Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  “Very satisfactory. He’s making remarkable progress. We spoke nothing but Vietnamese. He bargained with the taxi-driver, ordered dinner, and talked with the waiter. He’s all we could ask.”

  “He shows more promise than a Major I remember from my past.” Loc’s narrow lips arced in a faint smile.

  Winter snorted. “Taylor’s teacher is prettier than mine was. And not devoted to bad jokes.”

  “It was not a bad joke. Merely a prank.”

  “It is no prank to give an innocent American a phrase to greet an attractive bar girl when the phrase means ‘Good evening, Miss Bird-dropping.’ I could have been killed.”

  “I paid for the damages. I explained your ignorance.”

  “Truly, you were of great help.”

  Loc moved them to another subject. “How long will you keep Taylor at his present assignment?”

  Winter recognized a loaded question. Loc was being too casual.

  “He should be about ready to become operational. He’s worked well in the Compilation Section. He hates it, but he’s worked hard. Major Duc tells me he knows the city very well. And I told you how much Vietnamese he’s learned in these four months.”

  Loc nodded slowly. “Most foreigners have a terrible time with the tones. He learned them almost as if he’d practiced before.”

  You bastard, Winter thought ruefully. I wonder how much you know? And I wonder what you’re going to drop?

  He continued to speak Vietnamese. “I am sure Duc is anxious to be on assignment. Compilation has been dull for him, as well. Do you think he and Taylor could work on the problem of Nguyen Binh?”

  The quick blink of Loc’s eyes were gratifying, telling him he’d placed his shot well.

  Loc said, “Do you think they are ready? He is very clever. It could be dangerous.”

  “They have learned something,” Winter said. “Would you like to hear it with me? I can call them now.”

  Loc considered. If Duc and his American counterpart had found a weakness in Binh’s operation, it would be a tremendous step. And it would be good news for Winter, hopefully enough to offset the unpleasantness that writhed in his own mind. He decided his own news could wait. He nodded. Winter turned to the gray intercom mounted on the wall next to the air-conditioner and called Taylor and Duc to report on the Nguyen Binh matter.

  The intercom rasped a quick answer.

  Winter leaned back and massaged his neck. “It will be a miracle if they have something worthwhile. What do you think?”

  “You know how I feel about that bastard.” Loc’s grin was a snarl. “He has supplied the VC with our ammunition and supplies for years. How many of his contact people have we picked up? How many times have we tried to infiltrate his operation? We never get close!” He shook his head and pursed his lips, an extravagant show. Then he took another cigarette from his case and lit it with studied deliberation.

  Winter punched another button on the intercom. “Carl?”

  The answer rapped back immediately. “Yessir.”

  Loc’s upper lip twitched.

  Keeping his voice serious, despite the smile brought about by Loc’s reaction, Winter said, “I’m having Majors Taylor and Duc in. They’ve got some information they want to discuss. I’d like you to sit in.”

  “On the way, Colonel.” The box crackled to silence.

  Winter said, “You really ought to make more of an effort to like my exec, Loc. He keeps me out of trouble.”

  Loc made a noise in the back of his throat. “How can such a man be tolerated? He is an old woman. And he hates us.”

  Winter tried to lighten Loc’s mood. “Well, maybe he knows you better than I do.”

  Loc ignored the attempted humor. “He knows no one. His life is rules, regulations. He needs them for his own in—inse—” His fist tightened on his thigh as he strained for the word.

  “Insecurity,” Winter supplied.

  Loc repeated it. “Exactly. He must have a rule to permit anything.”

  “On the other hand, if he can’t find a rule that permits us to do something, he’ll find a rule that says we aren’t absolutely forbidden. And sometimes he finds ways to hide things.”

  “How well I know. If he feared you before, it’s worse ever since you made him risk his comfortable existence.”

  A careless wave dismissed the indictment. “Denby never feared me and he doesn’t now.”

  “Perhaps fear is the wrong word. You know his life is a search for the perfect way to do nothing. He is an excellent administrator because he can do it without moving. You endanger that. You have involved him with us, which could even endanger his career.”

  “So he’ll be all the more careful. He’s up for Colonel in two years. He’d cover for Hitler to make full bird.”

  Loc swallowed his retort at the knock. With Winter’s invitation to come in, the door swung open slowly and a round face peered past the edge. The roundness was emphasized by a receding hairline of cropped brown stubble and circular rimless glasses glinting above a pug nose and a rosebud mouth. The eyes flickered from Winter to Loc and back again before the red lips bent in a smile and the man nodded himself into the room. The hang of the tropical fatigue uniform spoke of additional roundnesses hidden from view. The man paused, still wearing the tiny smile.

  “Have a seat, Carl,” Winter greeted him. “Taylor and Duc are on the way.”

  “Yessir.” He settled on the opposite end of the sofa and turned to Loc. “How are you this morning, sir?”

  Loc faced him, his eyes penetrating the unkempt figure to focus on something beyond before turning to the front again.

  “I am fine, thank you.”

  At the chilly refusal to make conversation, Denby looked to Winter, only to find him busy shuffling papers. He eased back against the sofa cushions and froze the smile to his lips.

  Snotty little prick, he fumed inwardly. And Winter—letting a goddam zip snub an American Lieutenant Colonel. I’m as important as anyone in this outfit.

  He stared at Loc’s immobile precision, then at the placid Winter, asking himself why Winter always treated him with faint reserve, no matter how friendly he sounded. Loc wasn’t that hard to understand. If there was anything snottier than a dirty little zipper-head, it was a clean one, and this one always looked like a squeaky doll fresh out of the package. Prissy. Probably queer. At least a latent.

  The thought lifted his spirits and he resolved to weasel some information out of the Unit’s contact at the Military Security Service. If there was anything at all worth knowing about Loc, the Vietnamese MSS would have it. He should have done it long ago.

  There was another knock at Winter’s door, this time Taylor and Duc. The latter carried a bundle of 5x8 cards.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Winter greeted them. Loc confined himself to a smiling nod. Winter said, “Please sit down. We’ll continue this discussion in Vietnamese. It’s good practice for Major Taylor and I expect Major Duc will do most of the talking, anyhow. Carl, you’ll have trouble following, so just holler if we go too fast.”

  Major Duc twitched.

  How could this happen? he asked himself. The idea is Taylor’s, not mine. I only made small suggestions. I don’t want to speak in front of Colonel Loc. I have done nothing to deserve this.

  Loc was immediately aware of Duc’s discomfort. It amused him, because he actually had a great liking for the Major. For all his fat, Duc had a mind as thin and edged as a knife. If the tall, exceedingly American-looking Taylor was half as competent, they would make an interesting team. He decided to be helpful. He continued Winter’s lead, using the Vietnamese word for Major as he inclined his head toward the nervous Duc. “Thieu Ta, I am pleased you have been able to help Thieu Ta Taylor learn the duties of the Compilation Section. I see you have been there long enough to refresh yourself. I understand you feel you have learned something important of that piece of pigshit, Nguyen Binh. Enough for someone to act on the information?”

  Duc leaned forward
eagerly. “Yes, Dai Ta, we think so.” He held up the cards. “May I use the small table to display these?”

  Loc nodded and Duc arranged them on the table. Winter came from behind his desk to look. Three were singles with photographs attached. The fourth item was three cards stapled together. There was no picture.

  “The cards with no photograph concern Nguyen Binh,” Duc said apologetically. He tapped the next card. “This man is Do Chi Trung. He is known by sight to me, Major Taylor and Captain Allen.”

  “Do we need Allen?” Winter interrupted.

  “No,” Duc said. “All he knows of Trung is that he has seen him delivering whiskey and other contraband.”

  Winter nodded and Duc moved to the next card. “This is Nguyen Van Tu. He has been arrested for black market, twice. Small crimes. They are both partners in a place called the Friendly Bar. It is used by Americans.” He tapped the final card. “The last man is named Sam An. He is Chinese.”

  Taylor had to stifle a smile. Duc had consistently used the correct Vietnamese word for “he” or “him” when referring to the first three men. He used the contemptuous thang when he spoke of An.

  “You have pertinent information of these men?” Loc asked pleasantly. Duc plucked at his collar and when he spoke he started to use the American rank, Colonel, before correcting himself and calling Loc by the Vietnamese equivalent. “Dai Ta, it is very complex. The bar is registered as the property of a woman, the cousin of Trung. He is closely associated with the Chinese, An. Taylor and myself have seen the three men in conversation many times.”

  “So?” Loc asked quietly. “You feel these conversations deserve the attention of Special Branch, or the American CID?”

  A wince danced across Duc’s face. “I know a person in that place. We stopped there one evening for refreshment. My contact mentioned Trung and Tu. That same evening, we saw all three talking. Taylor has been there several times since.”

  Duc stopped, hoping he had cut himself out of the remainder of the discussion.

  Loc persisted. “How long have you known the contact?”

  “About two years, Dai Ta.”

  “You have received information before?”

  “Yes, Dai Ta.”

  “Was the information accurate?”

  “Yes, Dai Ta.”

  “Did the informant tell you anything about these men?”

  “Only that they have business in the black market, Dai Ta.”

  “Why have you not gone back to this place with Thieu Ta Taylor?”

  “Because no one there knows he speaks Vietnamese, Dai Ta. We thought he should go alone, like any other American, and possibly overhear something.”

  Loc pivoted slowly to face Taylor. “Do you approve of Thieu Ta Duc’s taste?”

  Taylor stared blankly. “Taste, Dai Ta? I do not understand.”

  Loc’s smile was a shadow. “You lie with the charm and ineffectiveness of certain senior officers.”

  Taylor blinked confusion in Winter’s direction, receiving an unhelpful faint shrug in return.

  The quiet voice came for him again. “The acquaintance of Duc—what is her name?”

  Duc hissed as if in pain. Taylor ignored it, watching Loc, twisting in his mind for a way to cover Duc, and finding none. “Her name is Tuyet, Dai Ta,” he said, and felt like an informer.

  Loc’s expression seemed to brighten. “Does she speak well of Duc? Specifically, does she find him an acceptable sleeping partner?”

  Duc hissed again.

  “We haven’t discussed it, Dai Ta, but I can tell you she calls him the Round Tiger.”

  Loc’s laughter carried like a loud whisper, overriding Duc’s groan. “Then we have reason to believe she may tell us an occasional truth,” the Colonel said with an elegantly ironic bow toward Duc. “Women are untrustworthy, but a satisfied one may speak from a sense of gratitude. You agree, Thieu Ta Duc?”

  Duc managed a strangled answer.

  Loc readdressed himself to Taylor. “What has your—outpost—in this bar taught you? Restrict yourself to professional matters, please. My esteemed elder brother, Dai Ta Winter will require the other lurid details later.”

  Taylor relaxed. His palms were damp and a quick glance showed Duc was practically in shock. The trouble with Loc was you never knew if he was joking until he got ready to let you know. Meanwhile, you sweated.

  “I’ve spent a fortune in there,” Taylor said, “for Saigon tea for her. She’s part of the operation. I’ve spoken to Trung. I told him I was in Supply, scheduling ammo to Long Binh, Binh Hoa, and so on. He discussed my ‘job’ with Tu and Sam An.”

  Loc exhaled a thin smoke plume. “The woman told you this?”

  Taylor smiled. “They discussed it at the table next to me while I bought tea for Miss Tuyet.”

  Winter made a harsh sound. “They just talked it over while you listened?”

  “They enjoyed doing it,” Taylor said in English, then went back to Vietnamese. “They talked about my mother for a while. Then they discussed my sisters and what they’d like to do to them, if I had any. When that bored them they debated my manhood. Miss Tuyet and I spoke English about the price of food, the possibility of me getting her some things from the PX, and other matters. She tried very hard to laugh only when I said something amusing.”

  “You gave no sign you understood any of that?” Loc inquired softly. Taylor shrugged. “They would not have discussed bribing me if they thought I understood them.”

  “Good work,” Winter said. He cocked his head to the side, examining both Taylor and Duc. “Now that we know they’re willing to bribe someone, we can turn the information over to Special Branch. They’ll set something up.”

  “Please, there is more,” Duc said. He shot a look at Loc before continuing. “Taylor heard Trung say that the man to handle such an opportunity would be Nguyen Binh. It was Tu who suggested blackmail. They believe Taylor is such a fool a bribe is unnecessary.”

  “They used the name Nguyen Binh? You’re absolutely certain?” Winter pressed.

  “Yes, sir. The name meant nothing to me, but I thought it might to Duc, so I asked him. That’s why we reported right away.”

  “You have a plan, Duc?” Winter asked.

  Duc ran a hand through his thick, gleaming hair, his eyes jumping back and forth between the two Colonels. He stammered, finally managing a miserable, “We brought the information as duty requires. We have no plan.”

  “Then you’ll have to make one.”

  It took a moment for the implication to sink in and then the moon face broke into a baby’s smile.

  Winter rocked in his chair, enjoying the effect. “Taylor, I’m bringing you up to op status, if Colonel Loc has no objection. We’ll turn you and Duc loose on this contact.” Loc met his questioning look and nodded.

  “I understood that last bit!” Denby’s smile apologized for the interruption. “Major Taylor’s just learning his way around. I’d like to put him to work detailing VC Security Sections. We’ll be losing Major Krause in a couple of months—” The sentence died in mid-air.

  “They’ve started something. We’ll see where it leads.” Winter looked back to the two Majors, concentrating on the American. “You’re aware that most of the information we generate through our cover operation—the business with the records—is handed over to CID, Special Branch, the Counterintelligence Directorate, the MSS, or whatever.”

  Taylor waited.

  “Colonel Loc and I decide what’s processed onward. Our sources and operations are completely independent. You report to us—only—and you put nothing on paper unless told to. Understood?”

  He nodded, still unspeaking.

  Winter went on. “There are perhaps five Americans in the country who actually know what we do, and maybe ten times that many South Vietnamese. Some of the latter are more dangerous than all the VC together. The last man who tried to kill Colonel Loc was hired by a Vietnamese General. As for the VC, God only knows how many of them know all of us
on sight.”

  Loc inclined forward slowly, resting one hand on the coffee table. “Allow me to interrupt for one moment, please.”

  Winter waved acknowledgement. Loc faced them and Taylor wondered what he was reading in the spare man’s piercing brown eyes. It could have been embarrassment, resignation, irritation—he realized he’d never be certain.

  “What Colonel Winter hesitates to speak of is the corruption. Much of it is Vietnamese.” Taylor shut out the sound of Duc’s nervous shifting. “It has become a way of life. The temptations and reasons are too many to discuss—I merely state a fact. I am not interested in a democratic Vietnam, Major Taylor, nor in communism. I fight for a free Vietnam, self-governed by honest men loyal to this country.”

  Taylor said, “I already know how loyal your officers and men are, Colonel.”

  “That is one of the ironies of the situation. I must insist they be loyal to me. Personally. It is a tragic necessity. You must take my word we ten plan no coup. I tell you these things so you will not be painfully surprised when you find us targeted against our own, and your own, people.”

  “I understand. Thank you.”

  Loc settled back, pleased that Taylor had accepted the message with no visible surprise or polite protests.

  “OK,” Winter resumed in a quieter voice. “That’s settled. Now we’ll deal with some specifics. When you leave here, you and Duc write up an op plan to exploit the lead on Nguyen Binh. Do you have any ideas?”

  Taylor grinned at Duc. “I know he has, even if he hasn’t told me about it.”

  Duc bobbed his head, too excited to be nervous.

  “I think we should let them blackmail him. It should be an easy thing. Then we arrange for them to receive a shipment of ammunition. As soon as they get it, we arrest them and question them.”

  Winter said, “Work on it, put it together, and we’ll check it out.”

  As they shuffled their cards into a neat stack, Winter tented his fingers and dropped his chin onto the crown of the triangle formed. The gesture gave him the appearance of an aged missionary contemplating acolytes departing into a sinful world. He raised his head to speak.