minutes. Likely more.” Castillo raised the glasses again, almost talking to himself. “They’re lazy because they think they’re in their own back yard. No urgency. No fear.”

“They’ll have plenty of both once the air starts coming in.” Jess started to move away, then paused. “You know once they come on station we’re done?”

“Yes. Once your mines are set contact the FAC. We need to direct the first few strikes, and then we can leave.” But Castillo knew he wouldn’t. Not until he was sure the munitions had done their work.

He felt like he owed something to those men back there in the jungle. Something deep down and primal, even though they’d only spoken a handful of words. Maybe that was it…they were still living out here on their own terms, with a war going on all around them. He envied the simplicity of it, even though he knew it was a lie. Lange was dropping them weapons, keeping the fight going and likely putting them in the middle of a mess not of their making. And now his team was in it as well. And for what?

“Tough broad have her reasons.” Ti Ti smiled, a thin thing that hid his teeth. “Maybe they good, maybe they not. But she always has reasons.”

“But whose reasons?”

“Hers. Not always what big men want.”

“I see.” Castillo shook his head. The problem was he did see, and he liked it even less than he had before. But the whole thing was a boulder rolling down a mountainside now. All he could do was get his team out of the way before they were run over. Bringing the glasses up again, he watched the would-be security patrol fumbling as they neared the edge of their own perimeter.

Most of them looked to be green as grass. At least one dropped the banana magazine before he could lock it into his AK-47, and even at this distance Castillo could read the disgust on the patrol leader’s face. Waving his arms he formed the men into a kind of loose arc and motioned toward the treeline.

“They’re moving.” Castillo swept the glasses back, away from the patrol and toward the main camp. He paused. “They’re setting up a radio antenna. And I can see at least one work detail with commo wire.”

Gus came back up the slope, breathing through his nose to keep things quiet. “Claymores are out, boss. Jess is almost done, too.”

“Cover to two thirty.” Castillo jabbed a finger in the direction he meant. “Be ready to engage.”

“Roger that.” Gus raised his cut down RPD and flashed a grin that would have been at home on a pirate.

Jess had the radio handset pressed to his ear as he came back up the slope. “BUFFs are ten minutes out, boss. FAC is gonna direct them first like you suggested. Once their load’s dropped he’s got Phantoms and Spads stacked up just outa earshot. They’ll hit the other camps in line. I’ve got him sending Spads after the command post.”

“Good. They have radio.” Castillo closed his eyes, feeling a quick stab of pain just above his left eye. Not a headache. Not now. “Can he send the A-1s in after the CP at the same time the B-52s hit?”

Jess relayed the question, waited for a long moment, then lowered the handset. “He says yes, but it’s gonna be danger close to us. He wants…”

Castillo took the handset. “My initials are Mike Charlie. The Skyraiders come in under my direct order.”

Static crackled. “You got it, boss.”

He handed the radio back. “We’ve got some cover here.” He pointed to jumbled rocks and trees dropped by some forgotten Monsoonal windstorm. “It will have to do.”

Gus looked around. “Hell, this is a damned fortress. Not like that time north of Lima Site 47 when we called in air across our damned position. We could damned near have drinks on the patio and watch this one go in.”

Castillo nodded, but the pain increased. “Keep it low. That patrol’s moving again.” He looked at Jess and pointed to his watch.

Jess raised eight fingers. The big bombers would attack from so far up you never heard them coming. And somewhere on the other side of the ridge behind them the prop-driven Skyraiders were circling, waiting to deliver their napalm, bombs, and 20mm cannon fire on the command post. The Apocalypse was coming, and most of the men in the valley would never hear what killed them.

You saw the B-52 strike before you heard it…and often you felt it before you heard it. Black smoke and debris rising in indistinguishable clouds tracking in a line of death across where the smoke of the far battalion camp had been moments before. The ground vibrated under their boots, and then the shock wave hit like a physical thing, washing over them and expending itself against the ridge. The shock of the strike would serve to hold the other camps in place, which was Castillo’s intent.

No sooner had the first bombs fallen than four aircraft roared over the top of the ridge and flashed past, their radial engines roaring with their own power. Castillo could see silver napalm canisters on the long wings of two of the Skyraiders, while the other two were loaded with olive drab eggs full of 250 pounds of high explosives. The planes with the canisters hit first, the long silver cylinders arcing down and detonating just above the ground.

Napalm detonated with a soft, almost calming whoomp, totally obscuring the horror of the jelled gasoline. Fire and smoke washed across the command post, setting men and trees ablaze in its wake. The next two planes followed up with bombs, blasting the bunkers to pieces and killing even more men. The planes wheeled to start gun runs, and the boom of afterburners announced the arrival of F-4 Phantoms to hit the other two camps.

It took Castillo a moment to shake himself out of what felt like a trace. Part of it, he knew, was the concessions from the air strikes. But the other part, what he didn’t want to look at too closely, was the fascination with what was happening in that clearing. Seconds before it had been home to a functioning military unit. Now it was an open-air graveyard. “Let’s move!” He shouted to make himself heard above the airplanes and thumping of the 20mm cannons in the Skyraiders’ wings. “Blow the Claymores!”

 

The extraction went without incident, and they passed the Huey ride back to the Lima Site in silence. Each man alone with his own thoughts, whatever they might be. Once they were down, Castillo made sure the team cleared their weapons and had eaten before going to look for Henrietta Lange. He knew he had to do this now. Eating could wait.

She was waiting in the same Conex with the same tea in front of her. It was as if she hadn’t moved a muscle since their first meeting. “It seems you had an eventful day,” she said, looking up but not looking at him. “I’m glad the air cover came in handy.”

“Why are you using them?” He sat down, his eyes cold and hard.

“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Castillo? Who might I be using?”

“The Snake people. The warriors who call Alpha 7 home. Ti Ti thinks they’re an offshoot of the Sedang, but I’m sure you already knew that. He remembered you.”

“Ah.” There was a long pause as she sipped tea. Castillo could tell she was a person who used pauses, who used silence, as a weapon. But she couldn’t know he did the same thing.

Finally she set down the china cup. “I fail to see what this is all about, Mr. Castillo. I…”

“You drop ammunition to those people. Web gear and cloth for clothes. Possibly weapons as well. We didn’t see enough of them to know for sure. And you knew the NVA were heading for Alpha 7. There was no other reason for that air support order. Especially one with B-52s.”

“You’re a very suspicious man, Mr. Castillo.”

“People like you make me that way. You needed my team to find the unit…I’m not sure if it was a battalion or an understrength regiment. And then direct the air strikes.” He paused, hiding his own smile as she finally looked away from his stare. “And maybe you needed us to check up on your pet tribe. That I don’t know. What I do know is you risked my team under false pretenses.”

“There’s always risk, Mr. Castillo.” He voice was sharp now. Good. I hit something. “It’s the nature of our business.”

“Risk is one thing. Playing games is another. By lying to us, you played games with my team. That I do not tolerate.” He rose, resting his hands on the table and fixing her with another stare. “Play games with my team again, and I will kill you. That is a promise.”

“I believe you would.” She looked him up and down, and a light appeared in her eyes that might have been respect. “I believe you would at that, Mr. Castillo.”

Turning on his heel, Martin Castillo left the Conex and breathed deep of the heavy Laotian night air. It was time for a shower…a long shower. He hated missions that left him feeling dirty. But he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach he’d catch more than his share of those in the Delta south of Saigon. Phoenix was that kind of program. He just hoped he didn’t run into her again.

[MrsCastillo]

Love this! The series left Castillo’s backstory and past so mysterious and unexplained, I always wanted to learn more.

[Robbie C.]

20 hours ago, MrsCastillo said:

Love this! The series left Castillo’s backstory and past so mysterious and unexplained, I always wanted to learn more.

Thanks! I based part of it on an account in a memoir, and worked in a character from NCIS LA who I think was intended to be something of a Castillo clone (at least in the first few seasons).