Red Flags

by Juris Jurjevics

  "I am well aware of your many suggestions. We considered them just this morning and decided not to implement them ... at this time."

  "May I know why not, sir?" Bennett said.

  "We require the troops in Cheo Reo. I cannot spare the rifle companies and disperse them as you suggest. They are needed here for defense. My superiors at Corps headquarters fear more violence from the Montagnards."

  Bennett said, "Sir, with all due respect, Montagnards should hardly be your main concern at the moment, when we have—"

  Chinh interrupted, his voice melodic with the tones of his language. Checkman listened for a minute, then translated.

  "On the contrary. Your Special Forces lure young Montagnards to their camps, teach them to be saboteurs, to overthrow governments, violate international borders, assassinate Vietnamese. How many such camps now? Fifty? Sixty? When we are under threat, we are the most concerned with the army of aborigines at our backs."

  Bennett colored. "The Montagnards harass and slow the invaders who march across the border into your province."

  "Your A camps slow nothing." Chinh spoke rapidly; Checkman struggled to keep up: "Any Green Beret camp that interferes, the northern army overruns and brushes aside. They are too distant—too isolated—even from one another. There are no reinforcements, no artillery that can help."

  In English he added, "You make same mistake as French, Colonel Bennett." He pressed a biscuit between the bars of the cage. "I always listen your advise. I advise you now." The bird pecked at the biscuit. "Camps too small. Job big. You cannot capture Ho's red fish with bird's nest."

  "Exactly why you must not crouch here. Send out patrols, Colonel Chinh. Target your artillery, use our airpower." Bennett pointed at the vista. "A large enemy force marches this way. There have never been this many NVA soldiers in the province at the same time."

  Chinh resumed his tranquil pose. His bird sang brightly.

  "My job to protect from savage."

  "Sir," Bennett said, "I beg to disagree."

  Chinh returned to Vietnamese, his tone sarcastic and hectoring: "Your camps harbor murderous rebels," Checkman translated. "Green Berets sow discord between the savages and our citizens, and advocate separation of the Highland regions from Viet Nam. The French, you, the Cambodians, all plot and promote bloody rebellion."

  "Savage loyal to you," Chinh said in English. "You loyal to savage."

  Bennett fell silent, unable to deny the charge. "Colonel Chinh," he said, "we have lost enough men defending your country to prove our loyalty. Why would we encourage the Montagnards to secede?"

  Checkman's freckles grew darker and his face whiter as he translated the province chief's reply: "I wonder myself. Saigon understands your government has conducted surveys, found important ore in the Highlands. Thinks you encourage the savages to establish an autonomous state, so it can be more easily relieved of its strategic riches."

  "Strategic riches?" Bennett said, dismayed.

  Chinh, looking smug—in possession of privileged information—drew out the moment. "Plutonium," he said, finally.

  "Plutonium?" Bennett froze in disbelief.

  "And ore of aluminum."

  "I ... I assure you—" Bennett stammered.

  Chinh clasped his hands behind his back and spoke in English. "No need. Not embarrass. Maybe Washington not inform colonel, as Saigon inform me."

  "Sir, why are we debating? You and I are both facing an immediate threat from large numbers of North Vietnamese," Bennett said. "The NVA has found a safe haven here in Phu Bon Province. They operate freely. We need to know how many. Where. And disrupt them."

  Chinh grunted. He appeared affronted. "You want fight Communist. Okay, okay. American soldier stay year, sometime two. Me? Fifteen. Fight war fifteen year. Last five year, before I come to Cheo Reo, I have eight adviser. Soon you go. I wait. Get different adviser, different advise."

  Chinh crossed his arms and looked out onto the volcanic plateau toward a small, dormant cone.

  "Province have sixty thousand Montagnard. Several thousand NVA soldier. Me? With me—four hundred men, four hundred family."

  "Sir, our circumstances are grave. I may have to contact General Loc at Two Corps."

  Chinh lapsed into Vietnamese, pausing to let Checkman catch up.

  "You like Montagnards more than us Vietnamese. In our marriages—" Checkman stopped, perplexed. "He must mean alliances. He says, In our alliances there are no vows of fidelity, no limit on other relationships. Our matches are not made for ... love, not for desire. They are arranged for mutual benefit. Changing such alignments, after a decent interval, is acceptable. You need not feel guilty for shifting your affiliation. Taking other partners is acceptable ... if such is your wish."

  The barely veiled message was clear, and Bennett's discomfort evident on his face. Chinh would do nothing. And he knew about the colonel's affair. If Chinh notified his or Bennett's superiors, Bennett's career was over. Adultery was a court-martial offense in the U.S. Army. Chinh had flashed his trump card.

  He grunted. "You have duty, Colonel. I same." He tapped his chest. "Je suis responsable. You have order. I same."

  "Your orders are ...?" Bennett said, barely containing himself.

  "Keep soldier alive, keep command strong. Civilize Montagnard."

  "Civilize how?" Bennett said, exasperated. "Push more Vietnamese refugees into their tribal territories? Force the Montagnards off their land into hopeless government hamlets and force them to assimilate?"

  Chinh stared him down. "At home you have Indian. We have Indian. Same." He reverted to Vietnamese.

  "Would you stand by and let your Indian reservations secede? How many states have you returned to your Sioux?"

  Bennett pulled out a map of the province and asked Chinh to shell the three nearby trails being used by the NVA. Chinh said, "Okay, okay," and straightened. "Excuse."

  Colonel Bennett saluted and Checkman and I snapped to. Chinh returned our salutes casually.

  "Captain," he said, stopping me, and reached into the birdcage to pick up a colorful feather. "You and you friend interest in my birds." He handed me the yellow-gray feather. "Sorry not peacock."

  16

  I DROVE TO RUCHEVSKY'S house in town to give him a heads-up about Chinh's warning and found him sprawled in his wicker armchair, playing hearts with his guards. He waved his cigar at me and indicated the couch, draped with a long, handwoven Montagnard black cloth bordered in red and rows of small white stick-figure helicopters. I ran Chinh's crazy assertion past him.

  "Plutonium. I love it." He got up, heading for the back. "Beer?"

  "Got a Coke?"

  "In a bright Commie-red can. Comin' up."

  He was back in a second with our cold drinks, fresh cigar firmly clamped in his teeth. The guards took up their posts outside and I filled him in on the latest encounter with Chinh and all the activity our patrols had seen.

  "Shit," he said and handed me the pop. "You up for another run through the forest?"

  "Now? With all the NVA passing through the neighborhood?"

  "Later. If there is a later."

  "Just you and me again?"

  "No. We'll need some manpower this time."

  "What for?"

  "A snatch. I'm clocking a courier coming down the trail with guards and a radio. He's being escorted by serious VC cadre on each leg. From what we know, he's carrying several kilos of paper from their higher command and he's due to pick up more from our fearless local VC leader, Mr. Wolf Man, as he passes by."

  Last time, when John had taken me right into the middle of a VC mall, we had been lucky. But I wasn't eager to push my luck just now.

  "Sounds tempting," I said, with bravado.

  "Trust me. If he's carrying what I think he's carrying, this could nail Chinh's ass."

  "In that case, I'm definitely in. What's the drill?"

  "We take out the entourage, grab the courier and his stuff, and break the sound barrier exiting the area."

>   "Elegant. How many of us?"

  "Maybe six. We have to smoke the guards to kidnap him."

  "Sure," I said to the suggestion of another murderous close encounter. He must have sensed my hesitation.

  "We go in, we come out," he said, checking me closely. "Simple."

  "How many of them?"

  His lips pursed. "Same as us. Half a dozen?"

  "That a guess?"

  "Almost. On some stretches they give him more escorts."

  "When do we do it?"

  "Don't know. Soon." He extended a fist. "Let's hope."

  I tapped the top of his fist with my own and raised my Coke can. "To Operation Humpty Dumpty."

  John pulled a classified sheet from under a folder resting on the chest.

  "Here. A present. Reverend Slavin's bank records are clean. Captain Nhu's too. Poor boy's still going to have to work in mama's pharmacy after the war. Lund's Saigon account however ... USAID man's regularly banking five-thousand-dollar deposits, transferred from a bogus company in Macao. Small change for a small fish."

  "So Lund isn't the partner. And Province Chief Chinh isn't getting paid just to look away."

  "Hardly. He's in it in a big way. Chinh banks his humble government salary in Saigon. His lovely wife parks her regular tribute monies in a Paris account. But nothing like multiple hundred-thousand-dollar deposits. Guess what, though: Madame Chinh's got a newly rich cousin."

  "Where?"

  "Taiwan."

  "Doing what?" I said.

  "Nothing. She's a spinster. Lives with her nephew's family. A sometime caretaker."

  "Big bucks in child care, huh?"

  Big John blew a smoke ring. "Her bank records should be in my courier pouch on the next Otter flight. Looks like the Chinhs have an awful lot invested in this drug trade you've been sent to fuck up. You may want to bunk with me for a while."

  "I can't bail on the signal unit or my intel duties. Bennett's short-handed as it is."

  "Rider, I got people watching me sleep, making sure I get to wake up. You've got a mosquito net and a screen door."

  "And a deadbolt."

  "Whoopee." Big John twirled his index finger.

  "I sleep in an armed camp."

  "My point exactly," he said. "There are weapons and explosives everywhere, common as heat rash. All you need is a mishap ... a detonator and a couple of volts ... You give 'em an opening ..."

  "I'll be watchful, John. Rest easy."

  "Watch out you don't rest in peace. Mai Linh's a real armed camp and their intel guy lost half his skull just turning on Waylon Jennings. That country shit will kill ya." Ruchevsky grew somber. "We're on our own in this. Bennett can't help much and Gidding won't."

  "Okay. I guess it's up to us to take him down."

  "Yeah, before he cancels our ticket. Congratulations, by the way."

  "For what?" I said.

  "The bounty on you has doubled."

  The Air Force intel from MACV reported a large enemy force moving piecemeal out of the mountains in the direction of Cheo Reo. Miser, Gidding, Parks, and I spent the late afternoon rounding up civilians—the three USAID guys, Little John, the two Korean doctors and their three nurses, and Dr. Roberta. It took a couple of hours to escort them all into the compound. Cots were erected for the men in an empty hootch, while the Korean women settled into two adjoining bungalow rooms. We hadn't gotten a replacement bac-si yet, so Roberta got the medic's cramped quarters and dispensary at the far end. Joe Parks returned late. In spite of their colleagues' fate, the Slavins refused to leave the Montagnards. As did senior missionary Reed at the leper village. The colonel sent Parks right back to tell the Slavins it wasn't a request. He wanted them brought to the compound immediately. Sergeant Parks and two security guards delivered the word and shepherded their pickup back to MACV. Reed was allowed to remain at the leprosarium. Given how wary all Vietnamese were of the disease, the NVA wouldn't go near the place.

  In the waning light, Colonel Bennett read the formal escape-and-evasion plan to the civilians staying in the compound and the half of Team 31 that wasn't manning the perimeter. Afterward the mess hall looked like the first Thanksgiving: food and guns and pilgrims far from home, huddled together for protection. The missionaries led everyone in saying grace over the meal and held an impromptu prayer service right after supper. Our operations officer and a couple of enlisted men joined them. Just outside, you could hear Colonel Bennett reciting the escape plan again for the Team 31 members who had just come off guard duty.

  Beyond the fence the world went silent. I climbed the water tower and stared straight along the main drag through town. Empty. The Vietnamese kitchen workers and hootch maids hadn't shown up for work again and the businesses in the vil had stayed shuttered all day. The Montagnard night sentries strode in right on time as if nothing were happening.

  The town remained buttoned up and so did we. Bennett ordered the perimeter lights doused and the compound blacked out. Ruchevsky's cigar glowed in the twilight, his Schmeisser clamped under his arm like a loaf of bread. At sundown we all took up our defensive positions in the bunkers. The ARVN howitzers across the street started firing, their shells screaming and rattling over us.

  "Huh," Miser said. "I didn't think they'd have the nerve to risk pissing off the NVA."

  Around seven, a hot item came in on the secure teletype. ARVN units had occupied Da Nang to put down a full-blown revolt in I Corps against the regime and us. Premier Ky had deposed the popular Corps commander—one of the few Buddhist generals—and denounced the chief Buddhist monk as a Communist before arresting him. The Buddhists responded by burning down the USIS library in Hue and were hunger-striking and threatening secession. Soldiers in uniform joined the demonstrations. They wanted a civilian government—and our troops out of their country. Buddhists in Saigon were striking in sympathy. I ran it over to Colonel Bennett.

  "Damn," he said. "The five Buddhist provinces want out, the Montagnards want autonomy for their twelve. How in hell is this country going to hold together? You got anything else I should know?"

  "Three hours ago the NVA jumped a company of the First Cav forty-five miles northwest of us. They're fully engaged."

  "See any connection to Cheo Reo?"

  I bit my lip and pondered. "Not really, unless maybe they're trying to keep everyone focused elsewhere, away from here."

  Bennett nodded, preoccupied, and dismissed me.

  Nobody was going to get much sleep. I retired to the blacked-out signal shack. It was impossible to concentrate so Miser and I played cards with Little John, who turned out to be a real shark. After he'd taken us in half a dozen hands of poker, Miser urged me to show him the game I'd learned from a tailor in Saigon, an old Viet Minh company commander who had fought at Dien Bien Phu.

  The tailor would lay out sixteen buttons in a pyramid: one button ... three ... five ... seven. You took turns, removing as many or as few buttons as you wanted, but only from one row at a time. Whoever picked up the last button lost. I laid out the cards in the same formation. Miser urged Little John to try it but he wouldn't take the bait. Miser played instead. As usual, he lost over and over. My pot grew. He hated losing.

  "What damn kinda game is this?" he groused.

  "Don't know. Vietnamese. Maybe French. You go."

  Miser picked up seven cards, wiping out the longest row. "How did you figure it out?"

  "I kept asking the tailor but all he'd say was 'You play.' Later I'd play it by myself, backward, again and again, and cracked it a bit at a time. One day I beat him and he broke out his cognac. I'd figured it out."

  "So what was the secret?"

  "You lose in the middle before you even know it."

  A couple of exchanges and he conceded again.

  "Damn."

  "Me play?" Little John said, tempted by the scrip piled up on my side. I finished off Little John in seven games and rose to go outside for some air.

  "Nuc?" Little John asked, miming drinking.

&n
bsp; "Water, hell," Miser said, "have a beer. May be your last chance in this life."

  Out in the dark, I leaned on a wall of sandbags and gave Miser back the money he'd lost. "Stay away from that hustler," I said.

  We stared in the direction of the river and let our eyes adjust.

  Miser said, "Remember that wild VC in the wire at Dak To that Stolz and everybody shot at and couldn't hit because he was jumping around the minefield like a madman?"

  "Yeah." I laughed. "Finally figured out it was an ape."

  Whump. A mortar round launched into the quiet night.

  Miser yelled, "Mortar, mortar," as we dove back inside for cover. Two more shells thunked in quick succession, arcing toward us through the black sky.

  The first whistled in and exploded by the water tower. The second blammed down between the gate and the back of the mess, peppering walls with hot fragments, spraying gravel and shrapnel onto roofs. A woman screamed. The third mortar round followed the second: the Charlies were trying for the main generator. A propane tank spewed gas and expired. Westy's generators kept churning.

  After the three mortar rounds—silence. Helmet straps and rifle slings jingled as shadows trotted to bunkers. We took up our positions on the perimeter and waited. I had a thousand rounds in magazines stacked at my firing port. I seated the first round and checked the safety.

  "This is gonna look like New Year's Eve," Miser said, ragged teeth white in the darkness. He was smiling, helmet set at a jaunty angle. Damn if he wasn't enjoying himself. Rowdy, at his assigned spot, sounded like he was reciting Hail Marys. Macquorcadale unexpectedly swung his rifle around, smacking Miser in the shoulder.

  "Jesus H. Christ!" Miser snarled. "Look alive, fucktard. I don't appreciate no fucking gun barrel crackin' me upside the head. And close that chin strap. This ain't no halftime. If you get blowed up and your brain bucket comes crashin' down on me, you'd best be in it, fuckwit."

  Someone's rifle slid off the sandbag wall to the ground.

  The sarge fumed. "Whichever peckerhead's weapon that is, he'd best pick it up—now!" Somebody gathered it in. "If it's out of your hands again," Miser growled to him, "I'm gonna use your asshole for a gun rack, you doofus motherfucker. And stay away from them jars before you blow us all to shit. I ain't runnin' your sorry ass through a strainer to send you home to your mama."