Saigon Station III: Kill Zone (Black Ops Vietnam Book 9) by Eric Meyer

Author:Eric Meyer [Meyer, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Swordworks
Published: 2025-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

He spent a lousy day. Unable to visit Lin, he’d spent hour after hour thinking about what the family was going through, and it wouldn’t be good. They’d be putting them through hell, and if they followed the usual procedure, they’d spent several days subjecting them to brutal torture. Until they believed they’d got everything out of them they knew and execute them. Usually with a bullet to the back of the head, the time-honored method employed by the Communists. They were starting to pack up at the end of the day, and the atmosphere hung heavy inside the office. Each thinking the same thing, pitying what those people going through, yet unable to do anything to save them.

“How about we pay a visit to the bar along the street and have a drink?”

They both gave him suspicious glances. Bernard said he looked like hell after the amount of booze he’d put away the previous night. Du said he needed to get home because his wife was cooking a special meal. “My in-laws are planning to visit this evening, so she would’ve cooked up something nice.”

Smith cocked an eyebrow. “Your in-laws? Are you sure that’s what you prefer?”

After a slight pause he smiled. “Maybe I’ll stay for a couple of drinks.”

They left the office and locked up. On the way to the bar, they passed the earthmover that’d stopped work for the day, and the engine was mercifully silent. Bernard mumbled they should be thankful they didn’t work through the night, otherwise they’d never get any sleep. He smiled. “The earthmover belongs to the government, so I doubt anybody would complain. They’ll just pretend it wasn’t happening.”

He was probably right. They entered the bar and found a dark corner where they could drink and talk without being watched or overheard by government snoops. There wasn’t much to say. The trickle of inquiries like they’d had from the day before had dried up. As if the cops had once again posted a man to persuade prospective clients to go elsewhere. He guessed that would be Khiem, or while he was in hospital his tamed gofer, David Cong. Punishing him and punishing the Station for the fuck up inside Cambodia. No way would they blame themselves. Not in this lifetime.

He was halfway through his third beer, and Du was telling a story about when his squadron had attacked reinforced concrete revetments guarding a dozen MiGs on an airfield just north of the DMZ. He chuckled.

“They never saw it coming. We got word they were planning to take part in a big raid on Tan Son Nhut and Bien Hoa airfields, so the brass ordered a pre-emptive strike on the base just across the DMZ. We hit them with every missile we had. When they were gone, we went in for second and third passes using cannon. Damn, you should’ve seen the men on the ground run, and when we flew away, all we left behind was heaps of broken concrete in the middle of a smoking ruin.

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