A blood-curdling scream, followed by more screams and shouts, came from the lower end of the village. The caged dogs barked, the roar of a truck engine broke the sleepy quiet village. Two troop-carrying trucks followed by a small armoured personal carrier stopped in the village center. General Chow stepped out and dusted himself off; he stood with his hands on his hips and watched as his troops disembarked.
An officer barked orders, the troops started searching each home. The terrified villagers were being rounded up.
“Jason, you had better leave,” Claudette warned. “Go out the back. God will protect you.”
Jason nodded and ran into the dense undergrowth. He wanted to hide and see what happened. Maybe he could help. But knew he was seriously outnumbered and was totally unaware of why General Chow had come to the village. He thought it best to take Claudette’s advice and leave while he still could.
General Chow forced the villagers to stand in three rows while he inspected them. When he came to the children he spat on the floor in disgust. He pushed a small boy out of his way so he could barge past. The boy, no more than four-years-old, fell to the ground.
Claudette objected. Within seconds she had six rifles pointed at her. “They are just children,” she pleaded.
“Children of the dust, children of the enemy,” General Chow shouted at her.
“They are also half Vietnamese, but more importantly they are just children, God's children,” she argued. The boy ran to her and hugged her legs.
“We are looking for one particular Amerasian boy. We tracked him here. He has blue eyes and blond hair. Tell us where we can find him, and you can live in piece with these disgusting vermin children,” General Chow said. His one eye glared at Claudette.
“These are all the children. The last one to join us was Huong. She has been with us for a month now.” Claudette stroked the head of an eight-year-old girl. “As God as my witness, I have seen no boy as you describe, General.”
General Chow paced up and down, staring at the children and villagers. His troops had finished the search of the village and had found nothing.
“When I catch this boy, he will be tortured and questioned. If he has been here, we will be back and will squash this village.” General Chow snarled, waving his fist as if he was squashing a bug in his hand. He gave the orders, and the troops climbed back on the trucks. Within minutes they were gone, trying to track the Amerasian blond haired boy.
Jason had only travelled two hundred meters. He was aware he was being followed. He ducked down into the undergrowth and waited, listening to his follower's feet scuffle on the ground of fallen leaves. It was two of the children he had seen them at the orphanage, a boy and girl about nine. They looked similar, and Jason thought they might be twins. After they passed and he was sure they were alone, he followed them. They turned and smiled when they saw him.
“What do you want? Why are you following me?” Jason asked. They said nothing and took his hand. Reluctantly, he went with them. They took him deeper into the jungle and stopped by a large fallen tree trunk. They moved some palm leaves that had been carefully placed to conceal a bamboo covered hole and climbed down into the ground.
Jason followed them down an underground tunnel; it was damp, muddy, and full of crawling bugs. They turned on an oil lamp and went farther down into the tunnel on hands and knees. He followed them farther along, every few paces they had to clamber over tree roots that had grown into the tunnel.
They came to an opening; Jason was amazed at how large it was. It opened up to a large room with two more passageways going off in other directions. The girl lifted a secret door in the ground and climbed down. The boy gestured Jason to follow. He felt uneasy, but he trusted the two children and followed her into the lower level. Her brother passed down the oil lamp. When the light came down, Jason gasped. The secret room was full of weapons. He examined them and found them to be mostly American.
They had been collected by the Vietnamese army and hidden. After the war, they had been forgotten. Jason picked up a semi-automatic Smith & Wesson Model 39. He looked it over. It wasn't too large for his hands. When he checked the clip he saw it was fully loaded. Jason made himself busy. He filled six more clips with 9mm bullets. Once he had finished, he picked up a holster and belt. He had to use his knife to cut a new hole so it would fit him, since it was made for an adult.
His eyes darted around the room, looking for something else. He picked up a belt full of hand grenades. It was too heavy for his slim waist so he put it over his head then scooped up an M18 Claymore mine. It came complete with a long wire and blasting cap. Jason thought it seemed simple to use. On the front it had the words ‘Front toward Enemy.’ He took two of those and packed them in his backpack. Finally, he picked up a grenade launcher. It was heavy and had no instructions on how to use it. After a few seconds stroking it, he placed it back It was too heavy and cumbersome to take into the jungle.
“This is all I need, thanks,” Jason said to the twins. They both smiled at him and laughed as they watched him struggle to squeeze back up to the room above with the grenades around his neck. “Don’t bloody laugh. If these go off in here, they'll hear the bang back in London.”
They smiled at him, not sure what he had just said to them.
Once they got outside, Jason thanked them both. He felt sorry for them. Stuck at the orphanage with little chance of being adopted and hated the local people because of their western appearance. It made Jason think about the runaway children at the Chicken Ranch. They had no idea how lucky they were to be British rather than born in Vietnam, fathered by an American who was either dead or gone home to his American life.
Chapter Twenty-One
The United States held an emergency meeting at the Pentagon. It included the US President Gerald Ford and Vice President Rockefeller along with the head of the CIA. The defence minister from Great Britain had arrived, along with his French counterpart. Gough Whitlam, the Australian Prime Minister, had also flown to the United States to attend the meeting. They sat along a forty-foot table; the Chief of Staff sat to the right of the US President. The twenty-seven men were introduced to Max Fisher.
Max marched up to a large screen. He was smartly dressed in an Italian suit. He held a large wooden ruler. The screen turned on and showed a picture of the ten captured prisoners that was taken a few days before when all ten were still alive.
“We still have some sources in South Vietnam. Our information is sketchy to say the least, but it’s all we have.’ He paused and took a breath, almost afraid to say what he was about to announce. “It is possible we have a plan B,” Max said.
“I won’t put another US soldier's foot in Vietnam,” President Ford insisted.
“No sir, you don’t have to. It’s a British foot.” Max smiled.
“What? It’s a bit late to plan anything now. We have less than twenty-four hours.” British Defence Secretary, Roy Mason, choked. His huge eyebrows rose higher than his hairline.
“We think he’s already there, Sir,” Max said the interruptions were annoying him. “Three days ago Jason Steed disappeared from Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy.” Max clicked a hand held switch and a picture of Jason wearing his Sea Cadet uniform appeared on the screen. A rumble went around the room.
“Is this a bloody joke mate? He’s a kid!” argued the Australian Prime Minister. The room fell silent when Roy got up from his chair and walked closer to the screen. He jabbed his finger back and forth towards Jason’s image and nodded before sitting back down again.
“I know of him and what he is capable of. Carry on, Fisher,” Roy said.
Max cleared his throat. “We believe he stowed away on an aircraft that flew from the military airfield across the street from the academy. Jason Steed was given a pass so he could workout with some of the security staff.”
President Ford interrupted him. “What kind of idiot gave him a security pass?” he snarled, looking at Max, who turned red, cleared his throat, and, ignori
ng the Presidents question, carried on.
“Jason Steed is an expert in martial arts. Well, to cut a long story short a boy fitting his description assaulted a guard at U-Tapao Pattaya International Airport in Thailand. He was asking questions about the prisoners. A few minutes later a small plane was stolen and—” He was interrupted again.
“You're not suggesting this boy, Steed, stole an aircraft?” scoffed President Ford.
“Yes, Sir. He holds a pilot's license.” He paused. “Let me take you back eighteen months ago. Jakarta. The Sea Cadet that recovered the missile arming cassette, freed the prisoners, and flew them out on a vintage bomber and landed it in Australia?” Max said.
“Is this the same boy?” President Ford asked, getting up from his seat and looking closer at the image on the screen.
“Yes, Sir. Since then, he has been working with SYUI and MI6, undercover of course. He was also the inside person that gave SYUI information on the Coco Bites Scandal by the Triads. However, this time, of course, he’s working alone as it’s personal. The plane he stole from U-Tapao Pattaya International Airport was forced down on a beach in South Vietnam. The pilot was never found and then another incident happened. Two days ago two Vietnamese army armoured boats were destroyed. From what information we can gather, a blond haired, blue-eyed boy aged around twelve forced the crew off one with a grenade and used it to ram another while leaving a live grenade. One man died and one is seriously injured. We believe that boy to be the very same Jason Steed, and like I said, this time it’s personal.”
“Exactly why is it personal?” Roy asked. “Isn’t this just Jason Steed doing what he does best?”
“No, sir. He’s working alone. It’s not a planned mission. It’s personal because one of the British prisoners, Lieutenant Raymond Steed, is Jason’s father.”
The room fell silent again for a few moments. Eventually, Roy stood. “The British government does not use children on missions, Fisher. He was on vacation in Jakarta with another one hundred Sea cadets when that went off. We were all lucky that the boy was there and got caught up in it.”
“And the Triad Coco Bites Mission or the more recent mission where he helped close down a child abduction gang? Did he just get caught up in that as well?” Max scoffed.
“Hmmm, good point. Well, however it seems, this time he’s on his own. What are his chances?” Roy asked.
“We have no more information. At this point, we don’t know if he is even still alive. If he is, he will be making his way towards Tay Ninh. Our information leads us to believe this is where the prison camp is.”
“How would this twelve-year-old boy, staying at one of our academies, get hold of that information?” Vice President Rockefeller asked.
Max turned and stared at Roy. “Because he asked the head of SYUI, a Mr. George Young. Apparently Mr. Young didn’t think it would do any harm and has a soft spot for the boy.”
Roy squirmed in his chair. He faked a cough before stiffing up again.
“So that’s your plan B? You have a twelve-year-old old boy working alone trying to help his dad, but for now we have no idea if he is alive, dead, or just out surfing,” the Australian Prime Minster said. “What you're saying is he’s the only chance we have of us getting the men out? What are his chances one or two percent? If you ask me, not much of a plan B.”
“This is the same boy who rescued the marines off Jakarta and crash landed the aircraft at Broomfield Airfield and managed to get the cassette back to stop the nuclear warhead going off. He is the youngest person in Britain to hold a pilot's license. He has been awarded the VC and is a black belt in various karate disciplines. He’s smart, fit, and determined. He has probably more chance than any adult agent we could send because no one would suspect him,” Fisher argued.
“Agreed, but he will leave a trail of bodies behind him. After the Coca Bites affair, the Triads swore revenge on him. Many members of the public got caught up in the crossfire. Don’t expect him to ask for his father's release nicely. He will take down anyone who gets in his way.” Roy said.
“Well gentlemen, for everyone’s sake, let’s hope he's still alive and can help the prisoners. His mission is personal and has nothing to do with the United States. If the media heard about this they would have a field day. As it is, they're calling our troops ‘Baby Killers.’ I will pray for him,” President Ford said.
“He’s British, Sir it won’t come back on us,” Fisher suggested.
“Yes it will. He’s a student at an American military academy. You know how the media would put a spin on it. Whatever the outcome, we must keep this under wraps.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jason found the journey hard work. The jungle was dense. He had to climb through palm trees, bamboo, and thick, luscious foliage. To make matters worse, a thunderstorm erupted in the sky. He was soaked to the skin. It rained so hard the ground eventually became mud. He squelched and splashed forward, pausing every now and then to examine his compass. His feet started to suffer as they rubbed against the wet leather of his boots.
The arduous journey never stopped his determination to keep going forward. Lightning lit up the sky. The crushing rain was so deafening he never heard the thunder that followed. Jason couldn’t hear anything but the crushing rain. He had a comforting thought that if he couldn’t hear anything then neither could anyone else.
He came across a small river. While looking for an easier place to cross, he noticed a large flat bottom barge tied up to the bank. He climbed on board. It was empty but sound. He guessed it was used to transport troops up and down the river during the war. As he examined it, he noticed it had no engine but was floating and quite stable. Would have been perfect if it had an engine he said to himself as he jumped off and waded across the river.
*
The nine remaining prisoners huddled together, trying to avoid the worst of the leaks in the roof. They were only given water this morning. Today, they had not even been fed the rotten mangos or maggot infested bread that they normally were given. Ray had watched the others break down one by one. Some would actually cry, some would rant and rave, others just sat quietly and prayed with tears in their eyes. Today, he struggled himself to hold it together. He was unconcerned about himself. It was his son, Jason that weighed heavy on his mind. He never told him much how proud of him he was and how much he loved him.
A rat squeaked and sheltered in the cell with the men. Ray shooed him away. “Go get out of here. Get back to your family,” Ray whispered. His attention was drawn to outside. The sound of trucks splashing through the mud road. Ray climbed to his feet and peered through the bars. General Chow had returned. He climbed out of the armoured truck and watched his troops dismount from the two troop trucks. Chow glanced across at the prison hut. He grinned at Ray. He delighted in keeping prisoners and was looking forward to the fast approaching deadline.
*
Jason broke through the dense foliage and came across the prison camp. He crouched down and took in his surroundings. His eyes darted around the small buildings. His attention drawn to a hut with bars on the front.
“Dad,” Jason said under his breath excitedly. He could see his father at the bars looking out. Jason’s heart pounded. He wanted to shout out and run over. The child in him was pulling him forward. He longed to get a hug from his dad and show him that he made it this far alone. He took a deep breath and told himself to come up with a plan. He noticed the armed guards, and although he had a pistol, he knew he would be out numbered and out gunned.
He continued to take mental notes of where the guards came and went. He thought one small hut over a stream was used as a bathroom. The guards went in and left a few minutes later. The sleeping dorm and a larger building used for preparing food. There was one hut that was solitary. He was unsure what it was until he saw General Chow.
The third guard manned the lookout post twenty feet in the air. He used binoculars to check the perimeter. Most of the time he leant back and sucked on a cigar
ette.
The pirate looking guy from the motor launch, Jason said to himself as he watched General Chow. Jason studied the area, trying to come up with a plan. He sat back against a tree hidden in the undergrowth and slept on and off for a couple of hours until it was dark. He had less than twelve hours to do something before execution of the prisoners started.
He quietly made his way down to the stream that ran between the camp and waded in. He slowly walked into the camp, keeping low. He paused, buried his hands into mud on the bank, and covered his hair and face in the brown stodgy mess. He crept up to the largest wood and bamboo hut it was raised high off the ground to keep it dry when in severe rainstorms the stream matured into a river.
He crawled on the soggy ground and slithered underneath the hut. He could feel a leech on his forearm. Ignoring it he kept moving forward. He placed a Claymore mine under the hunt and slowly made his way back out, making sure he never pulled out the wires. Further up the stream, he placed another under a hut he suspected they used for cooking and supplies.
One guard sluggishly leant against a flagpole. The red communist flag flopped down and dripped water as if in submission. Jason put his equipment down and slowly made his way towards the guard. Pausing to concentrate, he built up an adrenaline rush inside his system. His pupils darkened and his heartbeat raced. He blocked out every sound around him and focused on the unsuspecting guard. He crept forward on his toes behind his prey like a lion ready to pounce. Every muscle fiber in his agile body was fully wound and alert, ready to spring into action.
He knew he had to be quick. One sound from the guard would alert the whole prison. Jason came up behind the guard and tapped him on the shoulder. As the guard turned, he pulled his right fist back, threw it forward and, just before impact, threw his shoulder into the blow. He struck the guards windpipe. The ferocious blow smashed the guard’s trachea. He tried to gasp for air, but Jason unleashed a second blow to the poor man's nose. It was ferocious enough to knock him out cold.