The Wrong Side of Honor

by Marshall Ginevan

  Jake looked hard at the man before he recognized him. “Foster and Peterson from the Projects Office. You are one of the CIA guys John Slaughter arrested.”

  “Very good, Major. Lost a lot of weight, so I might be a bit hard to recognize.”

  “And Peterson?”

  “He’s out there sorting things out right now. I’ll bet you’re one of those pilots who bombed us last night.”

  “Us,” the words boomed in Jake’s head. He did not answer, but that seemed to be an answer to the question.

  Jake’s spirits sank when he thought how stupid he had been by running to the American’s voice in the middle of the enemy camp.

  “What do we do with him?” the warrant officer asked.

  “They’ll think he’s dead,” the CIA man said. “Let’s keep him for a while.” Foster walked over and pulled Jake’s automatic pistol from his flight vest.

  “So, this is how the CIA treats U.S. citizens overseas.”

  “CIA?” Foster asked, laughing. “No. We’re not CIA any more. The CIA fired us over three months ago, thanks to John Slaughter. No, we’re independent businessmen now. We just have a lot of influential friends in this part of the world. Have a seat, Major. Maybe we can interest you in our capitalist venture.”

  UBON RTAFB

  24 February 1975

  Eddie walked into the Projects Office at 9:00 a.m. in a foul mood. Big Jake was gone and Colonel Waldrop had grounded him. He was hating this new assignment more and more each day he was in it.

  He stepped in the door and saw a rather attractive female sitting at Ray’s desk. She quickly crushed out a cigarette.

  “Good morning,” she said in a voice that was soft and sexy. She had big brown eyes and light brown hair cut short.

  Eddie sat back on the edge of his desk and looked at her for a few seconds. She immediately appeared uncomfortable.

  “I’m Teresa. Are you Donevant or…” She started looking round the desk for Ray’s last name.

  “Donevant. What are you doing here?”

  “I was sent to handle this paperwork.”

  “Who sent you?”

  “Bangkok.”

  “Big place. Lots of people. Anyone I know?”

  “Yes. The DIA Chief there sent me. Since reviewing all the paperwork from here was my job there, he felt I was the best person to send over.”

  “Great,” Eddie muttered. He sat at his desk and began going through the papers that had been stacking up. He tapped on his desk, squirmed in his chair, and finally walked out. The soft drink machine was out of Mountain Dew, so he walked to the Base Exchange and came back with a twelve pack.

  He found a cup with ice, filled it, and sat sipping the cool sweet drink for a few minutes.

  “Feel better now?” she asked.

  Eddie glanced at her.

  “A message came in for Ray yesterday from Li. She said to tell him the rabbit died.”

  Eddie made a face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think it means she’s pregnant.”

  Eddie just groaned.

  “It’s no big deal. GI’s get Suzie pregnant all the time.”

  Eddie turned in his chair, poked his finger at her, and said, “Watch your mouth, woman. Li is a medical doctor and a real first class lady.” He cut his words off there when Mack Klevenger walked in and dropped onto the couch.

  “See you two have met,” Mack said.

  “We’re getting acquainted,” Eddie said sharply and turned back to his desk.

  “Don’t pay attention to him this week,” Mack said. “His flying buddy went down and they’re trying to hang it on him. Took his plane away, too, so he’ll be hard to live with for the next few days.”

  “I heard the story. Did he get out?”

  Eddie shrugged. “Can’t even find the bird. It went down in the river.”

  “That’s silly. We can find the plane easily. All we have to do is look in the cockpit to see if the crew is still there.”

  “It’s not that easy. Believe me.”

  “It is that easy. We do it all the time.” Eddie looked at her with a question on his face. “I’m a photo analyst for the SRA. You know, the Strategic Reconnaissance Agency. We do all the satellite, SR-71, and U-2 work in this part of the world.”

  “And you can see that plane in the river?”

  “Sure.”

  “And tell if the guys are still in it?”

  “Maybe able to do better than that.” She lit a cigarette and made a phone call. All Eddie and Mack got from the conversation was a series of letters and numbers, with some dashes and two pings thrown in. She hung up and said, “We’ll know tomorrow when the Klong arrives.”

  For some reason the prospect of knowing what happened to Jake, rather than just carrying him as Missing in Action, did not improve Eddie’s foul mood any.

  PIRATES PIER

  SOUTHERN LAOS

  At noon, the French nun entered the small hut carrying a pan of water. She was followed by a mama-san carrying a bowl of boiled rice and a box of military rations. Mama-san set the food on the table and shuffled out the door.

  Jake sat up on his bamboo cot and watched the nun push the table against the wall and set the chair at the table facing the wall.

  “You will please sit here and eat your meal,” she said.

  “Thank you, Sister,” Jake replied.

  He watched her set out soap, a wash cloth, and clean clothes on the stand next to her pan of water. Jake then sat in the chair and opened his rations.

  “Sister, you’re a filthy mess. Where have you been all night?”

  “I am a nurse. I had many wounded to attend to.”

  “A nurse. Of course. I was wondering what you were doing here.” He ate a few bites, and then asked, “I heard several shots during the night. What was that all about?”

  “The wounded. Some are too serious to care for, so they are shot.”

  Jake started to turn, but caught himself. “How did you get mixed up in this ugly little war way out here?”

  “I was still a teenage girl when the Church sent me here to work among the French soldiers. The next year they lost the war and went home. I stayed to teach the children at the orphanage. Then the Americans came to make more war. I studied to become a nurse so that I could help the people hurt by the war.”

  “In Viet Nam.”

  “Yes. In Hué.”

  “So, how did you get here to Laos. There isn’t even a church here.”

  “The North Viet Nam army captured my village in Phuoc Long Province five weeks ago and sent me to Cambodia to help treat their wounded soldiers. Two weeks ago Mr. Foster and Mr. Peterson met with the army commander in Cambodia. They told me that I would be their nurse for a while and we came here in their helicopter.”

  Jake resisted the urge to turn toward the nun while talking to her. “What kind of deal did they make with the NVA commander? Did he loan you to these guys or were you sold or what?”

  “I don’t know, Major Jacobs. I am here and I have patients that need me.”

  “How have they treated you?”

  She hesitated for several seconds before answering. “The Lord has sent me here on a holy mission of mercy. He protects those who are His. These men have their women to satisfy their desires. They do not need me for that.”

  “I meant no offense, Sister,” Jake apologized. “I just wanted to know that you weren’t being harmed.”

  “And what of you, Major Jacobs? Are you Catholic?”

  “No, I, ah, I was raised Jewish. My mother is Jewish. My step-father ensured we had a proper Jewish upbringing and all attended a good school.”

  “You have a family?”

  “My sister is a medical doctor. My brother a lawyer. I’ve never been married.”

 
“What of your father, if I may ask?”

  “It’s a bad story that started a long time ago. My grandmother was an American Indian living in Oklahoma when she was raped by a nigger. One of those African savages they turned loose after slavery. He was never found. She died giving birth to the half-breed.”

  “We are all children of God.”

  “He grew up in orphanages and reform schools, and finally ended up in prison. My mother and step-father had the extreme misfortune to have a flat tire on an Oklahoma highway the day the half-breed escaped from prison. He beat my step-father with a tire iron, then raped my mother. They decided to keep me and raise me right to break the cycle of violence. My father was hanged for the rape when I was five.”

  “You have much hatred in your heart.”

  “No. I just don’t have much use for niggers. They’re noisy, stupid savages who are preoccupied with violence against everyone around them, including their own kind.”

  “Is it that savage blood in you that causes you to drop bombs on people and cause this pain and death to so many?”

  That question hit Jake like a hammer blow. He slowly turned and looked at her with fire in his eyes. She stood with her back to him, a robe tied around her waist. She looked over her shoulder and met his hard stare for a few brief seconds before looking back to her water pan.

  Jake finished his meal in silence. She finished washing, dressed, and walked out. He then cursed softly to himself. No one had ever punched through his tough outer shell the way that woman had. She was not stupid, nor was she afraid. Certainly not of him, anyway.

  PROJECTS OFFICE

  UBON RTAFB

  25 February 1975

  Eddie returned from lunch with a can of Mountain Dew in his hand and saw Teresa sitting at Ray’s desk. She had a large magnifying glass on a ring stand, studying an enlarged photograph. He stopped in front of his desk and stood motionless until she looked up.

  “Who was the wizzo on that plane?” she asked.

  Eddie took a deep breath and said, “A lieutenant named Chandale.”

  “Canopy is blown. Both seats are gone.”

  Eddie held his breath and waited for the rest.

  Teresa shuffled through some photographs and sat one under her magnifying glass. After looking at it for a second, she announced, “He reached the shore 175 feet down river.”

  Eddie broke into a wide grin, “Hey. All right!”

  “But there is a small problem, we think.”

  Eddie’s expression turned serious as he stepped over to her desk.

  “Early this morning there was a coordinated attack on Pirate’s Pier by A-37’s and John Slaughter’s people.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Jake was in the village when it was hit.”

  “What!”

  “We were tracking him. He went south to the village. When the village was hit, we lost him in the battle static.”

  “What’s battle static? I don’t follow you.”

  “Our birds don’t shoot movie pictures. We shoot stills. Stills are shot at a rate of one every minute over a fixed, on-going battle area. The birds shoot high resolution night film and infrared. During this attack, someone popped some parachute flares. The flares washed out two frames of both types of pictures. When the pictures returned, he was gone.”

  “Dead?!”

  “No. No. Not dead. Gone from our pictures. Well, maybe gone from our pictures. IR picks up heat sources and identified several people in the village. But we don’t know if any of them were Jake. The night stills didn’t give us enough detail because of the brush and the smoke.”

  “Your pictures can identify a man standing on the ground?”

  “We can do that. Yes. If we can get a picture of some of the people on the ground we may be able to identify him.”

  “But he may have beat feet into the brush or went into the river.”

  “Yea, but you better be prepared for the possibility that he was hit with one of those bombs the A-37’s dropped.”

  Eddie cringed. Now they were right back where they were before.

  It was 4:00 p.m. before Eddie was able to reach Hank Renwick on the telephone at Udorn.

  “Hank, you’re a hard man to find. Where are you?”

  “Just got to the Club. Happy hour is starting and I intend to put a few good drinks away before it ends.”

  “Well, before you start, I need a favor.”

  “You’re on my drinking time. It’ll have to be after 5:00.”

  “Jake went down…”

  “Yea, I heard.”

  “. . . and intel places him in the village at Pirate’s Pier. That’s down on the Se Khong at the south end of Laos.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “John Slaughter is ten miles downriver. We need to get word to him where Jake is and see if he can locate him in the village.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Your plane has the radios to contact him.”

  Hank hesitated for a few seconds. Then he asked, “Okay. What am I supposed to tell him?”

  “After the attack last night, the strength in the village is down to about nine. Everyone else is wounded or dead. He has fourteen guys and about twenty-nine Cambodian narcs. Good time for a raid on the bad guys.”

  “Damn, you sure know how to fuck up a happy hour.”

  “Sorry about that. But Jake really needs the help.”

  “I’ll reflex back to Ubon. You can buy me a couple of beers while I brief you.”

  “You got it, pal. Thanks.”

  Hank landed at Ubon at 6:30 p.m. and met Eddie and Teresa at the Projects Office.

  “Hey, who’s this beautiful round-eye you’ve got hidden back here with you?”

  “Oh, ah. This is Teresa. She’s filling in for Ray for a few weeks. Teresa, this is Hank Renwick. He’s an 0-2 driver. Rock steady in the air, but real shifty on the ground. Especially if there’s a round-eyed woman around.”

  “I’m sure you’re not that bad, Captain.”

  “I’m certainly not.”

  “Are you married?”

  “Only when I’m in the States.”

  She gave Hank a forced smile that put him on notice that she had no intention of getting involved with a married man.

  “So,” Eddie said. “You contacted John’s people?”

  “Yea. I’m due back at 11:00. And you’re on stand-by here from 11:00 until I stand you down.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “I’ve lined up an A-team and John Slaughter to hit the village. If either gets Jake, you’re the back-up on the pickup.”

  “Who’s got the first try?”

  “The 40th is sending down a Jolly Green. If they can’t pick up at the river or at Keystone Station and the A-team has to move him, you’ll make the pickup.”

  “Why me?”

  “Only you intelligence weenies get to use their secret air strips. We real fliers can’t be trusted with that info.”

  “Yea, you might talk in your sleep.”

  Teresa snickered at that comment.

  “No beer tonight, but you can buy me supper. Unless you two have already eaten,” Hank said, and looked at Teresa.

  “No, we haven’t,” she answered.

  “You care to join us?” Eddie asked.

  “Sure. If you’re buying.”

  PIRATE’S PIER

  SOUTHERN LAOS

  At 10:00 p.m. Jake heard two muffled pops, then what sounded like someone falling to the ground. He sat up and pulled a pen flare, the only weapon he had. A few seconds later there was a knock on the door. Jake moved to the side of the door and opened it. The body of the guard fell into the room and hit the floor like a rag doll. His AK-47 was still slung across his chest.

 
Jake hesitated before slowly reaching out for the AK-47. As he did a voice outside the door said, “Good day, Major.”

  Jake had his hand on the rifle, but froze in place. A few seconds later a face smeared with black and green camouflage paint appeared around the door jam.

  “Cat got your tongue, mate,” the painted face said.

  “Who are you?” Jake asked, surprised and confused.

  “Aussies, mate,” he said. “We heard you were in the nick here, so thought we’d drop in for a visit. Didn’t wake you, did we?”

  “No,” was all Jake managed in reply.

  “We’re going to take a look around. You’ll be all right ‘til we get back?”

  “Yea. Fine.”

  “Don’t hurt yourself with that thing,” he said and then disappeared into the darkness.

  Jake dragged the body away from the door and pushed the door shut. At the side of the guard’s head, covered by hair, were two small caliber bullet holes. Jake nodded. Must be an Aussie A-team. Bunch of crazy snake eaters.

  A few minutes later he heard a turbine engine whine and then the beat of helicopter rotors. “Ah, shit,” he muttered. “They aren’t getting away from me!” Jake grabbed the AK-47 and turned toward the door.

  Just as he did, the door burst open and the nun was thrown in on the floor, almost knocking Jake off his feet.

  Jake helped her to her feet as the A-team gathered at the door. She was red faced and very angry. In a quick motion, she stepped to the door and delivered a swift kick to the shin of one of the soldiers. Jake grabbed her and pulled her back from the door as the A-team broke into a roar of laughter.

  “What the hell did you guys do to her?”

  “Don’t know, mate,” one laughing soldier replied. “Just tossed her over my shoulder, patted her ass, and brought her here. Real respectful all the way.”

  “Oh, well. I see the problem,” Jake said, showing a little anger. “Catholic nuns generally don’t take well to being carried like a potato sack while you pat them on the ass.” That ended the laughter. “In the meantime, that chopper that’s just lifting off is probably carrying the bad guys.”

  “No. It’s some of your mates. Two U.S. Army pilots and two civilians from the CIA. We just released them, too.”