Macv, p.8
MACV, page 8
The jungle around him came alive. Monkeys screamed in the tops of the trees. Birds took off squawking and landed again, still squawking. Lizards, sluggish with the chill of the morning, scurried up the trunks of trees. Insects buzzed. The sound swelled around him, hiding the noise he was making as he hurried back toward South Vietnam. But also hiding the sound of the enemy.
The ravine flattened out and he hurried across it, up the gentle slope of the other side and then deeper into the jungle. He listened for human sounds. The distant crash of artillery and the rumble of high-flying jets. If he could get into South Vietnam, he could get picked up by a helicopter.
Again he stopped, in the shadow of a giant teak tree. Tucked in against the smooth bark, hidden in the folds of the tree and the blackness where the sun couldn’t penetrate, he pulled out his canteen, drinking from it greedily. Water dribbled down his chin to soak the collar of his fatigue shirt. He knew he was wasting water, drinking too much of it too fast, but he couldn’t help himself.
In survival school he had been told that the first things pilots did after a crash or after bailout was drink all their water. If they were near a stream or a pond, they’d drink from that, not worried about disease. Kinson hadn’t worried about that because he didn’t think he’d ever be in an aircraft accident. What he hadn’t understood then was that the stress of the situation made the survivor thirsty. Having fled an ambush was the same as having crashed a jet.
He wiped his mouth and swirled the canteen around. There was some water in the bottom, but not very much. He’d already drained one canteen. He shrugged and finished it off, then put the empty container away. He didn’t want to leave it behind, because Charlie would find it and use it. No point in making it a gift to the enemy.
Sunlight began to invade the jungle, filtering through the holes in the canopy. The shafts of light made the jungle look almost holy as they lanced the ground, shining on the plants and bushes, making them glow a bright green. Water dripped, setting a quiet rhythm in the background. It filled the big leaves, which eventually tipped over, spilling the water to the jungle floor with a loud noise. The sporadic sounds sent animals scurrying, and forced Kinson’s heart to race.
He worked his way to the east, not worrying about the map or exactly where he was. When he entered South Vietnam he’d know it. He’d be able to see aircraft to the east. There would be activity in South Vietnam that wouldn’t be happening in Cambodia. He might have to walk a klick or two into South Vietnam before he knew he was there, but eventually he’d know it.
Again he stopped. The undergrowth was beginning to get thick. Wait-a-minute vines tore at his shirt. Bushes and branches of small trees filled the space around him. The broad leaves of the bushes and the thin, spidery leaves of ferns were all around. He couldn’t see more than a yard in any direction.
He crouched, remembering his survival training. Travel at night or in the worst possible weather. Never take a road or use a stream unless trying to avoid dogs. Stick to the roughest terrain and hole up in the day. Never use a haystack, a barn or a cave because the enemy would look there first. Hide in thick undergrowth with more than one way out.
He got down on his belly and wiggled deeper into the undergrowth. He found a patch of sunlight and thought that it might dry his feet. He couldn’t take off his boots, but he could wrap himself around the thick trunk of a bush, the branches hanging down to hide him, and stick his feet into the bit of sun. For a few minutes anyway.
When he laid down he did not remove his equipment, knowing that if something happened to force him from hiding, he’d forget anything not attached to him. He loosened the sling of his rifle and wrapped it around his hand. Finally comfortable, he relaxed and listened to the sounds around him. Nothing to suggest the enemy was coming at him.
He knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not with everything that had happened during the night, but he did have to rest. Besides, he should lay holed up for the day anyway. The next night he would start off again and, with luck, be picked up in the morning. It would take only the slightest luck. Then, before he knew it, he was asleep.
Gerber woke to the sound of someone pounding on his door. He had been dreaming of artillery and mortar fire, and at first the crashing from the door had been incorporated into the dreams. Then suddenly he snapped awake, but the sound didn’t stop.
He rolled over and looked at the door, wishing that whoever it was would go away. He got up and walked over, leaning close. “Yeah.”
“Captain?”
Gerber unlocked it, then turned and walked away so that Fetterman would have to let himself in. He headed for the bed, rubbing a hand through his hair.
Morrow had rolled over on her back and was staring up at the ceiling.
Fetterman entered. “Morning, Captain. Robin. Sorry to intrude.”
Gerber sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor. Without looking up he said, “I’m not ready for this. Not one bit.”
“Sorry to break in, Captain,” said Fetterman. He glanced at Robin who had pulled the sheet up to her chin, but that did little to conceal the shape of her body under the light fabric. He pulled his eyes away and turned back to Gerber. “I know you told me not to talk to anyone at MACV and to hide so they couldn’t find me…”
“Christ, Tony, what time is it?”
“After seven.”
“You say that as if I should be ashamed of myself for having the audacity to stay in bed until after seven.”
“No, sir. It’s just that the world is up and the war is still on.”
Gerber stood up, waved at him without looking, and padded into the bathroom. Water ran and Gerber returned with a glass.
“You could have gotten me some, too,” said Morrow.
Gerber handed her the glass and retreated. He reappeared and then walked over to the chair, sat down and took a drink. “All right, Tony, what you got?”
He glanced at Morrow.
“Come on, Tony. She already knows more secrets about us than the CIA. She’s trustworthy.”
“Yes, sir. Maxwell’s worried about a patrol that failed to check in last night at midnight. Missed a second check at six this morning.”
“So, what’s the point?”
“Maxwell would like us to hit the field in search of those troops.”
“Shit,” said Gerber. “Any details?”
“Briefing is to be held at eight. Gives us a little less than an hour to get there.”
“And no time to eat breakfast.”
“No, sir.”
Robin said, “You don’t seem to be worried about some missing people.”
“Hell, Robin, I’ve been on enough of these boondoggles where the radio communications were less than perfect that I never worry about it. Not unless there’s another reason to worry.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby,” said Fetterman.
Gerber finished the water and set the glass down. Again he rubbed his face, using both hands. He yawned and said, “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll let myself out.”
When the door closed, Morrow said, “You know, I should follow up on this. A lost American squad on a mission for the CIA.”
Gerber sat back in the chair and stared at her. “I don’t believe that Sergeant Fetterman mentioned a missing American squad that was a CIA operation.”
She sat up, letting the sheet drop away. “He didn’t have to. He said Maxwell and that means CIA. I doubt that Maxwell would call you in if it wasn’t Americans, so it means an American patrol. Simple.”
“Simple,” repeated Gerber. “I’m going to shower.”
“You mind if I join you?”
Gerber stopped at the door and looked at her. “I’ve only got fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah, you didn’t think ahead on that, did you?”
“No, really.”
Fifteen minutes later Gerber, wearing clean jungle fatigues, found Fetterman sitting in the lobby reading the Stars and Stripes. “Says in the paper here that the Marines up in Quang Nam killed about three thousand VC and NVA.”
Gerber stared and then said, “I don’t know why I read the paper.”
“You already heard this?” asked Fetterman.
“No, and now I don’t have to read about it, either.”
“Sorry I barged in on you, Captain,” said Fetterman suddenly. “I didn’t think Robin would mind.”
Gerber laughed. “No, she didn’t mind. I mind. I needed another thirty minutes.”
“Ah,” said Fetterman, understanding. “Well, I’ve arranged for a taxi to pick us up. Should be waiting outside.”
They left the hotel, stepping out into the muggy heat of the morning. The taxi driver, a small dark man in a flowered shirt and fatigue pants, stood holding half a five-dollar bill. When he saw Fetterman, he waved it like a banner, afraid that Fetterman would catch a ride with someone else.
“Promised him that I would pay him five dollars American if he’d wait.”
“And then gave him half the bill as incentive.”
“Exactly.”
They climbed into the rear of the cab. It wasn’t a mess like the one they had used a couple of days before. Sometime in the past month the driver had swept it. And he had attended a driving school. No kamikaze tactics on the road. He waited for others to make their moves and dodged them, filling the holes they had created. It didn’t take him long to get them to MACV Headquarters.
When they arrived, Fetterman gave him the other half of the five and the man was happy. No argument about the fee. He wanted the greenbacks, which were more valuable than the Monopoly money that GIs usually used.
As they walked up to the front door, Gerber asked, “You really don’t know any more about this?”
“No, sir. Since the line wasn’t secure, we had to talk in riddles.”
They walked down the hall, descended the steps and stopped in front of the iron gate. The MP there recognized Gerber and had him sign in. Fetterman followed suit and they were admitted. They walked on down to Maxwell’s office and Gerber knocked on the door.
“Come.”
Gerber opened the door and entered, flopping down on the visitor’s chair. Fetterman moved to the file cabinets and leaned against them while Maxwell, sitting at his desk, picked up a Coke can, shook it and then set it down.
“Morning, Jerry,” said Gerber. “You got us up pretty damned early for this.”
Maxwell turned to face them. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pasty, sick-looking. There was a pallor to his skin tone.
“What’s going on, Jerry?” asked Gerber.
“I’ve got a squad out in the field and they’ve missed two checks.”
“We missed checks, too.”
Maxwell leaned closer, glanced at Fetterman and said, “I’ve a bad feeling about this. I think they’ve stepped into some shit.”
“Any reason for that?”
“Things haven’t been going well for the past few weeks. Too much of our information has been getting passed around to too many people.”
Gerber shook his head. “Jerry, this is the first I’ve heard of any of this.”
“Look,” said Maxwell, “I might be talking out of school, but you can’t keep anything quiet here. I’ve got to coordinate everything through so many different levels of command and bureaucracy and then coordinate it with the Vietnamese, that it’s a wonder we ever get anything accomplished without the whole world knowing about it.”
“That’s a problem we’ve all had since we got here,” said Fetterman. “What makes things different now?”
Maxwell shrugged. “That’s just it. Maybe there’s nothing going on. But I just think someone new is letting out all our secrets.”
Gerber was quiet for a moment. “What do you want us to do about it?”
“I’d like you two to hit the field and see if you can’t find this squad. I can give you the LZ they used and their destination. Maybe you could find out what happened to them.”
Fetterman frowned. “I don’t know, Jerry.”
“Pick up some help from the SOG people,” said Maxwell as if he hadn’t heard what Fetterman said, “and spend a day or so searching. It should be a fairly easy task.”
“When are they supposed to check in again?”
“If they missed at six, which they did, they are supposed to try again two hours later. If they missed that, then every hour on the hour.”
“And you’ve heard nothing.”
“Not a word. It’s almost as if they jumped into a void. Chopper pilots got them in and reported no enemy movement and no fire taken. Once they moved into the jungle, they vanished.”
Fetterman turned so that he could lean against the wall. “If there’s a leak, then we’re going to have our butts hanging out, too.”
“No,” said Maxwell. “No one is going to know about this but you and me.”
Gerber laughed. “You’ve cleared this with no one?”
“No one.”
“Then our butts are going to be hanging out even farther.”
“All I want,” said Maxwell, “is to find out what happened to my troops.”
“Jerry, you tried this on us once before. We were out looking for some men you’d lost.”
“This is different, Mack,” said Maxwell. “That was a CIA unit that walked into an ambush. We knew what happened to them. But these are Army men. Your people. And we don’t have a clue about what happened to them.”
“Tony?”
“Shit, Captain, how can we refuse? No one’s ordering us out, and Jerry here is telling us they are Army. We’ve got to go take a look.”
“Who else is going to know about this?” asked Gerber.
“Like I told you, no one but you and me and the men you take. I don’t want anything else to happen.”
Gerber looked at his watch. “We can get airlifted in by noon. Gives us three hours to get ready.” He glanced at Fetterman. “Overnight?”
“Sure, Captain. I can get us four guys over at SOG. Top men to go with us.”
“How about just two others?” suggested Gerber.
“Whatever, Captain.”
“We’ll do it, Jerry,” said Gerber.
“Mack, I might be all wet about this. It might just be bad luck or something like that. But I’m taking no chances until I learn some more about what is going on. I have a feeling in my gut that I just can’t ignore.”
Gerber got up. “Tan Son Nhut at noon?”
“I’ll start making the arrangements now and have a chopper there for you.”
“You’d better meet us at SOG about eleven with a briefing on what’s going on out there.”
“No problem.”
Gerber moved to the door and opened it. As he did, Reed stumbled in. He glanced at Gerber and then Fetterman and said, “Good morning.”
Gerber ignored him and said, “Eleven, Jerry.”
“Right.”
Gerber stepped into the hall and Fetterman closed the door behind him.
“What was that all about?” asked Reed.
Maxwell turned to his desk and picked up a file folder. He shrugged and said, “Nothing much.”
Reed looked at the CIA man and then at the door. “Those guys were Special Forces.”
“How do you know?”
“Christ, Jerry, give me some credit for having eyes. I saw them, and they all wear those damned patches, those jump wings and carry those silly hats. I’d have to be stupid not to know they were Special Forces.”
Maxwell laughed. “Yeah.”
“So, you sending them out to look for the missing patrol?” he asked.
“How do you know the patrol is still missing?”
“What the hell is this, an inquisition? I stopped by the radio room and checked on it. No message traffic from the squad. Therefore they haven’t reported and are still missing. Therefore you’ve called some of your Special Forces buddies to go out and look for those soldiers.”
“That doesn’t go beyond this room,” said Maxwell.
“Of course not,” said Reed. He dropped into the visitor’s chair and asked, “What’s on tap for today?”
Maxwell shook his head. “We’ve got a briefing for the commander at one o’clock. I thought you might like to handle that one.”
“What’s he looking for?”
Maxwell lowered his voice and tried to modulate it like the newscasters on the radio or the nightly television newscasts. “Viet Cong sappers dropped mortars into our camp at Nha Trang. Four rounds exploded harmlessly. Damage was light and countermortar was successful.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Just a roundup of what happened last night and early this morning. Any new reports of the enemy activity. If you spot a trend, you mention it. Illustrate it with slides and you’ll have it knocked.”
Reed glanced at his watch. “I skipped breakfast this morning so that I could get in here on time. I might go find something to eat now and then skip lunch so that I can be ready for the briefing at one.”
“Whatever,” said Maxwell.
Reed stood up. “I’ll be ready at one.”
“You know where to find the information for the briefing?” Maxwell stared at the younger man.
“Third drawer of the safe. And check the message traffic for the past twelve hours.”
“Right. Have one of the Spec Fours mark it for you, and then use the best of it. A general view of the war, going into specifics in the large, more important incidents if there were any.”
“Got it,” said Reed. “I’ll be back in what, an hour or so?”
Maxwell nodded. “Don’t take much more than an hour. I may not be here when you return.”
“I’ve got it covered,” said Reed. “Catch you later.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Things were beginning to move quickly. Faster than he had expected.
CHAPTER 7
THE OUTSKIRTS OF SAIGON
Reed lay back against the wall and looked at the sweat-coated highlights of Thi’s naked body. She lay partially on him, her head nestled on his stomach. With one hand, she tickled the inside of his thigh, watching his response. Finally he reached out and touched her bare bottom. He drew his fingers toward him, over the curve of her spine.
