"Do? He's going to go to the camp commander and they're going to drink rice wine and laugh at us until the monsoon season comes. What do you think he's going to do?"
"I don't know," Remo said slowly. "I saw him turn an AK-47 to powder with his bare hands."
Dick Youngblood sat staring at the dimly lit profile of Remo Williams, his bulldog face cocked quizzically. "You know what I think?" he said at last.
"What?"
"I think I'm asleep and you're my nightmare for tonight. I'm going to catch some shut-eye-even though we both know I'm already asleep. I just hope you and that crazy old gook are gone when I wake up."
Chapter 20
The first sound wasn't long in coming. A thatched hut crashed. Remo was unable to see what was happening, but the noise was unmistakable. Bamboo splintered. Dry roof grass crackled as if on fire.
There was yelling, panic, and Vietnamese voices raised in shrill confusion. And in the midst of it all, a bellowing animal sound.
Dick Youngblood jumped to Remo's side. "What's happening. What's going on?"
"I don't know," Remo said. He moved from vent hole to vent hole, trying to see.
Knifelike fingernails suddenly appeared in a cluster of bullet holes near Remo's face. He recoiled.
"Uncle Ho again!" he cried.
The fingernails slashed down. The sound of steel being sheared hurt their eardrums. Youngblood scurried to the furthest corner of the conex.
"I don't believe what I'm seeing," he said.
One section of the conex wall hung in strips. The strips were swiftly peeled back, opening up a man-size hole.
A wrinkled parchment face poked into the conex interior.
"What are you waiting for?" Chiun inquired. "Come." Remo didn't hesitate.
"You coming?" he asked Youngblood.
"I know I'm dreaming."
"You can wake up later."
"Or you can die now," Chiun said sharply. "Come."
Youngblood crawled out of the conex, saying, "I read somewhere back in the world that if you die in a dream you're dead when you wake up, so I figure I got nothing to lose."
"This way," said Remo.
The camp was in a panic. Surprisingly, there was no shooting.
"What did you do, Ho?" Remo asked.
"The name is Chiun. I am Master of Sinanju."
"And I'm the King of Siam," Youngblood said.
"You are going to make what I must do easier," Chiun warned.
He led them into the bush. Remo threw himself to the ground. He scrambled back to see through the reeds.
"What's that you said, gook?" Youngblood asked.
"Nothing," Chiun told him. He turned to Remo. "What are you waiting for? We must be gone from this place."
"Lan's still in there."
"My men too," Youngblood added. "I ain't leavin' 'em, either. "
"Agreed," said Remo.
"Not agreed," said Chiun. "I rescued you. Therefore you must do as I say."
"I don't remember agreeing to that. You, Dick?"
"Nah, the old gook is crazy anyway. See that barracks hut? Think we can get to it?"
"Maybe. All the commotion seems to be on the other side. Sounds like a tank run amok."
"Tanks don't sound like that thing. You're hearing an animal. "
"It is," Chiun said. "What is?" Remo asked. Suddenly a spotlight was turned on. It showed a rearing gray monster. A Vietnamese soldier was scooped up by a snake of flesh and smashed against a wall. A hulking mass descended on a thatched hut. It fell like a house of cards.
"Holy shit!" Youngblood breathed. "That's a fucking elephant. "
"Not an elephant," Chiun said with satisfaction. "It is the elephant."
"What elephant is that?" Youngblood asked, wide-eyed.
"The elephant of surprise you Americans always speak of. "
"What'd I tell you?" Remo said.
"I don't want to hear it. Listen, we gotta get us some weapons. What do you say?"
"I'm game."
"Yes," Chiun said sternly. "You are both dead ducks if you blunder ahead. Wait here, I will find your friends."
"Who put you in charge?" Remo asked, turning around.
There was no reply. Remo nudged Youngblood with an elbow.
"What?"
"Look behind you," Remo suggested.
Youngblood looked. There was no sign of the old Oriental. He groaned.
"Not that spook shit again. I hate this."
"Look," Remo said.
"No way. I ain't looking at nothing. I'm dreaming." But Dick Youngblood looked anyway. The old Oriental was inside the camp, calmly walking toward the main cluster of buildings. He paused and cupped his hands over his thin lips. A weird cry was emitted.
The elephant trumpeted a reply and lurched away from the camp. It crashed into the bush, its long trunk slapping from side to side. It moved with unbelievable speed.
A pack of Vietnamese soldiers followed it with sticks.
"Why don't they just shoot it?" Remo wondered aloud.
"You kiddin', man? We're in Cambodia. An elephant is like a horse to these slopes. He's a pack animal and a tow truck rolled into one, and if he starts eating too much, you can always shoot him and eat off him for a month."
"They're not going to catch him anytime soon," Remo pointed out. "Let's go."
"I'm with you. Semper Fi, do or die."
They charged out of the bush and sought the lee of the long barracks building. The camp was starting to quiet down.
"I'll go first," Youngblood said, peering around the corner.
"If you see a Vietnamese girl with green eyes and freckles, she's friendly," Remo said, pushing him off. Youngblood's legs churned. For the first time, Remo had a good look at him in bright light. He was heavy. A big man whose muscles had been softened by time and confinement. He looked old. Remo looked at his own smooth hands, wondering how they could belong to someone who was Youngblood's age.
No time to think about that now, Remo thought. He got ready to run.
A safety clicked off directly behind him and Remo felt the flesh over his spine writhe like a snake.
"Chu hoti!" the voice of Captain Dai Said. It was high-pitched, nervous.
Recognizing an order to surrender, Remo turned slowly, his hands lifting.
"Looks like it's you and me again," Remo said resignedly. Whatever happened, he was going to buy Dick Youngblood enough time to do what he had to.
Captain Dai Chim Sao knew how to make a man talk. A woman would be easy. He had had the bui doi girl, Lan, taken to his office. Her hands were tied behind her back and a bamboo pole inserted under her crooked arms, where it would stretch the shoulder joints in their sockets. That alone was painful enough to make some men talk without further torture.
The girl Lan required more.
Captain Dai used his cigarette. First on the soft palms of her hands. Then on the soles of her feet. He stood behind her, toying with her growing sense of expectation. She couldn't see him apply the smoldering butts. The psychological advantage was enormous.
The girl cried and whimpered. She bit her lips to bloody pulp. She refused to beg. Like the detestable Phong. Once, she swore, and he slapped her face. She spat at him and he slapped her again. Just like Phong. She would pay like Phong too.
It didn't take long to break her. And it was a simple thing that did it. He set her long hair afire with a lighter. She screamed. Dai threw water over her head. What remained of her hair smoldered. Her face, raw now, began to puff up.
"No," she whimpered. "No more. Please."
"My English is poor," Dai told her in Vietnamese. "My question is simple. The American said something about killing me again. What did he mean by that?"
"He told me he killed you during the war with the Americans," Lan sobbed.
"So," said Captain Dai. His eyes were like cold embers.
"I know nothing more," Lan told him through peeling lips.
Dai's eyes refocused.
"You remind me of Phong," he said cruelly.
"I know no Phong. "