Legacy of War

by Ed Marohn

  A lone Hummer with attached trailer appeared in the clearing, stopping behind the first trailer and Hummer. Leaving the engine running, the driver and his passenger, both looked like Cambodians, cautiously opened their doors and stepped out, AK-47s at the ready, eyes sweeping the terrain around them. One of them yelled a name, seeking one of the four missing companions. I double-checked but couldn’t see anyone else in the cab. Neither Ramsey nor Loan were there, and I now realized that he had sent these two to check on the first group. There had to be a final communication check between Ramsey and the American I had killed before Ramsey would continue to the site.

  While the driver walked to the tunnel, the other Cambodian chattered nervously and paced behind his Hummer, constantly searching the jungle and elephant grass. He jerked to a stop and raised his AK-47 to waist level, firing a burst along the trail. He sealed his death as two of Tho’s soldiers, hidden in the brush near the trail, fired short bursts into him, all bullets impacting his body. The Cambodian collapsed to the ground with no sound. The driver came running from the tunnel to his Hummer, trying to jump into the cab. Tho’s men hidden near the hill now emerged and cut him down with short, efficient bursts.

  I groaned. We needed one of them alive to help find Ramsey’s.

  I pushed myself up, rushed to the dead men’s Hummer, and jumped onto the hood to gain a better view of the dirt road directly north of us. Tho had followed and handed me his binoculars. I focused and swept the dirt road from my right to my left. They had to be near, and I ruled out the old My Son trail that we had used as too dangerous for them to traverse. Ramsey would know to avoid using the same route, and he would be waiting for a go-ahead signal before driving across the grassy field from the dirt road to this hill.

  I saw them! Two hummers, maybe a mile away, parked off the road, almost hidden by banyan trees. A white man stood on the hood of the first Hummer, staring in my direction with his binoculars. I doubted he could see me, but he must have had heard the pops of the AK-47s and now knew of the trap.

  “What do you see, John?” Hieu asked, standing below me on the ground. Her frown reflect how I felt.

  “It has to be Ramsey, with another Asian standing next to him, maybe Loan, and two others, probably Cambodians—shit, neither Hummer has a trailer. Ramsey must have parked them to ensure a fast escape. Probably knew something was wrong.” It was now obvious that the lone American that I killed had to give Ramsey a final all-clear signal. He sent another team to verify this. We should have known.

  I saw Ramsey talking to the Asian, pointing in our direction, then he jumped off the hood, rushed to the passenger side, and got in. His partner followed, getting into the driver side. This had to be Loan. The two Cambodians ran to the second Hummer, parked behind Ramsey’s vehicle. The lead Hummer swung onto the road in a sharp U-turn, followed by the second vehicle. They were returning west, fleeing toward Laos!

  “Shit,” I yelled and jumped off the hood. Running to our parked vehicle, I yelled at Hieu to join me.

  Tho ran alongside and said, “I will call in for vehicles to chase them. You will wait.”

  “Tho, we have no time. Send help as soon as you can. Hieu and I will chase them and try to stop them before they cross the Laos border. Once they get into jungle on the Laos side, we’ve lost them.”

  He didn’t like it and slowed me down, finally stopping me. Hieu ignored us and ran past. I knew why she headed into the jungle. Tho wouldn’t budge, standing in front of me.

  “Captain Moore, you are our guest, and you will comply with my orders. We will pursue them together!”

  “You’re wasting time, Captain.” I didn’t want to chase Ramsey alone with Hieu, but we couldn’t wait for his troops and trucks from the military installation in Da Nang or his lone utility vehicle at the hidden observation post. “We will follow them and relay their location back by radio. Tho, you know this is the right move!” Tho stood firm, not budging, as I grew angrier.

  Suddenly, the Mercedes came bumping through the brush and tall grass sliding to a stop next to me, whining in low gear. The passenger door swung open as Hieu shouted orders in Vietnamese to Tho. The captain stepped back mad but acquiesced to Hieu’s commands. I jumped in as Hieu accelerated the SUV past the two parked Hummers, going north through the brushy flat field that bordered the dirt road. The chase had begun. Halfway across the rugged field, Hieu slammed on the brakes.

  “You drive, John. I will operate the radio,” she yelled, her energy flooding over me.

  She slid over me while I pulled myself to the steering wheel and quickly put on my seat belt while Hieu did the same. Slamming into drive, I accelerated toward the road, trying to regain lost time. Our only help would be the Tet traffic, swollen with travelers. It should slow Ramsey with his wide-body Hummers. We would be impacted as well, but we had more clout on the road. Hieu, reading my mind, turned on the flashing blue police light mounted in the grill. We were in hot pursuit and the Vietnamese would move over for us, the National Police. I reached the dirt road, careening over the low berm of the dry ditch and onto the road, never letting up on the gas; the vehicle slid, sharply tipping toward Hieu’s side. I finally gained control of the SUV and accelerated some more, following Ramsey somewhere ahead. We would reach the paved road and heavy Tet traffic in a few minutes.

  “Hieu, pull out the map of the Ho Chi Minh trails that branch from Laos into Vietnam, especially by Cha Vanh village in Vietnam. It’s near the Laos border.”

  Hieu grabbed other maps from the back seat and studied them. She pulled the hand mic from the mounted FM field radio and began transmitting calmly. My heart pumped. Hieu gave instructions into the handset, referencing the old map and the village of Cha Vanh, and then she shouted at me to go faster, her excitement boiling now. The Mercedes gained more speed while Hieu gave firm orders into the handset, first in Vietnamese and then repeated in English for me.

  “I have alerted the police in Da Nang and have talked to Tho as well. He is following us in the two captured Hummers with four men in each vehicle, plus himself. He will be in the first Hummer. The rest of the men will wait for the trucks from Da Nang and, of course, they have to bury the bodies first.”

  “Christ, why didn’t we think of that in the first place? Tho will not be that far behind us then. That makes a difference for us in numbers.”

  “I told him to use the Hummers when I stopped to pick you up. Maybe a woman is more rational than men in an argument—angry like two roosters fighting over the hen.”

  I laughed with relief. “Yeah, I guess we were all a little mad.”

  She reached over for my .45, pulled it out of my holster, ejected the magazine, and looked at it. “One round fired. I will reload it so that you have a full load of eight rounds.”

  “Thanks. That will give me seven in the magazine and one round chambered.” The explanation was not necessary for her, but it distracted me from the tension as we sped along.

  Hieu then arranged our two AK-47s, barrels up, against the car dash, her legs holding them in place. We were ready.

  We reached the paved highway and barreled onto it going over sixty miles an hour, almost spinning out of control as I overcompensated for the rear end sliding away from me. Hieu stayed calm, focused on the road and the radio.

  People scattered to the side as they saw our flashing blue lights and the official police license tags. Motorbikes and bicycles yielded as best as they could. One old man riding his bike stopped to pull over, lost his balance, and fell, the bike crashing on top of him. I drove recklessly now and worried about killing an innocent pedestrian. I slowed down to forty miles per hour in this stretch of traffic. Hieu didn’t seem to notice and continued talking on the radio.

  She pulled out the regular highway map and studied it. She raised her voice over the noise of the SUV. “We are approaching Dai Lanh village. It will be seventy-five kilometers from there to the border.”
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  I nodded. That meant forty-seven miles, over an hour if we stay at forty. The Hummers could easily go over sixty on these roads, but I counted on the heavy Tet traffic to impede their movement as well. Where possible, I would increase my speed, but they would do the same. As we flashed by the village of Dai Lanh, a clear stretch of road with little traffic opened before us. I pushed down on the accelerator and we flew to seventy-five miles per hour. Again, Hieu urged me to go faster; she had the intent to capture Loan and Ramsey. I glanced at her and saw her eagerness for battle, her mood cold and dark. She had turned into a predator, and there would be no escape for her prey.

  We cruised between fifty-five and seventy miles per hour when open stretches of road allowed. We had driven for over thirty minutes when I began to worry; we hadn’t seen the Hummers. Hieu and I looked at each other, our minds melding. She picked up her handset to contact Tho and discovered that he had just arrived at Dai Lanh. She instructed him to do a quick drive through the village, to look for the Hummers and to query the villagers.

  About one mile from Giang, we had to slow for three wrecked cars scattered on both sides of the highway. Traffic moved at a crawl as onlookers and victims milled around the damaged vehicles. Some bystanders saw our flashing lights and rushed to us, all talking at once, pointing down the road. Those who approached my side were confused to see my Caucasian face stare back at them and gladly moved around the car to Hieu’s side. She asked questions, yelling at them as well. She discovered that no serious injuries or deaths had occurred, and that two big, speeding trucks—the Hummers—had sideswiped the cars, causing the accident and departing the scene. It had happened ten minutes ago. We were still fresh on their track.

  “I am sure they caused the accidents to slow us down,” she said.

  “Yes. But we’re still gaining on them!”

  Hieu told me to drive on while she called for medical and police support on her radio. I left the confused Vietnamese standing on the road arguing and pointing at our departing vehicle. At Ben Giang, some five miles further, we had to slow down again and go through the village, leaving Highway 14 and moving onto the road to Cha Vanh. We assumed that Ramsey headed to the Laos border at this juncture. Hieu and I agreed to stay the course. I pressed on through the small village then onto the dirt road headed to Laos. We would know soon.

  Once we cleared the village, I saw the dirt road with some asphalt patches, unencumbered with traffic. Instinctively, I geared the Mercedes up to a solid sixty-five miles per hour. Within five minutes I saw the first sign of vehicles ahead: dust clouds. Hieu and I looked at each other, nodding; we knew that we were on the right road. She radioed the information to Tho, who had just finished his search in the village of Dai Lanh. The villagers’ lack of any sighting of the Hummers verified our course of action. Tho’s detour to Dai Lanh helped to confirm our direction of pursuit. However, it slowed him down and meant Hieu and I would have to act alone until Tho, and his troops caught up.

  As I turned along a sharp, winding curve, I had to swerve left, slamming on my brakes to a hard stop, nearly running off the road to avoid hitting a small herd of water buffalo being driven by two young Vietnamese boys. The kids were terrified, thinking they had caused an accident—their frightened faces frozen.

  Hieu shouted to me. “Wait. I will ask the boys what they saw on this road.”

  “Hurry, we’re losing time,” I said.

  She jumped out of the Mercedes and jogged back to the boys sitting on their water buffalo. The buffalo studied the new human intruders to their domain, chewing grass along the roadside.

  I watched through my rearview mirror as the boys emphatically pointed west, chattering continuously. Hieu showed her smile as she left the relieved boys, who waved at her as if she were an old friend.

  “It was good stop. One of the Hummers almost hit the water buffalo at the last bend and took a sharp turn into the ditch to avoid them. The Hummer damage would have been extensive if they hit one of the buffalo. When it left, white smoke was coming from the front.”

  “They must have damaged the radiator in the ditch and are leaking water, or maybe they damaged the oil pan. They’ll not get far without repairs.” I jammed the gas pedal down and we accelerated on the road, kicking up gravel and dust behind us. A small river flowed to our right and well below us. We were gaining elevation as the mountain range formed on the horizon. Somewhere ahead, once we reached Cha Vanh, we would find a branch of the Ho Chi Minh Trail leading into Laos and, I hoped, to Ramsey.

  On both sides of the road were terraced rice paddies and farm fields with various crops growing among the plateaus that formed before us. Finally, the road ended, and we arrived in Cha Vanh. Ahead toward Laos, various trails climbed and meandered into the hills, mountains, and the surrounding jungle. I slid to a stop as Hieu rushed out of the SUV and started questioning some villagers walking along the road. I had Tho’s binoculars and scanned forward, sweeping back and forth—nothing.

  Hieu jumped into the Mercedes and a teenager hoped into the back. “John, this is Tram. He knows the trail the Hummers took,” she said, her pride visible.

  I waved to Tram and said, “Xin chao.” The boy, shocked by a foreigner saying hello to him in weak Vietnamese, responded with a stare, surprised to see an American so far inland in his tiny village.

  “We will take him only as far as the trail he points out. There are many used today by the farmers and rural tribes, most of which are part of the old war trails my countrymen used in the war,” Hieu said.

  She leaned back and handed Tram 9,000 dong. He grabbed the money, stuffing it in his shirt pocket and returning a grin, minus a few teeth. I estimated that equaled fifty cents in US currency. Hieu explained that for this sixteen-year-old village kid, any money was valuable. His daily existence was dedicated to farming the family’s rice paddies and tending the pigs, water buffalo, and the small vegetable gardens. He had received his free, mandatory education from six to eleven years of age, and since his family could not afford to pay for further education, like his older brothers and sisters, he would live at home, farming the land.

  Hieu also reaffirmed that but being related to former Viet Cong relatives—his father and grandfather—he could join the army and maybe progress into a different life. I imagined that the village of Cha Vanh existed as a VC and NVA haven during the war, since it so closely bordered the Ho Chi Minh Trail branching from Laos through this area.

  Tram babbled joyfully to Hieu, feeling important in helping such an attractive woman, and a high official of the government and a member of the Communist Party. I sensed he knew this could help him to explore another life, another job. I admired the Vietnamese’s stoicism and realism. They had seen so much war over their two-thousand-year history that they were realistic about their future. The Yin and Yang of life had been instilled in all of the villagers, almost to a superstitious fault. They prayed to their Buddha or the water, heaven, and forest goddess in the small spiritual houses hanging like bird cages in the banyan trees near their village huts. When Hieu told me that 75 percent of Vietnam’s eighty-four million inhabitants were rural, toiling on the land, I better understood how the complex religions and superstitions were part of their makeup.

  “We take that right trail that heads north to the river. There is a ford for us to cross. We will drop off Tram there. He says that is the trail the Hummers took just a short time ago. He also saw them drive from the jungle on that same trail up to the village very early this morning when he herded his water buffalo.”

  Reflecting the sun, gleaming and sparkling above and below us, were more terraced rice paddies. The trails used to access the various garden plots and the forested areas formed and spread out in multiple directions to our front and left. In place since the war ended, no longer camouflaged from American aircraft, the trails were used daily to harvest the land, a peaceful use by the villagers. As we descended down to the shallow river
ford, I could see wide, wet, and muddy tracks on the other side; the Hummers had just crossed!

  We stopped and let Tram out. He begged Hieu to stay with us. Hieu laughed but ordered him home in crisp phrases. As we drove across the narrow, shallow river, bumping against river rock, I glanced back at Tram standing in his black silk pajamas, waving at us and grinning, a good kid learning to deal with life’s harshness. He still stood there when we drove out of the water and proceeded up the inclining trail into the jungle and, we hoped, a passage through the upcoming hills and mountains into Laos.

  Hieu, studying her map, continued to instruct me. “That mountain to your left is 2,193 meters high, and the mountain further north, called Mount Atouat, is 2,500 meters high. Both are in Laos, and this old war trail goes between the two.”

  I converted the meters quickly: Mount Atouat to the north of us scaled over 8,000 feet, and the unnamed mountain to our left, west of us, had to be about 7,100 feet. But now I focused on the trail ahead as it entered jungle canopy, the branches of various bushes scraping the SUV. The Hummers had widened the trail through the dense growth, making it easier for our narrower Mercedes. As the SUV bumped and strained for about a mile, I scanned the surrounding jungle. This trail made an ideal ambush site. My recall of the war didn’t help, as the canopy formed by trees filtered out the sunlight, creating shadows and spooks, as if the VC or NVA were watching, lying in wait.

  My concern materialized just as I turned left along the bend of the trail and sighted the sandy-colored Hummer; it blocked our route, the hood up. I slammed on the brakes, fishtailing to a stop a hundred feet from the vehicle. Hieu and I stared, frozen in place. We couldn’t see any sign of life. It felt wrong! Cursing my slow reaction, I quickly unbuckled my seat belt and pushed Hieu down on her seat, stretching across her, protecting her while I struggled to open her door. I felt her unbuckling her seat belt; she had reacted intuitively, uncomplaining about my weight on top of her.