by Eric Meyer
Ray sounded bitter. “Like John F. Kennedy on that day in Dallas?”
“Hopefully not, and we don’t have anything better to do. It should be safe enough. Every cop in Quang Tri Province will be inside the base on guard detail.”
We strolled outside, and it was late morning. The sun shone, the sky was blue, and it was a fine day for it. For living, or for dying. We drove to within fifty meters of the gate, and I backed into the corner of a side street, where we could watch without looking too conspicuous.
* * *
Captain Trinh sipped at his water bottle, chatting to his men, who all seemed enthusiastic to carry out their plan. He hadn’t told them everything, of course. Like the bit where he and Sergeant Diem would escape in the trucks, with his men fighting a rearguard action to cover their exit. A pity they had to die, but after the assassination, they’d need the firefight as a smokescreen for them to make their getaway.
The hard-bitten Vietcong fighters grinned as he went over the plan a final time.
“Lieutenant Han’s First Platoon is the honor guard, and they’ll line up either side of the aircraft steps to greet the President. Our task is to surround the aircraft as a security detail, and as soon as Nguyen is on the ground, we hit them with automatic fire. Four men will be assigned to target the President, and the others to take out Han’s platoon and machine gun the soldiers lined up for inspection. Diem and I will help spread the chaos, shouting contradictory orders, and in that chaos we will collect the trucks and meet you close to the aircraft.” He gave them a reassuring smile, “They still won’t know what’s hit them, and we’ll simply drive out through the gate. If anyone asks, we’re chasing the terrorists. Any questions?”
“Captain.”
He whirled to look at his radio operator. “What is it?”
“Message from base, Sir. That was Lieutenant Han. He said you’re to return immediately. The Presidential plane is due to land inside of the next half-hour.”
He almost choked. “There must be some mistake. The visit is scheduled for tomorrow.”
“They put if forward because of the fighting at Binh An. Apparently, they were worried the North Vietnamese would try to bring their troops south from Binh An and attack the base during the visit. We must return now.”
“Fuck!” He kicked the trunk of a nearby tree and winced as he stubbed his toe. “Sergeant Diem, how soon can we get back?”
He’d already worked it out when he heard the bad news. “Twenty minutes, if we drive fast.”
“We go now! All of you get aboard the trucks. Drive at full speed. I want to get back to the base inside of fifteen minutes. Go, go, go!”
They leapt into the trucks, Trinh took the passenger seat of the leading vehicle, and the truck sped away. In the mirror he saw Sergeant Diem’s truck hadn’t moved.
“Driver, what’s happened? Why isn’t that truck moving?”
“Uh, Sir, they had problems earlier, contamination in the fuel supply. They were going to fix it when we got back. I mean…” he stuttered, hating to be the bearer of bad news, “There’s wasn’t any rush, Sir. Not then, I mean.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Do you want me to stop, and we can cram the other men into this truck?”
“There’s not time, fool. If you keep the pedal to the metal we might just make it. Do not stop, not for anything.”
“Yessir.”
He was still cursing, furious that the carefully laid plan, combination of his long and murderous career, was on the brink of failure. No, they couldn’t fail. They were so close. He looked behind, and his soldiers were going about their preparations for action, and he felt a little calmer.
There should have been twenty men for the attack, and now I have ten. It will have to do. President Nguyen will still die.
He gave a moment’s thought to Sergeant Diem, back in the jungle and hampered by a truck with a faulty fuel system.
They’re close to the DMZ, so they could trek north. If they’re lucky they’ll make it across. Although I doubt they’ll survive. After the assassination of the President, the Americans will swamp the region with troops, aircraft, and helicopter gunships. A pity, but it’s just too bad.
He wrenched his mind away from the men he’d left behind to certain death and concentrated on the job in hand. The truck was careering along the narrow track, and he snarled at the driver to go faster.
“Sir, any faster and we could overturn.”
He slapped the man’s face hard and almost caused him to lose control. “I said go faster. If we don’t make it, I’ll have you shot.”
They didn’t overturn, and soon the outskirts of the town came into view. They rocketed through the narrow streets, scattering indignant pedestrians, animals, and flocks of geese they were leading to some market. Fists waved in the air, and he smiled to himself.
Don’t these people know they’re about to see history in the making? No, they know nothing. But they’ll know soon enough, and soon the red flag will fly over this town, like it will over every town in South Vietnam.
The driver finally got through the town and was heading toward the straggle of buildings outside the base. He could see a passenger jet on final approach. The Presidential aircraft, a Boeing 707, and he wondered if he had time. Troops were already lined up on the stand, and he saw Han’s squad, all polished and glittering, standing to attention where the mobile stair waited to be pushed against the fuselage of the aircraft. He could make it, just, but it would be a close thing.
“Drive straight through the gates, and if they refuse to open them, shoot the guard and drive through. We must reach that plane when it lands.”
* * *
Sitting in the open jeep we all heard the noise of the four-engine aircraft on final approach as it descended for a landing at Dong Ha. I could see the ARVN honor guard already drawn up next to the mobile stairs, and further away, American and Vietnamese troops standing in neat lines ready for inspection.
It all looks right. Was I wrong? Have I made a huge error of judgment, and read all the signals wrong?
The noise of another engine intruded. It was an ARVN truck racing out of the town and heading toward the gates. I smiled to myself, someone was in trouble and hadn’t received the news they’d put the visit forward by twenty-four hours. The truck came nearer, and the driver was staring out through the windshield, putting all his concentration on steering the vehicle that was going much too fast. Another soldier was sitting next to him, and he turned to bark an order at the driver. For a fleeting instant his face was angled in my direction, and I was so shocked for a split second I didn’t react.
It was him, Bao Minh, and he was wearing the uniform of an ARVN captain. In the back of the truck I counted ten men, and it didn’t take a genius to work out how they’d planned the hit. They were part of the official ARVN security detail, like the honor guard waiting out on the tarmac. These guys would be running security, surrounding the aircraft to guard against intruders. Except they were the intruders, and when President Nguyen reached the bottom of the mobile stairs, they’d start shooting.
I started the engine and glanced aside at Ray. “It’s him.”
“Him?”
“Bao Minh, he’s in that truck speeding toward the main gate. The guy in the passenger seat, wearing ARVN uniform. A captain.”
He squinted at the truck and swore loudly. “Jesus Christ, you’re right. What…”
I was already driving out onto the road that approached the base, and he shouted at me not to try to run the truck. “That thing weighs several tons. They’ll swat us off the road like a fly.”
I’d been thinking exactly that, and he was right. We had one chance left. “We have to stop them. Shoot the fucking driver!”
Massey was a crack shot, and he threw up his M-14 rifle and fired a shot after shot at the driver. It was a difficult target. The truck lurching and swerving along a narrow road, poorly maintained and littered with potholes, but at least one bullet hit
the driver. We afterward found out it had penetrated his brain. Which explained the truck careering into a storefront and coming to an abrupt halt. The soldiers in the back were thrown out onto the road, some screaming from the injuries they’d sustained, and then the passenger door flew open. Bao Ninh climbed out, his face a mask of fury.
He only carried an automatic pistol, but he fired several shots in our direction, all of which missed. He looked around wildly, and he knew it was all over. Except he had to get away, and he ran back. He held up the pistol and flagged down an approaching car. The vehicle stopped, an elderly Vietnamese was behind the wheel, with his wife sitting next to him. Bao snatched open the driver’s door, wrenched him out, and jumped into the driver’s seat. The elderly man tried to stop him, but he put a bullet into his chest, and turned to the wife, who was screaming in panic. He fired another bullet that tore through her face, and he leaned over, opened the door, and pushed her out. Then he was gunning the engine, swerving into a U-turn, and driving back down the street at speed.
They had security at the base sewn up tight, and they reacted faster than I would have believed possible. I’d already driven out into the street ready to go after him when a jeep loaded with four grim-faced soldiers shot out from another street further down and blocked the road. I nearly ran into the jeep, but I managed to skid to a halt just in time. A hard-faced corporal armed with one of the new M-16s gave us a quick once over, recognized the uniforms, and didn’t shoot on sight, although I could see he was tempted.
“What’s going on? This is a secure area. I need to see your authorization.”
“Corporal, that car that just went past, the guy tried to kill President Nguyen. His men are lying back there after their truck crashed into a storefront, but he’s the main guy, and he’s getting away. We have to get past and go after him.”
I could see the cogs turning in his brain, going through required military procedure, following orders through the chain of command, and he reached the bit that said, ‘If in doubt, ask a senior officer.’
“I have to call this in, and in the meantime, you’ll wait here.”
“We can’t wait. He’s getting away.”
“So you say. Get out of the jeep, and keep your hands away from your weapons.”
The other three men were covering us with their M-16s, and we didn’t have any choice. We stood there, fuming with impatience, in the knowledge every second we wasted was a second more Bao Minh had to get away. They kept us there for two hours while they waited for an officer to turn up and decide what to do with us. Eventually, he arrived and asked for our IDs. We had little choice but to tell him who we were and what we were up to. He took the military registration of the jeep and called it in. Minutes later, they were marching us toward the base, and it wasn’t to offer any thanks for avoiding the assassination of a sitting President.
Instead, they pushed us into the guardroom, and we were on our way back to the cells when a voice intruded. “Hold it, Corporal. I need to talk to these people.”
He was an MP officer, a tough-looking major and with the name Gifford on his chest. He gestured toward a small room with enough space for a desk and a chair, which he occupied. We remained standing.
“That jeep came from Quang Tri.”
There was no point in denying it. “That’s correct. We had to borrow it to get here.”
He seemed to ignore my reply. “I called Quang Tri and spoke to my opposite number there, Captain Roland Mason. We had an interesting conversation.”
I bet you did.
“He said you were engaged in a mission to chase down a guy working for the North, who was coming here to assassinate the President.” I started to interrupt, but he held up a hand, “No, hear me out. The Corporal here told me about the truck that crashed not far from the main gate, and we picked up some of the men who were wounded in the accident. We’ve brought them in for questioning, and it seems to me they’re not who they say they are. I have informed the Presidential detail, and I imagine they’re about to cancel the visit.”
No shit.
“Major, we’re wasting time here. The guy running the hit is escaping North, even as we talk. There may be a chance to catch up with him, but if we waste any more time he’ll slip over the DMZ, and he’ll be gone for good. Until the next time he tries.”
“I have to run this past my superiors. After all, there are some serious charges you need to answer.” I was waiting for the ‘but.’
“But, in view of the fact that Captain Mason is vouching for you, I’m inclined to let you carry on and go after this guy.” He grinned, “What do you need?”
“We don’t know how far he’ll run, but we could do with gas for the jeep.”
“The stolen jeep.”
“Borrowed jeep, when we’re done, we’ll take it back.”
“Done. Anything else?”
Ray interceded. “My rifle is way past the maintenance interval for stripping, cleaning, and oiling, and we don’t have time. If you could spare a couple of M-14s that would be useful.”
He looked surprised. “Not the new M-16s?”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Very well. Corporal, unlock the gun rack. I need two M-14s and spare magazines.”
“Four M-14s.”
He looked quickly at Le. “You’re going with them?”
“Major, I am a Sub-Inspector of the National Police. This man is a murderer, and I intend to bring him to justice.” Nobody asked what kind of justice she was referring to, but I could guess.
After a brief hesitation he gave a faint nod. “Four M-14s. Mr. Yeager, do you have any idea where he’s headed?”
I’d read the file, and I had a damn good idea of where he was going. “Vinh Moc.”
He looked surprised. “The tunnel complex?”
“It’s where he was brought up, and where he learned to hate America and fall in love with Communism. It’s about fifty klicks north of here, and I’m betting that’s where he’s going to hide out. Right on the DMZ, next to the border with North Vietnam, and easy to make a getaway if he thinks we’re onto him.”
“Do you know anything about the tunnels?”
I knew a lot about the tunnels, and I didn’t want to discuss it with him. I’d nearly lost my life in the tunnels of Cu Chi on several occasions, and I hated the stink of sewage and fear, the constant groping in the dark, terrified of an encounter with poisonous insects or even more poisonous Vietcong. I’d vowed never again to enter a tunnel, and so far I’d kept that vow. My last major battle was at Khe Sanh, lots of hills and the Combat Base set in a wide, open area. It was a close run thing. At least it was for me. Every day I was there, keeping my head down beneath the incessant Communist barrage of artillery and mortar shells, the sniper fire, and heavy machine gun fire whistling across the open spaces, I counted my blessings I wasn’t in a tunnel.
And now I was going back, yet this was different. I’d read the intelligence briefings, and the sub-strata of Vinh Moc comprised mainly of limestone. Easy to dig through, even by hand, yet it was solid, and they’d made the tunnels much larger than those outside Saigon, and without the incessant threat of poisonous insects and rank, stinking sewage. They weren’t combat tunnels, designed as bases for Vietcong insurgents, but bombproof dwellings for local villagers who often protested about the American bombing. And shrugged when people pointed out the way to stop it would be to stop storing and supplying food for the VC.
“I don’t envy you people. You know there’s a division of the People’s Army sitting close to Binh An, and we’re fighting a major battle up there. Somehow, you’ll have to get past them, and I don’t know of anything I can do to help you.”
“We’ll manage.”
He gave me a skeptical nod. “Maybe. Yeager, I wish I could call this in and request help, but after talking to Captain Mason, I realize it would be a waste of time. Whoever is behind this has men in senior positions in the military and in government, and the chances are all I’d get is
a posting back to the United States and told to keep my mouth shut.”
“That sounds good to me,” Ray Massey grunted.
Gifford gave him a sharp look, and he was about to speak when we heard the roar of engines that drowned out everything. We were about to speak when the roar became even louder, and we saw the President’s 707 take off from the runway and climb steeply into the sky. Not taking any chances with enemy missiles. I felt a sense of relief. They were getting him out as fast as possible, and it was all over, but not all over for Bao Minh. He’d try again. The powerful men behind it would make sure he did, and next time he may succeed. There was a simple answer, and that meant it was all over for us. Run him to earth and kill him.
“Turning a blind eye to murder is not worthwhile, Sergeant. I don’t know all the details, only what Captain Mason told me, but this whole business stinks, and I earn my pay to make sure this kind of stuff doesn’t happen. Not turn a blind eye. If you manage to locate Bao Minh…”
“We’ll locate him. There isn’t a tunnel deep enough for him to hide.”
He shot me another skeptical look. “You’re pretty confident.”
“Like I said, I’ve been in the tunnels, and I know my way around. We’ll find him.”
“If he’s there.”
“Where else would he go? Major, we’re wasting time.”
He nodded. “Yeah, you need to get on the road. Good luck getting past Binh An. I happen to know the Marine colonel who’s in charge up there. I’ll get the message to him and tell him you’ll be coming through.”
“Appreciated.”
“There’s something else. I understand the Air Force has a bombing raid scheduled for Vinh Moc to interdict supplies intended for the North Vietnamese attacking Binh An. It’s due to go in at first light. If I were you I’d wait until it was over. That’s what any sensible people would do.”
He was right, and any sensible people would hold back and wait. I thought back to the past days, chasing all over South Vietnam, busting Le out of a police cell, and tangling with a North Vietnamese assassination squad. Without doubt these weren’t the actions of sensible people. They were the actions of desperate people. People who didn’t want to see the country go down the shitter.
