“May I go?”
“Yes.”
She saluted and bowed twice as before. She left Giap standing in the darkness deep in thought. She didn’t like it when men thought too much. It was dangerous.
As she moved deeper into the forest, she saw the black outline of someone standing, watching her. She could not see the person’s face. It was too dark. She was cautious and slowed. It could have been a Japanese soldier, but she thought not. The Japanese traveled in groups. This person was alone. She moved closer until she could see the hint of a face from a shaft of moonlight that made it through the forest canopy. It was the American – her lover. She froze. He knows, she thought. She tried not to panic. “I woke, and you were gone. I was worried,” he said.
She didn’t understand the words but thought she knew what he meant. She made a gesture touching her stomach like she was hungry, then gestured eating food. “Oh. Did you bring me some?”
She couldn’t figure that one out, but she could tell by his tone he wasn’t mad. She moved beside him, then moved around to his back. She wrapped her hands around his waist placed one of her hands in his trouser pocket like she was searching for something. She released the coin and let it drop inside his pocket.
“What are you looking for?” he said.
Her fingers slipped around his penis. “Oh. I see. I thought maybe you had enough.”
She squeezed him. “Round two, I guess,” he said turning into her, kissing her, pushing her up against a nearby tree.
She felt good. She had done what Giap had asked. Her family was safe. She was in her lover’s arms.
Granier and three Viet Minh soldiers hiked through the heavily forested mountains surrounding the Pho Day River. They did their best to keep out of sight even from the Vietnamese in the area. They did not want the Japanese to discover their interest in the village of Tan Trao.
Dewey had decided he wanted his own reconnaissance of the French fortress that guarded the mountain pass and river. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Viet Minh scouts to give an accurate report. He did. They were very good scouts. It was more an issue of experience. The Viet Minh were accustomed to attacking Japanese patrols and camps. They had never assaulted a fortified position like the fortress at Tan Trao. Dewey wanted one of his own to survey the area and assess the Japanese defenses. He chose his best man – Granier.
Granier had changed, and it concerned him. He knew he was getting soft. He no longer yearned to be on his own. He liked spending time with Spitting Woman and resented when he was given assignments that took him away from her. He didn’t complain. He knew better. He was a soldier, after all, and he had duties. He just didn’t relish those duties as he did before he met her. She had changed him, and he liked it. It was comfortable. He was truly happy for the first time in his life. He wondered if he would get fat but didn’t seem too concerned about it… as long as she didn’t mind.
The reconnaissance team came to the top of a ridge. One of the Viet Minh pointed to the village below and said, “Tan Trao.”
Granier pulled out his binoculars and surveyed the valley and the village. Like most valleys in the Highlands, rice fields surrounded by dikes occupied every available foot of land outside the village. The Vietnamese farmers needed to plant their rice in flat areas where the rainwater would pool. If they ran out of space in the valley, they would build terraces which required a lot more work and needed to be maintained every year; rebuilding the mud walls after the monsoon season.
The village was located on the far end of the valley and straddled the river. Several monkey bridges made of bamboo supports and wooden planks stretched across the slow-flowing water allowing the people on both sides of the river easy access to their neighbors. It was hard to tell how many people lived in the village, but Granier estimated two to three hundred.
The old French fortress was at the mouth of the valley where the river disappeared into the mountains. It was a control point that allowed the French to collect taxes and enforce French law. It had been this way for over a hundred years until the Japanese invaded. Now the Japanese held the fortress.
The Japanese weren’t interested in collecting taxes or even enforcing their laws. They took what they wanted which was everything, including the entire rice crop when it was harvested. The Japanese needed to support their army fighting the Chinese. The Vietnamese would have to fend for themselves. Without rice, their diet’s staple, the Vietnamese starved. The Vietnamese had dealt with invaders before, but none had been so cruel and greedy as the Japanese. Complaining was met with the blades of their swords.
Granier could see Japanese patrols of four or five men working their way through the village and strolling along the top of the rice field dikes. They didn’t seem too concerned. In their eyes, the Vietnamese were docile, like sheep. It was the Chinese that worried the Japanese the most. The sheer number of Chinese troops that could invade kept the Japanese commanders awake at night. But this outpost was far from the border, and the Japanese soldiers would be given fair warning if that day ever came. In the meantime, boredom ruled the day, and rape of the Vietnamese women in the village ruled the night.
Granier decided he needed to have a closer look at the fortress and the number of troops inside. It was only noon, and he would need to wait until dark before he could attempt to infiltrate the fortress. He and the other team members took their time eating their lunch of dried mangos, balls of rice in green leaves and fish sauce. After lunch, Granier had them take turns keeping watch while the rest of the team got some shuteye. It was going to be a long night.
A few hours after sunset, Granier woke when a small centipede fell from a tree branch and attempted to crawl into his nose. It wasn’t poisonous like the big ones, but it did send a chill down his spine. He had learned to deal with ticks, leeches, snakes, poisonous frogs, and giant spiders, but centipedes just creeped him out; all those legs. He may have been trespassing in the animal’s territory, but that didn’t give it the right to be rude. He mushed the creature into the ground with his boot.
He took out his binoculars and scanned the village and the fortress again. It looked fairly quiet. There were still patrols, but the soldiers in them were more interested in joking with each other than watching the surrounding area. That’s good, he thought. Lazy makes my job easier. He reapplied his camouflage paint on his face, neck, and hands.
He gathered the team, and they made their way down into the valley, staying hidden in the forest, keeping quiet. If they were discovered, the Japanese would surely chase them. That didn’t worry Granier. It was that they would know a reconnaissance team was scouting their position. They would have time to prepare, perhaps even request reinforcements. Stealth was just as important as the information they would gather.
At the base of the mountain, beside the old fortress wall, Granier gestured to the team members; they were to stay hidden while he went into the fortress. They nodded that they understood. The fortress was surrounded by a ten-foot brick and plaster wall that was originally painted yellow but had faded over the years and was stained black with mold. Granier scaled the perimeter wall and laid flat on the top as he looked into the compound.
There was a two-story building that was the command headquarters, five one-story barracks, a smaller building that looked like a sickbay, a kitchen, a storage hut and an open-air dining area with a roof. He counted twenty-four soldiers in the dining room, some finishing their evening meal, others playing cards and showing photos of their wives, children, and girlfriends. It was still early, and at that time of night, there should have been more.
There were two thirty-five-foot guard towers built on thick wooden poles; one at the front of the compound and one at the rear. A guard post was stationed at the front gateway in the wall, and a heavy machinegun nest with a three-man crew was set back thirty feet from the entrance and had a good field of fire over most of the compound. There was also an 81mm mortar set up near the command headquarters, but it
wasn’t manned at the moment. He imagined the machinegun crew was tasked with watching over it unless there was an assault.
In all, Granier estimated that there were probably fifty to sixty soldiers guarding the fortress and patrolling the village. That was much less than expected. He wondered where the other soldiers might be. Some were probably on long-range patrol in the surrounding mountains; others might have been tasked for a mission of some sort. It was possible that the remaining soldiers just weren’t in the fortress at this time and would return in a few days. But Granier didn’t like guessing. He wanted to know for sure. The lives of the Viet Minh and Americans would depend on the number of enemies they would be fighting. A miscalculation could be very costly. He quietly dropped down to the inside of the compound and moved along the wall staying in the shadows whenever possible.
As he approached the first building – the storage hut for the kitchen – he saw a guard patrolling the area. He ducked deep into the shadows. As the guard came closer, Granier closed his eyelids so the whites of his eyes would not reveal him. He completely disappeared in the blackness of the shadow. He listened to guard’s steps to ensure there was no change in the rhythm that might indicate he had seen something and was stopping to investigate. The guard passed without noticing anything. Granier opened his eyes.
He moved along the wall and entered the storage room. He was alone. He took out his flashlight and examined the supplies. He had been taught to measure the amount of food to indicate the number of people consuming it. Rice was the main clue; so many cups per day per man. They should have had plenty on hand since this was a rice farming area. But they didn’t. Not for several hundred men. He checked the cans of umeboshi – salted plums – that were part of every Japanese soldier’s daily ration. Again, too few. It seemed that the garrison was lightly manned, even including the outstanding patrols in the area.
He exited the storage hut and moved to the troop barracks. The barracks were windowless so the air could flow through keeping them cool at night. They were built on heavy poles to prevent flooding during monsoon season. He doubted that any of the soldiers would be sleeping this early in the evening. But two of the barracks had their lights on. He would avoid those two. He climbed a set of stairs and entered the closest hut.
It was pitch dark. He listened for the sound of breathing. Nothing. He was alone. He walked into the room. His footsteps creaked against the flimsy wooden floor. He moved along the cots. There were fifty, but only fifteen had mosquito nets set up and their bedrolls laid out. More evidence. Why not stretch out? he thought. Room to spare.
He heard voices, then footsteps on the stairs outside. He dove between two cots. Two Japanese soldiers entered the barracks and flipped on the light switch. The room illuminated. So much for stealth, he thought as the two soldiers walked in his direction. Shit. He slid under one of the cots and waited until they passed before sliding out the opposite side. The soldiers were walking away from him. He realized he had a very narrow window to escape undetected. He rose and walked out. He didn’t run. The soldier’s footsteps covered the noise of his footsteps. The soldiers stopped in front of their beds just as he slipped through the doorway into the darkness outside.
He checked the other two dark barracks to confirm the bed count. They were the same as the first with only fifteen occupied cots in each. Add an additional five officers and the Japanese garrison was only manned by seventy-five soldiers total. Light. Very light. He had seen enough and returned to his team on the opposite side of the compound wall.
Dewey walked across the stepping stones in the river to reach the opposite side. It was precarious because the buildup of river moss made the rocks slippery. There was no bridge. Giap and the other Viet Minh commanders were concerned that the Japanese could see a bridge from the air and it would reveal the location of the camp. Instead, they had placed flat stones in the shallowest part of the river.
Reaching the opposing bank, Dewey walked up the hillside to the caves. He entered the open doorway and said, “Hello,” to warn anyone inside of his presence.
“Please, Commander, come in and have a seat,” said a man’s voice.
He entered the small cave and found both Ho and Giap already inside. There was an empty chair made of tree branches and thick strips of bamboo for the seat. “Both of you. This is quite an honor,” said Dewey. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you two in the same room before.”
“It concerns a matter of great urgency on which we need to speak with you,” said Giap.
“Alright. Well… I’m here. How may I help you?”
“It has come to our attention that there is a spy in our camp. As you had suggested,” said Ho.
“And you found who it is?” said Dewey, hopeful.
“We have.”
“Excellent. I assume you will execute the bugger.”
“We do not feel it is our place.”
“Why is that?”
“It is one of your men. The one you call ‘Buck.’”
“What?! That’s not possible.”
“It is possible. He is French.”
“He’s not French. He’s an American.”
“He is French, and we are insulted that you chose to bring him into our camp. You have put the lives of our people in jeopardy.”
“This is ridiculous. He’s an American like me. Not to mention, he has risked his life several times to defend your people.”
“Yes. That is what spies do. Pretend to be on your side while stabbing you in the back.”
“Hang on a minute. What evidence do you have to support your accusation?”
“The gold coin he carries. It is French.”
“You’re accusing him because he carries a gold coin?”
“A French gold coin.”
“It’s a good luck charm like a rabbit’s foot. I have one myself. My father gave it to me before I went off to college.”
“A French gold coin?”
“No. Of course not. It’s a double eagle.”
“An American coin. Quite understandable. But it doesn’t answer why your sniper carries a French coin.”
“His grandfather gave it to him as a momentum.”
“His grandfather was French?”
“Yes. I suppose he was. But Buck is not French. He became an American citizen with the rest of his family when they immigrated.”
“From France?”
“He was twelve years old.”
“A young man.”
“A boy.”
“A French boy.”
“That doesn’t make him a traitor. In America, we don’t judge a person by their heritage. We judge them by their actions.”
“In Vietnam, we don’t have that luxury.”
“He is a good man. Loyal.”
“He is a spy for the French.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Mr. Dewey, try to see this from our perspective. If there is even the faintest chance that your man is a spy, he must be dealt with.”
“What do you mean ‘dealt with’?”
“He knows too much to be released.”
“You’re suggesting you will assassinate him?”
“No. It is not our duty. It is yours. You brought him into our camp. It was your mistake, not ours.”
“Alright. I’ve heard quite enough. There will be no assassination of Americans while I am in command. We are a people of laws. We believe in innocence before guilt.”
“Nobody has to know. But he must be dealt with… and soon.”
“If you persist, my team and I will leave… and American support goes with us.”
“I see. I wonder if your commander Patti will see the situation the same way.”
“I assure you he will.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe he will see our attacks against the Japanese as a higher duty than one man’s life?”
“I have nothing further to discuss.”
“Very we
ll. Enjoy your evening.”
Dewey left in a huff. “What would you have me do?” said Giap to Ho.
“Do what is necessary to deal with the problem.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
Dewey walked into the American camp, his mind racing, mumbling to himself. He saw Hoagland finishing up tending to Davis’ wound. Dewey waited until Hoagland was finished and Davis was resting quietly. “How is Davis?” said Dewey.
“Much better. The infection is nearly gone. He’s healing well,” said Hoagland.
“Excellent. When can he travel?”
“Travel?”
“Back across the border. I’m going to send him back with Buck. He’ll make sure they get through.”
Hoagland sensed by Dewey’s urgent speech that something was wrong. “Commander, excuse me for asking, but is everything alright?”
“No. But when it is ever? We’re dealing with barbarians.”
“What happened?”
“That’s none of your business, Hoagland.”
“Of course not. But you’re talking about sending one-third of our team back to headquarters. Is that wise? Especially at this juncture.”
“We do what we have to do… for the success of the mission.”
“Alright. I imagine it would be a week before Davis is ready.”
“A week?”
“Yes. It’s a long journey on foot. He has to regain his strength.”
“I see. Very well. Keep me advised on his progress.”
“Of course.”
Dewey moved off, distraught. He stopped at a spot overlooking the river. He considered the events and marveled how things had unraveled so quickly. He could not let the mission fail, not if he wanted to continue with his career in the OSS, not if he wanted to serve his country.
Granier and his team hiked through the forest at a good clip. He was anxious to get back to the Viet Minh camp. He thought about what he had discovered and what he would tell Dewey. His report could cost American and Viet Minh lives if he was wrong. He wasn’t wrong, but he was unsure how right he was. It all depended on how one interpreted the information. It was up to him to provide a clear picture of what was happening on the ground and not to exaggerate its meaning. Dewey would interpret the information how he saw fit. They didn’t always agree, and that was okay, but there were a lot of lives at stake.
A War Too Far Page 15