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THE shadow of the United States Army Bell UH-1C helicopter skimmed over the triple-canopy jungle stretching endlessly across Vietnamese hills and valleys. Anyone below would have heard the roar of its engine and the "whoomp" of its blades but would not have glimpsed the chopper's nose art where, depicted in vivid colors, a fierce dragon was being ridden by a scantily clad and very well-endowed young woman. The dragon was roaring and sending out streams of fiery smoke from its nostrils. The woman waved a sword with one hand and held on to the dragon’s green scaled-neck with the other. Beneath the nose art were the large, carefully painted white letters against a black background:

Dragon Slayer

On each side were the helicopter's two rocket pods and two 7.62 mm rotary, six-barreled mini guns. The helicopter's tailboom read "United States Army" and on its tail was the number: 7-4-6.

On the underside of the fuselage was the irreverent crew's large bullseye painting of a target with scores inside each circle. Over the target were the words:

VC TARGET RANGE: HAPPY SHOOTING!

Inside the plexiglas cockpit of the chopper a pilot and co-pilot wore olive green flight helmets and their normal chest armor. Behind the cockpit area was a crew chief, door gunner and two passengers. Behind them on the bulkhead were neatly painted black letters:

 

82ND ASSAULT HELICOPTER COMPANY

MAJOR BRYON WHITE

COMMANDING

 

The crew chief and door gunner manned M-60 machineguns positioned for action in each of the two open cargo doors. They and the two passengers were squeezed in between bandoleers of Claymore mines and crates of grenades which had been crammed into every available space. Of the two passengers, one was a prisoner in handcuffs. One was a military policeman.

Except for the MP, the men in the helicopter were combat-hardened veterans. It was especially obvious in their eyes: the Vietnam “thousand yard stare." The crew chief sat on ammunition boxes lining the cargo deck's bulkhead, his flight helmet off, and tugged on the stubborn string loops of its earphones.

Most of the men were in their mid- to late-20's, suggesting, perhaps, that this was their second or even third tour of duty in 'Nam. The MP, on his first tour, was about 19. His helmet liner was unspotted and his boots were spit-shined. The others wore faded fatigues, dirty combat boots, flak jackets and .45's.

The magic marker message on the back of the door gunner's flak jacket read: HAPPINESS IS A COLD LZ. That on the back of the crew chief read: DON'T SHOOT - I'M SHORT!

Only the prisoner, a man named Greenwood, wore a soft, narrow-brimmed flop hat. He was also the only one wearing green-and-black striped “tiger" fatigues -- symbol of the hunter-killers of the LRRPs -- Long Range Reconnaissance Patrols. In addition to poorly healed shrapnel wounds, his hands and face bore the scars of long nights lying in wait in jungle ambushes -- lacerations from elephant grass and bites from ants, mosquitoes, termites, leeches. Areas of his face retained traces of his greenish-black camouflage paint; as if he just came out of the bush. If anything, he appeared even more the classic picture of a combat-hardened veteran than the others. By comparison, his MP guard appeared boyish and unseasoned.

The pilot, John Haggerty, known to his men affectionately as Hard Bones, spoke to his co-pilot -- a twenty-six-year-old from Chicago named Fox. “I'd say it's about time we let Big Daddy know our whereabouts, don't you?"

“We'd better," Fox said. "Otherwise, he might worry himself to death."

Hard Bones initiated his radio conversation between helicopter and base. "Dragon base, this is Dragon seven. Do you copy? Over."

It took only a few seconds for a response. “...Dragon seven, this is Dragon base. Over."

“Dragon base, Dragon seven has accomplished its mission and is on its way home. Over."

“...Dragon seven, your CO requests your present position and estimated time of arrival. Over."

“Dragon base, we are 35 clicks southwest of Phu Bai and ETA is one hour. Over."

“Copy, Dragon seven. Your CO requests mission report on Firebase Alpha. Over."

“Firebase Alpha completely evacuated. The slicks took the troops; we took the weapons. However, please be advised we have one prisoner and one MP on board as our first priority and will be making an unscheduled stop at Ahn Lo. Over."

“Say again, Dragon seven. You have one VC prisoner on board? Over."

“Negative, Dragon base. Prisoner is American. Over."

“...Copy, Dragon seven. However, CO asks for a report on weapons. Over."

“Dragon base, please advise CO we have a shitload of armament on board including enough Claymores to mine every rice paddy in Vietnam. Over."

“...Dragon seven, your CO refuses to believe you could have loaded all the weapons he requested and be back so soon. Over."

“Dragon base, while it is true that a shitload of weapons does tend to affect one's flying speed, please be advised that a United States Army Bell UH-1C Huey gunship knows how to haul ass when the right helmsman is at the wheel. Over."

In the few seconds of silence, Hard Bones and his co-pilot exchanged smiles. Both men had had several run-in's with their CO, Major Bryon White AKA “Big Daddy". White took pride in presenting himself as a tough-as-nails, “no-nonsense" officer and in reminding anyone who would listen that he was a decorated veteran of the Korean War. When he'd first arrived in country, Major White had tightened up restrictions and brought charges against several of the men in his unit whom he said were having intercourse with their hootch maids. Hard Bones and his crew fought back with ingenuity and, when charges were dropped, were credited with persuading the Major that men facing death every day do not appreciate chickenshit from a turkey.

Whether harassing American military martinets or fighting communist armies, Hard Bones had proved himself to be one of the best helicopter pilots in Vietnam. He was daring, innovative, skillful and often totally disregarded deadly enemy fire to support soldiers on the ground. And the men on the ground knew this. In more than one action, grunts facing a well-entrenched enemy were reliably reported to have cheered wildly when a voice over their field radio reported that Hard Bone's unit was the one sending assistance. But the same independent spirit which motivated him throughout his years of flying had led to his being reprimanded and grounded on two occasions. The next order he disobeyed would be the cause of the only thing Hard Bones was afraid of: He would be permanently grounded.

“...Roger that, Dragon seven. Happy flying. Dragon Base out."

“Roger, Dragon base. Dragon Seven, out."

In the doorway, the watchful door gunner, known as Kool-Aid, gripped his M-60 machine gun slung on its elastic bungee cord from the roof of the cabin and looked down at the jungle as it grudgingly gave way to the smoke of cooking fires, ricefields, rubber plantations, banana trees and the tops of thatched roofs. He wondered idly which figures were VC and which weren't: The villagers leading their water buffalo; the fishermen net-casting for fish; the farmers peddling traditional chain-pumps and cone water buckets raising water from one level to the next. What this war needed was an invention to tell which pajama-clad farmers were innocent and which were aiding VC to lay deadly ambushes for American grunt patrols or hiding VC in the villages so American troops would never find them.

Inside the cockpit, Hard Bones Haggerty keyed his radio to tower frequency. “Ahn Lo Tower, this is Dragon seven...Ahn Lo Tower, this is Dragon seven..."

Suddenly, a frantic voice broke in on the emergency frequency radio; a voice in Taiwanese-accented Mandarin interspersed with occasional cries for help in English.

The co-pilot wrinkled his brow. “What the hell is that? Charlie on our frequency again?"

Hard Bones listened intently before speaking. “Chinese. Something about...Jesus Christ, it's Dong Hoi! They're being overrun!"

Larson shouted above the inrushing wind. “I thought we were fighting Vietnamese."

The prisoner gave the MP a slight smile. “No, sonny, this is the listening post at Dong Hoi. Chinese radio ops were brought over from Taiwan. They're on a mountain listening in on communications inside China."

“Dong Hoi?! That's VC territory."

“Yeah. The Brass decided that if the shit hit the fan these boys could get them out in time. How much you want to bet they won't?"

Hard Bones could tell the excited radio operator was becoming hysterical. He began to hear the sound of gunfire. All four crew members could hear everything clearly in their earphones; the MP and the prisoner listened to Hard Bone's side of the conversation over the sound of the chopper's turbines and blades.

Fox shook his head. “Jesus Christ! They haven't got a chance!"

Hard Bones spoke into his mike. “Dragon base. This is Dragon seven. Over."

“Dragon seven, this is Dragon Base. Over."

“The Taiwanese ops at Dong Hoi are on the air screaming for help. Request permission to assist. Over."

“...Dragon seven, this is your company commander. We are aware of the situation at Dong Hoi. Carry on with your present mission. Over."

Hard Bones glanced at Fox as if to reassure himself that he had heard correctly. “Sir, I repeat, the VC are apparently overrunning Dong Hoi. I can be there in minutes! Over!"

“Dragon seven, I repeat, your request is denied. You could not reach them in time and, in any case, at the moment, Dong Hoi is not your mission. Over."

“Dragon Base, Dong Hoi is our mission and twelve Taiwanese linguists are about to be killed! I might be able to save them. Over!"

“Dragon seven, you will proceed with your present mission! You will not- repeat - not render assistance to Dong Hoi! That is a direct order! Any attempt on your part to do so, and I will have you up for an immediate court-martial! Over!"

“Are you insane? If you don't care about the men, what about the intelligence documents! That station is handling top secret, cryptographic material! Over!"

“Request denied! Proceed with your mission! Over!"

“If the VC get their hands on those documents, they'll know every move-"

As Hard Bones stopped talking abruptly his co-pilot reacted. “What! What's the matter!"

Hard Bones spoke each word into the radio clearly and distinctly. “You son-of-a-bitch! You bastards want Charley to overrun the base; you've planted false documents. Over!"

As Hard Bones and Major White screamed to interrupt each other on their keyed radios, it created static and jammed their frequency until the other relinquished.

“Dragon seven, get off the air immediately! That is a direct order! So help me God, I'll have you crucified! Get off the air! Dragon Base out!"

“That's why you sent us to help evacuate Firebase Alpha. That's not our mission; you just wanted us out of the way. You goddamned- (static)"

“Captain Haggerty, I am ordering- (static)"

“A dozen Taiwan linguists sacrificed for some kind of CIA stunt. What did the spooks promise you for cooperating, Major? A promotion? Over."

“That's it! You get back here immediately and consider yourself under arrest! I will personally- (static)"

Hard Bones abruptly cut him off. For several seconds the crew listened to the radio sounds of AK-47s and the screams of Taiwanese ops. Then there was silence; then the sound of Vietnamese voices. Then nothing.

Greenwood turned to the crew chief. “Some hot-shot chopper crew. If you'd been flying instead of bullshitting on the radio, you might have saved them."

The crew chief was known to the rest of the crew as "Wizard," because of the way he could repair a helicopter with few tools and lots of improvising. Still in his mid-20's, he was nevertheless a religious man. He glanced at Greenwood, then turned away, ignoring him, and pulled out a Bible looking for a quotation. Amid the weapons and ammunition, the Bible's silver clasp, large red capitals and black text seemed like something from another world.

Greenwood scratched his chin with his handcuff link and continued his harassment. “You boys gonna be known as the crew that fucked up at Dong Hoi. The hot-shots that got the Chinks killed. You boys were their security. Some security."

The prisoner and the MP were seated close together but, except for them, aboard the helicopter, anyone not speaking into the intercom system had to shout to be heard over the whine of the turbine engine and the sound of the rotors. When the crew chief shouted to be heard the prisoner smiled at his pronounced southern accent. “Your problem, Greenwood, is that you don't know when to shut up!"

The MP joined in the shouted conversation. “His problem is he killed a man and he's going away for a long time!"

Greenwood moved closer to the crew chief. “See, chief, the thing is, I only killed one man -- not counting dinks, of course; whereas you -- you boys got a dozen killed. All because good little soldiers got to obey orders. Now, what does your good book say about that?"

Wizard suddenly lurched at Greenwood with his hands at Greenwood's throat. Kool-Aid took his own hands from his M-60 machine gun and turned to aid the MP as he struggled to separate them.

Fox, the co-pilot, heard the commotion and turned around. Fox was a big man and he had both the confidence and the authority of a big man. “All right, knock it off!"

Wizard released Greenwood and recovered his Bible. Kool-Aid shoved Greenwood against an ammunition crate then turned back to his M-60. Hard Bones had seemed unaware of the commotion. He stared straight ahead and spoke softly. “I could have saved them."

Fox started to say one thing then settled for another: “We followed procedure."

“Yeah, Fox, I followed procedure; and let twelve men die."

Fox stared at Hard Bones Haggerty. He had lost count of the American ground troops they had rescued under fire, but he knew Hard Bones seemed only to remember the ones he hadn't been able to get out safely. “Hey, buddy, don't always be so damned hard on yourself; it was the Major's call. The Taiwanese were sacrificed and we were set up."

Hard Bones still spoke mainly to himself. “I wish to God I had a second chance."

At the sudden eruption of loud ground fire, Hard Bones sharply banked the chopper and immediately spotted dozens of muzzle flashes. Green tracers of Vietcong automatic weapons fire were coming at them from a partial clearing in the jungle. For every round they could see, there were four rounds they couldn't see. And from somewhere below 51 caliber machine gun rounds chased them across the sky. And the clearing itself was surrounded by the strangest formation of low rolling hills Kool-Aid had ever seen.

Below the chopper, surrounding huts clustered together in the middle of several rice paddies, an entire company of Vietcong was defiantly out in the open, the men energetically emptying their AK-47's and larger caliber machine guns at the chopper. As bullets hit the chopper, one sailed cleanly through the Plexiglas cockpit chin bubble. Another ricocheted off Hard Bone's frontal ceramic plate knocking the wind out of him and causing a bloody shrapnel groove along his cheek.

“Hard Bones! You OK?"

“Yeah, Fox. I'm OK. The chicken plate stopped the bullet. But that makes it personal."

Kool-Aid spoke into the wind. “Oh, shit. Here we go!" The door gunner pulled a handful of pills from his fatigue shirt pocket and looked them over. He picked three of them. “You, you and you. Step out of formation." Kool-Aid popped them into his mouth and shoved the rest back into his pocket. “The rest of you are dismissed. But do not leave the immediate area."

As the chopper climbed steadily to 1500 feet, Hard Bones wiped blood away from his cheek, opened a console cover and pushed a toggle switch, arming the guns and rockets. Red lights appeared on the console.

Hard Bones spoke the words, by now long familiar to each member of his crew. “Going hot!"

The MP screamed at him. “What are you doing!" It took Larson a few seconds to realize that, because of his earphones under his flying helmet, Hard Bones couldn't hear him. Larson turned to the crew chief and spoke nervously. “What... what does he think he's doing?"

Wizard almost laughed at the man's evident fear. And his failed attempt to disguise it as indignation. “Just what he should be doing, Mr. Larson. Fighting a goddamn war!"

Larson raised his voice. “This helicopter has been commandeered by my commanding officer to transport my prisoner. Your orders are-"

Ignoring the MP, Wizard tugged his flight helmet on, positioned his earphone and grabbed hold of his M-60 machine gun while Kool-Aid readied his own M-60 in the opposite cargo door. Hard Bones continued preparing for battle and spoke to the crew through the intercom system. “I hope Charlie appreciates the fact that we're taking time out from our busy schedule to shoot back at him."

The MP moved to Kool-Aid and shouted next to his helmet. “This is not proper procedure!"

“That so?"

“I mean...if a helicopter is shot at, the pilot can't just shoot back. Not here!"

Kool-Aid spoke while keeping his eyes on the series of low hills. Since he'd been in 'Nam, he'd never seen any terrain quite so bizarre - long, low ridges of earth rising in and around otherwise flat ricefield terrain. He'd been in battle with Hard Bones dozens of times and his stomach hardly tensed anymore, but something about those hills—not to mention an unnaturally darkening sky--gave him the heebee-jeebies. “Oh, you mean, when fired upon, we should climb to altitude, find the village on the map, call headquarters and request permission to return fire? Something like that?"

“Yes! And your headquarters will call the province chief to see if-"

“Yeah, and then assuming by that time the war ain't over and that the province chief ain't a VC plant, we can shoot back. Fuck you very much!"

Despite his handcuffed wrists and the roll of the gunship, Greenwood inched his way closer to Larson. “At last! A little action. Hey, Larson, how about unlocking the cuffs? If somebody's hit I can-"

The increasingly nervous MP ignored Greenwood and moved between the seats of the pilot and co-pilot and shouted to Hard Bones.

“Listen, I think you should radio-"

Hard Bones snapped out the radio circuit breakers. “Sorry, son, I just lost radio contact." He then spoke to his crew through the intercom. "Weapons check!"

Fox pulled the minigun sight down from its stowed position. He felt both the fear and exhilaration of going into battle. Especially speeding through the sky over Vietnam in a tiny metal-and-Plexiglas bubble, as vulnerable as it was deadly. “You got it."

Wizard had grown up in Louisiana, the youngest of three mean brothers. He had learned early that life was a series of battles. If any man on board actually looked forward to combat, he did. He screamed into the wind. “Ready!"

Kool-Aid stopped staring at the strange ridge formations long enough to turn toward the cockpit. “Let's pop some caps!"

Hard Bones pulled up on the collective and pushed the cyclic hard forward, abruptly pushing the nose down, and sending the chopper into a steep dive. As it approached the target, still taking enemy fire, Hard Bones fired a pair of 2.75 inch HE (high explosive) rockets, while Fox fired two 7.62 miniguns, each with six rotating barrels, slamming 4000 rounds per minute into the target area.

As the helicopter broke off and banked, Kool-Aid and Wizard began firing their M-60 machine guns. The spent brass cartridges of their standard linked 7.62mm NATO rounds ejected at an incredible speed. Red tracers were heading earthward, green tracers upwards, rocket pods were flaring, streaks of grey smoke trailed the rockets. Trails of brass cartridges tumbled out of the chopper like rain, silhouetted black against the blue sky, light coruscating off them like dozens of little suns.

Several huts, along with chickens, buffalo, cattle, trees and bits of Vietcong soldiers soared up in a big boom of dirt, straw and wood flying in all directions.

Hard Bones again worked the collective and cyclic, abruptly sending the nose down, and buzzed straight over the area at treetop level. The helicopter then began its climb. The crew ignored the sights and sounds of bullet holes appearing in the chopper, the sudden vibrations and the inexplicable engine noises and continued to climb in preparation for another dive.

Fox looked down at the bright yellow chip detector warning light as it came on. “Uh oh! We got metal chips in the transmission."

Hard Bones smiled and spoke calmly. It had not gone unnoticed that in the heat of battle Hard Bones Haggerty became a kind of serene Buddha. “Could be a short circuit."

Fox shook his head ruefully. “It's your call, Hard Bones."

Suddenly, a red hydraulic light lit up. Despite his best efforts, Fox heard the slightest hint of panic in his own voice. “Number two hydraulic system out!" He turned and motioned to the door gunner.

Kool-Aid stuck his head out the door into the slipstream, looked to the rear and spotted the hydraulic fluid squirting from the cowling. He ducked back inside and yelled above the sound of the chopper. “Hydraulic fluid leaking!"

Greenwood began thrashing about, yanking at his handcuffs. “We're taking too many hits! Larson, for Christ sakes, get these goddamn cuffs off me!"

Larson ignored Greenwood while trying to control his own voice. “I think you should...I am ordering you to head back!"

Hard Bones Haggerty maintained his insouciant attitude. The helicopter began its near-suicidal dive, swooping noisily and erratically toward the target area again like an enraged, wounded eagle. Again the gunship let loose on the VC and again the ground exploded sending up bits of huts, men and animals. Suddenly, there was the almost deafening sound of a loud roar sending an incredibly strong vibration through the chopper.

Fox spoke while trying to steady the mini-gun sight. “What the hell was that?"

Hard Bones exerted every effort to stabilize the gunship. “Nothing I ever heard before!"

The swirling dust from the ground thickened, almost blinding the crew. Within seconds the day darkened. In the grip of an enormous rushing roar of wind, the crew clung to whatever was at hand. The badly vibrating helicopter was almost helplessly spun about as it gyrated in narrowing spirals while being sucked deeper into some kind of irresistible whirlpool.

Hard Bones fought desperately to control the Huey while the others did their best to brace themselves. In the cockpit, levers, switches, buttons, circuit breakers and antitorque pedals were pushed to no avail. The entire instrument panel warning system now lit up in meaningless flashes of red, yellow and green. Gage indicator needles -- airspeed, torque, tachometer, engine oil pressure, altimeter, etc. -- spun out of control. Live ammunition, brass cartridges, and other items in the cargo area broke free and began flying about. Chalky white foot-long soft clay bars of C-4 explosive wrapped in olive-drab cellophane began slipping one by one out of their mesh container. Cartons of C-rations broke loose from their ropes and tumbled over. A large metal ammunition can smashed against Kool-Aid’s shinbone.

The howling roar increased in volume and the wind increased in strength. Hard Bones screamed above it. “Instruments have gone crazy!"

Kool-Aid pulled a vial of pills from a pocket of his fatigue shirt. He hurriedly swallowed one while spilling several and replaced the vial. Greenwood and Larson jammed their thumbs into their ears against the deafening roar.

The velvety blackness surrounding the bucking chopper was total, eerie and unnatural. For a few quick seconds, an intense, blinding white light dispelled the darkness and the craft seemed almost aglow, suspended in time and space. It seemed to the men on board that everything now moved in slow motion. Then, as the darkness returned, the helicopter seemed to be traveling at incredible speed through a narrow tunnel.

Again, for only a few seconds, the intense white light dispelled the darkness and the helicopter was suspended in time and space. Then, again, darkness returned. Gradually, the roaring stopped, and the unnatural black smoke about the Huey began to dissipate. The worst of the vibrations ceased.  

Fox took several deep breaths. “What happened? I feel like I've been mugged."

Hard Bones looked at his badly shaken co-pilot. “If that's a new weapon, Charlie's won this war."

Fox suddenly screamed. “Hard Bones! Look out!"

Hard Bones peered through the cockpit window just as the mist parted. The gunship was heading directly for a mountain formation. Hard Bones immediately pulled up. As they climbed, the chopper began vibrating dangerously and emitting noises like a machine straining to fly apart. Hard Bones fought desperately to control it.

The day was again perfectly clear. They were still flying over mountains but these were completely unlike anything they'd ever seen. The men stared at the mountains that seemed to rise unnaturally straight out of the ground in a series of bizarre limestone formations.

Fox's voice had almost returned to normal. “Where in God's name are we?"

Hard Bones flicked switches and checked gages. Needles were no longer spinning but neither did they move. Only the two original warning lights were on. He reconnected the circuit breakers.

“Dragon base, this is Dragon seven. Do you copy? Over...Dragon base, this is Dragon seven. Do you copy?"

His gloved hand grabbed the cyclic and squeezed the radio trigger switch several times. There was no click in his ear.

Fox tried a few more buttons and switches to no avail. While he reached into a compartment and pulled out a map, Hard Bones continued to fight the controls. The Low-RPM warning horn began buzzing loudly. “Instruments are out. Radios are out. I don't think I can stabilize this baby much longer. If I try for altitude, it wants to shake apart. We'll have to put her down."

Fox studied the map. “Not one thing down there matches with anything on here. Blue lines, nothing!"

Kool-Aid spoke while straining to shove crates of displaced Claymore mines away from his M-60. “Maybe they made the map during the monsoon. When the waters are down it's all different."

Fox looked out at the terrain and back to the map. “Negative, Kool-Aid! I don't know where the hell we are, but I guarantee wherever it is isn't on this map."

As the chopper approached a narrow river, it flew over a cluster of sampans and a junk with huge butterfly-wing sails. Men along the shore as well as on the junk looked up at the chopper in pure terror. Most ran in panic. Some jumped into the river. A few knelt and kowtowed as the chopper passed overhead.

The chopper passed over another boat, long and narrow -- a “scrambling dragon" -- with enormous sails. Over two dozen brightly dressed oarsmen were seated on low benches along the port side and another equal number of men were plying their huge oars at starboard. Many dove into the water.

Kool-Aid spoke in disbelief. “Hey, Hard Bones, what do you make of that?"

“Damndest thing I've ever seen. VC haven't run away from a chopper since the beginning of the war."

Fox forced a nervous laugh. “Maybe they heard Hard Bones Haggerty himself was flying it. Or, maybe-"

Wizard interrupted. “Look!"

On a hillside was an ancient pagoda, its crumbling brick base overrun with weeds. As the chopper approached, the remains of a burned-out village came into view. A few houses with sun-dried brick walls and hipped tile roofs smoldered but were still standing. The thatched roofs of wooden houses had collapsed upon sparsely furnished rooms below. Several bodies were lying on the ground. Vendors' baskets and farm implements lay overturned and abandoned in the dirt. As the chopper banked over a patchwork quilt of green and yellow ricefields, several terrified farmers either dove for cover or ran in complete panic.

Kool-Aid shook his head in disbelief. “Did you see those rice paddy daddies? They act like they never saw a chopper before!"

Larson spoke while rubbing his shoulder where a box of ammunition had slammed into him. “I don't know where we are but when we get back I think you may be faced with a court martial for-"

Hard Bones chuckled. “Roger that, son! But first we'll have to land and check the damage."

Larson started to continue when his anger turned to uneasiness. “How'd it get so cold in here?"

Kool-Aid stared at the sun's position in the sky and checked his watch. “Hey, Wizard, what time you got?"

“What time I got! Fuck you care what time I got? You got a train to catch?"

“Well, maybe it don't matter. But, before the storm, the sun was rising over there."

“So what's the problem?"

“Well, the problem is now it's setting over there!"

As the men reacted and looked toward the sun, the helicopter began to shudder dangerously. Hard Bones motioned to Fox toward a small clearing on a low plateau. The only visible occupants of the plateau were several emaciated sheep and goats.

For nearly a minute, Hard Bones fought with the heavily vibrating controls to guide the disabled chopper into the landing zone. He lowered the collective to reduce the pitch and strained to pull back the heavily vibrating cyclic. He applied pressure on the right rudder to maintain his heading and maintained rpm with throttle adjustments. The Huey's rotor wash pressed blades of grass to the earth and sent dust and leaves swirling about the LZ. The chopper flared as it decelerated, landed bumpily on the heels of its skids and then glided several yards to a sudden halt sending sheep and goats running for their lives.

The men in the cockpit quickly unbuckled their safety harnesses. Following Hard Bones's command to “Secure the perimeter," everyone exited the chopper and hit the ground running. Larson and Fox moved about the helicopter with their .45 pistols drawn and ready.

The second Greenwood had understood they would be making a forced landing, he had begun calculating the odds on an escape attempt. While the others inspected the perimeter of the clearing, he moved out of the line of sight of either Hard Bones or Wizard.

Larson and Fox walked quickly about, checking the perimeter. To their south and west, beyond a field of waist-high grass, was a forest of banyan trees. Wild doves swirled about groves of speckled bamboo. In the distance, rocky slopes tumbled downward, one after the other, leading to the South China Sea. To the north and east a series of rugged hills rose and formed mountains the peaks of which were lost inside layers of alabaster mist. A steep cliff between their position and the next hill offered them some protection on that side.

Kool-Aid noticed Greenwood edging away from the helicopter. He jumped into the helicopter's cargo compartment from the other side. He quickly extracted an M-16, inserted a magazine, and sighted on Greenwood. “Hey, white boy! You gonna make my day?"

Greenwood gave him a smile balanced somewhere between a smirk and a sneer. “Maybe when I get these off."

“I see you with those off and you'll wish to God you'd left them on. Get your ass back here. Now!"

Hard Bones and Wizard climbed to the roof of the Huey, first to look about the LZ, then to check the chopper for damage. As Larson returned to guard Greenwood, Kool-Aid moved out to join Fox. Greenwood lay down on the ground, resting his head against a helicopter skid, his hat over his eyes, at peace with the world.

Kool-Aid and Fox walked cautiously toward the banyan trees, single file, weapons at the ready. Kool-Aid kept his voice low. “Anything?"

“Nothing I can see. But I don't like it. This place is spooky."

“'Nam always spooky."

“Not like this."

“You think Charlie saw us comin' in?"

“I don't know. If he did, we'll know about it soon enough. Come on, let's check those trees out."

The banyan trees were incredible in size and girth. The hundreds of thick columns towered high above the two men.

Kool-Aid held out his hand and spoke just above a whisper. “Hold on a second. I got to make an unscheduled stop."

Kool-Aid unbuttoned his fatigue trousers and was just stepping behind a bush when Fox and Kool-Aid both saw the boy and the old man simultaneously. In a knee-jerk response, Fox raised his .45 and fired a round but before he could fire another, Kool-Aid knocked the .45 lower with his rifle barrel. The shot went wild but Asians hiding in the trees and in the grass began screaming and crying and running about.

Kool-Aid hastily buttoned up his trousers. “Cool it! All right, get out of there! Move! Di-di mau!"

Dozens of Asians, mostly men, moved out of the trees. They ranged in age from child to elderly. Although a few wore decent outer robes, most were poorly dressed in threadbare jackets and baggy trousers and were barefoot. Many carried their few possessions on bamboo poles and held (unlit) lanterns. Some of the men had flintlocks or matchlocks or swords or spears.

Each Asian male had most of the crown of his head shaved except for the plaited queue hanging down at the back, i.e. the pigtail. They moved toward an increasingly tense Kool-Aid and Fox and surrounded the two men.

Kool-Aid took aim at the nearest and, almost without conscious thought, began squeezing the trigger, but suddenly all knelt and kowtowed on hands and knees, offering up their weapons.      Fox was stunned. “What the hell?"

Kool-Aid began yelling. “Hey! Knock that shit off! Get up! Yeah, up! Now, move it!"

Kool-Aid pointed with his M-16 and motioned for them to move toward the helicopter.

“I never saw Dinks dressed like that," Fox said. “They got pigtails!"

“Must be some Dink festival bullshit."

By the time they herded the Asians to the landing zone Hard Bones and Wizard had already grabbed their weapons and climbed down. Hard Bones stared at the dozens of fear-filled Asians. Closest to him was the teenaged boy who had frightened Kool-Aid. He stood beside a very elderly man with a Ho Chi Minh-type beard. Everyone was wide-eyed and very much afraid. Hard Bones lowered his weapon. “What have we here, Kool-Aid? A costume ball?"

“I found a reception committee in the woods."

Wizard kept his shotgun at the ready. “Come on, Hard Bones, you're the linguist. Talk to them. Then let me know if I should blast them or not."

Fox glanced at Wizard and back to the Asians. “He's a Chink lingy; not a Dink lingy."

Hard Bones stared at the old man and several of the others. “They don't look Vietnamese, Fox."

Hard Bones spoke to the men in Vietnamese. There was no response. Then he spoke in Chinese mandarin. One of the men responded. Hard Bones sighed.

“What's the matter?" Fox asked.

“He doesn't speak Vietnamese."

Kool-Aid followed Hard Bones's lead and lowered his rifle. “So what does he speak?"

“Chinese."

Wizard was growing impatient. “So ask the Dink why he doesn't speak Dinkenese."

“How am I supposed to ask him?"

“You learned Chinese in Taiwan, right?"

“I learned mandarin; he's speaking cantonese."

Wizard spat. “Motherfuck."

Suddenly the old man with the boy spoke to Hard Bones in mandarin. Hard Bones responded. As everyone's attention was completely on their conversation they failed to notice Greenwood's movements. Despite his handcuffs, Greenwood managed to edge his way beside a rucksack torn open during the storm. He reached in and withdrew a knife with a serrated blade. He slipped it inside his boot and quickly jumped from the cargo door to the ground. He walked slowly back to the group as Hard Bones turned to his crew to translate.

“He said: why should they speak Vietnamese?"

Kool-Aid took a step back. “Oh, shit. You telling me we not still in the 'Nam!"

“He says we're in southern China. Kwangtung Province."

Kool-Aid quickly took a pill from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. “China! I got R&R in Bangkok Monday morning with names and addresses of the most beautiful Siamese women in the world and you're sayin' you flew us into China!"

“He says we're near the coast."

“Great. I can swim to Bangkok."

Wizard at last lowered his shotgun. “That's bull! No way we could have flown that far! We didn't even have the fuel for that kind of trip."

Fox looked at his watch. “Ask the old man what day it is."

Hard Bones hesitated. “I did."

“So, what'd he say?"

“You're not gonna like it."

“Try me."

“He said: it's the 12th day of the 2nd moon of the 7th year of Hsien Feng."

Kool-Aid broke the silence. “Say what?"

“Hsien Feng was a Chinese emperor in the Ch'ing Dynasty."

“Say what!"

“In the 1850's, I think. Or, thereabouts. Anyway, he wants to know if we're gods."

Kool-Aid spoke to the old man. “I'm God; these assholes are impostors! Translate that!"

“I told him we're men from across the sea. So he wants to know which tribute-bearing nation we're from and if it's true our emperor is a woman."

Despite his pills, Kool-Aid's laugh was tinged with nervous anxiety. “Ask him what kind of acid he's on and if he wants to sell some."

“He must mean Queen Victoria. That means he thinks we're English."

Greenwood spoke while glaring at the Asians. “I say we waste the fuckers."

Larson spoke. “Yeah, sure; destroy what you don't understand, right, Greenwood?"

“Always worked for me."

Fox took a musket from one of the Chinese and looked it over. He looked out at the other muskets the men were holding. “These are flintlocks! And matchlocks! And this is a wheelock! These are antiques! They're beautiful!"

The boy moved closer to Kool-Aid but seemed almost hypnotized while looking at his black skin. He hesitated then cautiously reached out and touched the back of Kool-Aid's hand then looked at his own finger.

Kool-Aid then hesitantly reached out and touched the back of the boy's hand, then looked at his own finger and gave an expression of mock horror. The boy was torn between fear and laughter. Finally, overcoming his fear, he laughed. “Mastah, you numba one first chop! How you dooa? My chin-chin you werry fine day."

“Huh? 'How I dooa?' What planet you from?"

As the boy reached out his hands, Kool-Aid reached out to shake but the boy held onto his own hands, and “chin-chined" Kool-Aid traditional Chinese style, holding one fist inside the other and bowing. Kool-Aid was left with his hand out and his mouth open.

“Mastah, no savvy my?"

“What language is he talking now?"

“Pidgin English."

“Pidgin what?"

The boy took a step closer to Hardbones. “How many piecey man hab got come this side?"

Fox could tell that Hard Bones was becoming excited. “Six piecey man hab got come this side!"

“What for you makee so fashion come China in flying dragon ship?"

“Uh, no savvy. Muchee no savvy how we makee so fashion come China!"

“OK." The boy turned to Kool-Aid. “Mastah, my tink you numba one first chop! My chin-chin you, one good flen, take care for you."

“He wants to be your friend, Kool-Aid."

“Yeah, I think I'm gonna be needin' some."

“My God, pidgin English is how the foreigners in China communicated with the Chinese for hundreds of years! And he speaks it!"

Fox spoke the thought for all of them. “So what exactly are you saying?"

“We're really here!"

Greenwood and Wizard spoke simultaneously. “Where?"

“In the nineteenth century! In the Ch'ing Dynasty!"

Kool-Aid stared at the boy's baggy clothes, shaved head, thin thigh-length queue and cotton shoes. “Fuck me silly with an Easter lily!"

“Somehow we've flown into the past! I knew that storm wasn't natural!"

Fox shook his head. “Boo coo (beaucoup) dinky dau!"

Wizard nodded. “Roger that, son."

Hard Bones looked over the chopper. “Gentlemen, wherever we are, we're not goin' anywhere if we don't get this chopper fixed."

Wizard was happiest when he had something to fix. Something concrete he could put his hands to and work on. “Right. So maybe we should stow the bullshit and get to work. When and if we get it fixed then we can jawjack about where we are and when we are."

Hard Bones gestured in the direction of the trees. “Kool-Aid, you and Fox check out the perimeter. And watch your asses. Wizard will check on the chopper. I'll interrogate these people and try to make some sense of this."

“What about me?" Larson asked. His Marine Corps belt buckle glittered in the sun as if the light came from within.

Hard Bones grinned. Something about Larson's incongruous innocence and smooth boyish features made him smile whenever he dealt with him. “You, Larson? You I want to check out the pagoda. Highest point around here. That'll be our observation post."

Larson gestured toward the prisoner. “What about him?"

“Secure your prisoner temporarily to the skid. Fox, check out the baggage compartment. There’s military gear in there we can use. Not to mention C-rations."

Suddenly, one of the Chinese noticed the dragon painting on the nose of the helicopter and excitedly called to the others. They approached the nose and immediately fell to their hands and knees, this time kowtowing the “dragon" helicopter itself.

“Oh, shit," Kool-Aid said. “Here we go again."

As some of the Chinese searched under the chopper, one asked Hard Bones a question in mandarin.

“Now what?” Kool-Aid asked.

“They want to know if it’s male or female.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I been wondrin’ about that chick you was with on Patpong last R&R. ‘Cause her Adam’s apple was-”

Kool-Aid avoided Hard Bone’s kick just in time.

 

Dean Barrett

© Dean Barrett. All rights reserved by the author.
(ISBN 0-9788888-0-4, Village East Books Florida)
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If you enjoyed this second chapter of Dean's 'Dragon Slayer' you can easily purchase it here at  Amazon.com: http://astore.amazon.com/thailandstori-20/detail/0978888804/105-6171256-4543606 

And also here at Buy.com online: http://www.buy.com/prod/dragon-slayer-three-novellas/q/loc/106/204572605.html 

Here's a link to a review by Ann Nongsue from the Chiangmai Mail: http://www.chiangmai-mail.com/243/bmm.shtml

To learn more about the author and his other great books go here to his website: http://www.deanbarrettthailand.com/welcome_to.htm

Dean's books can also be purchased at the many fine Bookazine Book stores around Thailand.