by Ed Marohn
The work grew tedious, dirty, and hot. The high humidity prevented anyone from cooling off. By four in the afternoon, we had uncovered twenty-one bodies, represented by broken skeletons with rotted clothing still attached. The remnants of ARVN uniforms were attached to at least two bodies, validating that Ramsey and his team had also killed soldiers to cover up the operation. The anthropologists regulated the retrieval of the skeletons and loose bones, slowing the recovery process, ensuring complete skeletons were assembled, allowing for proper identification later. Watching the uncovering of so many dead Vietnamese saddened me.
It also impacted many of the soldiers who, armed with shovels, worked with little rest, disheartened by the bone piles forming around the base of the hill. The soldiers saw the remains as sympathetic peasants who were brutally murdered by Americans and South Vietnamese. I worried that my presence betrayed their dead, causing the troops to focus their hatred on me, forgetting that I had come here to help the Vietnamese government, forgetting that I personally had nothing to do with this massacre. They didn’t see my own anger over this senseless killing. Their hatred extended to the two ARVN remains, as they piled those skeletons away from those of the villagers.
Hieu and I helped with the digging, working together as a team. I quickly noticed that many of the bones of each skeleton had multiple bullet holes or craters formed by the slugs ricocheting. The hapless villagers had been shot with AK-47s set on fully automatic, rounds ripping into them. The killers wanted to ensure the deaths of the peasants, and I counted at least twenty or more bullet abrasions on some completed skeletons. It was difficult for me to believe that someone shot and killed these unarmed civilians. It repulsed me, and I could not justify such brutality, not even in war. The two still alive who were responsible for this act deserved punishment. I knew now that I would do whatever it took to bring Ramsey and Loan to justice. Hung, it became more evident, had not been involved.
During a break, Hieu reclined with me against the side of our Mercedes, having noticed my foul mood. It was comforting to have her near me. She represented some sanity for me here in this jungle.
“Just can’t believe anyone could do this. Especially Tom Reed—I’m shocked to find that he was a part of this!”
Hieu said nothing and stared at the working troops. I looked down at her. She truly seemed a unique creature, mysterious as the Orient but astute to deal with the modern world. She embodied the Yin and Yang philosophy.
Hieu had ordered floodlights so work could continue into the night. We decided to spend the night at the site, and I drove back to the Hoi An hotel to pack a set of clothes for each of us while she remained, supervising.
After I packed a clean set of my jeans, a shirt, and underwear with some toiletries, I headed over to Hieu’s room with her written list. I found the clothes and toiletries she had requested, slightly embarrassed, wondering why she felt comfortable with me getting her items. I packed her items on top of my stuff in a duffle bag that Tho provided then headed to the Mercedes.
When I returned to the site, another ten complete skeletons had been recovered, bringing the total to thirty-one. If the original story remained accurate, there were about seventy more to go. Dusk had settled when Hieu dragged me back to the dig to take our turn again. Although tired, I worked hard alongside her, despite the dirt and the bugs, ever increasing in the beams of the floodlights. Hieu stopped long enough for me to spray both of us with insect repellant. It helped greatly, but I still hated the smell of Deet. It reminded me of the war here, of spraying the stuff before digging in for the night, waiting and watching for the enemy, expecting to kill or be killed.
By midnight, fifty skeletons had been retrieved. Hieu and I, along with a few soldiers, examined the tunnel still blocked with compacted dirt. We decided to call it quits for the night, allowing the military to continue digging. The captain had organized the straight leg platoon into shifts for digging, for guard duty, and for sleep. He kept the airborne platoon back at the concealed observation and command post as his reserve troops. I needed some sleep. I looked for Hieu to coordinate our sleeping arrangements and saw her by the SUV.
Hieu waved and pointed to the nest she had created in the back seat with borrowed army blankets. Both rear seats were reclined, ready for use. Hieu took the right rear seat, and I the left, after we both took off our hiking shoes, leaving our clothes on, too tired to care how dirty we were. Within minutes I descended into hard-earned sleep.
The chilly night air woke me at two in the morning. Hieu’s head had slid over and rested on my chest. She quietly breathed in rhythmic spurts; her legs were curled, her knees pressed against my ribs. I lay next to her warm body, not daring to move and wake her. The blankets were askew, but Hieu’s body provided enough heat for both of us. I closed my eyes as she murmured something in her sleep.
I fell asleep again.
My Son, January 15, 2003
The sunrays passing through the windshield warmed and woke me, as I lay spread out and alone on the rear seats, my back aching, legs cramped. I had no idea where had Hieu disappeared to. I heard the work going on at the site and glanced at my watch—it showed seven o’clock. In sixteen days, Tet would officially start; already, the volume of travelers had increased and would culminate two or three days before February 1. Hieu and I both thought that Ramsey or Loan would use the heavy traffic in the weeks ahead to make a move for the gold, if it was here.
The right rear passenger door opened and Hieu offered me a travel mug. I smelled the steaming hot coffee. “Good morning. Was sleep OK?” She studied me, handing me the mug as I sat up and answered, “Yes.” Her serious eyes locked onto me for a second then she looked at the dig site.
I felt too old for this lifestyle, with my back aching and my right arm shooting jolts of pain from sleeping on it. I saw that Hieu had already changed into clean jeans and a shirt.
As if reading my mind, she said, “The rear and side windows are heavily tinted. You can change back there. I have a pan of hot water and soap for you on the hood.”
Mug in hand, I got out. “Thanks for the coffee, Hieu. You constantly amaze me.” But she had already turned to instruct one of the anthropologists, her ponytail swaying from the back of the baseball cap as she pointed, walking away from me with the individual, her firm and feminine body held erect, commanding every male nearby to focus on her. I went to wash up.
After a quick sponge bath with just my shirt off, I crawled into the vehicle’s rear to change into clean underwear and clothes. Upon reflection, waking up last night with Hieu’s head on my chest, seemed to show a degree of trust in me, an American. She was, after all, a lone woman camping out with a bunch of guys.
Sipping coffee during my break, I watched the soldiers being directed by Hieu and Tho as they worked on the tunnel. The pleasant weather lifted our spirits as the palm fronds rattled against each other in the cool breeze that blew through the work site. The chirping birds and clear, light blue sky overhead all renewed my memory of the rare beauty that tropical Vietnam offered.
By noon, the cave, probably over hundreds of years old, once dug by Montagnards from the limestone that formed this hill, opened to us as the soldiers removed the final dirt deposits—placed there at the commands of Ramsey, Reed, and Loan. Hieu approached me with Captain Tho and several of the Da Nang policemen.
She turned toward me, translating a question from Captain Tho. “What do you think happened with the bulldozer and the APCs?”
“My guess—because of the war going on and this being VC-controlled area, Ramsey would have had the drivers of the APCs and the dozer killed, the equipment abandoned on the road or in the jungle, far from this site. Set up to look like the VC probably killed the ARVNs, hiding their bodies in the jungle. Who would argue in those days?”
Captain Tho nodded before Hieu had a chance to translate. I thought most of the military officers and senior police officials had a dece
nt grasp of English; this confirmed it. He continued to stare at me, though. Then he finally broke the chill.
“You must know that my father died in the South, on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. He was a young soldier, recently married to my mother, deployed from Hanoi to fight you Americans and your corrupt allies, the South Vietnamese. Your B-52 bombers raided the A Shau Valley and the trail he was on. He died from massive internal bleeding from the shock of the 500-pound bombs. His eyes blew out and his brain became . . . what is word . . . ah . . . mush. I was born eight months later. It seems Agent Hieu respects you, but I have no love for the Americans. Thus I am reserved around you.”
Responding to his story meant addressing the pain for all soldiers; I could only grapple with his emotions over the war and his father, whom he never met. I looked directly into Tho’s eyes and said, “I commanded a unit of 110 men along the A Shau Valley and lost many in combat. We both suffered due to the war. It changed my life, as it did yours, but I bear you no ill will. It is now the past.” I turned to walk away, before I allowed my anger to show.
Frustrated with Tho, Hieu grabbed my arm and stopped me. “Please, we need your recommendation.”
“On what?” I turned around, trying to avoid further confrontation with Captain Tho.
“If we find the gold, how should we leave this site?” Tho asked, his dark eyes still boring into me.
Addressing both Hieu and Tho, I said, “If Ramsey and his people are coming here by vehicles, we need to deceive them by restoring the area to how we found it. And certainly refill the cave with dirt, forcing them to dig while you, Captain, deploy troops, then alert Hieu so we can participate in capturing him.”
“That can be done,” Tho said.
“I also suggest no troops remain here. Use your best men, preferably from the airborne platoon, camouflaged and hidden near your current observation post, away from this hill. They stay in touch with you by radio, while you coordinate the military aspect of the operation. They should have enough food and water to stay in the field, completely hidden.” I thought of something to remove some tension between us and said, “As an NVA soldier, your father had these same skills. As a former American soldier, I would have respected your father for such professionalism. He would have been a formidable enemy in combat.”
Tho raised his eyes. Ancestors are important in Vietnam, and the respect shown for the deceased is a key part of the culture, even under the communist regime. Tet crept toward us, and the Vietnamese would be celebrating at least three generations of family, past, present, and future. Tho wouldn’t become my friend for life because I complimented his dead father, but I hoped he now understood me better. I harbored no illusions that the US could have won by bombing more or sending more troops, the standard military thinking used by our generals; Nam became a war we couldn’t win. We lost when we allied ourselves with the inept, corrupt South Vietnamese regimes, taking on the war ourselves rather than developing honest allies.
The North Vietnamese worshiped Ho Chi Minh, and they knew they would win. He summarized their passion when he said, “You will kill ten of our men and we will kill one of yours, and in the end, it will be you who tire of it.” He was correct.
Captain Tho talked to Hieu briefly, isolating me with his Vietnamese. Hieu, never the timid one, firmly interjected some information, pointing at him then me, emphasizing some topic while Tho diplomatically acquiesced to her. He then turned to me, did a hand salute, and walked away.
I stared at his back as he sauntered to the cave, giving orders to his troops digging in the earth. “Thank you,” Hieu said as she stood staring after him with both hands on her hips, shaking her head.
“For what, Hieu?”
“For your diplomacy and your honesty—he may be more open with you now.”
“OK. How about the bodies?” I asked.
“Yes, all of the hundred remains have been recovered. We are digging to find the gold now.”
I wondered what had happened to Loan. How did he escape the trap set for him by the Vietnamese agents in Cambodia? Somehow, I knew the end game: Loan would contact Ramsey and plan on meeting where they had buried the treasure. There seemed to be no other option. I just hoped they were planning on coming to this location.
I said, “The CIA thinks Ramsey left Hong Kong this week. They checked all flights to Vietnam, but no luck. He has to be going to Cambodia if Loan is hiding there too.” I didn’t think this would be new intelligence to her, as the Vietnamese agents no doubt knew this.
Someone shouted from within the cave. Hieu grabbed my arm and dragged me after her, jogging to the entrance. Captain Tho emerged, tired. He reported to Hieu and she turned to me, disappointment showing.
“There is no gold!” she said.
By six that afternoon, the four Vietnamese army trucks were loaded with the skeletal remains of the Giang villagers. Hieu reported to her home office that the gold no longer existed in the old cave. Several old wood lids and crates had been found, confirming that the gold had been buried here at one time.
I showed no emotion, as I had worried all along that the gold had been removed years ago—but by whom? Relegated to an observer role, I focused now on the final body bags holding the remains of the dead villagers. Hieu told me that they would be taken to the Da Nang morgue. The anthropologist would identify the remains before they were returned to the village of Giang and buried for final closure for any surviving relatives. These one hundred villagers would hardly make a dent in the tally of over three hundred thousand NVA and VC still missing in action versus America’s missing two thousand, but the local relatives could finally stop wondering what happened to their husbands or fathers. Any closure worked for these war-weary people.
Hoi An, January 15, 2003
Captain Tho and his infantry stayed behind as the convoy departed, guarded by the police. His troops started restoring the area back to its original facade, also placing sensors and listening devices around the hill. Even the straight leg infantry soldiers were unaware of Tho’s airborne troops about a kilometer away, concealed and hidden, waiting and watching. We betted on one thing: That Ramsey and Loan still thought the gold was buried here in the Montagnard cave. However, if they had moved the gold somewhere else in the last years of the war, then we had been screwed.
We followed the convoy until it split off to Da Nang, then we drove to Hoi An and our hotel. After her extreme disappointment over not finding the gold, Hieu, too exhausted to stay awake, slept peacefully on the passenger side while I drove. I wondered if Ramsey and Loan would appear after all, and what they would do once they discovered the gold missing. It would be over for them. They would try to flee the country to avoid capture, knowing that prison or possible execution waited for them both. Based on Woodruff he had forced Ramsey onto the Vietnamese in exchange for giving them Loan. Did Ramsey know?
On the other hand, if Ramsey and Loan had moved the gold years ago to another location, then we lost in our gamble on the My Son area hill. We had no other contingency to fall back on.
I struggled, trying to understand. If Ramsey and Loan hadn’t moved the gold, then who did? Hung? But Hung had been incarcerated for over thirty years by the new regime. If he had the gold, why didn’t he bribe his way to freedom? It just didn’t fit.
Then there could be others in the corrupt ARVN military who may have learned of the buried treasure. Had some soldier or junior officer learned of the cave and then stole the treasure?
And then we had Quan. Could he have gone back later and discovered the gold, and taken the treasure to share with the remaining villagers, who had lost the hundred male adults, by execution? The possibilities seemed endless.
I tried to get into Ramsey’s head, thinking like him. He had served in Nam longer than me, possibly five years, exploiting the country, learning about its politics, its ways, and its internal dissension. He could take advantage of this knowledge to bribe i
ndividuals for additional manpower. Having Loan with him would also be essential. Graft was common in present-day Vietnam, fueled by current laws that made it impossible for former South Vietnamese who didn’t support communism during the war to obtain a job in the government, military, or police—at least for three generations. For the Northern victors, it was their payback to anyone in the South who opposed Ho Chi Minh and the reunification. Loan could leverage the dissent by some of the former South Vietnamese to aid him and Ramsey.
However, instead of hiring Vietnamese, I sensed he would assemble his manpower in Cambodia, thus avoiding any information leaks or loose talk by Vietnamese personnel. They could buy their way across all three borders to haul the gold using trails or dirt roads, staying away from major highways. I still believed that my calculations were correct and that four Hummers with trailers would be needed to haul the supplies, hired personnel, and weapons. No, I began to feel certain that they were coming here to the cave near My Son for the gold. Once they discovered the gold missing, they would try to escape—and we couldn’t let them. That Sally’s father was killed by mistake because of me—orchestrated by Ramsey and Loan—drove me to finish this. For Sally, for her father, I had to help capture these two and leave them to rot in Vietnamese prisons, ensuring her safety and that of her family.
As I turned into the hotel driveway, coming to a stop, Hieu woke up. “We are here?”
“Yes, safe and sound,” I said.
“Thank you for letting me rest.”
“Hieu, we should remain extra cautious since Ramsey will be coming to this area.”