Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  Taylor shuffled papers for a second before moving past Miller and into the corridor, headed outside. Miller shouted thanks at his back and he waved without turning. It had been his intention to sprawl on the sack and read for a while and brief Winter in the morning. Now he wanted out of the villa. What with the assumption of authority over Binh’s wife and the added confusion surrounding Miller’s difficulties, the building was suddenly oppressive.

  His spirits rose on the way to BOQ One.

  Binh’s wife was in custody. That alone would send shock waves rolling through COSVN. They would have to assess what she might know, assume the worst, and move accordingly. There would be immense scuttling in the dark, and for an organization that functioned only so long as it was invisible, even small movements were anathema.

  He grinned to himself even as he dodged an apparently homicidal bus driver, turned right and checked in past the gate guard.

  At his knock, Winter opened the door and welcomed him with a questioning expression. He wore shorts and sandals and his free hand unconsciously rubbed at the white patch on his chest. Denby sat in the rattan chair, smiling a greeting his eyes denied. Dead white thighs ballooned out of his shorts and a sweat-stained shirt clung where it touched, his excess weight overwhelming the gasping efforts of the air-conditioner.

  Winter said, “Still in uniform? What’s happening? Trouble interrogating the lady?”

  Taylor pulled up a chair, quartering so he could see Denby while he spoke to Winter. “The lady’s a tough customer, Colonel. And she doesn’t know where her husband is.”

  Denby made as if to speak and ate it when he caught Winter’s frown.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Certain, Colonel. They corresponded through a courier link Binh set up. The kid Duc caught is her nephew. We can start back-tracking on him, but a dime gets you a dollar he leaves his messages under a rock somewhere for the next guy. And so on, for Christ-knows how many more links.”

  Winter looked away and Denby said, “How can you be so sure she doesn’t know where he is? The whole courier thing could be a lie, or some more stupid VC super-security stuff.”

  A sardonic look from Winter escaped him and Winter chose to let it go, speaking to Taylor. “Our security should be so stupid. But how can you be sure?”

  “She told me.”

  Winter ignored Denby’s wordless exclamation, studying Taylor intently. His expression was blank, only the lively eyes moving as they probed. Taylor knew he was being weighed, that everything he’d ever said was being reviewed, that all his decisions and judgements were being reevaluated and balanced against this last conclusion. He waited, looking at the room, registering the drab walls, and thought how he’d spent his adult life sitting or standing in dull, boring rooms, explaining. He felt very tired and a previously unnoticed ache in his knees clamored for attention.

  Still unsatisfied, Winter said, “How did she come to tell you?”

  Taylor reviewed the meeting, and at his conclusion, Denby made another snorting sound. Taylor spun to face him.

  “Is that a comment, Colonel, or do you have a sinus problem?”

  Denby colored. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. The woman showed you her kid and you believe any story she throws.”

  “She’s telling the truth.”

  “We’ll find out.” He appealed to Winter. “I said this mess was a Viet problem. Let Tho talk to her for a day or two, him and that ape Chi. She’ll tell you where Binh is.”

  Taylor said, “What’s this all about? You’re the guy who’s always screaming about sticking our necks out and civilized behavior. What’s torturing female civilians? She deserves better. She was on her way in, man!”

  “Oh, come on!” Denby scoffed.

  “I told you, she knew the Colonel’s name! She wants protection for herself and her child. You can’t turn your back on that!”

  “It’s a war, Major.”

  Taylor was on his feet. “How the fuck would you know? You read about it? Listen, you want her worked over? You do it! Let’s see you in the shithole, your nose full of stink and your ears full of sounds and—and—fuck it! Let’s see you do your own dirty work, just one time!”

  The rattan whined into the bleak silence as Denby shifted his weight to turn away from the threat bent toward him. He looked to Winter.

  “I’m willing to overlook that outburst if you are, Colonel. I can understand it. As I was telling you before he came, we have to give her over to them. She’s a national. All they have to do is ask for her and we’re required to back away, in any case. By voluntarily relinquishing any claim on her, it makes them look good and we’re in the clear. If Taylor’s right, if they interrogate her their way and she really doesn’t know where Binh is, they’re the ones who have to do the explaining, not us. We’re better off out of it.”

  Taylor shook his head like a man who’s caught himself falling asleep at the wheel and sat back down. When he looked to Winter he was impaled by the burning eyes.

  “No more excitement, Tay. Just control yourself. Now, you’re telling me I have this woman and she’s practically useless to me? I’m no closer to Binh than I was? You’re leaving the country in a matter of months and you’re telling me the best possible lead I’ve seen since you arrived is worthless? You want me to believe all that simply because this woman said so and you believe her?”

  Taylor felt Denby’s triumphant grin, envisioned the glistening face, the pendulous lower lip drawing back under the nervous pink tongue. The pinched eyes would come through the glasses mocking.

  “I’m sorry, Colonel. That’s the way I see it. But, goddamit, he knows where she is. He told her to get under cover because he’s getting pressured. There are people in his own outfit trying to snuff him. He’s betting his family’s safer with us than with his comrades, and won’t that jangle them? If we treat her right, he may walk in. And if we squeeze a little here and there, Charlie’s going to dig up every tunnel in the country hunting Binh and he’ll have to break cover. And if we damage his family, you can bet he’ll die before we ever get our hands on him.”

  “That’s crazy,” Denby muttered and when Taylor looked his way he flushed and refused to pull his gaze away from Winter.

  Winter said, “Everything’s crazy here.” He tried to smile at Taylor, the pain in the effort abundant. “I’m going to go along with you. If you believe her, I’ll believe her. Loc’s going to think I’ve lost the few marbles I ever had.” He paused to chuckle, imagining the scene to come. He sobered, looking to Denby. “Taylor’s got a good argument, Carl, and it’s no less valid because we didn’t think of it. Of course Binh’s the locus of a faction struggle. He must feel his friends are losing the debate to some real bastards if he’s taking steps to protect his wife.”

  Denby squirmed and the chair squalled for mercy. His movement stirred air currents of cologne and sweat wrapped around each other in damp embrace.

  He said, “Colonel, we’ve been after Binh, as you said, for our whole tour here. You’ve been after him even before we got here. Don’t let this chance get away. You’ll never get this close again.”

  “I’m going to get him. Not by harming her, though. I want to know everywhere she’s lived with him and every place she’s ever heard him mention. I mean every piece of ground, every road he’s traveled, every village he’s slept in and which house. And I want to know where he’s met with contacts and who they were. I want to know everything she knows about him. It’ll all be history, but if we start shaking the bushes, Binh’s friends and enemies’ll all be convinced she’s breaking and it’s only a question of time before we find them. Pressure. More pressure.”

  He paused, so deep in thought he nodded to himself before continuing.

  “Carl, I’m convinced your investigation ties in with this thing, somewhere. And I know Miller’s convinced there’s drug money involved. I can tell. I agree with him. Goddamit, it has to be so! It’s money in their pockets and casualties for us and Binh’s th
eir logistics wizard. We should’ve been working the connection harder long ago. You know how I feel about the renegade running that bar. Get him.”

  Taylor was halfway to the door when the pounding started. Surprised, he glanced at Winter, who indicated he should open it. The demanding racket started again before he could reach it. When he flung it open, Harker barely glanced at him before rushing past to Winter.

  “That kid Duc brought in yesterday, Colonel? The one with Binh’s wife? They greased him, just about a half-hour ago.” He ran a hand across his hair and looked around at the others. Winter’s face turned to steel.

  “Who got him?”

  Harker said, “Charlie. There was a call put on him by the MSS and the Interrogation Center was transferring him. They hit some traffic and two guys walked up and zapped the driver and the guard and the kid. The third Charlie dumped a grenade in the back seat to finish anything that might have gotten missed.”

  “Did they get away?”

  Harker grinned, finally coming to a part he liked. “Not this time. There was a truckload of Special Branch right around the corner. They got all three.”

  Winter clutched the edge of his desk. “Alive?”

  “No way, Colonel. You know Special Branch. They made meat out of ‘em.”

  Winter bent as if struck in the stomach and his eyes seemed to retreat in the sockets. Taylor waited for the explosion, but Winter controlled himself, only the whistling of his breath hinting at the unspoken words. Taylor decided a question might defuse things.

  “Was there anything on them that could tell us anything about them?”

  Harker cut his eyes that way then back to Winter. For the first time, Taylor noticed the younger man was wearing his new Captain’s bars.

  “I don’t know, sir. I just got the word from the MSS liaison. Should I get on it?”

  Under firm control, Winter said, “Get all you can on them, the prisoner, and those with him. Find out who at MSS put the call on the boy and why. Get the name of the officer who released him to MSS, the time of release, and the time of the requesting call. Above all, insure no one learned we have Binh’s family. Get in with the official Vietnamese investigation. Refer any interference to me.”

  Harker bared his teeth like an unleashed dog and left. Taylor felt a sharp tear of regret at the sight, thinking how even the promotion had failed to penetrate the new shell. When he faced Winter again, the Colonel was watching him instead of the departing Harker.

  “A sorry change, isn’t it?” he asked, knowing Taylor would understand.

  “Yes, sir. He’s a casualty, Colonel. He’s not trying to extend again, is he?”

  “He’s trying.”

  Denby coughed. “Colonel, if you don’t have anything further for me, I’m going to hit the sack. I’m going to be busy tomorrow, putting the finishing touches on that op plan.” When there was no objection, he edged toward the door. Winter half-saluted a goodnight.

  The two men sat alone, unspeaking, for several minutes. External sounds multiplied in Taylor’s consciousness. At first it was only the air-conditioner. Then the rumble of traffic on Plantation Road broke down into separate sounds and he could distinguish trucks from jeeps, cyclos from motorcycles. After that, the sounds in the building became increasingly apparent. Someone in the next room tossed on the bed. A toilet flushed in the distance.

  Winter’s voice disorganized all of it. “What a mess,” he said. His eyes remained fixed on their imaginary point and the words, unaimed, drifted through the room.

  Taylor agreed. “And me sitting here’s not helping. Ly’ll be starting to worry.”

  Leaning back, Winter shifted his view to the ceiling. “What a lucky bastard you are. You’re the only man I know coming out of this slaughterhouse better off than you came in. She’s a fine woman. How’s she doing?”

  Taylor laughed. “Nervous. Acting like a bride. We’ve got almost all the paperwork out of the way.”

  “By God, that’s right!” Winter was all surprise and consternation. “I forgot, it’s not that long before you wicked children make it legal. Have you set a date?”

  “There’s still a couple of things to get cleared up, but we think we’ll be set about thirty days before I rotate.”

  The earlier tensions drained completely from Winter’s features and he smiled. “I’m happy for both of you, really happy. And I hope you’ll be happy for the rest of your lives.”

  “Can’t miss,” Taylor assured him, moving to leave, “but it’s good to know we’ve got a cheering section.”

  As he opened the door, Winter called, “Give her my love. Add my apologies for keeping you so busy. Let’s get out for dinner one night this week, all right?”

  Taylor threw him a thumbs-up and hurried to the jeep to leave for the apartment. He was lifting his hand to pull himself aboard when something stopped him. Ignoring the twisted angles of his pose, Taylor held fast, wanting to be sure he didn’t lose the thread of whatever had trailed across his thinking.

  And then he had it. It was seared into a corner of his mind, an inescapable image of the child, asking her question. The child who looked like Ly must have when she was that young. The child who would never see him as anything more favorable than the strange looking man who decided not to hurt her.

  The thought of her, and her mother, so alone and so coldly considered by everyone around them, turned into an assault and he suddenly needed Ly more than he could remember ever needing or wanting anything.

  Chapter 40

  When Taylor stepped into his office the following morning, Harker and Duc waited for him. The Captain rose as Taylor entered, a move Duc watched with carefully hidden amusement. The ease of his manner disappeared at Harker’s first words.

  “We’ve been waiting to talk to you, Major. I’d like your advice on how to twist some answers out of Barline’s driver.”

  “Jesus.” Taylor made his way into his chair. “You really start the day with a smile.”

  Harker brushed the comment aside. “The driver’s Duong Han and the kid Major Duc caught yesterday’s his nephew. The kid wanted Han to find out for Binh’s wife how she could turn herself in to Colonel Winter.” Taylor said, “OK. I hear you. So you think this Han’s VC because he knows about the Old Man and he’s got enough clout to put Trung back in business. Maybe he is. He’s also Barline’s pet gopher. How do you think Barline’s going to take it if we pick up his man with no more than that to go on?”

  Sticking out his chin, Harker said, “I don’t want to arrest him. I want to get him off somewhere and ask him questions, that’s all.”

  Slight movement to the side gave Taylor an excuse to look away from Harker’s intensity at the reassurance of Duc’s signal of disavowal. Knowing the idea was exclusively Harker’s, Taylor forced himself back to the problem, feeling like a man driven from the shade.

  Weighing an answer, he caught himself again comparing this Harker with the one who’d awakened him that first evening in the transient BOQ. Association superimposed the face of Miller on his mind and he wanted to tell Harker to forget this thing, to retrieve what he had been.

  It happened so often to men like Miller and Harker. Good men, bending under ever-increasing weight, the ideals turning to dogma, means eventually serving as ends. The back of his neck chilled and he feared to go further because he, too, was part of it all.

  He used an exaggerated blink to get time to wrench his mind away from that line of thought, slammed mental doors and picked words.

  “Han’s the same as Trung, involved with the VC at one level or another. Try proving it. And the fact that he knows something about the Old Man is as it should be. Shit, Harker, he works for a reporter—it’d be suspicious if he didn’t know about him.”

  Harker’s lips pulled taut. “If we know he’s VC, why should we dick around with him?”

  “Listen, one of the assholes mixed up in the riots at Columbia—they asked him something about justifying what they were doing, OK? He said they were doi
ng it because they were right. And they asked how he knew he was right and he said, ‘When you’re right, you know it.’ You’re saying the same damned thing.”

  “If it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.”

  “Goddamit, no. Because you’ve got the muscle doesn’t give you the right to stomp on anyone you want, any more than the puke I’m talking about. That’s what all this is supposed to be about.”

  “He is right,” Duc said. “You know I hate VC, so you know I think much about men like Trung, Tu, Han—all like that. Be easy kill them, but not good. If not have country with law for all people, be same-same before.”

  Harker moved to the doorway where he paused to look back. “You’re not worried about law or justice. You two think I’ll screw it up and get in trouble. I want to hear either one of you tell me you’re not thinking the same things I am.”

  Taylor rose, aware of Duc sliding his chair back. There was another sound and it was a moment before he recognized it as Duc’s angered intake of breath.

  Taylor said, “I might be. Maybe. You think about that. Look at yourself and your career and then think about me and mine.” Harker opened his mouth and he held up a peremptory hand. “I don’t want to hear anything else from you for a while.”

  Stiffly, as if denied a longed-for fight, Harker turned and left. When Taylor started to sit back down, he checked clumsily, caught by the expression on Duc’s face. His own blunt “Well?” grated as unnecessarily challenging. He continued his interrupted motion.

  Duc spoke in Vietnamese. “You should make things easier for him. You should advise him, not correct him. He expects much from you because he admires you. And maybe he is right about Han. Maybe we should talk to him in a small room.”

  “I was advising him. He has a good future. Why should he waste it trying to get answers from a man like this Han? If Han identified him for Barline, he would be in terrible trouble.”

  “I cannot think an American ‘wastes’ his career fighting the communists beside us.”