Chiun stopped in his tracks. "Yes," he said softly. "I have it. I have it perfectly."
Hours later, a Hind gunship orbited by. It flew higher than the last few, which had all gone down in flames under the concentrated fire of their AK-47's. The tanks had long ago stopped turning up in the road. Not all the machine-gun fire in the world could affect them, but each tank that had gotten in their way had been confronted by the Master of Sinanju. Treads had been popped, cannon bores bent double, and hatches smashed shut. They rolled past each piece of wreckage with impunity.
"Looks like he ain't sticking around," Youngblood told Remo.
Remo watched the gunship disappear beyond some hills. "He couldn't have missed spotting the elephant," he replied. "We'd better get on the move again." They pushed south along the completely deserted road. Not even the occasional conical-hatted farmer could be seen.
Dick Youngblood shoved his head into the driver's pit.
"They know we're on this road," he whispered. "No doubt about it."
"What do you think?"
"There's two ways this could go. One, they've given up and are lettin' us go. The other is that they're massing somewhere ahead for an ambush."
"The Vietnamese don't know about giving up."
"Well, there you go," Youngblood said quietly. "Been real nice knowing you, Remo."
"I've come a long way for you," Remo said. "I'm getting you home."
"Well, I've been talkin' to your gook friend and he's sayin' there may not be room on the sub for all of us. He keeps lookin' at me when he says that. Why's he doing that?"
"He's not a gook, and don't worry about Chiun. I can handle him."
"Yeah, while you're handling him, who's going to be handling whatever the Vietnamese are getting ready to throw at us?"
Remo grinned. "I thought I'd leave that little detail to you."
Youngblood slapped Remo on the back boisterously. "Always said you were a generous man. Glad to see that much ain't changed."
They rolled on through the night, pausing only to allow Chiun and his elephant to catch up. The sound of the tank's noisy motor beat down on Remo's concentration. He ran with the hatches open because the oil stink was getting to his sensitive nostrils.
Every few hours a helicopter gunship prowled above. But they were unmolested. It was very ominous.
The tangy scent of seawater crept into the air just as dawn was breaking. Remo began to worry. They were nearing their destination, if Chiun's directions were on the mark, but there had been no sign of the Master of Sinanju in many hours.
Remo sent the tank around a long bend in the road that ran through the middle of a rubber-tree plantation. A figure stepped out onto the road and cocked a thumb like a hitchhiker.
"Chiun!"
"Who else?" asked the Master of Sinanju, leaping onto the moving tank. The Amerasians squatting on the superstructure moved aside to make room for him. "Where's the elephant?" Remo wondered.
"We took a shortcut and I saw danger so I sent him ahead."
"Bait, eh?"
"Remo! Your memory may not know me, but I would think your judgment would tell you that this sweet face would never harm a worthy animal."
"Okay," Remo said. "What are we getting into?"
"Many soldiers, many tanks. And the helicopter things."
"How many?"
"Many, many."
"That's a lot."
"They are on the beach we seek. I do not know about the submarine. I could not see it."
"Let me know when we're getting close," Remo said grimly.
"You have a plan, perhaps?"
"I have an objective. I'm going to reach it, plan or no plan."
The Master of Sinanju sniffed disdainfully.
"Rambo talk again. It will take years to purge you of it, and I am already an old man. Fie!"
"No," Remo said. "Semper Fi."
Dick Youngblood's voice sang out from the tank's innards. "Do or die!"
Chapter 22
The defense minister ordered the Hind gunship pilot to make a final pass over the slow-moving T-54 tank. It looked like such an ineffectual object, with tiny figures clinging to its superstructure.
Obviously, he thought, it was not the machine, but the men inside. He ordered the pilot to return to the staging area.
It would have been a beautiful stretch of white beach but it swarmed with soldiers in fatigues and a ranked mass of T-72 tanks and a few of the older T-64's. They were lined up at the shore, tread-to-tread, their smoothbore cannon all pointing in the same direction. Inland. Toward the shore end of the road.
In one way, the assembled might of the Vietnamese Army was beautiful in the defense minister's eyes as he stepped from the settling gunship and marched under the watchful eyes of the tank commanders, his holstered sidearm slapping his thigh.
General Trang snapped a salute in greeting.
"They are less than a kilometer away," the defense minister told him.
"They have no chance, as you can see."
"They have cut a scar down half the countryside already. Do not underestimate them-especially when they are close to their objective."
"And what objective is that? I see no rescue craft."
"Our patrol boats report sonar soundings in the bay. Very large sonar soundings."