The Worth of Souls Read online

  Senior Chief and Spoke each killed the two men who raced around the corner of the guarded hut. Senior Chief was the first to enter the building followed by Spoke.

  The screaming and openly startled children were the occupants along with three older women. One woman raised a knife and ran toward Senior Chief. Standing, she was barely taller than the children who were sitting on the floor.

  Spoke swung his MAC-10 and gave the trigger a nudge. Starting at her right thigh, four 45-caliber bullets screamed out, cutting the woman down. The fourth projectile smashed her face into pulp. The other two women immediately knelt down bowing as they did and remained frozen in that position.

  All of the children were cut loose from the ropes and leather straps that held them to rings on the wall and in the floor. They were then gathered at the door. Hearing the firing at the prisoner’s hut, Xiong raced from the men’s dorm turkey shoot. Spoke saw him and held fire. Xiong then spoke to the children and women in Laotian doing his best to calm them.

  Firing continued outside essentially immobilizing the men in the bachelor quarters. Some distant firing could be heard coming from the direction of the karst ridges and from the production building.

  Once the firing began to subside, Bee, Spoke, Senior Chief and Xiong ushered the children and two women out of the hut and toward the road that served as the entry and exit road to the village. All of the remaining SEALS continued to fire at the bachelor quarters and larger house. Gradually they moved back to the road to cover the egress of the children and the rest of the team.

  Approximately 400 yards down the road, the group was ushered into the jungle. Two Claymore booby trap mines were set to hopefully slow any pursuit. Trip wires were quickly arranged across the road. Vehicle or foot traffic would set them off. These mines were among the most lethal countermeasures available to the combatants in the Vietnamese War.

  -----***-----

  As the gunfire erupted from the camp, Swede and his two men, Ross and Erickson, quietly entered the storage building. The noise, even though over 300 yards away, was enough to wake the guards who were at the storage building and to compel them to watch the action in the village.

  Overhead from the karst ridges and caves, the snipers seemed to be shooting at the village as well. To prove their commitment to the cause the SKS-wielding guards fired a ten-round magazine in the general direction of the village. Lack of fire control meant they were completely ineffectual. Even though they contributed nothing to the fray, at least they were kept out of Swede’s way.

  Swede and Ross began moving bales and inserting transmitters. Erickson stood guard over them watching the door. Occasionally a shot was heard hitting the roof of the building. More than anything else, it was to cause the guards to focus on the fight and keep their own heads down.

  Swede and Ross both worked as fast and smoothly as possible. Smooth and steady. Ross was a munitions specialist with Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD) training. He had it drummed into his head that smooth was fast. He always laughed that he still had all 10 fingers so either he was good or very lucky.

  Swede then returned the bales they had moved back into position. The three prepared to exit the building. This was where it got dicey. Swede took his flashlight and aimed it at the ridge. Three dots and one dash in Morse Code was “V,” the prearranged signal for victory and accomplishment of their part of the operation.

  On the ridge, three shots rang out at the three guards of the warehouse. This forced them to keep their heads down. The three SEALS exited the building and began their crawl to safety. Total time was a mere 4 minutes 40 seconds. If everything worked as advertised, the transmitters should be sending out their tiny signals to help stop the deadly scourge of these drugs and help curb drug trafficking.

  Chapter 10

  Now What Do We Do?

  Once back to the temporary base camp, the three groups warmly congratulated each other. The next problem was what do they do with the two women and 22 children? The children were of various nationalities and only 6 or 7 understood French. Most understood Laotian but there was a young Sikh boy that struggled to understand or communicate with anyone. As a result he was hostile to all efforts to communicate.

  The first order of the day was to start the difficult hike back to the Hmong village of Muong Namla. Difficult in that most of the children had no clothes and few had any shoes. Just as in previous human trafficking rescue operations, the SEALS offered what they had to cover the girls as modestly as they could and to help the two boys at least keep a semblance of decency.

  The day’s forced march by the SEALS was increased to three days walk with these children. Bee kept muttering that just like before he felt like Father Goose. Fewer children had yet been forced into the horrors of heroin dependency in this group. There were four that were having difficulty and their small bodies would demand attention as they went through the horrible withdrawals. Both women were affected and likewise had severe withdrawals that started before they reached the Hmong village.

  When leaving the drug lords kingdom, there had been truck tire tracks fresh on the road. Spoke told Bee that if possible, they could use those tracks to at least temporarily slow down and confuse the response by lifting the children and women from the road to the underbrush along side the road at a given location. This would mimic a truck picking the group up and dashing them to safety. It might even make the drug lord think it was the Chinese that decided they wanted a bigger piece of the action and took the children. That was the hope. As they made advance toward Muong Namla, it seemed this was what was happening. Unless they used tracking dogs, the ruse probably would work. True, their spent cartridge casings would eventually give them away. But, if it slowed down pursuit even for 6-12 hours, it was worth the gamble.

  After day two, the two Hmong men ran ahead to gather villagers to assist with the group. Steadily the gaggle of children and their escorts continued eastward until they reached the Hmong villagers who arrived to help. Clothing and sandals were distributed. By the time the third day arrived, they were ready to move on at a quicker pace.

  Arriving at Muong Namla the villagers took each of the children and two women to appropriate quarters to provide clothing, food, comfort and medical help.

  Bee made contact with the U.S. Embassy in Vientiane via his secure radio link. This now was a matter for the State Department and the Laotian Government. It no longer was a military operation. Bee was directed to stand down and return to their base in South Vietnam. He was told two deuce and a half covered trucks would transport the children and SEALS back to the U.S. Embassy in Vientiane. When they arrived they would be transported out via an HH-53 helo based in South Vietnam. At least there would not be a long boat ride back.

  Before concluding the radio call, Bee also asked that the trucks heading their way contain the much needed supplies for the village. After the little foray into China, he was sure there would be retribution rained upon the village in the name of “honor.” After all, the jungle drums were sure to beat the story to all around who were listening. Muong Namla was now a marked village.

  Bee gathered his team together and explained the plan. Each man felt the relief of being directed to stand down. It also gave them two days or so to relax and be with their Hmong family before the trucks arrived.

  Bee and Spoke went to Xiong’s home. Spoke tried to be cordial and friendly during dinner, but was so tired that he almost fell asleep in his soup. He blushed and begged to be excused. Next thing he knew it was 12 hours later and the kids were playing around him wanting him to chase them. What he wouldn’t give to have his three here too.

  The days passed quickly as they always seemed to do with the Hmong. On the third day, two trucks arrived loaded with all manner of equipment and supplies; weapons, ammunition, hand tools, dried food including large bags of rice, first-aid supplies and medicine.

  Xiong organized the work parties and moved everything into its proper places around the village. The medicine was very c
arefully disguised as food stuffs and given to the shaman who appeared grateful at the gesture.

  The captive children were recovering from their ordeals. Those who could understand were told that they would be taken to Vientiane and arrangements would be made to return them to their homes and families. Concern still clouded the young Sikh boy who, it was finally discovered, was called Narain Singh. He too would be cared for and returned to his home. He had been told of the horrors that awaited him if he had stayed with the human traffickers. Most of these children were destined for the Bangkok sex traders; boys and girls. While not overtly open about his station in life, Narain’s pride still forced him to claim he would rather die than be defiled. As Spoke talked with him, he was sure the boy spoke the truth.

  Most of the young girls were in their preteen and early teen years. All were between the ages of 12 and 14. To the flesh peddlers, these were prime years for virgin girls and would bring excellent prices on the market. It was not a matter of IF they would bring good prices, but WHEN they were paid the right amount of money for each. Instead, these children’s lives were spared the anguish and horrors of illnesses and pain of those who would abuse and discard their small bodies.

  Chapter 11

  Another Day, Another Fire

  Back at An Tho, South Vietnam three days later, the team continued in their stand-down mode. Weapons were cleaned, gear dried out, repaired and organized. Letters written home; letters that still had to be “processed” by military censors so no details of who, what or where they had been. Just a note to tell everyone back home that they were alive and doing well.

  Spoke was cleaning his personal gear in the mess tent. He had it laid out on one of the eating tables there. Several of the team members walked by and kidded him about having his Top Secret junk out in the open. He responded that if he had to tell them what was classified, he’d have to tear up their Mickey Mouse Club membership card and break their Little Orphan Annie decoder rings. Moods were light.

  In the command center the telephone rang. The duty Communications Watch Officer answered, “Det Bravo. This is not a secure line.”

  “This is the CINCPACFLT Duty Officer. I need to speak to LT Kevin Marks.” The voice on the other end sounded hollow and far away.

  “Yes, Sir. Wait one.” Leaning out of the makeshift communications center he yelled to one of the nearby members of the squad. “Hey! Anyone seen Spoke?”

  Returning to the phone, he stated that LT Marks was being located. Instead of making the person wait, could he have the call returned? An affirmative answer led to a message taken and telephone number.

  Five minutes later, Spoke walked into the communications shelter.

  “You need me?”

  “Yes, Sir, the CINCPACFLT Duty Officer wanted you to return his call. I took the message and number here.” He passed him the slip of paper.

  Spoke looked at it quizzically and then responded with a look that said a million words. What do they want now?

  Since he’d just left the SEAL Team One, Detachment B Commanding Officer, LCDR Randy Rogers, he walked back over to the tent that doubled as a mess tent, a lounge, and a make-shift unclassified office. He wanted to let him know something was brewing at CINCPACFLT.

  While out of the direct weather, the tent smelled of waxed canvas and creosote. The sides were rolled up, so the flies and mosquitoes had the run of the place despite the bug spray and fly paper strips hanging from the ceiling. Yes, the tent had screens, but in the afternoon heat, the screens acted as if they were solid material instead of porous screen. A not-so-quiet game of Spades was going in one corner and a quiet game of chess in another. In another corner several men were writing letters, reading books or cleaning gear.

  Spoke was well-known at CINCPACFLT’s headquarters since he’d worked there for just over a year. It was also known that if this was related to a new assignment, Bee needed to know. Growing up in a chain-of-command environment at home, Spoke wanted to make sure the boss wasn’t blind-sided. Having had several remote assignments in the middle of his deployment with SEAL Team One, the Admiral had been true to his word and sent him back to finish out his time with them.

  Bee smiled and said that it appeared that someone up the chain-of-command knew who really handled the work load. He looked at Spoke and said he was glad they did. He also didn’t have to say that he appreciated the confidence he had in Spoke’s ability to keep the professional relationship in tact by getting directly with him.

  Spoke invited Bee to accompany him back over to the communications shelter where together they could find out what was up.

  The call went straight through. The Duty Officer patched them through to the Intelligence Center. CAPT Dennis Rees answered. He was the N-2 at CINCPACFLT; the head Intelligence Officer. Spoke quickly made him aware that both he and LCDR Rogers were listening.

  CAPT Rees said he appreciated they were together. There was a problem existing in their area of operations. It involved an issue they were trained to handle and he would send the complete details to the South Vietnam Rep for CINCPACFLT there in Saigon. He also said they needed to head there as soon as possible.

  It was getting close to 1700 in South Vietnam, and darkness would be surrounding them in less than two hours. This would not allow them to drive safely to and from Saigon and still be able to receive the briefings they would need. Arrangements were made instead to go at first light in the morning. Then, they could spend the day getting information and drive time to and from the CINCPACFLT Rep’s office. What wasn’t said was that it allowed Bee to see Sandy, the love of his life, and to no doubt demonstrate his affections.

  Spoke smiled at Bee and flashed a thumbs-up. Bee also smiled his well-known “Commanding Officer’s ‘Duty First’” smile. Still, he really wanted to see Sandy. He hoped her work schedule would permit them some time to be alone. Because she was a nurse in the Burn and Trauma unit, her time was never her own.

  They had met and fallen in love some six months before. Every time Bee had to go to Saigon, he made time to be with her. Even just to see her and hold her was what he craved. The entire team knew more than likely there would be wedding bells ringing in their future.

  0600

  Already it was starting to get light and the two naval officers, dressed in their lighter weight camo fatigues, were on the road for Saigon. South Vietnam was not the place to casually travel at night. Both Bee and Spoke had a strong respect for the veil of darkness that shrouded their combat operations. Unfortunately, the same was true of the Viet Cong – VC – and North Vietnamese Army – NVA – operations. It was bad enough to drive anywhere in South Vietnam in an American Jeep much less at night. All they could see was an ambush with very bad results. Spoke was extremely glad they had talked CAPT Rees into holding off until this morning for their trip. Nothing was so important that it jeopardized their lives needlessly.

  Entering the outskirts of Saigon was always exciting. The people moving to places of employment on mopeds, bicycles, small Japanese and Korean trucks and pedestrians, exacerbated by narrow streets with two-way, smelly traffic were a challenge to any driver. Blue oil smoke filled the air. Spoke always hoped one day to view the many sights. As a result, the word ‘dangerous’ could be applied to Spoke’s driving. He still didn’t have the training to drive through the menagerie of sights, people and other vehicles.

  Occasional South Vietnamese troop carriers filled with combat troops passed them. These men were headed for some location to either establish a combat-related location or relieve men who couldn’t wait to be relieved. Previously, most trucks carried American troops, but with Vietnamization going on, most trucks now carried South Vietnamese troops.

  American vehicles always seemed to have a target painted on them. It screamed that if the locals could get run over, they would be taken care of for the rest of their lives. A con artist could make a fortune in just one badly choreographed “accident” on his way to work.

  Bee drove today. He’d had enough
experience getting to their destination that he could almost do it blindfolded. Spoke’s job was to act as a witness and document any altercation with local traffic, should it be necessary. No doubt Spoke would drive home, but for now, Bee handled the traffic like the professional he was.

  Twenty minutes later they were near the fenced American Compound surrounding the Embassy. Bee aimed them at the building separated from the primary buildings occupied by MACV (Military Assistance Command, Vietnam). They passed through the gate where the guard let them into the parking lot. Bee then pulled the Jeep up in front of the building in a marked Visitor spot.

  They went in and showed their credentials to the door guard. Hearing the buzz of the electronic lock on the door, both officers went inside. CDR Jon Barth met them. Extending his hand, he shook both officers’ hands.

  “It’s good to see you made it so early. I was afraid you might be held up in traffic.”

  CDR Barth was a warm individual with a calming approach to serious matters. They had found him to be very supportive of both SEAL Team and their intelligence officer, LT Marks. Of course, it didn’t hurt to know that the Admiral also had strong feelings for the young LT. CDR Barth knew that the Admiral watched over this LT like a son. This had far-reaching effects with the previous MACV Intelligence Officer, Air Force Major Rodney LaRose. Due to MAJ LaRose’s distinct dislike for SEALS and his perpetual bad relations, he had been reassigned to a less taxing position north of the Arctic Circle in Alaska. LT Marks received high congratulations from the SEALS for his role in that reassignment. Since then, life had been so much easier and calmer.

  “I’ll put a call into CINCPACFLT right away. Did you get some breakfast? There’s donuts and coffee or juice in the galley if you’d like some.”

  The Navy was the same the world over. Breakfast was donuts or sweet rolls, coffee or juice and lots of it. They each found what they wanted and walked back to CDR Barth’s office. The CDR was just getting connected with the Intelligence Office at CINCPACFLT.