The pilots of the Zeros banked hard and came around to strafe the downed aircraft and its crew.
McGoon and Smitty scrambled out of their seats and into the cargo hold where the rest of the crew was waiting. “Okay. Next bridge. What do we do?” said Smitty.
“I’m thinking. Let me think,” said McGoon.
He ran to the back door and looked out. “Alright. Here’s what we are gonna do. They’re gonna fire on the plane. Once they start, we’re gonna run for those trees over there,” he said pointing. “Everybody on board?”
The crew nodded, too afraid to speak. They heard the machineguns rattling as the bullets hit the hold, popping holes through the outer skin, sunlight streaming into the dark hold. “Run!” said McGoon, the first out the door.
The Japanese pilots were unable to adjust their fire as they watched the Americans sprint from the downed aircraft.
McGoon made it to the trees and collapsed out of breath. It was more running than he had done since basic training. The others followed, diving into the trees. Safe. “Yeah. Fuck you, Tojo!” yelled McGoon as the Zeros passed overhead.
The Zeros banked hard again.
“Oh shit, they’re coming back,” said Smitty.
“You really need to stop with the negative attitude, ya know that?” said McGoon. “Everybody just hunker down. Most Japs are lousy shots.”
“Most?” said Smitty.
“Enough with the negativity, Smitty. Can’t ya see I’m trying to keep morale high with the crew?”
The Americans watched as the Zeros leveled out of their turn and lined up to shoot into the trees. “Damn. I wish I had a bazooka or something,” said McGoon.
The lead Zero opened fire. Bullets hit the sand thirty yards away and sped toward the Americans’ hiding place. “Oh, shit,” said McGoon.
Suddenly, the lead Zero exploded and crashed into the river. The Zero following pulled out and banked hard, heading back the way it came. A few seconds later, six Hawker fighters with shark’s teeth painted on the front of their fuselages zoomed overhead. It was a flight of the Flying Tigers chasing after the remaining Zero.
McGoon jumped up and pumped his fist, “Yeah. Flying Tigers! You’d better run, you nip bastard!”
The crew of the downed plane breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Ya see. Positivity wins out every time,” said McGoon with a shit-eating grin.
Nobody cared. They were just happy to still be alive.
When the Viet Minh returned to their camp, Granier went off by himself. He was angry and decided it would be better if he didn’t see Spitting Woman right away. He missed her, but he didn’t want her to see him in a foul mood. He knew he could be difficult to get along with at times and didn’t want to overwhelm her this early in their relationship. Relationship? he thought. Hell, I can’t even talk to her. She just grunts in response.
He grabbed his blanket, gun oil, rag, and screwdriver from his pack and carried his rifle into the woods. He laid out the blanket, knelt and went to work stripping down his rifle for a post-combat cleaning. He did not rush cleaning his weapon. He was meticulous as always, taking his time to make sure each part was cleaned of any gunpowder residue or dirt. He grumbled to himself as he worked. He was pissed at Dewey for abandoning the Viet Minh. He knew Dewey had his reasons, but he didn’t like the way it looked. Americans were not cowards, especially these Americans.
After a moment, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jerked around to see a woman’s hand. The dirt under her fingernails looked familiar. It was Spitting Woman. She chose to say nothing as she rubbed his shoulders. It felt good. He calmed. How did she know? he thought. She slid her hand beneath his uniform and rubbed his chest. She kissed him on the back of the neck. Cleaning his weapon seemed less important at that moment. He pulled her around into his lap, looked into her eyes, and kissed her. Slowly at first, then passionately. His anger was gone.
Dewey was furious when he met with Giap in the forest. “We were betrayed. You have a spy among your people.”
“Why are you so sure the information came from my people?” said Giap. “You radioed your headquarters in China and discussed the location of the drop zone. The Japanese could have been listening.”
“We broadcast in code.”
“They could have broken your code.”
“That’s highly unlikely.”
“So is betrayal from the Viet Minh. Most of our people come from the same group of villages. If they passed information on to the enemy, they would be endangering their own families.”
“Then how do you explain an entire company of Japanese soldiers knowing the exact location of the supply drop? They didn’t just stumble upon us.”
“No, of course not. I agree. Someone passed on the information. I am just not convinced of the source.”
“Well you damn well better find the leak, or we’re all dead.”
“I would say the same to you.”
“This is hopeless. We will not solve the problem if you fail to listen to reason,” said Dewey dismissing Giap with a wave of his hand, walking away in frustration.
Granier shaved with a safety razor and a bar of soap. It had been a while. The members of OSS Teams in the field were allowed to grow beards to conserve time and water. When he finished, he wiped away the excess soap and studied his face in the small mirror he used for signaling. His clean-shaven face revealed some scars. They were small but noticeable. He wondered what Spitting Woman saw in him but then decided not to think about it. It was wasted effort. She liked him. That was enough.
Granier walked over a series of rocks to the opposite side of the stream that divided the village. He climbed up a path covered with freshly cut grass that kept it hidden and entered the mouth of a large cave. It was smoky inside. The sun filtered through the tree canopy above and formed shafts of light. There was one fire burning in the center of the cave used for cooking and boiling water, shared by the community that lived inside.
A baby cried for a moment but was silenced when its mother placed her breast in its mouth. It was important to keep the children quiet while in the cave. Over twenty families were living together. They were from the same hill tribe. They stayed together. They trusted one another; they depended on one another. Granier understood this. They were a pack.
Spitting Woman was helping her sister-in-law prepare the evening meal over the fire when she saw Granier. She walked over to him and folded his hand into hers. She said nothing as she escorted him through the cave, past the curious eyes and whispers of the other tribe members. Near the back of the cave was where her immediate family lived. There was no furniture beyond several hand-woven blankets on the ground and a dozen baskets that stored food, medicinal herbs, and extra clothing. The area was neatly organized, and the blankets appeared to have been recently beaten to rid them of dust and dirt. Preparations had been made for their guest – Granier.
Spitting Woman stopped at the edge of the blankets and kicked at Granier’s muddy boots. She said something. He didn’t know what she was saying, but she seemed pretty adamant about whatever it was. “You want me to take them off?” said Granier.
She kicked his boots again and gave him an angry look. Granier removed his boots. She picked up the dirty boots and set them to one side. She seemed satisfied and led him onto the blankets. She placed Granier in the center of the blankets and backed away so her family could get a good look at him. Nobody said anything. They just stared. Some grunted. He felt naked and uncomfortable. Granier didn’t like attention.
After a few moments, Spitting Woman moved next to Granier. She motioned to each of the family members, starting with the oldest and said something that he imagined was their name or their relation to her, or it didn’t matter because they meant the same thing. He tried to follow along and memorize each name, but gave up when he discovered they all sounded the same. There were two older women and one older man. He imagined they were her parents, but he wasn’t sure which on
e was her mother, or maybe she considered both of them her mothers or one was her mother and the other her grandmother. It was hard to tell. They were very wrinkled. He was pretty sure the man was her father although he could have been her grandfather because his face resembled a leather bag and he was missing most of his teeth. There were brothers and brothers-in-law, sisters and sisters-in-law, what seemed to be cousins, nephews and nieces. He was totally confused until she came to the final two children to be introduced – a boy about five and a girl about three. She took each by the hand and placed them in front of her. “Oh, my God. You’re their mother,” said Granier, completely surprised.
Spitting Woman frowned. That was not the reaction she was hoping for. He recognized his faux pau and squatted before them. He studied their faces. The little girl looked very much like her mother, but the boy looked like someone else. It occurred him that they had a father and he wondered where he was. “Their father…? Are you married?” he asked a bit frighten by the potential answer.
Spitting Woman struggled to understand what he wanted. After a moment, it occurred to her that he was asking about their father. She made the motion of Japanese by putting her fingers to her eyes at a forty-five-degree angle, then the gesture of an imaginary rifle firing and finally the gesture of death using her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth and her eyes rolled back. “I’m sorry for your loss,” said Granier, even though he wasn’t.
He felt bad that he didn’t have anything for the children. He wanted them to like him. It occurred to him that he did have a fresh pack of chewing gum, but wondered if they were too young. He decided to risk it. He pulled the pack out, opened it, and offered a stick to the children. “You chew it,” said Granier gesturing he was chewing an imaginary stick.
Spitting Woman took one of the sticks and tore it in half, giving each of the children a piece. They put it in their mouths, chewed it four times and swallowed. “No, no. You chew it,” said Granier, too late.
Ignoring the crazy American, Spitting Woman took the pack from his hand and offered everyone a piece by tearing the individual sticks in halves and thirds depending on the seniority of the family member with the father-figure getting a whole piece. They all followed the children’s example, chewed each piece four times and swallowed. “That’s not the way you do it,” said Granier, frustrated. “Nevermind.”
It didn’t matter. Everyone was happy, and he was a good guest for bringing desert. The women said something to the group, and everyone sat in a circle on the blankets. Spitting Woman’s son and daughter sat next Granier. He wasn’t sure what he should do but figured they were little and couldn’t be that hard to watch while their mother and her sister-in-law went to the fire to retrieve the food. The two children sat patiently. He was surprised by how well behaved they were even when their mother wasn’t within swatting distance.
A clay pot filled with hot stew was placed in the center on three rocks that kept the blankets from burning. Joining the stew was a large green leaf on which sat two dozen skewers of roasted insect larvae and bugs. A large wooden bowl of rice was the last dish. The starch aroma rose with the steam and gave everyone a good appetite. The family used wooden bowls and their fingers to grab what they wanted. A wooden spoon was used to ladle the stew onto the rice in each bowl.
Granier saw a chicken head along with what looked like root-type vegetables and congealed blood cut into cubes scooped into his bowl on top of a healthy portion of rice. He was also given two skewers - roasted grasshoppers and silkworm larvae. He was their guest and deserved the best. He had considered what he might be served and what was in his bowl was a pleasant surprise. He had an active imagination. He ate everything in his bowl and on the skewers, licking his fingers when he was finished to show that he liked it. Over the short time he had known her, Granier had learned that Spitting Woman had four moods – angry, frustrated, satisfied and leave me alone I am busy. At that moment, she was satisfied. For Granier, that was enough.
Spitting Woman rose early the next morning and walked into the woods with a basket on her arm. It was peaceful. She enjoyed being by herself, away from her children and family. She liked spending time with the American, but even he could not fill her need to be alone in the forest. She believed in the forest and thought the trees and animals had powerful spirits. She only took what her family needed, never anything more, and nothing was wasted.
The Viet Minh had stripped the trees and bushes around the camp of everything that was edible. She knew she would need to travel a bit to find what she was looking to gather. She found it after walking a little more than a mile – longan – a soapberry fruit like lychee, smooth-skinned and light brown in color. It was high in a tree, well beyond the reach of someone standing on the ground. She climbed the tree and balanced herself with her arms out as she walked along a branch. She squatted, then straddled the branch so that the fruit was within easy reach. She pulled out her knife and cut several bunches of the berries from the branch letting them fall to the ground below. Then she climbed back down and gathered the fruit in her basket. It was a nice walk, and she felt good.
Granier and Spitting Woman laid on a large rock in the middle of the river with water flowing on both sides. She pulled a berry from the bunch, bit the outer skin, and peeled the skin from the white fruit inside. She showed Granier how she used her teeth to pull the fruit from the remaining skin. She removed the bare fruit from her teeth with her fingers and placed it in the American’s mouth. He chewed it carefully, so as to not crack a tooth on the large seed inside. “It’s good,” he said, pretending that he had never eaten it before.
He spat out the seed into the water. She ate a longan and spat the seed out. It traveled slightly farther than Granier’s seed had traveled. “I think somebody just threw down the gauntlet,” he said grabbing a berry, stripping it with his teeth, eating the flesh and spitting the seed out. The seed traveled through the air and bounced off another rock in the water. “Deal with it,” said Granier.
She followed suit, eating and spitting the seed out. It became a contest like a game of horse, each finding a target farther than the previous spit-shot, challenging the other to hit it. They were competitive and took the game seriously, testing each other’s skills. With a seed ready to launch from her mouth, Spitting Woman suddenly stopped. “What’s wrong?” he said… and then he heard it. An airplane engine.
They both looked up searching the sky. A Japanese scout plane appeared over a mountain ridge. It was heading in their direction and would pass straight over the camp. The Viet Minh scrambled for cover, anything that would keep them from being seen by the plane. Granier knew it would take too long to reach the shore and find cover. He grabbed Spitting Woman wrapping his arms around her and rolled into the river.
The water flowed over them. Granier let go of Spitting Woman with one of his arms and grabbed the side of the big rock to keep them submerged. She grabbed him around the neck to keep from floating away. They looked into each other’s eyes for reassurance. There was little. It wasn’t that they were afraid of what would happened to them – it was a scout plane and had no weapons. It was what could happen to the others in the camp – the old ones and the children, the ones that could not easily run away if an attack came.
They waited almost a full minute holding their breath below the water, staying hidden. Granier slowly poked his face out of the water and watched as the plane passed overhead. Spitting Woman poked her head out of the water and gasped for air. “Are you alright?” he said.
She nodded that she was okay. Everyone in the village seemed to breathe a sigh of relief… until the plane banked and turned back for a second look.
Granier and Spitting Woman again submerged themselves below the flowing water. His grip was slipping on the moss-covered rock. He let go of Spitting Woman with his other arm and grabbed the rock with both of his hands, trying to hang on. Spitting Woman was fighting to hang on. She was tired. He felt her hands slipping from around his neck�
� and then she was gone.
It suddenly dawned on Granier that he had no idea if Spitting Woman could swim. He panicked and let go of the rock. The rushing water pushed him down the river. He kept his feet in front of him to bounce off any obstructions below the water. He pushed his head out of the water and looked down river where he spotted Spitting Woman clinging to a tree branch hanging over the water. He steered himself toward the branch and reached out as he passed it. He mostly grabbed leaves with his wet hand. His head was still under water. Spitting Woman had a better grip on the branch. She reached over and grabbed the collar of his shirt. It helped a little. Granier was able to use his other hand to grab the branch and pull himself out of the water. They both looked up. The plane was above the river, right above them. “Shit,” said Granier.
“Sit,” said Spitting Woman mimicking him.
They waited a couple more minutes until they were sure the plane was gone, then pulled themselves out of the water using the branch.
The Viet Minh emerged from their hiding places and exchanged concerned looks. Dewey ran over to Granier and said, “Do you think he saw us?”
“He wouldn’t have made a second pass unless he saw something,” said Granier.
“Damn it.”
Giap came running and said, “We’ve got to move the camp.”
“Two thousand people. They’ll see our tracks even if we try to hide them,” said Granier.
“You don’t know that,” said Dewey.
“Yes. I do. Moving is not an option. At least not quickly.”
“So, we prepare for an attack,” said Giap.
“They’ll surround us, pin us down, then hit us with heavy mortars until we are annihilated,” said Dewey, hopeless.
“We can fight,” said Giap.
A War Too Far Page 12
