The Point Team Read Online Free Page A

there would be a rearguard of three or four more men. So he and his fifteen men would be
     up against at least twenty-five men with rifles, plus another thirty who probably carried pistols at least and perhaps could
     reach easily for a rifle in the baggage on the bicycles. There was only one way for him to do it.
    As the Montagnards wheeled the laden bicycles along the path, the lieutenant’s men sighted along their rifles and waited for
     the signal to fire. They were outnumbered but had the advantage of surprise. With bated breath, they heldtheir fire. The lieutenant would be the first to shoot. That would be their signal to let go with everything they had.
    Tranh Duc Pho’s rifle was on full automatic. He found the front sight’s post in the notch of his rear sight, settled on one
     man’s chest, pressed his finger on the trigger, and swept the gun barrel to the right. The thirty 7.62-mm rounds in the AK47’s
     magazine emptied out of the muzzle in a matter of seconds. The first man collapsed like a wet paper bag, and those behind
     him were cut down before they knew what was happening as the gun barrel swung to the right. Two bicycles fell as the men sank
     in the hail of lead from this single rifle. Then the rest of the unit joined in.
    Some of the Montagnards died as they raised their rifles in self-defense. Others were zapped in the back as they turned to
     run. Most of the rest were butchered as they cowered behind the laden bicycles or simply stood without moving, immobilized
     by shock.
    The unit’s fifteen AK47s sang out together like a crazed hive of killer bees before the lieutenant’s burst of fire had finished.
     Their burst of fire was equally short, lasting just a few seconds before they had to replace the box-type magazines. The line
     of men wheeling the bicycles and their accompanying guards crumpled under fire. Their shouts of fear turned into screams of
     agony as the lead projectiles burrowed into their flesh and shattered their bones.
    Seven Montagnards unaccountably remained standing, untouched by this sudden holocaust. They fled panic-stricken down the path,
     back the way they had come. The lieutenant had completed loading a fresh magazine into his rifle and sent a burst after them,
     bringing down the last two.
    “Get after them,” he yelled to his sergeant. “Take half the men and bring back at least one alive.”
    As they ran down the path after them, Tranh Duc Pho brought the rest of his men down to examine the dead and injured.
    “Finish them off,” the lieutenant ordered.
    The men used handguns to deliver a single bullet to the forehead of each fallen man. They were well trained at this kind of
     thing and left nothing to chance.
    “You want this one to talk, Lieutenant?” a soldier asked, dragging a Montagnard to his feet from beneath a bicycle. “He’s
     wounded in the arm only.”
    Tranh Duc Pho answered, “Hold him till we catch one of those who got away.”
    In a short while the sergeant and his men came back with two of the escaped Montagnards walking in front of their guns with
     hands clasped behind their necks. The lieutenant indicated where the two men were to stand.
    “Do you understand Vietnamese?” Tranh Duc Pho asked.
    “I do.”
    “So do I.”
    Tranh Duc Pho turned to the man wounded in the arm. “And you?”
    “Yes.”
    Pointing to the wounded man, the lieutenant said, “What’s in that baggage tied to those bicycles?”
    The man hesitated a moment and saw no reason for not parting with information which the lieutenant could easily get for himself
     simply by stooping and ripping the cloth covers.
    “M16 rifles, M60 machine guns, and M79 grenade launchers,” the man said. “There’s ammunition for the rifles, not for the others.”
    “All American weapons,” Tranh Duc Pho jeered.
    The wounded man nodded.
    “Where did they come from?” the lieutenant demanded.
    “I suppose they were left behind by the Americans.”
    “For their Montagnard