A War Too Far

by David Lee Corley

  Spitting Woman shook her head like white people were so complicated. She laid down using her pack as a pillow. A mosquito landed on her arm. She swatted it. Then another and another. She kept swatting. Granier looked over and shrugged pity. “You want to come in here with me?” he said motioning with his hands.

  She shook her head and gave him a look like he was stupid for even asking. He turned away from her and closed his eyes. “Savage,” he said to himself.

  More mosquitos and more swatting. There was no evening fire to generate the smoke that kept the mosquitos away. She would get eaten alive once she fell asleep… if she fell asleep. Granier turned back over and motioned to her. “Stop being stubborn and get in here. You can’t fight the Japs if you get malaria.”

  She didn’t understand the words, but she caught the drift of what he was saying. She picked up her pack, slipped it under the netting, and waited for him to unzip the tent. “No. Clean yourself off. One mosquito gets inside, and we will be his snack all night,” he said, motioning what to do.

  Frustrated, she mimicked his movements and made sure there were no mosquitos on her. He unzipped the tent and let her crawl in. She laid down beside him. There wasn’t much room in the tent meant for one. They turned their backs to each other and closed their eyes. Two minutes later, he heard her snore like a very large bear. His eyes opened. He was wide awake. “No way,” he said, listening to how incredibly loud she snored.

  He gave her a little shove, hoping to wake her. Nothing. He poked her side. She stirred a little, swatted at his hand, and went back to sleep, snoring. He rolled over again and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

  Spitting Woman was the first to wake as the sky began to brighten, just after sunrise. Granier has his arm around her and his hand on one of her breasts. She jumped up, unzipped the tent, and tumbled out on to the ground. Granier woke and spoke in a hushed voice, confused, “What’s wrong?”

  She spat out a string of curse words in her dialect. Granier was lost. “What did I do?”

  She motioned where his hands had been. “Oh, come on. I didn’t mean anything. I was sleeping.”

  She pointed to the erect penis in his pants. “That’s nothing. It happens to men when they wake up. It’s involuntary. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  She spat at him. “With the spitting again. Really? You ever hear of manners?” he said as she stomped off into the forest. “Don’t worry. A snake won't bite you. I ain’t that lucky.”

  Hoagland entered the cave, followed by Dewey. Ho was sitting up in bed. Two bamboo chairs were placed nearby as if he had been expecting them. “Welcome, gentlemen,” said Ho. “Please come in and have a seat.

  “Mr. Hoo, this is our unit commander, Lieutenant Colonel Dewey,” said Hoagland.

  “I would offer you my hand, Colonel, but I fear I may still be contagious.”

  “I appreciate the thought, but I think if I was going to get something I probably would have caught it by now,” said Dewey, offering his hand.

  “Still, just to be safe…” said Hoagland, motioning for Dewey to withdraw his hand.

  “Alright. Later. When you’re feeling better.”

  “Which we all hope is soon,” said Hoagland.

  Hoagland and Dewey sat. Two women brought in tea and biscuits. “I took the liberty of having refreshments prepared,” said Ho.

  “You’re very gracious,” said Dewey.

  “It is our culture,” said Ho. “I appreciate General Donovan accepting my invitation, Colonel Dewey. There was some question as to whether he would.”

  “Please call me, Mr. Dewey. We don’t like to use rank in the field.”

  “Of course.”

  “I will be honest, Mr. Hoo, there was some question on our end as well.”

  “I’m sure. The French are your allies. They will not be pleased if you assist us.”

  “I think you may underestimate the French. They too want the Japanese out of Vietnam.”

  “Yes, but for very different reasons.”

  “True.”

  “We see both the French and the Japanese as invaders.”

  “Perhaps, but I think we would all do better to focus on the Japanese and leave the French problem for a different time… after the war.”

  “Very well… as long as the issue will be addressed.”

  “I assure you it will.”

  “I have your promise then?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your government?”

  “They have no interest in seeing colonialism continue in Southeast Asia if that is what you are asking.”

  “I thought as much. Our interests are aligned.”

  “Yes. Now for the problem at hand… With the surrender of the Germans and the Italians, America and its allies are now free to focus on the Pacific and Asia. If we want the war to end quickly, we must keep the Japanese in a box. They cannot be allowed to expand further, especially into China. The Japanese use Indochina as their rice bowl. Their army cannot survive long without rice. If we can sever their supply line with Indochina, their army will be forced to withdraw. Once contained, it is just a matter of time before the Allied forces overrun all of Japan and force their surrender. If you are in agreement, it is our job to help you sever the Japanese supply lines.”

  “We are in agreement.”

  “Good. How many men can you put in the field against the Japanese?”

  “Given time and the right support, an entire division.”

  “I appreciate your optimism. But we must be more practical. How many men can you put in the field within the next two weeks?”

  “Our problem is food, gentlemen. The Japanese take everything we grow to feed their troops. Our people are starving.”

  “Let’s assume for the moment that we can solve your food problem and you are no longer forced to scavenge. How many men?”

  “Hmm… I think five hundred within two weeks is a doable number.”

  “That’s good. Would they be the same quality as the troops that accompanied us from our drop zone?”

  “No. Those that picked you up are our best soldiers. The increased numbers would need some training and experience in battle before they could fight like our core unit. What I can promise you is that they will be brave and fight hard.”

  “I appreciate your honesty. If the additional troops support the current unit, I believe they will gain the experience you talk about. Our team can help with the training.”

  “And the weapons and ammunition we need?”

  “Of course. You will be given all that is required.”

  “Very well. We shall be allies and kill the Japanese,” said Ho with a smile.

  “With your permission, I would like to coordinate with Mr. Van for an attack on the supply train from Hanoi to Lang Son.”

  “A worthy target. I will inform him.”

  Dewey had what he needed and decided not to push his luck. He finished his tea and asked to be excused. Hoagland stayed with Ho. “You look much better today,” said Hoagland.

  “I feel better. My appetite is coming back slowly. I eat more with each meal.”

  “Plenty of rice, I hope?”

  “Yes with the broth.”

  “Good. May I examine you?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  Hoagland began his examination. “May I ask you something?” said Ho.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you believe Mr. Dewey was speaking for the Americans when he said ‘They have no interest in seeing colonialism continue in Southeast Asia,’ or was he speaking from his own perspective?”

  Hoagland considered for a moment. He wanted to be honest, but he also had a loyalty to his commander and country. “I don’t know. But what I can tell you is that Mr. Dewey is an honorable man and that America is an honorable country. You know our past. We threw off the shackles of colonialism in our war with the British. We haven’t forgotten our roots. Our Declarat
ion of Independence reminds us of that.”

  “Nothing is more precious than independence and liberty.”

  “I must say that sounds a bit strange coming from a communist.”

  “It is patriotism, not communism that inspires me,” said Ho. “Communism is a means to an end. A way to redistribute wealth the French have stolen from us over the years.”

  “And you can’t do that through capitalism?”

  “Capitalism is what the French brought to our land, and it has been proven to be harsh. I feel it is time for our people to find a new path to equality.”

  “And democracy?”

  “Democracy is for the educated. Most of my people do not even read. We can hardly expect them to rule themselves. They can be easily swayed by smooth-talking politicians that seem to have all the answers but in reality, seek only to enrich themselves.”

  “For a man of vision, you have little confidence in your followers.”

  “I am a realist and must be honest.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “The Vietnamese are a gentle people with good hearts. If anything, they are naïve and innocent.”

  “I’ve seen them fight. They are hardly innocent and definitely not naïve.”

  “Some, yes. But most are just simple farmers wanting to raise their families. They don’t know violence.”

  “I see.”

  Ho fell silent for a moment as if deep in thought, then said, “Do you think it would be possible to examine a copy of your Declaration of Independence?”

  “It may take a little doing, but I don’t see why not.”

  “My people will be forming a nation one day soon. Such a document could come in useful.”

  “I hope you do… form your own nation soon. And there are no better words than those of our founding fathers.”

  “I believe you, Doctor.”

  “I’m not a doctor,” said Hoagland with a shy smile.

  “That’s why I believe you,” said Ho Chi Minh.

  Granier and Spitting Woman trudged through the forest at a good clip, their anger at each other pushing them harder. They came to a small clearing. In the lead, Spitting Woman entered the clearing first. She stopped and froze. Granier seeing something was wrong, slowed, and moved up beside her, his rifle at the ready.

  An Asiatic Black Bear, splitting a rotting log open with his paws to search for insects, turned and stared at the two creatures in his territory. “Oh, shit,” said Granier.

  Granier had seen larger bears in the wild, but never this close. The bear’s arms were long, as were his claws. He had a white, v-shaped patch on his chest. The bear snorted his displeasure at the interruption. Granier aimed. It was an easy shot, and he was sure that one or two .30-06 bullets would take the animal down. The problem was the noise. They were still close to the border with its Japanese outposts. Spitting Woman placed her hand over the barrel of Granier’s rifle and pushed it downward. She slowly motioned for Granier to stay put as she moved to one side of the clearing.

  The bear was now facing threats from two different angles. The creature rose up on his hide feet and belched a menacing roar.

  Unafraid, Spitting Woman raised her hands over her head and took a step closer to the beast. The bear took a step forward to meet her. Granier had had enough. He raised his rifle, aimed at the bottom of white, v-shaped patch figuring that is where the bear’s heart would be and slowly squeezed the trigger. Spitting Woman clapped her hands together twice to create loud snapping sounds. Surprised by the strange noise, he turned and ran into the bushes, disappearing.

  Spitting Woman was pleased with herself. Granier was surprised by the bear’s sudden retreat. “Pat yourself on the back later. Let’s get the hell out of here before he comes back,” said Granier moving in the opposite direction from the bear. Spitting Woman followed.

  They ran several hundred yards through the forest. It was rough terrain. Granier laughed relieved. Spitting Woman laughed back. It was the first time either of them heard the other happy. Granier didn’t think twice when they crossed a trail in the direction they wanted to go. He took it. Spitting Woman followed. “I gotta admit… that was impressive. And don’t give me some bullshit about you knew what you were doing the entire time. Nobody knows how a wild animal will react, especially a bear,” said Granier, ignoring the fact that she didn’t understand a word he was saying.

  She blurted something back that Granier didn’t understand, but imagined it was some sort of brag. “Yeah, yeah. You scared a black bear. Big deal. Now if it was a grizzly…”

  Granier didn’t notice the tripwire across the trail. It had been coated with a thin layer of dark grease and dirt, making it almost invisible. He was still moving at a pretty good clip. The wire caught the eyelets of his boot. He lost his balance, tripped, and fell forward. The wire yanked the safety pin from a Chinese grenade attached to a tree next to the trail. Its timer had been set to zero. It exploded instantly. Granier was lucky he had fallen flat and that there was a fallen log paralleling the trail. The grenade’s shrapnel hit the log and flew over him. “Jesus Christ!” he said. He rolled over and felt up and down his body for wet spots and looked for holes in his uniform. Nothing. He rose to his feet and said, “It’s okay. I’m still in one piece. No damage.”

  He saw Spitting Woman and smiled. She didn’t smile back. There was pain in her eyes. He looked down at her hands, holding her thigh. She groaned in pain. Granier ran to her, panicking. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Show me.”

  He pulled her hands away. Smoke rose out of a quarter-sized hole in her black pajamas. The red-hot shrapnel inside the wound was burning her. He ripped open the hole in her pants to expose the wound. Smoke poured out of it. It smelled of cordite and burning flesh. He pushed his index finger and his thumb into the wound, trying to reach the shrapnel. She yelped. His fingers were too big. He pulled out his knife and cut the edges of the wound making it bigger. She groaned again. Blood flowed. Again, he reached inside. He felt the burning shrapnel burning the tips of his finger and thumb. It hurt like hell. He pushed further into the wound to get a hold of the metal. He jerked out the shrapnel through the wound’s entrance and flung it to the ground, ripping off the skin on the tips of his finger and thumb. “Ah, fuck,” he said, looking at his fingers, the tips raw, the flesh torn.

  He looked back at her wound. Blood was flowing out. He whipped off his pack and reached into a side pocket to retrieve a bandage and a packet of sulfide. Ripping the packet open with his teeth, he poured the powder into her wound. He placed the bandage over the wound and wrapped the cloth bands around her leg. The pad of the bandage turned red, filled with blood in just a matter of a few seconds. He pressed down on the bandage over the wound, hoping to restrict the flow. Blood seeped through his fingers. She was still bleeding. “Damn it. It must have nicked something,” he said, his mind racing for a solution. He reached into the back of his pack and pulled out the cord he used for the mosquito netting. He cut off a five-foot piece and wrapped it around her leg above the wound. He tied it like a constriction bandage so he would not cut off all blood flow but restrict it. “I’ve got to get you to a doctor. It can’t be more than ten or fifteen miles to a Chinese village.”

  He pulled off her pack and picked up her rifle. She grunted her objection at her weapon being taken. “Relax. I’ll come back for it,” he said, hoping his tone would reassure her.

  He set the rifle and pack next to his pack in the bushes. He removed her water bag from her shoulder and opened it. “Drink. You need to stay hydrated.”

  She drank. When she was finished, he drank as much as he could. He sealed it back up and tossed it next to the packs and rifle. He still had his canteen on his web belt in addition to his ammunition clips.

  He covered everything with foliage. He took a quick look around and found a strange-looking tree stump that would be his marker for when he returned. He picked up his rifle and slung it backward, so it hung on his chest. “This i
s the hard part,” he said, moving to her side and placing one of her arms on his shoulder. “Climb on my back and hang on.”

  She didn’t understand but got the gist of what he wanted. She grabbed his shirt and pulled herself around to his back. He helped her up by reaching under her butt with his hands and lifted her up and around. It was awkward, and she groaned in pain. “Ready?” he said, stabilizing her.

  She tapped him on the top of the head. He took off down the trail, running the best he could. She was light but still weighed over a hundred pounds. He tried to keep his hand holding her leg away from the wound as best as possible. He knew that the trail would take less time but was riskier. His eyes stayed focus on the path ahead, searching for more tripwires. As he ran, she groaned. He could feel her leg throbbing. He didn’t want her to go into shock, but he didn’t want her to fall asleep because of blood loss either. As long as she was groaning, she was awake and alive.

  Granier was drenched in sweat from running and carrying Spitting Woman. He was exhausted and stumbled more than usual. It was a huge effort to pick up his feet to keep them from dragging across the ground with each step. His legs were burning, and his chest was heaving for air. He was angry that his body was failing him. He felt Spitting Woman loosen her grip around his neck. “Hey, wake up!” he said.

  She snapped awake and tightened her grip. “It can’t be that much farther. It just can’t,” said Granier, hoping.

  Granier saw a small stream in his path. He increased his speed using all his remaining strength and leaped over the flowing water. He cleared the stream and landed on the opposite bank with a thud. Spitting Woman groaned in pain. He was surprised when his legs collapsed, and he crumbled to his knees. He tried to steady himself. He was on an incline and leaned forward as much as possible. It wasn’t enough, especially with the extra weight on his back. He could feel the weight carrying him backward. He fell backward into the water landing on top of Spitting Woman. Water flowed over her head as she struggled for breath and gulped for air. He rolled off her and grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her. She gasped, the wind knocked out of her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said, almost in tears. “This is all my fault. I wasn’t paying attention. I should have seen the tripwire. It’s not like me. I don’t know what’s wrong.”