Under Attack (Battleground Vietnam Book 3) by Eric Meyer

Author:Eric Meyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vietnam war
Publisher: Swordworks Books

Chapter Seven

We kept going. Riding the motorcycles through the torrential rain, blinded by the downpour and constantly struggling with the handlebars to keep upright. We rode for an hour, and when we stopped for a break, I had a chance to have a good look at Le. Although her hair and face were soaking wet, some of the freshness had returned to her expression. When we got her out of the cell she looked like she’d take a long time to recover, but it was a testament to her inner strength. She looked that much stronger, and the previous day blood had leaked from her wounds on her face, but now the rain had washed it away. She looked tough and determined. Which was good, because with what we had in mind, we’d need toughness and determination in spades.

Keeping the motorcycles on the track was like wrestling with two giant squids. The handlebars wrenching at our arms, the wheels constantly skidding on wet mud, and several times they went sideways, and we fell into the mud. Each time we righted the machines and started again, but the journey was slow, much too slow. I estimated we were making less than ten miles an hour, and at times it was even slower. The rain beat down, and it was like riding through a waterfall. As the day warmed, mist rose from the wet ground, making visibility even more difficult.

By midday I was seriously considering taking a break. We weren’t getting far, and the chances were we’d have a serious spill and do fatal damage to the machines. That was when I spotted a village in the distance. Not the town I’d hoped for, just a collection of mean hooches at the side of the track, but we were so wet and miserable, the merest chance of shelter from the driving rain and maybe some hot food seemed like the most desirable thing on earth.

Ray looked back and nearly lost control, but I nodded, and he pulled into the center of the tiny village. There was no one around, and up close it looked even more derelict than from a distance. I was still in the saddle, looking around and wondering why there was no one around. Maybe no one lived there. I know I wouldn’t have wanted to live in such a shithole, so when a dark figure suddenly appeared in the doorway of the hut right next to me, I nearly fell off the bike.

He didn’t look happy he just stared at us with a face that was cold and hostile. He took one step out from his hut, glared at the girls riding on the rear seats, and looked at the M-14s we carried slung across our backs. Next he glanced down at the pistols in the holsters, and I had the uneasy feeling he was assessing whether the amount of hardware we were packing was more than he and his pals could handle. One thing was for sure; he wasn’t about to put out the welcoming mat.

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