Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  “You look pretty cheerful today. Mailman finally do right by you?”

  The Captain indicated his overnight bag. “Got a letter yesterday afternoon.”

  “You brought it with you?”

  “I haven’t even opened it yet.” He looked boyish and shy. “It’s a fat one. She must have been saving up all the news. I want to wait until I’m on that nice sandy beach and read it in peace and quiet.”

  “For Christ’s sake. Listen, everybody knows how you hang on mail call. You mean you’ve been mooning around for days and now—?”

  “Like they say, the anticipation is half of it.”

  “Maybe so. I never tried to balance it out, myself.”

  “You would if you knew Lenore.” Emotion glazed his features and he propped himself on one shoulder to face Taylor. “I know what the rest of you think of me. I’ve seen you smile when I get my mail and how you look at each other now that there’s not as much of it. I must look pretty funny. Well, I don’t care what any of you think. My wife and kid are what count with me.”

  “Don’t get all over me, man. I don’t care if you all use the same toothbrush. But you do sight in hard on whoever’s handling the mail.” The cold edge of Kimble’s hostility blunted a bit. “You bet I do. Those letters are my lifeline.”

  Taylor shuddered at the jutting jaw, sensing it was determined to flap its message. Fervor pitched Kimble closer, raised his voice so no pearl of wisdom could be crushed by the drum of the engine.

  “I was a man without any goals when I met Lenore, I really was. Things happened and I went along. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably have headed for Canada.”

  Taylor’s shocked reaction hurried Kimble along.

  “Oh, she didn’t want me to come to Nam, but she’s the one who showed me I had to compete, get a commission, plan ahead. It was a big disappointment when I got orders here, but when I get back we’ve got my GI Bill benefits. I’ll get a Bus. Ad. degree and we’ll set ourselves up an electronics place.”

  Carefully noncommittal, Taylor said, “Sounds like a good program. Can you raise the money to start up?”

  “Mrs. Folker—Lenore’s mother—says she’ll help. Trouble is, they don’t have much. She raised hell when we found out I was coming here. Carried on about how I was likely leaving Lenore to be a widow with a baby.”

  “I know the type.” Memories layered a chill on his voice that was more apparent than he intended. Misinterpreted by Kimble, it fueled the earlier hostility to full heat again.

  “You don’t know her. She’s a good woman. She takes some understanding, that’s all.” He took a new tack, became confiding. “It’s the old man who’s the problem. He doesn’t say ten words a day, you know? She’s always after him to get a raise, or something, but he just shrugs his shoulders and smiles and that’s it. When I was stationed at Bragg and Lenore had to go home ‘cause she was pregnant with Teri, Mom hassled every politician she could write to to get me sent to Fort Holabird. We’d argue about what to say and Lenore’d cry. Man, it was tough. And that old fart’d sit there and watch the Eagles like we were on another planet. It’s no wonder Mom’s so tough about goals, you know?”

  Vung Tau slid into view below them and Taylor pointed silently, feeling reprieved.

  The reason for the trip and the name of Nguyen Binh tugged at his thoughts and he brushed them away, including the stern image of Winter for good measure. At the same time a grinning Ordway gestured down and forward where a protective arm of land thrust into the white-capped green sea, holding multi-colored fishing boats in the curve like a woman cradling a basket of fruit to her breast. Shadows cast by cloud bolls drifted across tiled roofs, dusty streets, and a myriad plant colors reaching for the sun. The plane dropped sharply and Taylor craned to look past Kimble for a fleeting glimpse of rolling combers north of the headland, gleaming foam-crowned pyramids discolored to slate gray by the roiled bottom.

  After landing and taxiing to a stop, Kolchak pointed them at the ramshackle terminal.

  The three new arrivals bought coffee at a small lunch counter after phoning for transportation and barely finished it before their jeep arrived. The driver identified himself, saw his passengers aboard, and uncommunicatively drove them through a semi-deserted area of warehouses and administration buildings. They turned through a gate past a disinterested MP.

  “Where the hell is everyone?” Taylor asked. “The place is like a ghost town.”

  “Part of the draw-down,” the driver said. “Pretty soon there won’t be nobody here. There’s some kind of intelligence school off that way and the slopes have a school over there, rural development stuff. They dress up in black pajamas like Charlie. Supposed to go out in the country and teach the farmers.” He made a hissing noise. “Bunch of fucking draft dodgers.”

  He stopped in front of a building shedding white paint like matted hair and got out of the jeep. “The Major had bunks set up for you here. It used to be an office or something. It’s got its own latrine and all. He thought you might want to stay here instead of the BOQ. It’s up to you. That’s our building, just down the street. The jeep’s yours ‘til you get ready to leave. The Major says to come on down whenever you’re ready.”

  Inside, the building exuded the smell of abandonment like sweat. Three bunks crowded against the walls as if trying to avoid attention, two to the left, one to the right. A circulating fan whirred at them from the far corner, swinging back and forth, welcoming with its imbecile drone.

  “All the comforts of home.” Kimble tossed his bag on one of the bunks. “I’ll check out the latrine.”

  Taylor picked a bunk and dropped his gear. “What I want you to do, Corporal, is scout this place while Kimble and I are busy with this lash-up. Recon the R&R beach, a good place to eat, see what you can learn about the bars. And don’t get carried away with that last bit. We’ll sleep here tonight. You do a number here, it’s a short time, and if you come up with a dose you better hope it’s fatal, because if you live, your ass belongs to me. Any questions?”

  “I wasn’t figurin’—” Ordway reddened and let the sentence die.

  Taylor managed to remain stern. “Good. I’ve got enough to do without standing tall in front of the Old Man explaining why you squeal when you take a leak.”

  Kimble re-entered. “Somebody left a bucket and a mop in the latrine when they cleaned the place.”

  Taylor jerked a thumb at Ordway. “That’s how you can tell it’s the enlisted men’s head.”

  “Shee-it.” Ordway grinned.

  “Take your bathing suit when you leave,” Taylor continued. “I want to know if the water’s the right temperature for officers. Be back here at, oh, 1500.” He tossed the keys to Ordway who took them on the move.

  Kimble said, “What’s all that about?”

  “Scouting. He’ll enjoy it and we won’t have to stumble around looking for things when we go out this evening.”

  * * *

  The sun was a liquid pressure forcing Taylor’s body into the sand. He tensed and relaxed the muscles in his feet, calves, thighs, working up to his neck, feeling each area swell and melt luxuriously back to repose. Sweat ran darts across his skin and the richness of suntan lotion mingled soporifically with the salt breeze. He inhaled to the limits of his lungs, enough to cause a catch below his ribs, and hoped he wouldn’t sleep long enough to burn.

  Kimble’s voice clattered in his ear. “I still say we have to tell these people exactly what we want this stuff for, Major.” He shifted, as he had on the plane, the sand grating under his beach towel. “I’ve been thinking about it. We can’t ask them to work in the dark. We’ve got to give them the whole picture.”

  Taylor swallowed to clear the heat clogging his throat. “They’re not stupid. They know what we’re doing. They know everything they need to know and they’ll guess more. What else could we tell them?”

  “About the Unit and the kind of people we’re after. They’re inventive. They’d come up with good ideas.” />
  “They will already. Anyhow, they already know our names.”

  The conversation stopped and Kimble’s disapproval was as physically present as the heat. Finally, he asked, “What were you going to do, give them a phony name?”

  “I’d rather.” Taylor shook his arm and listened to a dislodged fly hum past his ear.

  “We can trust them,” Kimble maintained.

  “It’s not trust. How do I know one of these clowns isn’t going to blow off his mouth to his girl friend about the keen toys he’s building? For the dark Marine Major and the thin Captain with the glasses from MACV. All the broad needs is our names and we’re burned. You want that running around in your head every time you go downtown? You get made solid enough, Charlie’ll put a Security Section on you, personal. You may find that exciting, but it scares the shit out of me. If I had my way the only man in Nam who’d know my name is the Finance Officer.”

  Kimble was thoughtful. “I guess that comes from working with hardware all the time. I never considered the street work.”

  “Please do.” Taylor opened the eye on Kimble’s side, squinting against the searing glare. “There won’t be any heroes come out of this war, not our side of it, so don’t get anyone nominated, OK?” He closed the eye again.

  “That’s a roger.” Kimble chuckled quietly. “God knows I’ve worked hard enough to duck it myself. I’ve always been careful to stay away from anything like that. Getting zapped in Nam would screw up my plans, you know?”

  “Unless you’re a seance freak.”

  “The only bumps in the night that interest me come in bed.”

  “I’m surprised at you. Lenore’d be scandalized. You finally read her letter, huh?”

  “Not yet.” The vibration from the hand patting the ground was like a gritty heartbeat. “I’ve got it under my towel. I’ll read it here on the beach.”

  “What are you, some kind of masochist?”

  “It’s like having her here. I can’t explain it. It’s like knowing I’m not alone. When I read it, it’s only a letter. There won’t be anything world-shaking in it, but until I open it and read it, it’s a promise, you know? A reassurance, or something.”

  “It’s weird, is what it is. You’re gonna go home in one of those funny coats with the long sleeves.”

  The answering laugh was superior in its contentment. Taylor heard him shift again and hoped the conversation was dead. He tried to turn his mind inward, wanting sleep, but a visual collage of the moods of Ly shimmered through the blackness. Kimble’s drivel about his precious Lenore had set off his own longing and highlighted his own problems. Damning Kimble scattered the images and he willed himself to concentrate on the afternoon’s discussions of miniaturization, ranges, and frequencies.

  A cold hand shook him. He realized he’d dropped off and looked to see Ordway haloed by a lowering sun.

  “If you’re going swimming, Major, you’d best wake up. You’ve been makin’ z’s for a while. It’s near 1700.”

  “No kidding?” Taylor twisted his arm to get the face of his watch out of the glare. Sitting up, he noted Kimble’s absence and the torn open end of the envelope peeking out from under the towel. It was a sight to inspire mixed relief and dread. He wouldn’t have to hear any more about its holiness, but he was sure he’d hear every crushing detail of Lenore’s activity.

  “The Captain swimming?”

  “Yes, sir. He walked around picking at seashells for a while. He’s in now.”

  “I’ll see if I can find him.” He rose slowly, gratified to see he hadn’t burned. A few minutes later he was bobbing in the surf next to Kimble. They leaped upward as each wave rolled to them, pushing seaward to avoid being shoved back, then dropping to stand on the bottom and wait for the next one. The crested tops passed to curl and foam ashore, growling as if disappointed.

  “Wouldn’t it be great if we could just start paddling that way?” Kimble pointed east with his chin as another wave rolled under them.

  “No way. With my luck, I’d catch a current and end up in Haiphong. Anyhow, I’m as far from land as I like to get.”

  Kimble looked at him quizzically, and Taylor added, “I don’t like the sea.” They lifted up the face of the newest wave and slid down the reverse slope. “It’s a kind of fear. It’s so big it scares me. It just does what it wants, and that’s that.”

  “Life’s like that, too.”

  They bobbed again. “Naw. Life you can fight. Kick and scream. You’ve got a chance. This big mother? No slack. You slip one time, your butt’s fish bait. It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to die there.” He slackened his paddling and let a wave nudge him toward the beach. “You about ready for some chow?”

  “Good idea.” Kimble turned on his face and tried to body surf. He missed the crest and coasted to a stop. Taylor caught up and they treaded water, flipping over and stroking furiously as another wave approached. They caught it together, bodies planing, the sense of speed out of all proportion to their actual progress. They were in the boiling froth that spent itself in a last clutch at the sand before tumbling away, and when they stood, the water barely reached their knees.

  “Oh, man, that was good.” Taylor shook water from his body in a flurry of spray.

  “I was in longer than I thought.” Kimble held up his hands, laughing. They were pale and wrinkled, ancient things grafted onto the young body.

  They walked to their towels, the sun now a benign warmth, the hot sand lively against their feet. Ordway waited for them.

  Taylor said, “We’ve got to get Captain Kimble into town and pump some beer into him. He’s all shriveled up.”

  Kimble displayed the hands again and Ordway said, “Sure hope that’s the only place to get drawn up like that. Be hell for a married man if it happened some places.”

  Kimble’s amusement dropped instantly. He opened his mouth as if to speak, flushed, and bent quickly to retrieve his towel and letter.

  Ordway, uncertain, turned to Taylor, who frowned at Kimble’s back and shook his head. Ordway nodded and picked up his own gear.

  Kimble regained his composure by the time they started for the beach house and the three of them talked easily of dinner, weighing Ordway’s report. They balanced the high prices of the Vietnamese restaurants against the routine of the cheaper BOQ meal. It was Kimble who summed it up for them.

  “Look, if we splurge on a fancy meal we won’t have much left over for barhopping after. It doesn’t mean all that much to me, of course, but I know you guys want to go out and look over the girls. Let’s save money on dinner and spend it on whiskey like reasonable men.”

  Ordway agreed with an enthusiasm that relieved Taylor because it gave him an excuse to uncap the laughter welling in his throat. A glance at Kimble had revealed a glitter in his eye that seemed to blatantly deny his disavowal of the bar girls.

  After showering in the R&R facility they walked to the limit of the compound, where the taxis waited. The ride was uneventful, each man busy registering his own impressions. Taylor found the trip unpleasant.

  The area had been beautiful once, cared for. Now it had a musty quality, as though the huge-boled trees and stately homes were cardboard stage props, deserted by the magic that had given them life. The people appeared cheerful enough, and the children laughed and ran as always, their gaiety underscored by the occasional appearance of a wounded Vietnamese soldier sent here to recuperate. At one corner they swung wide to avoid one, legless in a motorized wheelchair, operating the controls with his remaining hand. He looked up, smiled and waved. Taylor returned both until they were away, then let the smile go and closed his eyes.

  They changed into civilian clothes in their office-cum-bedroom and drove into the R&R BOQ for dinner. Again, Taylor was taken by the change in Kimble. He plunged into the evening with frenetic vigor, insisting on martinis and making a great show of ordering the wine. The difference between this performance and his normal drinking habits was apparent as they stepped outside.


  Ordway led off, pleased to see Taylor beside him and Kimble lagging. He glanced back before speaking.

  “Is he all right, Major?”

  “Who knows?” Taylor shrugged. “He’s wound up because he got a letter from his wife. First one in a few days.”

  “He’s half in the bag. Does he always get so loaded so easy?”

  “Not usually. It’s mostly relief, I guess.”

  Ordway tugged an ear. “It looks to be a short evening. We’ll be packing him before long.”

  Kimble caught up. “What the hell’s goin’ on? We on a hike? Where’s the joints, Ordway?”

  “We’re there, sir.” He pointed. “They said this place has the best women in town.”

  “The Red Rose.” Kimble repeated the flaring neon sign. “ ‘A rose by any other name,’ right, men?” He slapped Taylor’s back, staggering slightly. “Let’s get in there and mix it up, right?”

  “Oooh-whee!” Ordway breathed. “Is he ever ready! Whatever his old lady put in that letter, she should’ve kept it!”

  Inside, the noise of the street was overwhelmed by stereophonic bedlam. All three stood uncertain, trying to adjust their eyes to the darkness. Dim figures appeared, tugged insistently at them. A chorus of invitations, some lilting, some raucously obscene, tried to penetrate the music. Ordway caught both officers by the elbows and physically propelled them through the women and toward another door. He opened it to reveal a flight of stairs and pushed them through, slamming it shut behind him. The noise level dropped off immediately, as did their entourage.

  “They call the downstairs the Hamburger Stand,” he explained. “There’s a roof garden upstairs and they said that’s where we ought to go.”

  “The mysterious ‘they’ strikes again,” Kimble said. His face was flushed, muscles working under the skin. “Onward! Upward!” He tried to take the stairs two at a time, stumbled, and eased to a wavering trot. Ordway and Taylor hurried after him.

  The contrast between the roof garden and the melee on the first floor was almost as stunning as the blast of music had been. The women marked their arrival with sharp-eyed poise, making no move toward them. Colored lights strung overhead cast suffused light on small tables covered with bright-striped tablecloths. Each table had its own candle mounted in a bottle, the shape barely recognizable under encrusted melted wax. The music was pleasant, marred only by the determined rhythms pumping through the structure from below.