Legacy of War

by Ed Marohn

  I squeezed the trigger. The boom rang loudly in the clearing. The harsh rain pummeled my back, and I shivered violently. I bent over and checked his pulse: dead. I thought I noticed a thin smile on his face, maybe contentment or relief. Standing over his body splayed in the mud, my body shook, wounded, cold, wet, exhausted. I had remorse for killing him, even if it had been a mercy killing. The NVA also killed their dying to ease the suffering—their medical support rudimentary compared to the American’s. He would have died anyway, but I hated to see him suffer any more. I wasn’t any different than an NVA officer putting his critically wounded personnel out of their misery.

  And in the back of my mind, I felt betrayed by Woodruff and Tin. I turned and walked over to Loan’s body, bent down, and checked his pulse. Ramsey’s shot definitely killed him. As I stood again, I looked down at Loan, the blood on his head still being washed away by the rain. He looked as evil as he acted in life. His rodent features caused me to shiver. I turned to look at Ramsey’s body. Vietnam had cost me mentally, had cost us all.

  I needed medical attention now more than ever, or I would join Ramsey and Loan. The depleted first-aid pack that I found for Ramsey could not help me. Our first-aid kits were back in the cave with Hieu, so I ripped a section of my shirt and tied it around my wound. The bleeding had slowed, but exposure to the elements, especially the mud seeping down my arm, worried me. I would need help soon, before I went into shock from infection. If the bullet had lodged in my shoulder, against the bone, I would be in more trouble. If I could get back to Hieu, she could help tend to my wound. Stopping first to pick up my muddy AK-47, I turned and slowly forced my legs to walk out of the clearing. “A soldier never leaves his rifle,” I mumbled to myself, sloshing toward the trail, past the Hummer with piled clothing that deceived me into believing Loan sat there. The fork of the trail that headed north to our little cave seemed an eternity away; my mind kept pushing my body despite its wretched condition. The darkness increased. My watch showed after five; I had been away from the cave and in the cold, soaking rain for three hours.

  The settling dusk cut my visibility, and I had to stay focused or I would miss my trail. What Ramsey had said made sense and made me feel used. I forced myself forward, shuffling, my energy waning. It seemed I’d been walking forever when I finally reached the correct path. Feverish, aching, I pushed on until I found the slope to the bunker’s opening. The monsoon downpour drowned my weak call to Hieu.

  “Hieu, it’s John,” I shouted once more as I cautiously crept to the opening. Slowly sticking my head into the darkness, I spied a smiling Hieu as she put down her nine millimeter.

  Her condition looked bad as well. Shivering, she said, “I am sleepy and so cold.” But when she saw me, completely mud streaked, wet, bleeding from my makeshift bandage, she reacted. “Turn your left side to me.” She opened the first-aid kit and began work on the bullet wound.

  “We need to get warm.” I sat down by her catching my breath, shaking badly, my left arm shooting bolts of pain that added to my misery, my body sinking fast.

  Hieu discovered that the Glock slug had gone through my shoulder muscle, but it had done a job on the tissue. She cleaned the wound and wrapped a bandage around the shoulder. I took a penicillin pill and then checked on her broken left leg, ensuring the makeshift cast still held in place.

  As we tended to each other, I gave her the details of what had happened in the clearing; neither one of us seemed elated over our survival. We had reached our limits.

  I listened to Hieu explain using the satellite phone after I had departed to battle with Ramsey and Loan. How Woodruff had relayed between Tho and Colonel Zang. With the heavy monsoon rains flooding the streams and the trails, plus the darkness of night approaching, Tho and his team were stuck at the village of Cha Vanh. Colonel Zang had sent the cave’s GPS coordinates to Tho; we just had to wait out the night since the storm prevented further help.

  After I gathered some dry palm and banyan leaves close to the cave’s entrance, we were able to make a decent covering of layered leaves over the dirt floor. In my weak condition, I still managed to move Hieu onto the cushioned pile of leaves, then I settled next her. To warm us, she embraced me with her arms, and I placed my head on her chest, becoming sleepy, wrapped in the only space blanket we had. I tried to stay awake with my right arm around her as she trembled from the cold and pain of her broken leg; my left arm was held tightly to my chest but pressed against her. Those were my last thoughts as my devastated body surrendered to sleep in the cold night.

  Da Nang, January 28–31, 2003

  Before dawn on the twenty-eighth, I heard the loud engines of two Hummers approaching, scraping tree branches on the trail to our old NVA bunker. Hieu still lay next to me; her warmth felt comfortable. I knew it had to be Captain Tho and woke her up.

  The vehicles stopped by the cave’s opening. Tho shouted, “Captain Moore! Agent Hieu? Are you in there?”

  I yelled, “We’re here.”

  I accepted Tho’s use of Captain Moore for me, although it meant little anymore. On the other hand Hieu had started calling me John and that felt good.

  I crawled out as Tho reached me and helped me out. The medic examined my left shoulder and arm, approving of Hieu’s temporary fix. But as he felt my brow, he shook his head. My fever had grown, and I barely could stand. I briefed Tho on Hieu’s condition and went back into the cave to help retrieve her and our stuff. The medic set a stretcher out for her, then did the heavy lifting of her out of the cave. Then some soldiers helped the medic put her on the stretcher. In the morning light filtering through the canopy, she radiated a simple beauty even with the facial cuts from the Hummer’s exploding windshield. My wounded shoulder prevented me helping to load her into the closer parked Hummer. I crawled into the vehicle after her, tossing our backpacks into the rear of the truck. Tho sent us back to Cha Vanh with the driver and the medic, where a helicopter waited to airlift us to Da Nang. This time the Vietnamese respected the Laotian territorial border. I glanced at our destroyed Mercedes shoved off the trail as we churned by it; the freshly dug graves of the two dead Cambodians near the wreckage reminded me how close to death Hieu and I had come.

  Captain Tho remained with his men to sanitize the area. I showed him on Hieu’s map where to find Ramsey and Loan’s bodies. Later I would learn they took Loan’s body back to Vietnam. Proof that the war criminal had been killed. They buried Ramsey in the jungle, concealing his grave, thus inhibiting any questions about the dead American.

  Hieu stayed quiet on the flight, falling in and out of sleep, while I stayed awake from my shoulder surging with pain. Seeing my wound bleeding again since it had opened, I knew that an infection had taken hold. The Vietnamese doctors in Da Nang stood at the helicopter pad, rushing to treat us as soon as we unloaded from the helicopter. When they wheeled us into the hospital, we were side by side on the two gurneys, incoherent and unable to focus on our surroundings.

  Since the infection got worse, the doctors had to operate on the shoulder to clean it out, stuffing me with antibiotics. All the while, I stayed on a morphine drip that kept me in a dream world. My weakened body had surrendered to the doctors. I thought Hieu sat by me late that night, holding my hand. I tried to smile, but the narcotics spaced me out. In my delusion, she seemed real, her smile and her tears. It left me hoping that she had been there. However realistic the vision, it all became a dream as I lay in my stupor.

  The next morning, the doctors worked on me again; my fever had scared them. I intermittently heard Hieu’s voice in the room, her authority resounded as the nurses and doctors scurried, arguing with her. I passed into euphoria from the morphine and slept through the morning, leaving the pain behind.

  When I woke, Tho stood by my bed. My dry mouth said something to him.

  “It is January 29, and close to 1500 hours. How do you feel, Mr. Moore?” Tho said.

  “Like a drug user . . .
a bad headache . . . ”

  He nodded and then briefed me. “Hieu’s leg is set and will heal with no limp. She flew back to Hanoi this morning with Major Han.” Tho laughed as he described Hieu’s anger; she grew upset that she had to leave me behind. But Major Han wouldn’t budge.

  I smiled at Hieu’s stubbornness, but she needed to return to Hanoi and brief the top brass. Her career had been given a boost; the mission had been completed, and she needed to receive the accolades for it. Yet she wanted me there as well.

  “You two were very close. One took care of the other,” Tho said, standing by the hospital bed, watching me, showing friendliness and respect.

  I just nodded. My growing feelings for her would have to stay with me.

  Tho and the Da Nang Police had been assigned to ensure my security while in the hospital. I glanced past him and recognized one of Tho’s airborne soldiers in the hallway, dressed in clean fatigues and armed with his rifle, glaring at the nurses until he looked into the room and at me. He smiled and gave me a polite bow, respecting a fellow comrade in arms. That boosted my morale. He had been the one who did my camouflage that early morning at the observation post. I smiled back. A doctor came in and told Tho to leave; I needed more rest. Before Tho left, he placed my cleaned baseball cap on my chest. “Agent Hieu insisted that you wear this at all times,” he said. We stared at each other and then broke into a laugh.

  As he departed, I pulled it to me and thought of Hieu before sleep grabbed me.

  On the morning of the thirty-first, they released me from the hospital. Tho drove me to the Hoi An Resort to pack my stuff. I would catch a flight to Hanoi that afternoon by orders of Colonel Tin. The doctors had given permission for me to be released to travel back to Hanoi.

  Tho waited in the hotel lobby while I walked through the beautiful gardens to my room, passing the pool that Hieu and I had enjoyed all those afternoons. When I walked into my room, I thought I could smell Hieu’s delicate perfume lingering in the air. I missed her! She had already taken her stuff but left a note on the nightstand. In English, she wrote:

  Dear John:

  I must report to Hanoi, and as you know, I wished to have you return with me. But my duty and family called me back. This is not goodbye—you promised to celebrate Tet with my family, and I expect you. Thank you with all my heart for protecting me and taking care of me. I will call you to arrange the Tet celebration.

  My deepest respect and as your friend, my love to you,

  Your devoted partner,

  Hieu (we are partners, are we not?)

  I felt a twinge of pain. She would never know how I felt about her, or maybe she did, and she was doing the correct thing here, letting me drift away.

  On the way to the airport, I learned that Hieu took my .45 with her, making it easier for me to get through security and that it would be sent to Colonel Zang in the diplomatic pouch. Captain Tho returned both AK-47s to the national police in Da Nang. I had only my one duffel bag and the cleaned backpack, which Hieu had left with my CIA aluminum briefcase in it.

  With time to kill before my afternoon flight, I turned to Captain Tho.

  “Could we stop at the Cham Museum?”

  Deep in thought he slowly nodded. “We can spare an hour.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I hoped that Quan could still enlighten me about My Son and the gold.

  Ten minutes later, we pulled into the museum’s parking lot, and accompanied by Tho, I headed for the front door. In minutes I found Quan among his artifacts, updating some of the displays. I asked Tho to wait in the lobby entrance.

  I smiled at a startled Quan and said, “Tôi biết bạn có thể nói tiếng anh.” I know you speak English. I had prepped with my Vietnamese dictionary while in the hospital, contemplating this moment.

  His frightened reaction confirmed it. He gave a bewildered look at Tho standing in the entrance way.

  “I am not here to repeat anything you say or have you arrested. You will have to trust me. I promise. And just to ease your mind, I don’t care about the misssing gold.”

  “Why do you . . . ?” he said. His confusion grew.

  “OK, what if I start it off? You knew where the gold was hidden all along. And I am assuming you removed it years ago. All of your actions were a deception to divert us. Am I correct?”

  We stood in a time warp, Quan nervously eyeing the lobby, where Tho examined some literature at the front desk.

  “You tell no one?” Quan finally whispered.

  “I promise.”

  “Yes, I knew gold was buried the night that I observed my father and other adults killed.”

  “So you came back later to remove the gold?” I said. I was too tired to get over involved, but I needed to know.

  “Yes, years later in 1976, when I felt it would be safe. You must know that before my father was killed that terrible night, he and I had explored that hill. We had looked for ancient Montagnard artifacts and discovered several hidden entrances to the main cave. The same cave that was used to hide the bodies and gold.”

  “You used the hidden entrances to remove the gold?”

  Quan nodded. His anxiety hadn’t dissipated.

  “What did you do with the gold?” I asked, certain I knew the answer.

  “We shared with all the families of the village. All were told to hide and only use in small amounts as needed to live. Vietnamese are very . . . you say, frugal? Not showy.” He pointed to the various stone statues near us. “With the gold were these statues. I retrieved for this museum. It is a work of love for me. Saving these items meant more than the gold.”

  “I see.”

  “The families deserved the gold.” Quan, arms akimbo, leaned against a display table that held several stone Cham pots. “You now take back the gold—what is left—and punish us?”

  “No, Quan. What you did is your decision. I don’t care.” I thought some more and then asked, “Did you influence Colonel Hung to contact Loan, warning him of possibly losing the gold?”

  His startled look confirmed it. “Yes . . . ” he said. “Several of us, the sons who survived, wanted revenge. We hoped that we could draw Colonel Loan back to Vietnam. To have him arrested and executed. Our way of life had been destroyed by his greed.”

  “One more question then. Hung didn’t know you had removed the gold or where it was hidden in the first place?”

  He shock his head. “No. By then he must know that gold had been taken by others.”

  “Thank you, Quan. No one will know what you told me, I promise. I wish you peace in the future and a happy Tet,” I said and shook his hand.

  He bowed, showing respect, but still wary. I walked out to catch the flight to Hanoi.

  At the drop-off by the airport entrance, Tho got out of the parked jeep, followed by the driver carrying my duffle bag. I carried the backpack in my right hand. In the terminal entrance, a young NCO hand saluted us and then gave Tho a large manila envelope and an attaché case. Tho gave my tickets to the NCO, who proceeded with the driver to check me and the luggage in at the counter. Captain Tho then handed me the bulky package and the attaché case.

  “I took the liberty of retrieving Carolton’s IDs and wallet from your backpack before we cleaned it. They are in the package with Ramsey’s items,” Tho said.

  The packet held the wallets, money, and passports of two dead Americans: Ramsey and Carolton. The attaché case had belonged to Ramsey. Being out of it with my wound, I had forgotten Ramsey’s final words about taking his files on Woodruff. I didn’t feel eager to look inside, certainly not now.

  Tho stood for a moment composing his words before he said, “It was an honor to have worked with you. I know if my father lived, he would honor you as well.”

  Slightly embarrassed, I thanked him, then saluted him, an army officer doing his duty for his country, proudly wearing the uniform. He
mirrored my salute. The NCO returned and gave me my boarding pass.

  “You have the entire row to yourself so that you can take care of your wounded shoulder,” Tho said.

  “Thank you, Captain Tho,” I said.

  “Goodbye, Captain Moore,” Tho said. He smiled, looking at my head, and finally said, “Hieu would appreciate you wearing the cap.”

  He turned and walked to the exits followed by the NCO and driver, who both glanced back at me several times while talking to each other. I was proud to have known Tho and his soldiers. It saddened me that I would probably never see him again.

  Major Han met me at the Hanoi airport with his driver and car. As we drove to the Nikko Hanoi Hotel, Han and I chatted in the back seat. He complimented me on the success of the operation. I intentionally placed all the praise back on him, his Agent Hieu, and of course Captain Tho. Authority being crucial in Vietnam, I knew that Han had to be acknowledged as Hieu’s boss and a key part of the operation, giving Hieu freedom to make decisions. He acted modest at the praise I piled on him. I sensed that he no longer viewed me as the pushy American or as a former enemy. Soon we arrived at the hotel, and as I exited the car, I wished him a happy Tet Nguyen Dan. He smiled back at me, waving from the back seat as the car pulled away.

  In my room I listened to the voice mail message from Hieu: “John, be ready tomorrow at 1000 hours. Suit is cleaned and hanging with clean shirt and tie in closet. Shoes are polished also. Look for my driver to bring you to celebrate Tet. Missed you, Hieu.”

  I forgot about leaving my suit and accessories at the hotel when I left for Da Nang almost a month ago. Obviously Hieu did not. Again, warm thoughts about her slipped into my weary mind.

  I had hoped to skip the new year celebrations, Tet, and convince someone to let me fly back to the US, but technically I still worked for the Vietnamese, on loan from my government. I had killed three men and it weighed on me, heavily, struggling with remorse, worrying how this would impact me going forward.