by Tom Wilson
He held her tightly and nudged the door closed with his foot.
"Now," she said.
"Are you sure?"
"Oh God yes!"
"I can't make any promises."
"I know."
It was better than she had ever imagined it could be. He was gentle; she was the wild one. She could only respond to his lead for she was inexperienced, but she did so energetically and it was wonderful. When they were done and lay entwined together, she felt so utterly fulfilled and content that she cried.
He grew concerned.
She said she was happier than she had ever been in her life.
He told her she was special to him.
She said she loved him.
He only smiled, but with such tenderness and warmth that she knew.
She asked if he wanted her to move her things into his room, and he thought about it for a while.
"No," he finally said. "It wouldn't look right."
"They'll know," she said. "I won't be able to hide what I feel for you, Mal. I don't care what anyone thinks. I just want to be near you."
"It's not what they think, it's what they know. What they might say about you."
She snuggled against him, savoring his smell. He put his arms about her and she felt protected and content.
30/1730L—People's Army HQ, Hanoi, DRV
Xuan Nha
Xuan called in the Tay, Nicolaj Gregarian, and told him of his decision to appoint Major Nguy as commandant of the Wisdom complex.
Gregarian was exuberant. "An excellent choice," he said in Russian. Despite his general success in getting him to learn Vietnamese, Xuan Nha had been unable to dissuade the Russian from speaking his own language when they were alone.
Gregarian regarded him with a sudden frown. "But the mayor is also a very good executive officer, is he not? How will you replace him on your staff?"
"I've not yet decided." He looked at the Russian. "Perhaps Lieutenant Colonel Wu?"
Gregarian was silent too long, so Xuan Nha went on to other things. "The Americans will observe a two-day bombing halt beginning tomorrow. Five convoys are positioned to move the equipment to Bac Can: two from here and three from Haiphong. The trucks will depart tomorrow at nightfall and travel all night, then again the next night."
"Will that be long enough? We have included sensitive monitoring equipment in the shipments, which must be transported very carefully. And the movement must be covert."
Xuan was patient. "Two nights will be enough. We are good at such things. Tonight and tomorrow the roadways will be improved. As each convoy sets out, three hundred men will go before them to ensure the way is clear of obstacles and that holes have been filled. All equipment and men will be in place at Wisdom site before the sun rises on January second."
"Good." Yet the Russian still appeared worried.
"We must assume the Americans will resume their bombing on the second. I have asked my wife to try to get more time, even long enough for us to complete the installations and testing at Wisdom, but Li Binh says we should not plan for longer than that."
Gregarian nodded.
"We also know the Americans are up to something and that it may happen when they resume bombing."
"They will try something new?"
"Our sources say they have sent delegates from all their air bases in Thailand and from the Phantom bases in the south to a meeting in Saigon. The headquarters people who direct the bombing campaign will all be there. Something important is being planned. Perhaps something is changing in the way they make their air attacks."
"What could it be?" asked the Russian. He was a worrier, thought Xuan Nha.
"We don't know, but I do not have to tell you that our rocket battalions are more vulnerable while our best commanders are busy setting up the Wisdom complex."
Gregarian's large brow was still furrowed as he pondered what the Americans could be up to. "Could it be a massive attack on the rocket defenses?" he wondered aloud.
"My wife's office will encourage the Americans through all means available—the Swiss Red Cross, the Russians and Chinese, our embassy in Paris, the United Nations, and more—to extend the bombing halt."
"All equipment must be in place at Wisdom before the bombing is resumed."
Xuan felt exasperated. "I tell you it will be." The Russian had a fixation on a single problem when there were so many.
Xuan continued. "I do not worry about Wisdom's effectiveness. Our plan is good. I am concerned about other things. Most of all, that our defenses remain effective for the next few weeks while we are setting up the equipment."
"It will be worthwhile. When the integration is complete, your defenses will work together like the pieces of a clock. You will have a true fence of steel."
"I hope," said Xuan Nha, "we can convince our superiors it is worthwhile if something goes wrong. Every good plan costs something. The cost of this one is this period of increased vulnerability."
When Gregarian left, Xuan Nha received a disturbing report that confirmed his fears. Thunder planes had attacked a barracks complex fifteen kilometers west of Hanoi. Boosters from rockets launched at the Americans by Tiger two site had somehow fallen precisely on the military post the Americans were bombing. The large armory at Viet Tri was destroyed, some 200 militia had been killed, and more than 1,000 more were without quarters. It was unclear which had caused the greater damage, the bombs or the battery's own rocket boosters. Worse, the Thunder planes had escaped without a single loss.
It would never have happened if Maj. Tran Van Ngo had not been away from Tiger.
General Luc's office called, asking for a complete report on the rocket booster incident. Xuan assigned the task to Lieutenant Colonel Wu: the man had proven himself to be very good with excuses.
Xuan wondered if more mistakes might be in store. He called his friend, Col Thao Phong. After they had exchanged their customary insults, he asked the disposition of the interceptors.
"We will be ready by Monday when the bombing halt ends. Much more ready than we've ever been, Xuan Nha."
During the past three weeks, while the interceptor forces had been refurbished and undergone improvements, the rocket sites had been used as the vanguard of defenses. Large numbers of VPAAF MiG fighters had been shuttled across the border to Ch'in Hsien airfield in China, to join the seventy new ones from Russia. All were to be examined from nose to tail and fine-tuned by Soviet maintenance technicians. At the same time, Thao Phong had coordinated a series of briefings for his aviators at Ch'in Hsien, conducted by Russian, Chinese, and North Korean fighter pilots.
The MiG's were to be ferried back during the next two days, when the skies would be clear of American air pirates, and more than 100 MiG interceptors would be dispersed in camouflaged revetments at the various bases. Twenty eager North Korean pilots would fly with VPAAF pilots and provide further instruction and support.
"How soon before your people will actually be ready to fight?" Xuan asked.
"As I said, my pilots will be ready to fight on Monday when the Americans return. A longer delay would be bad for their morale."
"Good," said Xuan. "Could your MiG's carry the entire load on Monday? I would like to give the majority of the rocket forces a few additional days to repair their systems and move to new locations. Many of the systems are in need of maintenance. Also, I have too many of my best commanders preoccupied with Wisdom to feel good about things."
"Are you getting soft on your men?" joked Thao Phong.
"I am also concerned about the Americans. Our intelligence sources tell us that certain agreements were reached at their Saigon meeting, but we cannot find out what they were. I believe they may be preparing for a large-scale attack on my rocket forces, and I want to be prepared."
Thao Phong disagreed. "I received the briefings about the meetings, too. I believe that somehow they have learned about our VPAAF efforts, our new interceptors, our training, perhaps even our plan to improve command-and-control with W
isdom."
"Then you are also concerned?"
"I am happy they know. They realize our interceptors will beat them now. If they have heard what we are preparing for them, they will fly very cautiously."
"Then you agree to send your interceptors up in force Monday?"
"Of course! Our pilots are more ready than ever and our airplanes are finely tuned. General Tho will be pleased. He asked for just this sort of thing, as quickly as possible."
Xuan Nha allowed some of Thao Phong's exuberance to wash over him. "We will meet tomorrow and finalize our agreement, as I've already advised General Luc. I will support you with the permanent Hanoi rocket sites and all of our antiaircraft artillery, but otherwise you will have the entire sky to your interceptors."
"I would love to see the Americans' faces when they see us coming. We will sweep them from the sky."
30/1900L—Bangkok, Thailand
Liz Richardson
The loud rapping sound merged with Liz's dream. She awoke slowly, fighting it, groggy from deep slumber. She stretched languorously, trying to ignore it, then started as she realized someone was at the door. It was Julie, who'd forgotten her key when she'd gone out.
"Guess I dropped off," said Liz, yawning wide. "I was sleeping like the dead. What time is it?"
"It's already seven o'clock. I've been beating on the door forever. We've only got half an hour to get ready."
But Julie did not look troubled about it at all. In fact, she was smiling serenely as she went to the vanity. Liz blinked away more sleep, then stood back to look at Julie.
"Hurry," said Julie.
"I'll make it." Liz considered herself a quick-change artist, but just now she was interested in Julie. There was a different air about her friend, something she'd not noted before.
"Okay, what is it?" she finally asked. "You've been gone for two hours and now you come back looking like you've won a lottery."
Julie shrugged and continued her mysterious smile. "The magic of Bangkok?"
"Baloney. Where've you been?"
"Oh, just exploring." Julie looked about the vanity, found her brush, and began to carefully stroke through her hair, which was damp as if she'd just washed it.
Aha! thought Liz.
"Come on, we've got to hurry," urged Julie.
Liz was still intrigued, but her friend had slipped into a quiet mood, her mind elsewhere as she looked in the mirror and brushed, the smile lingering.
"Okay, be that way."
They were twenty minutes late meeting the men. The Bear joked about their tardiness as Benny pulled out their chairs.
Both men wore summer sport jackets and open-neck shirts, but any similarity ended there. Their dress reflected their personalities. The Bear's jacket was pleated and boldly cut, with Western-style pockets. He wore a heavy gold bracelet, a garish ring with a chunk of uncut turquoise, and a gold-colored watch. Overstatement. Benny was conservatively dressed in a simple blue jacket and white shirt. His only jewelry was a fashionably worn Rolex watch. A study in understatement and assurance, Liz decided favorably.
The lobster dinner at the floating restaurant was superb. White-jacketed waiters scurried and hovered, and a chef periodically darted from the kitchen to survey his audience. A small string combo played soft background music.
"They've played for the king," Liz said. "At least that's what the cultural people at the embassy say."
"King Bhumibol," said Benny, "plays a mean clarinet himself. He loves jazz and even writes his own music."
"Benny," said the Bear to the women, "is like a walking travelog. He's our Chet Huntley of local history and color."
Liz looked at Benny. "Maybe you should be tour guide."
"I've never been here before. You have, which means you're stuck with the job."
"Tell us more about the king," said Julie, snuggled beside Mal Stewart. She would alternately bubble with excitement, then grow quiet and content. Liz couldn't bring herself to believe she could be serious. He lacked refinement. Surely Julie could see through him.
Benny told them about the king of Siam, who was born in the States and educated at Harvard, and whom the people idolized like they did rock stars in the States.
"So he runs the country?" asked the Bear.
"They have a strongman who does that. An ex-general named Kittikachorn. He makes the tough decisions and takes the blame when things go wrong, while the king writes his music and plays his clarinet."
"Fascinating," said Liz, impressed.
"Strongman doesn't sound like such a great job," the Bear said. "Sounds like this Kittycorn does all the work and gets none of the glory."
"It's not all bad," replied Benny. "He just announced that he might accept the winner of the Miss Thailand contest as his next wife. He's fifty-five years old and she'd be wife number twenty-one, if I remember correctly."
"Can you imagine twenty-one women waiting in line to nag you when you get home?" said the Bear, shaking his head in awe.
"Thai women are exquisite," said Liz, looking at a nearby table. The beautiful woman there met her expectation of the exotic East. She could picture her in golden Siamese trappings, dancing gracefully. "They're so delicate."
The Bear examined the young woman seated beside an older man. "Nice looking. Bet you a buck she's a who—— . . . a high-priced prostitute."
"Why would you say that?" asked Liz.
"He's treating her too well. Thais don't treat their wives that nice. Mama's probably at home taking care of the kid. Maybe several mamas are home taking care of a lot of kids. That one's either a hooker, a mistress, or he's courting her to add her to his collection of wives."
"Men!" said Liz, only half joking. She suspected Mal Bear was being either mean or purposefully crass, and she didn't appreciate him bringing the subject up.
"How about you, Mal Bear?" murmured Julie.
"I don't care if he's got a concubine on the side."
"You know what I mean. How many concubines have you got?"
"Gotta be married to have a concubine," he replied evasively.
The Bear's joke heightened Liz's already dark assessment of him.
"I'd hate to be a wife and have to put up with other wives and mistresses," Julie said, twitching her nose in repugnance.
"Better not get serious over a Thai, then," said the Bear.
Julie laughed, and snuggled to his arm. "I won't."
"What do you think about the wives and concubines?" Liz asked Benny.
Benny shrugged. "Different culture is all. For instance, if your brother or close friend dies here, it's taken for granted that you'll take on his wife, raise his kids and all. They've got a healthy outlook about it. They think the Western cultures are the strange ones."
"Aren't there a lot of men left over?"
"A great number of Thai men take vows of abstinence and become Buddhist monks. It's also traditional that if a man can't afford a family, he can't marry. It all balances out."
Before they left the restaurant, Liz announced the next day's schedule. In the morning they would explore the klongs, the network of canals that prompted visitors to call Bangkok the "Venice of the Orient." They were fast disappearing, being filled in to make room for modern, glass buildings, products of wealth brought by the war in Vietnam. In the afternoon they would visit the Grand Palace, which the first king Rama had dedicated as the center of the universe, and view the Temple of the Emerald Buddha.
"Culture," quipped the Bear, "is the bane of the working class. Let's go find a bar."
Liz despised his attitude. She concluded there were two classes of military officers. There were gentlemen, like Benny and those who were sent to VMI, West Point, and the Citadel, and then there were others, like Mal Bear.
They discovered a small place called the Red Room, with a mahogany bar and quiet tables. As they ordered Irish coffees, Liz noted that Julie remained quiet and attentive to the Bear.
While they waited for drinks and Mal Stewart talked about how lo
nely Christmas at Takhli had been, Liz studied Benny Lewis. There was a cauldron of emotion bubbling within her that she had never allowed to surface. After Jeff, she had decided that the next time she made love should be when she was safely married. She was not sure she could continue to keep her desires in check if they were ever truly released.
So why had she started taking birth control pills again? The thought bothered her during the cab ride back to the hotel.
Mal Bear and Julie decided to have a drink at the hotel bar by themselves. As Liz and Benny took the elevator up, he told her about the Bear losing his closest buddy at Takhli.
"That's terrible," she said, thinking how awful it would be. "Have you lost close friends?"
"Yeah, quite a few," he said simply.
"How does it feel to be so close to death?"
"It makes you happy you're alive, that it's them and not you. Then you feel guilty about feeling that way."
She felt sad inside.
They stopped at her door and chatted for a moment before he leaned forward and gave her a pleasant kiss. When they drew apart she wasn't ready for him to go.
"I've got some mini's inside," she said. "Care for a drink?"
"Sure," he said and followed her in.
They had time, she decided. Julie would go to Mal Bear's room. She'd had that look about her, like she would be happy to curl up near him.
She showed Benny the collection of miniature bottles she and Julie had taken from the airplane coming over. "Your choice," she said.
"Gin. Be back in a minute." He took the ice bucket and disappeared, and she wondered whether she should encourage things to go farther. She still hadn't decided when he returned.
She fixed him a martini and poured herself a red wine. They sat on the edge of the bed and sipped their drinks as they talked. He told her more about his base and the terrible losses, and she listened, not daring to tell him that he was reinforcing her antiwar sympathies.
After a while she asked, "How's the situation with your wife?" She sounded almost too casual, but she wanted to know.
"I signed the separation agreement last week and sent it to her lawyer."
She shook her head sadly. She was very pleased.
