Meyer - Devils Guard: The Real Story

By Eric Meyer

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Swordworks Books

Devils Guard: The Real Story

rd Edition Copyright 2010-12 by Eric Meyer

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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We spent the following week preparing for the mission. Each day I took the men out into the jungle for hours of hard, physical endurance training. Petrov managed to blow up several ancient trees, bringing down what had taken probably five hundred years to grow in just a few seconds, but it was good practice for the real thing. Armand set up a variety of targets and practiced his sharpshooting, accurately putting round after round into the bulls eye. I made the others run fully laden along the jungle trails, forcing the pace until they literally fell over gasping for breath. In the evenings, our muscles reminded us of the agony wed gone through that day. We pored over maps and plans of the operational area, fine-tuning every detail of the mission until we could recite it in our sleep.

Finally, we were ready to go. I had stuck to the idea of a twelve-man unit, enough to hit hard, but not so many as to invite discovery by the Viets. Seven of us were former Waffen-SS, and that was no coincidence. The experience of the Eastern Front had been won in blood, and no amount of training could substitute for the real hell of those dark times. To survive the Eastern Front, you had to become a unique survivor, staying alive in the midst of fierce firefights against overwhelming odds, when you were under attack from thousands of savage Russians anxious to wipe out every German from the face of the earth. You had to possess a rare mix of skills. Those were the kind of skills we would need to come back from this mission alive.

Apart from the former SS men, we had Private Armand, perhaps the most skilled sniper Id ever encountered, and I had encountered many on the Eastern Front where the Russians made sniping almost a national pastime. Sergeant Petrov, the Ukrainian, was our unit demolitions expert. We also had with us Corporal Bruno Dubois, which was most definitely not his real name. He was a Muslim from Casablanca who had used his knife once too many times on business rivals in his native country. Probably as a result of his numerous smuggling operations, he was an expert with almost every weapon we possessed in the Legion armoury, as well as being a nasty fighter. There were also two other Arabs, Algerians, Privates Laurent and Renaud. Like Corporal Dubois, they were both vicious killers.

I felt as confident as I could be that we were going into this operation with the best possible chance of getting back out. None of my unit was French, a deliberate decision. I had no place for men who might hesitate for a second whilst considering French sensibilities. That also meant no officers, for all our officers were, of course, French. That suited me fine. I needed brutal killers, not latter day Napoleons.

Before we began, the mission almost ended. Our high command in Paris had received orders from the Americans, who seemed to know every move the French made in Indochina almost before it happened. For whatever reason, they expressly forbade the French Navy to carry troops bound on an assassination mission. Apparently, that kind of operation fell outside of the US constitution. The Americans were supplying us with large quantities of logistical support, everything from infantry rifles to fighter aircraft. In return, they tapped into virtually all the intelligence from our civilian and military agencies, building a future store of information for use in their own projected anti-communist operations.

It normally caused us few problems, but the Americans could be notoriously sensitive where certain matters were concerned. Our operation fell into this category. I suspected at the time that their policy was more of a clean hands policy than any real difference of opinion. After all, theyd forbidden our unit being transported in French warships in the Gulf of Tonkin. There was no mention of other means of transport.

I spoke to Colonel Joffre about the problem.

The thing is, Sergeant Hoffman, we have to be very careful now that the Americans are aware of what were doing. Frankly, General Lattre is considering calling the whole thing off.

That would be a shame, Sir, just because of a minor difficulty with transportation.

He smiled. The problems are anything but minor, Im afraid. I sometimes think that politics will be the end of us here in Vietnam. Do you have any suggestions? An airdrop, perhaps?

No, Sir, I replied. Too noisy, and too many chances of things going wrong. We need to travel overland, avoiding the main routes. If necessary, well walk all the way.

I see, Joffre said thoughtfully. You really want to do this, Jurgen, you want to nail that bastard Giap.

Ive got nothing against him, personally, Sir, I told him. But I honestly believe we need to hit the enemy hard, where it hurts. Carry the fight to them. It could shorten the war, and certainly save a lot of French lives. Giap is their main military planner. Some say hes a genius. Im not too sure about that, but if we kill him, they could well think seriously about prolonging the war.

I agree. Supposing we mount a search and destroy mission to the north west of Hanoi? At some stage, your unit drops off and goes in a different direction. How would that be? Nothing on paper, of course.

We both smiled.

As we loaded, I noticed Mai St Martin and Thien van Hoc watching again. They saw me look at them. Mai spoke quickly to Thien, and they walked away. Id still not mentioned my worries about them to the men, but it would have to wait, it was too late now. When we got back, if we got back, I decided to talk it over with Joffre. We needed a serious look into the backgrounds of those ladies. Then I put it out of my mind as we left our Hanoi barracks, part of a larger, battalion-strength column.

A total of six hundred and fifty men, the whole of the Second Battalion, 13th Half Brigade, packed into a long line of trucks heading north west; the opposite direction from Cao Bang which lay to the north east near the Chinese border. Ten kilometres out from Hanoi, one lorry at the back of the column abruptly left the main highway and began to head north east. We were on the way!