The Price of Blood by Chuck Logan Read Free Book Online Page A

joke. “Check that out.” He pointed through a cloud of smoke. South of the ruined town a flight of American Hueys rocked through the air, dodging small arms fire on their landing approach .
    “Last American choppers that’ll ever be seen in Quang Tri Province,” observed Pryce philosophically .
    “ You can still make it to the landing zone,” said Trin grimly. “I’ll stay with Phil .”
    And Broker watched the three older Americans refuse to dignify Trin’s suggestion with a verbal response. They wouldn’t leave him. Or Trin. Tuna bent and fussed with his explosives. The others stood guard. There was a nervous moment when some infantrymen came tumbling over the rubble. Trin’s men. The only organized resistance left in the town .
    LaPorte, Pryce, Tuna, and Broker were all that was left of the advisory team assigned to the South Vietnamese regiment commanded by Nguyen Van Trin .
    Now the American advisors were being airlifted, leaving the South Vietnamese to survive as best they could. There was still time for LaPorte, Pryce, and Tuna to make it out .
    “Can you do it, Jimmy?” asked LaPorte .
    Tuna gnawed his lip. “It’s a tricky one.” He jammed small lumps of explosive at one end of the slab, squinting at the configuration .
    “Jesus,” muttered Broker .
    Pryce put a steady hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get you out, son.” Then he removed a French fag from the gold cigarette case he always carried in his chest pocket, lit it, and stuck it in Broker’s lips .
    Fighting in the ruined town they had all acquired a sidelong nervous aspect—heads constantly rotating, eyes sliding to the edges of their sockets. Broker had come to think of them as three stern uncles. LaPorte being the brilliant one and Pryce the older, wiser, steady one. Tuna was the dark indispensable joker, with a bag full of magic, who would give you a hot foot .
    And Trin was the strangest man Broker had ever met .
    “Okay,” said Tuna. “Now, after the bang, this hunk of shit is going to levitate two feet in the air on this end, turn ninety degrees on the fulcrum of the other end, and fall to earth three feet from your right boot .”
    “Right,” said Broker in a shaky voice because they had all taken off their flak vests and were packing them around his face and torso and crotch .
    “Young man,” LaPorte encouraged, “if you had a hard on, Jimmy could blow your left testicle past your dick without disturbing it and put it through the hole Pryce punched in the side of that tank .”
    “Absolutely,” grinned Jimmy Tuna. “But we will all step back a few paces and watch from a safe distance .”
    So what do you do when you have time to watch yourself die. You lick your dry caked lips and you whisper the Lord’s Prayer, except when you see the snaky hiss chase down the det cord fuse you shut your eyes and scream …
    The shock put both of Broker’s legs to sleep. When the smoke cleared the huge piece of cement was exactly where Jimmy said it would be. Broker reached. His testicles were still attached .
    “Now what?” asked Major Pryce as he and LaPorte lifted a dazed Broker and dragged him along, one of his arms over each of their shoulders. Trin’s men threw an infantry screen around them as they plodded toward a column of refugees and retreating ARVN soldiers .
    “What have we got left, Trin?” asked LaPorte .
    “A battalion, plus all the stragglers we can round up,” said Trin .
    “There’s some time. The fuckers are consolidating after taking the town. We have to mount a rear guard so these refugees can get south to Hue City,” said LaPorte. In the distance they all saw the flight of helicopters take to the air, lifting out the American advisors. “Pussies,” sneered LaPorte softly .
    Trin had his map out. Strung between LaPorte and Pryce, Broker watched them decide on a chokepoint: a bridge on a river a mile south of the town. And that’s exactly what they did. For twenty-four mad hours they held Highway