explanation. By 1960, our troops in Burma looked like beggars—dressed in filthy rags, underweight from lack of food, no medicine for the wounded and sick." I resisted the urge to remind him that he had left our men in Chungking in precisely the same state by dumping food and medical supplies in India and substituting opium. "We all felt tired and homesick for our families and friends in Taiwan. Even Lee and Duan were refused permission to return. Why? They let us fight their cause for so many years here in Burma, then suddenly terminate all support and leave us to rot like dead dogs in the jungle. Never will I understand—nor forgive—this betrayal!"
"I don't understand it either, Ching Wei. When orders came down to halt our supply drops over Burma, it surprised the hell out of us too. No doubt it was some dirty political deal with China. Maybe Taipei made an agreement with the Reds to stop supplying you in Burma in exchange for a truce in the Taiwan Straits. They were shelling Matsu pretty heavily that year, as I recall. Anyway, we've never been able to crack Chinese intelligence in Peking or Taipei, so whatever's been going on between the two for the past twenty years remains a mystery to us. Chinese can't seem to keep a secret from each other for more than a few minutes, but they have no trouble keeping foreigners in the dark forever."
Ching Wei took that as a compliment and smiled. "Anyway, it does not matter anymore," he said. "What happened next is common knowledge. We had to survive. At first, we earned a small income by providing armed escorts to protect local opium caravans moving from the highlands of Burma down into Thailand and Laos. Although many of our senior officers found the opium business distasteful, it was—and still remains—the only viable source of income in this region, which you Americans call the 'Golden Triangle.' Our choice was quite simple: trade opium or starve to death.
"For several years we managed to survive in this manner without sacrificing discipline and unity. But greed and corruption follow the opium business like wolves follow the scent of blood. Junior and middle officers became addicted to opium smoking, and this soon gave them new ideas. First one, then another, then half a dozen different groups disappeared into the mountains and went into business on their own. Some extorted money from the villages that grow opium; others joined bandit gangs. Many died of disease and addiction, and even more were killed in bitter fighting among rival bands. I myself selected sixty good men from my outfit and established a small camp in the mountains. We had sufficient ammunition and supplies to last us about three months."
So far, Ching Wei wasn't letting me in on any big secrets with his postwar history—most of it was already common knowledge. What he was really doing was gloating about his own personal success. He certainly knew that I worked for the Company, and that Air America was only a front, but since he never intended for me to leave Dragon Mountain alive, he wasn't worried about telling me all the details of his criminal activities either.
"We settled near a village protected by a gang of local bandits. They were camped comfortably by a river in the valley, while we fortified ourselves high up in the mountains. They suspected neither our presence nor our intentions. One night, as their entire camp got drunk celebrating a local festival, we attacked them by surprise, killing more than half their men. The rest joined my forces. I now had a secure camp, a small but well-equipped army, and a prosperous village to supply all of our needs—my first kingdom!" He beamed with pride at the recollection.
"Of course, my operation was small in the beginning. We had to avoid contact with big, well-protected dealers at all cost. I moved my opium overland to Chiang Mai, in northern Thailand, using a long and difficult route through the mountains, where we would not be noticed. There I sold it directly to my own Chinese contacts, without meddlesome local middlemen.
"Then in 1965, I made my first-and only-mistake." The memory clouded his face, causing his lips to twitch in silent rage. "I received an order for fifteen tons of raw opium, the biggest deal I'd ever made. Previously, I had never sold more than five tons in one transaction, but by then I had over two thousand men under arms and felt confident that I could handle it. My own villagers produced less than ten tons that year, so I raided neighboring villages to obtain the rest.
"I had never dealt with anyone but my own people before, but this time the buyer was General Rammakone, supreme commander of the Laotian Army—if you care to call those lazy, opium-smoking peasants an army. If I'm not mistaken, General Rammakone was also on your 'Company' payroll at that time, supposedly to fight the Communist Pathet Lao." He snorted with laughter at the irony. "The general's real business, however, was refining opium into heroin in an old Pepsi-Cola factory right outside of Vientiane! Much of it he sold directly to the Communists in North Vietnam, who turned around and fed it to American troops fighting in South Vietnam. Nasty business, isn't it?
"The deal was organized by my contacts in Chiang Mai. The general bargained hard for a lower price, but since he offered to pay entirely in gold bullion, we struck a bargain. It was a golden opportunity for all of us. We were instructed to deliver the opium to a remote camp in northern Laos. But I was dealing with strangers who were not Chinese, and therefore secrecy was impossible. The transaction soon came to the attention of Colonel Hsu, who at the time commanded the largest regular battalion of Nationalist troops remaining in the region. If Hsu permitted fifteen tons of opium to leave Burma without taking a share, not only would his dominant position in the trade be threatened, he would also lose face before his own troops."
"Heaven forbid that anyone should lose face!" I couldn't resist that remark, but he ignored it.
"You can imagine what happened next. Though I took a very difficult route, Colonel Hsu knew exactly when our caravan left camp and exactly where we were going. The moment we crossed the Mekong River into Laos, he attacked us in full force." Ching Wei trembled as he recalled the event, and his voice curled into a snarl. "They ambushed us from two sides as we crossed the river. They killed two hundred fifty of my men. They shot our pack horses in midstream, and much of the opium was washed downriver.
"We might have all been killed that day if General Rammakone himself had not intervened. When his scouts reported what was happening, the general took immediate action-not to save us, but to save his opium. He called in fighters and helicopter gunships and attacked both sides with rockets, napalm, and cluster bombs. Our men panicked, and both Hsu and I retreated back across the border into Burma. Meanwhile, the general's troops swept onto the battlefield and combed the river to collect the remaining opium. The general kept his gold as well. But that was not the end of the matter.
"As soon as we had crossed back into Burma, Hsu regrouped his forces and attacked us again, killing or capturing half my remaining troops. I returned to camp with less than five hundred men, convinced my days were over. I also carried back a souvenir from the battle to remind me forever of that black daya piece of shrapnel that still remains buried in my liver." That explained his habit of favoring his left side whenever he sat down: any pressure on his right side caused the shrapnel in his liver to shift position, a sensation as painful as a knife in the gut.
"After that battle, Hsu thought I was finished, perhaps even dead, and that his monopoly on opium trafficking in the region was secure. But, as you can see for yourself," he swept an arm around his lavish throne room, "I am neither finished nor dead. I thrive!"
"Congratulations."
"Thank you. But my recovery was not easy. It required three years to reorganize my forces. First I raided small caravans and villages like a common bandit, avoiding all serious conflicts until I had rebuilt an even bigger army of three thousand men." He pounded the arm of his chair. "Then I came here and took Dragon Mountain away from Colonel Hsu! He had grown soft and fat, and his men had lost all discipline. We found his sentries sound asleep as we penetrated his camp one morning at dawn, and by noon this mountain was mine! Hsu and some of his men escaped north into the Kachen Hills, where he still conducts a petty opium operation. One day I will hunt him down and kill him off like the crazy dog he is!"
"Now that you're king of the mountain, why not just go in and kill
