The driver said nothing. He raised his hands.
The officer manning the cannon hadn't noticed Remo. Covering the driver, Remo slipped up behind the weapons officer and slammed his face into the cannon breech with the butt of his rifle. Then he turned his attention back to the driver.
The driver's face was a mask of sweat.
"I don't want to kill you, pal," Remo told him, "although I'm not sure why I shouldn't."
"Khoung! Khoung!" the driver protested.
Remo knocked him over the head. He yanked him out of the bucket and got behind the lateral controls. Remo peered through the periscope. He had a clean shot at the tank up ahead. But even if he got it, the lead tank was in a position to return fire. The helicopters were still a factor too.
Remo decided to wait. The first tank clanked out of the road crater as the second flopped into it. Remo sent the tank inching ahead cautiously. He wasn't sure of his next move.
The helicopters decided him. One by one, they settled onto the road on the other side of Lan's tank, blocking it.
"Okay," Remo said. "Time to rock-and-roll."
Remo dug around in back. He found a crate of hand grenades and started stuffing them into his pockets. He came out through the driver's hatch and slipped to the ground.
Remo still wore the ill-fitting Vietnamese khaki and one of their avocado pith helmets. He walked casually up behind the other tanks, slouching to make himself appear shorter. He pulled the pin on a grenade and just as casually tossed it into the lap of the second tank's turret gunner.
The gunner screeched in fright and jumped off the turret. That was a big mistake. He should have tossed the grenade and jumped into the safety of the tank. Remo shot him. The grenade went off inside the tank.
The sound was muffled, but the smoke boiled out of every aperture like floating serpents.
Next, Remo jumped to the crater and tossed several grenades. He lay flat on the crater's lip. The concussions came like a string of exploding firecrackers, but much louder.
There were shouts from the lead and remaining tank. Remo clambered into the crater, rushed past the fiery mess that was the second T-72, and lifted his head above the crater wall. The turret was slowly turning around. The machine-gunner was sweeping his perforated gun muzzle back and forth, his eyes staring stupidly under his pith helmet.
Remo took his head off with a short, concentrated burst and followed the bullets out of the crater. He was on the tank in an instant, pulling pins and popping grenades past the slumping, headless corpse.
The grenades went off. Brief flashes of fire spat from the ports. Remo was already into the roadside trees. He was taking fire from the Land Rover. The helicopters were powering up again.
"Lan!" Remo called. "Don't let them take off!"
Lan came up out of the turret and opened up. She had a rifle cradled under each arm. She braced herself against the hatch well and set the muzzles on the rim to steady them. She fired them alternately. Her body shook with the bone-rattling recoil.
Not designed for ground fighting, the gunships never had a chance. Their main rotors spun lazily, but the machines didn't lift off. The pilots were either wounded or running for their lives.
Meanwhile, Remo got behind some trees, working toward the Land Rover crew. He was back on single firing. He picked off the driver. Another soldier was flat on the ground, firing from under the chassis. Remo ducked behind sheltering trees, pulled a grenade pin, and rolled it along the road. It hit the left-front tire and rebounded onto the road.
The soldier under the vehicle saw the grenade lying mere inches in front of his face. He had no shelter, no time to wriggle out from under the vehicle so he did the only thing left to him.
He struggled to reach the grenade with his hand. No doubt he hoped to lob it back at Remo. But there wasn't time. His shaking fingers touched the grenade, upsetting it. It popped out of reach. Then it exploded.
A piece of shrapnel embedded itself in a tree not far from Remo. It hit with a meaty thunk. Remo sat with his hands clamping his helmet down tightly.
When Remo looked out again, the Land Rover was burning. Something like a charred ham smoked under it.
But there was no sign of Captain Spook.
Remo looked frantically. There was no third body near the vehicle. Captain Spook had been in the Land Rover. Maybe he was in the trees on the other side of the road. But Remo saw nothing move.
"Lan! You see anyone else?"
Up in the turret, Lan swung around. Her face was a smear of dirt and sweat.
"No!" she shouted back.
"There's one running loose. Keep your eyes peeled."
"Keep what?"
"Just watch! We're not out of this yet."
Remo waited, crouching. Silence returned to the road. Insects resumed their multitudinous sounds. Nothing moved other than flame and the nervous twitching of the dead and dying.
Finally Remo decided to make for the tank. He retreated into the bush, worked forward, and flashed across the road.
Seeing him coming, Lan laid down covering fire. She shot at nothing and everything. She disappeared into the tank only after-Remo dived into the driver's hatch.
Remo was breathing hard when he got behind the laterals.
"Button it up!" he panted. "We gotta get out of here. Fast!"
"Why?" Lan asked as she dogged her hatch shut. "You kill them all."
"Not him," said Remo. "Not Captain Spook. He vanished again."
"Who?"
"The NVA officer I killed. Back in the war. I saw him again. He's out there."
Remo sent the tank rumbling forward. It tipped as it slid down into the far, unobstructed crater.
"I think we can push those choppers aside and make a break for it," he observed.
"They will send more."
"Don't get discouraged," Remo said. "We've been doing pretty good so far." His breathing was more regular now. He wiped dirt off his forehead.
"Then why you look so scared?" Lan asked, jamming fresh clips into two rifles.
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Not true. You fear Captain Spook. I see it on your face."