Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  Kimble made for a pair of tables clumped near the back of the building. They were against the retaining wall and as Taylor sat across from the younger man, he was pleasantly surprised to find himself looking down at a small garden and flowered fish pond. The outdoor lighting was tasteful and the scene buoyed him.

  “I could sit here and look at that all evening,” he said. Ordway stood to peer past Kimble.

  “Real pretty,” he agreed. “I didn’t even know about that.”

  “Aha!” Kimble was triumphant. “ ‘They’ screwed up!” He swiveled to look back into the garden and broke into a happy chortle. “There’s a ‘they’ now! Two of ‘em! Don’t scare ‘em off!” He gestured for silence as a rotund American came into view clutching one of the girls under a thick arm.

  They watched the pair walk the gravel path to the fish pond where she spoke to him. He smiled indulgently, reached into his pocket, then threw a coin that winked once, a silver eye absorbed by the black water. “Big spender,” Kimble sneered. “Probably ten dong.”

  The man said something to the girl. She looked up at him, laughing, patted his cheek and turned to leave. As she did, he reached out and grabbed a buttock in each hand. She whirled with a speed that left him with both arms still outstretched, the hands curved to the shape of her flesh. He still wore the sly smile of a juggler who has intentionally dropped his oranges when she stepped between his arms and shoved.

  It was one short step to the edge of the pond. With histrionic grace, he sought out and back for something to hold onto, then splashed among the softly gleaming water lilies. The girl ran back the way she’d come, her laughter chiming up to her audience even as the water continued to slop out of the pond. The man bounced to his feet, spluttering wildly, and raced after her, mouthing incoherent rage.

  Kimble pounded the table and whooped. “That’ll teach the sonofabitch! He’ll learn! Treat the whores like ladies and the ladies like whores! That’ll teach him!”

  The noise from the garden and Kimble’s racket drew the girls from around the roof garden. Taylor was acutely aware from their expressions that some of them understood enough English to follow Kimble’s speech perfectly. They buzzed among themselves. He attempted to salvage the situation.

  “Could we buy a drink for three of you ladies?” He directed the question at a slim girl in a red and white blouse and skirt combination. She smiled hesitantly, looking to the others. He guessed her age to be probably twenty, which meant he was literally old enough to be her father. Another woman, older and obviously more at ease in her work, gave the girl a gentle shove toward Taylor and moved in on Kimble. She caught the eye of a third, who slipped into the chair next to Ordway. A waiter materialized.

  “Whiskey!” Kimble shouted, overriding Taylor and Ordway, waggling a finger at the waiter. “Real drinking whiskey for the men! And see that you get the girls the best Saigon tea! No hypocrisy at this table!”

  The waiter looked warily at the woman with Kimble. She nodded shortly as she dropped a hand to Kimble’s thigh and turned to face him. “First time you come Vung Tau?” she asked.

  “Why, yes, it is.” Kimble punched his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “Do you come here often, my dear?”

  She blinked. “I live Vung Tau. Stay here all time. What your name?” Kimble covered the hand on his thigh with his own. “You may call me Warren, you impetuous creature. And what’s your name?”

  Her smile was wavering now and the blued eyelids shuttered constantly. “My name Suzette.” She looked to Taylor and suggested hopefully, “Beaucoup drunk, no?”

  He nodded. “Beaucoup drunk, yes.”

  Kimble got to his feet with a flourish. “I don’t have to sit here and take insults from strangers. I’m a married man. Come, precious, we shall dance the night away, far from the sham of false friends.”

  Suzette swept along with him, alarm giving way to weary confidence that she knew how to deal with an ordinary drunk.

  Ordway was deep in conversation with his companion and Taylor turned to the girl beside him.

  “And what’s your name?”

  “Cindy.” Her eyes were wide, hopeful and apprehensive.

  “You understand English well.”

  She ducked her head and smiled. “I understand better than speak.”

  He paid the hovering waiter and tasted his drink, annoyed by its weakness, then faced the girl again. “You do well. You have steady customer here?”

  He hoped his amusement was hidden as she tried to calculate her best answer. He could read speculation, concern, and finally resignation.

  “Have no steady.”

  “I believe you. Never mind. Tonight you have steady customer. I have girl friend—Saigon. Tonight you drink, talk with me.” He touched his chest with a finger. “My name Charlie. Same-same VC. You talk, I talk—you make money—everybody happy, OK?”

  She relaxed, the plain pleasure of her smile so out of place it jarred him, created a clamping sensation in his stomach.

  She was remarkably pretty in the manner of all unaffected young girls. He imagined her walking a village street with other girls her age, shy eyes that pretended not to see the young men and the confiding giggle for her companions. He closed his eyes and opened them slowly. The unwanted image was gone. He leaned back in the chair.

  “Tell me about Cindy. Where is her home? Where are her brothers and sisters? If I buy tea, you must earn it.”

  She laughed at that, meshing her fingers and tucking her hands under her chin. Again, it was such a natural gesture it disturbed him. She talked, growing more comfortable with each word, yet when she spoke of schools and family and friends, it was as though she described a previous world.

  The first awareness Taylor had of the passage of time was Ordway’s announcement that he wanted to take his companion home.

  “It’ll mean either staying there all night or taking a chance on the curfew, Major.”

  Taylor checked his watch. “I don’t want to carry her in the jeep. Take a cab to the BOQ. We’ll get the jeep and follow you from there. I’ll find out where the place is, take the Captain home, then come back after you. We won’t miss curfew by much and I don’t want to have to wonder where the hell you are all night. It’d probably be as safe as our place, but I don’t want to risk it. I warned you you’d be in for a short-time.”

  Ordway winked at the girl. She smiled.

  Taylor looked to the dance floor and tried unsuccessfully to catch the eye of the wildly gyrating Kimble. Finally, Cindy waved to Suzette, who nodded and literally hauled her partner toward the table.

  “Cindy?”

  She turned to Taylor’s call, expectant.

  “How much does the girl with my friend get?”

  Dully, she said, “Ten dollars, short-time.”

  Taylor dipped into his wallet, watching her face toughen. He handed her a ten dollar MPC. “You can get P?”

  She nodded, avoiding his eyes.

  He stood up. “Cam on co Cindy. You are very nice. Maybe sometime I see you again.”

  Confusion marred her forehead. She waved the note vaguely. “You say thank me? For why?”

  “Because I owe you, that’s all.”

  She was still tucking the money in her blouse when Kimble and Suzette swept into their chairs.

  “All time you talk,” Suzette chided good-naturedly.

  “That’s a goddam fact.” Kimble’s volume drew sidelong looks from some of the other tables. He leaned across at Taylor. “Join in the fun, Charlie! You don’t mind if I call you Charlie, do you? Suzette calls me ‘sweetheart Warren’ and we’ve never been formally introduced. But you ‘n mere old buddies, right?”

  The multi-colored overhead lights were surrealistic blobs on the intense, sweating face. His head was angled downward, giving Taylor an untinted view of the eyes behind the glasses. He felt compelled to search deeply there, but all he could discover was the flame of the candle captured in each pupil.

  He said, “Sure, we’
re buddies. And I’ve got to get you back to the rack.” He explained Ordway’s problem.

  Kimble’s face contorted. “What about me? What if I want to take Suzette home? It’s all right to suck up to one of the troops, but we’ve got to set an example, right? Morals. Officers and gentlemen. That makes you feel big, doesn’t it?”

  “If you think so. Now get up. We’re leaving.”

  The women sidled away and Kimble calmed with visible effort. Ordway maneuvered to be between them and the distraught Captain. Kimble ignored that, probing in his pocket. He withdrew his latest letter, wrinkled and frayed, dropping it in the puddles on the table.

  “You wouldn’t think a little piece of paper’d change your whole life, would you?”

  Taylor sat back down. “Dear John?”

  “You can read it, if you want.” Kimble sagged like a beaten fighter.

  “Not me, Warren. I don’t want to know.”

  The quick laugh was startling until its bitterness registered. “I didn’t want to know either. She’s been going to meetings, you know? Protesting, to get us home. Her mother wouldn’t let her go alone because she was afraid she’d get raped.” He laughed again, raggedly, and it took a moment for him to subside. “Lenore works in a bank. She started going to the meetings with the sonofabitch that works next to her. I got a fucking Dear John from my wife and my fucking mother-in-law in the same envelope.”

  The laughter erupted once more, this time pealing from a face drawn into straked pain that threatened to fall into shock. A red bulb over his thrown-back head smudged his tears and for a disconcerting moment Taylor thought how much it looked like fire pouring across his features. He walked around the table and helped the unresisting body to its feet.

  They made it down the stairs and back to the BOQ. He settled the sobbing Kimble in the back seat of the jeep and set out to follow Ordway’s taxi, thinking there should be some sort of moral in the situation but too weary to dig it out. He noted landmarks, instead, trying to ignore the snuffling noises behind him and an inaudible phrase repeated monotonously. In exasperation, he finally made the effort to decipher it.

  Kimble was saying, over and over, “I’m nothing without her.”

  Taylor wished he’d paid no attention.

  Chapter 24

  “OK, Warren, we’re back.” Taylor squeezed his shoulder. “C’mon, you’ve got to get some sleep. We’ll get you back to Saigon tomorrow.”

  Kimble remained where he was, head resting on his crossed arms on the back of the front seat. His sobs had quieted on the way back to the base.

  “What good will that do? She’s not in Saigon.” He looked up at Taylor, his face pale in the dark. “I told you you wouldn’t understand. You don’t know about needing someone, what it is to be alone whenever that person’s not with you. You think you’re so goddam self-sufficient! You’re not! You’re afraid! You don’t love anyone because you can’t admit the need!” He gulped air and lurched out of the jeep, shoving past and into the building. Taylor followed, flipping on the solitary naked overhead bulb. The hard light spiked Kimble’s sprawled form to the bunk.

  Taylor walked past him to the head. When he returned, Kimble was sitting up, his expression straining for hope.

  “You think Winter can get me out of here?”

  Taylor thought, soft answers, and said, “I can promise you he’ll try. Maybe he can get you emergency leave and a drop. It’s not too far out. Try to get some sleep. We’ll be quiet when we come back.”

  “No!” Kimble leaped to his feet. “I don’t want to sit here alone! I want to be near someone.”

  “All right, all right. I understand.” Taylor stepped out and Kimble rushed to keep up.

  He babbled, scurrying into the passenger’s seat. “I don’t usually need people around me. Lenore’s not like just having someone around, you know? She gave meaning to my life. Meeting her was like being born, like having another soul.”

  Taylor dropped the jeep into gear and his mind into neutral and allowed himself to hope Ordway’s presence would shut him up. Going through town provided some relief, the sights and sounds enough to mute the continuous chatter. He fed in an occasional grunt to satisfy Kimble’s infrequent pauses for response.

  Curfew was approaching and the streets filled with Americans headed for their quarters. They looked like workers off shift. Taylor abruptly realized that’s exactly what they were. They had labored the entire evening, forging whatever pleasure they could from the raw materials available—colored lights, noise, liquor, whores. Men with hungry eyes above gashed smiles ignored the bronzed boredom of Vietnamese shopkeepers who stood aside to watch them straggle homeward.

  Ordway stood at the edge of the small sidestreet, waiting for them. At the approach of the jeep, the blurred shape of the woman moved swiftly to the house. Taylor rolled away while he settled into the back seat.

  “Feeling better?”

  He heard the smile in the answer. “Yes, sir. Very much. Nothing like it in Gantry, I’ll tell you.”

  “You tried it all in Gantry, did you?”

  “Well, not all, but enough to know the difference between an amateur and a pro.”

  Kimble snorted contempt and the trio lapsed into a prickly silence that lasted until they were through town and on the road approaching the base.

  “I’m going to be sick.” Kimble’s voice was precise.

  Taylor stepped on the gas. “Hang on. We’ll be home in a few minutes.”

  “I can’t wait.” He leaned over the side and retched dryly. “I’m afraid I’ll fall out! I’m dizzy! Stop!”

  Braking gently, Taylor pulled to the side. Kimble staggered around to the back, making horrible noises.

  “The wages of sin,” Taylor observed, glaring at Ordway. “You better not have any dues to pay.”

  The younger man’s teeth gleamed. “No sweat. I kept my fingers crossed the whole time.”

  “I’d be happier if she’d kept her legs that way.”

  Kimble interrupted them. “Major, I can’t—I’m passing out.”

  Ordway spun to grab his shoulder and Taylor eased out from behind the wheel. In back, he took Kimble’s elbow and said, “We’ll get you back to the sack. You’ll be all right.”

  Before he knew what was happening he was sitting in the road, listening to Ordway’s shocked, “What’re you doing?”

  Kimble raced to the driver’s seat. Taylor scrambled upright, yelling as the gearshift rammed home. Ordway turned, reached back for him, and they linked hands as the machine bolted forward. It bucked once, the split second just enough for Taylor to throw out his other hand and grab the rear of the body. Ordway heaved on his wrist and Taylor vaulted in on top of him, both of them tumbling to the floor in a flailing of arms and legs. Taylor worked his way to the front seat as Kimble careened down the road, speeding away from the town and the base.

  “Stop this thing, you crazy sonofabitch!” He shouted without taking his eyes from the road, wincing at the speed with which brush and houses loomed up and shot past.

  Kimble’s exultance sliced the edge of hysteria. “We’re going back to Saigon! You said the Old Man’d try to get me home! We’ll be there when he comes in! I’ll be on my way!”

  “You’ll get us killed!” Taylor reached for the wheel and Kimble batted the hand away.

  “Only if you try to stop me!”

  Taylor grabbed the seat with both hands and struggled to keep his voice calm as they squealed around a curve. “You don’t even know the road, Warren. Charlie owns this place at night, man. Even if you don’t put us in the ditch, we could get bushwhacked.”

  Kimble grinned in triumph. “I thought of that. Look under the seat.” A cold spring gushed in Taylor’s stomach as he felt the canvas overnight bag wedged under him. He pulled it out and looked at Apeneck and Ordway’s .45.

  “I slipped them in there while you were in the latrine. Extra ammunition, too. I could’ve taken the jeep then, but I thought about Charlie, too. If anyone comes
at us, you’ll have to get us through.”

  “For Christ’s sake, use your head! I don’t know where we are!” He looked back toward the smudge of light that marked Vung Tau. Ordway’s eyes met his, then flashed immediately back forward to concentrate on the road. Taylor rapped him on the knee with the pistol.

  “Take this goddam thing and pay attention to what the road looks like behind us. If we ever get this maniac turned around, we’re going to have to find our way back. Understand?”

  Ordway’s stammered answer washed away under the sounds of the jeep.

  Taylor cradled the sawed-off in his lap. “Look at this road, will you? Does this look like the road from Saigon to Vung Tau? It’s a damned track, Kimble! You’re on the wrong road!”

  Kimble giggled. “Special providence for fools and drunks, remember? I’ve got to hit Saigon if I just keep heading north and west.” A crossroad appeared as he spoke and he whipped onto it in a shuddering turn, gravel spraying into the brush with a sound reminiscent of the surf. The memory of the afternoon on the beach entered Taylor’s mind in fogged outline, like some remembrance from childhood.

  All at once the brush fell back from the roadside, revealing a stripped, scarred landscape marked by low humps in the ground and a distant tree line hovering on their flanks at the outside limit of the lights. Taylor recognized it as a defoliated area, ‘dozed clean for ambush protection. He relaxed slightly, as if the encroaching foliage had been a weight on his back.

  A slight knoll rose ahead and to the right, etched sharply against a star-spattered sky. The road bent to the left at its base, potholes and irregularities black in the tunnel of illumination, giving the whole an appearance of primitive cast silver. Electric apprehension crept up his neck. He bent forward, trying to see around that bend. It made him feel foolish but it was an irresistible urge.