The Green Berets: The Amazing Story of the U. S. Army's Elite Special Forces Unit

by Robin Moore

  Stebbins leaned his head back in the chair and smiled pityingly. “I couldn’t explain about Lynette and me to you, Top. It’s so—” it took several strong profanities to get across the intensity Stebbins was trying to express “—innocent it would make you sick. Tell you the truth, Top, makes me sick sometimes.”

  “Al,” Batterslee said, a concerned expression on his face, “you’re a good combat man, three tours in Laos and Vietnam. But you’re still just a kid. Don’t let no smart little slope tie you all up and make you think you love her. You’d better come down to Mai-Kim bar with us tonight and get a little service back for your time and money.”

  Stebbins shook his head. “Teacher don’t like me hanging around no bar girls.”

  Batterslee gave Stebbins a hopeless look and sipped his beer reflectively a few minutes. Then—“Where you want to go for combat pay this month?”

  “I figured I’d go down with Captain Franklyn in the Delta,” Stebbins answered.

  “God damn, boy, you gonna get it shot off yet. Why don’t you go north with Mason or some of them in the montagnard country? Take a few of them bare-breasted pictures, go on a few sick call patrols.”

  “I like to earn my combat pay,” Stebbins answered stubbornly.

  Batterslee uttered choice obscenities. “You didn’t get enough fighting the last three times? Hell, that’s why you’re on a B team. They figured you deserved to get through this tour without getting burned again.”

  “Top, you just fix up orders for me to go down with Captain Franklyn,” Stebbins replied.

  “No sweat, Al. And we’ll be looking for you around eleven tonight at Mai-Kim.”

  Stebbins finished his beer and stood up. “Not me, Top.”

  After a long shower, dressed in slacks and sport shirt, Sergeant Stebbins sauntered over to the motor pool and caught a vehicle heading towards Tu-Do in downtown Saigon.

  He arrived outside Cheap Charlie’s just at seven and Lynette was waiting for him. She had changed to a pink, American-style dress which emphasized the French in her, the fluffier hair and almost round eyes.

  Lynette was not really a pretty girl but Sergeant Stebbins liked her face. Something about it was generous and kind of Western-style wholesome. Her body wasn’t as frail and thin as those of the Vietnamese girls. And of course she did have a full-lifting bosom which was pleasing to the eye.

  Stebbins had four months of a six-month tour in front of him and if Lynette finally came around to being more than his language teacher and friend he would happily extend his tour another six months. There was no one to go home to in the States. If he never saw his ex-wife again it would be too soon. He had never had a chance to get to know his daughter: support checks came out of his pay and were sent automatically to her. At twenty-seven, practically twenty-eight, with eight years in the Army, Sergeant Stebbins’ only anchor in life was his love of Special Forces symbolized by the green beret which he so proudly wore.

  Stebbins came up to Lynette and instinctively slipped an arm around her waist She squirmed away from him. “Don’t touch me on the street.” Her tone was adamant.

  “Sorry, I forgot. At home we hold onto our girls on the street.”

  “Not in Vietnam,” Lynette said primly.

  “But you’re half French. You should see what they do right in public in Paris.”

  Lynette bestowed a fetching smile upon Stebbins. “Maybe if you take me to Paris we do it their way there.”

  “Is that a promise?” Stebbins asked eagerly.

  “It’s hot out here, let’s go inside,” was Lynette’s answer.

  Being careful not to touch her, Stebbins opened the door and the cool, refreshing air conditioning was a welcome relief from the heat of the city outside.

  Seated at a table Lynette was already pulling three long envelopes out of her purse as Stebbins ordered a whiskey for himself and a sweet-orange drink for Lynette. Then he glanced at the envelopes. She sighed deeply.

  “I’ll never get to college in America. Don’t you know any rich important people who could help me?”

  “If I knew any rich important people that wanted to help people I might get out of the army and go to college myself.”

  “You should, Al,” Lynette agreed. “Then you could become an important man or even go back in the army as an officer.”

  “What do I want to be an officer for? All my friends are enlisted men like me.”

  Lynette looked down at the table in front of her shyly. “You told me you wanted to get married again someday. Maybe your wife would like it if you were an officer.”

  “I know, your father was a captain in the French Army hers.”

  “He was a major,” Lynette flared.

  “They gave it to him after he was dead,” Stebbins reminded her piteously.

  “All the pension papers call him major.”

  “So he was a major,” Stebbins agreed. “Any officer in the French Army isn’t worth a sergeant in our army. And some of our top sergeants make more money than a French colonel.”

  “All you Americans think about is money,” Lynette retorted.

  “I was just trying to let you know I don’t need to be an officer.” Stebbins reached across the table and picked up the three letters. As the waiter set the drinks in front of them he opened the first envelope, spread its contents out on the table and read the terse communication. The other two were much the same.

  “Honey,” Stebbins said softly, “this scholarship deal is too hard to hack. They don’t give no scholarships to them high-class colleges to some girl on the other side of the world they don’t even know.”

  Lynette’s eyes suddenly moistened and Stebbins automatically reached across the table to take her hand. She snatched it away and folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve got to go to college in the United States,” she stated.

  “What are you worried about, Lyn? I’ve been telling you for a month I’d help you get to college in the States. I’ve got money saved. And why do you think I go out with the A teams every month? Because I like those black pajama VC’s shooting at me? Hell no. But that combat pay adds up, fifty-five bucks extra a month. I’ll get you in college.”

  “There’s no reason why you should pay my way,” Lynette said tonelessly. “That’s something I have to work for.”

  “OK,” Stebbins agreed. “You work for it and I’ll be doing what I can too. If you have money you can go to one of them big-time colleges. You’ve got the good school record behind you and you can sure pass any exams they throw at you.”

  Lynette brightened at this encouragement and picked up the menu.

  “Want me to order?” Stebbins offered.

  Lynette nodded.

  Stebbins ordered them a Chinese supper and another drink for himself. “Now stop worrying, will you? I told you, by the time I get done with this tour you’ll be going to college, one way or another.”

  “I want very much to get away from Saigon.”

  “I know. Your stepfather hates you because you’re half French. Let’s talk about something else. I was thinking of getting a little hooch someplace in town. We could go up there and relax instead of always going out to restaurants.”

  “I couldn’t go up to a hotel room or apartment with you Al. I am a virtuous girl. I tell you this many times.”

  “I know all about your virtue. And if you knew how funny it sounds in English you’d stop talking about it.”

  “What am I going to say? I have my virtue and I’m going to keep it.”

  “Nuts,” Stebbins exclaimed. “Nobody’s trying to rob you of anything. Now what’s the matter, Lyn? Why can’t you be full of all that—” he paused and attempted the phrase “—joy de vivre.”

  Lynette smiled at his effort. “Sorry, Al. Those three letters, they made me feel—how do you say it when you want something very very much and can’t get it?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. You speak English better than I do already.”

  “Frustration,” she pounced on t
he word. “That’s what I feel.”

  Stebbins grinned at her. “Honey, that’s what I feel too. And it would be a lot easier for you to help me than it’s going to be for me to help you.”

  “Oh?” Lynette smiled coquettishly.

  “Yeah. I’m going down to the Delta for my combat pay this month.”

  “Al!” The worried look in her eyes brought a start of joy to his heart. His pulse quickened as impulsively she reached across the table and took his hand in both of hers for an instant and then, realizing they were in public, gently pulled her hands away again. “Don’t go to the Delta.”

  “Hell, it’s the same everywhere.”

  “You could go to the First Corps area. Danang or Hue. We haven’t had anyone killed there for a long time.”

  “In the Delta I can do some good for my fifty-five bucks.”

  “Let’s not talk about it. I have to be home at ten. Tell me about America. Have you ever been to Washington, D.C.?”

  “Sure. I was stationed near there once.” He smiled at a personal recollection. “I made a lot of fine forty-eight-hour passes in D.C.”

  “What does the White House look like inside? Have you seen it since Mrs. Kennedy redecorated it? Do you think Mrs. Johnson will do it over again?”

  “Are you kidding, honey?” Stebbins laughed derisively. “What the hell kind of circles do you think I get around in? Besides, I haven’t been back to the States since sixty-two.”

  The waiter brought a tray full of steaming blue bowls which he laid out on the table. Stebbins’ years in the Orient had given him a certain amount of expertise with Chinese food. He took charge of apportioning out the orders and then slipped the heavy ivory chopsticks out of their paper wrappers. “Dig in, honey,” he invited. “Get chop chop while it’s hot.”

  They ate in silence until Lynette asked, “What will you do after I go home tonight?”

  Stebbins pushed another load of rice and sweet and sour into his mouth, chewed deliberately for a few moments and swallowed. He gave Lynette a sidewise glance. “Batterslee wants me to go over to Mai-Kim bar and have a couple with him and the troops.”

  “Are you making dates with those bar girls?” Lynette asked sharply.

  “Hell, honey, there isn’t a bar in Saigon doesn’t have bar girls. What am I going to do? Drink at the NCO club all the time?”

  “It’s not good you around those bar girls.”

  “Well why don’t you stay out with me then?”

  “You know I can’t do that, Al.” Her hand went to a small scar high on her cheek bone, under her eye. This, as she had told Stebbins often enough, was where her stepfather had hit her with his stick when she came in after midnight once without permission. She had been too embarrassed to go to work for the next two days and had almost lost her job.

  “Oh nuts, Lyn!” Stebbins replied to the gesture. “You make as much money as your stepfather. Move the hell out, get your own place. Or better still,” he smiled intimately at her, “let’s move in together someplace.”

  “You don’t know this country. I couldn’t move away from home. I’d never have any more friends. I would be disgraced.”

  “You’d have me.”

  Lynette gave him a fleeting smile but didn’t answer. They both concentrated on eating and when they had consumed as much food as they could and Lynette had finished two desserts, it was nine o’clock.

  “My gosh, time goes fast when we’re together,” Lynette exclaimed.

  “Yeah. Look, Lyn, I’ve only got two more nights before I take off for the Delta. Think you could stay out late tomorrow or Wednesday?”

  “I don’t know,” Lynette answered doubtfully. “Maybe I can stay out Wednesday until midnight.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  Lynette shook her head. “I must go right home after work.”

  “How old are you anyway?” Stebbins asked.

  “I’ve told you. Twenty-two.”

  “Well why don’t you tell that slope-head, mean-mouthed old gook to go to hell, you’re moving out. Why did your mother marry him anyway after living with a Frenchman all those years?”

  “She had to find someone to take care of her and me,” Lynette answered realistically. “She was lucky to find Mr. Thuc.”

  “It gives me a big case of the ass to see you pushed around. When I come back from this trip to the field I’m going to do something about it.”

  Lynette opened her eyes wide, delighting in showing off their roundness to the fullest and smiled tantalizingly. “Yes, Al? What?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Lynette pushed her empty dessert dish aside. “If I want to stay out late Wednesday, I better go home now.”

  Having paid the check, Stebbins stepped out with Lynette into the humid night. They walked along the sidewalk passing the barbed wire barricade in front of the Ambassador Hotel which was an American Officers Quarters. They peeked into the elegant Caravelle Hotel and crossed Tu-Do. At the Street of Flowers Lynette stopped at the long public bicycle racks. She took a key out of her purse and handed it to Stebbins who opened the padlock of her motorbike and pulled it out into the street for her.

  “Sure you don’t want me to follow you in a cab?” he offered.

  Lynette gathered up her skirt and mounted the bike’s saddle, one leg resting on a pedal, the other braced on the street. “No sweat,” she answered. “See you tomorrow.”

  Stebbins watched her push off down the brightly illuminated street. She pumped the pedals a few strokes, the two-horsepower engine coughed and caught and she swirled off into the teeming traffic of pedestrians, motorbikes, bicycles, cycles, tiny taxi cabs and American jeeps.

  A few minutes later Stebbins stopped a cab and bent over to get in. “Mai-Kim bar,” he said. The skinny driver in a dirty tee-shirt, khaki shorts and frayed rubber shower clogs turned, gave Stebbins a gold-toothed knowing grin and pulled his bantam-sized car away from the curb.

  Halfway to the Mai-Kim bar Sergeant Stebbins shook his head and leaned forward, giving the driver a new address, the compound which contained the B team enlisted men’s quarters.

  Sergeant Stebbins and his old buddy from the Laos tour, Master Sergeant Tompkins, walked along the high dike between two rice paddies. Behind them followed a platoon of Vietnamese civilian irregulars that Tompkins and his Special Forces A team had been training to fight the Viet Cong guerrillas.

  “You picked a good time to come, Al,” Tompkins was saying. “We ain’t had no VC messing with us for almost a month. Dry season too. Can’t figure why they don’t hit us. Of course we’re just as glad. Two more months to keep alive and we go home.”

  “The way this striker company sergeant lets his men string out I hope we don’t get hit on this patrol.”

  “What do you mean, Al?”

  “Well, I see you got a mortar crew back there. If this were my patrol I’d keep the mortar right next to me. That way if we got hit I could shoot those strikers carrying the mortar if they tried to dee dee under fire.” Stebbins shrugged. “At least I’d have me a mortar.”

  Tompkins nodded. “Things been so quiet you start to get careless.”

  Stebbins said nothing as they walked along. They were only three kilometers from base camp now and the platoon was tired and feeling secure with safety so near. Tompkins spoke to their interpreter walking behind him. “Tell Sergeant Lanh to send the mortar crew up front,” he ordered. Then he turned to Stebbins. “Feel safer now?”

  “No sweat. Just talking out of turn, trying to feel like I was on an A team again.”

  The mortar crew came forward and took up its position in front of the two sergeants. They plodded on along the dikes. Stebbins had always been careful in the field but he wondered if he were being overly cautious today. On Wednesday night Lynette had been very worried about his trip to the Delta. He’d made some remark about who in the world cared if he did get greased by the VC and Lynette, right in Capricio’s, the Special Forces hangout, had grabbed him with both hands and s
aid she cared very much. That was all there’d been to it but Stebbins wanted to get back to Saigon and Lynette in good health. So now, instead of being irked, he was relieved that the team he had chosen, having thought he’d see a lot of action with them, had been enjoying a prolonged period of no enemy contact.

  “Say, Tom, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.” Stebbins hoped he didn’t sound as self-conscious as he felt.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “I was wondering, what’s it like when you take one of those slant-eye girls home? I mean, are they happy? How’d your folks feel about it?”

  Tompkins answered decisively. “I married Tamikya ten years ago and I wouldn’t trade her for any girl in the world today. Oh, my mother had to get used to her, but hell, today Mother would shoot me dead, I swear she would, if I ever left Tamikya.”

  Tompkins and Stebbins walked along in silence for a few minutes and then Tompkins went on. “’Course we’ve lived on Okie for five years, but even in the States Tamikya, as far as I know, never had a bad time because she was a Jap girl with a round-eye husband. Least if she did I never heard about it.”

  After a few minutes of silence Stebbins said, “I guess each man’s got to do what he thinks is best for him and to hell with anyone who doesn’t like it.”

  “That’s right. Hell, plenty of officers, generals and colonels are married to Chinks, Japs, all kinds of gook girls. Them oriental girls are the best until they get contaminated by the American wives. Hell, Tamikya never thought of asking to see my pink slip until that New York bitch who married George Jason told her she should check it and see what I got paid each month.”

  “Well, I’m going to ask this girl in Saigon to marry me,” Stebbins declared. He noticed the dismayed look on Tompkins’ face. “She’s no bar girl, Tom. She’s strictly cherry. And she’s got more education now than I’ll ever have. When we go back to the States I’m going to put her through college.”

  “Hell, you’ll have a bunch of kids running around before you know it. Girl can’t go to college when she’s got kids.”