“No pussy, you Japanese asshole. Take us to the U.S. consulate right now or I’ll goddam kill you. Kemo sabe?”
The driver slowed down and rubbed his temple, peering at us in the rearview mirror with new respect. “Hey Marine, you take easy. Consulate closed. What you need consulate?”
“We need to call the President of the U.S., you nosy bastard. Now take us there and it better be open or we’re going to skin you. Comprende?”
“Call to states included price of pussy in number one club. My brother own club personal friend of President. We go now. Have American beer and girls many girls love Marine.”
Of course the sonofabitch was lying. Gearheardt and I dropped about a hundred bucks on beer and women before we finally decided that the club owner was dicking with us. He would hand us the phone and then express amazement when the President wasn’t on the other end.
We took a taxi back to the Navy base and went into the administration building to find a phone. We found plenty, but when we asked the Navy operator to hook us up to the President the line always went dead—sometimes immediately, sometimes after some pretty vile comments. By noon we were sitting on the steps of the admin building smoking cigarettes when a guy in uniform, himself smoking a thin cigar, spoke to us without turning.
“You boys want to make a phone call?” he said and drew on his cigar.
“We’re not boys, asshole. We’re almost captains. Don’t make me come over there and shove that cigar where the sun hasn’t shone since the last time you and your boyfriend were at the beach.” Gearheardt was not in a good mood.
The guy just laughed. “I may be an asshole, but I know better than to pay a hundred bucks for pussy and a phone call to the President. You damn jarheads shouldn’t be on the streets without keepers. Anyway, you want a phone call, see Chief Utterback in 336. It’s up the stairs, third door on the left.”
“Thanks, Chief,” I said. I got up and Gearheardt followed.
In 336 the pudgy, jolly telecommunications chief was playing chess with a seaman third. When we came in he dismissed the seaman, who closed the door behind him as he left.
“You boys need a phone call, right?”
I put my hand on Gearheardt’s arm and held him back. “It’s okay, Gearheardt,” I said. “It’s the chief’s territory.” I couldn’t stop his mouth as easily.
“Yeah, fatso, we need a phone call.”
“It’ll cost you. You want an open line or you need secure?”
“I guess the secure line is a bit more expensive, right?” Gearheardt must have thought that biting sarcasm was landing on someone that gave a damn. I knew better.
“I got costs at the other end of a secure line I gotta cover,” the chief said reasonably.
Even I could smell a rip-off. “There’s nobody at the other end but the President, Chief.”
The chief shrugged and held up his palms, his eyebrows arched.
“Hook us up. And we need a room to make the call.”
The chief took a phone out of the desk and plugged it in. “When you lift up the receiver and dial your number the President will be on the line. Leave two hundred bucks in the drawer.”
“What if we don’t?” Gearheardt was still upset at the lack of respect.
“That would be pretty stupid considering where you’re headed. I could make it hot for you down there.” He put on his cap and walked to the door.
“In Vietnam! You could make it hot for us in Vietnam!” Gearheardt was almost beside himself. “You fat prick! I’ll make it hot for you—”
I cut him off by slamming the door as the chief left.
“Gearheardt, we don’t give a damn if the chiefs are running the war. It’s either them or the gunny sergeants. What difference does it make? Get the President’s number out here and let’s get this over with.”
The best thing about Gearheardt was he never carried an emotion further than he absolutely needed to. The chief was forgotten as he pried a small slip of paper from between the layers of the heel of his right shoe. He read it and tossed it on the desk. When he finished dialing he held the receiver at an angle to his ear and motioned for me to draw close to him so we could both hear. I heard the tail end of a ring that sounded like “Hail to the Chief” and then a man answered.
“President of the United States speaking and this better not be that goddam siding wiseass.”
“Mr. President, it’s Gearheardt sir.”
“Gearheardt! Where in the hell are you, son?”
I already had heard enough to know that Gearheardt—and by association me—really did have a secret mission from the President of the United States.
“We’re not supposed to tell anybody where we are, sir. But I’ll give you a hint.”
“Hell, I was just being sociable, son. You’re in room 336 of the admin building at the Yokosuka Naval Yard. Tell Chief Utterback he’s a bit overdue. But never mind that, what can I do for you son?”
“Sir, Almost Captain Armstrong is here with me, Mr. President.”
“Hello, Almost Captain Armstrong. Ngnh quih!”
“Bless you, Mr. President.”
“That was Vietnamese, boys. Thought you spoke it like a native, Jack.”
Gearheardt was nodding his head quickly, wanting me to agree. I caved.
“Of course, Mr. President. I was just kidding. Quang nhat song binh.” I made up some gibberish on the assumption that he had shot his wad in Vietnamese.
“Heh, heh, don’t have the foggiest what you’re saying, Jack. But I know Vietnamese when I hear it. Glad you’re on the team.”
“Mr. President—” I began.
“Call me Larry Bob, Jack. Gearheardt knows I ain’t too formal with my team. Now what seems to be the issue? By the way, sorry about that siding salesman thing. Brother-in-law of mine in the business sicced a salesman onto me Thanksgiving. Sonofabitch is persistent, I’ll give him that. So to what do I owe the honor of this call? You ain’t getting cold feet, I hope.”
“No, sir,” Gearheardt volunteered. “Jack just kind of needs to hear the mission straight from you, Mr. President. And I do have to tell you that we have had a few indications that Barbonella is out of the bag.”
The President listened without comment as Jack described the scene in the ship captain’s office and the warning note that he had found on his bunk.
Then the President spoke. “Well first off, the cat ain’t out of the bag as far as Barbonella is concerned. Some boys have heard some scuttlebutt and are trying to make something of it. That’s a game the military plays about twenty-six hours a day. I could start a rumor the Pope eats poontang and find twenty thousand new Catholics on the cathedral doorstep tomorrow. No, the thing—”
“The Pope eats what, Mr. President?”
“Never mind, son. As I was saying, the thing we might have to be concerned with for a while is this shitter detail here in the White House.”
“Surely you can send a Secret Service man down to stop that leak, Mr. President, no pun intended.” But Gearheardt laughed and gave me a thumbs up. He was enjoying this.
“Son, we got a turf battle in that shitter you wouldn’t believe. Normally the Marine Corps has first rights to the info they can get. But Air Force Intelligence somehow got a man into one of the stalls, and now the whole damn thing is over at JAG trying to get-straightened out. Sometimes I think the commandant has the right idea.”
“What’s that, Mr. President?” Gearheardt was professionally curious.
“Same answer he has to everything. This time he wants permission to stick a flame thrower under the stall door and let her rip.” The chuckle that followed made me think the President liked this solution also. “The Marine Corps don’t take kindly to the Air Force moving in on their territory.”
“So, Mr. President, if I may get back to the reason we bothered you, why is it that you are so sure that Barbonella isn’t blown?”
“Mainly ‘cause there’s just you boys, me, and Barbonella knows anything about the
whole shootin’ match, and I don’t think she’s of a mind to tell anyone.”
“Barbonella, sir?” Something about this was upsetting to me. Who was Barbonella? I had thought it was just a silly code word.
“I told you before, boys, that I can’t keep all my eggs in one basket. Too damn important. Your mission is just one element of Barbonella. You boys hold on a moment.” There was a pause, and then the President came back on the line. “Hold the phone away from your ears a moment, fellows.”
As we did so an ear-splitting AHOOOOOOGGAA filled the room. After a moment we put the phone back up to our ears and heard the President laughing. “One of the chiefs got me this dive horn off a submarine.” He laughed again.
“Boy, I love that part. Hear that clicking and scratching? That’s the spooks and kooks trying to get their listening devices working again. Let me fill you in quickly while they’ve got their fingers poking in their ears. You boys are carryin’ the iron fist to Hanoi, but I got a sugar pot goin’ up there at the same time. Gonna hit ol’ Ho Chi in the head and gonads at the same time. Hee, hee. You boys see Barbonella like I tole you to?”
“Mr. President, the best we could find out was that Barbonella wasn’t even made yet, that is, if you’re talking about the movie that—”
“That’s the one. Hell, it’s made, all right. I got a script in my desk right—Son of a bitch! My copy’s gone! I’ll have someone’s ass or my name ain’t Mr. President.” He was quiet for a moment and we could hear the sounds of drawers being pulled out and rifled. Finally, he came back on the line. “Yep, found the damn thing. I put it into my briefcase to take up to my bedroom and just plumb forgot. Anyway, the movie is made, and I’ve seen it in the White House screening room, but not whatchucallit, where they send it out to the picture shows. Seems there’s a big hoopla over releasing it. The star sobered up and about went apeshit when she seen what she’d done. Pretty ugly Hollywood deal.” The President laughed.
“Just a few copies exist right now, but the dang Cubans been makin’ sure that their pals get one. Let me jump to the short hairs here. I’m going to play a tape that was smuggled out of Hanoi last month. You’ll see what a golden chance this is. Hold on now, I’m fixin’ to play this back if I can get this doohickey fired up.” Pause. “Here we go.”
Low static and then a crackle and popping noises. A man’s voice, hushed like he was afraid someone would overhear him. A desperate voice. Only a few words could be made out.
“ … nearly mad. Uncle is smitten with … every day … sometimes five or s … Barbar … obsessed … and out of control. He suspects that I am not … repeat Barbonella opportunity must be … Nearing end. Made me watch. Horrible. Horrible … .”
The President came back on. “Now you get it, boys?” he asked. “See the deal?”
I started to say that I wasn’t sure when Gearheardt interrupted.
“Almost Captain Armstrong has it completely. We await your further instructions, sir.”
“When I get the star to get her butt up to Hanoi, you boys be ready to go in behind her. She’s your cover. Be ready.” He paused.
“And boys, when you get there, you’ll find the poor bastard who made the tape, or he’ll find you. He should identify himself as the Whiffenpoof. When he does, you may have to kill him.”
Even Gearheardt was silent. After a moment I said, “I think I understand, sir. From the tape, he seems to have gone, well, he’s just not much good, burned out, wouldn’t work back in civilization. Maybe an embarrassment to the U.S.”
“Oh, naw, I just never liked the little prick. Tryin’ to screw me on a beer deal,” the President said. “Always pullin’ my chain. Just do me a favor if you see him.”
“Sir, how will we know that the star, I mean how do we know when she’ll be in Hanoi?” I didn’t want to take anything for granted. Maybe the President thought we were a lot better than we were.
“Well, son, you’ll be told the day. If you think you can miss the news that an American movie star with legs all the way up to her ass has parachuted into downtown Hanoi carryin’ a banner that says ‘Ho Chi for Me’ then I reckon I got the wrong team. She ain’t sneakin’ in, you are.”
I heard a phone ring in the background.
“Hold on a minute, boys,” the President said. “Goddam help around here thinks I got nothin’ better to do than answer my own phone.”
Faintly I heard the President say, “Hello, oh, just a minute, sweetie, be right with you.”
He came back on our line. “Now, boys, the boat will pick you up at the mouth of the Black River and get you up to Hanoi. From there—”
“With all due respect, Mr. President,” Gearheardt interrupted, “I’m not riding any boat up to Hanoi. We’re pilots. Let us figure out a way to fly a helicopter to Hanoi.”
“Pilots, eh. Okay, that sounds like a plan. Yeah, wait a minute. That is the plan. Had you mixed up with someone else.” I heard him say something to the person waiting on the other phone. Then he came back again. “You’ll get the rest of your instructions when you’re in Vietnam, boys. Good luck. Say hello to ‘Gon’ for me.” He hung up.
I realized that I was bathed in sweat. The chief’s room was not air-conditioned, which meant that it probably wasn’t his real office. But it wasn’t the heat that was getting to me. The mission that my drunken, carefree, clumsy best friend and squadron-mate had gotten me into was real. Really real. And I had just spent ten minutes on the phone with the President of the United States. I let out a deep breath and looked at Gearheardt. He was rifling through the chief ’s desk drawers.
“Who is the hell is ‘Gon’?” I asked Gearheardt.
He didn’t look up from his rifling. “How the hell should I know? Maybe that Whiffenpoof guy. Gon Whiffenpoof.” He held a document up to the light.
“I don’t think this is Utterback’s real office,” he said. He tossed the papers he was holding back into the drawer and shut it. “Well, what do you think, Jack?”
I took another deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let me ask you, Gearheardt. Do you think that our orders will be to kill Ho Chi Minh? I know you said that we were supposed to make a deal with him, but that ‘iron fist’ thing and just the whole, whole feeling I get about this … Making a deal doesn’t make sense.” The crazy thing was that I felt uncomfortable at the thought of killing Ho Chi Minh and yet had never given much thought to heading to Vietnam and contributing to the death of countless unknowns.
“I’m not going up there to give him an enema. And sounds like the President’s got the fornicating covered. So I’m pretty comfortable with what’s left we could do to him. Jack, you got to learn to roll with the rain off your back.”
I stood up. The military issue wall clock read 14:30.
“Gearheardt, it’s amazing how much you know for someone so damned stupid.”
Gearheardt grinned. “Thanks, Jack.”
I went on. “Let’s go get ourselves a quick beer, and then hire a taxi to show us some of the countryside. We may not be back in Japan anytime soon.”
Just outside the front gate of the Yokosuka Naval Yards was a bar called Clover Leaf Bar. It had shamrocks painted on the windows. Gearheardt and I stepped in for a beer at 1445 and at 2350 were rousted out by the Shore Patrol so that we could get back on ship by midnight. And we would have made it except that Peters and his crew had somehow gotten the head squid at the naval hospital drunk enough to quarantine the ship for bubonic plague, and it took until about four in the morning to get everything straightened out. Gearheardt and I agreed that the little black flag looked good flying next to the Stars and Stripes. We saw Captain Sand running around flailing people right and left with a cat-o’-nine-tails, but he was too drunk to really hurt anybody, and after he was pantsed he didn’t look much like an authority figure anyway.
I woke up before dawn in my familiar bunk in the familiar zoo. I jumped down to go take a leak and landed on Gearheardt, who was out cold on the floor beside his footlocker. On the f
ootlocker was a scrawled letter that I took to the head to read. I had read some of Gearheardt’s letters to his left-behind sweethearts, and they were always entertaining. The letter began:
Dear Mom,
Jack and I were in Japan today. The country is beautiful and the people seem nice. Not all of them wear the colorful costumes, but the more traditional people do. Jack and I are together in the squadron. Don’t worry about me. Jack will always …
I didn’t read on. I had this feeling that I didn’t want the responsibility of a brother in Vietnam. Just one more thing to worry about. What if he didn’t make it? Gearheardt shouldn’t have a mother or a brother.
PART 3
In war, the moral element and public opinion are half the battle.
—Napoleon
In war, three-quarters turns on personal character and relations; the balance of manpower and materials counts only for the remaining quarter.
—Napoleon
I yam what I yam.
—Popeye the Sailor Man
9 • War at Last
We had flown into Danang from Okinawa. The squadron was loaded into C-130’s, and we just went there. Not much ceremony. Some of the logistics guys had gone down early to get the area ready. We took over a camp from the squadron that we replaced, at the southwest corner of the Danang runway. Someone had thought we would like living in tents where we could enjoy the ear-splitting runups of jet engines only a few feet from our cots. I think it was the F-106s headed north about 0530 every morning that some dumb grunt general thought we pilots would especially like.
We were all on edge as soon as we landed in Danang. When the ramp at the back of the C-130 opened, Flager ran out and shot an airman in the knee and wounded two water buffalo and a kid selling Pepsi before Major Jamison was able to knock him down. Everyone was surprised Flager had a new gun.
Most of us just sat in the airplane looking at one another, not talking, until Peters said, “What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”
Nam-A-Rama Page 11
