soldiers. The information she had passed on to her brother had killed the French soldiers as certainly as if she had pulled the trigger herself. Therefore, he had to consider her a combatant and a willing instrument of those he was fighting against. If this had been just a national movement for freedom, and not one taken over by the communists, he might have even fought on their side. But he was much too familiar with the communists and what happened to those they ruled not to resist them wherever and whenever he could. He had too many memories of Berlin and the Ukraine, Hungary, Czechoslovakia, Estonia and Latvia, where soldiers and civilians by the tens of thousands had been butchered, women nailed to the doors of barns and children slung against walls with their brains smashed out. The communists of Southeast Asia were even more brutal than those of the Soviet Union. So, even though he could feel some slight sense of regret for the beautiful, fragile Lin, she was as guilty of the horrors her comrades in the Liberation front had inflicted on their own people as surely as was Ho Chi Minh, Giap, or her brilliant brother, Colonel Thich. He wondered if he would ever get another shot at him.
The Vietnamese sentries on duty with the French guards at the entrance to the villa had checked their watches several times in the last few minutes as their French counterparts traded lies about who was the best lover or fighter. The smaller Vietnamese soldiers merely smiled and bobbed their heads pleasantly at the banter, keeping one eye on the dark shadows across the street. A brief flicker of light came from one of the doorways at exactly 0300 hours, then winked out.
The Viets moved casually behind their French associates, talking to each other, laughing as if at some secret joke. The two Frenchmen never learned what the Viets were so amused about until it was too late. Bayonets made at the foundries of Lyon severed their vocal cords and carotid arteries. Before the two hit the ground, Thich and his three men were crossing the street. Silently, they slipped over the sandbag barrier and knelt down where they couldn't be seen by any watching eyes from inside the villa.
In hushed voices, Thich gave his orders to the sentries, who nodded in obedience to his wishes. They had waited a long time to be put to such service. From beneath his black tunic, Thich removed an oilcloth wrapped package as did his other men. Opening them, they removed four .45 caliber Colt automatic pistols. There was one for each of the men present, including Thich. The weapons looked strange, oddly long because of the silencers attached to the snouts of each of the heavy handguns. The .45 caliber pistol was preferred because the heavy slug was already subsonic and therefore much easier to silence than the faster rounds of the 9mm family or the Russian and Red Chinese 7.63mms.
The Mats 49s of the dead guards were taken and given to two of Thich's men, who quickly checked them out making certain there were rounds in the chambers and the weapons were ready to fire. They hung the submachine guns around their necks by the straps so the pieces hung in front of their stomachs, ready for use if needed. For the next few minutes they all hoped that the silenced .45s would be all that was required to accomplish their mission.
Thich pointed to the entrance of the villa. Inside the double doors were two more guards from the 2nd BEP, drinking coffee, bored with the dull routine of doing nothing more than trying to stay awake. The watch officer and sergeant of the guard were in what had once been the drawing room but was now converted over to a communications center. There they waited, taking turns walking the sentry posts, while one stood watch by the radio.
Lieutenant Henri Chauvin was on his first tour of duty in the Orient, having just arrived from Sidi bel Abbes two weeks before to serve as adjutant for Captain Villon.
The two Viets who had killed the Legionnaires at the
The Vietnamese sentries on duty with the French guards at the entrance to the villa had checked their watches several times in the last few minutes as their French counterparts traded lies about who was the best lover or fighter. The smaller Vietnamese soldiers merely smiled and bobbed their heads pleasantly at the banter, keeping one eye on the dark shadows across the street. A brief flicker of light came from one of the doorways at exactly 0300 hours, then winked out.
The Viets moved casually behind their French associates, talking to each other, laughing as if at some secret joke. The two Frenchmen never learned what the Viets were so amused about until it was too late. Bayonets made at the foundries of Lyon severed their vocal cords and carotid arteries. Before the two hit the ground, Thich and his three men were crossing the street. Silently, they slipped over the sandbag barrier and knelt down where they couldn't be seen by any watching eyes from inside the villa.
In hushed voices, Thich gave his orders to the sentries, who nodded in obedience to his wishes. They had waited a long time to be put to such service. From beneath his black tunic, Thich removed an oilcloth wrapped package as did his other men. Opening them, they removed four .45 caliber Colt automatic pistols. There was one for each of the men present, including Thich. The weapons looked strange, oddly long because of the silencers attached to the snouts of each of the heavy handguns. The .45 caliber pistol was preferred because the heavy slug was already subsonic and therefore much easier to silence than the faster rounds of the 9mm family or the Russian and Red Chinese 7.63mms.
The Mats 49s of the dead guards were taken and given to two of Thich's men, who quickly checked them out making certain there were rounds in the chambers and the weapons were ready to fire. They hung the submachine guns around their necks by the straps so the pieces hung in front of their stomachs, ready for use if needed. For the next few minutes they all hoped that the silenced .45s would be all that was required to accomplish their mission.
Thich pointed to the entrance of the villa. Inside the double doors were two more guards from the 2nd BEP, drinking coffee, bored with the dull routine of doing nothing more than trying to stay awake. The watch officer and sergeant of the guard were in what had once been the drawing room but was now converted over to a communications center. There they waited, taking turns walking the sentry posts, while one stood watch by the radio.
Lieutenant Henri Chauvin was on his first tour of duty in the Orient, having just arrived from Sidi bel Abbes two weeks before to serve as adjutant for Captain Villon.
The two Viets who had killed the Legionnaires at the
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