‘As much as I’ll ever be.’
They’d only been in Vietnam a few weeks, but already Church could see the horrors they’d witnessed etched into Gabe’s once-innocent face. His fears for Marcy had turned him into a different person. No longer the laid-back hippie with the JFK fixation, he made contacts, wheeling and dealing and bribing military men jaded by the rigours of war, doing anything he could to find leads to the Libertarian’s whereabouts.
The intelligence had been sketchy, but there had been a few references to spiders in Vietcong transmissions coming out of what had been known as the Iron Triangle, a highly dangerous area of forty square miles bordered by the Saigon River to the west and the Thi Tinh River to the east.
And so Gabe had spent several hundred dollars buying them places on a small incursion into the heart of the area: just twenty-seven soldiers and a handful of men from the 1st Engineer Battalion to investigate some of the 1,000 miles of Vietcong tunnels that crisscrossed the area.
‘The mirror’s still working?’ Gabe asked quietly.
Out of sight of the soldiers in the helicopter, Church showed Gabe the artefact he had retrieved from the Market of Wishful Spirit. A bright light glowed in the centre.
The choppers came down one by one in a clearing in a dense part of the jungle that had not been razed to the ground during Operation Cedar Falls the previous year. The troops piled out, keeping their heads low beneath the whirling blades. Church and Gabe were amongst the last on the ground.
‘Dust-off in six hours!’ the captain yelled before the helicopters took off into the haze.
The captain was college-educated and had a decent nature, but couldn’t mask his belief that he was out of his depth. Like many officers, he hadn’t had the chance to build up any experience before being thrown into the thick of combat. ‘Stay close. Don’t wander off the track,’ he said to Church and Gabe. ‘This area is rife with booby traps. We’re supposed to have cleared out the VC, but nobody believes that. There’ll probably be snipers.’ He eyed his men, the majority of whom were not yet out of their teens and as green as he was. ‘We’ve been tasked to head south. There’s been some kind of vague intel that Hanoi’s planning an offensive. That’s all crap. It’s Tet. There’s a ceasefire every year so the Vietnamese can observe their holiday.’
Church kept a poker face: he couldn’t reveal that the Tet Offensive in 1968 would be the turning point in the war. The all-out military assault by the North Vietnamese Communists finally showed the American public they weren’t winning the war and brought despair to the US homeland.
‘If they’ve been told to head south, we need to go north,’ Church said to Gabe.
‘You think the Enemy knows we’re here?’
‘I don’t think the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders cares where we are any more, but their surrogates in the military and the CIA aren’t going to let anybody get too close to their operation.’
The point man led the way into the bush and the rest of the troops fanned out behind, rifles at the ready.
‘If I get out of this alive with Marcy I’m going to ask her to marry me,’ Gabe said.
Church looked away so Gabe wouldn’t see his belief that it was a futile hope.
‘Will you be the best man?’ Gabe asked.
‘Sure.’ So his answer didn’t sound too flat, he added, ‘I’d be honoured.’
It was hard going through the thick undergrowth. The heat was merciless and the tension from constantly searching the shadowy vegetation for enemy soldiers was intense.
After a long period of silent contemplation, Gabe said, ‘I still don’t get why we’re here.’
‘Tom has a theory. The earth energy has nodes where it’s stronger — Avebury and Stonehenge in England, Krakow in Poland. The Fabulous Beasts are drawn to these sites.’
‘Why? Because they feed on the energy?’
‘They feed on it … they are it, to a degree. It’s difficult to explain. There’s a powerful tradition of dragons in the Far East, linked to the lines of force that run through the Earth. Tom thinks there might be some kind of source here — a place where the Blue Fire is created, or comes into our world, or something.’
‘So it would be more powerful, or pure, and it would attract more of those things?’
Church shrugged. ‘It’s a theory.’
After a few miles they broke for a rest. The soldiers sat around smoking and talking. Church and Gabe passed the time with the captain and a couple of engineers, the so-called ‘Tunnel Rats’. They had the worst job in Vietnam, making safe the booby-trapped, vermin-infested tunnel system of the Vietcong.
One minute the jungle was filled with only the sound of insects and birds, the next it was torn apart by machine-gun fire and explosives. Panic hit instantly. The soldiers were up and firing randomly into the trees while their friends were cut down around them. The captain yelled for order, but there was too much gunfire for him to be heard.
In the nozzle bursts amongst the trees, Church could see the Vietcong, like ghosts. They were everywhere. The captain saw them too and gave the order to retreat. Some heard, some didn’t. In the disarray that followed, a grenade blast tore apart three men.
And then everyone was running, Church and Gabe amongst them, heads down, pounding wildly into the thick bush. Sizzling lead streamed all around. Men fell, though it was impossible to tell if the shots came from friend or foe.
Finally they reached a place where the gunfire sounded like distant rain. Gabe was there, the captain, an engineer and two soldiers. The captain was shaking. ‘We have to regroup,’ he said uncertainly.
Church checked the mirror. The light in it was blinding.
‘Over here.’ One of the remaining soldiers, a grizzled veteran of twentytwo, was indicating something hidden in the undergrowth. Church pulled aside the fronds to reveal ancient stonework covered with weather-worn carvings. Half-buried at the foot was an image of a snake eating its own tail.
‘Some kind of ruins.’ The captain pointed out other stonework scattered amongst the underbrush.
They found large pieces of rubble that appeared to be the remains of a complex of buildings: an arch, a column carved with ferocious faces with snakes for hair and the stumps of walls now overgrown with creepers.
‘This place is spooky,’ said the veteran who had found the site.
Amongst the ruins, no birds sang and no insects buzzed. The air was flat and sound deadened. It wasn’t an unpleasant atmosphere, but it was eerie enough to put everyone even more on edge.
‘Got a tunnel,’ the engineer called from the skeletal remains of a large room. He pointed out a cover made of interwoven branches and creepers.
‘Okay,’ the captain said, distracted. ‘Do it.’
The engineer checked around the trap door for booby traps and then threw it open. A short drop of around four feet opened into a tunnel running east-west. The Tunnel Rat dropped in, flopped to his belly and wriggled along one of the branches, which was barely a foot and a half high.
They waited around the entrance as the shadows grew longer. In the silent atmosphere, time stretched interminably. After an hour and a half, the captain said, ‘He’s not coming back.’
The words hung heavy in the air until the veteran soldier said, ‘Captain, maybe we should head towards the dust-off point? Any other survivors might already be there.’
The captain nodded wearily; in the growing twilight he looked twenty years older.
It was Gabe who first heard the movement in the undergrowth. He tugged on Church’s arm. ‘There’s someone out there.’
The captain and the two soldiers had their rifles at the ready. ‘Don’t shoot until you get identification. Might be our guys,’ the captain said.
Church peered into the gloom and saw what appeared to be a long shadow lengthening towards them.
‘What the hell is that?’ the captain said in a dead voice.
The shadow rolled over bushes, around trees, submerging the stones of the ruins. Church realised what it was before it washed over the lip of the wall closest to them and was already pushing Gabe towards the tunnel entrance.