by Eric Meyer
“Er, this is Captain Jane, Sir. I’m one of General Harkin’s aides.”
“Well, listen to me, Captain. I have to have some information on my wife’s condition, I want you get that for me now. You do know she’s in a military hospital stateside?”
“Er, yes, Sir. I do. I’ll get onto that as soon as I can.” I nearly lost it then. “Captain, if the General wants to debrief me you’d better make sure I have that up to date information when I get there, otherwise he can wait until you do. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir, I’ll contact Washington right now.”
“Thank you, Captain, I’ll speak to you when I arrive. Give me a short time to grab a shower and change, when is the car due to collect us?”
“He just left, Sir, about fifteen minutes, I’d guess.”
“Well he’ll have to wait, see you later, Captain.”
I hung up, they could wait. For a few moments I felt my mind blank with the tension of the mission, the worry over Helene and the task I still had to achieve in front of me. I pulled myself together and finished my drink, thanked Ritter and Johann and asked the soldiers to wait while I changed. Ritter left to drive back to Saigon, I ran over to my damaged bungalow and found some clean clothes. I took them back to the hangar, showered in the basic facilities we had there and felt better with clean clothes on, chinos, a button down shirt and a pair of leather deck shoes.
The vehicle from MACV, a Willys jeep, was already waiting with the three Americans on board, I jumped in and found a cramped space on the back seat and we roared off to Saigon. The Willys pulled up inside the gates of 137 Pasteur Street and we climbed out and went in. I was ushered up the stairs and into the office of General Paul Harkins, the three Special Forces men were separated and led to another room, which surprised me. Inside the office were Harkins, a captain who I assumed to be his aide Jane and Miles Anderson. Harkins came forward, his arm outstretched.
“Mr Hoffman, my congratulations on your escape from the North.”
“Thank you, General, but I explained to Captain Jane that I needed an update on my wife before I could be debriefed.” He smiled. “Captain Jane has checked with Washington, she’s doing well, the baby is safe and the surgeon expects her to make a complete recovery.” He nodded to the Captain.
“Yes, as the General says, she’s looking good. Their best guess is she will be okay to be flown back in about two more weeks.”
“Thank you, Captain,” I said to him. I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. “Now, how can I help you, General?”
“Tell me about the mission, Mr Hoffman, especially anything that may be useful to us for future operations.” I told them everything, except for the parts that I didn’t want them to know just yet.
“So you think we have a traitor, here in Saigon?” Harkins asked. I nodded. “At least one, General. They knew we were coming, if they’d been better organised we wouldn’t have got away with it.”
“Any ideas, any names you have in mind?” he asked. I hesitated. “Miles, how’s your leg?” I asked the CIA officer. They all looked startled at the sudden change of subject.
“My leg?” he asked in surprise.
“Yes, your leg, the one that was broken during your capture in the North, along with the cracked ribs. Hard interrogation, as I remember, that’s what you said.” He suddenly looked wary. “Yeah, well, it’s starting to ease, still a bit painful, but yeah, it’s not too bad.”
“Show us, Miles.”
“What?”
“Show us the leg, the broken leg. Maybe we should talk to the medic that fixed it for you, who did you see?” I asked him. “Right, it was one of our CIA guys,” he finally said.
General Harkins was looking around suspiciously. “What’s going on here, Hoffman? Why are you asking Mr Anderson about his leg?”
I didn’t take my eyes from Miles Anderson. “General, give me a moment, will you? My reasons will become obvious once we can see the damage to his leg.” Harkins hadn’t got to where he was without being as sharp as a tack. He understood immediately.
“Miles, show us the leg, would you?” he asked him.
Anderson looked around the office, then shrugged and pulled the leg of his trousers up for us to see the dressing. “Satisfied?” He said with a smirk.
“Why isn’t it in a cast, Miles? Broken legs need to be in a cast. Take off the bandage and let’s have a look,” I said. “Fuck you, Hoffman, I’m not taking off the dressing for anyone, you included,” he said defiantly.
“Take off the dressing, Mr Anderson,” Harkins said icily. Anderson looked around the room, I’d seen that look before, the look of a trapped animal, the most dangerous of the species. He bent to remove the dressing with one hand and I saw his other hand reaching under his jacket. He was much too slow, I’d been waiting for him to do exactly that. I took two quick steps across to him and reached under his coat and removed his pistol, a snub nosed Colt .38 revolver, before he had the chance to pull it. Harkins picked up the phone and called in the MPs, while Jane and I held the CIA man. Four burly soldiers with steel helmets and clubs drawn bustled into the office and at Harkins’ orders, took over holding Anderson while I removed the dressing on his leg, then took off his shirt. No bruises, no broken leg, no cracked ribs. Harkins looked grim.
“So you’re saying that Anderson is the traitor?” I nodded. “I am, General. He’s been passing information to the communists about my mission, God knows how many other missions before this one.”
“But why, why did he do it?” Anderson smirked at me. “That’s bullshit, Hoffman. Just because I exaggerated a couple of injuries to look a little bit brave doesn’t make me a traitor.”
“That’s true,” Harkins said.
“Yes, it is General. But if you question his lover, you might find a different story.”
“His lover, who the hell is she?” he asked. Anderson has gone white, the smirk fading rapidly from his face. “You mean he.” I replied. “Nguyen Cam Le, the tower controller from Tan Son Nhat.”
“But I’ve met Nguyen Cam Le and he hates the commies.”
I smiled. “Really? If you check into his story I think you’ll find it’s the biggest load of bullshit you’ve ever been forced to swallow, General. He’s a communist sleeper, prepared by Hanoi and fed into the system to do exactly what he’s done, spy on your military. What better job could he have other than the man with access to every single take-off and departure from Tan Son Nhat? There’ve been so many leaks lately, everything points to him, especially with his relationship to this traitor. Think about it, the air traffic controller for Tan Son Nhat and a senior CIA officer.”
“But that’s crazy, Le’s not even a woman, he’s a man...” He tailed off as it all started to fit together, the awful treachery. “Jesus Christ. Are you a homosexual, Miles?”
The CIA man slumped. The way Harkins had said it almost made me laugh, as if that was by far the greater betrayal. Personally, I’d known a number of queers in the Foreign Legion during the 1950’s, even in the SS during the Second World War, despite the awful penalties that Hitler insisted on if they were caught. I couldn’t give a damn about their sexuality, but I knew that not all men were quite as liberal and Harkins was probably less inclined than most to make allowances. A story had gone around when he first took over in Vietnam that when he was commandant of cadets and head of the tactical department at West Point, he was informed that there was a group of cadets, mainly among the football team, who were involved in a cheating ring. Harkins had made it plain that he felt that the behaviour was not in line with his vision of the academy. In a controversial decision he asked the cadets to gather information about the cheating. Eventually a formal inquiry was held and ninety cadets were dismissed from the academy, some of those had not participated in the cheating but knew of it and had not reported it, which was considered a breach of the Cadet Honor Code, ‘a cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do’.
A true hardass, for whom homosexu
ality was a breach of every honour code known to man. I almost felt sorry for Anderson, but only almost, he had done his best to get us killed.
“Take this man to the cells,” he ordered the MPs. “Then get an arrest warrant for Nguyen Cam Le, the tower controller from Tan Son Nhat. I want him brought in for interrogation, we’ll check out their stories properly. Let me know when you’ve picked him up,” he ordered. The MPs saluted and dragged out the hapless CIA officer.
“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it,” Harkins said, “one of our own people, a CIA officer, this could be messy. Any idea how long it’s been going on?” I shook my head. “None, but I would assume the worst.”
“Damn, you heard about Colonel Vann?”
“The advisor to Colonel Huynh Van Cao, the ARVN commander?” I remembered speaking to Colonel Vann over the radio when I had overflown Ap Bac with Anderson and Goldberg during the battle.
“Yeah, him. Vann started to criticise the progress of the war, MACV and myself especially. He even attempted involve the press with the supposed problems and went so far as to talk to New York Times reporter David Halberstam. I’m having Vann removed from his advisor position and sent home. Now we’ve got this, it’s a fucking mess.”
I made sympathetic noises. In truth, I thought the Americans were just as doomed as the French had been ten years earlier with corruption on a grand scale, theft, criminal gangs and nepotism. The communists seemed to have few of these problems, they simply shot anyone who didn’t agree with them. Maybe they had a point.
Then the phone rang, Anderson had got away. Apparently he’d seized a gun from an unwary guard and shot his way out, leaving two dead and one wounded MP in his wake. Harkins erupted in rage, barking orders over the phone and I thought it time to leave. I said I’d call back the following day, and then left and went to a bar for a meal and something to drink. As I sat eating, I remembered the old French proverb, ‘plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose’. The more it changes, the more it's the same thing. I finished up and got a taxi back to Tan Son Nhat, with Anderson on the loose I felt vaguely uneasy and wanted to check that everything was secure.
When I walked into our hangar I should have known that something was wrong, it was silent when normally Johann would have been pottering around fixing some piece of machinery. But as I reached for the light I felt a piece of metal pressed to my head.
“Turn on the light, Hoffman, then put your hands up.” It was Anderson. I did as he said, when the hangar was flooded in light I saw the Johann’s body lying in a pool of blood on the shabby office carpet. Paul Schuster was tied to a chair, his mouth gagged with a piece of rag. He was covered by Nguyen Cam Le, the air traffic controller, who was holding an American Colt .45 automatic pistol, the same as the one Anderson had pressed to my head.
“You’ve killed Johann,” I said coldly. It wasn’t a question. Anderson giggled, it sounded strange.
“He wouldn’t cooperate so I had to put him down. Your friend Schuster will go the same way if you don’t do as we say.”
“So you want a flight out of here?”
“You’d better believe it, buddy. The sooner the better, so you’d better get your aircraft cranked up and ready to go.” “Where to?” I asked him. “I’ll need to request clearance and file a flight plan.”
Le nodded. “Yes, Miles, that is correct, it is the proper procedure.”
“We’re heading north, the CIA man said. “Tell them Hue.”
“We won’t make it before nightfall, they won’t believe me,” I said firmly, “you’ll need to choose somewhere more local.” They conversed between themselves in low tones. I imagined their actual destination would be Hanoi, where they would be treated as heroes. The trouble was, they weren’t getting to Hanoi, not now, not ever, not in my aircraft.
“I need to check Paul and make sure he’s ok,” I said to Miles. He nodded.
I went and looked Paul over. He couldn’t speak but his eyes spoke volumes. They raked to the right, over to a battered old couch we had in the office. Behind it there stood one of the AK47s we’d brought back from the North, taken off one of the Viets we’d killed in the last action. As far as I knew, it was fully loaded. Paul managed to convey to me that he would create a diversion, at least I hoped I’d read him correctly. Then I stood up to the side of the couch. Miles and Le carried on talking, and then Paul started to groan. At first, they ignored him, but I shouted at them that he was choking and couldn’t breathe. They looked at him suspiciously, Miles went over to check him out while Le covered the office with his automatic. I walked over to stand next to Paul while Miles checked him out, then when Anderson gave me an impatient look I moved to one side, behind the couch.
I squinted at them, they were both still checking on Schuster, Miles had removed his gag. Paul was giving a command performance, moaning and groaning, it was now or never. I scooped up the Kalashnikov, flipped off the safety, aimed at Le and pulled the trigger. The blast literally tore him apart, he was thrown to the floor in bloody, bleeding shreds. Miles whirled around, bringing up his own Colt. Before he could pull the trigger I emptied the magazine into his body, sending him spiralling to the ground to join his lover and fellow traitor in death. Then the hangar was silent, just a wisp of smoke curling out of the barrel. Both bodies were totally still. I released Paul and he immediately went to look at Johann, and then shook his head.
“The bastards caught us unawares, poor Johann, he tried to fight back but he was an engineer, not a soldier. They shot him down like an animal. I knew what they wanted and hoped you’d see the AK47.”
“I never thought I’d be so happy to see a Russian assault rifle again, Paul,” I said. He nodded. “Me neither. But it was poetic justice, a communist gun to kill two communist traitors.”
The telephone was still working and I used it to let MACV headquarters know what had happened and that the hunt for Anderson and Le was over. Half an hour later a convoy of vehicles drew up outside the hangar and a platoon of MPs stormed in and took charge of the bodies. Then General Harkins came through the door with a civilian.
“Mr Hoffman, are you ok?” he asked anxiously. “Yes, General. Sadly, my engineer was killed by Anderson and Le.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Gentlemen, this is Mr Colby, he takes care of certain interests here in Saigon for the United States government.” I’d seen Colby once at a party when he was pointed out to me as the CIA Chief of Station. It was inevitable that he would be called in to clear up after Miles Anderson. We shook hands.
“Mr Hoffman, your engineer was killed by the Vietnamese traitor Le, no one else was involved,” he said. “Let me assure you that the United States government will look unfavourably at anyone who suggests otherwise.”
It was nothing new, I’d seen it happen countless times, the cover up to protect people’s reputations. They called it politics, fighting soldiers called it bullshit. “And Miles Anderson?”
“He was killed while bravely trying to arrest the communist traitor, Nguyen Cam Le.” We were silent for a moment while I tried to contain my rage. Johann was dead, yet all this bureaucrat could think about was covering his ass. Then I forced myself to calm down. Without doubt, Colby could cause trouble for my operations in Vietnam. Paul and I needed to run the airline and besides, I had a wife to worry about and a baby due, hopefully. I made myself a promise that if ever I got the opportunity I’d get some kind of payback for what happened to Johann, but how I would ever do it I had no idea. In the meantime, life had to go on. These people held the fate of my livelihood and my wife’s health firmly in their greasy hands. It was not a time to make waves.
“Yeah, ok, I hear you.” I turned away from him, Paul gave me a bemused look but I shrugged, what could we do? We couldn’t fight the whole U.S. government.
“Hoffman, we need a word,” General Harkins said form behind me. I turned around just as a team of medics came into the office and started to remove the bodies.
“Could you give us a few minutes, Gene
ral,” I replied. I didn’t wait for a reply, Paul and I went to Johann and gently closed his eyelids. Then we covered him with the best blanket we could find, a thick woollen rug that Helene had bought one winter for when we had long flights up to the DMZ and one pilot slept while the other flew. It was little enough, but the least we could do. I turned back to speak to Harkins. “General?”
“Yes, I’m sorry for the loss of your engineer, Hoffman. I’ll speak about some compensation, unofficially of course.” I waved the offer away. “It won’t bring back Johann, will it?”
“No, it won’t, I’m sorry. Now, about the aircraft you lost in the North, as you were on government business, I’ll make sure that you are supplied with a replacement aircraft. Was the choice of the Junkers 52 a business decision, or was it, you know, sentimental?” I grinned. “You mean did it remind me of the Eastern Front, General. No, none of us that were there wanted reminding of it. She was a sturdy, reliable aircraft that we picked up for a song.”
“Yeah, I understand. I’ll authorise the location and supply of a replacement Junkers, or a C-47, as you already fly a Douglas it might be sensible for you to standardise.”
I thought for a moment. My wife was in hospital several thousand miles away, the corpse of my engineer was being transported to the mortuary, at that moment I hated everything about Vietnam, the country, the communists, the CIA and the army. But I had made it my home, it was Helene’s home, Paul Schuster’s home too. “We’ll take the C-47, thank you General.”
Paul nodded his relief, I knew he’d thought for a moment that I was going to tell the General to go to hell. “Good, I’ll make the arrangements. Now look, Hoffman, I need to talk to you about a contract to take some of our people North.”
Paul walked over and joined the conversation. “We’ve only just come back from the North, General. Exactly what do you mean by ‘north’? In relation to the DMZ, that is.” Harkins at least had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, er, North North.”