The Trash Haulers by Richard Herman Read Free Book Online Page A

soldiers trying to destroy Se Pang.”
    Dinh stiffened at the number. He was not a fool and knew what that number meant, even for the People’s Army of Vietnam. “Where did you get that number?”
    “I counted them,” she replied. She let it sink in. “May I offer this? Why doesn’t General Dong himself issue the order for another attack? Is it because he knows what the Americans can do, and if the attack again failed would the political costs be too high? Is that why he ordered you to solve the problem?” She fell silent, her eyes fixed on Dinh’s face.
    A little tick played at the corner of Dinh’s right eye. “Are you suggesting that General Dong needs a scapegoat?”
    “The Colonel can answer that question much better than me,” she answered, throwing it back at Dinh. She had made her point, and the tick at the corner of Dinh’s eye grew more pronounced.
    Dinh had survived in the cutthroat world of Vietnamese politics by playing one side against the other, but now he was the other side. He ran the options through his mental abacus, subtracting and adding the variables that spelled success or failure. “Today, the first day of Tet, is the day we launch phase two of Tong Cong Kich – Tong Khoi Ngia . This is the General Offensive, the general uprising we have been planning for years. We are attacking the American pirates and their worthless allies on hundreds, thousands, of fronts. They are being overwhelmed and will not be able to send their aircraft, or reinforcements of any kind to Se Pang. It is only eight kilometres away, and you will attack at first dark. Victory will be ours!”
    *
    I Corps, South Vietnam
    Tanner ran the numbers as they headed for the fuel dump, guesstimating distance versus fuel remaining. It was going to be tight and they were pushing the envelope. Flying with a new crew was always dicey at first, even under normal conditions. But this was far from an average day, and he had to find out exactly who he was flying with. He knew Tony Perkins was fresh out of helicopter training at Fort Rucker, Alabama, with barely 200 hundred hours flying time – just enough to get him killed. It was the job of the older heads to teach him how to really fly, and given time, the baby-faced pilot might make it. But the crew chief and medic were totally unknown. “Listen up. With full fuel, we can just make Firebase Lonzo and make it back to a fuel dump. But it will be tight. How’s the machine?”
    The crew chief answered. “She’s good, Mr. Tanner. She flies by the numbers, fuel consumption on the good side.”
    “Sounds good,” Tanner replied. “By the way, what’s your handle?” In the rush of launching he had not seen the crew chief’s name tag.
    “Specialist First Class Rick Myers.”
    “Been in-country long, Myers?”
    “I’m a short timer. Eighteen days and a wake-up, then I’m gone, back to the land of the big PX.”
    “Medic,” Tanner asked, “what about you?”
    “Specialist First Class Hal Collins. This is my second in-country.” A second time in Vietnam meant that Collins was a volunteer, and probably a “lifer” who planned to make the Army a career. Tanner doubted that either man was over twenty years old, but both were highly experienced. Where do we find them? Tanner wondered.
    Tanner had a visual on the fuel dump and could make out the black amoeba-like fuel bladder, the pump, and four small PSP landing pads, one in each quadrant. “Okay, let’s do this one by the numbers. We need five hundred pounds of fuel. In and out in five minutes. Can you make that happen?”
    “Can do,” Myers promised.
    Tanner headed for the nearest pad and gently set the Huey down. He kept the engine running for a hot refuel. Without a word, Myers pulled the release pin to Tanner’s chicken plate and slid it back before following Collins out of the aircraft. Collins closed the right door, exposing the fuel cap, as Myers ran for the pump. Collins quickly connected the grounding lines to