Midnight Runner - Jack Higgins [3]
"Back, Sister," Quinn called. "Get back." He pulled his grenades out and tossed one to Jackson. "Together."
They pulled the pins, counted to three, stepped out, and lobbed. The explosions were deafening. A number of Vietcong went down, the rest retreated for the moment. Quinn turned to the nun. She was in her early twenties, with a pale and pretty face. When she spoke, it became clear she was English.
"Thank God you came. I'm Sister Sarah Palmer. Father da Silva is dead."
"Sorry, Sister, there's only the two of us. The helicopter's gone for help, but God knows how long it will take."
Jackson fired a burst down the road and called, "What the hell do we do? We can't hold this place. They'll be all over us."
The wall at the rear had crumbled over the years. Beyond, great banks of reeds at least ten feet tall faded into the downpour.
Quinn said to Jackson, "Take them into the swamp, do it now."
"And you?"
"I'll hold things here as long as I can."
Jackson didn't even argue. "Let's move it, Sister," and she didn't argue either.
Quinn watched them go, the children greatly upset, some crying. They scrambled across the crumbling wall, and he took a grenade from his pocket and pulled the pin. He heard the sound of an engine, and when he peered round the wall, a battered jeep was coming up the street, two Vietcong standing up at a machine gun behind the driver. God knows where they'd gotten it from, but more Vietcong sheltered behind. They started to fire, and Quinn tossed the grenade at the last possible moment. It dropped neatly into the jeep, and there was a hell of an explosion, bits of the vehicle and broken men tossed in the air, flames everywhere.
The rest of the Vietcong ran for their lives. A silence descended, with only the rush of the rain. Time to go. Daniel Quinn turned, ran to the crumbling wall, scrambled across, and made for the reeds. A moment later, he jumped into those reeds, pausing only to fit his bayonet to the M16, then he plunged forward.
S ister Sarah Palmer led the way, holding the hand of one child and carrying the smallest, the others following. She spoke softly to them in Vietnamese, telling them to be quiet. Jackson followed at the rear, M16 ready.
They came out into a dark pool and she stood there, thigh deep, her habit hitched up to her belt. The rain thundered down, and there was a kind of white mist. She looked over her shoulder at Jackson.
"If I've got my bearings, there should be a road over to the right."
"And what good will that do, Sister? They'll run us down, and to be honest, I'm more concerned about Quinn. There hasn't been a shot fired since that explosion."
"Do you think he's dead?"
"I sure as hell hope not."
Suddenly, a young Vietcong stepped out of the reeds behind him, a bayonet on the end of his AK, and stabbed Jackson in the back under the left shoulder blade, missing his heart by inches. He cried out and went down on his knees. On the other side of the pool, three more VC emerged, all very young, one of them a girl, clutching AKs.
Jackson tried to get up, using his M16 as a crutch. In silence, the Vietcong watched gravely, then there was a sudden savage cry and Quinn burst out of the reeds, firing from the hip, ravaging all three in a kind of slow motion. The fourth, the one behind, surged forward, too late, as Quinn turned and bayoneted him.
Quinn put an arm around Jackson. "How bad is it?"
"Hurts like hell. But I'm still here. There are some battle packs in my bag, but I think we better get out of here first."
"Right." Quinn turned to Palmer. "Move out, Sister."
She did as she was told, following with the children. They came to a shallower spot, a knoll sticking out of the water. There was room for all of them. Jackson sat there and Quinn ripped at the jagged rent left by the