The Weapon - Exodus - part 12
By Diana the Valkyrie
Lan Ho was one of the Viet Minh



Back at the village, we joined Lan Ho for supper. "It's all coming together,"
I told him, "we should be able to get all you folks out to America within two
weeks." Wendy was cuddling baby Kippy, and looked up, adding "If all goes
well." Lan Ho looked sad, and sighed. "I'll be staying here," he said. I
looked at him. "You mustn't, you'll get killed. What's the point of staying
anyway, everyone else will have left. Your attachment is to the family, not to
this piece of ground." "It isn't that," he said sadly, "I cannot go to
America." "Why not? It's all set, they've agreed to take 100,000 people!"
"It's a long story," said Lan Ho.

Lan Ho refilled his tea cup, and sat back on his heels. "When I was a lot
younger, there was a big war. A world war. The Germans invaded France, France
was unable to defend the French colonies against the Japanese, and there was
much change. Much change, and many deaths, because we fought the Japanese
invaders. But then the Germans were defeated, and the Japanese surrendered. We
declared independence, but then the French returned to reclaim their colonies.
But the land was not theirs, it was ours. We didn't want to be a French
Colony, and so we went to war against the French. The French were still weak
after the world war, and we were able to defeat them, and then there was a
great battle at which we defeated and humiliated their best men, at Dien Bien
Phu. And the French had other problems, nearer to France, so they decided to
pull out of our country. But then the Americans came. And we had to fight them
too. Many deaths, very many, our people and also theirs."

"Vietnam" I whispered.

He nodded. "Yes. I was one of the Viet Minh. And I became part of the army of
North Vietnam, and we fought America, and won. And that's why I cannot go to
America. They would not welcome the killer of their children."

"Damn," I said.

Wendy moved slightly; I looked at her, and she was feeding the baby. There's
something about a woman feeding a baby that touches you deep inside. "He's
wrong," she said. We both looked at her. "They won't see you as the killer of
their children, they'll see you as an old soldier who fought for what he
thought was right, fought for independence, and won. That all happened twenty
five years ago, and passions no longer run high. People forgive and forget,
especially as you did nothing wrong, nothing dishonourable." Lan Ho regarded
her for a while. "I shall think upon your advice, Ghost Woman."

Next day, I sent Wendy out to have a look at what the enemy were up to; were
they en route for us, and if so, in what size of force. Meanwhile, I met with
the chemists, the people who converted raw poppy into opium, the start of the
process that eventually leads to heroin. I had a job for them; I told them
where to find my drums of sodium hypochlorate, ethyl alcohol and sulphuric
acid. I explained to them the fairly simple but very dangerous process of
converting ethyl alcohol into ethylene, the more complex process whereby
sodium hypochlorate is treated with sulphuric acid and reacts to give
disulphur dichloride, S2Cl2, a corrosive, golden-yellow liquid, and then the
especially dangerous reaction of disulphur dichloride and ethylene to give
Bis(2-chloroethyl) sulphide. Which is more commonly known as "Mustard Gas".
And I told them how to make Molotov Cocktails out of the gasoline I'd brought;
glass bottles filled with gasoline, a rag stuffed in the neck. Not as good as
a grenade, but still pretty effective.

Most people say that it's wrong to use stuff like Mustard Gas. Most people say
it's wrong to kill people at all, and one of the Ten Commandments agrees with
that, and doesn't have any exceptions like "except when you're at war". I
think most people are correct; now explain this to Kippy's mother just after
some bastard shoots Kippy, and just before the same bastard shoots the mother.
Speak softly and carry a big stick. My biggest stick wasn't reliable; she'd
demonstrated that last time we were here, and I had to build a trebuchet to
make up for her refusal to act. I didn't think I could rely on her now,
either.

One interesting and important property of Mustard Gas is that it isn't
actually a gas. It's a liquid. You spray it like an aerosol, and it lingers
for a while, where a gas would get blown away. When it touches the skin, you
get painful blisters, and if you get it in your mouth, throat and lungs, it
can kill. And it contaminates the vegetation, so that far a long time
afterwards, touching leaves and plants that are coated with Mustard Gas is
very painful. So you can use it like a minefield, you could spray it over an
area that you want to keep the enemy out of.

. . .

Over the next few days, things were fairly quiet. A helicopter brought a team
of engineers out to look at the flat hard-standing that Wendy had made, and
they decided that it would bear the weight of their C130 transports. Wendy
brought a big rubberised tank, and once she had it in place, she dumped thirty
million pounds of kerosene into it. Lan Ho had organised the evacuation of the
area, and we were getting an increasing number of civilians turning up at the
village, and being sent on to the airfield to wait for Operation Magic Carpet,
as the USAAF was calling it. More engineers arrived, and aircraft mechanics,
and tools and spare parts for planes; prefabricated buildings started to
appear on the site, some for the airfield staff, some for the workshops. The
locals were mostly sleeping under canvas, and feeding them was beginning to be
a strain. But since this was only going to be necessary for a short while, we
dipped into the village's winter food stock, captured from the bandits last
week.

My chemists had completed their work; my mustard was ready, and we loaded it
into a dozen large hand-pumped garden sprayers. The kites were ready, and I
sent Wendy out each day to maintain my surveillance over the area, but the
first warning of a problem came from an unexpected source.

It was late at night, so late that dawn the rosy-fingered was just beginning
to turn pitch black night into glorious day, Wendy and I were asleep a mile or
so above the ground, because Wendy thought it was safest for me that way, and
I'd gotten used to leaving that sort of things in her hands. Actually, I was
asleep, but Wendy doesn't do sleep. She can fake it, of course, but she also
fakes breathing and heartbeat, because it feels so peculiar to me if she
doesn't. Her arms around me tightened slightly, and the body I was laying on
wriggled a bit, and she licked my ear. "Wha? Whassup?" I mumbled. "It's
General Marston, he says there's a problem. There's a column of trucks and
jeeps moving towards the village, it's just fifty miles away."

I came fully awake. "Get Duncan in on this, and tell me what Marston says."
"Apparently, their satellite pictures are showing vehicles and men, coming
this way." "Get the exact lat and long, Wendy, and we'll go take a look-see."
"OK. Duncan's answered, and I'm giving him a sitrep." Then Wendy accelerated
and started to descend, and a few minutes later, I could see the convoy. I
took one look, estimated twenty trucks and a dozen jeeps, and told Wendy to
get to the village, as fast as possible.

I pulled out my cell phone and told Wendy to connect me to Marston. "Can you
slow them down?" I asked. "No can do," he replied, "we don't have an ROE, and
even if we did, I've got no assets local." "Shit", I replied. "But you don't
need anything, do you? You've got her," said Marston. Yeah, I thought. My
flying bedstead. "When can you start evacuating?" I asked him. "About a week
from now." Oh great. Here comes the nasties, probably about two hours away,
and I need a week. Doesn't fit. Twenty trucks means about a thousand troops,
armed with modern weapons, plus mortars, the jeeps have heavy machine guns
mounted, we are in dead lumber.

We reached the village, and I got Lan Ho on the job at once. "They're on the
way, the bad guys. Get everyone who isn't armed out, down to the airfield. Get
the kites up in the air, but unarmed for now. Get the militia into the
trenches. Wendy, go back to the convoy and destroy every truck and jeep they
have."

She looked at me. She stood on the ground facing me, her arms folded, and
shook her head. "You know how I feel about that, George. Please don't ask me
to kill a thousand men." "Wendy, my love, my sweetheart, my weapon," I said,
wanting to remind her of her oath, "I'm not actually asking you to kill
anyone, just wreck their trucks and jeeps. They can walk home. And make sure
that they see you doing it, I want them to know what they're up against." She
nodded and shot up into the air. That would slow them down some. Plus the
sight of the Ghost Woman that they'll have heard about, would contradict any
idea they might have that she was just a rumour. They wouldn't come rushing in
like the Seventh Cavalry, they'd be a bit cautious in their advance, in case
the Ghost Woman came back to spank them some more.

Well, that would help. Wrecking the vehicles would eliminate the heavy
weapons, and they wouldn't be able to shoot down my kites or mortar the
trenches. Even better, it would slow them down. I reckoned a few hours to sort
out the shambles that Wendy would create, and then maybe another 24 hours for
them to get here on foot.

Meanwhile, I was on the phone to Marston. "I need that evacuation like NOW!" I
pleaded. "Can't be done, son. We don't have the refuelling pumps in place, or
the technicians ..." I hung up on him and called George. I explained the
situation. "What'll we do, George?" Wendy arrived back, looking pleased with
herself. "Oh, that was fun! Want anything else broken?" she asked. If there's
one thing Wendy is really good at, it's breaking things. And sex, of course.
"Hang on, George. Wendy, can you get Potus on the phone?" "Sure," she said,
"I'll call his direct line." And a half a minute later, she said "Here you
are."

"Hello, Bill?" "Who is this?" "George." "Who is George and how did you get my
number?" "Uh, you remember Wendy?" "Oh. Yes. Ah. What's up?" "We're about to
get a visit from the hostiles, within the next 24 hours, we need an evac like
now, but your General is dragging his heels." "I'm on it," said Bill, and hung
up. Well, it was nice to have the Potus pulling on the ropes, but if there
really were insuperable practical problems in moving the evac forward a week,
then it looked like I'd just have to try to buy us a week. "Wendy?" "Mmm?"
"Get back to the convoy, see what they're doing. I'd guess they'll be hoofing
it down the road. If they are, then plough up the road and wreck any bridges
they'll be using. I want them slowed down as much as possible" "Yum yum,
mindless destruction," she said, and flew off.

Then Duncan phoned. "Can you slow them down some?" he asked. "Good idea,
Mycroft, that's exactly what I'm doing right now." "Oh." "Current situation
is, they don't have any vehicles any more, they got Wendified. And she's off
digging up the road and wrecking infrastructure. Duncan, call me back if you
get any more brilliant ideas, OK?"

There was a "whoosh", and Wendy appeared by my side, stood up straight and
saluted. "Mission accomplished" she said. "I wanted you to plough up the road
too." "I did." "Oh. OK, then what else can we do to slow them down some?" "I
could do a striptease, get them to stand and watch." "Be serious, Wendy." "I
am serious." "Dammit. Really?" "Sure. Maybe they'll stand and watch me. But
even if they don't, what's the worst that can happen?" "They could open fire
on you." "Stopping to open fire on me would be as good as stopping to watch me
strip." "Yeah, but. I love you, Wendy. Listen, make sure they can see that
bullets don't have any effect on you, I want them as intimidated as hell."
"Love you too, honey, don't worry, they can't do any real damage" and she flew
off again. Yes, I know that, but there's something about sending the one you
love off to get shot at that doesn't sit well in my mind.

I saw Lan Ho, and trotted over to talk with him. "How's it going?" "The
evacuation to the airfield has started, there's about eighty thousand people
there now, and everyone else will be there within a couple of days. But ... "
"But what?" "Sir, are you sure about this? It's like putting all our rice in
one bowl. If the hostiles break through to the airfield, blood will flow like
water." "I know, Lan Ho, but we have to concentrate everyone in order to get
them away, we don't have any choice. Make sure the people in the first line of
defence trenches understand what's at stake, and keep those kites in the air,
rotate the airmen so they don't have more than three hours aloft at a time. If
they sight the hostiles, get them down, arms them with the sprayers and
Molotovs and send them up again." Lan Ho saluted, and ran back to his command
center. What's with all this saluting?

The Potus phoned me next. "Sorry, George. We might be able to move the evac up
by a day or two, but that's the most we can get." "Hellfire. Thanks anyway,
even a day might make the difference. We're aiming to slow them down as much
as we can, and if we have to fight, we will. I just hope it doesn't come to
that." "With her on your side, you can't lose" Yeah, everyone thinks that.
Trouble is, they can't see the difference between what she can do and what she
will do. On the other hand, I thought ... Hmmm. The hostiles can't see that
either.

Wendy got back late that evening, as Lan Ho and I were sitting around the
fire, talking about the plans for the next day. There was the usual "whoosh",
and suddenly she was sitting next to me. I leaned towards her, and she put an
arm round me. That felt so good after the rather awful day I'd had, you can't
imagine. I leaned into her, and put my head on her shoulder. "So, did it
work?" I asked.

"I found them struggling down a very messed up road, and I landed in front of
them. I just stripped naked, and started an erotic dance. Lots of hands
sliding down hips, lots of shimmying. I don't know how good I was, I've never
done this before, and it isn't in my basic training, so I just made it up as I
went along. I imagined it was Duncan out there watching me, and I pretended I
was dancing for him." Tact is not one of Wendy's superpowers. You'd think
she'd at least lie and say it was me she had in mind. Still. On the other
hand. Duncan was several thousand miles away, and Wendy was right next to me,
her hair tickling my face and her scent in my nose. "So then their officers
caught up, and there was lots of yelling, and then they started shooting at
me." "What did you do?" "Nothing, I just carried on dancing. They could see
that the bullets were hitting me, but I just kept fixing the damage; as fast
as they made holes in me, I fixed them." "What did you do with the bullets?"

She reached behind her to her cape. I knew that gesture, it meant that she was
storing something inside herself, and was getting it out without people seeing
a sight that would have looked very peculiar. She pulled it out, and put it on
the ground, and by the flickering firelight I could see she'd made a statue
out of the lead bullets. It was a jeep, but the front of the jeep was badly
smashed in. The cause of the damage was clear, because she'd also modelled
herself in the act of smashing the vehicle. She was flying at the jeep, diving
slightly, her arms out in front of her, both buried in the body of the jeep,
with her head and shoulders caving in the front. "Lan Ho, this is for you,"
she said. He reached for it, and tried to pick it up. "Oh, I forgot to
mention, it's rather heavy. There's about fifty pounds of lead there." "They
fired that much at you?" "Yes, the officers seemed to think that if one
hundred bullets didn't work, then ten thousand would. So they just kept firing
at me until eventually they realised that it wasn't working, and they left me
and moved on. I think I must have delayed them by a few hours, George, no more
than that." "Don't worry, that's worth while. We just need to keep them off
for six days now, and I'd say that even if they came here at full speed, it
would take them two or three days. Tomorrow morning, first light, you and I
are going to have a look-see, find out where they are and what speed they're
making. But there's not much we can do now, and I'm cream crackered; time for
bed, I think." Wendy put her arms round me and we shot up into the sky,
hovering about a mile above ground, the height that Wendy had decided was a
good place to sleep.