@@@@@It slowed down, awkwardly yet instinctively,
@@@@@It slowed down, awkwardly yet instinctively, as if
programmed to halt at a specific area; it stopped, an obscure moving silhouette up the road
Standing motionless, Bourne understoodThese were trained male attack dogs, each with its own
territory, which was constantly urinated upon, forever its own turfIt was a behavioral discipline
favored by Oriental peasants and small landowners who knew too well the price of feeding the
animals who guarded their minuscule fiefdoms of survivalTrain a few, as few as possible, to
protect their separated areas from thieves, and if alarms were raised the others would convergeIt was coming back to him! Vague, obscure outlines—imagesA
young, powerful man in uniform, driving a Jeep, stepping out, and—through the mists of Jason’s
inner screen—yelling at what was left of an assault team that had returned from interdicting an
ordnance route paralleling the Ho Chi Minh TrailThat same man, older, larger, had been in his
binoculars only moments ago! And years ago that same man had promised suppliesAmmunition,
mortars, grenades, radiosHe had brought nothing! Only complaints from Command Saigon that
“you fucking illegals fed us crap!” But they hadn’tSaigon had acted too late, reacted too late, and
twenty-six men had been killed or captured for nothing
As if it were an hour ago, a minute ago, Bourne remembered5 out of his
holster and, without warning, jabbed the barrel into the approaching noncom’s forehead
“One more word and you’re dead, Sergeant The man had been a sergeant! “You bring us our
requisitions by O-five-hundred tomorrow morning or I’ll get to Saigon and personally blow you
into the wall of whatever whorehouse you’re frequentingDo I make myself clear or do you care to
save me a trip to publicity city? Frankly, in light of our losses, I’d rather waste you now
“You’ll get what you need
“Très bien!” had yelled the oldest French member of Medusa, who years later would save his
life in a wildlife sanctuary in Beijing“Tu es formidable, mon fils!” How right he wasD’Anjou, a man legends were written aboutJason’s thoughts were abruptly shattered
The long-haired attack dog was suddenly circling in the road, its snarls growing louder, its nostrils
picking up the human scentWithin seconds, as the animal found its directional bearings, a frenzy
developedThe dog lunged through the foliage, its teeth bared, the snarls now the throated growls
of a killBourne sprang back into the fence, pulling the CO2 pistol out of its nylon shoulder holster
with his right hand; his left arm crooked, extended, prepared for a vital counterassault that if not
executed properly would cost him the n