Many of the French prisoners didn’t want to return to France. Vietnam was their home. Besides, life would be very hard in France as hundreds of thousands of troops returned, looking for work in a war-shattered economy. Millions of civilians would struggle to rebuild their lives from the ruins left by the Nazi occupation. It would not be an easy life.
Vietnam, on the other hand, was relatively untouched. The French plantations could be quickly rebuilt and replanted. It wouldn’t take long for life to return to normal for the French as it was before the war started. But for that to happen, they would need to stay and take back what was once theirs. The prisoners began to make plans. If they could show the French politicians in Paris that even after being prisoners, they were not willing to give up Indochina, the French government would have no choice but to send troops to support their effort.
Granier had a bad headache that wasn’t helped by the potholes in the road. He could feel the eighty-six stitches he had received tug at his flesh with each bump. The improvement in food from the Red Cross packages helped him fight off infection and heal quickly. He hadn’t thought about what would happen once he was freed from the Japanese prison camp. He never expected to live that long.
There was much that he didn’t know. The biggest question was if Dewey had known of his betrayal. He doubted that Ho and Giap would have acted without American support. It was too risky. Dewey was practical and always put the mission first. Sacrificing one man to defeat the Japanese in Indochina would have been a smart move. Maybe even patriotic. But even well-intentioned betrayal was still betrayal. If Dewey had betrayed a member of the pack, that was something Granier couldn’t forgive. The only way to find out was to find the Deer Team… to find Dewey.
He wondered if the Deer Team was still with the Viet Minh. Maybe they have been recalled to China once the atomic bombs had been dropped and the end of the war was in sight. Finding them wouldn’t be easy. The members of the Deer Team were experts at not being found.
He thought about skipping Dewey and taking his revenge on the Viet Minh by hunting down Ho and Giap. They would be easier to find. They had a following of over 2,000 soldiers. If he was patient, he could kill them both, and nobody would know. But the truth of his betrayal would die with them. He wanted to know the ‘why’ and just as important the ‘who’ was behind it.
Once Ho was eliminated, the Viet Minh would most likely collapse, and that would be the end of their rebellion. Men like Ho only came along once in a lifetime. The Viet Minh would not recover. The thought pleased Granier. He had fought to protect them, and they betrayed him without a second thought. He hated the Viet Minh.
He wondered about Spitting Woman and what he would do if he ever saw her again. He was lucky he wasn’t dead because of her betrayal. He wondered if she thought he was still alive or if she thought about him at all. As a scout, she needed to be pragmatic and unemotional. Her focus was always on the next step, not the last step. She kept herself in the present and didn’t worry about the past. He thought he understood her. How she thought. He was wrong. He had miscalculated her loyalty toward him. He didn’t want to think about her anymore. That was the past. He needed to move forward. But not thinking about her was impossible.
What bothered him most was not what she had done to him. It was that he had allowed it to happen. He had let his guard down. He had let emotions gum up his inner compass – his survival instinct. He swore that would never happen again. Never. He would take his emotions out of the equation. It was better that way. He wouldn’t get hurt, and he would be more reliable. From that point on, everything would be about the mission. In between missions would just be wasted time. There was a lot that Granier needed to think through. Fortunately, it was a long journey to Hanoi.
A train sped past moonlit rice paddies. It was late, and most of the passengers were asleep. No Japanese troops were guarding the train’s cargo. There was no need. The war was over.
The stoker in the locomotive threw a shovel-full of coal into the boiler and closed the iron hatch. He set his shovel down and wiped the coal dust from his face with the dirty rag he always carried with him. He poured himself and the engineer two cups of tea from the clay teapot they kept on top of the boiler. The tea was double-strength black tea and kept them both awake through the night. The engineer took a sip and leaned out the side window to check the track ahead.
There was a bonfire beside the tracks about a mile ahead of the train. The engineer throttled down and applied the brakes. As the train slowed to a stop, the engineer and stoker looked out to see the fire-lit faces of 2,000 Viet Minh armed to the hilt and carrying everything they owned on their backs. The Americans were with them. Giap stepped forward into the light and said, “Thank you, brothers. Do you mind if we hitch a ride?”
The engineer, scared shitless, shook his head, giving his permission. The Viet Minh and the five Americans climbed on board the train. Every inch, including the roof, had someone sitting or standing on it.
When Ho Chi Minh climbed aboard, his personal guard escorted him into one of the passenger cars. Every eye followed him as he walked down the aisle toward the front of the car. Many had thought the old leader of the Viet Minh a myth; he had never been seen after all these years. Everyone knew he was the best hope for an independent Vietnam. Nobody said a word or even whispered. A passenger jumped up, offered his seat, and knelt before him. Ho reached down, took the man’s hand, helped him to his feet, and motioned for him to sit back down. The man was almost in tears and said, “Please. It would be my great honor. Please, take it, Uncle.”
Ho, moved by the gesture of the stranger, smiled, and said, “I thank you for the seat, brother. I would not be truthful if I said my bones were not weary. It has been a long journey, and I fear it is not yet over.”
The train blew its whistle, shattering the stillness of the night, and steamed ahead towards Hanoi.
Dewey and Hoagland made their way through the train cars until they reached the car in which Ho Chi Minh was sitting. As they approached, Dewey said, “You asked to see me, Mr. Hoo. I hope you don’t mind, but I brought Hoagland along with me. He wants to check your vital signs.”
“Yes, of course. Mr. Hoagland is always welcome, with or without his medical bag,” said Ho.
Hoagland went to work, checking Ho’s heart and lungs.
“How many I help you, Mr. Hoo?”
“Mr. Dewey, I would like you to review the speech I will present once we reach Hanoi. I believe you will find many of the words familiar.”
“Of course.”
Ho handed Dewey the typewritten speech. “It promises to be the most important speech I will ever offer. I would be honored if you both stood beside me when I present it.”
“Of course,” said Dewey. “We would be honored. I will read this and get back to you with my notes.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dewey.”
Dewey left Hoagland to finish checking on Ho. “Two Americans beside a communist. Are you sure that’s what you wish to portray?” said Hoagland.
“That is exactly what I hope to portray,” said Ho. “We have fought together. I consider you my friends, and I want the world to see it.”
Hoagland smiled and finished up his exam.
Hoagland walked back to where Dewey was seated reading Ho’s speech. “And how is the patient?” said Dewey.
“He’s fine. Extraordinary actually when you consider three months ago I wasn’t sure if he would last through the night,” said Hoagland.
“Excellent. Our work here is almost done.”
“Commander, do you ever get the feeling that all of this happened a little too easy?”
“Too easy? We lost Buck, remember?”
“Yes. And they lost men too. Good men. But it just seems like Mr. Hoo always says and does the right thing.”
“Of course he does. He’s a politician. And a very good one from what I can tell. This speech of his is quite remarkable. He starts off quoting
Thomas Jefferson.”
“But that’s what I mean. It’s like he’s trying to impress us. Impress America.”
“Well, he’s doing a pretty good job. I don’t think that makes it a conspiracy.”
“No, not a conspiracy. More like a well-choreographed ballet. Every word, every nuance has a meaning and a purpose. Like he’s trying to accomplish some end goal.”
“We all do that, Hoagland. Mr. Hoo seems to have mastered the technique. Good thing for the leader of a new country.”
“You think the French will let them go?”
“I don’t think Mr. Hoo and Mr. Van are going to give them much choice.”
“And what will America do?”
“I don’t know. Stay out of it, I hope. They’re both our Allies.”
“When has America stayed out of anything?”
“Damned if we do and damned if we don’t.”
“I suppose. I’m glad I’m not a politician.”
“You’re still young. You never know.”
At sunset, the train pulled into the outskirts of Hanoi. Giap studied a hand-drawn map and watched from the window of the locomotive. He showed the engineer the name of a building on the map. The engineer pointed to a tall building rising from the city’s skyline. Giap nodded.
As the train approached the city center, Giap watched the building. He signaled the engineer. The engineer slowed the train to a stop in the middle of a neighborhood. Two hundred of the Viet Minh disembarked with Giap.
With his head out a window, Ho gave Giap a thumbs up and wished his soldiers good luck. Hoagland stuck his head out the next window. “Where are they going?” said Hoagland.
“The Japanese may have surrendered, but they continue to take the harvest of our crops from our farmers at gunpoint. Our people are starving,” said Ho. “Mr. Van will see that justice is done.”
Hoagland had no idea what he was talking about. Giap and the Viet Minh disappeared into the neighborhood.
Giap and his men moved through the streets until they entered an industrial area. Two Japanese guards stood in front of a chain-link fence surrounding several warehouses. As the Viet Minh approached with Giap in the lead, the Japanese unslung their rifles and ordered the group to stop. They didn’t. Giap walked up with a Vietnamese translator and informed the two guards that the Viet Minh were taking control of the warehouses and that if they resisted, he would see that they were hung. They exchanged a nervous look, lowered their weapons, and stood aside. One of the Viet Minh took the guard’s keys and opened the gate. The Viet Minh flooded inside and opened the warehouses.
Inside the warehouses, space was stacked high with bags of rice. Each Viet Minh picked up a sack and exited the warehouse.
The Viet Minh, their rifles slung over one shoulder, and a bag of rice slung over the other, walked through the residential neighborhoods. The people were frightened. The Viet Minh had been elusive since the start of the war. While many people secretly belonged to or had sympathies for the Viet Minh organization, most Vietnamese had never seen an actual rebel fighter and didn’t know what to expect. This was the Viet Minh’s way of introducing themselves. No words, just action.
When the Viet Minh came upon a square, park, or market where people gathered, they plopped down several bags of rice and cut them open. The people rushed forward with whatever containers they could find and scooped up the raw rice.
When the rice ran low, more bags were brought in and cut open. This went on for hours during the night until all the warehouses the Viet Minh had raided were empty. Vietnamese mothers and fathers cried with gratitude. They could finally feed their hungry children. Some Vietnamese were so hungry they ate raw rice and died when their stomachs swelled beyond capacity and burst.
The next morning, Granier and the French prisoners continued their journey toward Hanoi, riding in the convoy of Japanese trucks. It was the fifth day since his final run-in with the Japanese lieutenant. His muscles had already stopped aching from being strung up, and his stitches were itching. That was a good sign. He was healing. The severed cells were bonding together at the base of the wound, then contracting to pull the wound together. The contraction caused the itching. He could also feel the string that held his wounds together was getting impacted by the fresh skin that was forming. It gave the skin around the sutures a tugging sensation. He had a bad habit of removing his sutures too soon and reopening his wounds. He would wait this time until he was sure his wounds were finished healing. He had learned the hard way how rapidly one could get an infection in tropical climates from an open wound. He didn’t need to learn that lesson twice because of impatience.
The convoy stopped just outside the city, and the Japanese let the prisoners out for a piss and a stretch. The benches in the back of the trucks were wooden without any padding. Each Japanese truck had a driver and a guard. The guards were not to prevent the prisoners from escaping but to prevent any problems with the bandits or looters that roamed the country. With the Japanese no longer responsible for the country, there was little motivation to prevent anything. They were understandably nervous about entering Hanoi, where the Vietnamese population was hostile and greatly outnumbered them.
Granier watched as one of the French soldiers wandered off to a nearby hillside. Granier followed him keeping out of sight. At the top of the hill, Granier could see the buildings in downtown Hanoi in the distance. Granier could see that the French soldier knew Hanoi and was looking for familiar landmarks to get his bearings. He was making little marks on the palm of his hand with a piece of charcoal.
The soldier returned to the trucks and had a hushed conversation with a few of the commanders in the group. Granier watched. The French were definitely up to something, but he didn’t know what and wondered it if was any of his business. For now, he would watch and wait to see how things unfolded. The men climbed back into the trucks, and the convoy drove off toward the city.
As the convoy entered the city, the French watched the passing buildings and streets until they saw what they were looking for. A signal was passed from truck to truck by letting a tin can holding a message attached to a long string dangle from the back of one truck until it passed underneath the next truck and out the back where it was retrieved, and the message read. The dust stirred up by each truck prevented the driver of the truck behind from seeing the string or the can. The process was repeated until all the passengers in the trucks knew when things were supposed to happen and what.
When the convoy drove over an iron bridge, the sound from the tires going from pavement to metal changed. That was the signal, and the French made their move. Two men from the back of each truck climbed on to the top of the truck cab. They clasped one of their hands to each other to prevent them from sliding off the roof. On cue, two more Frenchmen reached around from the back of the truck and pulled the door handle downward, opening the door. The men on top reached down, grabbed the two Japanese inside the cab and pulled them out the open doorway. The Japanese tumbled into the city streets; some smacked into benches or lampposts. Those that didn’t suffer a collision were set upon by the pedestrians, more than happy to give them a kick in the gut or a smack on the head. The French soldiers on top slipped down into the cab and took control of the truck before it careened off the road. Within one minute, the entire convoy of French soldiers was free. The French had no intention of letting the Chinese ship take them back to France.
Granier was unsure what to do but decided he might as well go along for the ride. At least the French seemed like they knew what they wanted and how to get it. He had no way of contacting the Deer Team and wasn’t so sure that he even wanted to. He couldn’t help but feel that Dewey must have betrayed him by allowing the Viet Minh to do what they did to him. For the moment, he was better off with the French.
NINE
September 2, 1945
At the very center of Hanoi sat Bo Dinh Square – an open plaza surrounded by beautiful French buildings, including
the palace of the French Governor-General of Indochina. Several hundred thousand Vietnamese, dressed in their best clothes, stood in the hot sun, waiting. They had seen flyers that Ho Chi Minh had promised to speak to all Vietnamese in the square that day. Many had made welcoming signs and banners that they held high.
Two black sedans drove into the square, flanked by a dozen Viet Minh soldiers on bicycles. Spitting Woman was the only female riding a bicycle. She had only learned how to ride the day before and was unsure of the two-wheeled contraption. After falling from it several times, she thought evil spirits haunted it. But Giap had ordered her to learn to ride the sinister machine, and she would do her duty.
After she had betrayed the American, Giap had grown to appreciate her loyalty. When they entered Hanoi and her services as a long-range scout were no longer needed, Giap decided to promote her to Ho’s personal bodyguard. She was known and respected by all the Viet Minh as an excellent fighter. The promotion was well-received by all, and Ho was pleased. Now, she would use her body as a shield to protect Ho if required. Ho and Giap had little doubt she would sacrifice her life if needed. As the president’s bodyguard, she was required to wear a new uniform and shoes. She didn’t like the shoes. They didn’t feel natural and gave her feet blisters. She was also given a Russian automatic pistol in place of her rifle. Firing and reloading the weapon efficiently took practice. Shells would often get stuck in the ejection port and keep the pistol from firing. The little gun pissed her off, and she threw it to the ground more than once. She missed her rifle, which she knew like the back of her hand and rarely jammed.
A War Too Far Page 23