King Of The Mekong

By Damian Magnay

The adventure of a lifetime might just be their last.

Filled with curiosity about the jungles of Vietnam from his father’s war stories, Mick and a group of friends set out on an adventure trip near the Cambodian border countries. But the brochures had neglected to mention the bandit groups who plied their slave trade around the region. With most of the group taken captive Mick escapes and with the help of a local farmer he makes a dash for Ho Chi Minh City to find help. Only once there he discovers he is being hunted by the police as well.

With both sides closing in on him Mick soon realises he has become embroiled in a local drugs war where nobody is to be trusted.

King of The Mekong is a racing adventure through the jungles of Vietnam, a race against time and last desperate stand against a relentless enemy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirador Publishing
• Release date: Apr 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781910104477

Damian Magnay

Damian Magnay is a marine engineer and author of action/adventure novels. Originally from regional South Australia, he spent many years working in various parts of Australia as a Diesel mechanic before switching to marine and heading to sea. The long nights away were spent studying creative writing and novel writing. 'King of the Mekong' was started during one of these courses.His spare time is spent either completing further studies in writing or penning another story.He can also be found on Facebook & Twitter

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King Of The Mekong

By

Damian Magnay

First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 by Damian Magnay

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

First edition: 2014

Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.

A copy of this work is available though the British Library.

IBSN : 978-1-910104-47-7

Thank You

To my wife, my girls and my family for their ongoing support.

To my editor, Philip for all of his work with my manuscript.

To Mirador Publishing for the obvious.

And to the late Michael Crawley, you were right… I did it.

CHAPTER ONE

Mick held on tight, white knuckles revealing how nervous he felt, perched just inside the old Huey’s opened door. Muscles bulging under his dark grey shirt, he clung on, the wind beating hard against his lightly tanned skin. He tightened his grip, slipped one hand into a pocket of his faded army pants and retrieved his camera. After a quick snap he put it away, fearing the slightest turbulence might send him flying.

The sun shone brightly over the mountains ahead. The early morning mist dissipated below, revealing rich, green jungle underneath. Small rivers wove among trees and around mountains. Mick gazed from the chopper in awe. Here he was, finally over the dense jungles of southern Vietnam. Below him, more than forty years earlier, had been home to the fierce fighting he had read and heard so much about.

Inside the cabin the rest of the group stared wide-eyed, every bit as impressed. Four of them had travelled together, a bunch of mates from Australia, to be flown out and dropped into the jungle. The chopper would leave and return a few hours later to pick them up. In addition to what they’d brought along themselves, they had been issued a map and a compass, and sent on their way.

Mick smiled to himself. Big John’s Huey Tours. The name of their self-guided tour company. An obvious choice. Big John, the pilot and owner of the sixties era Huey helicopter, was exactly that: big. Six foot five at least, Mick estimated. A towering Yank still stuck in the war. He dressed as he would have in 1968 and the hard years of smoking and heavy drinking had started to show. Though only in his mid-sixties, he looked closer to eighty. His skin did anyway. His eyes could be seen under his aviator sunglasses, scanning the jungle canvas below as if expecting tracer rounds to zoom up at any minute, as they had so many years before.

‘Two minutes,’ he barked back at his group, past the half-smoked cigar wedged into the side of his mouth.

‘Here we go, boys,’ Mick yelled to his mates above the roar of the old chopper. In total, six tourists were on board. Two young Irish lads and the bunch of Aussie larrikins. Mick had been waiting months for this day. After spending yesterday touring the sights in and around Ho Chi Minh City and the tour today, the beach at Vung Tau would be next. Today’s tour sounded the best, wandering about deep in the jungle, hoping to get some idea of a real soldier’s life.

They had all been to the local army surplus store before they left home and were kitted out with pants and boots in an attempt to look the part. Big John had rolled his eyes when they turned up dressed like something straight out of the movie Platoon. He must have seen it so many times before that he probably expected it.

Without warning, the chopper banked hard and fell into a steep descent. A yell of disapproval from his passengers put a smile on Big John’s face, the first they’d seen. He probably loved scaring dumb tourists. The Huey banked this way and that, flew a few circles, and they became disoriented. Mick had no idea which direction they had come from. It had to be part of the tour: get them lost before they landed.

The thick canopy of the jungle seemed to be coming at them rather fast. Mick prepared for impact, but the old chopper levelled off and a small landing zone appeared below. The Huey dropped in past the trees and set down in a tiny clearing, a landing even the most experienced pilot would hesitate to attempt.

‘Out,’ Big John yelled above the noise.

One after another the group piled out, grabbing their packs on the way and, just like that, without another word from their guide, the chopper flew up, out and was gone.

Silence.

Mick watched his mates busily organising their packs. Smiling to himself, he half expected one of them to yell, ‘Fall in.’

Trav, Steve and Johnno. The boys. Friends from childhood and on the holiday of a lifetime. They did actually bear a slight resemblance to real soldiers. All with matching pants, boots and packs, T-shirts a mix of green, black, and grey. They had admitted being more than a little embarrassed, turning up to the tour dressed as though they were returning from rec leave, but now, out here, things seemed almost… real.

Trav in particular, looked the part; he was taller than the others, with fiery red hair and a build that suggested his spare time was eaten up in the gym. Steve, a star fullback for his local footy team back home, wasn’t much shorter, but Johnno… what he lacked in size, he made up for in heart. Although the shortest of the group, he sported a wiry build, and his career as a shearer had left him with unusual strength for a man his size.

The two Irish were watching and obviously waiting to see where the others might go. They had dressed a little less extreme, long pants and long sleeves, exactly what the brochure had recommended.

‘G’day, mate,’ Mick introduced himself, with hand extended. ‘Name’s Mick.’

The closer of the Irish shook his hand. ‘Shaun. Pleased to meet ya. This is Patrick,’ he added, nodding toward his friend. ‘The guide’s a bit of a muppet.’

‘Yeah,’ Mick agreed. ‘Bloody Yanks, eh?’

‘I heard him on the phone this morning,’ Shaun continued in his thick Irish accent, ‘goin’ off at someone about money; then he said, Thanks, General. Talkin’ like that to a general; must be crazy.’

Mick wasn’t surprised. He’d had a run-in with Big John about payment that morning when he attempted to pay with a credit card. ‘He shouldn’t have to worry too much about money. This tour cost enough. It’s advertised with the travel agents but still he demanded cash. Weird.’

‘You can hardly call it a tour,’ Trav added. ‘We don’t exactly know where we are or what we’re doing here.’

After a quick introduction to his mates, Mick studied the surroundings. They were in a valley at the bottom of a large mountain with a steep rise to their north. It stretched for miles to the east but there seemed to be a gap not far to the west. From the air he’d noticed a river winding through, so assumed it must be near. To the south was another mountain, but not as steep. The jungle was thick on all sides.

‘Where shall we go?’ Trav asked. ‘There’s Charlie all around,’ he added, pretending to scan the jungle in a panic.

Mick shook his head. Trav was always playing the clown. He fossicked through his pack for the map. ‘Where are you blokes heading?’

‘We’ll just follow you, if that’s alright?’ Shaun replied. ‘He didn’t give us a map.’

Mick wasn’t surprised that Big John had been so disorganised. He seemed to have a distinct lack of interest in the group. ‘Yeah, you can come with us.’

After producing the map, Mick examined the jungle. He wondered what it must have been like all those years ago. Tall trees were flanked by small bushes, and thick shrubs surrounded the clearing. The treetops formed a canopy, blocking out the sun. Apart from this clearing, you wouldn’t be able to reach this place, even by chopper. On the southern side, Mick could barely see three feet into the jungle. Enemy soldiers would’ve been virtually undetectable. At least they didn’t have to worry about VC sneaking up on them.

His thoughts were broken by an audible snap from beyond the tree line to the north.

Johnno spun around, startled. ‘You hear that?’

Trav pulled his pack on, chuckling to himself. ‘Bit jumpy are we, mate? You do realise the war is over?’

‘Piss off, Trav.’

Steve fumbled with his pack, disinterested. ‘Probably a pig or something.’

Mick motioned for them to be quiet as he tried to calculate the direction of the noise.

Snap.

Clearer this time, and closer. Branches breaking. Someone or something, coming down the mountain.

‘He must have another group out here,’ Trav suggested. ‘Could’ve told us.’

That sounded the most likely explanation, but Mick needed convincing. He hadn’t seen any other landing zones on the way in and this one didn’t appear to have been used today.

Amused at the concern on his face, Trav started again. ‘It’s 2012 you idiots. And we’re on a bloody tour.’

‘Shut up, Trav,’ Mick spat, motioning for them to move back.

Crunch.

Johnno looked even more startled now. He turned toward the rear of the clearing.

‘Alright, if it’s not human, it’s bloody big. I’m off.’ The others seemed to agree.

In a semi-organised panic, they darted into the cover of trees on the southern side of the clearing, remaining as quiet as possible. Surrounded by thick jungle, they were hidden in seconds; the problem being their entry point had a nice line of boot prints and would be spotted with ease, giving away their position. Still, they found good cover, crouching behind the first row of trees.

Across the clearing more branches broke, but now boots thumped down the rise. Whoever it was didn’t seem concerned about making noise. In a few moments the boots stopped. Silence again. The men glanced at each other.

‘What do we do?’ Steve whispered.

Mick shrugged. He motioned for them to stay put and slowly stood, scanning the jungle. Whoever it was hadn’t entered the clearing and had stopped moving.

A guide? Trying to scare them?

A few moments passed with still no sound. Then rustling came from the trees ahead. His heart skipped a beat. You’re being ridiculous; it must be part of the tour.

Johnno must’ve thought the same because he too stood up, but not quietly.

‘This is stupid,’ he said out loud, ‘it’s just a guide. The war ended forty years ago.’

They all rose sheepishly as Johnno strolled straight into the clearing.

‘Hello,’ he yelled. ‘Anybody?’

There was no answer and the rest of the group followed; except Mick, who didn’t move. Johnno turned to face them and was about to speak when a loud crack came from the bushes.

The noise was unmistakable. A gunshot. A gunshot fired from not far away at all. Nobody made a move; they froze, never having faced such a situation before.

Mick scanned the jungle in a panic. Who is it? What are they shooting at?

Everyone seemed okay apart from the shock. Johnno turned to run and another shot rang out. With a painful scream Johnno dropped to his knees. Mick looked on in horror as blood burst from Johnno’s upper arm. He had been shot straight through his right shoulder. Shaun dived back under cover while Steve and Trav grabbed Johnno from each side and started to drag their wounded mate into the bushes, still screaming in pain.

Patrick ran in the opposite direction, towards the source of the shots, crashing through the jungle and out of sight.

By now Steve and Trav had Johnno at the edge of the clearing. Shaun and Mick both rushed to their aid and helped pull him into cover. He was bleeding heavily and already showing signs of shock.

The colour rapidly drained from Trav’s face. ‘What the hell. Where’s the other one?’

Mick motioned to the north.

As the realisation hit Shaun that his mate was gone, panic struck. ‘Where is he? We have to find him.’

Mick grabbed his shoulders, attempting to keep him calm. ‘Not now,’ he hissed. ‘You’ll only get yourself hurt, or worse. First we find somewhere safe, then we get him.’

Trav was stunned. ‘Bloody crazy Irish bastard. He ran straight at an armed man.’

As hard as he searched, Mick couldn’t detect any movement. Silence again, as if nobody was ever there. He decided to make his way around the edge of the trees for a closer look, hoping to find who had attacked them. This time Mick didn’t hear the shot until the bullet whizzed past his head. He dropped to the ground. Shit! That was close. They could see him, but where were they?

Not wanting to risk being shot at again, he crawled back to the others. They were crouched over Johnno, trying to stop the bleeding. Steve pulled a bandage from his pack. ‘Give us a hand.’ In his panic he had placed himself with his back to the clearing and, in the confusion, no one was keeping watch. As a rifle pressed against the back of Steve’s neck, reality hit. Johnno had been shot. Steve was next.

Steve froze. The burning barrel pressing hard against him. Mick edged to his right. He couldn’t see the owner, just the gun, and hoped he hadn’t yet been spotted. On his knees, Trav held pressure on the wound, less than three feet from the attacker. He raised his head and froze. Mick leaned slightly for a better look at the attacker. A Vietnamese soldier. He was dressed in a clean uniform with elongated, pentagonal epaulettes on the shoulders. With only one stripe, he didn’t appear to be high ranking, but most likely his leader would be near. He held an AK47 assault rifle at Steve’s neck. The same gun that had shot Johnno seconds earlier.

‘Please,’ Trav pleaded. ‘Don’t.’

‘Up,’ the soldier screamed at him. ‘All get up.’

Sure he hadn’t been seen, Mick was only a few feet away and in a good position to make a charge. But there may be more. What if the gun goes off? He hesitated. Steve made the decision for him. In a split second he spun around and knocked the weapon from the soldier’s grip. ‘Run,’ he screamed as he tackled the soldier around his legs, knocking him to the ground. From the north came a series of shouts in Vietnamese. Their attacker was not alone. Three more soldiers ran toward their position. Beyond them Patrick was kneeling, held by another two. He was dazed and had blood streaming down his face, but he was alive.

Trav knelt over Johnno in an attempt to cover him as best he could, until Mick grabbed him by the shoulder screaming, ‘Run.’ But Trav was unable to move.

On all fours, Steve scrambled desperately, trying to get to his feet. ‘What are you doing? Run.’

Already on his knees, Trav placed his hands on his head, seemingly defeated.

The soldiers were almost on top of them and Steve struggled to get a grip on himself. Mick frantically beckoned him to follow. The first two soldiers had made the edge of the clearing, one with his weapon raised. Mick froze as he realised it was pointed straight at him. Trav threw his arms out, tripping the soldier taking aim. He stumbled and fell into the second as Steve found his feet and ran into the undergrowth. Not only had Trav bought them some time but he’d also saved Mick’s life. The third soldier raised his rifle high and swung it down hard on Trav’s head, knocking him out cold. Shaun sprang forward and tackled the stumbling soldiers, forcing them to the ground. As he turned back he faced the barrel of an AK. ‘Don’t move.’

Sprinting as quickly as possible, with branches whipping his face, Mick hurdled the rocks and fallen logs at a frightening pace. If he could get away and hide until the chopper returned, they may be able to escape. Soon the jungle opened up slightly and he found himself heading up a small hill. Exhausted and drenched with sweat, he searched for cover. After running so far he needed to rest for a minute, and get a second wind. He dived over a rocky outcrop, crashing hard on the other side. It didn’t hurt. Fear had taken over. Where was Steve? He should’ve been right behind.

In total silence he waited, listening. No yelling, shots or footsteps. Did they go another way? Has Steve been caught too? As he moved into a crouching position, he took care to keep low, his mind racing. What if they are down there, looking in this direction? This might be his only chance of escape. Frozen in fear, he kept still. Mere seconds seemed like minutes. With eyes shut tight, the image of the AK47 pointing at his head haunted him.

Not now. No time to be afraid. He re-opened his eyes.

Sunlight broke through the dense cover of trees, and shadows danced around him with every gust of wind. Were they shadows of trees or soldiers? His mind worked against him. Focus. With absolute stealth, he crept closer to the rock and ever so carefully peered around the side. Nothing. Doesn’t mean they can’t see me.

Seconds later, with a mighty crash, Steve appeared, belting out of the undergrowth in the direction of the slope. He stumbled, fell and scrambled to his feet. Obviously they were hot on his tail. ‘Over here,’ Mick screamed as the ground behind threw up tufts of dirt. Crack. Crack. Crack. Swerving through the trees, Steve made them work hard to sight him, and as soon as he’d caught up, Mick ran with him. Together they pressed on up the hill, maintaining a speed neither thought possible. After changing direction a few times they were now heading down the other side, but east.

‘Stop,’ Steve panted, ‘stop.’ He slowed to a clumsy jog and collapsed into the thick undergrowth, gasping for air. ‘I can’t go on any more.’ Mick needed a rest too; he looked behind them and motioned for quiet. Not a sound. While sitting next to Steve, he spoke.

‘We’ll wait here; I think they’ve given up.’ For fifteen minutes they waited in silence. The longest fifteen minutes of their lives. Were the others okay? Were they even alive?

Still no sound. Seemingly in the clear, they faced the next problem.

‘Where are we?’ asked Steve. ‘Tell me you still have the map.’

Mick took off his pack. He did have the map, and the compass. ‘Right here, mate.’

‘Who are they? What’s going on?’ Steve asked.

‘I don’t know. They were dressed as soldiers. Any idea how many?’

‘At least six,’ Steve replied.

‘We have to get out of here and find help,’ Mick continued. ‘The chopper will be back in about an hour and a half. I just hope we’re on it before they turn up again.’

‘You want to go back?’ Steve stared at him in disbelief. ‘Maybe we can find a village or something around here with a phone?’

Mick studied the map for a short time. They were near the Cambodian border somewhere. ‘There’s a village to the north west, back where we came from and over the mountain.’

‘Shit, that’s probably where these bastards are from.’

‘That’s what I’m guessing,’ Mick agreed. ‘Either way we have to go back. Nothing but jungle anywhere else.’

Steve shrugged. ‘Then let’s go.’

Mick paused for a moment. ‘Don’t you think it’s strange they were on us in minutes?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, we had barely landed. The chopper had just left.’

‘You think we were set up?’

‘Bit of a coincidence don’t you think?’

‘They may be sick of tourists coming up here and Big John is none the wiser,’ Steve suggested. ‘I’m chancing a chopper ride home if he survives a landing.’

‘Perhaps you’re right; I’m just trying to make sense of it all,’ Mick agreed, looking at his watch. ‘Hour and a half and Big John will be back.’

‘What a tour, eh? Let’s get out of here.’

CHAPTER TWO

What the…? Trav opened his eyes. His head ached as never before and for a brief moment he didn’t remember how or why he lay in a clearing surrounded by trees. The bright sun blinded him and he took a minute to regain his vision. Through blurry eyes he traced the outline of a figure standing over him. He tried to sit up. Whack! A rifle butt to the chest sent him crashing down again. Now he remembered. He was in a nightmare.

To his right, on the opposite side of the clearing, Shaun and Patrick sat, guarded. With his head bandaged, Patrick appeared a little groggy. Shaun watched over Johnno, who lay motionless on the ground. Poor Johnno. Why? Although shocked, Trav stayed silent until noticing Johnno’s chest first rise, then fall. Thank God, he’s alive.

Alive; but in a bad way. The bullet had left his shoulder a mess and he needed medical attention fast. Trav tried again to sit up, this time taking more care, and preparing to defend himself. The soldier above glared down at him. He let Trav sit upright. Glancing around the clearing, Trav counted nine soldiers in total, eight of them with AK47 rifles and in