Granier moved to the next target – the machinegun position – just in time to see the loader go down. Spitting Woman had things under control. No need to duplicate effort. He looked around and saw three Japanese soldiers running toward the mortar position. “No. No,” said Granier mockingly as he opened fire.
He compensated as best he could according to his sighting plan. It took five shots to kill the three Japanese in the mortar crew. No shell made it into the mortar. Others would take their place, but that was for later. Right now, he needed to kill as many Japanese within the compound as he could. His aim was getting better as he compensated a bit more after each shot until he found his sweet spot. Two more shots killed two more soldiers. His empty clip flipped from the open chamber of his rifle. He reloaded and released the bolt loading the next round. He searched for another target and found an officer – a lieutenant yelling at his troops, pointing where to direct their fire. Bonus, he thought as he took aim and fired. The officer was hit in the chest. Dead. His troops were leaderless.
A platoon of Viet Minh waiting in the forest ran to the wall where Dewey and his men had climbed into the compound. The first three men bent down, allowing the others to use their backs as a step to climb the wall. They sprang over the wall, dropped down into the compound and opened fire on the Japanese coming out of the buildings.
Granier glanced at Spitting Woman. She was kneeling and shouldering her rifle. Aiming. Firing. Reloading. Repeating the cycle. Completely focused on the task at hand. Now that’s a woman, he thought proudly.
He heard a barrage of gunshots from behind and turned to see the Viet Minh pouring out of the jungle and into the village, attacking the Japanese patrols. He thought they had the situation in hand until he spotted a large group of Japanese soldiers running across the dikes surrounding the rice fields. It was one of the large patrols returning from the mountain. It was a long shot for Granier, but he decided to demoralize them a bit before they attacked the Viet Minh. He turned around and laid prone. He took aim and compensated for the extended distance as best he could figure. He opened fire. Two shots and he took down his first man. The next shot, another man went down. Two more before the next man was hit in the shoulder. He wasn’t dead but probably couldn’t fight. Granier moved on – aiming, firing, reloading. Focused.
A few moments later, he watched as a man he was aiming at went down before he could squeeze the trigger. The Viet Minh in the village had joined the fight and were firing on the Japanese in the rice fields. They’re closer. They can have ’em, thought Granier as he turned back around toward the compound. The Japanese were putting up a fierce fight. Bullets were shredding the tower. Spitting Woman had moved from a kneeling to a prone position to avoid being hit. Granier reloaded and poured into the Japanese below, dropping several.
The two Viet Minh soldiers pretending to be guards at the main gate had rigged an explosive package and detonated it. The wood and iron gate blew to smithereens. The fortress was breached. The two Viet Minh ran inside and opened fire on the Japanese, killing several before they themselves were mowed down by a Japanese corporal firing a light machinegun.
Viet Minh that had been hiding poured out of the forest and entered the compound, firing their weapons, tossing grenades, killing Japanese.
The Japanese recoiled at the onslaught and pulled back into the remaining buildings where they could find some cover. They returned fire, killing and wounding a dozen Viet Minh.
The fortress commander stood on the steps of the command post, yelling to his troops to stand their ground when another explosion ripped the building apart. He went flying through the air and landed on his face, his back shredded, his uniform smoking. Dying.
The fighting continued as more Viet Minh entered the compound. The Japanese again pulled back. Some escaped out the back entrance. Others fought on. Two Japanese privates tried to retake the heavy machinegun. Fools’ courage, thought Granier as he ended their effort with two well-placed shots.
The Japanese inside the compound were leaderless and losing the battle. They continued to fight for their survival in small groups of three or four, using whatever they could for cover. They ran low on ammunition and pulled ammo belts and bandoleers from their dead and dying comrades. One of the soldiers ran to a supply hut and dragged a crate of grenades over to his comrades. They scooped the grenades, pulled the pins, and hurled them at the Viet Minh, driving them back.
The explosive package that was meant to take down the communications tower had malfunctioned, and the antenna still stood. Dewey was concerned that the Japanese might have called for reinforcements or air support. Not wanting to see a clear victory end in a Viet Minh massacre, he decided it was time to leave. He ordered the Viet Minh demolition team to place charges along the walls as the fighting continued. The goal was never to occupy the fortress but rather to destroy it to prevent future use and free the locals in the area from Japanese occupation. Dewey signaled Granier that he and the others were leaving.
Granier and Spitting Woman would provide overwatch as the Viet Minh, and the Americans retreated into the forest. Then it would be their turn to climb from the tower and retreat. Dao and his men were to provide cover for Granier and Spitting Woman when they ran for the forest. The fortress would be destroyed moments after their retreat. It was risky, and the timing was critical. They would all rendezvous on the other side of the mountain ridge.
Dewey and the Americans on the ground covered the Viet Minh as they placed the last of their explosives. They returned to the American’s position. There was too much open ground between them and the main gate. Dewey ordered Green and Santana back over the wall. The Japanese were greatly reduced in number but were still fighting back.
Dewey waited until Green and Santana were over the wall. He glanced back at the communications hut. It was still standing, and it bothered him. It was a failure, and he hated failure. He picked up a satchel charge and motioned for the Viet Minh to give him cover. He ran across the compound, pulled the detonator wire, and flung the charge next to the communications hut. He ran back to his covered position and dove behind the water barrels just as the charge exploded, shaking the ground, destroying the hut and bringing the communications antenna down.
Their job was done and little time remained before the wall charges went off. He and the remaining Viet Minh climbed over the wall. He snapped a salute to Granier before jumping down and retreating into the forest. It was Granier’s signal that he could now retreat with Spitting Woman.
Granier looked back at the village and could see the Viet Minh already retreating into the forest as they continued to fire at the Japanese patrol. “Our turn,” said Granier gesturing to Spitting Woman. “You go down first. I’ll follow.”
He continued to pour fire down on the Japanese to cover her retreat, but she didn’t move. It was time to kill Granier as Giap had ordered. She knew Dao would be watching from the forest and that if she didn’t do it, he would accuse her of being a traitor. She would be executed, and her family would be ejected from the camp. Without her, they would surely die. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She had no choice; the American had to die before leaving the tower. It would look like the Japanese killed him. Even the bullet from her rifle would be Japanese in case his body was ever recovered. He was a spy and a traitor as Giap had told her. He had no reason to want the American dead unless it was true. She had recounted this argument a dozen times in her mind, but something was holding her back…
She had loved the man more than any man she had ever met. He had protected her and even saved her life more than once. Maybe he was a spy and a traitor, but he didn’t deserve to die. There was too much good in him. He turned back and saw she hadn’t left yet. “What are you waiting for?” he said, rising into a kneeling position in preparation. “I’m starting to run low on ammo. You gotta go now.”
She looked back toward the forest and prayed to the forest gods that Dao was not watching. She turned her rifle a
round and thrust the butt of the weapon into the back of Granier’s head with a heavy thud. He went down unconscious. She knew that when he awoke, he would be surrounded and would continue to fight the Japanese until they killed him. She didn’t want that.
Granier’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he tried to focus them. He saw Spitting Woman pick up his sniper rifle and throw it over the side of the tower. What the hell is she doing? he thought, his head spinning in a whirlwind of pain.
She pulled out his bayonet and threw it over the side. With no way to fight, the Japanese would capture him. He would live.
He groaned and tried to rise. She hit him again even harder with her rifle. Again he went down, unconscious. She took one last look at his face. Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned away and climbed down the tower.
The Japanese from the village advanced toward the fortress. They opened fire on Spitting Woman as she climbed down and reached the ground. She wanted to fire back, but there wasn’t enough time. She ran for the forest. A burst of gunfire from the forest drove the Japanese back. Dao and a platoon of men emerged at the edge of the trees. Dao met Spitting Woman and slapped her across the face. “You are a stupid woman and a traitor,” said Dao as he moved past her and ran toward the tower.
Spitting Woman moved into the safety of the trees and returned fire at the Japanese. She watched as Dao slung his rifle over his back and climbed the tower. She was sure he would kill Granier. The Japanese fired at him. She prayed that one of them would hit him before he reached the top, but the idiots were bad shots and kept missing. She considered for a moment, swung her rifle around, took aim, and squeezed the trigger.
Her bullet hit Doa in the lower back. He jerked in pain but held on. He looked back toward the trees as he knew it was her and not the Japanese that had shot him. The anger rose inside him, and he continued to climb.
She could see a growing dark spot on his uniform. He was bleeding badly. She thought she might have hit his liver. She wanted to fire again, but the other men around her were suspicious and would surely know it was her firing at their commander.
Doa approached the top of the ladder and reached for the last rung. He missed it, lost his grip, and fell backward, faint from blood loss. His leg caught on the ladder, and he hung upside down. Streaks of blood ran down his face, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he passed out.
She wasn’t sure what to do. What if he woke up before the Japanese reached him? Seeing their commander beyond saving and the Japanese continuing to advance, the Viet Minh retreated deeper into the forest. Spitting Woman took one last look toward the tower that now held Dao and the American. Like all things, their fate was in the hands of the forest gods. She followed the Viet Minh back into the forest.
Granier’s eyes opened. Blood flowed from the wound on his head. At first, he didn’t know where he was. Then he remembered Spitting Woman throwing his rifle over the side. He was on the tower, defenseless. She had betrayed him. But why?
The explosive charges along the perimeter wall all detonated at the same time. It was a thunderous explosion that killed most of the remaining Japanese within the fortress walls. The perimeter walls on the forest side of the compound collapse into rubble. The supports under the tower were sheared. Dao was killed from the explosion’s concussive wave. The tower tipped over and fell. Granier was still conscious and still alive when it crashed to the ground in a heap of timber and sheet metal roofing.
The Viet Minh and Spitting Woman arrived at the rendezvous point on the opposite side of the mountain ridge. One of the Viet Minh explained Dao’s heroic death as he went back to save the American. Both died when the perimeter wall was demolished and the tower fell. Hoagland translated the report to Dewey. “Do you think Granier’s really dead?” said Hoagland.
“I don’t know, but I’m not going to take his word for it. If Granier is dead, I want to see it with my own eyes. On me,” said Dewey to the other team members as he started hiking back up the mountain.
The Americans headed over the mountain ridge until they heard the sound of two plane engines. They stopped and looked down into the valley. Two Japanese Zeros were circling over the demolished fortress. If the Americans were discovered, the Zeros would surely attack – or worse… follow them back to the Viet Minh camp. It was a risk Dewey wouldn’t take. He abandoned the search for Granier’s body. The disheartened team returned to join the column back to the Viet Minh camp. The death of their companion soured the Americans' great victory.
Spitting Woman took her place with the other scouts out in front of the column. She was unsure of what had happened to Dao and the American, but her guilt was real. She wept quietly as she walked through the forest.
SEVEN
Granier sat upright in a bed, staring at a beetle crawling up a wall. Someone’s dinner, he thought. According to the French doctor that patched him up, he had a severe concussion, three broken ribs, seventeen cuts that needed stitches, dozens more that didn’t and more bruises than a prizefighter. The stitches had been sutured using thread from his uniform and a regular sewing needle. There had been no anesthesia to soothe the pain — not even an aspirin. The Japanese did not give their prisoners medical supplies. They barely gave them food – a half cup of rice with a drizzle of fish sauce per day per prisoner. The prisoners supplemented the protein they needed with bugs and rodents they captured. Water was supplied by nature when it rained, which was often this time of year. The runoff from the rain sliding down the tin roofs was stored in empty food tins, bedpans and whatever else the prisoners could find that didn’t leak.
Granier was the only American in the prison camp. All the other prisoners were French. The Japanese that found him unconscious under the rubble of the guard tower discovered the French coin in his pocket when they searched him. His uniform had been torn to shreds and had no visible insignia to identify his country. They naturally assumed he was French.
The commander of the prison camp considered shooting him as a rebel, but when Granier was questioned under torture, he didn’t say anything. Nothing. Granier hadn’t spoken since he arrived. He just had this blank expression on his face like nothing affected him. The Japanese thought he had suffered such a severe concussion that his brain had been scrambled beyond healing or he was just too stupid to understand the interrogator’s questions.
They put him under the care of a French doctor. The doctor was from a hospital in Hanoi before the Japanese changed their mind about the French governing themselves and put them all in prison. Now, the Japanese were waiting for the French to slowly die of starvation and disease so they could be rid of them. Disobedience to the rules or the whim of an officer was met with the edge of a sword usually resulting in decapitation or, at best, dismemberment. As the French prisoners would say… It was a rough playground.
Granier didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. Not living or dying. Not sickness or health. Not the edge of the Japanese sword. He was a dead man walking, and he was fine with that. He had heard the expression once that ‘Betrayal was the willful demise of hope.’ So true, he thought. It saps one’s will to go on… to survive. He wasn’t sure why he was still breathing. Instinct, I guess, he thought. The brain must be wired to take a breath because God knows it’s not me doing it.
While recovering from his wounds, Granier thought about what Spitting Woman had done and why. He pondered whether she ever loved him or whether their relationship was just a convenience. He certainly loved her. That was no lie. He concluded that she must have been ordered to betray him. Someone powerful wanted him dead because they thought he was French. Maybe Ho, maybe Giap. She would have been faced with an impossible decision – kill him or be killed for disobedience. He knew she was the only person capable of protecting her family, and she had to survive to protect them. She had chosen her pack over an outsider. Granier wondered if he would have done the same. No, he thought. She was my pack. I would have done anything to protect her and her family. She
should have trusted me. He wondered what he would do if he ever saw her again. He fought the need for revenge. Animals don’t seek revenge, he thought. Be an animal. Let it go. But her betrayal was entrenched in Granier’s subconscious like a vein of ore deep in a mountain, hidden, but always there, waiting to be revealed.
When Granier was finally released from the sickbay, he joined the other prisoners. They spoke to him in French and assumed he was a French army soldier that had had a hard time of it and didn’t feel like talking. They gave him a wide berth. They had seen men like him snap before, and it was best not to be around when it happened. Not everyone in the camp was a soldier. The Japanese had arrested many of the French citizens, especially those in government, and placed them in the prisons alongside the soldiers. They did not mix well, and the soldiers dominated the civilians. The soldiers did whatever it took to survive and weren’t afraid to fight with their fists. Some even relished it as a way to pass the time.
A French corporal, Laurent, was assigned by the French commander the job of giving Granier an orientation of how things worked in the camp and getting him situated in his barracks. As they walked through the entrance and down a row of twin bunks, Laurent said in French, “Your uniform… or what’s left of it… I haven’t seen it before. What unit are you from?”
Granier did not respond.
“I’m not spying for the Japanese if that is what you are thinking. I would rather die. Besides, it is insane to pet the tiger that can eat you, yes?” said Laurent.
Granier still said nothing. “This is your bunk,” said Laurent pointing to a top bunk. “It belonged to a civil engineer that hung himself in the toilet a couple of days ago. I guess he couldn’t take it. Although I think he may have had a little help from a couple of his roommates that didn’t like listening to his crying at night. He is in a better place, I think.”
A War Too Far Page 18