Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  “And Tu has told us nothing.” Winter refused to be mollified. “He could give us the names of Special Section people—the hit men, the sappers. All we’ve really gotten from Trung is black market operators and low-level VC sympathizers.”

  “It has been your choice, Win. I now believe we may never get anything from Tu if you will not agree to Tho’s interrogation methods. Tu is a fanatic, a true believer. Trung is an opportunist. You knew I have received pressure to release him?”

  “I knew. And still no idea where the heat comes from?”

  Loc tapped ash from his cigarette. “When has it ever been different? A person of importance suspects Trung is not safely in Hong Kong. We should be grateful the person is not powerful enough to create more trouble and that Trung is not important enough to be worth more attention. To use your barbarian’s jargon, a little more horsepower and we would be doing some tall explaining.”

  “I’ll see that sonofabitch dead before I’ll turn him loose.”

  “No you won’t. If the pressure becomes too great, we will release him to the proper agency. He is not worth the death of the Unit. If that much pressure builds, he will be an issue. He will no longer simply be someone of whom we may say, ‘Chu ay qua song,’ and that is the last of it. Our only hope, if you think he has other information, is Tho.”

  “I disagree. We can turn him around if we use the proper psychology. We’ve got to outwait him.”

  “As you wish. I am the one who suggested patience originally. I think we presently waste time, but you appear to suffer the most.”

  “Time moves slowly for an old man.”

  Loc permitted himself a small sound of disbelief. “You are not even old enough to claim wisdom. Anyhow, there are other things I wish to speak of. There are rumors in our headquarters, rumors from people who have been well-informed in the past, that people in your government are opposed to this Unit and what it has done.”

  “That’s no rumor. We’ve known it since we started and we’ve lived with the pressure since our first covered operation proved that District Chief was crooked. I told you then we were in for a rough ride.”

  “Your memory fails you. Perhaps you are growing old. It was I who said we should act on our evidence that time and simply tell the government, again, ‘Chu ay qua song.’ You were the one who insisted we arrest him. When he was killed after that farce, that was when the pressure began.”

  Winter repeated Loc’s Vietnamese phrase as if tasting it, ruminating. “ ‘He crossed the river,’ ” he translated. “God, how many ways we have of describing killing. He had to die. He was evil, involved in forced prostitution, usury, spying. What we did was justice.”

  “Justice?” Loc’s eyebrows twitched in mock amazement. “Your people have no interest in justice here. Even in your own country, they replace justice with legality. Here, where the white man’s burden is so heavy for your liberals, they must be even more stringent.”

  “I don’t want to argue.” The larger man’s voice was almost pleading and he stared at the restless hands on his desk. “Not today. Let’s stay with business. What’s on your mind?”

  Brushing at a non-existent speck on his blouse, Loc said, “The rumor is that people in your government will arrange the end of American work with this Unit, that you will be ‘phased out.’ ”

  “No,” Winter said firmly. “We have friends, the same as we have enemies.”

  “You expected a replacement for the Major who rotated last month. Where is he?”

  Uncomfortably, Winter said, “Personnel problems. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Perhaps. It is certainly no problem now, because we have only one operation in progress. Do you realize that, Win? On the American side, the entire covert effort consists of catching Binh. And you can do nothing but wait.”

  Winter lunged out of his chair, thrusting it away with a sweep of his arm. He turned to the window and stared down into the courtyard. The wind from the air-conditioner pushed at his midsection, working inside the shirt. The air coursed around his body, billowing the material in back and seeking outlet through the arm holes.

  He found himself having difficulty addressing his mind to Loc’s assertion, distracted and yet gratified by the sensations of the breeze. An image pestered at the corner of his mind’s eye. He resisted it half-heartedly, then let it dominate his consciousness and was remembering a young man clad only in tattered shorts on a gaffrigged ketch in Puget Sound. The youth was in sharp focus now, wide-stanced on the foredeck, a warrior, eyes clear as he shaded them against the setting sun and admired the Olympic peaks. The evening air, cool enough to bring a chill, played sensuously across his body hair. There was no white patch on his chest and Winter observed sadly that the man was too naive to concern himself with misfortunes such as Montagnard arrows and ambushes and betrayals. The young man had learned to accommodate war and believed it was the ultimate evil.

  He was a fool.

  Loc’s voice pulled him into the present. A blink and the mountains were gone, their place taken by the sterility of the compound wall. The sunstruck grass absorbed the vision of the cool waters. He turned back to the office.

  “Sorry. Mind’s not functioning today. You’re right about Binh. I admit it. But I firmly believe he’s worth the trouble. He can lead us to VC cadre, Loc—people we’ve never heard of or suspected! He knows who they are and where they are and he’s the only man of that importance we have any chance at! We have to concentrate on him!”

  “I can only tell you of the rumors. However, there is the matter of the Major and his illegal activity and the possible drug connection. We have done nothing about him, and your CID—” He dismissed them with a flick of his hand. “Our General Staff is glad to have you pursue Binh so hard, but some people question why an American criminal is not even being investigated.”

  Winter’s face flamed and Loc tensed, prepared for the uproar. To his surprise, the answer was low-pitched.

  “You tell those people your American counterpart said they can kiss his ass. It’s been months since a drunken ARVN light Colonel murdered one of our MPs, right down on Tran Hung Dao, remember? We can’t even get the sonofabitch arrested. You tell your fucking General Staff I’ll give them the Major if they’ll give me the Colonel.”

  The silence that followed seemed to emanate with Loc, an outflowing of angry pain that cloaked both men.

  “You tell them that.” There was a petulance in the voice, the result of denying the knowledge he should apologize. “I’ll call Denby in here and see what kind of manpower we can spare. Maybe we can push a little harder.”

  He turned to the intercom. When he was done, they avoided conversation or eye contact, waiting for Denby’s knock.

  He entered as he always did, the round face and its thick glasses appearing around the door at a forty-five degree angle. As usual, he paused at that point, eyebrows up. “Something up, Colonel?”

  Winter gestured him into the office, denying himself the pleasure of telling Denby that nothing was up, he’d merely been called in to dust the furniture.

  “We’ve been slacking off,” he began, with a sharp glance at Loc. “I’ve been slacking off, not requiring enough production from our people.”

  Behind the professionally respectful attitude, Denby’s mind stormed with activity. Overriding everything was the anger. It pulled his eyes toward the diminutive Loc and he strained against that, fearing the hatred would boil out through them.

  Miserable little zip bastards—the words burned in his mind. This bullshit about increasing activity has to come from Loc—that look from Winter said so. And who’ll run the risks? The Americans, you bet your ass. The fucking zips could kill each other by the gross and no one’d miss them. That’s where Winter’s crazy, bad as his gook buddies. On the other side he’d be a hero, but he’d never understand this war was their property. If he’d just do his time and go home like everybody else, we wouldn’t have to wake up every fucking night in a sweat from dreaming abo
ut a court-martial.

  Go home like everybody else.

  Even as one part of his mind supplied his tongue with answers concerning the unit’s personnel rotation dates, another part was twisting that phrase, figuring a way to use it. Still, he feared it, feared Winter’s reaction when he learned the replacement problem wasn’t a problem but a policy to eliminate the Unit. The thought that Winter might learn he had the word and said nothing was constantly snapping at him and now the image of the scene that would transpire burst across his thinking like a rocket.

  He decided to capitalize on the existing situation, not loose animals like Harker and Taylor to make more trouble. He didn’t have all that long left to do, himself. It would be a gamble, but he should be able to stall his way through to his RTD. Survive, he reminded himself. A dead soldier is an ineffective soldier.

  “Colonel, if we want to investigate a matter of importance, I suggest we concentrate on something we already know about and something that’ll be good PR for us. I mean that Major and his bar. Even if the cover gets blown off, people will see we’ve been going after our own corrupt people. Not even CBS can complain about that.”

  He was pleased to see the significant look that went, this time, from Loc to Winter. That’s right, he told himself, that’s just like the coldblooded little bastard. He’ll crucify an American while his precious zips get away with anything. Turns your stomach.

  “I agree,” Winter was saying and Loc looked as if he might smile. “Until this personnel thing straightens out, I don’t want to start any projects that may mushroom and catch us short. I think we’ll have Sergeant Miller try to penetrate the operation. The Marine, Ordway, can help him. Can you provide someone to work with them, Colonel Loc?”

  “Corporal Minh, for surveillance or anything else he can do. He can also report to Lieutenant Hai on Vietnamese involvement.”

  Denby tried to keep the sneer from his voice. “Even one of our own people will have trouble approaching this Major. He’s shrewd. Colonel. I admire Corporal Minh, but I don’t think he’ll be much help. And what if we find drugs showing up? Minh doesn’t know heroin from cocaine, does he?”

  Winter interceded for Loc. “Not to worry. Miller could teach most pharmacists a few things. But is Minh smooth enough to avoid being burned? These are careful people.”

  “My little farmer?” Loc was assured. “He hides in a group of three so well most people remember only the other two. Because he behaves like an ignorant farmer, Minh will listen and learn more than Miller may discover with all his cunning.”

  Winter looked back to Denby. “You’ll have to be in charge. Put together the op plan and maintain the paperwork. The troops’ll handle the field work, but we’ll have to have an officer signing off on the paperwork as the responsible party. Supervisory authority.”

  Denby smiled and excused himself. Wooden legs carried him to his own office and he slumped in his chair, asking himself where everything had gone wrong.

  After all this time! The injustice of it burned like a brand. So much care, avoiding any direct connection with even the most innocuous operations and now he was to be control officer on a deal that could reach to Christ-only-knew where. Winter was supposed to put one of the others in charge, but oh, no, he had to get sucked in by that little snake. Put good old Carl in charge! Show ‘em you mean business! Give the little shit a light Colonel! And what did they give good old Carl to work with? A Sergeant and a Corporal. Two Corporals, if you counted the zip, and who the fuck would? It was a guaranteed disaster, and his name’d be all over it.

  He closed his eyes and imagined Ordway telling Taylor what was going on and Taylor, the senior wolf, leading the cub. He saw them grow impatient because his superior intelligence rejected their flimsy evidence, saw them slip into an alley and blow away the Major.

  Jesus, could it really happen? Or what if the people behind the Major got their hands on Minh? He’d finger everybody in a minute, especially a white officer.

  He sighed and twisted his chair around to face the typewriter, mechanically inserting a fresh sheet of paper. For a long minute he looked at the intimidating blankness of it and then his fingers hopped among the keys, grinding out the comfortingly familiar phrases of the standard operations plan. There was no way out of the situation, so he would build a paper wall to hold off the hard-chargers and in the meantime, he could delay and delay. With luck, the whole thing would decay under the paper and no one would ever even find the bones.

  There was more than one way to skin a cat, he told himself, feeling somewhat better. The formal, tortured phrases pattered onto the paper, further restoring his confidence.

  * * *

  The conversation in Winter’s office continued, Loc saying, “I am puzzled by Taylor. He has been busy, but it is not the kind of work you brought him here to perform. He seems undisturbed by that now, and at first he was very impatient to be active. He only became alive when we gave him a job away from the office. Now the operation is still and all he does is hang pictures of Special Sections, run errands. It’s the same administrative work he hated before. And he makes no complaints.”

  “Not every man could do what he does. Finding out he doesn’t have to do it every week lets him relax.”

  “No.” Loc’s disagreement was quick. “What you say is partly true, but he killed An because he wanted to, not because he had to. I think you could send him out as often as you wished and it wouldn’t bother him. There is a feeling around him, a violence. And he is a hunter. But that is not what bothers me. I have spoken to Ba Ly’s parents a few times in the past month and I see a change in their attitude. The mother’s, in particular. She makes a great point of how well Taylor speaks the language, how hard he studies, how quickly he learns our customs and about Saigon. She praises him greatly.”

  “So? You’re the one always bitching because Americans don’t try to learn about your country. I’m glad she’s pleased. Should think you’d be, too.”

  Loc’s hands twitched. “You break my heart. Every time I dare hope you are acquiring some genuine culture, you show yourself to be only another big-nosed foreigner. She hates his guts.”

  Winter rolled his eyes. “Oh, God, we’re going into our deep Oriental number.”

  “I’m sure he’s sleeping with Ba Ly,” Loc said with offended dignity. “At least that is what I think Ba Lien is telling me.”

  “You think? The perceptions honed by two thousand years of civilization aren’t certain? Surely, Ba Lien spoke from under a load of hay? Or it was too dark for a glance at her eyes, a view of the tell-tale pulse in her throat. There must have been something, O Wise One.”

  Loc muttered, “Savages, savages,” then, louder, “I am trying to make you understand we may lose the services of Ba Ly.”

  “I’ll speak to him.”

  “Thank you. The parents are friends. And Ba Ly is a good, safe teacher. It would be unfortunate to lose her. Or see her hurt.”

  “Even the savages understand some things, my friend.”

  Loc sighed as he rose. “Ah, progress, I may save you yet.”

  Winter flicked the button on the intercom and Taylor entered moments behind Loc’s departure.

  “The Colonel wanted me?”

  “Not as much as some, apparently,” Winter said with some asperity. “Sit you down. We have to talk.”

  Taylor settled on the sofa and looked into the frank appraisal, seeing a certain understanding and an unmistakable challenge. Caution prodded him forward to the edge of the cushion.

  “You called me, sir. That’s all I know.”

  “How’re the language lessons?”

  “Great. Ly’s showing me around, teaching me history—” Stopped by Winter’s expression, he felt his own twist into a rueful smile. “And you’ve heard there’s more to it than that.”

  “A helluva sight more. Straight?”

  “Straight. No one planned it. I know your rules on checking out women, but I knew she’d been cleared. And having peopl
e mess around in her past stuck in my craw.”

  “You still should’ve told me.”

  Taylor bridled. “This isn’t a shack job, Colonel.”

  Winter’s eyebrows climbed comically. “You’re in love?”

  “It could be. The whole works sort of blew up in our faces. Neither of us really understands what’s happened.” He looked away suddenly. “I don’t like this, Colonel. I feel like I’m sitting here without any skin on.”

  Winter came around the desk and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. You’re a pain in the ass, though.”

  “Yeah, I know. I don’t like having this sneak up on you, but—”

  “Oh, shut up! You sound like Andy Hardy, for Christ’s sake! If it was some bar girl, it’d be a lot different. If Ly’s fool enough to put up with you, that’s her problem. One of your problems is to keep her parents cooled off.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t want them making a stink. He’s got some influential friends and her people are important. I’ve got enough to do without skidding around town stomping on sparks generated by your inflamed passions.”

  “No problem. We’ve been pretty careful.”

  Winter smacked his forehead with a palm. “You think a fucking bird flew in here and chirped in my ear? Her parents know or suspect what’s going on, dummy. The old broad’s down on you.”

  “She’s down on everyone. Screw her.”

  “Don’t be greedy. And don’t be stupid. No more than necessary, anyhow. You’re in the middle of what could be a bitch for you, Ly, me, the Unit. Either you find a way to keep a lid on it or I will.”

  “Thanks. I have to tell you, you’ve got to be the piss-poorest Cupid in the world.”

  Winter ambled back to his chair. “Doesn’t it embarrass you that a middle-aged Marine needs a Cupid?”

  “Middle-aged?”