They weren’t regular Army issue but the aviator glasses David had seen the pilots wearing when he’d landed at the air base at Tan Son Nhut. Tom never took them off. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing. They could be in the sunlight or the shade, in the middle of the plateau or at a village, resting or in the jeep. David was sure the glasses with their stylish frames were no more than an adolescent affectation, but after a while they became as annoying as Tom’s indifference. David was convinced that anyone, even someone from Georgia, had to know how irritating it was to try to talk to someone constantly wearing dark lenses. If Tom noticed David’s growing irritation, he gave no sign of it.
One day they returned to the 40th so late that the sun, almost at the horizon, crisscrossed the flats with miles of long, thin shadows. The glare of the afternoon was gone and David had taken off his own glasses. He mentioned pointedly that since it was getting darker, Tom might be able to see better if he took off his own glasses.
“Yeah,” Tom admitted and then to David’s surprise went on as if the comment deserved an explanation. “You might see things in the shade better if you take off your glasses, but then it’s hard to pick things out in places still in sunlight or at the edge of the shadows. Once you get acclimated to flight glasses, you can pick up differences in the sun as well as shady areas. You never look directly at an object anyway. You try to look near it—helps pick up subtle changes. If you take your glasses on and off, it’s like walking in and out of a tunnel. Takes minutes to acclimate to different lighting; and over here you don’t have the time.” David wasn’t quite sure whether he was being answered or lectured.
Still, David was convinced that Griffen would eventually come around. Clearly he wasn’t dumb, and it was obvious that the people at the 40th liked the corporal and, more important, listened to him. The other troopers deferred to him, and on more than one occasion, when Griffen came back from a patrol, David noticed that Thorpe sought him out rather than the sergeant or lieutenant in charge. David expected his own goodwill to wear the corporal down, but by the middle of the second week, like the heat, nothing had changed. Tom retained his distance, so that David began to wonder if Tom understood the advantage of having a captain, much less a doctor, as a friend.
Reluctantly, though, he found himself appreciating Tom’s efficiency if not his attitude. The jeep was always ready on time, the medications loaded and the trips worked out in advance so that they never had to double back to get to the second or third village. The numbers and types of pills were exactly what they’d need. One day, after they’d been out for over eight hours, spending a good hour of that sweating and grunting together in the middle of a dried creek bed trying to change a tire whose lug nuts had expanded so much in the heat that they were barely able to get them off, David realized that Tom hadn’t once complained; that, indeed, he’d never heard him complain about anything.
David had finally been able to get Tom to stop using sir all the time, at least while they were off the base. At the 40th he maintained the formality. “They don’t like officers and enlisted personnel to get too friendly,” Tom said, and David sensed that Tom believed in the separation.
One day on their way back to the 40th, David deliberately mentioned Captain Morril. He thought he detected a flicker of interest behind Tom’s sunglasses.
“Yeah, he was okay,” Tom answered and then unexpectedly added, “He was different than other docs.”
“Oh? How?” David asked.
Tom turned to look at him. “He liked this shit.”
“Anything more specific?” David asked, seeing an opening and determined this time to keep the conversation going.
“He believed in us being here—‘better here than the coasts of California’ stuff.”
“And you don’t agree.”
Tom shrugged. “It’s working.”
“Working?”
“We’re killin’ a lot of people.”
“So you don’t agree.”
“You need a reason for the killin’; I mean sooner or later you need one.”
“And California?”
Tom turned and, looking at him, brushed his short, blond hair away from his forehead. “The gooks ain’t got any boats.”
David laughed. “You know, you do have a point there,” he said.
David smiled the rest of the day when he thought of Tom’s comment. He mentioned it to Plunkett, who agreed that it had a certain commonsense quality to it. “We got an uneducated army over here, but that doesn’t mean they’re stupid. Big difference between being dumb and not having gone to college.”
It was not only his perception of Tom’s abilities that was changing. Over the weeks Tom began to look different to David. Initially, he had considered Tom just a gangly, big-boned kid, but he noticed when Tom was concerned or interested in something, like at the villages when he thought something was wrong, he stood straight as an arrow. He was heavier, too, than he’d seemed at first. He had, David realized as he watched him, more the movements and physique of a gymnast than a basketball player. But it was his eyes that began to hold David’s attention. There were those rare times when Tom had his glasses perched on his forehead that David noticed they never stopped moving. David began to realize that there was very little Tom missed, and what David had thought to be a kind of Southern looseness in Tom turned out to be economy of movement. In a clean-cut, straightforward way Tom was handsome, or would be, David decided, when he was older and his features sharpened.
As for the rest of the personnel at the 40th, David found he got along with everyone, even Tyler. In fact, except for the coolness between Thorpe and Tyler, they all got along. Tyler’s antagonism toward the major was an embarrassment to everyone, including David, since Thorpe could have shut Tyler up with one hand tied behind his back. Tyler’s only saving grace was that he alone among the physicians did any real work.
He spent most of the day in the back of the dispensary mixing up one concoction after another to treat the endless varieties of skin rashes that flourished in the heat of Vietnam. David, familiar with the sterility of university dermatology clinics, viewed the greenish-brown liquids with misgiving, but soon noticed that despite the murky colors and obnoxious odors, the lotions and salves did work. While Tyler refused to reveal what was in his mixtures, he took an alchemist’s pride in their success.
At first, Tyler had put off David’s questions about what he was doing by explaining that it was nothing but trial-and-error stuff, but when he saw David’s appreciation of the results, he began to talk, tentatively at first, but with conviction, about the antimicrobial qualities of bismuth and arsenic and the absorptive powers of lotions versus creams.
Tyler was also the only officer who took any interest in the med caps. He never made a big deal about it, but David noticed that he’d stop talking or slow down whatever he was doing to listen whenever David mentioned something about Tom or what had happened while they were at one of the villages. It was Tyler who dismissed David’s concerns about Tom’s behavior with the cryptic “Don’t worry. Combat types act that way. If they’re quiet, it means they like you.”
Chapter 4
WHAT AMAZED DAVID WAS HOW quickly boredom set in. Except for rashes and the occasional cut or bruise, there was nothing much to do at the 40th, but Thorpe made an effort to keep up the morale of the troops, and with some success. He was a big-boned man who demanded discipline, but by his own example. The heat of Nam had worked on him as it had everyone else, so that the skin of his face sagged a bit, making him look older than his thirty-two years. He was always neat and clean shaven, and wore a crew cut that he made a point of keeping perfectly trimmed.
Apparently during his first tour he had been in charge of a battery of four 105-millimeter howitzers. The fire base was hit at dawn, the perimeter overrun in minutes. Thorpe reached his guns before anyone else, cranked down the barrel to zero elevation, quickly loaded the howitzer with shotgun shells and blew away half the attacking for
ce and most of the buildings with the first few rounds. Lieutenant Brown told David that he’d refused a medal because of the three Americans he’d killed in saving the base.
Thorpe fought the boredom. He sent out patrols on a routine basis to keep the personnel fit and, David assumed, alert, and had regular maintenance projects, but he didn’t make busywork. If he saw the men sitting around, he let them sit. David found that despite Thorpe’s refusal to admit that anything the Army did might be wrong or, at best, ill conceived, he liked him, though he agreed with Plunkett that you wouldn’t be inclined to invite him to a formal dinner party.
Plunkett liked not having anything to do. He had his parents send all his medical journals to the 40th and spent two to three hours every afternoon reading them cover to cover, tearing out and filing the articles so that he wouldn’t fall behind the physicians in his class who didn’t get drafted.
Cramer spent enormous amounts of time at his desk in the dispensary going over rosters and signing requisitions. Every afternoon he walked over to headquarters to talk to Thorpe. What they discussed was a mystery, but Cramer always came back to the hospital with the air of a man who knew his job and did it well.
Brown, with two jobs, seemed to handle the boredom well, though he spent only as much time at the hospital as necessary. David had the sense that he was a bit uncomfortable around doctors, preferring the familiar if more rigid discipline of headquarters.
As for himself, David found that he had begun to look forward to the med caps. Going out to the villages quickly became something to do.
At dinner three weeks to the day after he’d arrived, David said in answer to one of Thorpe’s questions that he didn’t mind going out into the boonies. There was an embarrassed silence.
“Business is kind of slow around here,” David added lightly. No one spoke.
“Well, it wasn’t always like this,” Plunkett offered, breaking the silence.
“What the good doctor means,” Tyler said, “is that there were plans to evacuate this place.”
“Herb,” Cramer warned.
“There were some actions ten kilometers northwest of here,” Thorpe interrupted. It was the first time he or anyone had mentioned actual fighting. “In the hills up near the Kaloo River. The 40th got rocketed a few times, that’s all; no real damage.”
Tyler reached for the sugar. “And the NVA prisoners?”
“There were always NVA around here,” Thorpe said, “and you know it.”
“But only as cadre.”
“Hell,” Thorpe continued, speaking directly to David, “the North Vietnamese have been helping the VC around here ever since the French left.”
“These prisoners weren’t cadre,” Tyler said. “They were from regular North Vietnamese units.”
“During the rocketing,” Tyler went on, ignoring Thorpe, speaking the word rocketing with sarcasm, “they med-evaced NVA in here from units that were supposed to be down in the Delta.”
“That was never confirmed,” Thorpe said.
“Hold it,” Cramer interrupted. “You’ll have to excuse Herb,” Cramer said, directing his comment to David but speaking to Tyler. “He’s never recovered from being transferred away from the glamorous dermatology clinics of Saigon to this humble outpost.”
Thorpe began to say something, but Cramer stopped him with one of his rare, cold stares. He could, David had noticed, be quite determined when it came to keeping things moving smoothly.
“The 40th was originally set up about a year ago, as a support base for the Hundred and First Airborne.” Cramer stopped before he went on, making sure everyone knew who was now in charge of explanations. “There was a lot of fighting around here then, both VC and NVA”—he looked at Thorpe as if to show his impartiality—“but they cleared out after a couple of weeks. A little later the 40th was upgraded to handle operations into the central highlands and MACV expanded the medical facility into a surgical hospital to support the increased activity.”
“The place was hopping,” Brown said. Cramer, miffed, glared at him, but Brown continued. “Hell, when I got here there were half a dozen med evac flights a day; ten, twenty wounded coming off each one and all around the clock.”
“But that was over three months ago, right, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Tyler said, speaking to no one in particular.
Cramer ignored him. “The fighting moved off up further north into the mountains, and I Corps and the combat units that had been using the 40th moved out with it; the ARVN moved in and things have been quiet ever since.”
“In other words,” Thorpe added, still speaking to David, “we beat ’em. Some damn hard battles, too—the 32nd, 33rd, and 66th NVA regiments; but we whipped ’em and sent ’em out of those hills with their tails between their legs. We’ve beat ’em every time we meet ’em.”
“Every time you find them would be a more accurate statement.”
“Find ’em, beat ’em, the point is we won.”
Tyler glanced up from his food. “And what did we get for it?” This time he spoke without sarcasm.
“We have some other things to discuss,” Cramer said. But it didn’t work. Tyler had gone too far.
“We got the goddamn commies out of here when they wanted to stay.”
“You mean, don’t you,” Tyler answered, “that we sent ’em someplace else.” Thorpe flushed angrily.
David wished he hadn’t brought up the med caps.
“We won,” Thorpe said coldly, “and killed a hell of a lot of them at the same time, and the ones we kill don’t go anywhere else.”
“Ah,” Tyler said, his jowled face brightening, though strangely, David noticed, without any glint of satisfaction. “There we have it, don’t we?” Thorpe looked suddenly wary.
“Herb,” Cramer said, “what are you getting at?”
“The major knows.”
“What I know,” Thorpe said angrily, “is that some officers aren’t helping.”
Tyler put down his fork. “Helping with what?” he asked with a strange, uncharacteristic gentleness. “There are half a million troops over here right now. Need some more fighter bombers or helicopters? How about B-52s? The communists don’t even have an air force. Tell me where you want more help and I’ll help.”
Furious, Thorpe stood up. “If this war’s lost,” he fumed, “it’ll be because of fools like you.” Thorpe almost knocked down two enlisted men as he stormed out of the mess hall.
“A decent man,” Tyler said and went back to his meal.
Chapter 5
THE NEXT MORNING DAVID told tom about the argument. He mentioned it just to make conversation and thought Tom would shrug it off, but he didn’t. They were on one of the paved roads so Tom was relaxed, sitting back in his seat. Apparently the VC didn’t mine paved roads.
“Captain Tyler’s right.”
“Tyler?” David said, surprised. He had thought Griffen would have sided with Thorpe.
“All we do is chase ’em somewhere else. When I first got here, there was an effort, at least at division level, to hold ground, but it never worked. There was nothin’ to hold. After we took somethin’, we’d sit there while the gooks went somewhere else. We’d leave and they’d come back. We’d end up coming back and fighting for the same piece of ground two, three times in a row. Then we went to search-and-destroy operations, swingin’ big areas, not holdin’ any land, just seein’ what we could catch. They were pretty effective, but we stopped ’em. Captain Morril said they got stopped because people at home didn’t like to see TV pictures of their hometown boys burnin’ down huts of little old Vietnamese women. So now I guess the idea is to go after hard-core units. Try to find ’em and then kill as many of ’em as we can.”
“You don’t approve.”
“Approve.” Tom shrugged. “No one asks a rifleman to approve or disapprove things.”
“But if you could?”
Tom’s expression hardened.
“Well?” David asked.
“We
can’t kill ’em all. Besides,” he went on as if he might have gone too far, “the real fightin’ drifts all the time. Makes it tough to keep anythin’ goin’, to get momentum and keep it up. Things build up quick and go down quick. You can find ’em, but most of the time it slips away from you.”
“Like the fighting that went on around here.”
“Around here?”
“I’ve been asking a few questions,” David said.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“But …” David prompted.
Tom looked past him, out across the flats. “When the gooks want something bad enough, they try to get it. If we’re there, they’ll wait it out if they can—maybe we’ll go; but if they need it, they’ll come and try to get it.”
“You think they’ll come back?”
“After the rains there’s gonna be a lot of rice out here. Hell,” Tom admitted, “the only thing I’m sure of is that one rainy season after we’re gone, the 40th is gonna be nothing but another soggy paddy field.”
They didn’t arrive at the first village until well after nine o’clock. Tom hadn’t been pleased with the longer distances they’d been traveling lately to reach the villages in the hills north of the 40th. They had two other villages to visit that day; the furthest one would be another hour and a half away, and then three hours to get back. He wasn’t happy with getting back so late, either. He didn’t like being out on the flats much after five o’clock. “Hard to see things at dusk,” Tom had said the first time they got back late.
At the village, Tom stayed in the jeep, using the map to figure out the quickest way to get to the other villages. David started to unload the cartons. It was hot, but he was finally getting used to it, or acclimated, as Cramer had said.
“How do you say please?”
Another War, Another Peace Page 3
