Into the Treeline

by John F. Mullins

  And perhaps the Communists would not get there first. Some of the people who were disappearing had relatives and friends in high places in the government. They would not take kindly to this renegade operation if it was found out.

  Should he call Carmichael in, cancel the operation? Perhaps relieve him, send him someplace else in country for his own good? No. He was in danger, but it was danger of his own making. And he was doing a great deal of good. The Viet Cong were hurting, and would hurt worse. More of them had been neutralized in a few months than had been the case in several years. Long-term agents, the ones hardest to replace, were going. Old-time cadre, well-trained, highly motivated, were being replaced by newcomers who knew neither the area nor the people. So let the young captain run for a little while yet. There should be some warning before the blow fell. And if he was wrong, well, it was a war, after all, and people did get killed in wars. He liked Jim Carmichael, but that did not get in the way of his sense of duty.

  He fired off a cable to Saigon giving the bare facts of the case. He did not include his interpretation of the disappearance of the district chief, only that the man had last been seen in the company of a Communist squad accompanied by what appeared to be a Caucasian. Let the pencil pushers in the Embassy Annex figure out that one, if they could. He reported that the PRU in Thua Thien Province had suddenly become very efficient, adding that it was probably because of the inspiration they had received from the successful operations. Let it go at that.

  The aide read the night’s cables, as was her custom, before taking them in. She placed the one from I Corps at the top of the pile, then sat ready to take comments. Generally her boss went through the pile in a hurry, dictating curt responses to some, forwarding a very few others to the chief of station, and recommending that an occasional one be sent even higher. Today he was stopped, as she had known that he would be, by the first.

  “This is extraordinary,” he finally said, raising his patrician eyebrows. “By my count, ten, maybe more, high-level VC cadre have been eliminated in the last three months. That’s more than in the preceding six months, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Actually, longer than that, sir, if you count the time after Tet.” They always addressed each other very formally in the office. After all, you could never tell who was listening.

  “I wasn’t counting that, actually,” he said, irritated at the correction. “After all, they did have a long stand-down while they reorganized. I was counting only the operational time.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, eyes lowered as she meekly took the unspoken rebuke. She thought what a pedantic ass he was. She would be glad when she no longer needed him.

  Mollified, he said, “And what, in your analysis, is the cause of it?”

  “I’m not sure that McMurdock’s analysis is right,” she said. “We’ve had successful operations in other areas, many times. In no case did they produce results such as this. There has to be something else. Perhaps it’s the effect of the new advisor?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” he said, surprised that she had come up with it so quickly. “You vetted him, didn’t you? What did you think of him? Anything extraordinary there?”

  Indeed there was, she thought. But not in the way you think, you impotent old fool. “Nothing readily apparent,” she said. “He was very intelligent, and quite well motivated, and seemed to have no problems with doing what had to be done. But we’ve had others like that, and they haven’t achieved the same results. All that is in my report, anyway. Would you like me to get you a copy?” I know you didn’t read it in the first place. Not important enough for you to spend your precious time. Much more important for you to be at the Cercle Sportif playing tennis with your French friends.

  “Nothing at all?” he persisted.

  She thought about it. There had been something, something that was hard to put into words. Implacability, perhaps that was it. That once he had set his mind upon a purpose it would be difficult if not impossible to change it. He would not be an enemy I would care to have, she thought. She realized with a start that she feared him. Perhaps that was the source of the sexual attraction. She could not remember the last time she had feared a man. She knew her power, and how easy it was to make men do as she wished. But she thought that past a certain point it would not be the same with him. She had felt the anger in him that night in Hue, and it had excited her to heights she had long forgotten. She stifled an involuntary shiver.

  “No,” she said, “nothing at all.”

  “I want to see all cables dealing with Thua Thien Province from now on,” he said. “And any other correspondence from any source, Vietnamese, U.S. military, whatever. I like what I see so far, but these things can get out of hand too easily. We’ll keep an eye on Captain Carmichael, a close eye. Since you vetted him, you’ll be the action officer. Start a file, include everything we know about him. Send off for his records, for a start. He looks like one of those people who we’ll be able to use a great deal, or who we will have to get rid of. The choice, I suspect, will depend entirely upon how lucky he is.”

  Chapter IX

  “I think we ought to cool it for a while,” Jim said. “We haven’t really taken a rest since we got the district chief, three months ago. And I’m getting awfully fucking tired.”

  Vanh was looking at him quizzically. Fatigue was etched into the Vietnamese’s face. He looked ill. Still, Jim knew he wanted to finish it. Only two targets remained on the list given them from the district chief. He said as much.

  “Yeah, two,” Jim replied. “And we’ve been chasing those two from one end of the province to the other. Hate to tell you, buddy, but I think they’re onto us.”

  “But we know where they’re going to be tonight. They made the mistake we were waiting for. Did you get the helicopters?”

  “All laid on. They’ll be hot on the pad at eighteen hundred. Two slicks, one gun. Just like we planned. But I still think we should wait. We’re tired, and people make mistakes when they’re tired. There will be other chances to get those two.”

  “And if you’re wrong? How many people will die because of it? No, I think we should go tonight.”

  It was the closest they had come to a disagreement since they first met, Jim reflected. He had come to like and respect the Vietnamese to an extent he would never have thought possible. He was a good soldier, an excellent tactician, and a brave man. Hell, he thought, he’s probably right. They’d planned this operation with the usual care, every eventuality had been foreseen. What could go wrong? Everyone was tired, but after this was over they could take a good long rest before deciding what to do next. Maybe he would even think about going on R&R. In all his trips to Vietnam he had not yet taken an R&R. There had never seemed to be time, and just when it looked like there would be he had been wounded. The things Al had told him about Australia had intrigued him. Perhaps he would try to go there. Maybe he could talk Al into going with him.

  “Okay,” he said. “One more operation it is. And whether or not we get them tonight, we take a good, long break afterward. Agreed?”

  “Agreed, Captain Jim.” Vanh smiled. “I think that everyone could use it. Even the ones who have not been going out as often as you and I are showing the strain.”

  “Good. And I’ve got some good news for them. The ROIC has authorized a bonus for everyone, because of the success of the last few months.”

  “That is very good, my friend. It will please them. Not because of the money, but because it shows that what they have done has been appreciated. It has been a very good time, the best. I wish to thank you for it.”

  “No need to thank me. Everyone did their part.”

  “But if it had not been for you, we would not have known how to go about it. You brought new ideas, Captain Jim. And you have been there with us each step of the way, sharing the dangers and the hardships. For this we thank you. We will have a party after we get back. Drink much whisky, eat good food, spend the time as soldiers should.”

&nbs
p; “Sounds good,” Jim said, embarrassed by Vanh’s uncustomary effusiveness. He liked it better when he was his usual taciturn self. “Now shall we do the equipment check? Tired as we are, I’m sure someone has forgotten something.”

  There was nothing like the sound of a Huey. The sound of the twin blades whopping through the air seemed to become a part of your body, taking control, making the heart beat at the same speed. Your muscles vibrated with it. It filled the ears, the lungs, the very soul of you. Somehow you knew that years later, if you survived, this one sound would be the thing that would bring back the most vivid memories, the ones which would have you suddenly and terribly afraid once again. And that night you would wake up soaked with sweat, the menaces of the dark close and real.

  The choppers were carrying them to the far end of the province, the border area where Thua Thien abutted Quang Tri to the north and Laos to the west. Real bad-guy country, he reflected.

  He rode with his legs hanging out the door, wind whipping his fatigues. His face was mottled with camouflage paint. A sweat rag made from a cravat bandage was tied around his head. No question of attempted deception on this trip. It was a time for stealth, then rapid and violent action, and a quick trip out. The wind whipping in the chopper was cool, drying the fear sweat that always soaked him before operations of this sort. Once he got on the ground, he knew, it would go away, but the anticipation was the worst part.

  They were flying very close to the treetops on the theory that by the time someone on the ground heard them the chopper would be long gone before they could draw a bead. The pilots were good. They were used to this type of operation, being the same ones who flew the CCN teams from their base in Phu Bai on cross-border operations into Laos. Jim heard none of the usual radio chatter over the headset he wore, just occasional terse directions.

  “LZ in sight,” he heard. “Get ready.” He signaled the others. They inched forward, almost hanging out of the doors. The chopper would spend little time on the LZ. If you weren’t out of it in seconds you would be faced with the decision of whether to risk getting out as it was lifting off. And it lifted off very fast.

  Jim took the headset off and tucked it under the pilot’s seat, now watching the door gunner. The man was crouched over his M-60, watching the dark jungle for the telltale flashes of gunfire. His hand suddenly went up, then down.

  Jim pushed away from the chopper and dropped to the ground. He ran toward the trees as with a great wash of wind the chopper took off, followed closely by the second. By the time he had reached the treeline both had gone, the sound of their rotor blades a rapidly fading echo.

  The team formed up inside the trees. A moment to verify that all were there, then they moved off. Jim took position three men behind point. They moved in single file. They wanted speed, and did not have time to put out flankers. The danger of ambush was lessened by not walking on a trail. The jungle was not thick here, which made for easy movement.

  Within an hour they had reached their first reference point, a bend in a river. Their navigation was good. All the training had been worth it. They rested for ten minutes, then took up a new heading, followed it for another hour, rested again.

  “Right on time,” Jim whispered to Vanh. They were still over a kilometer from the target, but one never knew how well sound would carry, or if patrols were out. Best to be careful.

  Vanh was still panting from the forced march. “We move slower now,” he said. “Plenty of time to get there, hit them, and get to the pickup point before the choppers come back.”

  “You want to rest a little longer?” He was worried about Vanh. It was unlike him to take so long to recover.

  “No! We go.” He got up and motioned to the rest. Slowly they complied. Tired, very tired, thought Jim. The uneasiness he had been feeling was intensified.

  It took another hour to cover the last kilometer. At the last they were moving very slow indeed. Which was a good thing, because the point man ran smack into the outpost.

  Jim saw the two locked together. Shit! he thought. He ran forward to where they were struggling, tried in the dark to see who was who. They were so entangled it was hard to tell. Then he saw that one man’s hand was jammed into the other one’s mouth. On the assumption that only the man on his side would be worried about someone crying out, he stabbed the other man through the temple. He felt the bone crack as the blade entered the brain.

  Furiously he motioned the others into place. This was coming unstuck fast. Best to get it over with and get out.

  They fanned out to either side of the small group of huts. No question of trying to go in and do it silently this time. The machinegunner set up his weapon in the center, fed in a belt, took position.

  The roar as they opened fire was deafening. The heavy 7.62mm bullets from the machinegun shredded the bamboo of the huts. The forty-millimeter rounds from the grenade launchers landed among them, the fragments whirring through the air like scythes. The others fired a full magazine from their M-16s, reloaded, and fired another.

  The M-60 finished its two-hundred-round belt and fell silent. Jim, Vanh, and two others ran to the huts. In the first all the occupants were dead. Two men with AK-47s, one woman. He shone a flashlight in their faces, what was left of them. Not the right people. He heard Vanh call, went to him at the second hut. There the two were, quite dead. Along with three children, the oldest no more than twelve. Also quite dead.

  “Search them!” he ordered, his mind shying away from what he saw. Operate on a purely functional level, he told himself. Think about this later. There had been no indications in the intelligence that anyone other than the targets and guards would be here. Something had gone very wrong.

  The men searched through the hut. No one touched the children, averting their eyes as they came close. A few documents were found, but nothing else. “Okay,” he shouted, “out of here! Form up at the rally point and be ready to move. I don’t like the feel of this at all.”

  He assumed the point. He knew the pace he was setting was punishing, but would not let up. He was furious. This operation was snakebit from the beginning. I know to trust my instincts. Why did I let them talk me out of it? His anger was directed primarily at himself. He was supposed to be the expert, the wonderful American advisor who knew so much. And he had acted like a raw recruit. Now he would have to live with the results.

  The pickup point was at the same bend in the river they had used for a reference point. He had not wanted to use the same landing zone. Too much chance someone had seen them come in and would be staking it out. There was no clearing at the pickup point other than that the river afforded, so the plan was to be extracted on a string. It was a method he did not care for, but he had seen no other option. The helicopter would hover just over the trees and drop ropes down to the ground. Attached to the end of the rope was a mountaineering snap link. The soldiers wore a special harness, known as a STABO rig, which had a matching snap link attached. The STABO rig looked like a parachute harness, with crotch straps that hooked into the front. The soldiers were to snap into the ropes, attach the crotch straps, and upon signal the chopper would lift them straight up until they were clear of the trees, then fly off with them dangling underneath.

  They had walked for an hour before word was passed up to him that they would have to stop, that Captain Vanh was very sick. Damn it! he thought. What else was going to go wrong before this night was over?

  He walked back to Vanh, who was slumped under a tree. The little man was covered with sweat and was shivering so hard that Jim could hear his teeth chatter. He tried to smile as Jim squatted beside him. It was a pitiful attempt.

  “Time to take a break anyway,” Jim said, trying to make light of it. “You’ll be okay after a few minutes’ rest.”

  “I do not think so, Jim,” gasped Vanh, trying to control the shivering enough to talk.

  “Quanh, Dinh,” Jim ordered, naming two of the bigger PRUs, “give your weapons to someone else and rig up a poncho litter. We haven’t t
hat far to go, and we’ve got plenty of time. We’ll give the captain a little ride.”

  He sat next to Vanh as the others cut a sapling for the litter. “Think you’ve got a touch of malaria?” he asked.

  “Feels like it,” Vanh admitted. “I’ve been taking quinine to try to hold it down, but I think it got the best of me.”

  “Probably because…” Jim started.

  “I know,” Vanh interrupted. “We are all too tired. You were right.”

  “Yeah, but we got those bastards. Now we get out of here, and get you to the hospital, and everyone can breathe easy for a while.”

  They placed Vanh in the poncho slung by its ends on a stout sapling. With a grunt the two bearers lifted him, settled the pole on their shoulders, and indicated they were ready to go. Jim decided to walk just in front of them so he could be ready to help carry Vanh if necessary. The regular point man was nursing his hand where it had been bitten almost through, so Jim told one of the newer men to take the lead.

  They set off again, at a much slower pace. Jim figured the pickup point to be less than thirty minutes away at this rate, and they had an hour before the choppers were scheduled to come back, so there should be no problem. He still had the gnawing feeling that more would go wrong before this night was over, but hoped that he was just overreacting. Perhaps it was the horror of seeing the children. Perhaps it was guilt, his subconscious telling him that he had done a terrible thing, and that he should be punished. He knew that before now it had been probable that his actions had caused the death of innocents. But he had never had to see it firsthand.

  The explosion filled the world. Blindingly brilliant light, a fraction of sound before the pressure overstressed otic nerves, then no noise at all. Very fast-moving things hit him just before the shock wave flattened him on the ground. He could not move, could not get his breath, could see nothing except the pinwheels of light dazzled retinas sent to the brain. His head was propped up against the man behind him, and as his eyes began to clear, he saw that his body was covered with blood. His peripheral vision picked up muzzle flashes and movement, he knew not whose. Nor did he care. I must be dying, he thought. If I am, it’s not too bad. I thought it would be much worse than this. I thought I would be in agony. I don’t feel much at all. He closed his eyes and waited for the end to come.