by Eric Helm
Smith and Fetterman left to round up the rest of the team and inform the commander of the Tai strikers.
“Greg, did Sully and the master sergeant get through briefing you on all the special precautions?” asked Gerber when the others had left.
“Yes, sir, but we didn’t cover all the E and E trails through the perimeter minefields yet.”
“All right. Let’s walk, then, and I’ll fill you in on them before the briefing.”
“Very good, sir.” He hesitated. “Captain Gerber, I don’t want to sound like an idiot or anything, but is it really a good idea to mine our own gun emplacements?”
“It’s a necessity, Lieutenant. We’ve had to use a few of them before.”
“You mean the VC were able to get inside the walls and take over some of the gun emplacements?”
“I mean the VC are inside the walls, Lieutenant. Although we can’t prove it, we know we’ve got VC infiltrators in the PF strike companies. I wouldn’t be too surprised to find out that one or two of the LLDB are VC, as well.”
“Jesus! Who else knows about those hidden switch panels of Sergeant Smith’s down there?”
“Only the team and Captain Minh, the camp commander, and even Minh doesn’t know about all of them.”
“You don’t even trust the camp commander? That’s pretty heavy, Captain.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t trust Minh. He’s one of the finest soldiers I’ve ever worked with, in any army. He’s okay. We’re just playing it safe, that’s all. For that matter, so is Minh. Sully told me that, when he was laying the charges, he found several of the bunkers had already been wired. Since it might have been the work of the VC, I told Minh. He showed me his own control box. It’s hidden beneath the sandbags on the west wall of the fire control tower.”
“Jesus, what a way to fight a war.”
“There it is, Lieutenant. This way to the minefields.”
The military penchant for punctuality is well-known. Equally well-known to anyone who has ever worn a uniform is the corollary that nothing ever gets started on time, anyway. Half an hour had passed since Gerber finished briefing Novak on the safe routes through the perimeter minefields protecting the camp and checked again with Bocker on his calls to Bates and Hull. The Tai strikers were starting to collect near the south gate. One small group was standing a bit apart from the rest, and Gerber noticed that there seemed to be an argument of some kind. Seeing Fetterman approaching from that direction, the team captain queried him about it.
“It’s Sergeant Krung expressing his displeasure with a command decision, sir,” said Fetterman. “Lieutenant Bao noticed him limping and asked what the problem was. Krung said nothing, but Bao insisted on seeing the foot. Turns out Sergeant Krung stepped on a pungi stake on patrol last night but didn’t tell anybody. Made the medic who treated him promise not to talk about it because he was afraid Lieutenant Bao would put him on light duty until it healed, which, of course, is exactly what Bao did when he found out about it.”
“And the good sergeant would much prefer to be out killing Communists rather than taking it easy back here while we’re out in the field.”
“Yes, sir. You can’t really blame him for wanting to go along, sir. The board isn’t filled yet.”
Gerber nodded. “Bocker is still in the commo bunker. Tell him to give it a rest and come on over to the team house so that we can get this show on the road.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain, what was all that about?” asked Novak when Fetterman had left. “About this Sergeant Krung, I mean.”
“Krung is the senior Tai NCO,” Gerber explained. “He’s got a real hatred of the Viet Cong. Most of the Tai have lost somebody, either family or friend, to the VC because the Vietnamese and the ethnic minorities have been at each other’s throats for several centuries. Some of them don’t like the South Viets much better than they do the VC, which makes our joint command here a bit tricky to keep a lid on sometimes. Krung just hates Communists, though. His father was head man in their village. A VC terror unit came one night and butchered his family. All except Krung’s youngest sister. About a dozen VC were content with gang raping and sodomizing her. They left her alive as a living reminder to others in the village of what would happen if they supported the Saigon government. A few weeks later the girl killed herself. She was about twelve years old, I think.”
Novak shook his head. “The man has reason to hate.”
“I guess you could say that, all right. Krung escaped only because he wasn’t at home when it happened. Ten days later he walked into a Special Forces camp in the highlands and asked to be allowed to help exterminate the Communists. I’m told he swore a blood oath on his family’s graves not to rest until he’d killed ten VC for every member of his family. He keeps score by nailing the genitals of those he kills on a board in his hootch. Krung had a very large family.”
“Man, that’s some kind of hate.”
“Like you said, right or wrong, the man’s got reason to hate.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gerber changed the subject. “Greg, I’m going to leave you here when we go out. I want you to understand that my decision is not a reflection on you personally, it’s just that—”
“I’m green meat, and you’d rather have somebody with you who knows his asshole from a hole in the ground.”
Gerber grinned. "If that’s all it was, I’d send you and stay here myself and drink all the beer. We’ve got to leave at least one American officer in the camp, and that means either you or me. Also, for various political and security considerations, we’re going to keep the Vietnamese out of this one.”
“Meaning you’re afraid one of those VC infiltrators in the PFs you mentioned just might find a way to leak some information to his VC buddies outside the wire.”
“Let’s just say we’re playing it safe again. Anyway, Captain Minh is in Saigon for a couple of days, which technically leaves Lieutenant Dung in command of the camp, so it would be more in keeping with our official position of an advisory role if I left someone of equal rank in control. If I left one of the sergeants, Dung might try to bully him around a bit. It’s been known to happen. Not at my camp, but, well, Dung is new here. Less than a month. He’s still an unknown factor. He might be just fine, and then again he might be…”
“VC?”
Gerber shrugged. “I hope not. It’s happened before. The last LLDB executive officer we had here turned out to be a Viet Cong agent.”
“Jesus! It really is that bad?”
“It’s probably worse. I’m going to leave Lieutenant Bao and one of the Tai strike companies here. Bao’s a good man. Very good. You can trust him.”
“With the picture you’ve been painting, I was beginning to wonder if I could trust myself.”
“Don’t worry about Bao.” Gerber smiled. “I’d stake my life on him. In fact, I have, a number of times. The same goes for Sergeant Krung. You’ve got to restrain his bloodlust a little once in a while, but he’s a damned fine soldier, and he really hates the VC. They both speak French and pretty good English, so you won’t have any trouble communicating with them. Lieutenant Dung speaks English, too, of a sort. Things have been pretty quiet around here for a while, so just keep your cool, think before you act, don’t get any big ideas and you’ll do fine.”
“Captain, what is it exactly that you expect me to do while you’re gone?”
“Just run the camp. Our half of it, anyway. Don’t go out on any patrols, don’t leave the camp unguarded for any reason and don’t pull any John Wayne stunts. That’s all there is to it. We’ll be back in two or three days, four at the most. We’ll be in radio contact most of the time. I’ll get Bao to assign you a good English-speaking commo man from among the strikers. Just remember, you can trust the Tai and most of the LLDB.”
“But not all of them?”
Gerber shrugged. “Out here nothing is ever one hundred percent certain.”
Novak grunted. “I think maybe after th
e briefing I’ll go sharpen my knife. Hey! What’s that?”
Gerber followed the direction of Novak’s gaze across the compound. A tall, compact blond woman wearing a boonie hat, a sleeveless OD undershirt and a pair of fatigue trousers cut off into shorts was approaching. The woman had several cameras and an assortment of lens cases hung about her neck.
“That,” said Gerber, “is a reporter, as in magazine and newspaper. Opposed to a news reader, as in television.”
“Yeah, but it’s a girl.”
“It’s both. Although I think she qualifies for the title of woman. Robin Morrow, semiresident newshound and one of the principal reasons I’m turning prematurely gray. Also one of the other reasons I want you to stay here. Keep her out of trouble while we’re in the field.”
“Right,” said Novak. “Out of trouble. Suddenly I don’t think I’m going to mind being left behind at all.”
“Try not to get too enamored of the young lady. I happen to know she’s got a crush on one of the team members already.”
“Rats! Still, you never know. It might not hurt to make a feasibility study of the situation. Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
“Maybe,” said Gerber, laughing, “but I don’t think right now is the time to find out. Unless I miss my guess, the young lady’s nose for news is picking up a strong scent of something about to happen, and I don’t think she’s going to care much for what I have to tell her. You’d better go on ahead and protect your virgin ears.”
“Spirited, huh? I like a woman with spirit.”
“Just spirit yourself out of here, and tell the men I’ll be along as soon as I’ve taken care of Miss Morrow. On second thought, make that as soon as I’ve talked with Miss Morrow.”
“Right.” Novak cast another appreciative glance at those long, tanned legs and went.
“Good morning, darling,” said Morrow as soon as she was within earshot. “I thought you were in bed.”
Gerber noticed that Novak’s stride had skipped a step when Morrow called him darling.
“I was, but something came up,” he answered her.
“Oh, really?” she said, dropping her voice and arching her eyebrows as she stepped up close to him. “Need any help making it go down again?”
“Robin, cut that out. And stop calling me darling in front of the men, damn it. It’s hard enough on everyone just having you out here. What do you suppose it does to the rest of the men when you start cozying up to me?”
“Probably makes them envious as hell, if I’m any judge of my own looks. Oh, really, Kirky, stop being such a poop. It’s not as if I were the only girl around here, you know. There are lots of them in the strikers’ families. Some of them are kind of cute, too.”
“That’s different. And stop calling me Kirky. I wish to hell I’d never told you my middle name was Kirk.”
“I think it’s cute. Kinky, Kirky. Fits you. Something’s going on, isn’t it?” she asked, skating away from what seemed about to become a touchy subject. “Who’s going out?”
“We all are.”
“All of you? My, my, it must be important.”
“All of us except Lieutenant Novak. I’m taking the team and some of the Tai. The remainder of the Tai and the PFs will stay behind. Just a routine operation, that’s all.”
“Routine, huh? With all the team going except the new guy? Don’t you bullshit me, Mack Gerber. I can smell bullshit coverage a mile away, and this one really reeks.”
Gerber said nothing.
“Can I go along?”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no. You can’t go.”
Morrow blew up. “Jesus H. Sebastian Christ on a crutch, how the hell do you expect me to do my job if you won’t let me do it? I’m a reporter, remember? Assigned to cover the war, remember? How in hell am I supposed to cover the war if you won’t let me see any of it? My credentials are in order, and I’ve got written authorizations from Colonel Bates and General Hull to be here. Even that asshole Crinshaw signed them.”
“You’ve seen plenty of the war already,” said Gerber. “Besides, your authorizations only obligate me to afford you all reasonable cooperation so long as it does not interfere with the performance of my military duties. In my opinion, your presence on this mission would interfere with those duties, so you’re not going. That’s it. That’s final.”
“Damn you, Mack, you’re not being fair.”
Gerber noticed that her cheeks beneath the freckles and tan were beginning to flush. He decided a little diplomacy might be in order.
“Robin, if I tell you some of what it’s about, will you promise not to file a story or talk to anyone about it until we get back?”
“You know I can’t do that. I’m a reporter, for Christ’s sake. What kind of reporter would I be if I promised to sit on every story that comes along?”
“I’m not asking you to sit on every story. Just this one. And only for a little while.”
“While somebody else with a pipeline to Saigon scoops me?”
“It’s a possibility. I’ll admit that. But believe me, it’s important we keep this thing quiet for a little while. If we don’t, it could cost some people their lives.”
“Great! And if I do keep the story under wraps and get scooped and my editors find out about it, it could cost me my job. Some choice. My job, Mack, do you hear me? Not yours. Not ours. What is this we shit, anyway?”
“Mine’s one of the lives it could cost if the VC get wind of what’s up too soon,” said Gerber quietly.
Morrow put her head in her hands. “Oh, hell. How long?”
“Forty-eight, maybe seventy-two, hours at the most.”
“I get exclusive rights?”
“I can’t promise that. But I’ll give you everything I’ve got first. It’s the best I can offer.”
“It’s no offer at all. Okay, give me a hint, so I can decide if it’s worth it or not.”
Gerber took a deep breath, wondering just how far he should go, if he’d already gone too far.
“An aircraft went down northeast of here last night, along the border. My orders are to locate the aircraft and attempt to recover the passengers and crew.”
“That’s it? That’s the big story you won’t let me come along to cover? Wait a minute here. Are you going into Cambodia with that army you’re putting together down by the south gate? That’s going to provoke one hell of a border incident, mister.”
“We won’t cross into Cambodian territory unless it becomes absolutely necessary to rescue the men. You know how touchy Saigon is about cross-border ops.”
“Yeah. I do know. So how come suddenly they’re willing to let you? Something just doesn’t add up. Who was on that plane?”
“I can’t tell you that. A VIP. That’s all I can say.”
“A VIP. I’ll bet,” said Morrow sourly. “So who was it, Westmoreland?”
Gerber thought he was going to choke. He forced himself to speak calmly and to look her in the eye.
“That’s exactly the sort of wild speculation that leads to irresponsible journalism.”
“All right, then, so it wasn’t Westmoreland. Who was it, the President of the United States?”
Gerber nearly did choke. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, or both. Finally he snorted.
“That is without a doubt the most ridiculous notion I’ve ever heard,” said Gerber.
“And you are without a doubt the worst liar I’ve ever known. It’s Westmoreland, all right. Please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it. Karen told me you were a rotten liar. I always thought she meant you made up things, but now I understand. You can’t look a person in the face and lie to them convincingly, can you? You just don’t know how to do it. Well, okay, fine, I’ll sit on the story, even though it probably will cost me my job. But God damn you, Mack Gerber, don’t you ever lie to me again. Just don’t you do it, you hear me? I’ve never lied to you, and I won’t. But so help me, if you ev
er lie to me again, we’re finished.”
Gerber nodded mutely. It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected.
“Oh, damn you. I will get scooped on this. You know that, don’t you? A story like this is too big to keep quiet. Somebody in Saigon will leak it to the media, and the story will be all over the five-thirty network newscasts back home.”
“And twenty-four hours later the story will be in Hanoi, and twelve hours after that every local guerrilla with an old French rifle and a Party card will be out beating the bushes looking for him, and they’ll find us and we’ll probably take a beating. But that’s thirty-six hours. It might just be enough. Besides, right now I get the impression that not too many people in Saigon know about it. We need the time, not just for the general but for the men with him, as well, and for ourselves. Thank you, Robin.”
She waved a hand. “Forget it. So you owe me one, all right? Now then, I’ve promised to sit on the story. How about letting me come along and take some pictures of whatever you find? Give me at least that much of an exclusive. Besides, I was with you in a pretty tight spot on the wrong side of the border once before, remember?”
Gerber shook his head. “Not this time, Robin, it’s just too dangerous. Weren’t you listening? Before, when we went after the Chinese officer, we had a small team of experts with some chance of getting in and out undetected, and the enemy didn’t expect us to be coming. This time we’re going into the field with enough men to make more noise than a herd of water buffalo. Stealth will be out of the question.
“I don’t like it, but it’s the only way to conduct a ground search, and we can’t get air assets right now because the First Air Cav is locked into some heavy contact up in Binh Dinh Province. We may not even be able to get medevac if we need it. And once the story does break, every Communist soldier in Southeast Asia is going to be after us because we’ll be making more noise out there than anyone else.”
“Mack, isn’t it a little late to be talking about its being dangerous? Cambodia was dangerous when I went there to help you get the evidence you needed to get your men off that trumped-up court-martial. Hell, just my being here is dangerous. This place gets mortared every other night. And that vacation in Hong Kong wasn’t exactly a picnic, you know.”
