by Eric Meyer
"We need to get back to the limo."
They were puzzled, but they followed as I walked as quickly as possible without being noticed around to the rear of the Palace, and we found the limo. Chuck was sitting in the driver’s seat, and he’d found himself a huge plate of food and a bottle of champagne, which he was busily demolishing.
He looked up with enthusiasm when we appeared. "It's something happening?"
"You could say that. Move over. I'm driving."
He looked worried. "The guy this car belongs to, he's a friend. I promised him I wouldn't do any damage."
"Don't worry, you won't."
The others climbed into the rear, and I started the engine. I still hadn't explained what I was planning when I drove away, and Ray leaned over from the back and tapped me on the shoulder. "You're not planning to take on a tank with a limo, are you? Tell me that isn't true."
I guided the limo through the crowds of guests, circled the Palace, and reached the front. "I suggest you strap in."
I heard him say, "Oh, shit, the mad bastard is planning to take on a tank with a limo. Carl, this isn't going to work. I don't know if you realize the weight of those things, and the amount of firepower, but believe me they'll swat us away like they'd swat a fly. And when it's all over, they'll have to go through the wreckage to find our body parts."
"Don't worry about. I think this will work."
"You think! Jesus, shouldn't you be sure?"
I didn't reply. I had a clear run to the suspect tank, and I stamped on the gas pedal. The V-8 powered limo surged forward, and I drove straight at that tank at the end of the line. At first they didn't notice us. The view from the periscope would have been too restricting, but a big black car hurtling toward them couldn't escape their notice for more than a few seconds, and they did notice. I knew they'd seen us because the turret began to rotate, and the main gun, which had been pointing upward, began to lower. Pointing downward to turn us into scrap metal with a single shell, and I kept the pedal pressed to the metal.
"Carl!" Le shrieked, "They're about to open fire. You have to turn away."
"No, I don't."
We were getting closer and closer. The gun had stopped traversing and was pointing right at us. I had one chance, and only one. And that was to keep up the speed, and when the gun fired, the shell crashed out and exploded on the ground behind us. We were so close, and the limo was so low to the ground, they couldn't depress the elevation far enough to reach us. I kept the pedal pressed down until we collided with the side of the tank in a huge, rending crash. I'd aimed for the side to keep us away from the deadly machine guns. I'd seen the muzzles searching for us, but now they knew where we were, and they couldn't reach us. The main gun couldn't reach us, and even better, the other vehicles had started the engines, turrets rotating, and I could see the commanders watching us, trying to work out who we were and what we were doing. Were we drunk, or was this an enemy attack?
The tank furthest away, the one under the command of Ngo Xuan, had started toward us, and Xuan was staring at us with a puzzled expression. At first the main gun pointed at the limo, and I suspected he was calling up the tank we'd rammed on the radio. Obviously, it couldn't reply, and Xuan's turret rotated a fraction, and the barrel was pointed at the still silent tank.
Which suddenly started forward, lurching toward the Palace, and I could see in the distance President Nguyen strolling around the lawns surrounded by his guard detail and senior officers in uniform.
They were looking our way, and they couldn't have failed to see the M48 as it picked up speed, heading toward them. Suddenly, the machine guns chatted. If they'd had any doubt then about its intent, those doubts had vanished, but Xuan had seen enough. His gun moved a fraction until it was aiming at the tank, and it belched smoke and flame as he fired. A single armor-piercing shell ripped into the thinner rear armor of the Patton, and the target came to a standstill. The hatch in the turret flew open, and a man climbed out, vaulted down to the ground, and started running. Heading toward the Presidential party, and he was clutching an assault rifle, an AR-15. I didn't need to see the rifle to know who it was, Bao Ninh. He'd just blown his last solid chance of knocking off Nguyen, and I could only guess at his fate when his masters in Hanoi discovered he'd failed yet again.
It was obvious he planned to finish what he'd started. Even though he'd know he couldn't get away, and at best he’d paid for it with his life. At worst, he'd be a prisoner of the South Vietnamese, and I suspected that would be a fate worse than death. He thought so, too, for he kept running, even though several soldiers had spotted the threat and opened fire.
It was all over. All it took was one well-aimed shot, and he'd go down, except he didn't go down. He disappeared into a crowd of elegantly dressed guests, and they were unable to shoot, and all the time I knew he was working his way closer to President Nguyen. I had to head him off, and I raced toward them, shouting at the top of my voice.
"Army CID, get out of my way! Official business!"
I reached the crowd of people where I'd seen him disappear, and I bellowed at them to lie on the ground. "Get your stupid fucking heads down before they get blown off!"
Men in white dinner jackets, their ladies in silk and satin gowns encrusted with jewels, launched themselves onto the grass and lay there with their hands over their heads, as if to protect them. I saw him then, and I ran on. He stopped before he reached a bunch of ARVN soldiers, and he was looking for a way through. Which gave me time to get closer.
"Bao Ninh! Give it up. It's all over!"
He turned, staring at me like a cornered rat, and I saw his lips draw back over his teeth in a snarl. "You!"
"Yeah, me. Drop the weapon, Bao. There's no way you can reach him, not now."
He didn't drop the weapon. Instead, he fired a long burst that came close to parting my hair, but incredibly a Vietnamese waiter ran at him in an effort to save me and help me save the life of his President. His expression a mask of fury, he intercepted the bullets meant for me, and he took them full in the belly. An act of bravery you sometimes hear about, like a soldier diving on a grenade and taking the full force to save his comrades. In that moment, it was like a switch had been thrown. There were many good men and women in Vietnam. Like Van Le and Van Lam, and Sergeant Canh at Vinh Moc, especially this man, amongst the truly great.
The burst ended as quickly as it started when the magazine emptied. Whether he had a spare magazine I'd no idea, but he didn't need one. He carried a lightweight pack at his side, and he opened it and reached inside.
With a sickening sense of déjà vu, I knew what was about to happen, and I started running toward him. I doubted if they knew, couldn't know. But it had happened before, and that time the target was my wife. This time it was President Nguyen, and the prize was an entire country. I sprinted like I'd never sprinted before in my life, knowing I had to get close if I was to make sure of the shot. He looked at me in triumph and held the pack in his right hand, arm thrown back, and in another second I knew what would happen. The administration of South Vietnam would come to an abrupt end. The Communists would win, and I couldn't let that happen. I knew what I had to do, and I skidded to a stop, brought up the big Colt, and took aim. Squeezed off seven .45 caliber bullets, and when the firing pin clicked on empty, he was no longer standing. No longer able to throw the bomb he carried in the pack. I shouted, "Bomb! Hit the deck!"
Bao Ninh lay on the floor with blood already trickling from the holes I'd put into his body. A second later the charge exploded, and it blew his corpse into strips of bloodied flesh. The blast caught several elegantly dressed guests who'd been too slow to duck.
I'd still been standing when shockwave slammed into me, and it knocked me flat on my back. Everything went black, and my final thought as I lay there expecting to die was I'd managed to get some kind of redress, some justice for what they did to Gracie, my wife.
That time I hadn't been there to shoot dead the bomber. But this time I had been there. And I saw Gra
cie's face. She was smiling at me, holding out her hand, and although I didn't hear what she said, her lips were moving, and I made out the words.
You did good, Carl. It was worth it.
* * *
I wasn’t dead. I woke up the following day, and there were no pretty nurses standing over me, no boxes of chocolates or bunches of flowers next to my bed. Just grim-faced MPs, both American and Vietnamese. They refused to talk, refused to tell me anything, and I lay there in isolation. Doctors treated my bruises and abrasions, for I’d been too close to the bomb to avoid the worst of its effects. After three days, I had visitors. Ray Massey with a girl on each arm. Van Le and Van Lam.
He grinned when he saw me. “You look like shit, Yeager.”
“I feel like shit. What’s going on, no one is prepared to tell me?”
His brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.”
The girls both looked blank. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t understand? The attempted assassination at the Presidential Palace, what’re they saying?”
He grinned. “There must be some misunderstanding. There was no attempted assassination.”
“Excuse me?”
He returned a look that said nothing, but said everything, and invited me to work it out for myself. I worked it out for myself, and as usual, two plus two made four. They’d used the opportunity to rid the senior ranks of the ARVN of those officers whose loyalties were suspect. Probably some of the senior ministers had toppled in what would have been a ‘Night of the Long Knives.” To admit to the population of South Vietnam a Communist assassin had got so close would be to lose face with the people. It would also hand the North a propaganda feast to admit one of their men had almost pulled it off. So they did what the military and the politicians do the world over. Taken the opportunity to cut out the deadwood.
I felt old and tired. After all, we’d been to hell and back, and they were saying nothing had happened. I asked the girls about their careers.
Le smiled happily. “Both of us are reinstated, and they’ve promoted me to Inspector and Lam is now a Senior Constable.”
“No repercussions about what happened, you know, breaking out of jail?”
“Carl, there was no break out. It never happened.”
“Of course it didn’t.”
I lay back, and a nurse bustled in and filled my arm with something that knocked me out. When I awoke, I was staring at a senior officer of the United States Army. No, that wasn’t right, the baseball cap identified him, he wasn’t a senior officer, he was the senior officer.
“General Westmoreland, Sir!”
I tried to get up, but he signaled for me to lie back. “They tell me you’re making a good recovery, Mr. Yeager.”
“Yessir.”
“You did well, son. Very well. As did some other officers of Army CID, including Colonel Bader. His death was unfortunate, but I’ve put him in for a medal for giving his life in the service of his country. He was a brave man, decent and honest.”
He was staring at me with his intense eyes. “I also believe you deserve the nation’s gratitude for your efforts above and beyond the call of duty. I’m dismissing all charges against you.”
I held back a choke. They knew it was bullshit and still couldn’t admit it.
“I’m promoting you to Warrant Officer Grade 4, that’s a hefty increase in your pay, Yeager.”
“Yessir, I appreciate it. I really do.”
He smiled, as if I’d meant it. Which he knew I hadn’t. “Also, I’m promoting you to Chief Warrant Officer Grade 5, that’s the top of the tree, Yeager, promotion dependent on you completing a further tour of Vietnam. The Army needs men like you, Mr. Yeager. We’re winning this war, and you could join the victory celebrations when it’s all over. The body count says it all. We’re knocking the Viets down at a ratio of ten to one. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Yessir.”
And how many more men have to die to achieve your body count?
“What do you say? Speak up, man.”
“Nothing to say, Sir.”
“You’ll consider my offer?” Like he was offering me first prize in the State Lottery.
“I will, yes.”
For about two seconds after you’ve left.
“Good man.”
He about turned and wheeled away. Ray came back into my room, with Van Le and Van Lam. “Wow, a visit from Westmoreland himself. What did he have to say?”
I gave him the only answer that came to mind. “Nothing that made any sense. None of this makes sense. Ray, we can’t win this war.”
A shrug. “Maybe, maybe not. I was talking to one of his aides. He said the General would offer you a promotion.”
“Chief Warrant Officer, yeah. Conditional on my third tour.”
His eyes widened. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t.”
“You gonna take it? Or do you want to get out of Vietnam ASAP?”
I thought of the good men and women fighting for their liberty, decent men and women. I glanced at Le, who gave me a nervous smile. She was one of the good Viets, and she’d risked everything, fought through hell for what she believed in. She was hanging on my answer.
“I’m giving it some serious thought.”
“Leaving?”
“Staying.”
