For the Life of Thi Lin Klein

by Jack Twist

  Chapter 16

  At AFV headquarters I had to tell and retell the story, and then again over a radio phone to Major Collins, my company commanding officer. He asked many questions and there were several silences. He was very troubled.

  The HQ officers were quick with their questions and one, a captain from Intelligence Corps, scribbled furiously the whole time I spoke. They asked about Lin, wanting to know whether she was armed or wearing any sort of uniform. Of course there were no questions about the baby.

  When they finally released me it was explained that I was strictly confined to barracks, “pending further questioning”. I may not have been suspected of anything but had I been Lieutenant Jefferies’ killer, I wouldn’t have been the first soldier in the war to murder an officer. ‘Fragging’ the Americans called it and of course officers everywhere had a special interest in it.

  I spent much of my first twenty-four hours in Saigon asleep and when I finally surfaced properly from my allocated bunk at the Canberra Hotel, on my second morning there, I was issued some toiletries and a clean set of greens. At around 1pm Lance Corporal Kelleher, the driver who brought me from the hospital, bounced into the dormitory with the same spring in his step and news that my malingering days were over. He said it as though it had been his decision.

  “Your story must have checked out. I’m to take you out to Tan Son Nhut Airport tomorrow for a Caribou flight back to Vung Tau.”

  “No more third degree?” He shook his head importantly. “Did anyone say anything about what happened to the girl, and the baby?”

  “Sorry, no. Just that you’re being returned to normal duties, unless your boss decides otherwise.”

  Corporal ‘Killer’ Kelleher struck me as a man who liked order in his life, war or no war. The moustache, to begin with, spoke of assiduous personal care. He was concerned about my dejected mood, in particular when his suggestion of a night at his favourite bar, guaranteed, he promised, to put the smile back on any man’s face, did nothing to lift me.

  “Cheer up. You’re a free man. No more interrogation. Those guys can be very persistent if they don’t like you.” I didn’t cheer up. “Well, listen. Since it’s all about this American, all may not be lost.”

  Killer would help me find Abbie. He explained that the American Embassy was contactable but they wouldn’t talk to “any old baggy-arsed private, no offence, from the Australian Army on a personal request.”

  The sergeant who placed Killer and me beside a phone, more or less in private, spoke with a soft sibilance that was almost effeminate. The Australian presence in Saigon had a more manicured feel than operations beyond. The Canberra, to begin with, was a converted hotel. No dust and mud, no sand-bagged huts and tents for these sons of Anzac.

  When contact with the American Embassy was made Killer had to endure several confused replies before he reached the man he was after, a quartermaster sergeant who agreed to arrange a phone connection to the newly arrived American girl.

  Killer winked at me. “Won’t be long. Just a matter of closing the deal. Ever tasted American beer? Weak as piss, heh? Never underestimate the power of Aussie beer.”

  A phone connection to the embassy’s female guest would cost me a carton of beer. I took the phone, but when a voice came on the line it was the same man, to tell me he would have to phone us back.

  Killer gave me the number to pass on. “You know her, Sergeant?” I asked the American. “Seen her around?”

  “No. But I’ve been told about her. She a red head?”

  “Yes. That’ll be her.”

  “Take it easy, buddy. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Could you tell her, please Sergeant, that I may know where the baby is. It’s important. She’ll want to know.”

  “You know where the baby is. Uhuh. And you’ll tell Killer I’ll need the beer cold. It’s important. Okay?”

  We waited beside the phone for nearly half an hour before Killer’s hold over the situation, mainly use of the phone, reached an end. He smoothed his moustache in contemplation, handed me a piece of paper with a number written on it and signaled me to follow. “You might want to keep that. It’s the best number for the embassy.”

  We made a stop at the headquarters ORs’ canteen while Killer bought the beer and then he seemed to spend five minutes seeking out Saigon back streets. “I’ve got some free time. My job today is to watch over you. Seems you could turn dangerous or something.”

  We arrived at a huge double gate with a guard standing inside and a few more in the guard-house. Killer stamped on the brake and called out. “G’day, mate. Got a special delivery from the ’stralian army. For Sergeant Stroud in stores.”

  “Paperwork?”

  “No. Listen, it’s kinda’ unofficial. But if you’d put through a call to the man he’ll okay it. Tell him it’s from the killer.”

  The guard examined us contemptuously. “The killer? ‘S’at you?”

  Killer nodded and grinned. “This arse’ole knows me,” he told me quietly. “Makes me go through this shit every time.”

  “Is this the embassy?” I asked.

  “Tradesmen’s entrance.”

  “What do you normally come here for?”

  “Some regular pick up and deliveries. But also, off the record, the quartermaster sergeant here, Stroud, the one you spoke to on the phone, he can get his hands on all sorts of goodies. American pornos. Top grade scotch and bourbon. The sort that doesn’t get through to most of us. And apparently, although I don’t touch the stuff myself, the best funny weed you can smoke. The man can do the lot.”

  When we pulled up beside a loading bay, a soldier sitting on a box reading a Playboylifted his head from the magazine but made no other acknowledgment of our presence.

  “‘S’cuse me, mate. Sergeant Stroud around?” A card pinned to the man’s cap said, ‘Hero. First Class.’ A sign on the wall of the storeroom said, “I left my heart in San Francisco. And my mind in Vietnam.” And another, “If I had a home in hell and a farm in Vietnam, I’d sell the farm and go home.” Of course the war became famous for these ubiquitous one-liners but if their bitter message ever reached the notice of our political masters it apparently made little or no difference to operations. The war dragged on.

  I asked Killer how long he had been in-country.

  “Three hundred and twelve. Cracked the big three hundred. Fifty-two and a wakey. That’s short, mate. Is that short or what?”

  “All in Saigon?”

  “All in Saigon.”

  Sergeant Stroud had thick curly hair and a willing smile for a sergeant. “Killer, you bad-assed black-marketeer. What ‘cha got for me?”

  Killer reached over and patted the carton on the seat behind us. “Icy cold and pure gold, Sergeant. All the way from Oz.”

  “Beautiful, my man. You wanna leave it in the cold room over there.”

  “Sure. But listen, Sarg. We still haven’t got to talk to that girl.”

  The sergeant expressed his frustration with those of greater rank but less sense. He disappeared and returned soon after. “You’ll see a tree in a clearing around past the battery store. Park your vehicle there and nowhere else. Understand? She’s gonna try and get down to see you.”

  Killer nodded. “Thanks, Sarg.”

  “Yeh, thanks,” I added. I hadn’t expected a personal meeting.

  The sergeant looked at me. “Don’t expect her to be alone. I’m told she’s restricted, for her own safety. She came over here to see her dad. Must be crazy.” He turned to Killer. “The large polished chrome door over there. That’s the cold room.”

  Killer grinned. “Yeh, I know. I’ve been there before.”

  “And Killer.” He leaned over meaningfully. “Stay next the tree. And drive very very slow.”

  We waited in the thin shade of a tall clipped tree and Abbie appeared from around the corner I’d least expected her to. She was wearing the same flying suit, or a similar one, but she looked clean and refreshed. A taller w
oman, perhaps ten years older, followed her closely and a soldier with a weapon followed her. While we spoke this soldier stood back watching quietly.

  I wished Abbie and I could have met alone somehow. Her companion looked friendly enough but in a brisk, businesslike way. A straight-backed, square-shouldered woman, she observed the way Abbie and I smiled at each other with a mixture of amusement and disapproval.

  As soon as we had made introductions Abbie said, “Do you know where the baby is?”

  “I think so.”

  “Please tell us all you can,” said Julie Shields, Abbie’s chaperon. She smiled in a superior way. I told them about the latest appearance of Lin’s sister and my sighting of Mai.

  “I guess that’s why that stupid hospital couldn’t tell us much, Julie.”

  Julie had no comment on that. Had Killer or I had any illusions about our importance in the conversation that followed, or its outcomes, Julie Shields would have put us straight, perhaps without even opening her mouth. Of course to the Vietnamese this war was ‘The American War’. The Americans were running the show. And Julie Shields was an American official, in charge. Every word she spoke seemed to illustrate her authority, and our subordination.

  Sometimes it’s only when you look back on something said, that the speaker’s real, often secret motivation becomes clear. For all her cold officiousness, I imagined at the time that Julie Shields’ only interest here was in recovering the baby, for Abbie and ultimately for her father. Abbie knew the situation a little better, but just then, she wasn’t in a position to explain to me.

  I had to reassure Julie that the woman who took the baby from the hospital was the same one who wanted to take her along the road, before we arrived in Saigon. It seemed important. I recounted all the nurse at the hospital had said. I had no way of knowing just how pleased Julie must have been to hear about the scar on Lin’s sister’s face. In any event she showed none of it. Abbie’s hopeful look at her was not returned.

  But her interest in the building where I had seen Mai was very clear. Nor did she hide her frustration at Killer’s ignorance of Saigon street names.

  “We could show you the place,” I told her. “At least Killer could.”

  We all looked at Killer. He raised a hand that was rested on the steering wheel. “No problem,” he said, grinning through his moustache.

  Abbie’s enthusiasm was met with Julie’s abhorrence. Was there no way we could explain how to find the building?

  Not really. Killer had only found the hospital through its nearness to the little Canh Co Market. To find the building he’d have to go to the market again, and ‘cruise about a bit.’

  Julie didn’t know the market and when she turned to the soldier behind her he shook his head.

  “Julie,” said Abbie. “Didn’t the nurse at the hospital say something about a market?”

  “Just a minute, Abbie.”

  Annoyance upon frustration. If she wanted to find this orphanage, if that’s what the building was, Julie Shields, embassy official, was stuck with these two lowly Australians, one who smiled far too much like Groucho Marx.

  “It would only take ten minutes or so.” The moustache told her confidently. “From here, till I find it again, that is.”

  “Are you sure?” She asked. “Because I have to be back here in less than an hour.”

  She then turned to Abbie, who had been following this with growing excitement.

  “Now you know you can’t come.” Abbie opened her mouth but Julie continued quickly. “I’ll take Chuck, I’ll get the address and we’ll work something out later.”

  “No, Julie. Please. I have to go. It must be an orphanage. And she’s probably in there? I’m her sister. I have to be there. If it’s safe to go in I have to see her.”

  “Abbie, no one will be leaving the vehicle. We’ll get her at a more convenient time, when we’ve made the proper arrangements. You’ll see her then.”

  “How will you know she’s there if I don’t come and see? Who will recognise her? And this could be my only chance. If she were taken somewhere else she could be lost to us forever. How would you explain that to my father?”

  “Please. Don’t get dramatic. We’ll do this properly, in good time. She’s safe, in an orphanage.”

  “Well, at least let me come along, to see where this place is for myself. If worse comes to worst, I might have to take my dad there myself to get the baby. His daughter. When he’s okay again and free to go his own way. ‘Cause nobody else seems to be too worried about her.”

  Julie relented but insisted that Abbie control her emotions. To me it all sounded a little too much like a mother’s concern for a naïve teenaged daughter, but at that point I didn’t understand the reasons for the restriction.

  “And when I’ve made a note of the address, we come straight back, okay?”

  Abbie nodded seriously, chastened but grateful.

  Julie turned to me. “You’re sure you recognised the child? The one leaving the building?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She looked around a moment while we all watched her. “Well there’s hardly room in there for five of us,” she said. “And you’re sure it’s just a house?” We nodded. She turned to the guard, since that was what he seemed to be. “It’s okay, Chuck. If it’s not far I’ll just take a look. I’ll take a radio though, please.”

  The guard returned quickly with a radio.

  A few minutes later Julie Shields leaned forward from the back seat of the Land Rover and tapped Killer on the shoulder. “If you don’t slow this thing down, we all go back right now.”