Casca 14: The Phoenix Read Free

situation in the Peoples Republic. Ho knew that once victory was achieved the so-called autonomous regions would quickly be reduced to their proper state and the savages once more put in their place. But for now there were several hundred thousand of them that could be of use and put into the field, thus saving the lives of his own men. To that end, when he saw Moh Chen, the village chief, a dark, dry-skinned man of middle age with wide shoulders and muscular arms, wearing a loincloth and a red and black striped native blanket of homespun cotton approach him, he was all smiles.
    His men were already in the village, trading for food, and gathering a few chickens and some rice for the evening pots. Ho made absolutely certain that everything his men took was paid for and without cheating. He needed the support of the villages in the region. Once he had them on his side they would serve as the eyes and ears that would warn him of danger long before it came too near to him. Everything was all smiles and welcome between the two men as greetings were exchanged in a mixture of Vietnamese and Bihnar. Both knew the other was not completely sincere, but the game had to be played. Ho dined somewhat unwillingly with the chief on a meal of fat roasted dog and rice served with the ever present "nouc mam," a fish sauce that was highly prized among the aborigines. Montagnard cuisine left much to be desired. The dog was simply gutted and tossed on a bed of coals to cook off its hide. When a portion looked done enough it was just torn off and eaten.
    After dining, Ho made a few small gifts to the chief in the form of cigarettes taken from the dead Americans he'd ambushed. Then he departed leaving three men behind in the village to keep an eye on the trail and to serve as an additional incentive for the Montagnard chief to toe the line.
    Casey dined on no such exotic a meal. Much of his nourishment came from a hunger to get his hands on Ho. He did eat but didn't taste the flesh of the large, slow, tree lizard that had crossed his path. Iguana was a delicacy in many parts of the world, but he had not time to think about such niceties.
    The spoor was growing clearer; he was gaining on them. While the Vietcong rested in the Bihnar camp he traveled, each step bringing him that much closer to the object of his hatred, the man called Ho.
     
    H o had no desire to tarry in the camp of the savages. After the basic amenities had been observed, he'd felt free to continue on to the base camp in a valley branching off the Song Cai River. The presence of his three well-armed men would be more than sufficient to insure the continued loyalty of the tribe. There would be no trouble from those animals. The chief knew all too well that the less than effective security of the Saigon forces was too far away to do his people any good. To him it didn't make much difference who the masters were or what ideology they espoused. To Moh Chen they were all the same. Both sides were hated equally, for both sides were Vietnamese and had been the hereditary enemies of his race since time immemorial. He would do what he had to for the safety of his tribe. That was his only concern and if it required paying lip service to the North Vietnamese or Vietcong then so be it. He would treat the Saigon Forces no differently if they came to his village. Spears, crossbows and a few rusty Mats bolt action rifles left over from the French were no match for AK-47s or M-16s.
    Troung took the position behind their point man, his mind on his leader. He had a great admiration and respect for Comrade Ho and knew that he was in a favored position. Ho's star was on the rise. If his plan for the disruption of the enemies' morale and their will to resist was successful, there was no limit to how far he could climb in the ranks of those who would rule this land when the Americans and their puppets, the South Vietnamese, were defeated. That Ho would succeed was never a matter for doubt, but he was a