Page 140 of Cry Havoc
Come on, Quinn. Give me a target.
Can you really kill him? You have to.
Wait, those men who were coming at me from above, they were up there manning something. A weapon system.
I’m sorry, Quinn.
Tom took one last look at the tree, turned, and charged up the hill.
CHAPTER 50
THE ZPU-1 14.5MM ANTIAIRCRAFTgun was not hard to find. Tom picked up the trail of the two men he had killed on the mountain and followed their tracks to a well-worn path that led right to it.
The Soviet single-barreled belt-fed KPV heavy machine gun was designed to be pulled via its two-wheeled carriage assembly and set up in remote locations, like the side of a mountain. The entire system could be broken down into smaller parts for transport and then put together again in short order. The large-caliber weapon rested on its mount and sat atop a sturdy tripod. A seat covered in white canvas, stained almost brown with dirt and grime, allowed a gunner to manipulate the substantial system and quickly adjust for elevation and windage. It was pointed skyward when Tom slid behind the controls.
As with many Soviet weapons, the ZPU-1 was made to be simple and rugged. Tom spun the elevation dial on the left side of the system and brought the barrel in-line with the camp below, noting that from his new position he could no longer see the tree that had provided cover for Quinn and the Soviet advisor. He cranked the windage dial closer to his legs to move the sights toward his target, confirmed the weapon was ready to fire, and stepped on the pedal trigger.
Tom watched the impact of the rounds near the steps to the huts on the right side of the compound. He continued to fire, using the elevationand windage dials to walk the rounds toward the six cargo trucks. Three soldiers emerged from behind a hut and Tom cut them in two with the 14.5mm projectiles. He continued to maneuver the dials until rounds impacted the front left tire of the closest truck, ripping it to shreds. He caught movement at the rear of vehicle, shifted fire, and put two more men in the dirt. He adjusted the controls and sent rounds into the hood, grille, front window, and down to the exposed gas tank just forward of the rear tire before working his way down the line of trucks, the cigar-sized rounds decimating everything in their path. He then moved to the aboveground fuel storage tanks, the pipes, and the pumping station connecting them to the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Four soldiers attempted to take cover behind a diesel generator, but Tom’s rounds found them, removing arms, legs, and heads with devastating efficiency. When the weapon ran dry, all six trucks were steaming hunks of metal, and the fuel storage containers were spewing their contents into the dirt.
His torrent of machine-gun fire into the compound had suppressed the enemy counterattack, but that would not last. Tom bailed out of the ZPU-1 just as the 7.62mm rounds from below resumed their barrage, but he was already running.
Thoughts of Quinn fueled him.
The gutting. The fire.
Not now, Tom. There will be time to mourn. Hiep and three other Americans are still there. Get back to Phu Bai and organize a rescue.
Tom kept running, unencumbered by the weight of his usual op gear.
He knew they would track him and quickly realize they were following—not a team, squad, or platoon—but a single man. They would throw everything against him. And they knew exactly where he was going. There was only one choice: south.
His ribs burned and sent spikes of pain throughout his body, pain that was nothing compared to what Quinn just went though.
Quinn.
Put it out of your mind.
Get back to Phu Bai or they all die.
He had seen at least three Americans. Were there more? How long would they be there?
They might be transporting them north right now. They would certainly move them out of the camp as soon as possible.
You are too impetuous, Tom. You needed to exercise patience and logic. You did neither.
If you had let them beat Quinn, maybe he would have survived.
You killed him by taking that shot.
Who was the white man?
Soviet advisor, probably.
Could he have been a mercenary? Possibly.
No, he had to be a Soviet.
Come back with an assault team and kill him.
