Termite Hill (Vietnam Air War Book 1)

by Tom Wilson

  A doctor in frameless glasses and wearing a green gown bent over the leg, speaking in a strange language to an assistant. He probed the leg with a metal instrument. The language was not Vietnamese and the doctor was not Oriental. Glenn tried to sort that out in his mind.

  He blinked, more awake now, and looked around the room. Things were quite clean, as if back home in a stateside hospital. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw a stern-countenanced female nurse and a uniformed Vietnamese officer, very thin and familiar-looking. A glimpse from the prison cell?

  Sunlight flooded through a nearby window, so he knew he was not in any part of the prison he'd previously noticed. It was eternally gray and sunless there. Where am I? he wondered.

  Not in heaven, he decided. The angels are too ugly.

  Glenn Phillips, he told himself, you've got a silly, marshmallow mind. He giggled, causing the doctor to look up, startled. He said something to the stern nurse. Glenn giggled again, because they didn't realize the world had turned into a marshmallow.

  Noises from beside him. He was unbuckled from the bed, lifted and placed on a gurney, and strapped down once more. Someone wheeled him down an endless hall, stopping outside double doors.

  The doctor appeared again. He held one of Phillips's eyelids open, peering into his soul as the assistant depressed the plunger of a syringe taped to his forearm. Phillips faded into a pleasant dream, where he watched himself driving on a long stretch of straight, wide highway in his Corvette. Periodically the doctor would hover magically, pull back the eyelid, and say something into his cloth mask in his strange language.

  The Bear appeared beside him in the Corvette, fiddling with the instruments and saying "no threats." When Glenn tried to respond, he was gone, replaced by Pudge, his roommate at the academy, wearing a gray uniform, laughing and calling him a turkey. The doctor returned, lifted the eyelid, and grumbled something. Glenn's mother appeared, looking tight-lipped and stern.

  "I'll be good, Mom."

  It was pain that woke him. Niggling pain that made him uncomfortable. Nothing like the searing pain that had stolen his mind. The only illumination in the room was filtered from an open door to a dim hallway. He could see darkness outside a window on the other side of several occupied beds. One of the patients moaned a lot. He dropped back to sleep but was again awakened by the pain, worse but still bearable.

  He lay there for half an hour before he heard footsteps in the hallway.

  The light was turned on and the assistant he'd seen before came in. He took Glenn's pulse and blood pressure, muttering words to someone. The same skinny officer as before peered over his shoulder. Soviet-style collar tabs. A major.

  Phillips sighed, wondering what had happened, thankful he could endure the pain.

  The doctor entered with a squat Vietnamese officer with a sharp bird's nose, speaking again in the guttural language. Russian, maybe.

  Bird-beak crowded up to the bedside and leaned over, peering at his face, wearing a friendly look. He wore the epaulets and collar tabs of a full colonel. He turned away to speak with the doctor, who motioned at Phillips's leg, then displayed and explained a fifteen-inch, shiny metal rod. Looking satisfied, Bird-beak then spoke with the familiar, skinny officer. He clasped the skinny major's arm and nodded, speaking softly and giving approval of some sort.

  Still foggy-brained, Phillips tried to observe Bird-beak closer, and was drawn to the soft eyes. A compassionate man? Glenn thought about that, finally deciding he was more of an actor.

  The doctor spoke and the assistant administered another shot. As he drifted back to sleep, he could feel the soft eyes boring into his mind with questions, and he began to understand why they had tried to repair him and end the mind-searing pain. It was going to present him with a new challenge that he didn't want to think about just yet.

  Major Wu

  Wu was happier than he had been in more than two difficult weeks. As he watched Xuan Nha leave the hospital room, he had visions of things returning to normal.

  The colonel had made him a major. It had been rumored that there was room for a lieutenant colonel on the staff now that Xuan had been promoted. He decided to ask his aunt about it. He felt uneasy over the growing file on the dangerous colonel's activities. The patience his aunt had suggested was difficult to maintain.

  He turned to observe the sleeping American pilot, the source of much of his recent unhappiness, and his eyes narrowed with loathing.

  The Russian doctor looked up from the bedside. "Your colonel is happier now?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  The doctor nodded at the sleeping pilot. "The leg will never be strong due to the muscle loss, and he will limp badly because the leg is now two inches shorter than the other one. There was no way to make them the same length."

  "But he will live?"

  "Oh, yes. In pain for a long time, but he will live. I will recommend a rehabilitation program involving extensive physical therapy and when he can walk, special shoes."

  Major Wu shook his head impatiently. "Never mind that. When will we be able to question him?" Xuan Nha wished to personally conduct the interrogation.

  The doctor rubbed a speck from his eyeglasses, thinking. When he spoke he did so with a trace of distaste. "He should rest for a day, recuperate for another day or two, and then slowly be withdrawn from the drugs. A week?"

  Wu's eyes flickered to the sleeping body. "We do not have that long."

  The doctor was upset. "It's not just the broken leg and the bone's acceptance of the rod, but also the repairing of the muscle. Until his body has generated sufficient scar tissue, he will remain in constant pain and must be sedated."

  "What is the minimum time we must wait? Tomorrow?"

  "You would be talking to a beet, a radish. Be patient and he will be ready."

  Wu could not be patient because Xuan Nha would not be. He sensed that the Russian doctor was being protective of his patient. He thought of Colonel Nha's schedule, and then his own. During the next three days Xuan would be working on a logistics report for a general staff meeting. Wu had important matters to attend to at Bac Can.

  "The colonel will speak to him on Tuesday morning. That will give you more than three days to prepare the prisoner for interrogation. Forget about therapy. Just make sure he is awake and that he can answer questions."

  The Russian doctor wore a troubled expression. "And after the interrogation?"

  "He will be returned to Hoa Lo prison." Wu smiled. "They will take care of his rehabilitation."

  Wu left the university hospital, pleased with the way things were going. He thought about the possibility of being promoted. His aunt had arranged the prisoner's operation with a single telephone call. Even a general would have had difficulty doing what she had done so easily. Her manipulative fingers seemed to extend into every source of power in Hanoi. Surely she would have no trouble arranging the promotion for her loyal and loving nephew.

  But first he had the things to do at Bac Can.

  19/2100L—Hanoi, DRV

  Xuan Nha

  Xuan sat in his leather-strap chair, his reading glasses perched forward on his nose, frowning as he pored over the report he'd briefed to the general staff. With only minor exceptions his suggestions had been approved.

  Li Binh sat nearby, also reviewing paperwork, hers from the Ministry of External Affairs. Xuan looked up to find her gaze fixed upon him.

  "How was your briefing received by the generals?" she asked.

  He shrugged. "We prepare for days to make a presentation to get approval we know they will give. A waste of time."

  Her eyes were cool tonight. "How is my nephew doing?"

  "I have not seen him for the past two days," he said.

  "He has been working on a project for the party," she answered.

  He paused, but it appeared no more would be disclosed about Wu's activities. Li Binh held Lao Dong party business closely to herself and Xuan knew not to delve. They both were allowed their own secrets.


  "And the Russian? The chief adviser?"

  "Gregarian?"

  "Yes, how is it going with him?"

  "Since he was given the Englishwoman yesterday, he's seemed much happier. I believe he is in heat for her smelly body."

  "And what happened to the young schoolteacher?"

  "I questioned her at some length. She did not have much, but she told me about some discussions Gregarian had with some of the other advisers who visited him."

  "Is she still presentable?" asked Li Binh.

  He snorted. "The Russian fornicated with her twice in as many weeks. Other than being crushed by his weight and cursed at for daring to fidget about while he toiled, she is fine."

  She indicated the reports she'd been reading. "The Russians have been helpful to me."

  "Oh?"

  "The Communist party in America is more closely aligned with the Russians than the Chinese whom we worked with before. The Russians have placed me into direct contact with a woman in America, the daughter of the leader of the party, and I no longer must send my information through the Chinese. Things go more smoothly and quickly now. She travels to the campuses, arranges for the activists to lead demonstrations at just the right times for us to gain political impact, and has arranged contacts within the black power movement and other revolutionary groups."

  He was mildly interested. The same raised, clenched-fist salute symbolizing Vietnamese unity under communism was now used by American blacks as a symbol for power to the people. Was it coincidence?

  "We are also gaining influence among the Jesuit Catholics in America. If we are successful they will be in the forefront of the fight against the recruitment of American soldiers." She looked directly at Xuan. "Some were reluctant to help at first because of reports that our Lao Dong party was anti-Christian. We are trying to convince them of our tolerance."

  Li Binh was seldom subtle. Was she trying to make a point?

  "The Catholics?" He grimaced, remembering how hypocritically devout his father and stepmother had been. "The Enlightened One has said we must never allow the subversion of the people's loyalty by the Toy religions."

  In 1955 and 1956, Vietnamese church leaders had been executed alongside wealthy landowners and merchants, and hundreds more had fled south to the haven offered by Catholic president Diem's regime. Ho had called them dangerous and issued orders to treat them no differently from others who opposed them. The Catholic Church had been forced underground with the other Tay religions. Former priests and nuns remained, but under close scrutiny by the party, and they were prohibited from pursuing converts.

  "I have received no new orders regarding the Catholics," said Xuan.

  "A directive was issued that all matters concerning the church were to be handled with discretion. It was distributed by Lao Dong representatives to all military units. My nephew told me he passed the word to all your battalions."

  Xuan could not remember. The mandatory briefings were usually exhortations to excel and defeat the evil Americans and the slothful southerners. Xuan considered them useful for his men but a waste of his own time.

  Li Binh continued. "The new directive demands that actions against Catholics must be approved by the party."

  Xuan Nha became cautious as he remembered Bac Can, the mayor's wife. He had not mentioned the episode to Li Binh.

  "If you ever have cause to discipline Catholics, I suggest you be discreet."

  Xuan carefully removed the eyeglasses and lit a cigarette. He stared at her over the ember and spoke quietly. "Where are you leading with this conversation, Li Binh?"

  "Learn to exercise caution, my husband. The lines of combat are not always drawn as clearly as you might believe."

  He exhaled smoke through his nose, thinking. "What have you heard?"

  "A committee report from an economic development group visiting Bac Can mentioned certain actions you took there two weeks ago."

  "Was the report critical of me?"

  She looked thoughtful. "More cautious than that. They were upset that your men took over their living quarters, and one statement mentioned mistreatment of women. There is also an investigation report which I have asked to be destroyed."

  Xuan shrugged. "When we find treacherous civilians, it is within my authority to take action as necessary."

  "Oh, there was no criticism of the actions against the assistant or his wife. It was the degradation of the mayor's wife and her aunt because of their Catholic religion. If they had been accused of being spies or traitors, it might have been different."

  Xuan felt a flush of embarrassment. He wondered fleetingly if she knew of other times and other women he had disciplined.

  "A letter was prepared by the wife's aunt and sent by messenger to a Catholic priest at Lang Son, where the mayor's wife and her aunt were from, saying she and the Christian wife had been raped and the wife disfigured because of their religion."

  "Ridiculous." He felt anger that the old aunt had acted so brazenly in the face of his authority.

  "Perhaps, but if such a letter found its way to the wrong hands, it could harm our efforts. I can assure you, husband, if that were to happen, the party would destroy your career. Perhaps worse. Neither of us could keep them from taking action. Your military achievements would be meaningless. Even General Luc would demand your head."

  Xuan was shaken. "Politics are often forgotten in the field," he said lamely. He looked at her, feeling shame at having to ask. "What course should I take, Li Binh?"

  She flashed her look of triumph. Li Binh enjoyed parading her power. "I passed information regarding the letter to my nephew, and he has discreetly handled the matter."

  Xuan raised an eyebrow. "Wu?" He was instantly suspicious.

  "Now there is no letter, and no messenger. The mayor's wife and her aunt have disappeared while on their way home to Lang Son.

  "Then it is over?" He felt relief.

  "Their bodies will be discovered in the rubble of the Ha Ghia fuel-storage depot where the Americans bombed. I will advise the French news services that the Americans bombed pregnant women and church workers, and even show them pictures and give them names."

  Relief flooded through him.

  "You should think of a way to show your pleasure at my nephew's discretion. While he asks for nothing, certainly such devotion should be rewarded."

  Xuan rubbed his jaw, confused at the turn of events yet pleased that things had turned out so well. He wondered how they could possibly have found out about the aunt's letter, yet knew that the party had its ways. He was lucky to have Li Binh at his side, and, begrudgingly, he felt indebted to Wu.

  "I'll think of something for him," he muttered.

  "I'm sure you will," she said in her confident tone.

  The next morning at seven o'clock, Xuan Nha arrived at the Bach Mai Hospital room. Major Wu and a sour-expressioned sergeant were already there, sitting quietly and staring at the American pilot. Other patients in the room, all intelligence officers planted by Wu, had been removed.

  Xuan first glanced at the men, then turned his attention to the pilot. "I will talk to the prisoner," he said.

  Wu stood. "Alone, comrade Colonel?"

  "Yes. For a while, at least."

  "The sergeant is from Hoa Lo prison and he speaks English."

  Xuan gave him a fleeting smile. "I need no interpreter. I studied English in Paris. I was not happy with my progress until I was able to talk an American student into coming to my apartment. For weeks I spoke her language, but then I learned that Americans speak very poor English and that my grade had suffered." He laughed at the memory. "The Tay sow was insatiable and my reward was poor, but I learned to speak English like an American."

  Although Xuan had told the story many times before, Wu laughed.

  "I've handled several interrogations of American pilots," said Xuan, "but I have particularly looked forward to this one. Have you talked with him?"

  "We waited for your guidance."

  Xuan
nodded. "Good. The information I asked for?"

  The sergeant hurried over and gave him a folder, trying to grin ingratiatingly but only succeeding in looking more dour. "I hope you find it complete, comrade Colonel," he mumbled. "We gained the information from the other prisoners after much work. Some were reluctant to—"

  Xuan held up a hand to silence him. "Return in an hour."

  They left. Xuan walked to the bedside, noting that the pilot's eyes appeared alert.

  Xuan glanced at the closed door, then carefully pulled on his eyeglasses. The reading glasses represented physical weakness, and he was careful not to use them around his men.

  For another moment he read from the sheet, then spoke in English, slowly, because he wished to be clearly understood. "Your name is Glenn Parnell Phillips. Your rank is major. Your serial number is FR67115. I already know those things, so please don't insult me by repeating them."

  There was no response, only a narrowing of the eyes.

  Xuan cocked his head, looked at the man, then leafed through and read from another sheet. "You are from a place called Florida, and your parents still live there. You are thirty-one years old. You are not married. You were stationed in Germany, at . . . I cannot pronounce it. While you were there you sat in an airplane loaded with an atomic bomb, and your target was in the Democratic Republic of Germany. Would you have dropped the bomb if your superiors told you to, Glenn Parnell Phillips?"

  There was no answer. Xuan had anticipated none at this stage.

  "You were stationed in America at a base called Nellis. There you flew on an acrobatic team. Next you attended a school for pilots. What did they teach you?" Xuan looked up from the sheet of paper and waited for a reply.

  The pilot's jaw quivered, as if he found speech difficult. "My name is Phillips, Glenn Parnell. My rank is major. My serial number is FR67115."

  "That was not my question, Major."

  Phillips was surprisingly brusque. "That's my answer, Colonel."

  "Ahh, so you can speak. I'm surprised you can tell my rank. Most Americans cannot."

  The pilot was quiet.