One by one they scooted backward through the dust.
“You doin’ a wrong thing,” said Sergeant Davis, who stopped next to the Lieutenant. “This is a good Lieutenant. Every man here tell you the same thing. This is a good Lieutenant. None better.”
“Move on, Sergeant,” said Colonel Testor.
Sergeant Davis didn't move.
“Go on, Sarge. Get them back on the perimeter,” said the Lieutenant. He gave Davis a gentle push away from the track.
“I'll be seeing you later, sir,” he said.
Dirtball was on top of the track, next to the antenna. The Lieutenant looked around. Repatch, who had been standing next to him an instant before, was gone.
The Lieutenant reached inside the track for his cap. He looked up. The photo of Dirtball's girlfriend stared at him from the firewall. His poncho liner was still bunched up on his air mattress. His typewriter grinned at him from the side bench. If you closed your eyes and squinted real hard so that everything became a blur, the inside of the track looked like a boy's bedroom, cluttered with the remnants of a worshipful youth. It was messy and dirty the way boys are.
The way war is.
It was his track, and he knew he was looking at it for the last time. He stuck his cap on his head and flopped the cover over the dusty Olivetti. He looked up through the commander's cupola at Dirtball.
“You can have the Olivetti, Dirtball. Distribute the rest of this shit to whoever needs it.”
Dirtball looked down.
“Will do, sir.”
The Lieutenant crept down the ramp and walked between the two lines of MPs who were waiting outside. They did an about-face, and marched him to the first chopper.
The blades turned faster.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh-whoosh . . . thwap-thwap-thwap-thwap . . .
Two MPs followed the Lieutenant into the chopper and the bird lifted off and tilted forward and rose over the jungle treetops and was gone.
19
* * *
* * *
I think I've lost my objectivity,” said Cathy Joice.
“I do too,” said the Lieutenant. The first day of the court-martial was over, and they were sitting in bed, looking out the balcony doors of Cathy's hotel room. A room-service supper tray lay between them and they were picking at dessert and sipping lukewarm coffee.
“What are you going to do about it?” the Lieutenant asked.
“About what?”
“About your lost objectivity.”
“I'm going to look for it. It's got to be around here somewhere. I put it down just the other day.”
The Lieutenant smiled, but his smile didn't last long.
“You're worried, aren't you?” she said, taking his hand in hers.
The Lieutenant didn't look at her. He just kept staring out the balcony doors.
“What are you feeling, Matt?”
“Nothing. I'm feeling absolutely nothing.”
“I don't believe you.”
“Believe it. I think I've finally reached that Zen state they write about in books, you know, where your mind is absolutely blank and you're not thinking and you're not feeling, you're just there. You just be.”
“You mean to tell me you don't care if they find you guilty?”
“Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. What can I do? I lost my knack for having an effect on my life the day my feet touched ground at Tan Son Nhut.”
“Come on, Matt, you're being ridiculous.”
“You think so?” He turned to look at her. “Ridiculous? All I've done is my job, and they're going to fucking court-martial me for desertion in the face of the enemy and I'm being ridiculous because I've got myself to this point where I don't care what they do anymore, they can just fucking do it to me, they did it to me before, they did it to me at West Point and they did it to me when I got sick of getting guys in my platoon killed for absolutely fucking nothing, and they're doing it to me with this fucking court-martial, and I know there's nothing I can do about it, and you say I'm being ridiculous? Is that what being ridiculous is? Taking a look at your life and realizing it's not yours anymore, it belongs to somebody else, it belongs to the assholes, which is probably where it belonged anyway? That's being ridiculous?”
“Yes.”
“You're probably right.”
“I know I'm right.” She rested her head on his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, you may be right, but I know where your objectivity went.” A smile cracked on his tight lips. Not much of a smile, but a smile nevertheless.
“You do?”
“Right here!”
The Lieutenant laughed and pushed her back on the pillow and shoved the tray to the bottom of the bed and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down on the bed and draped his body over hers.
“I think I found it,” he said.
“Where?”
“Right here.” His hand found the valley between her breasts and rested there.
“It's hiding under this bow. You see this bow?”
She looked down.
“Which one?”
“The big bow in the middle. The one holding these two pieces of lace together.”
“Oh. That bow.”
“It's right under this bow is where it is.”
“What?”
“Your objectivity.”
“Oh. Right. My objectivity.”
“You want me to get it for you?”
“Sure. I've been looking everywhere for it. For days I've been looking for my poor lost objectivity.”
“I'm going to have to untie this big bow right here if I'm going to get to it.”
“That's okay.”
“But if I untie this big bow, then your nightgown is going to come off.”
“That's okay, too.”
“Anything for your objectivity, right?”
“Anything.”
He untied the bow and she giggled and he buried his face between her breasts and he pursed his lips and blew hard and he made a noise like a motorboat a bbbbbbbbrrrrbbbbbbbtttt sound and she threw her head back and screamed:
“Okay! Okay! You found it!”
He looked up.
“Found what?”
“My lost objectivity! You found it, okay!”
“No I didn't. But I found something else.”
She looked at him warily.
“What?”
“A microphone! You've been taping everything I said!”
He buried his face again and bbbbbbbbrrrrbbbbbtttted and her breasts quivered and she giggled and he pulled her over on top of him and yanked the sheet over them and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her . . .
In the morning, Cathy was up, into the shower, and out of the room before the Lieutenant's feet hit the floor. She found the Colonel and the Sergeant Major in the hotel lobby, waiting for Captain Morriss.
“Colonel Blue? Can I have a word with you and the Sergeant Major?” she asked. She was wearing a tan suit and a white blouse and chocolate brown pumps. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and her face was creased with worry lines.
The Colonel stood up to greet her.
“What's on your mind, Cathy?” he asked.
“I'm concerned about your son, sir,” Cathy said.
“So am I,” said the Colonel. “I didn't like the looks on the faces of that court yesterday.”
“I've got an idea, and I wondered what you and the Sergeant Major might think of it.”
“Shoot,” said the Colonel. They sat down in a corner of the lobby.
“I know a man here in Saigon who might be able to help Matt,” she began. “He's an old friend of my father's, and I've used him as a source in some of the reporting I've done here. He has always proved to be scrupulously accurate and reliable.”
“Who is he?” the Colonel asked.
“He's called Ba Tam, and he owns a restaurant on the waterfront. But that's not all he owns. He is a large landowner in the Song Cai Valley.”
“
Where is that?” asked the Colonel.
“It's up in II Corps,” said the Sergeant Major. “I know who she's talking about.”
“You know this man, Sarenmajor?”
“No, sir, but I've heard of him. He's a big man up in II Corps. He ain't such a small fry down here, either.”
“How do you know of him, Sarenmajor?”
“I've ... uh ... done some business with his partner in the restaurant, sir. A man called Cam Tho.”
Cathy Joice interrupted them.
“I think Ba Tam may be able to find out something about what happened to Matt in Laos. He has many relatives in that area. If anyone can help you prove that what Matt says he saw actually took place, it's Ba Tam.”
“Just a minute, Cathy,” said the Colonel. He turned to the Sergeant Major.
“This man Cam Tho, the business you've had with him—is it black-market business?”
The Sergeant Major shifted nervously in his chair.
“Yes, sir.”
“I don't like it.”
“Listen, sir, this ain't something I'm proud of, necessarily, but as long as there have been wars, there's been a black market associated with wars. Liquor, cigarettes, shoes, you name it . . .”
“Weapons.”
“And weapons, yes, sir, but I don't have nothing to do with weapons, sir. You'll have to take my word on it, sir. I've never sold a weapon to anybody. On my honor.”
The Colonel studied the Sergeant Major for a long moment and said, “Go ahead. Tell me about it.”
“I trade some liquor with this gentleman, uh, Cam Tho. That is all, sir. He's a partner of this man Ba Tam in the restaurant here in Saigon, and he is an upstanding member of their community here, sir. Honest to God. It's just that . . . well, I've got a few things he needs, and he's got a few things I need. You know how it is, sir. We did the same thing in the Battalion. What you don't got, you scrounge. Well, he scrounges from me, and I scrounge from him. It works out. That's what a black market is, sir. Kind of an organized system of scrounging.”
“I still don't like it,” the Colonel said. But his voice showed weariness, resignation, not finality. He was giving in, and the Sergeant Major knew it.
“I don't see what difference it makes what either man does for a living,” said Cathy Joice. “If Ba Tam can help Matt, that's all that counts.”
The Sergeant Major nodded.
“Sir, we're up against it with your son. All I'm saying is, if Cathy can get us in to meet this gentleman, we'll find out what he knows.”
“He might know about DC-3s on grass strips in the middle of the night in Laos?” The Colonel looked Cathy Joice in the eye, waiting for her answer.
“I don't know what he knows,” she said. “He may know something. He may not. He may be able to help us, he may not. Either way, you don't have much choice at this point. I don't think the court-martial is going at all well for Matt. Ba Tam may be all that stands between him and conviction. You owe it to Matt to at least listen to him.”
The Colonel walked away from the Sergeant Major and Cathy Joice and stood in the window overlooking the hotel garden. He watched some pigeons feeding under a palm tree for a moment, then he turned and walked back.
“Okay. But this goes against my better judgment,” he said.
“It's not like Ba Tam has a disease and you're going to catch it, sir,” Cathy said. “Ba Tam is an old friend of my father's. There is nothing wrong with turning to someone you don't know when you're in need.”
“Where is he?”
“Down by the ferry, sir,” Cathy said. “His restaurant is on the waterfront.”
“Let's get down there and get it over with.”
“Let me leave a note for Matt at the desk,” said Cathy. She hurriedly scribbled a note and handed it to the desk clerk and returned. The Colonel and the Sergeant Major stood.
Cathy Joice led the way out the door of the Continental. Silently she prayed that her father's old friend could help them.
Restaurant Viet-Français was an old covered pier that stood on pilings sunk deep into the black mud of the Saigon River. Popular with American civilian officials stationed in Saigon, it was a throwback to French colonial days, serving traditional French dishes, upper-crust Vietnamese fare, and the tasty mix of the two cuisines that was peculiar to Saigon eating establishments.
It wasn't yet noon, and the restaurant was closed, but through the windows, Cathy Joice, the Sergeant Major, and the Colonel could see waiters scurrying this way and that, making preparations for lunch. The Sergeant Major banged on the door and one of the waiters came to the door and waved his hands, indicating that the restaurant was closed.
The Sergeant Major tried the door. It was locked. The waiter shook his head and tapped his watch.
“Mr. Ba Tam. We want to see Ba Tam,” Cathy yelled through the closed door.
The waiter nodded and ran toward the back of the restaurant. In a moment he returned and unlocked the door. He led them through the front room, down a hall, through a back room that overlooked the river through sliding glass doors, and through swinging doors into the kitchen. They turned left and passed through another narrow hall, and the waiter knocked on a door.
Someone in the room said something in Vietnamese, and the waiter opened the door. A wisp of a man wearing an expensively cut western-style suit was standing behind a large desk.
“Come in, Miss Cathy,” the man said in near-perfect English, with a smile, revealing two rows of yellow teeth. “It good to see you again. How is your father?”
His hair was white and cropped close to the skull and his fingers were long and so were his fingernails. That was what you noticed about him first, the yellow teeth, the long nails. Then you noticed his face, which was deeply lined and dark, and his eyes, which were steely gray within their thin slits.
“He is very well, Ba Tam. Let me introduce you to my friends. Ba Tam, this is Colonel Blue and this is Sergeant Major Bennett.”
The Colonel reached across the desk to take the man's hand. The little man bowed slightly as he shook hands, and grinned widely.
“Always happy to meet friend of Miss Cathy,” said the little man.
“Colonel Blue isn't just a friend, exactly, Ba Tam,” said Cathy. “He is a man in need of help.”
“Ah yes,” said the little man.
“Please, sit,” he said, indicating armchairs upholstered in red leather. “It is pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Tam,” said the Colonel, realizing they were going through some kind of elaborate Oriental rite.
“Ba Tam, please.”
The Colonel nodded his assent, watching the little man with mounting interest.
“What is nature of visit, Miss Cathy?” asked the little man with another yellow smile.
“The Colonel is a man who means a great deal to me, Ba Tam, as I have told you.” Cathy Joice sat forward in her chair and placed both palms on the desk in what the Colonel took to be a gesture of supplication.
The little man nodded and smiled.
“His son, Lieutenant Blue, means a great deal to me.”
“I can see, Miss Cathy,” said the little man. He wasn't smiling now.
“Colonel Blue has a problem, Ba Tam.”
“And what is problem, please?”
“It concerns his son, Lieutenant Matthew Blue, who is named for his father and for his grandfather. He has been charged with a very severe offense by the military authorities in Vietnam.”
“And what is offense, please?”
“Desertion in the face of the enemy, Ba Tam.”
“Very serious.”
“He is not guilty of this offense, Ba Tam. He is facing this charge because the American authorities seek to cover up something else, something Lieutenant Blue witnessed.” Cathy's voice was steady and low, and her eyes never left the little man's eyes.
“This happened before, I know,” the little man said. His palms were flat on the desk before him,
and not a muscle in his body moved.
“Lieutenant Blue saw a plane being loaded with burlap bales in Laos, Ba Tam. A couple of weeks ago. Near Thac Hiet.”
“Yes?”
“He and his patrol came upon an airplane being loaded with these bundles in the jungle, in the middle of the night. The men doing the loading were Americans, Ba Tam. There was some trouble, and a man was killed. One of Lieutenant Blue's men.”
“Very, very serious,” the little man said gravely.
“Yes, it is,” said Cathy.
“What I can do for you, Miss Cathy?”
“Lieutenant Blue does not know what those men were loading in the plane in Laos. All he knows is what I have told you. Enough value was placed on the shipment that the men loading the plane killed one of Lieutenant Blue's men in a firefight. We need some evidence. We would like you to tell us what you know about American airplanes in Laos, Ba Tam.”
“I know nothing of airplanes in Laos, Miss Cathy. You ask me many questions in past, and I answer you truthfully. I answer you truthfully today.”
“Then we would like you to find out for us what you can. What were they loading? Why would they kill another American?”
“I will do for you with pleasure,” the little man said.
“That's what I hoped you would say, Ba Tam.”
“For Lieutenant Blue, you would do anything, is not so?”
“Yes, it is so.”
“For you, for your family, I will do all I can do,” said the wizened little man. He stood up.
Cathy stood, followed by the Sergeant Major and the Colonel.
“You have very good Sergeant, Colonel Blue,” said the little man. “Cam Tho tells me many good things about your Sergeant.”
“I know I do, Ba Tam,” said the Colonel.
“Man like this does not come every day, Colonel Blue,” said the little man.
“I know,” said the Colonel.
“Also true of Miss Cathy.”
“I know.”
“Because she asks me, I do this thing for you. I ask many questions. I have answers for you by nightfall.”
“Thank you, Ba Tam,” said the Colonel.
The little man proffered his hand and the Colonel shook it.
Army Blue Page 37
