by Dennis Foley
Between the two of them they got Scotty and Nguyen up to take the last few strides to the chopper. Scotty rolled Nguyen’s limp body onto the cargo deck of the aircraft then tried to raise his own leg to get in. He couldn’t. He just didn’t have the strength. He tried again and could only get the knee half as high as the first attempt.
The two soldiers and the American door gunner reached out and grabbed Scotty by his shirt and pulled him up and over the mud slimed edge of the chopper and onto his stomach inside the aircraft.
Scotty wasn’t even sure he even had the strength to roll over and sit up when the chopper suddenly lurched forward, tail up, tilting the cargo deck violently. The pilot, now clear of the ground, yanked the chopper violently to the east changing the pitch of the slick floor, threatening to spit Scotty out the door to the paddies now a hundred feet below. He felt himself sliding, out of control, toward the console between the pilots—the floor now as wet, muddy and slippery as the paddies they were leaving.
He crashed into the console. But there he was able to get a grasp on one of the legs of the pilot’s seat to keep himself from sliding toward the gaping open cargo door during the ride.
Scotty got a better grip, turned over, pulled himself up to a sitting position and found all three Vietnamese soldiers attending to Captain Nguyen. One was trying to cover him with his own dry shirt. One was attending to his wound and one was holding the captain’s head while pouring water into his mouth from his own canteen.
Rain blew in the cargo doors and sprayed Scotty as he looked around. The two pilots were completely focused on getting the chopper to the Sugar Mill. At the other end of the chopper’s cargo bay the two door gunners sat in their side-mounted jump seats. They trained their two machineguns on every danger spot they passed over ready to eliminate any threat to the chopper. Scotty closed his eyes, dismissed his shivering and heard himself say, “Thank you.”
Chapter 24
“KITTY…?” EILEEN WASN’T SURE if she was awake but was sure if she wasn’t she’d want to be awakened. She called her name again in the dark quiet room. “Kitty, darlin,’ are you awake?”
Kitty answered in a small and sleepy voice, “What is it, hon?”
“Gonna’ turn the light on. Mind your eyes,” Eileen said before she flipped the switch on the wall.
Kitty rubbed her eyes and looked at Eileen. “What? What are you smiling at? Oh, no. Is it Scotty? Is there some word about Scotty?” She sat up, unaware she had clasped her hands in front of her chest in a prayer-like pose.
Eileen nodded enthusiastically as she ran to Kitty’s bedside, sat on the edge of the bed and took Kitty’s hands in hers. “He’s okay. They’ve found him.”
“He’s okay? Tell me he’s okay. Please, please tell me he’s okay,” Kitty pleaded, tears flooding her eyes and as quickly streaming down her cheeks.
“I told you. He’s okay. He’s okay. Our Scotty’s okay.”
Kitty wiped her eyes with the sleeve of the sleep shirt she wore. “Oh, my God! How wonderful! He’s okay!” She slipped her hands from Eileen’s, placed them on the back of Eileen’s neck and pulled her face to her chest. She held her closely and rocked her back and forth repeating, “My baby’s okay. He’s okay.”
Eileen started to cry with the same happiness and sheer surprise at the good news. “He’s coming home. I don’t know all the particulars. I only know he’s already on his way to the States.”
Kitty pushed Eileen out to arm’s length, sniffled and asked, “How do you know? Could this be a mistake? Who told you this?”
“Whoa. Kitty, whoa!” Eileen said. “Captain Jeffries called. He told me Scotty was at a hospital in Saigon yesterday and would be leaving soon. He said he’d come tell you in person later and give you all the details, but he wanted you to get the good news as quickly as he could.”
Eileen whipped back the cover and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“Where are you going?” Eileen asked.
“Scotty’s coming home. We’ve got things to do.” She unconsciously reached up and touched her unkempt hair. “You ’n me got to get gorgeous for that boy.”
“Before you get too excited and throw a rib out of place, know he’s not going to be here right away.”
“Why not?” Kitty asked, worry returning to her expression.
“Captain Jeffries said he’s going to spend some time in a hospital in Japan to get him some rest and some medical treatment before the long trip to the States to —”
“‘Medical treatment?’ What’s wrong with him? I thought he was okay? Oh, please tell me he’s not wounded,” Kitty said.
“He’s exhausted and he’s sick. But don’t worry. They say he hasn’t been shot or anything. It’s just going to take another couple of weeks for him to get here.”
Kitty stood up. “Well, we still got lots to do. Don’t we?”
Eileen stood, hugged Kitty and kissed her on the forehead. “Yes, we do. We sure do.”
The colonel looked freshly dispatched from some protected headquarters—new fatigues, no tan and leather boots, not canvas topped jungle boots. His shirt didn’t even have a nametag on it. His collar insignia gave him away as a member of the Judge Advocate General’s Corp—an Army lawyer.
He took out a small card with a list of the legal rights he was obligated to read to Pascoe and began to read verbatim: “No person subject to the Uniform Code of Military Justice may compel any person to incriminate himself or to answer any questions the answer to which may tend to incriminate him…”
Pascoe couldn’t believe it. He was being investigated? This would have consequences far more damaging than the single bad efficiency report he got at West Point. He heard but didn’t hear the colonel continue to read him his Article 31 rights: “No person subject to the Code may interrogate, or request any statement from an accused or a person suspected of an offense without first informing him of the nature of the accusation and advising him that he does not have to make any statement regarding the offense of which he is accused or suspected and that any statement made by him may be used as evidence against him in a trial by court-martial…”
Pascoe had to think of something—some way of sidestepping the finger being pointed at him. Something he could lay off on Minh or, or some explanation for whatever it was he was really being suspected of. His mind frantically searched for a solution without success.
The colonel continued. “No person subject to the Code may compel any person to make a statement or produce evidence before any military tribunal if the statement or evidence in not material to the issue and may tend to degrade him. No statement obtained from any person in violation of this article, or through the use of coercion, unlawful influence, or unlawful inducement may be received in evidence against him in a trial by court-martial.
“Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you, Major?”
He heard the sarcastic emphasis in the colonel’s voice when he said the word major. Pascoe felt panic setting in. He stammered, “Yes, ah no. This has to be some kind of mistake. I’m not guilty of anything. I haven’t done anything wrong. I, ah… I —”
“Major. I’m going to ask you again. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”
Pascoe became combative. “Of course I do!”
The colonel corrected him. “‘Of course I do, sir.”
His thoughts tumbled out of control. There had to be someone who could come to his aid, someone who could get this off his back, someone who could make it all go away. But no name came to mind.
And the colonel pulled a lined pad out of his briefcase. It had questions written on it. He pushed the pad aside and prefaced his questions with a statement carefully chosen to follow the process. “Major. You are suspected of violating Articles 99 and 107 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. The purpose of this investigation is to determine if there is enough evidence for me as investigation officer to recommend a trial by courts-martial to the convening authority,
who in this case is the Commander of the Military Assistance Command.”
“What? You can’t be serious. Someone’s accusing me of cowardice?”
“Technically, misbehavior before the enemy and filing false official statements.”
“We have statements from Sergeant Hayes and Captain Nguyen. We also have sworn statements from the command pilots of the helicopter elements supporting the operation incident to the loss of General Minh and several Vietnamese soldiers. And all these statements appear to contradict your account of what happened that night.”
The colonel then pulled a small stack of documents from his briefcase. “I’d like to start by asking you if you recall preparing and signing these statements concerning specifics of the enemy contact in which General Minh was killed and two soldiers went missing that night.” He shoved copies of the report Pascoe he had written across the table to Pascoe.
The first thing Scotty noticed in addition to the stethoscope clasped around the doctor’s throat he was a bright silver Parachutist’s Badge over his breast pocket and a Ranger tab on the shoulder of his starched khaki shirt. He’d been ushered into the room only two hours earlier after transport from an Air Force plane had brought him to Fort Benning.
Scotty sat up quietly waiting for the balding Army doctor to finish reading the half inch thick file of medical forms and test slips clamped into an aluminum folder which had been hanging at the foot of his bed.
Without even making eye contact with Scotty the doctor put the earpieces of his stethoscope into place and motioned for Scotty lean forward. He listened to his lungs then poked at his tender kidneys. Pushing Scotty back, he pulled up the bottom of his GI pajama top and probed his liver with his fingers. “Tender?”
“Yessir,” Scotty replied.
The doctor made a few notations in the medical file and tucked it under his arm. Finally, he looked at Scotty. “I’m Doctor Owens. I’m going to be looking after you while you’re here at Fort Benning.”
“Just how much looking after am I going to need, sir?” Scotty asked, still unsure exactly how sick he was. He had been poked, probed, shuttled, transferred and moved from bed to bed and hospital to hospital for almost three weeks.
“Well, let me see…” The doctor flipped the metal lid of the file open again and rifled through the pages. “Somehow you’ve managed to get yourself pretty well dehydrated while you were in Vietnam. And you’ve picked up a good case of Dengue fever; you’re suffering from lots of odds and ends symptoms of exposure and prolonged immersion. And… And you got yourself a pretty stubborn case of intestinal parasites. On top of all that, we haven’t yet ruled out worms, but we’re working on all of it.”
He flipped the file closed, dropped it on the bed and looked at the flow rate on an upturned bottle of saline solution on its way to Scotty’s bloodstream by way of a plastic tube and needle in the back of his hand.
“What? I mean will I…”
“The answer is yes,” Doctor Owens said. “Yes, you’ll be okay. Yes, we can fix all this. And no you aren’t going to like some of the medications. And you are going to be a bit impatient, but you didn’t get all this overnight.”
Scotty looked out the window of the eighth floor ward at Martin Army Hospital. “How long will I be here, sir?”
The doctor looked at the chart one more time. “I’d say we need to keep you here for at least another two weeks…” He looked sternly at Scotty. “If you follow my instructions to the letter, Sergeant. If you don’t, you’ll be here that much longer.
“Then we’re going to send you home for a month on convalescent leave and treat you as an outpatient. How does that sound?”
Scotty grinned widely. “That sounds great, sir.”
The doctor waved his finger at Scotty. “That doesn’t mean you are well. I’m sending you home with a rucksack full of medications you’ll have to take religiously and some restrictions on your diet. Your stomach’s not ready for Buffalo wings or tequila or Tabasco sauce. As a matter of fact, no booze for you for at least six months. We need to take all the load we can off your liver.”
“That’ll be fine with me, sir. You can count on me.”
“Then I’m going to want to see you after your leave and I’ll decide if you are ready to return to duty. How does that sound?”
“Airborne, sir!”
The doctor reached out and shook Scotty’s hand. “Welcome home, Ranger.”
Scotty woke in late afternoon from a disturbing dream which had slipped in when he dozed off. In it he saw himself unable to carry Captain Nguyen to the chopper and the chopper lifted off without them. He shook off the dream knowing it was just a dream and Nguyen too was getting good care in Vietnam.
He looked around the six-bed ward. The only other bed in the room with a patient in it was at the far end of the room. The patient was a large man with his back to Scotty, sleeping soundly and snoring lightly.
Scotty became aware of sounds coming through the window next to his hospital bed. Outside and several floors down a company of basic trainees was double-timing along the range road headed back to the cantonment area from a day’s training. As they ran they yelled Jody cadence under the direction of an unseen drill sergeant.
Scotty thought he would never love hearing that sound again. His mind wandered to his days on the same range road, to Russell and Fitch and how awkward and unsuited to the that life he felt back then. He wondered if Russell had been as lucky as he had been. If he might be in some military hospital somewhere also itching to get released.
He recalled how humid he had thought Benning was. Now the breeze coming through the open window was pleasant by comparison to the crushing humidity of Vietnam. He moved his hands across the clean rough GI sheets and thought about going home to Belton.
Footsteps outside his room caught his attention. They were coming down the long hallway from the elevator. They clicked crisply on the tile floor. A women’s footsteps, he thought. But not the nurse’s. They all wore white rubber soled shoes which were nearly silent and part of their white Army uniforms and nurses’ caps.
The footsteps stopped at what Scotty guessed was the nurse’s station. He heard but could not make out what was said. Then the footsteps continued and got closer. Until they stopped in the doorway to his ward.
Scotty looked up and there was Eileen. Not the Eileen he had left so many months before. An even prettier Eileen stood there. She had her hair up, makeup on and wore pumps. He had never seen her in high heels and had never seen a skirt like the one she wore. Words like miniskirt and hullabaloo had all been minted while he was in Vietnam. The short skirt showed off her long beautiful legs.
“Scotty?” she said tentatively.
“Oh, my god, you are beautiful,” he said.
He watched her movements as she rushed to his bedside and then abruptly stopped once there. She looked at the IV bottle and the tubes. She seemed unsure if she should touch or embrace him. He reached up, grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her to him. She sat on the side of the bed and they held each other tightly, quietly as she tucked her face into the crook of his neck and let her long pent up tears of relief and joy flow.
Scotty pulled his face away and kissed her hair, then touched it with his fingertips. “There was a time I thought I’d never be able to do this again.”
She sniffled, rummaged around in her purse, found a tissue and blew her nose. “I knew. I was sure you were coming home. You might think I’m crazy, but I was sure.”
He looked at her for a long time, silent, taking her in and not missing a single strand of hair, nuance of her makeup or the wonderful way she smelled.
“Scotty?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay? Tell me you are going to be okay.”
“As they say in Vietnam, ‘Can do, easy.’ Yes, I am okay. They’re going to let me out of here in a couple of weeks and I can come home on leave. And be with you.”
Excited, Eileen bounced up and down on the bed and then caught
herself. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
Scotty laughed. “Are you kidding me?”
She laughed and wiped another tear from the corner of her eye.
“How’s Kitty?” he asked.
“Your mom’s a tougher old bird than I thought she was. When it was bad, she hung in there. Once she heard you were coming home she was like a teenager. She’s been cleaning the house and baking for a weeks.”
The both laughed.
“That’s good. You’ve been so good for her —”
Eileen took Scotty’s hands in hers. “We can talk about Kitty and all that later. When do I get to spend some time with you all by myself?” No sooner had she asked, she blushed at the forwardness of her question.
Scotty leaned back and smiled, as if he knew a secret. “Well, we can find some time while I’m home on convalescent leave, but I’ve got a much better idea.”
She brightened up even more. “What? What idea?”
“I’ve been told I have to go to Honolulu to testify in a trial in about three months. Why don’t you come with me? You’ve never been there, have you?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean no, I haven’t been there and yes I want to go with you.”
He was silent for awhile then took her hands in his. “While we’re there, why don’t we get married?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes!” She threw her arms around Scotty’s neck then took his face in her hands and kissed him.
Chapter 25
November 1965
HIS EMOTIONS SHUTTLED BETWEEN anger at Pascoe and his pain over the loss of so many good soldiers because of Pascoe’s cowardice under fire. Scotty sat in the gallery of the court room at the Scoffield Barracks headquarters building in Oahu with Eileen by his side. Everyone involved had been called back into the room after the court martial board had met in closed session for two days after a week of testimony.
