Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  “Temper, temper. Save your emotions for when it counts. I doubt if you have enough to afford to waste any.” He leaned forward, arms on the desk. “And now to business. Real business. I’ve been letting you pull Ordway to race around with you. So, how’s he coming along?”

  “Pretty good, sir. He’s still not happy with his lot, but he’s busy, and that helps.”

  Winter meshed his fingers, an almost devotional pose. “He’s one of these young studs looking for a crack at a medal. He still believes in glory.”

  “You can’t criticize that.”

  “Don’t you start up with me. I get enough culture shock messing with the Viets. I don’t need you running around here hollering ‘Semper Fidelis!’ all day.”

  “It’s the way it is. Nobody joins the Corps who doesn’t have something to prove.”

  “You’re telling me you’re going to get him shot at.”

  “I’m not going to set him up, for Christ’s sake. He wants to ride to the sound of the guns. There are people like that. Goddamit, I’m like that, and under all the wise old Colonel bullshit, so’re you. Let the kid see the elephant. Maybe he’s smart enough to be afraid of it after one look.”

  “You know, they’re right, you people are crazy.”

  “It’s an enlistment requirement. After that, you go downhill.”

  “You better be kidding.” Winter shook a finger at him. “I’ve just detailed him to work with Miller on the Plantation Road problem. It’s to be an information gathering operation, not a cavalry charge. You make that clear to him.” His expression slid to a sly grin. “Denby’s in charge, and I wouldn’t want him to think of the Corporal the way he thinks of you.”

  Taylor remained unsmiling. “I don’t sweat Denby.”

  “You may have to. I’m giving you a detail he’d love to have.”

  “Thanks a million. What’s the deal?”

  “There’s a communications outfit down in Vung Tau. They’ve got some electronics experts. I’m sending Kimble to bullshit with them. This last stunt with the transmitters worked so well I think we can improve on it. I want you to go along to pick their technical little brains about possible applications. Learn how small we can get, ranges, shapes. Can we get a long, thin one to fit in a hoe handle, for instance? Can we use it to transmit on demand, or does it have to be continuous? Stuff like that.”

  “They won’t know us. You’ve made arrangements?”

  “They expect you tomorrow morning.”

  Taylor threw up his hands. “You’re better than Santa Claus. You come down the chimney any time you please. Why the rush? And why should me going piss off Denby?”

  “The chance came up unexpectedly at the mess last night and I grabbed it. Denby’s going to be upset because Vung Tau’s an in-country R&R town. I’m surprised you didn’t know. Silvery tropical beaches. Pleasant BOQ. He’d think of a way to spend the night and come back late the next afternoon.”

  “All right! Establish a good, solid rapport. Oh, my, yes! This’ll take all of tomorrow and most of the next day, easy.”

  “I thought it might.” Winter fumbled in his desk drawer and came out with a memo sheet for Taylor. “You’re booked on Air America at 0800 tomorrow. Make your own return arrangements. There’s a phone number on the memo. Call it and they’ll send a jeep to the airport for you. Ask for Major Martin. And make damned sure you get back here day after tomorrow, at the latest.”

  Folding the paper into his wallet, Taylor said, “Let me take Ordway.”

  Winter looked dubious. “There’s this other thing just starting—”

  “It’ll be a break for the kid. He might even come in handy. And I promised I’d keep him busy.”

  “If you can get him on the plane, OK, but that’s it. A boondoggle’s one thing, but you’re setting up an office party.”

  “My naturally sociable disposition.” He grew serious. “Any new word on Binh?”

  The helpless gesture said it all, but Winter added, “He’s crawled in a hole and pulled it in after him. I had a hunch he’d have one. I sure didn’t think it’d be such a good one.”

  “No leads?”

  “He’s flat disappeared.”

  “Nothing from Trung or Tu?”

  Winter made a spitting sound. “Somebody’s building a fire to get Trung out. Loc’s getting heat. I’ll be next. And Tu won’t talk. He’s hard. Tho hasn’t gone to work on him, but I know for a fact some of the boys at that interrogation house have kicked the shit out of him a couple of times and he takes it. I wish he’d open up, because if we lose Trung, Tu’s all we’ve got. The worst thing is, if we do lose Trung and we don’t have Tu turned around, they’ll verify each other’s story about us. And the odds on turning Tu are pretty poor.”

  “We’ve met.”

  Winter acknowledged the understatement with a crooked smile and Taylor continued. “How come the strain about Trung? We’ve had a good run in the Viet papers about how the two of them came over to our side. Is there a leak somewhere?”

  “Not in the Unit. Probably a relative or a connection who suspects we’ve grabbed him and wants to find out how much we’ve learned.”

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do, I guess.” Taylor stood. “OK if I start checking with Air America?”

  “Sure. And while you’re in Vung Tau, watch Kimble. He knows his hardware, but he might talk too much.”

  Later, having insured Ordway’s seat on the plane, Taylor walked into the clerical office to give him the news. He interrupted an argument over the merits of the Vikings and the Chiefs.

  Miller said, “Oh-oh. Two Marines in the same room. Somebody must be planning a counterattack.”

  Taylor scowled. “And guess who’s leading, Willy.”

  “No-o-o.” Miller swayed his whole torso in a negative. “Cold day, Major. No way are you blue-eyed devils making a martyr out of this innocent black youth. Genocide. That’s the new word, Major. You trying to get us all killed off over here, but you ain’t getting me.”

  Taylor dropped into one of the empty desk chairs and flung his feet up on the desk. His boots landed with a thud.

  “Now, goddamit, Sergeant Miller, that’s the kind of black militant crap that stirs up unrest and hate. It’s not that genocide’d be immoral. Forget that there’s more white guys on the line than blacks. Never mind any of that. Look at it as economics. If we get all you soul brothers zapped here in Nam, who’s going to run the car washes? How the hell will the Pullmans work if all the Georges are holding up headstones in Arlington? And what about all those Klan sheets, with the holes already cut in them? Naw, Willy, we need you folks. Good help’s already hard to find.”

  Miller turned sadly to Ordway. “You see how it is? You see what the world’s come to? No, you don’t see, you hillbilly. What you’re lookin’ at is cultural piracy. Don’t ever forget you saw this man do it to me. This officer and gentleman is doin’ the dozens on me, and that is a black man’s game. He is stealing my culture!”

  “The dozens?” Ordway asked blankly.

  Miller sighed. “He’s hopeless, Major. No shit. The man knows nothing.” He threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Gantry, Louisiana. Sweet jumpin’ Jesus! Gantry, Loo-si-anna. If my momma knew I was gonna be cooped up with a redneck Cajun in this Army, she’d have strangled me. With my luck, she’d probably have strangled one of my brothers, by mistake.” He rolled his eyes back to Taylor. “You should’a seen me back on the Hill in Pittsburgh. Sharp? I was the sharpest. Then come the draft. Then come the Nam. Then come this outfit and these funky threads look like hand-wove horseshit and the best friend I got is a goddam honky sits around listenin’ to shit-kicking music. How come all them people sing like they got a icicle jammed up their ass?”

  “At least you can understand them,” Ordway said, his interest in the forthcoming trip sidetracked by Miller’s assault. “Beats them tub-thumpers and yay-yay’ers you listen to.”

  “See what I mean?” Miller shrugged his helplessness. “No
soul whatsoever. Zero.” He closed his eyes as though dropping off to sleep. “Gantry, Loo-si-anna. What the fuck is that?”

  “Miller?”

  He opened his eyes and fixed Ordway with a cold stare. “Yes, my man.”

  “Screw you.”

  The dark lids slid shut again, the features still expressionless. For the first time, Taylor noticed the eyes had an almost Oriental tilt. He forgot his amusement, wishing he knew more about African heritage, wondering what ancestry might account for the knife-edged bone formation and corded musculature.

  Ordway’s curiosity concerning the trip reappeared, interrupting Taylor’s thoughts. “You said we were going on a trip, Major? Anyplace special?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Vung Tau. You know the Air America ops shack? We leave from here at 0800 and come back sometime the next evening.”

  “I knew it!” Miller was instantly alert, his outburst overriding Ordway’s whoop of excitement. “I stay here in this stinkin’ city, prowling in bars and alleys, risking my life, surviving on natural wit and smarts, and the whiteys are going to the beach!”

  Quietly, Ordway asked, “What’s wrong, your tan fading?”

  “Oh, that’s a hard remark, jarhead.”

  Taylor interrupted. “I’m sorry. I thought I heard a word I can’t believe I heard.”

  Miller’s expression was virginal innocence. “I said, ‘It’s far to the head.’ I believe that’s what you all call the latrine, isn’t it? I was going to offer to flip to see who walks past it to the fridge for Cokes.”

  “You slick bastard,” Ordway muttered.

  “Sergeant slick bastard,” Taylor corrected. “I’ll have no disrespect toward senior NCOs.”

  They fished in their pockets for MPC small change notes, each sandwiching his between his hands.

  “What a lousy war this is,” Ordway griped. “Can’t even flip a coin. Goddam monkey money. Odd last number buys?”

  They lifted hands simultaneously. Miller and Ordway stared at Taylor’s with naked delight.

  “Hot damn!” Ordway cheered. “We got us some field grade money, buddy!”

  Taylor dug two more ten-cent notes from his pocket. “Dump mine in the kitty for me. I’ll get my drink later. I’ve got more to do than sit around guzzling soda pop with hustlers.”

  “Thank you kindly for dropping by, sir,” Ordway gloated. “I’ll be waiting for the Major at the op shack at 0730.” He waggled the bills. “We surely do look forward to the Major coming by.”

  Taylor growled over his shoulder from the doorway. “That’s the third time in a row you fuckers have nailed me. I’m beginning to smell a con.” He moved into the hall quickly to let his face relax into the grin tugging at it, responding to the strangled hilarity behind him.

  Chapter 21

  An hour later Miller stepped into the hall, crushing his Coke can in his hand. He closed his eyes and set the scene. Four seconds on the clock? No, two. Two seconds and the Knicks down by a point. The Celtics closing on him, knowing there was no time for a pass, knowing Willy Miller had to unleash the famous fall-away jumper and make it or the championship was theirs. Twenty-five feet, easy, and Cowens—damn Cowens!—hanging in front of him, defying gravity, desperate to block the shot. Miller opened his eyes, rose, lofted the container toward the GI can.

  It rattled a victory knell. He closed his eyes again.

  Shouting! Screaming! World Champions!

  “Sergeant?” The voice was just short of incredulous.

  After the icy shock of recognizing Denby’s voice, Miller was in command of himself again. He turned around smoothly, unruffled.

  “Yes, sir?” His level gaze acknowledged only bored normalcy. Denby was the first to blink.

  “Come up to my office for a few minutes. I have to talk to you.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and moved toward the stairs.

  Miller considered making a face at the retreating back and squelched the impulse, telling himself it was childish and, anyhow, Denby was the kind of cheap prick who’d irritate a man and then turn around to see if he was making a face about it. They still hadn’t spoken further when Denby settled into his chair. Miller pointedly stared at the copulating elephants before raising his eyes to the other man’s.

  Ignoring the by-play, but unable to keep the edge from his voice, Denby said, “The Colonel has decided to push this case with the Major and his bar. You’re familiar with the situation?”

  “Yes, sir, I know a little about it.”

  “Well, the Old Man wants to know all about it. I’m to write up an operation plan for infiltrating it.”

  Miller remembered the manager’s attempts at describing the size and complexity of the apparatus. “What’s my job to be? What d’you want from me?”

  “Find out where their supplies come from. Find out who handles the money. See if you can learn how it gets out of the country.”

  “Just like that?” Miller was disbelieving. “I’m supposed to go down there and sort of ask around?”

  Denby shrugged. “Your cover’s good. You probably already have a few ideas about what’s going on there.”

  The tone was suggestive and Miller decided to probe further. “You think they’re doing dope.”

  “You were as close to Sergeant Hai as anyone on the American side of the Unit. Maybe some of the people you both knew—?” He ended the sentence with a quick hand gesture.

  “I’d have to think about that. Incidentally, what’s the story on Hai? What’d he do? Where’s he now?”

  It was Denby’s turn to grow apprehensive and Miller hoped his own eyes never betrayed him so readily.

  “He’s up in IV Corps, I think. Yes. Transferred.” He affected great impatience. “He’s not our concern. We can’t be responsible for— Look, I’ve told you what your basic responsibility’ll be. Do you have any ideas?” Miller said, “I got questions. First off, why haven’t we moved on this creep before? He’s short, now. Been making his scam almost a year. What I want to know, what’re we into? I don’t want to fuck around and then find he’s got enough clout to stop the machine. Or have me snuffed.” Coloring, Denby said, “The Colonel wants it done.”

  The silence grew long enough to become an embarrassment before Miller said, “That does it, I guess. OK.” He relaxed, growing thoughtful. One leg cocked out to the side and he stood hipshot, unaware of Denby’s disapproval. “Might be I can come up with something. Who’s running the show, Colonel? You in charge of this one?”

  Denby nodded, determined to cover his irritation at Miller’s clear surprise. “And this one’s by the book, believe me. I don’t like surprises. We’ll take everything one step at a time and each step exactly in sequence. I’ll want to know before you make any moves. You’ll have Ordway working for you and the Viet Corporal named Minh, if you can use him for anything. I’m not sure he’s all there, myself.”

  Miller ignored the routine slur. His attention had fastened onto Denby’s vehemence concerning style. His knowledge of the speaker combined with his understanding of the words and clearly illuminated the actual message. The mission was a loser.

  Why? The single word grew to a barrage.

  Was the Major protected that well? Who was in the bag? If they thought he was doing drugs—and it was sure as hell he was trying—why the delays? What hold could somebody have over Winter to make him let his own people die like poisoned cockroaches?

  Miller watched the round face before him, buttery with sweat despite the cool gush of the air-conditioner. The rimless glasses blinked back at a foundering fluorescent tube, disguising the eyes and making the entire man a mechanical piece.

  Denby broke the spell by pursing his lips and starting his outline of the operation. Miller listened patiently, glad he’d held back the Mantell contact and wondering what his next move should be. He heard all of Denby’s pronouncements and dismissed them. As that list grew, so did his determination to exclude everyone from his own efforts. He would move in secrecy, trust only
Ordway, use Minh infrequently. Compartmentalize himself, that was it.

  Resentment caused him to blunt his own resolution almost immediately. “What’s this sudden interest, Colonel? We’ve known about drugs for years and this Major’s place for months. Why haven’t we busted more people? Why push now?”

  Denby appeared to expand in his chair and he let his arms dangle over the sides. “We’re not on a drug hunt. Don’t forget that. But to answer your question, you know the big operators aren’t Americans and we don’t have any jurisdiction over the foreigners.”

  Miller said, “Even so, the Viets could bust them.”

  “If the Viets hassle them, the foreign government squeals. Meanwhile, we’re so anxious to have somebody recognize this government, we under-write the Korean racketeers and the Filipino gunrunners, and so on. Their troops die and their politicians profit and we cover all bets. We pay for their troops. The only ones I don’t think are on the take are the Aussies, and everyone knows they’re crazy.”

  The view wasn’t new to Miller, but hearing it from those wet pink lips was a goad. It wasn’t that Denby wasn’t affected by the damage, it was that he simply didn’t care if someone else was. To him, it was all an exercise.

  “Goddamit, Colonel, can’t somebody at least complain, just once? Aren’t our GIs worth that much?”

  Denby reacted with amused self-assurance. “Complain? To whom, Sergeant? State? They set up the deal. The UN? They’re delighted to see our people die. We’re enjoying a new kind of war, courtesy of Kennedy and his wizards. We’re proving a powerful nation can go to the defense of a small nation invaded by a small neighbor, make itself look like the aggressor in both countries, and buy its own defeat at the hands of a bunch of ignorant monkeys.”

  “And the ones who get hurt? What about the dudes whose minds are used up or who get crippled?”

  “Breaks of the game.” A flicker of emotion altered his features, as a movement below the surface of a pond will sometimes create a visible suggestion of hidden activity.

  “The people getting hurt in this war are natural victims, Miller, people who either hunt for dangerous situations or are too dumb to avoid them. Look, I know I’m not a popular man around here. I don’t care. This is my career, and I don’t take chances with it or my life. And that’s the way we’re going to run things.”