A War Too Far

by David Lee Corley

  “We don’t plan on giving them a choice.”

  “More blood?”

  “If need be. When this war ends, we will have a great opportunity to drive all the invaders from our land. We will not let it pass even if it means more blood will be spilled. We will reach out and grab our liberty like a great golden ring. It is ours for the taking.”

  Hoagland smiled, “As I said, you offer them such inspiration.”

  “I am afraid it will take more than inspiration. But still… I do what I can. Will you help me up, Doctor?”

  “Of course.”

  Hoagland helped Ho from his bed and walked with his arm around the small man’s waist toward the cave entrance. “Are you sure you are up to this?” said Hoagland feeling how frail Ho was, his steps tentative.

  “In war and politics, timing is everything.”

  “Which is this?”

  “Both.”

  The cave was above the river and village. Ho stopped at the opening. “Thank you, Doctor. I will take it from here.”

  “Of course. I will be right back here if you need me,” said Hoagland.

  “I know you will, and it gives me strength just knowing that you are there.”

  Ho walked slowly out onto the ledge in front of the cave. The fire in the village illuminated his face as he looked down.

  A woman saw him first. She stopped dancing, and her eyes went wide. “Uncle,” she said in a hushed tone, looking up at the frail man.

  The people around her turned on hearing those words and looked up. They repeated the word, “Uncle,” some cried, many knelt. The news rippled through the village like a rock in a lake. A great silence settled over the crowd as all eyes looked up.

  Ho just stood there, looking out as his people, the proud eyes of a father. “Victory,” he said as loud as he possibly could, raising both his hands above his head. He could feel himself shaking.

  The crowd roared and chanted “Uncle” at the top of their lungs.

  Hoagland could see that Ho was unsteady and moved forward to help him, to keep him from falling into the river below. Ho warned him off with a shake of his head and steadied himself, smiling.

  Dewey moved up beside Giap and said, “That man is who the Japanese should fear most.”

  “That man is who everyone should fear most,” said Giap, grinning, joining the chant, yelling “Uncle. Uncle. Uncle.”

  Granier was away from the celebration, alone. He was kneeling on a blanket, cleaning and reassembling his rifle as he always did after a mission. Finished, he pulled the action back two times to check its function. Perfect. He smiled to himself, satisfied. He looked up to see Spitting Woman standing before him, her back to the celebration. She glowed from the fire behind her in the distance. She didn’t move. He set his rifle down on the blanket and rose his feet. Their eyes met. She looked strangely shy like she was unsure of what he wanted. He stepped forward and kissed her deeply. She kissed back, wrapping her arms around his neck as she had done when they parachuted together. She was wearing her pack. She stopped kissing him, let go of his neck and walked into the forest, looking back as if inviting him. He picked up his rifle and followed her.

  She led him to a clearing covered with ferns deep in the forest. The moon was visible through an opening in the canopy. She removed her pack and pulled out a blanket. She spread it on the ground. She looked at him as if asking if this was okay. He said nothing, unsure what she meant. She opened the top of her shirt and let it drop to the ground. Then she loosened the string around her waist and stepped out of the bottoms of her black pajamas, revealing her naked body. She had scars, some from battle, others from life.

  Granier thought her beautiful. She stepped forward and unbuttoned his shirt and kissed him on his chest. He too had scars. She pulled him down onto the blanket, and they made love.

  Dewey and the Deer Team met with Giap and his commanders in the forest under a camouflaged net. They wanted privacy. Giap trusted his people. Dewey was more skeptical. “Anyone can betray their country given the right set of circumstances and motivation. Better to be safe than sorry,” he would say. They decided to locate their planning conferences away from the village and post guards. Giap was the only English-speaker among the Viet Minh and translated between the Americans and his commanders. It made the process slower, but prevented confusion. “What is the latest troop count?” said Dewey.

  “Nine hundred and fifty-two are combat-ready. Another seven hundred and forty-six are still in basic training or waiting for weapons,” said Giap’s Executive Officer.

  “That’s good. That’s very good. We should be able to expand our operations to attack more targets. The problem, of course, is officers. Have you made any progress in the development of officers?”

  “It is difficult. Our people are brave and good warriors, but they are not educated.”

  “I understand. Hoagland, how is your translation of the training manuals coming along?”

  “As good as can be expected. Very few Vietnamese speak, and even fewer write rudimentary English. Most of the work still falls in my lap. Mr. Hoo helps when he can, but his duties often call him elsewhere. A typewriter with Vietnamese characters would speed up the work,” said Hoagland.

  “I didn’t know you typed.”

  “I don’t, but I will learn.”

  “We’ll add it to our supply request, but it may take the quartermaster some time to find one. In the meantime, keep at it.”

  “Yes, sir. Oh, and please don’t forget to ask for extra typewriter ribbon and carbon paper.”

  “Of course. Mr. Green, how go your small unit tactic lectures?”

  “Good. They’re naturals and catch on quick. It’s like someone already taught them this stuff, and I’m just reminding them,” said Green.

  “Someone did,” said Giap. “The Chinese were training us in our struggle against the French.”

  The members of the Deer Team were uneasy on hearing of the Viet Minh war with their French allies. “What happened?” said Dewey.

  “The Japanese invaded, and the focus of the Chinese shifted elsewhere. As you say, they had their own problems.”

  “Right,” said Dewey. “Well, it certainly shows. Many of your men are experienced fighters. They can teach others. You might consider breaking up your core group and placing the veterans in with the new recruits. It would help with training and boost morale.”

  “We have already begun the process,” said Giap. “It is our culture that the old teach the young.”

  “Excellent. Alright, I think that about wraps it up. Please forward your supply requests to Mr. Santana. He is compiling our list for the next drop. Mr. Van and I will be finishing our plans for the next mission shortly. You will be informed individually as to your units’ assignments.”

  The meeting broke up with a salute between the Americans and the Viet Minh commanders.

  McGoon and Smitty piloted the C-3 disguised as a Japanese transport plane. The dense forest swept below them. Smitty pointed to the smoke from the Deer Team on the ground. “Here we go, boys,” McGoon said over the plane’s intercom.

  In the hold, the cargo crew lined up the supply containers checking to ensure their static lines were not tangled. The drop light changed from red to green. It was a race to get the containers out the open doorway at the back of the plane.

  Through the forest canopy below, the Deer Team and the Viet Minh watched as the supply containers left the plane and popped their chutes. They floated down until they crashed through the branches and leaves of the canopy. Many were stuck high in the trees. The Viet Minh scrambled up the tree trunks and cut the container free from their parachutes. The containers crashed to the ground. The Viet Minh picked them up, gathering them together in a forest clearing.

  In the distance, a Japanese scout watched the circling plane dropping containers into the forest. The Japanese markings on the plane didn’t fool him. He knew it was American. He had been sent t
o find it. He radioed his discovery.

  Dewey supervised the container count. They were still short three containers according to the manifest he had been radioed. Viet Minh teams were out looking for them. Granier and the other Deer Team members were providing security, keeping their eyes on the surrounding forest.

  Something caught Granier’s eye. He turned and studied the trees. Something moved again. “The remaining Viet Minh teams are to the west, aren’t they?” said Granier, his eyes never leaving the area he was watching.

  “Yes. Why?” said Dewey.

  “I’ve got movement.”

  Dewey stopped what he was doing and moved up to Granier’s side. “Where?”

  “Two o’clock. One hundred and fifty yards out.”

  Dewey looked out, squinting. “I don’t see it.”

  “Wait for it.”

  Dewey continued watching. After a few moments, he saw something move and then something else. It was hard to make out, but it didn’t matter. Anything that moved was a threat. “Santana, call in the Viet Minh search teams. We’ll come back for the containers later. Hoagland, ask the commander to bring his men up and take—”

  Dewey never finished his sentence before all hell broke loose. Several light machineguns opened fire on the Deer Team. Everyone hit the ground and scrambled for whatever cover they could find – a fallen tree trunk, overgrown roots, groupings of rocks - anything that would stop a bullet. Mortar rounds rained down, exploding. A Viet Minh soldier suffered a direct hit from a mortar shell. His arm still holding his rifle landed on the ground. The rest of him was gone.

  A company of Japanese soldiers advanced through the trees, firing their weapons. The Deer Team and the Viet Minh returned fire, driving them to cover. “Santana, get that American pilot on the radio and warn him we have made contact with the enemy and are under attack,” said Dewey.

  “I don’t understand. It’s a cargo plane. He’s unarmed,” said Santana.

  “The Japanese will be hunting for him.”

  “Right. I didn’t think about that. I’m on it.”

  “Hoagland, are the Viet Minh teams back yet?”

  “They’re on their way. Three minutes,” said Hoagland firing his rifle.

  “They damn well better hurry. We’re outnumbered. The Japs’ll flank us if we wait much longer. Tell the Viet Minh to leave the containers when we pull back.”

  “I don’t think they’ll do it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s food for their families. They won’t leave it.”

  “Tell ’em we’ll get them more food.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Hoagland moved back to find the Viet Minh commander. He found him on the ground, badly wounded, out of the fight. Hoagland moved to tend to him. He relayed the order to leave the containers to the next in command. The commander shook his head ‘no.’ Hoagland cursed and threatened him. He nodded okay.

  Dewey crawled to the firing positions, checking on each member of his team. He came to Granier, firing, aiming, firing. “Buck, find the Jap commanders and take ’em out.”

  “I’m on it,” said Granier firing his sniper rifle, searching for anyone that resembled an officer or a sergeant, firing again and again, dropping Japanese, holding them at a distance. “Deer Team, we will fall back to the far side of the clearing on my ‘Go,’ then cover the Viet Minh retreat when the rest of their search teams arrive,” said Dewey.

  “We can’t leave ‘em,” said Granier. “They wouldn’t leave us.”

  “We are not leaving them. We will cover their withdrawal when they are ready.”

  “Let me stay. I can hold them off while the Viet Minh withdraw.”

  “No. You will withdraw with your team. That’s an order.”

  “How are they supposed to trust us if we don’t stand by them in a fight?”

  “God damn it, Buck. This is not up for debate. It’s their fight. You will withdraw on my order.”

  Granier locked eyes with Dewey, both men were angry. Granier begrudgingly nodded his acceptance and went back to firing his rifle, killing as many enemies as he could before he was forced to leave. “Deer Team, GO!” said Dewey.

  The members of the Deer Team withdrew, firing their weapons. Hoagland lifted the Viet Minh commander to his feet and helped him retreat. Granier stayed for a moment longer, not firing, waiting, peering through his scope…

  He had spotted the Japanese company commander far back from the front line hidden behind a tree. Granier watched as his head popped out for a moment, then disappeared again. “Buck, move your ass!” said Dewey.

  “Just a sec,” said Granier, staying focused.

  “I said NOW!”

  Granier watched as the commander’s head again popped from behind the tree. Granier squeezed the trigger, and his rifle fired. Through his scope, he watched as the commander’s head disappeared in a spray of red mist. Granier crawled backward with his rifle then climbed into a squat and retreated with the other Deer Team members. They continued to fire their weapon as they moved back to the edge of the clearing.

  Dewey was furious. “I thought I made myself clear.”

  “You ordered me to kill the Jap company commander.”

  “You got him?”

  “As ordered.”

  “Right. Good work.”

  The Japanese assault lost energy once their company commander was killed. They did not advance further.

  The Viet Minh search teams rejoined their main force. Ignoring Dewey’s orders, they grabbed the supply containers and carried them back through the clearing past the Americans providing covering fire. Hoagland shrugged to Dewey.

  “Hell of a way to run an army,” said Dewey.

  The Viet Minh and the Deer Team pulled back and traveled in the opposite direction of the village. When they were certain that the Japanese were not following, they changed direction and made their way back to the Viet Minh village. Granier stayed far behind scouting the rear thoroughly, making sure they were safe.

  McGoon and Smitty were three miles to the border when two Japanese Zeros dropped out of the clouds above. They were part of an entire squadron that had been searching for his aircraft, knowing that the transport plane would be short on fuel and would need to cross the border sooner rather than later.

  McGoon and Smitty did not see the pair of Japanese fighters as they dove. But they saw the tracer bullets from their machineguns as they flew past the cockpit windows. “Ah, shit!” said McGoon banking the plane sharply, pushing it into a steep dive, increasing its speed. He kept a close watch on the altimeter and airspeed. He needed to cut it as close as he dared, but not too close. “You got ’em?” he said.

  “Portside, four o’clock I think,” said Smitty.

  “Not a good time to be guessing something like that.”

  “I can’t tell. They keep weaving back and forth.”

  “Sneaky bastards. Alright. You ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Now,” said McGoon pulling out of the dive, Smitty helping with the controls.

  They were only a hundred feet above the forest canopy when the plane leveled. The two Zeros easily pulled out of the dive and tailed the transport plane. “They’re still behind us,” said Smitty.

  “Ya know, they should really give us some weapons on these things,” said McGoon.

  “They’re Zeros, McGoon,” We can’t fight ’em,” said Smitty.

  “Yeah, well... It’s better than getting treated like a pin cushion.”

  The lead Zero fired. The bullet ripped into the left-wing and hit the engine. A stream of black smoke poured out.

  The plane shuttered, losing power. “That can’t be good,” said McGoon as he tried banking the aircraft to shake off the fighter. “This is ridiculous. I got nothing.”

  “Maybe we could jump.”

  “We’re too low, and you know it. We’d be squashed flatter than a pancake before our chutes opene
d.”

  “It was just a thought.”

  “Leave the thinking to me, will ya?”

  More bullets ripped through the plane’s fuselage as the second Zero took its turn. Sparks flew as the avionics in the cockpit were hit. “Mary, mother of Jesus. Give me a minute to think, will ya?” said McGoon angrily. “Even a condemned man is supposed to get a last wish.”

  McGoon spotted something and said, “And that is mine.”

  “What’s yours?” said Smitty, confused.

  “That,” said McGoon point through the windshield at a riverbed. “Radio a ‘mayday’ and warn the boys in back we’re landing.”

  “On that?!” said Smitty, wide-eyed.

  “You betcha.”

  “You want me to deploy the landing gear?”

  “Nope. You ever do a belly-flop?”

  “No.”

  “Then this will be your first. Good luck.”

  Smitty warned the cargo crew that it was going to be a rough landing, then radioed a ‘Mayday.’ Finished, he turned back to McGoon and said, “So, what’s the plan assuming we survive the landing?”

  “One bridge at a time, good fellow. I’m gonna need both hands on the wheel, so you’re gonna need to cut the engines when I say.”

  “Alright. You sound like maybe you’re done this before.”

  “Nope. Never.”

  The Japanese fighters opened fire again as McGoon dove down to the riverbed. More bullets ripped into the wing and hit the one good engine. It caught fire. “See, we were going down anyway. We just beat ’em to the punch,” said McGoon. “Alright, cut the engines.”

  Smitty reduced the throttles to zero.

  The engines sputtered to a stop. The propellers kept moving, driven by momentum. The plane dropped to the water. Just before hitting, McGoon pulled the nose up, and the plane’s belly hit first. The Japanese Zeros zoomed overhead, surprised by the move. The plane skimmed across the water effortlessly until it hit a sandbar sticking out into the river. The plane came to an abrupt stop, its nose digging into the sand and rock, its tail lifting into the air, then slamming down.