“What about the woman that came with me?”
“She’ll stay until she is recovered from her wound.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. I suppose we’ll jump off that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, we’ll see that she is well cared for,” said Patti, seeing the concern on Granier’s face. “Why is she so important to you?”
“She’s a good fighter and a scout. I’d hate to lose her. We need her.”
“We’ll drop her with some supplies as soon as she is well enough.”
“She won’t like that. I doubt she’s ever even seen a plane up close, let alone jumped from one.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
“Of course. I’ll let her know.”
Patti called in a sergeant, “Sergeant, make sure this man has something to eat, a hot shower and a cot. A new set of fatigues might also be appropriate. His are a bit worn. See to it he visits the quartermaster.”
“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant, saluting.
Granier saluted and followed the sergeant out.
Wearing a new uniform and freshly shaven, Granier sat outside watching planes take off and land while sipping a coke. A jeep pulled up. Mc Goon stepped out. “Oh, shit,” said Granier to himself.
“You, Granier?” said McGoon, unhappy.
“Yeah,” said Granier.
“You mean ‘yes, sir,’ don’t you… Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir,” said Granier standing and saluting. “Sorry, we don’t have much use for rank in Special Services.”
“Well, this ain’t Special Services, Sergeant.”
“My mistake.”
“See you don’t repeat it. It ain’t my call, but you and I are gonna need to work together if things are gonna run smoothly supplying the Viet Minh. I do my best thinking over a cold beer. You got a problem with that?”
“No, sir. A beer sounds good.”
“I gotta report in. I’ll meet you at the officer’s club in fifteen.”
“I ain’t an officer.”
“Tell ’em Captain McGovern sent you.”
“Alright.”
“And tell ’em to make sure our beers are cold. Nothing worse than warm beer. Don’t know how the Brits put up with it.”
“Barbarians.”
McGoon laughed and moved off toward headquarters. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They’d give ya a thirty-minute lecture on western civilization,” said McGoon without turning around.
Four empty beer bottles sat on the table in the officer’s club. Two more half-empty bottles were being consumed by McGoon and Granier. “My brain is now properly lubricated to solve your problem,” said McGoon. “You don’t want the Japs figuring out the location of the drops or the Viet Minh camp. So, each time we need to change the drop zone, and we need to make sure there is no discernible pattern. That’s easy enough. The problem is communicating the drop zone location without the Japs cracking the code. We have to assume they will be listening to every radio transmission.”
“If we use an American military code, it is only a matter of time before the Japs break it. Once that happens, they will know the time of the drop and our location. They’ll attack the Viet Minh with overwhelming force,” said Granier.
“Got it. So, we need to use our own code. Something the Japs ain’t gonna use lots of resources to break cuz it’s only about supplies and it ain’t that important.”
“Right.”
“We need something that we are both familiar with, but the Japs ain’t.”
“So, what are you thinking?”
“I am thinking… we need another round.”
“Good thinking.”
McGoon motioned for the bartender to bring two more beers. “What about baseball?” said Granier. “We could use runs as miles and the bases to indicate compass direction.”
“Japs like baseball. They might figure it out.”
“Yeah, right. I like hunting and fishing. How about that?”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t really lend itself to numbers.”
“I suppose.”
“I’ve memorized the measurements of all the movie stars. You know… Ava Gardner 34-20-33, Rita Hayworth 37-24-36, Veronica Lake 35-22-35. How about you?”
“Haven’t got around to it.”
“Shame. That one’s kinda fun just thinking about it.”
“How about cars? Do you know engines?”
“Of course.”
“We could talk about engines. Things like horsepower, cylinder displacement, and flow rates of carburetors.”
“That’d work. I doubt the Japs follow American cars. What would we use for direction?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the gear shift – first for south, second for north, third for east and reverse for west.”
“That works. But let’s mix ‘em, so they’re not in order.”
“Alright. I could make a list.”
“Okay, but ya gotta memorize it. No documents that could fall into the enemy’s hands if you get caught.”
“Agreed.”
“Now, the next problem… food is bulky. If we’re gonna be dropping foodstuffs, it’s gonna take some time getting it all out the aircraft door. I can take the plane into a hard banking turn, so everything is dropped in the same location, but any Jap patrol in the area is gonna be able to figure out where the drop zone is located. You could be in a world of hurt if they move in on ya while you’re weighed down like that.”
“Yeah. You’re right. But it’s a risk we’ll have to take. They need food and medicine more than they need guns and ammo.”
“Well, you OSS boys seem to know what you’re doing. I’ll leave it to you.”
Granier walked into the base hospital. Spitting Woman was awake and sitting up with an IV in her arm. The nurses had been pumping her full of fluids. She looked surprisingly good. “You look pretty chipper for a woman that almost died,” said Granier. “Tough as nails, I guess.”
She was happy to see him. He was the only person she knew in this strange place. She started to get out of bed as if she was going to go with him. Granier put his hands out to stop her, “No, no. You’ve got to stay in bed. The IVs. You need fluids.”
He helped her get back in bed. She didn’t like it. He used his hand motions to explain his words, “Look. I’ve got to go back with the supplies and report to Dewey. You’ll stay here and get better. Get strong again. I’ll send someone back and get you. They’ll bring you back to your people.”
She did not like the look of him leaving her. She climbed out of bed again and pulled at the IV tubing in her arm. “No. Wait. Stop. Don’t that. You need that,” said Granier panicking.
He tried to push her back into bed, but she wouldn’t go. “You can’t go with me. I’m jumping from a plane. You’re wounded. You’ll get hurt,” he said.
She again reached for the tubing, and he stopped her, “Okay. Okay. If you stay in bed and let them treat you, you can go with me. We still got a couple of days. Just get better.”
She calmed down. “I’ll come back and get you when it’s time to go,” he said, turning to go.
She reached out, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him back. “What? You don’t trust me?” he said, angry. “If I give you my word, I’m gonna keep it. I’m not a liar.”
She wouldn’t let go of his shirt and pulled him down to sit on the bed. She said nothing but seemed to be happier that he was near. “Alright, fine. But I ain’t sleeping on the floor. Maybe they got an extra cot or something.”
McGoon was doing his preflight check when Granier showed up with Spitting Woman in tow. She had recovered, apart from a limp. Granier wore a parachute and carried his leg pack and rifle case. He had a coil of rope over his shoulder. “Who the hell is this?” said McGoon.
“She’s jumping with me,” said Granier.
“You only got one chute.”
“Yeah, well. I go
t rope. I’ll just strap her on.”
“Oh, that sounds like a real good idea. What about your reserve chute? Ya can’t pull it if she’s sitting on it.”
“That’s a risk we’ll just have to take.”
McGoon shook his head, “Ya ain’t got the sense God gave ya.”
“Nope. None at all. But believe me… it’s better than fighting with her.”
“Has she ever been in a plane?”
“I doubt it.”
“You better keep plenty of barf bags on hand then.”
“Roger that. Permission to come aboard?”
“It’s against my better judgment, but yeah. Permission granted.”
Granier helped her walk up the stairs and through the open doorway. The plane’s hold was filled with supply containers with parachutes attached. Granier climbed in. “You sit over here,” he said motioning to a seat next to the cargo crew. She sat across from the open doorway.
McGoon and Smitty started the plane’s twin engines, taxied the plane onto the runway and stopped. It was a short runway, and he was carrying a heavy load. He set the brake and throttled up the engines. The aircraft shook, straining against the brakes.
In the hold, Spitting Woman’s eyes went wide. “It’s okay. It’s supposed to shake like that before we take off,” shouted Granier, trying to reassure her. She didn’t understand a word.
McGoon released the brake.
The plane lunged forward and sped down the runway. Spitting Woman watched out the open doorway as the grass rushed past and the plane accelerated. She had never traveled faster than a canoe in a fast-flowing river. This was a lot faster than that. She was frightened and exhilarated. She reached over and grabbed Granier’s hand. “You’re alright. You’re okay. You might wanna close your eyes for this next part.”
He closed his eyes to show her what to do. She didn’t understand and kept watching out the doorway.
The plane hit its rotation speed. McGoon lifted it into the air.
Spitting Woman watched in horror as the plane tilted and the ground fell away in the distance. “Oh, well. Too late now,” said Granier with a bit of a smile. “That’ll teach you to be ornery with me.”
She looked at him for assurance. He laughed. She smiled and relaxed a little. Short of being shot at by the Japanese, this was the most exciting thing she had ever done.
Dewey, the Americans, and the Viet Minh waited in the forest below. They could hear the plane’s distant engine. Dewey wanted visual contact before popping smoke. The C-3 disguised as a Japanese Showa appeared over the mountain. “That’s them,” said Dewey. “Pop smoke.”
Green pulled the pin on a smoke grenade and threw it into a small clearing in the forest. The smoke rose.
In the cockpit, McGoon spotted the smoke below. “That’s them,” he said, pointing, as Smitty flipped the signal switch to green.
In the hold, the cargo crew saw the light change from red to green. They pushed the supply containers, their static lines already connected to the overhead wire, out the open doorway as fast as they could.
The containers’ parachutes opened as they dropped and they floated gently down to the forest canopy.
Dewey and his men kept their distance and watched. Dewey called out a number and pointed to each container as it descended. Each man or woman in the group took note of where their assigned container fell.
Once the last container crashed through the forest canopy, the Viet Minh took off, each searching for their assigned container hidden among the trees like a giant Easter Egg hunt.
McGoon banked the plane and came around for a final pass. He watched the terrain passing below and timed his signal so Granier would hit his drop zone near the small clearing.
Inside the hold, Granier finished tying Spitting Woman to his harness. He checked his knots and tugged at the rope to ensure it was secure. Hooking his static line to the overhead wire, he waddled toward the open door.
Spitting Woman was facing him with her arms around his neck as he had shown her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was backing her toward the open door. She panicked. He was trying to kill her. She was sure of it. She grabbed both sides of the doorway. “No. You can’t do that,” said Granier pulling her hands away. “You said you wanted to jump with me. This is how we do it. It’s gonna be okay. Trust me.”
She didn’t listen and grabbed again for the doorway. The light turned green. Granier kicked his leg bag with rifle bag out the doorway, grabbed her hands, and leaned forward. She yelped as she fell backward out the door with Granier.
She screamed in terror as they fell. The static line pulled the parachute out. There was a flurry of white cloth and suspension cords. She didn’t know what was happening. Everything was coming apart as they fell. The parachute popped open with a jerk, and they were floating downward. Slower. Granier was relieved, knowing he would never be able to reach his reserve chute if the main had failed. She looked around, then up at Granier’s face. “I told ya it was gonna be okay, didn’t I?” said Granier with a reassuring smile.
She relaxed and looked around. She was flying like a bird. Her head jerked from side to side as floated down. She wanted to see everything. She laughed.
It was that moment that Granier knew he was in love with her – a savage – like him. He, showing her the world, she, enchanted like a child on a merry-go-round for the first time. He didn’t care what other people thought; only her thoughts were important. He wanted to make her happy.
They crashed through the leafy canopy, and their chute caught on a tree branch dangling them twenty feet above the forest floor. He released the line holding his leg bag, and it dropped a few feet to the ground. He carefully unwrapped the rope as Spitting Woman held onto his neck. He threw one end of the rope around a nearby tree branch and tied it off in a knot. He handed the rope to Spitting Woman. She knew what to do and lowered herself to the ground. Granier released his harness and lowered himself to the ground using the same rope. “You made it,” said Dewey appearing through the trees.
“We did. Barely,” said Granier.
Dewey could see Spitting Woman limping. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. Just a little mishap with a grenade.”
“A grenade?”
“Yeah. No big deal. She’s tough.”
“And the supplies and weapons?”
“As you ordered, plus food and medicine. There will be a weekly drop.”
“Excellent.”
“Commander Patti wants that Jap supply train stopped.”
“As do we all. So, let’s not disappoint him.”
The Viet Minh did not open the containers, even though they knew there was food inside them. They were disciplined and knew they needed to get out of the area before the Japanese showed up. They unhooked the parachutes and carried the parachutes and containers back to the village. Dewey was fairly certain his efforts to collect and return the chutes to headquarters would be thwarted once they returned to the village. The Viet Minh liked the way the parachutes felt and would make good use of the material. The way Dewey saw it, the parachutes would be a small price to pay as long as the Viet Minh stopped the Japanese supplies from crossing the border.
The people in the village feasted on the supplies delivered by the Americans. The aroma of rice once again cooking in their pots replaced the sour smell. The people seemed more energetic, even playful. Hoagland dispensed medicine to those that needed it, which was most of the Viet Minh. “How long before they recover?” said Dewey.
“Not long. A week for some. Longer for others. The food will help build up their immune systems. It’ll give them a fighting chance,” said Hoagland.
“And Mr. Hoo?”
“He’s doing much better. He should be up and around in a few days. He could use the fresh air. That cave is like a tomb.”
“And is he still onboard?”
“I think so. He hates the Japanese for what they have do
ne to his people.”
“His people?”
“Well, they are. I’ve never seen such loyalty. They revere him like a god.”
“I suppose that’s good… as long as he’s on our side. Honestly, Hoagland, you’re beginning to sound like a fan of Mr. Hoo.”
“I suppose I am. He’s very intelligent and genuinely cares about his people.”
“He’s a communist.”
“Yes, but I don’t think it is as much about the ideology as a way to feed his people. I think that is what is important to him. He may be convinced there is another way if it can accomplish his objectives.”
“Honestly, I don’t care what they believe as long as they help us stop the Japanese. We’re fortunate we are soldiers. We can leave the politics to the diplomats.”
“He asked me for a copy of the Declaration of Independence.”
“I don’t see the harm. Give it to him.”
“It might do some good.”
“You’re a dreamer, Hoagland.”
Hoagland smiled at the thought.
With a bowl of rice in her hand, Spitting Woman sat down near Granier. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Just the fact that she chose to sit near him gave Granier hope. He smiled shyly. She smiled back. He wondered if it was possible to have a real relationship without ever speaking. How could they share their past experiences? How could they explore their common beliefs? He was sure they had figured out how to argue. He knew when she was mad… and even how to calm her. They communicated in their own way, and it worked for now. That was enough. It was a beginning.
The Viet Minh fought well in small fire teams of three or four, especially if the other members of the team were from the same tribe. They could communicate effectively, and they never left a wounded comrade on the battlefield. But the Japanese usually fought in larger units – platoons, companies, and even battalions.
A War Too Far Page 8
