by Don McQuinn
He felt his face flame. “I love her! I do not understand! I will not! Of all people, I—!”
“Stop!” The word flew from the tiny woman like a knife, something that should have been visible in the sunlight, shining malice. “You are not to speak of her! It is because of you and your people she is dead! If you were not in our country she would be alive now! Go home! Leave us our dead and go home!”
She spun on the embarrassed guard and struck him, the sound of her hand on his cheek sharp. “Close the gate! If he makes more trouble, I order you to shoot him!”
The guard reached for the edge of the gate and Taylor pushed the hand aside. Doing so moved him within inches of Ba Lien’s face and she stared venomously into his eyes without flinching.
He wanted to tell her how cruel she was, wanted to hit her, to somehow hurt her as she was hurting him. Instead, he could only think of one thing to tell her, and suddenly it was paramount that she understand this one thing about Ly and himself.
“I loved her,” he said. “I will always love her.”
The door thudded shut while he strode to the jeep. He was almost back to the villa before he decided to get drunk. He went to the MACV building where he bought a bottle of Chivas. The clerk took his money and checked his ration card with total disinterest and he wondered if she thought of him as an enemy or a customer or a hand. The idea evaporated before he could come to grips with it, as had all others since the meeting with Ba Lien.
He drove back to the villa and carried the whiskey to Winter’s office, where he knocked and entered. Winter’s eyes trailed from his face to the package and back again.
“Booze?”
Taylor nodded. “With the Colonel’s permission, I’m going to drink myself out of things. I’ll be OK by tomorrow.” He explained that he was barred from the funeral.
Winter said. “No matter how bad things are, a person like her’ll find a way to make it worse. Go ahead and do what you want. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Just don’t get confused about what that stuff can do for you, OK?” He jerked his chin at the package.
“No problem,” Taylor told him. “I’ll only sleep sound enough to forget for a few hours. Then I’ll be OK.”
Winter nodded and Taylor walked down the hall to his room, already opening the bottle and helping himself to a good pull. He had the feeling that Winter was actually relieved to see him taking on a load and couldn’t think why that might be, but another swallow of the whiskey chased that idea where so many others had gone that day and he squatted on his bunk, back to the wall, and attacked the bottle determinedly.
Chapter 52
There was pain all around him, pain like surf. He was submerged in shallows, but periodically a wave rose and crashed down on him and then the shock was almost enough to make him retch. He tried to get to his feet just as one of the waves struck and he gulped to keep from losing whatever he had left inside.
Wavering, he made his way to the head, wondering what time it was and too busy keeping his balance to look at his watch. Leaning on the edge of the sink, he saw it was 1400, exactly. Unless it was 0200. He looked at the window and saw light and knew it was afternoon. Another look at the watch told him it was, indeed, the day after he’d started drinking.
He soaked his face in the sink, sorry he’d brought so much discomfort onto himself to no purpose. Through the superficial misery of the hangover, the loss of Ly was living flame. Instead of solving anything, he felt degraded. He had denied it to himself while he was getting drunk, but there was no denying it now. The liquor only delayed whatever healing he had to accomplish. It wasn’t even a good narcotic.
He shuffled back to his room for his toilet articles, washed, shaved, brushed his teeth, and began to re-establish his outlook.
The face looking back at him from the mirror seemed no wiser or better equipped to face the world. His eyes stared back, telling him nothing important about the man behind them. He had suffered a loss. He had as much reason to live as before. Maybe more.
Without wanting to, he wondered what the men who fired the rocket must have thought as they sent it on its way. They had to know its ultimate objective was people, just ordinary people. He looked deeper into the eyes and they failed him again and he pounded his fist into the mirror. Glass rang in the sink and blood flowed from small cuts on his hand. He ignored it all, not really aware of it, asking the wild image that squinted from a single daggered shard, “How could they do that? How? How?"
Instantly, he was embarrassed. He looked around guiltily while he ransacked his toilet kit for Band-Aids. With the cuts wrapped, he quickly picked the broken mirror pieces from the sink and put them in the GI can.
He stopped on his way out, realizing something was wrong, trying to identify what was missing.
Sound. The building was totally silent. He stepped to the door and looked up and down the hall.
Putting his toilet kit on the shelf, he walked the echoing passageway to knock on Winter’s door. There was no response and when he checked, all the other offices were vacant, as well.
The building was deserted. He retreated to his room and put on fresh utilities. On his way out, he checked the offices again. They were as before.
He was moving toward the jeep when it occurred to him that someone might be in the shop. He turned back, welcoming the penetrating cautery of the sun that drew a purifying sweat immediately. When he opened the door to the shop, he startled Tho and Chi.
“Ah, you are awake,” Tho said, recovering. “We thought you would sleep much longer.”
“It would be better if I did, I think.” Taylor grimaced. “It does no good to get drunk. It is only worse when you must stop.”
Tho said, “You are fortunate to find that out so quickly. Some men never do.”
For the first time, Taylor noticed the radio on the bench in front of Tho. “What is that for?”
Tho ignored Chi’s nervous movements and answered easily. “Colonel Loc, Colonel Winter, and Captain Harker are in the field. We are in direct contact.”
“What are they doing?”
This time Chi’s nervousness was unavoidable and Tho frowned at him before answering.
“They are searching a tunnel network in a village named Phu Thuan.”
Taylor’s head pounded. “They said nothing of this to me. Why are both Colonels involved?” He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, missing the hasty exchange of glances between the Vietnamese.
Tho said, “They are in the village. They have found many tunnels. They are searching.”
The tone of the answer grated on Taylor’s ears but he was too preoccupied to push the matter further. He picked a chair to wait with them. A moment later he looked up to find Chi looking down at him, face twisted with indecision.
Caught, Chi said, “I am sorry to stare, Thieu Ta, but I do not know how to tell you of my sympathy. I do not know what to say.”
Tho turned from the radio. “He speaks for me, as well. I, too, am not sure what is proper to say to an American, except to tell you we share your loss.”
The mad contradiction of these two expressing sympathy threatened Taylor’s balance but he managed to explain that what they said was gracious and proper. He thanked them, and even as he did, he was asking himself what he would do to the men who killed Ly if they should fall into his hands. It was a seductive notion. He cherished it, picturing a group watching the first of their number strapped into Tho’s massive chair. They’d sweat buckets, waiting their turn. Maybe they’d think about the pain caused by their damned rocket, think of the shattering and the burning.
Another heave rippled through his stomach and a feeling of a thousand needles pricked at the skin between his shoulder blades.
The radio crackled to life and Harker’s voice said, “Research Base, this is Research Six. Over.”
Tho answered and Harker said, “We have no contact with the target, but have verified identification. The village has been evacuated.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Taylor demanded. “Identified what target?”
Tho hunched closer to the radio. “I understand, Research Six.”
Taylor moved to stand beside him, positioning himself so Tho would have to look at him.
“What’s going on, Colonel? They’re onto something. What is it? Binh?”
Tho said, “Yes, it is Binh.”
“Why wasn’t I told? Why was I left out?” Taylor’s accusing look was more violent than the words and Tho’s extreme discomfort surfaced in a switch to English.
“It was decided. You were troubled. Colonel Winter, he say not good you go operation so soon you have so much trouble.” The language turned Tho’s apologetic explanation to petulance and further angered Taylor.
“I’m no child, goddamit. They had no right to treat me like one. I’m going there. What’s the name of the place?”
For all the reaction from Tho, the outburst might not have occurred. After a moment he looked up to study Taylor, clearly coming to a decision. Finally he said, “Village Phu Thuan.” He pulled a map from the shelf and unrolled it. When he spoke, it was Vietnamese again. “I should not tell you, but I agree with you. You deserve to be there when the animal is forced from its den. This one, in particular, is an example of what—” He stopped so abruptly Taylor thought there must be an external cause, but when he looked, Tho’s face was torn by a suffering that was exploding through his defenses as steam ruptures corroded pipe. An inarticulate cry squirmed through clenched teeth, and then he was under control. The previous sentence was left uncompleted, nevertheless. When he resumed conversation, it was in the quieter tones of everyday discussion.
Taylor barely heard him. He felt the information registering like plugs being inserted—map coordinates, unit designations, command personnel, flight times—the part of him responsible for such data was comfortable.
The rest of him was eager hatred. The unknowable view of Tho’s inner mind combined with the series of shocks to his own psyche and he knew he was wavering on the edge of madness. He saw himself from a distance, reasonably proud of his intelligence but beset by questions he couldn’t hope to answer, never before afraid of death and trembling now with the fear that he might die unrevenged.
The latter brought him up short. Could he bring back Ly and the baby? End the war? Kill all the enemy? There was really nothing he could do. Nothing.
Winter must have felt this way at one time or another, he told himself. And Winter had found his answer. One man. Pick a target and go for him. Subordinate everything else, but don’t forget anything. In the midst of complexity, isolate a simple goal.
For lack of a better goal, then, get Binh. After all, who better? One of the gray non-combatants, one of the provisioners who made the killing possible. The men who fired the rockets were pawns, like practically everyone else. But some men kept the game alive, and Binh was as close to one of those as he was likely to get. Tho’s cry rang in his memory and he applauded the wordless accuracy of it, the hate and the loss. Pain, like everything else, had an ultimate focus, and it was Binh and those like him who lived there, like creatures who’d found a way to shelter in an area too cruel to support other life.
The mechanical voice sputtered from the radio once again, the excited timbre breaking through the matter-of-fact phrasing.
“Research Base, this is Research Six. Over.”
Tho barely released the transmission button after his answer before more words tumbled from the set.
“We have contact with the target.”
Taylor reached for the microphone and after hesitating, Tho handed it to him.
“What’s your situation?” Taylor asked, and all three men tensed. For several seconds the only answer was the hiss of interference. The fluorescent fixtures sealed the listeners and the remnants of Kimble’s equipment in an icy tint appropriate to the overall stillness. When the voice came again, it was just as Taylor was pressing the transmission button, garbling the first words.
“—Research Six. Over.”
“Research Base. Over.”
“We have a stand-off, Base. Target says any further activity from us and they will self-destruct. We are negotiating.”
Taylor’s fist threatened to crush the microphone. “Shit. Negotiating.” He pushed the transmission button again. “What is your evaluation, Research Six?”
The radio crackled, digesting the information before answering. “Suspect target has an evacuation plan that requires night operation. We are searching for escape routes and talking at the same time.”
Taylor stared at the shelves as if answers might be hidden among the litter.
Tho said, “You can be sure Binh has a plan. He will try to escape in the dark, as they fear. If he fails, he will surely kill himself or be killed.” Taylor pulled the microphone back to his lips. “Send a chopper to Tan Son Nhut for me.”
The response was immediate. “Negative.”
“We have new information that may generate surrender.”
The radio resumed its surly hissing and then there was a new voice, Winter’s. “Describe the new information.”
“Negative, Research Six. This is not a secure net.”
Winter’s frustration came across as clearly as Harker’s earlier triumph.
“Report to Tan Son Nhut pad. Helicopter will arrive in approximately one hour. Out.”
Taylor checked his watch and pushed the microphone at Tho. As the latter’s hand closed on it, Taylor turned to smile at him. Tho remained impassive and Taylor let the smile wither to a faintly hostile look.
“Maybe some debts will be repaid today, Colonel,” he said.
Tho said, “With lies? You have no information. You are still ill from drinking. You are making much trouble for yourself.”
“No, sir. I have a plan. I have no information, true, but I can bring news to Binh. It is the same thing.”
Tho waved his disapproval. “It is your decision.”
“There are no more decisions, only reactions.” Taylor turned on his heel and left, the blast of sunlight through the rapidly opening and closing door leaving the two Vietnamese blinking.
Tho looked after Taylor. “He is a man of fire, to cleanse or destroy. And sometimes both. It is impossible to understand him.”
Knowing he was expected to answer, Chi said, “Is that not true of all Americans, Trung Ta? Sometimes I think they are all insane.”
“Insane?” Tho smiled, pointing his chin at the door. “That one, surely. And who can blame him? But he acts carefully. I would not want such a crazy man against me.” He laughed and continued, “And now I think I must be crazy. He is a good friend to us, unless he is ever betrayed. Then he would be very dangerous.”
Chi turned his back on the door. His upper lip itched and when he rubbed it with a fingertip he was unsurprised to find it covered with sweat.
* * *
The jeep rocked with the sudden stop and Taylor was running for the operations desk before it settled. The huddled woman in the passenger’s seat still braced herself with one hand on the dashboard while the other clutched the child to her breast. She drew her shawl more tightly around herself and the child, shrouding their faces despite the fretful complaints from the youngster. The lowering sun was still hot.
When Taylor emerged, he was walking, and the woman relaxed accordingly. She spoke with tentative hopefulness.
“I am afraid. Are you sure we cannot go by road?”
He shook his head, leaning past her to retrieve a bundle. “It will be here in a few minutes. We will wait in front of the building.”
The woman allowed herself to be helped out and pretended to accidentally turn away from Taylor’s attempt to take the child. Rebuffed, he dropped his hand.
“Try to remain covered well. It is important that no one recognize you,” he said.
She nodded, hitching at the shawl again.
He led the way around the building past a clump of decorative bamboo. Long before, someone had planted it at a corner to improve
on the sterility of the place, and now it was asserting itself. Macadam bulged upward at its base, peeled back in cracked sheets like punctured metal. The tooth-like projections had taken a toll but the plant was clearly expanding as it chose. The killed outer stalks were forced forward to form a protective bulwark for fresh, green shoots to rise behind.
The woman walked up one side of the root mound and down the other without a glance. They approached a white picket fence and he opened a gate for her. Then they waited, him shifting impatiently and her adjusting the shawl and comforting the child. He identified their helicopter on its approach by its unit markings and as soon as it was on the deck he raced for it, dragging the woman, practically throwing her in with his bundle and leaping aboard himself.
The pilot and co-pilot gesticulated fiercely, pointing at the woman and back at the ground. Their shouts were barely audible, but they made it clear they wanted her out. Taylor fastened seatbelts while he shook his head at them. He leaned forward and the pilot craned back with his helmet off so Taylor could speak directly into his ear.
“We have to take her. I checked with J-2. It’s OK.”
The pilot shook his head. “We don’t carry any Viet civilians. We’ve got orders.”
Taylor shouted into the ear. “If they don’t get to Phu Thuan before sundown, the General’s going to be pissed. We can go over to MACV and check it out if you want, but it’ll make us late. I guarantee he’ll have your ass. If your CO wants to make trouble later, that’s his problem.”
The pilot put his helmet back on and spoke to the co-pilot through the tiny square microphone dangling from it. The co-pilot looked at the passengers and then back at the pilot before grimacing and pointing upward. The pilot busied himself with the controls. As the engine roar increased, the woman bent over. The shawl fluttered in the rotor wind, revealing the child’s eyes screwed shut under the precise bangs and a cascade of tears rolling across the round cheeks. The woman’s eyes burned at him in a melange of accusation and resignation. He opened his mouth to speak to her, but the engine bellowed even louder, they left the ground, and he shut up to watch.
