A Spy is Born: A Pat O'Sheen Novel

By Ed Sheehan

In A Spy is Born, Author Ed Sheehan has crafted an action-packed, suspense-thrilling, historical military novel introducing Pat O'Sheen. Actually, this is the fifth Pat O'Sheen thriller and this novel is a prequel that explains how a mild mannered, religious family man becomes the fearless warrior and a spy he is in fir

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cotsdale Publishing, LLC.
• Release date: Dec 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781732448506

Book preview

Chapter Two

Pat is born

After successfully completing the nine months of Special Forces training, and because of their college degrees and demonstrations of leadership skills, Mike and Eddie were sent to Officers Candidate School. Three months later, they entered the war theater together as second lieutenants—commissioned officers.

When they arrived in Vietnam, the army tried to split them up to train under different veteran snipers. They did not want to put two lieutenants in the same unit. Somehow, Mike managed to keep them together as a team. Burkowski was third generation U.S. Army. His grandfather won a medal for valor in World War I, his father won medals in WWII. But despite the Polish communities’ contributions to the military, they were still the brunt of jokes in America. Mike was brought up learning to laugh at the jokes—and tell even funnier jokes that mocked his heritage. The Pollock’s jovial strategy was winning over Americans, but they were still somewhat isolated from main-stream society in America in the early 1970’s.

Eddie was happy that Mike kept them together, but Eddie couldn’t get his heart into the war. He killed his first man and three more to protect his platoon of Special Forces Green Berets who were under attack by Vietcong forces. Back in the base camp, he didn’t sleep that night—his mind kept seeing through the sniper scope as his bullets entered human skulls and sprayed blood and brains out of the back of their heads. He prayed all night to God for forgiveness, wishing that he could seek Father Muller’s council and absolution for his sins.

A week later, he and Mike killed over two dozen enemy combatants. Eddie had learned to refocus quickly on the next target to avoid seeing the effects of his bullets. He quit counting his kills that day. Despite his and Mike’s talented efforts, half of their twelve-man Green Beret Special Forces unit took casualties that day and three were killed. The whole unit was pulled back to Saigon.

Mike knew that Eddie was despondent when they entered the barracks in Saigon. He knew that Eddie hated to kill. When Eddie climbed into bed early that night, Mike said, You are not going to bed. We are going to party.

I’m not in a party mood.

Mike physically dragged him out of the bed, Eddie, you won’t survive Nam with me if you take all of this personally and hold it all inside.

Eddie knew that Mike was right, and he reluctantly joined a raucous party in an open field a half-mile away from the barracks. He started to enjoy the party and the comradery. He passed on the hashish but imbibed in his allotment of beer.

One of the drugged-up SF snipers asked, O’Sheen, how many slant-eyes have you killed?

Eddie stood up and started walking back through the field toward his barracks. The party grew quiet as he walked away.

The drug-high sniper said to the group, He doesn’t have the moxie to shoot anyone—and he never will.

Mike jumped to his feet and shouted at the man. He has more kills than I do and probably more than anyone else has ever had here in just two combat operations.

Eddie heard Mike and picked up his walking pace.

Mike hurried after Eddie. He caught up to him as he approached their large barracks. Mike knew Eddie heard him approaching and was concerned when he increased his pace instead of turning around to talk. Mike grabbed his shoulder. Eddie spun around, put two hands on Mike’s chest and forcefully pushed him away.

Mike didn’t know how to react. He had never seen Eddie angry before. He said, Talk to me.

Eddie looked at him with a threatening glare in his eyes, Don’t you ever tell anyone again about how many kills I have.

Mike didn’t know how to respond. His best friend had never been mad at him. He wanted to say, that’s why we are here, but the whites of Eddie’s eyes were red, and he decided his best course of action was to remain silent.

When Eddie turned away, Mike was bewildered.

Mike heard some of the men from the party approaching and walked back to talk to them. Mike had a plan to deal with Eddie’s anguish. They all agreed with Mike’s plan to help O’Sheen.

Mike waited until Eddie had time to go to sleep before he climbed into his bunk. He didn’t sleep well, praying that this Vietnam killing field would not change Eddie, his best friend, into the man he saw with the angry red eyes.

The extensive Army training that Eddie and Mike had been through offered little psychological help for Eddie’s scruples about killing fellow human beings—whether his victims’ eyes were slanted or not. But the kids whom America drafted into this killing field, some of them his friends and neighbors, needed protection. Eddie understood the Cong’s motivation to drive foreigners out of their country, but he was committed to protecting the lives of the American kids, posing as soldiers, most of whom had not volunteered to fight a communist enemy half-way around the world.

The next morning, Mike waited until Eddie went into the community shower before he climbed out of his bunk. He signaled the other Special Forces men, draped his towel over a hook, and walked into the shower room alone. He knew Eddie noticed his entrance because of the way he turned away. Mike turned on the shower directly across from Eddie, soaked his body in the shower, grabbed the soap, and started washing his hair—his normal routine. The difference was that Eddie only glanced at him, instead of greeting him with the normal O’Sheen upbeat "good morning", lifting the spirits of everyone within hearing range.

Mike heard the other men gathering, rinsed the soap out of his hair, turned back to Eddie, and started singing, Happy Birthday to you. A large group of naked Special Forces soldiers ran into the shower and joined in, half of them singing off-key; Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Eddie. Happy birthday to you.

Eddie’s face turned red. He had forgotten that it was his birthday. He couldn’t believe that Mike remembered. When he laughed, Mike smiled with relief.

Mike and the guys had managed to draw Eddie out of his deepest funk ever. Eddie turned his face back into the cascading shower to hide his emotions. He was rewarded with a hard slap to his bare right buttocks, another, and then another. He started laughing as the hard slaps continued, and he thanked God that several of the men were left handed and slapped his bare left buttocks.

When the slapping stopped, O’Sheen turned to face the men while still laughing and looked up into Burkowski’s eyes, I’m glad you told them that I am only sixteen years old. Eddie looked challengingly at the eight naked Special Forces soldiers in the shower.

The men not in Special Forces anticipated a serious confrontation from O’Sheen’s challenge. They left the shower room as O’Sheen was swamped by an uncoordinated attack. When the attack was over, half of them had red asses, and O’Sheen was still laughing, wondering if the sore red skin on his butt would ever be white again.

When the situation calmed down, O’Sheen looked back up into Burkowski’s eyes as everyone else started to use the showers as intended. He said to Mike, You will pay for this.

Mike nodded, I know.

A man who was soaping himself in the corner of the shower room who Eddie slightly recognized said, O’Sheen, you are Irish and were born on Saint Patrick’s Day, why isn’t your name Patrick?

Eddie disclosed, My middle name is Patrick. Who are you?

One of the other soldiers answered, Major Raymond Kramer.

Eddie made the connection to the Captain Kramer that recruited him and Mike into Special Forces training over a year ago. Kramer looked different naked. O’Sheen smiled, Major, congratulations on your promotion. Should I salute you?

Major Kramer pointed at O’Sheen’s groin, "Pat, I don’t think you are capable of a proper salute with that little dick." The shower room erupted in laughter. Pat joined in.

Major Kramer was the first one to ever call him Pat. Eddie liked it. Eddie couldn’t handle killing people in this war—maybe someone called Pat O’Sheen could. In his mind he started creating an alter ego, hoping that Pat O’Sheen could develop a heart that could live with the killing that was necessary to protect American soldiers. From that day forward, Eddie introduced himself to other soldiers as Pat O’Sheen.

Chapter Three

Pat

Lieutenant Pat O’Sheen and Major Ray Kramer began to develop a friendship. When they were alone one day, Pat asked, Ray, why don’t we send scouts out in front of our Special Forces units to locate the enemy . . . like the cavalry did in the old wild west? Most of our casualties during our search and destroy missions come from surprise encounters.

Pat, the Cong know how to move through the jungle undetected better than our soldiers. I don’t think a scout could survive for long. There is safety in numbers.

Well, I’d like to volunteer to be a scout for my unit. I would like for you to approve it if I can talk Captain Slater into bringing my proposal up to you.

Ray shook his head, Sniper duty is already one of the riskiest jobs in the unit, next to being the point man on patrol.

Pat smiled, "I usually do both.

Ray, my older brother started teaching me how to hunt in the woods of Alabama when I turned twelve. The first thing he taught me was how to be quiet while moving through the woods with the wind in our faces while stalking deer. Then, when deer season arrived, he taught me how to spot hunters in tree stands and behind trees and to avoid them so I wouldn’t get shot by a careless hunter. We wore reversible vests. We only wore the orange side out when we were returning to the pickup, usually pulling a gutted deer behind us. After my brother left for college, I mostly hunted alone because most of my friends thought it was too dangerous to stalk game during deer season with so many hunters in the areas that allowed open access to all state citizens.

Pat added, The Cong send out scouts. I see them when I’m walking point. Slaughter (Captain Slater’s nickname) warned me not to get more than a thirty feet ahead of the unit, because we had no means of communication further than that. If good scouts had a means of communicating back to the unit from farther out, our casualty rates would drop in half.

Major Kramer looked at Lieutenant O’Sheen in a new light. Pat wasn’t just hoping to survive Nam, he wanted to be more effective in helping his friends survive.

Ray liked the idea, I’ll look into the communication angle.

Mike Burkowski didn’t like the idea.

Eddie . . .

Mike, please remember to call me Pat from now on.

Mike liked calling him Eddie. But he complied. Pat, our agreement has always been to keep each other in sight so we can cover each other.

Okay, Mike. You can scout with me if you agree to let me teach you how silently to move through the jungle.

Major Kramer managed to commandeer an experimental communication system with a transmitter that could be worn inside the top of the helmet, an earphone, and a swiveling mouthpiece that also acted as an antenna. Pat and Mike started going out in advance of their unit. Mike stayed within two arm’s length of Pat as he learned to move through the jungle silently while Pat pointed out sound-making pitfalls. Mike was a fast learner—Pat was an excellent teacher.

On their fourth day of an uneventful patrol with their SF unit, Pat raised his hand to halt Mike. Mike listened for the two minutes that Pat stood motionless. He heard nothing but jungle birds and animals. He was about to express that opinion when Pat tilted his head back, raised his nose in the air, and started sniffing like a dog. He turned and swept his arm moving Mike behind him.

Mike was perplexed as he watched Pat raise his arm in very slow motion and point with his index finger. Mike looked where the finger pointed and saw nothing. He followed Pat’s pointing finger as it slowly swept to the right and saw the movement of the Vietcong scout moving in slow motion between the huge jungle trees, stopping next to tree trunks. Mike studied the Cong’s movement and turned to Pat to express his understanding—but Pat was gone. Mike wasn’t sure what to do, so he moved silently in a parallel motion to the Cong scout.

Mike stepped on a dead branch and it snapped. He squatted below a thick bush as the Cong scout turned the barrel of an AK-47 in his direction. Mike peered through the thick leaves and saw a hand clasp over the Cong’s mouth from behind and saw a knife cut the scout’s throat from ear-to-ear. The scout struggled for ten seconds before sagging toward the ground. Mike watched Pat lower the soldier quietly to the ground, blood spurting in all directions from severed carotid arteries and jugular veins.

Mike saw a Cong soldier moving in behind Pat’s position. He shot the man through the head.

Pat looked backward when he heard the soldier collapse. He smiled at Mike and nodded in appreciation. He keyed his microphone. Booger, move forward, we’ve made contact. Pat’s order was unnecessary because everyone in their unit heard the loud report from Mike’s sniper rifle. They were all running noisily forward to protect Mike and Pat.

Mike looked back to Pat’s previous position and scanned the area. Pat was nowhere in sight. He heard Pat warn over the new com system, "Booger, spread out around Mike and take up defensive positions. There are at least thirty Cong rushing towards your position.

Mike, find a safe sniper position.

Mike was worried about Pat, Where are you?

In a position of observation. I can’t get back to your position safely at this time. Take care of our friends.

Mike picked a tree and climbed to a sniper position. He was distressed. For the first time in combat, he wasn’t covering Pat, and Pat wasn’t covering him. He heard Pat say over the com, Booger, I underestimated. The Cong force is closer to fifty soldiers and are forty yards from your position and moving cautiously toward you.

Sergeant Major Booker had everyone find cover and hold fire until he shot first. He didn’t shoot until the front of the force was only twenty feet away. The other nine Green Berets started firing immediately, and half of the Cong force went down as the others turned to run.

Mike kept picking them off one at a time as they ran. He heard an M16 firing from behind the Cong force. Shit. They were running straight toward Pat.

Pat lost sight of the Cong force in the thick jungle and had circled in behind them as they passed his observation point. When they turned to run back toward his position, he opened fire with his M16 on full automatic. Ten Cong soldiers fell before his magazine emptied. Pat moved to his right into the trees as surviving Cong soldiers rushed his position. Pat ran silently, circling back toward his unit. He heard at least three men coming from his left who had anticipated his movement. Stopping behind a big tree trunk, he drew a pistol in time to swing around the tree before they were on him. Five seconds later, four Cong soldiers had nine millimeter bullet holes in their heads.

Pat heard his unit approaching his position, moving toward the sound of the four reports from his pistol. He feared being shot by friendly fire and moved away at an angle through the trees and circled counterclockwise at a quiet trotting pace. He heard a Cong soldier yell in Vietnamese, Retreat.

Mike had rappelled from his tree and caught up with his unit before saying Pat? into his microphone. He held his breath, praying for a response.

Pat stopped and cupped his hands over his mouth and the mike, Wait for me where the four Cong soldiers with bullets in their heads are down.

Mike sighed in relief that Pat was alive. His unit found the four dead soldiers and set up a defensive perimeter as Sergeant Booker examined the four dead soldiers. Mike saw the shock build in Booger’s face as he turned over the last man.

Booger looked up at Mike and said, We heard four quick pistol shots. All four of these guys were shot in the head.

Mike smiled, In basic training, there was only one guy who could compete with Pat on the pistol range.

As their first tour of duty progressed, it became obvious to the military brass that Pat and Mike were the most effective sniper team in Nam. Their Green Beret unit reported the most kills and had the fewest casualties. When new snipers arrived, Major Kramer had them spend a few weeks with Pat and Mike on patrols before moving them to other units. The Special Forces casualty rate started dropping significantly. Kramer was able to requisition more advanced communication systems.

Because of President Nixon’s Vietnamization policy, i.e. turning the ground fighting over to the ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam—the South Vietnamese army), the Special Forces units started working closely with the ARVN.

Pat started learning the Vietnamese language from the ARVN soldiers whom they fought beside. Vietnamese wasn’t very different from the tonal Chinese language he learned from Joseph Leung, his friend, and Joe’s parents in the third grade. He started making a lot of Vietnamese friends—mostly South Vietnamese soldiers. The ARVN fought passionately for their cause—they didn’t want to live under a communist, totalitarian regime. Pat started to feel better about fighting in this war for the ARVN cause.

With only three weeks left before their first tour of duty was over, Pat, Mike, and Captain Slater were called into Colonel Swayze’s office. Major Kramer was in the colonel’s office when they arrived.

Swayze addressed them. "We have intelligence that an important North Vietnamese general is going to be in a Vietcong encampment near the Cambodian border in two days. The ARVN want our help in getting him.

Pat, I believe you know Colonel Truong with the ARVN?

Pat nodded, Yes, Sir. Mike and I call him CT.

To his face?

Pat smiled and nodded.

Well, Truong thinks he can get you and Mike within a half mile of the encampment. He doesn’t have a soldier who can shoot accurately from that far.

Captain Slater interrupted on Pat’s behalf. Are you asking Pat and Mike to assassinate a North Vietnamese general?

The assignment is on a voluntary basis.

Pat surprised everyone in the room by saying, Colonel Swayze, wouldn’t you prefer that Mike and I capture the general? Wouldn’t we want to interrogate him?

Swayze stared at Pat, thinking that he was joking. Pat returned the stare.

After Mike retracted his dropped jaw, he interjected to save Pat, Colonel Swayze, Pat and I need to talk to CT before we can decide whether or not to volunteer.

Swayze appreciated Mike’s input, and it gave him an excuse to break eye contact with O’Sheen. Pat wasn’t the same soldier that he had met earlier.

Swayze smiled at Mike, That is the next logical step, Lieutenant Burkowski.

Mike fought off his instinct to stand up to end the meeting so that he could talk some sense into Pat when they were alone.

Swayze read Mike’s mood and stood up. He glanced at Major Kramer. Everyone in the room except Kramer stood up. Swayze looked at Mike, the sane lieutenant. We don’t have much time for planning. Colonel Truong is waiting in conference room three.

Mike nodded and saluted. Captain Slater joined in the salute. Pat joined in the salute seconds later.

When the three left the room, Jerry Swayze glared at Kramer. Ray, he was not the same pleasant Lieutenant O’Sheen I met with three months ago. Please explain.

Jerry, this war has turned O’Sheen into a remarkable warrior. You may have noticed that he takes up a lot of space in my reports.

Swayze sat down behind his desk in frustration. Ray, I sometimes get a hundred reports on exceptional soldiers’ performances a month. I try to read them all because they make me proud to be an American. Many of the reports are about American heroes who died in action. I give priority to those reports.

Ray frowned in understanding, I wouldn’t want your job, Jerry.

Colonel Swayze went back to the issue at hand, Ray, I have never had a lieutenant intimidate me when I tried to stare him down. Why would O’Sheen suggest capturing General Dung instead of killing him? I think O’Sheen is delusional if he thinks he can capture a general out of a large Vietcong encampment.

Ray considered his response for a minute. He hedged. Pat is very religious and will not volunteer for a mission to assassinate anyone. His passion is to protect American soldiers. His capture scenario was probably a delaying tactic to learn more about the mission before turning it down. Pat is highly regarded by Colonel Truong and the ARVN. Pat has learned to speak Vietnamese.

Swayze eyebrows rose, O’Sheen’s file doesn’t mention foreign language ability. How did he learn to speak Vietnamese?

Ray shrugged, The last three months he has been working with ARVN soldiers. Colonel Truong says he speaks Vietnamese like a local who grew up here.

How is that possible?

Ray shrugged.

Pat and Mike agreed to go to the Cambodian border with Colonel Truong. Pat got Ray Kramer to agree to let him use a three-man helmet communication system on their mission. Pat went by the medical center and the armory before joining Mike for dinner in the mess hall that evening. They left the next morning with Truong’s troops, riding in a jeep with Colonel Truong. Hours later, as the sun started to set, Colonel Truong had the driver pull onto a thin, rutted side road. The troop trucks followed them about three hundred yards in through the trees where CT stopped. The vehicles were invisible from the main road. They were about one-hundred miles from the border with North Vietnam and twenty miles from Cambodia.

Pat was impressed with CT’s familiarity with the area.

Colonel Truong said, Pat, we go on foot from here.

How much farther?

About ten miles. We will eat first.

The sixty soldiers ate American MREs (Meals Ready-to-Eat). CT sat with two of his majors as they ate. Pat heard him explain in Vietnamese where to set up an ambush in case they were pursued by the Cong back to here. Only ten men accompanied CT, Pat, and Mike on foot through the jungle toward the Cong base. They only had to avoid one Cong patrol and were in sight of the Cong encampment at two a.m. The camp had two campfires burning when they first saw it across a big rice field.

Pat told CT, Mike and I are going around the rice field to observe the camp's perimeter.

Can I go with you? CT wanted to see Pat and Mike operate.

Pat looked at Mike, who frowned at the request. But this was CT’s operation.

Pat said, You can come close enough to observe, CT. But I want to get real close with Mike covering me. I only have two sets of night vision goggles.

CT’s face lit up at the disclosure that they had night vision goggles. I’ll stay with Mike. I hope you realize that if you get caught, we may lose our opportunity to kill the general.

Pat smiled, I won’t get caught.

An hour later the three of them were back with CT’s ten soldiers. The half-moon had risen and illuminated their way. They all moved another two miles away from the camp to get some sleep.

Pat pulled CT and Mike to the side. CT, your intelligence claims that General Dung will be spending at least one night in the camp. Would you like to take the general back to Saigon alive?

CT got a smirk on his face. He had surmised that was the reason why Pat ventured into the Cong camp. Do you think that you can get him out of the camp alive?

Pat said as he removed his backpack, That depends on what tent he sleeps in. I went three tents deep into the camp tonight. If he sleeps in one of the tents in the open space by the campfires, it would be too risky.

Pat pulled a revolver and a silencer out his backpack, screwed the silencer into the barrel, and rotated the cartridge to a live round. He said to CT, Do you see that beetle?

CT looked at the large roach that Pat was pointing at on the ground about fifteen feet away and nodded.

Pat pulled the trigger and the beetle exploded. The pistol report was barely audible.

CT said, I could still hear the shot.

Pat looked over at CT’s men, some of whom were already asleep. He pointed. It didn’t get their attention.

He pulled a bottle from his backpack and a hypodermic needle. This will put the general out for over an hour. Pat looked at Mike.

Mike shook his head, Our orders are to kill him.

If they thought it was possible, capturing him would be our mission—killing him would be the last resort. I’ll kill him if I can’t safely get him out of the camp.

Mike eyes widened, You are becoming one crazy bastard. You have been planning this from the beginning. Where did you get the hypodermic needle?

From our infirmary before we left.

Pat tried to calm Mike’s concern, Capture may still prove to be too risky. If he chooses the wrong tent, you can shoot him from across the rice paddy, while I cover your back.

Mike nodded. He wasn’t surprised that Pat didn’t want to be the assassin.

Late the next day from their sniper trees, Pat and Mike observed a helicopter flying in from the direction of Cambodia. The small general and two large guards got off the chopper carrying three duffle bags. The chopper rose straight up and departed. Whoever gathered the intelligence got it right.

Pat and Mike watched the general through their sniper scopes. The general shook hands with three Cong officers. Introductions apparently weren’t necessary. The general walked over to a tent in the trees that was three rows back from the fire. His guards put the duffle bags in the tent.

Mike looked over at Pat and saw him smiling. He keyed his com, Pat, I can take him out now.

Pat answered, We are going to capture him after midnight. We might as well rappel down from these trees and go back to get some sleep.

On their way back to CT’s position, Pat picked up a large pebble and put it in his pocket.

The Cong camp was quiet by midnight. Pat waited another hour and waved at Mike to follow him. CT was impressed as he watched them walk away in the same direction as the previous night. They both wore black and had blackened their exposed skin. Their night vision goggles and helmets were more visible than their bodies were from ten feet away.

Pat and Mike approached the camp perimeter at the same place that Pat had gone into the Cong encampment the night before. There were more guards this time, and they were on higher alert as they marched back and forth in assigned fifty-yard areas. Pat watched the guards as Mike set up in the same tree as last night. Pat timed the guards’ movements, and he slipped through them silently. He knew that sneaking out while carrying a man over his shoulder was going to be much more difficult.

Pat didn’t see anyone through his night-vision goggles as he approached the back of the general’s tent. He opened the night vision goggles as the light from the fires became too bright. He moved silently around the right side of the general's tent. In slow motion, he peeked around the front corner of the tent. One of the general’s big guards stood on the other side of the slit opening into the tent.

Pat walked around the back of the tent, holstered his pistol, drew a knife, and pulled the big pebble he had picked up earlier from his pocket. He scanned the area for soldiers. Seeing none, he threw the pebble over the tent and looked around the corner of the tent when he heard the pebble hit the ground. The guard turned toward the sound of the pebble noise and was taking a step in that direction when Pat put his hand over the guard’s mouth as he slit his throat. The large guard lunged backward almost knocking Pat over. But Pat managed to stay up and hold on. He lowered the guard quietly to the ground when he passed out.

Pat scanned the area for soldiers again, put his knife back in its sheath as he stood up, drew his silenced revolver and pulled a pen-sized flashlight from his pocket. He flipped down his night vision goggles as he stuck his head into the tent's slit opening. He saw no movement from the two prone heat sources. He slipped into the tent and closed the open slit behind him.    He cautiously moved between the two heat sources, the larger one was on his right. He flicked on the flashlight, shined it at the big guard, and shot him between his opening eyes with his silenced pistol. The flashlight was only on for a second. Pat saw the heat source on the left sitting up and he smashed the man on the top of his head with the butt of his silenced revolver. The heat source slumped back onto his cot. Pat flipped up his goggles and turned on the flashlight to make sure it was the general. The general was out cold with blood trickling from his scalp onto his pillow.

Pat opened the tent entrance, scanned the area, grabbed the outside guard by the feet, and dragged him into the tent. He closed the tent entrance and pulled the vial bottle from his pocket. After turning on the flashlight and checking the general, he held the flashlight in his mouth, removed the top from the vial and pulled the hypodermic needle from his pocket. He gave the general the shot in his left bicep.

Pat cupped his hand over his microphone, Mike, I just gave General Dung his anesthesia. Do you see any movement in the camp?

Mike sighed silently in relief. Just the perimeter guards.

I will be approaching the perimeter in a little over a minute. Pat drew his knife as he walked to the back of the tent. Reaching as high as he could, he stuck the blade through the back of the tent. He pulled the flashlight from his mouth, turned it off before slicing the tent fabric from top to bottom, and slit the bottom of the tent to the right. He sheathed the knife and lowered his night vision goggles over his eyes. He spread the slit open and scanned the area. He squatted down and put the general over his left shoulder and then drew his silenced revolver. He was glad that the general was small. He scanned the area again before exiting the back of the tent and approaching the perimeter. He waited behind a large tree trunk near the perimeter and located the closest two guards. He smiled—the guards were approaching each other. The guards shared a few words before turning and marching away from each other. Pat waited until they were both over thirty feet away and slipped through the perimeter to Mike’s tree.

Mike was already rappelling down. He slowed about two feet off the ground and lowered himself silently to the ground as Pat walked deeper into the trees, away from the perimeter guards.

Mike followed Pat a hundred yards farther away from the perimeter where Pat turned left toward their rendezvous point with CT.  After another hundred yards, he tapped Pat on the shoulder. Pat stopped and turned. Mike whispered, Let me carry him.

Mike noticed that Pat’s body was shaking when he took the general off his shoulder.

Pat welcomed the relief from carrying the general. His adrenaline was falling too quickly and his body was shaking from the extreme pressure he had just endured. He led Mike back to CT’s unit.

They walked with CT’s unit another thousand yards before CT stopped and said, Mike, lay him down here.

CT shined a flashlight on the general’s face and subdued his laugh as he whispered, Pat, I can’t believe you got him out of that camp alive. He shined the small light into one of his soldier’s eyes who gasped too loudly. You carry him next.

CT’s troops alternated carrying him for the next three miles. Pat heard the general groan. Everyone stopped. Pat said in Vietnamese, Do you want me to give him another shot?

CT looked for approval from his troops who were having to carry him. They all agreed that they were not yet in safe territory. CT said, Pat, put him back to sleep.

The general groaned louder as the soldier carrying him lowered him to the ground. Pat retrieved the vial and hypodermic needle from his pocket. He knelt down on the general’s left side and said, still speaking Vietnamese, Give me some light and circle around to block it.

Pat injected the other half of the vial into the general’s left shoulder.

The general woke up again an hour later. Pat suggested that they rest while the general regained his senses. Twenty minutes later, the troops had the general walking toward CT’s troop vehicles. Pat and Mike stopped at a stream they crossed at first light and washed the black off their faces and arms.

When they reached the vehicles, some of CT’s troops recognized General Dung walking toward them and were shocked that he was being brought back alive. CT explained that Pat went into the Cong camp