Legacy of War

by Ed Marohn

“Yes, Ramsey is a threat, and we need to watch over each other.” Her serious tone summed it up. “I have talked to Colonel Tin.”

  She didn’t explain further.

  That evening, while I watched BBC news on the room’s TV, I could hear Hieu talking to her family on her cell phone through the open connecting doorway. Every so often I could see her as she walked by in her sleep shorts and top, comfortable and uninhibited. She actually giggled as her husband talked and then laughed raucously when her boys came on the phone. Then I heard her voice become stern as she directed some motherly tough love to them.

  I wore my long sleep pants and T-shirt and sat in my room’s rattan lounge chair, catching up on US and international news. With my Palm phone, I had also checked the message board: no news from Woodruff. I heard Hieu hang up and watched her enter my room, swinging her arms joyfully. She came over and plopped down in the other rattan chair next to me.

  “My sons were devils this week, and my husband is too soft—he is such a typical professor and will not discipline them as he should. It is always up to me.” She started laughing again.

  I watched her, bemused by her mood. “What did your boys do?” I asked.

  “They were in the science fair this week, and students from all grades could combine for a joint endeavor. My older boy led my younger ones down the path of ‘no glory,’ and they created a volcano model with too much sulfur, intentionally so, and the school building had to evacuate from the stink.”

  We laughed. Then her cell phone rang; as she answered it, I couldn’t help looking at her shapely legs as she stretched them while talking. When she hung up, I think she noticed me looking.

  Reverting to her professionalism, she stood and said, “Captain Tho reported that all is quiet and there are no observations of activity near the hill. He will personally monitor his outpost from the Da Nang army base tonight. He placed a good lieutenant in charge at the observation post. So now we wait.”

  “Yeah. Now we wait. Do you think we need to question Quan again?”

  She turned toward me and said, “I have the Da Nang police interrogating him now. Hopefully we will know soon if more is revealed.” She continued to look at me. “Do you have a girlfriend, after your wife died?” she asked, catching me off guard.

  “Well . . . basically, when my wife died, I withdrew from dating women. Recently I had someone, but . . . that too failed.”

  She frowned. Sitting back down and studying me, she added, “In Vietnam, marriages are not necessarily a romantic involvement. They are practical unions for financial security, safety, and a better life—especially for peasants in the villages, where life is very harsh. Marriages are a necessity for survival—large families are needed to help till the land for food and money.”

  “Is that how you view your marriage?” I glanced at my Palm phone for any emails, suddenly feeling guilty for my remark.

  Hieu paused a moment. “I have learned to love my husband. He is loyal and he gave me three sons. I must be a good wife.” Without further discussion, she stood up. “I think I need some sleep. Good night, John.”

  “Good night, Hieu,” I said and put my Palm phone down.

  I thought of how she described marriage in Vietnam as she walked to her room, closing the door behind her. She remained unaffected by the close proximity of the rooms we shared, uninhibited like a young girl, yet strong-willed and confident like a professional senior agent. She showed no weakness, and I sensed she could kill if confronted. She had every right to dislike me, an American. The war had impacted her more than the average American would ever understand. Yet recently her cool attitude toward me had slightly dissipated. Was it because she finally accepted me as a partner in this crazy endeavor? Even as partners though, she had more loyalty to her government and shared only what she had been authorized. I had to trust her and hoped she would not let me down when danger came into play. Deep down I knew that we were close to peril, and death.

  Hoi An, January 26, 2003

  Eleven days passed, and we had a steady diet of working out in the hotel gym, swimming in the pool, talking, eating, and planning, while waiting for word from Captain Tho. Hieu checked with him two or three times a day, receiving no new updates. Living so close to each other didn’t help with the growing frustration over waiting for Ramsey and Loan. Again doubts had crept into our minds: Ramsey and Loan had the gold hidden elsewhere and had taken it all and fled. And as the days progressed, I grew fonder of her, which I knew would never go any further than being friends. This didn’t help the tension, though.

  The Tet holiday, or Tet Nguyen Dan, started in a week. Hieu reminded me that this was the year of the goat, and I laughed, telling her I felt like a goat, being played by Ramsey and by Loan. She didn’t understand my humor.

  Anxious, I worked the Palm phone for messages several times a day. Woodruff hadn’t had news since the day he informed me of Ramsey leaving Hong Kong. The waiting game had me second-guessing myself: Ramsey was not coming; Ramsey was coming. The uncertainty weighed on me.

  That afternoon in the fitness center, I held a heavy rubber pad in front of me while Hieu did a vigorous kickboxing workout, repeatedly jamming her right foot and then her left into it. Her legs sliced at me in strong but graceful arcs, jarring me backward as I absorbed her kicks. Her legs were like steel, and I felt every thrust pummel my arms and body for a solid thirty minutes. Sore, sweating profusely, my gym shorts and top drenched, I gutted it out. Hieu, also soaked, kept the furious pace. Again and again, I looked at her graceful and lithe body, drawn to her. She didn’t fail to notice and gave me a dark-eyed look in return while continuing her workout. I wondered if we could ever be good friends, but I pushed myself back to reality as she stopped her exercise. She bent over to pick up her towel and stood up, graceful still, drawing my eyes to her face.

  “I am going to shower now,” Hieu said and headed for the exit door.

  “I think I’ll do some weights,” I said, deflated.

  She turned toward me, weakly smiled, and then left. Any smile was better than none. I worked another forty minutes on the weight machine, honing on my triceps, biceps, and quads, wearing away my thoughts about Hieu. When I finished, I walked back to my room and saw that she sat by the pool in her bikini. She saw me and waved, apparently in a better mood.

  “Go shower and join me,” she yelled in a friendlier tone.

  I waved and headed for my room. The connecting door had been left open, and I glanced into her room for security reasons. Hieu remained very neat, almost tidy to a fault, and her bathroom was always painstakingly picked up. I shut her door, after ensuring her room was empty. Then I went to my bathroom and started my shower. The hot water cascaded over my back and shoulders, relaxing the tight muscles, releasing the aches from the bruises of her kicking routine. Her strength and reflexes amazed me. Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open and Hieu, fully dressed in her field outfit, yelled at me as she held her cell phone to her ear. Startled, I thought only of my nudity while she busily responded to her cell phone and tried to tell me something, jabbering Vietnamese into her phone and to me, forgetting her English. She grabbed a towel and handed it to me around the glass shower door, all the while staring at me.

  With flushed cheeks, she at last said in English, “Tho has confirmed contact with one large vehicle at the hill site and four or five individuals—mostly Cambodians. He awaits us. Get dressed, please.”

  I grabbed the towel she held out and wrapped it around me. She just stood there in the bathroom watching me.

  “Hieu, I need to dry . . . ”

  “Hurry.” She rushed out, shutting the door behind her.

  I dried as fast as I could and had just hung up the towel when she rushed into the bathroom again, holding my clean jeans, shirts, socks, and underwear. “Quickly get dressed,” she said.

  I took my clothes and started to put on my underwear and saw that she h
adn’t left. “Hieu please, I need some privacy,” I begged.

  “I have seen a naked man before.”

  “Go, please,” I said, struggling to respond. With one leg in my undershorts, I gently grabbed her by her shoulders, turned her around, and pushed her out the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. I shook my head.

  “Hieu, pack our equipment, I’ll be right out,” I yelled through the closed door.

  Minutes later I walked out of the bathroom fully dressed, my wet hair combed with my fingers. Hieu waited for me in my living area with our backpacks and the case that held our AK-47s. Standing up from a chair she headed toward the door.

  She stopped before opening it, turned and smiled deeply to me for the first time. “You are shy?”

  “Hieu, you know . . . it is difficult . . . ”

  “Difficult?” she asked.

  “Yes . . . ”

  She stared at me trying to understand. Then, as if a light flicked on in her head, she said, “Oh, I see—but we are professional partners. Come, let’s go. It is 1730 hours.”

  Shaking my head, I followed her out the door and then to our Mercedes, watching her sway in her jeans while she carried both our backpacks. I lugged the gun case with the AK-47s and ammo. We had our pistols in the backpacks to avoid frightening hotel guests.

  Dai Loc, January 26, 2003

  Our drive to meet Captain Tho took close to an hour. I drove while Hieu checked the map, not saying much. I couldn’t decipher if we were more like an old married couple or partners on a case. As usual, she did a great job of concealing her emotions.

  We had been instructed to meet Captain Tho at the village of Dai Loc on the main highway from Hoi An. Dai Loc sat a mile north of the dirt road and the fork where the observation post overlooking the Montagnard hill had been located. Per Hieu, after meeting with Tho, we would drive cross-country as close as we could and then hike to the hidden observation post, joining his team. Imposed radio silence dictated that we wait for a further update on the activity at the site until we met with Tho.

  I drove fast, despite the increased traffic of people returning to their home villages to prepare for Tet. Over the next five days, the roads would be snarled with more cars, bikes, buses, and motorbikes as sons, daughters, uncles, aunts, and other relatives traveled to parents or grandparents in tiny villages everywhere for the sacred duty of celebrating their past ancestors, as well as feting with the present generations to ensure the future brought happiness, health, and harmony to the family. Ramsey had picked the perfect period to travel, and his group would mesh with the steady stream of humanity making its exodus into the countryside.

  We arrived at Dai Loc at eight. Tho stood waiting for us by his Russian-made military utility vehicle at the turnoff to the village. He waved for us to pull over next to his vehicle. Dusk had turned into evening, but lights from the village and the flow of vehicles edged some of the darkness.

  He greeted us with a slight bow and shook our hands as we stepped out of our vehicle. The captain was less surly toward me.

  “Captain Moore, please, my English is not as . . . good . . . As is Agent Hieu’s, so I will talk to her first.”

  I leaned against the front of the Mercedes and watched them proceed in Vietnamese, animatedly pointing with their fingers to the south and referring to a map that Tho had unfolded and spread out on the hood of his vehicle. The flashlight in his hand outlined information for Hieu. His driver sat inside staring at me. I still felt out of place, and the steady flow of Vietnamese passing me on their Tet pilgrimage increased the feeling. Finally, Tho saluted Hieu and got into his vehicle, motioning for us to follow.

  Hieu climbed into the Mercedes as I got behind the steering wheel and drove slowly behind Tho. “We will drive along old rice paddies on an access trail going south from here until we meet with Tho’s men.” She pulled her pistol from her shoulder holster, checked the magazine, and returned it.

  “What did he say about Ramsey’s men?” I asked, my armpits getting damp from the humidity and tension.

  “They are now digging at the hill and the cave that we uncovered and reburied. There are four Cambodians and one Caucasian, possibly American. Tho’s planted listening devices, and sensors are allowing his men to monitor the discussions, which have been only in Cambodian. The white man speaks the language, but his accent is English or American.”

  I wondered if that Caucasian could be Ramsey. Certainly, the timing would be correct. But then what happened to Loan? This whole mission had holes in it, and we were reacting rather than taking bold steps forward. I hoped Tin understood the tenuous situation we had jumped into. My chest felt tight as I drove.

  “How many vehicles are there now?” I asked, breaking the heavy silence that had taken over.

  “There is one and with a trailer. What do you think that means?” Hieu faced me, waiting and unsmiling.

  “If I was Ramsey, I would send a trusted person to verify the gold is still buried. On the other hand the Caucasian is Ramsey, or he is nearby. If the American at the scene is not Ramsey, then he is probably a trusted man. Ramsey probably has the other vehicles hidden, ready to arrive as soon as the gold is uncovered. Loan could be with Ramsey as well. Again, we’re assuming that they will load up and head back to the west and the Laos border, catching a chartered freight aircraft at Pakxe or another airstrip.” My repetition of our favored scenario sounded more and more like an attempt to validate the decisions we had made.

  Hieu nodded as I drove behind Tho’s vehicle along an old route bordering pungent rice paddies. The smell of water buffalo dung and centuries-old soil wafted through our nostrils. The night insects outside our SUV serenaded us, a chorus for our little convoy of two vehicles bumping and grinding along a path that I would never have driven in daytime. Yet here I strained with the steering wheel in the night. I had the vehicle in four-wheel drive, and we churned the trail into more mud, duplicating Tho’s action ahead, a slow and tiring quest. We were surrounded by water on both sides, and the darkness countered by the two vehicles’ headlights and taillights set on military blackout mode—just functional enough to use on the rutted trail. The village lights and its road traffic over a half mile behind us provided no additional illumination now, only a far silhouette in the night. The eerie darkness grew like an abyss as we drove, splashing mud, seeking our unseen destination. A mosquito buzzed by my left ear, having slipped through our vehicle’s metal and glass defenses. It landed on my cheek, probing for my blood. I slapped at it, hitting my cheek, smearing the ooze of my blood and the carcass of the dead mosquito.

  Sweat covered my forehead and perspiration continued to pool in my armpits, gradually seeping along my sides. My heartbeat escalated as I strived to stay on the narrow trail meant for water buffalos and farm carts. My arms and hands were stiff and strained, battling the muck, the deep ruts, steering the vehicle forward.

  I sensed it on my skin, in the pit of my stomach, in my almost sightless eyes, and in my nostrils. I returned to the war jungles of Nam as the itching spread on my moist skin, exacerbated by the sticky, humid air, overcoming the air-conditioned cab.

  In the war, my skin felt the same: exposed to mosquitoes, large cockroaches, ants, and the leeches, all wanting me and my ten men on ambush patrol near Mai Loc. We waited in the dense brush and bamboo trees as the NVA sappers crawled toward my company. Seven small, wiry, and dedicated warriors out to destroy and kill Americans, carrying satchel charges on their backs, dragging poles along their sides to push the explosives through the defensive concertina wire stretched around my unit.

  Hidden in the jungle since early evening, tied to each other by nylon cord for communication purposes, we watched and waited until, at two in the morning, the two soldiers on guard duty, one on each end of my patrol, jarred the rest of us to consciousness, tugging on the ropes in both directions, readying us to kill. We had formed a simple linear ambush,
occupying the upper side of the dried streambed, a natural route for night movement by the enemy. My ten men waited for me to initiate the ambush once I knew the NVA were completely in the “kill zone.” I opened the slaughter with a burst from my M16. The soldier to my left clicked the claymore mines set at both ends of the kill zone, ripping apart the trailing and lead NVA soldiers. My M60 machine gunner sprayed the area below us from his right to his left, while the rest of my men emptied their initial magazines into the gulley below.

  I often hear those dying NVA soldiers screaming, mortally wounded, their torn bodies writhing in front of me in the dirt and on rocks of the dry gulley. No one said a word as I signaled my men to withdraw, following me, tense and fearful that more enemies approached. We quietly sneaked back to the company area to await the pending attack by the NVA regiment formed somewhere in the jungle. We had survived another day of war but felt no satisfaction, no relief; we had just killed seven men.

  Hieu grasped my right forearm and shouted, “John!” I slammed on the brakes, the Mercedes sliding to a halt a foot from the rear bumper of Tho’s stopped vehicle. Tho was walking toward us on Hieu’s side of our SUV.

  “Sorry, Hieu, I. . . . ” I looked at her shaking head, feeling haggard and queasy, like I had just returned from that night ambush.

  Hieu stared at me, concern on her own tense face. She watched me as she exited the Mercedes to talk with Tho. After a few minutes, she sat back in the front passenger seat. “Captain Tho said we are almost there. You will need to drive slowly and follow the soldier he posted now in front of our vehicle. He will guide us to the hidden parking area. We will have to walk after we park.” I didn’t look at her, still struggling over my flashback.

  I watched Tho get in his vehicle and drive into the dark. The young soldier had luminous strips sewn to the back of his dark green fatigue uniform reflecting toward me. He motioned for me to follow. Our vehicle crept after him while my mind still thought of that war and the death I caused; its sadness weighed heavily.