by Don McQuinn
“Ready to move ‘em out?” Taylor asked.
“Yes, sir.” Allen jerked the gun barrel a fraction of an inch toward Trung. “He’s OK now. Is Harker—?”
“He’s bleeding and hurt. I think he’ll be all right. Did this one spit out any teeth?”
Allen was puzzled. “No, sir. He may have swallowed some, but he didn’t spit any out.”
Taylor said, “These two may be our showpieces. I can’t use them if they look like they’ve been run through a cement mixer. If Trung’s only bruised up, he’ll heal quicker.”
Allen looked away. In profile, Taylor could see the tip of his tongue working to moisten his lips. After a moment, he said, “I’ve been looking at him, the one you call Trung. I never struck a man that way before. I find myself hoping I didn’t damage him permanently and then I hear Harker outside and I want to hit him again. I guess I really want to smash the one that hurt Bill. That’s transference, or something, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. Whatever you call it, you did a damned good job. We’d have lost the whole works if you hadn’t been cool.”
Allen’s head moved in a minimal nod. “Thanks, Major. You’re sure Harker’s going to be all right?”
As if responding, a babble of quiet voices and the rustle of steps on the stairs drifted through the open door.
“That’ll be the back-up people from the Unit,” Taylor said. “He’ll be in the hospital in a few minutes. I’m sure he’s OK.” He moved toward the door, pointing at the prisoners. “Don’t let ‘em blink.”
Allen signaled by raising the thumb of his left hand. Sweat sparkled on the metal of the barrel where it had rested. “One more thing, Major. The one who hurt Bill—he didn’t get away, did he?”
Speaking in Vietnamese, Taylor said, “An is free.”
The eyes of the three men in the room fastened on him. He ignored Allen’s disappointment to savor the contempt of Tu and the pleasure of Trung.
Taylor extended his right arm, the hand balled in a fist, then splayed the fingers, palm down.
“I dropped him from the roof.”
He spun on his heel in the awed silence and stepped onto the balcony, wishing he could bring himself to pour a shot of Trung’s Scotch to wash away the greasy taste he blamed on the frying-oil smell in Trung’s apartment.
Chapter 15
Winter sat behind the desk in his quarters, a dead cigar crushed between his teeth. He rolled it from one side of his mouth to the other, muscles in his jaws bunching. He wore no shirt and he leaned forward across the plastic surface, his fingers grasping the opposite overhang. Agitated squeezes lifted his elbows and contracted his pectorals.
Taylor watched and waited, not daring to look at his watch, sure the silence had lasted at least a quarter of an hour. Winter had not even acknowledged his greeting, save to tell him to sit down. Since then, the frown had not altered and the pinched brown eyes squinted.
Taylor steeled himself as Winter’s hands relaxed.
“You fucking blew it!” Winter sprang erect in the chair and pounded a fist on the desk. The top bowed under the impact and the desk bounced. A paperback skipped off the edge to land on its flared pages and skitter under the bed like a frightened bird. The two men locked eyes again.
“No, sir.”
“Don’t ‘no, sir’ me, goddam you! Is Harker in the fucking hospital or isn’t he? Did you kill the fucking Chinaman or didn’t you? Is the other one—what’s his fucking name? Trung!—beat lopsided or isn’t he? I depend on you to make a simple pick-up with all the goddam back-up in the world, and you end up with one of my best people possibly maimed and one of the prisoners a stiff!” He thrust the cigar at Taylor. “Why weren’t you in the villa when I sent for you? Where were you?”
“At the hospital, sir, with Harker.”
“And?”
“The cut is long, but not too deep. No serious damage, but bloody. One of his testicles was driven up inside the muscular ring in the groin, or something like that. The doctor says he’ll be all right in a couple of weeks or so. No permanent damage.”
“You better hope so. Why’d you kill An? From what I hear, it was deliberate.”
Taylor dropped his gaze. “It was.” When he looked up again, there was anger in his face to match Winter’s. “I didn’t know if Harker was dying, or what. I heard his throat rattle and I had that little prick hanging there and I wanted him to die so I pulled the string on him. I told myself, ‘It won’t matter. Ol’ Colonel Winter’ll still have two playpretties for ol’ Colonel Tho to diddle around with. This man don’t know much, and he just put a knife in a fine young man’—I didn’t know he’d stove in his nuts then—and I decided I didn’t like him very much anymore.” The sound of the air-conditioner underscored the silence.
Winter took the cigar out of his mouth. “You lip off at me like that again, Major, and you’ll learn more about sorrow than anyone you ever heard of.” He delayed to let the message sink in. “Now, let me tell you how things are. I let Allen go along on this thing because he’s been wanting to do something besides socialize. Those three men were supposed to end up in Da Nang so they couldn’t blow his cover. Everything was going to go so quietly the neighbors wouldn’t pay attention. How many eyes do you think took in all of you after you turned the whole deal into a war? I can’t quit using Allen and I don’t know if anyone there can, or will, identify him. That’s one problem. I’ve lost Harker for at least a couple of weeks. That’s another. The worst one is, the shot at Binh is gone. Everyone in that building knows there was an arrest made. They know who was arrested. Binh’ll hear about it by daybreak if he hasn’t heard already. You won’t find him in the same grid square with anyone who even knows any of our three. He’ll know they didn’t sell him out and so will the VC. I trusted you and you bitched things up completely. Either your references were a lot of bullshit or you’ve lost your touch. I don’t know and I don’t care. You’re going back into Compilation.” He indicated the door with a tired wave. “I should have let you go when Tho shook you. We’d all be better off for it.”
Taylor got to his feet, favoring his knees. “Will the Colonel answer one question?”
“Possibly.”
“You got your information on tonight’s exercise fast. Where’d you get it, sir?”
“That’s immaterial.” Winter moved to leave his chair.
Taylor raised his voice a fraction. “Not to me, it’s not, sir. The Colonel hasn’t asked me how any of this happened and the Colonel hasn’t asked me what steps we took to try to square things away after the trouble. If I’m going to get screwed, I’d like to know who’s doing the screwing.”
Winter backed into the chair. “I run my outfit, Major.”
“Does the Colonel want to know what happened?”
“I know enough.”
“Will the Colonel hear me out?”
With a brief grunt, Winter heaved himself out of his chair and walked around the room. Taylor talked from his seat, swiveling to keep Winter in view.
“As soon as the back-up showed, I had An and Harker hustled off. After that, Allen, Duc, and some of the others hung around in Trung’s place for a while. We made lots of noise—laughs and songs.”
Winter stopped, looking back at Taylor thoughtfully before continuing on his march. Taylor rushed ahead.
“I had Lieutenant Hon, Sergeant Duc, and Sergeant Chi go to every other unit in the building. They explained to everyone there’d been a killing—”
“Good God!” Winter’s unbelieving exclamation brought a heated flush to Taylor’s face. He continued to talk.
“They explained that Trung and Tu were VC who’d been partners with An. Trung and Tu had been cooperating with the government. An found out and tried to take them—and me—prisoner. There was a fight and An went off the roof. Everyone was asked to tell what they’d seen. One man saw An fall. He couldn’t identify who was fighting with him.”
“How’d the neighbors react?” Winter interrupt
ed.
Some of Taylor’s tension melted. “Lieutenant Hon has the complete information. He told me most of them seemed pleased Trung wouldn’t be around anymore. A couple were sure he was VC and they all knew he was bad news. They were afraid of him.”
Winter nodded for Taylor to continue.
“We got Trung and Tu out without any fuss. They’re in the ARVN compound, as planned.” Taylor got to his feet. “Colonel, nothing’s been lost. I figure we’re even ahead. Everyone in Trung’s building’ll be talking up the story we gave them. We can even release the news of Trung and Tu defecting. An’ll be a big VC hero and Binh can’t have time enough to move all that ammo. Jesus, it’s in fourteen different dumps, Colonel! If we drop a hint in the news item that there was heavy money involved, and those dumps start to blow, Nguyen Binh’ll be running for his life before the last one goes off.”
Loud laughter erupted in the hallway. Winter’s head snapped up from his concentration in irritated surprise. Turning his back on the door, he fiddled with his coffeepot, clearly going over Taylor’s report in his mind. He measured out coffee and water meticulously and Taylor thought of a shaman mixing a potion, auguring the future.
Focusing on Taylor, Winter said, “I’ve been thinking you’ve got to be the luckiest sonofabitch I ever saw, Taylor.”
Taylor opened his mouth and Winter cut him off with a curt hand movement.
“Then I decided you’re a throwback, an anachronism. You know the etymology of the word? It comes from the Greek and it means something happening out of its time. You killed a man tonight. You were angry and you had the chance and you did it. No remorse. Then, when it’s done, you salvage things by figuring out how to use the death to advantage.”
The coffeepot burbled applause. Winter looked at it as if it could be criticized for bad manners, and the dissatisfaction on the older man’s face dismayed Taylor. He’d begun to hope Winter was changing his mind, but now it didn’t look that way. While he waited for the hammer to fall, Taylor tried to understand how this assignment had become so important to him. A feeling of futility smoked in his brain, obscuring thought. He waited dully for Winter to get on with it.
Winter said, “I’m glad you salvaged something out of tonight’s catastrophe. It’s what I thought I saw in you originally. It’s what I have in Harker and a couple of the Viets. For a while I was afraid I’d been wrong. I was afraid you were a panic case, or worse, a simple mechanic, responding without remembering the end objective. You did remember. But nothing like this had better happen again.”
Instead of seizing the opportunity to escape, Taylor made up his mind to see the entire problem opened for cleaning. “If I tell you who I think tried to make me look like an asshole tonight, will you tell me if I’m right?”
“I see no reason to go into that. I know what happened and why. That’s sufficient.”
“But I ought to be sure I’m not suspecting the wrong party. Denby had the duty. He raced right over here with the scoop, right?”
Winter nodded reluctantly.
“OK. Now I know for sure. Why’s he so anxious to put it to me?”
“Carl’s a good man. He’s not as good as he thinks he is, but no one is, are they? I need him to keep the system happy. He dislikes you for the same reason he dislikes me. The Army’s a business career for him. There’s none of the warrior in him. That’s all right. He’s very intellectual, Taylor. In his mind, my operation is base savagery.” He smiled sadly and began to doodle on a desk pad. “He has a point. Anyhow, I need him.”
“He’s going to hurt someone someday. He was tickled to try to zap me—how do you know he won’t take a shot at you?”
The unconcerned laugh irritated Taylor.
“He knows better,” Winter said. “I’m the guy who writes his efficiency report. That’s the overriding factor in his life. The only time he’d dream of not doing exactly what I tell him is if he thinks it might affect his chances for promotion. He knows he’ll get the best marks I can give, so he’s content to lay back and bitch and do his routine excellent job. You think I don’t know he hates my guts? Give me credit for some insight.” Taylor remained dubious. “I hope you’re right. He wasn’t bashful about blowing the whistle on me.”
“You’re not a Colonel. But you’re more experienced than he is. He’s uncomfortable around you, too unsure of his authority. Don’t let it bug you.”
“Are you shitting me? After tonight? If I hadn’t had a chance to explain to you, I’d be on the awkward squad forever.”
Winter grimaced. “That was as much my fault as his. I shouldn’t have paid so much attention to him. But you did ball it up.”
“Admitted. But the man I went for was an enemy. He tried to kill both Harker and me. I didn’t screw up because I got confused about who’s on my side. I’m going to find out if Denby knows the difference.”
“Don’t push,” Winter warned. “I don’t care if you two don’t get along, but don’t rock my boat.”
“OK, Colonel, I leave him alone. But will he leave us alone? If he gets scared, he’s got a lot to talk about.”
Winter rubbed his nose with a fist before answering. “What’s going to frighten him?”
“If he thinks something like tonight’s trouble’s going to break open—” Taylor’s shrug finished the thought.
“He knows he’d be right there in the crapper with the rest of us.”
“All the same, I’ll be watching him.”
Shaking his head, Winter said, “That’s amazing. Everyone else in the Unit’ll know by 0630 what happened and applaud, but you’ve zeroed in on the real key—can we kill our enemies the way they kill us—and get away with it?”
Taylor’s head snapped up, his chin forward aggressively. “You expect an investigation?”
“There may be some questions. I think I can hold the pass.”
“Sonofabitch!” Taylor pounded a fist in his palm. “Can’t we just squash it?”
“I hope so. You’ve met Colonel Earl?” Taylor nodded and Winter continued. “He’ll run with this if he can. I think we can get the people upstairs to buy our version. If so, they’ll go the other mile and classify the whole show. There’ll be a press release and so forth, and that should be the last of it.”
“It better be.” Taylor relaxed enough to shake his head. “I don’t want to have to dance around with some goddam investigation board over a worthless bastard like An. I don’t want to go to the brig. Not for that.”
“I know how you feel. I’ll cover you, don’t worry. And don’t think you’re taking needless chances. I told you you’d learn how rotten a war it is. Who’ll worry about people like our three tonight if we don’t?”
Taylor laughed and walked to the now quiet coffeepot and poured himself a cup. He sipped before answering. “I’m not sure dropping people off roofs is the right way to go about things, even if there’s some rough justice involved. Not that it makes any difference what I think.”
“I’m curious.” Winter was serious. “I honest-to-God don’t know what goes on in that head.”
Saluting with the coffee cup, Taylor said, “I don’t know what to think. It seems like every time we try to support someone here, a scandal turns up and our press screams for us to dump him. I can’t believe they’re out to get us. I think they believe in democracy and all that. And that puzzles me, ‘cause they sympathize with any law-breaking that obstructs national policy here.”
He returned to his chair and sat, bent slightly at the waist, his attention apparently fixed on where the far wall joined the floor. Winter thought it odd how very vulnerable the man looked, particularly in view of the fact he’d killed a man a few hours prior.
Then Taylor said, “I went to Korea a shiny-bright Lieutenant to protect Syngman Rhee’s democracy. I got into Seoul once. A six-by passed me. I heard it stop, and when I turned around, about a half-dozen troops tumbled out the back. They jumped on some poor civilian and clubbed the cheerful shit out of him and dumped him in the tru
ck. I saw a bunch more like him in there. I asked an MP Major about it and he told me it was a Korean draft board. And it’s worse here. At least in Korea the news people only reported what they wanted the people back home to know. Here the fuckers sit in judgement and slant the news to fit. Well, I believe in what we’re trying to do, no matter how screwed up we are. We may not be allowed to win, but I’m going to do my damndest to make sure some people won’t be around to celebrate my whipping.”
Winter swung his complaining chair around and threw his feet up on the desk. “Jesus,” he said, “I suspected you had a couple of thoughts on the subject. I misjudged you. You’ve never said much about it before.”
“It’s not one of the things that fills my heart with song, Colonel.”
“And what do you suggest?” The tone was insinuating.
“Hey, Colonel!” Taylor waved both hands in front of himself. “It’s been a rough night and I’ve bared my soul. I haven’t lost my mind. I despise the people tearing at what I believe in—I still can’t imagine sending them to Siberia. The military could take over in twenty-four hours. We know that. But it wouldn’t be America any longer, would it?”
With a hunter’s gliding steps, Winter moved across the room to his dresser. He pulled out a fresh cigar, dampening it well, insuring it was perfectly to his taste before lighting it.
He said, “Will it still be America if those other people have their way?”
“That’s not about to happen.” Taylor was emphatic. Winter’s face was mystic, wreathed in heavy smoke, and the effect of the day began to trouble Taylor’s vision. He looked away to speak. “There’s not enough support for radical takeover. Anyhow, they’d never agree on who was the leader and they haven’t got the sort of mind that kills the opposition, the way Charlie does it. They want to remake the world cosmetically. I don’t think the place is ready to be run by the Avon lady.” He waved his hands in the dismissing gesture again. “They’ll generate some changes—probably good ones, and ain’t that a laugh?—but in the main, we’ll just outlive the stupid bastards, clean up the mess they leave behind, and get on about the business of surviving.”
