Targets: A Vietnam War Novel

by Don McQuinn

  Someone down the line shouted and Chavez looked skyward. “It’s the Dragon!” he yelled. “I told you it was coming!”

  The enemy heard and saw as well. Their fire slacked off immediately. Harker screamed at the PFs to keep the pressure on them, to keep them locked to the ground for the Dragon’s guns. The strange, accented voice shouting commands made them pause, and then they reacted with renewed strength. The fire from the men with Cao regained some intensity.

  Chavez called the radioman to him and began detailing instructions to the lumbering WWII relic. Propellors droning, it came toward them, roughly paralleling their line and at Chavez’ instructions, Harker shouted for the PFs to fire smoke grenades at the enemy, any color. The result was the blossoming of a peculiar bouquet that drew the twin-engined Dragon as to honey.

  A new noise struck the battlefield, more frightening than the supply dump explosion, far more soul-searing than normal battle. The airborne Gatling-type guns vomited a virtually solid stream of bullets. The earth danced where they fired, bits of brush, rock, dirt, and unidentifiable things swirling upward like offerings. When the plane stopped firing to bank and return, the enemy didn’t even trouble to shoot at it. They ran.

  Harker and Chavez watched with relief and satisfaction. The plane made two more passes before Chavez told them they weren’t needed any longer. On the horizon there were helicopters settling to the ground.

  Cao approached and looked north with them. “They must have found the artillery, I think, and they will soon attack what is left of this unit. Today it is we who give the lesson. It was good you were here to help. We thank you.”

  “How many casualties?” Harker asked.

  “Five dead,” Cao said. “Six wounded. One will die. And a deserter, but he will return.” He swung his arm in an arc. “Where can he go, poor fool? I will discipline him and we will continue.”

  They watched the PFs move forward, gleaning the battlefield for weapons and ammunition and information to be turned over to District Headquarters. After a while, they followed, ending up on the original positions they’d held. One of the PFs came toward them from the north, trotting around the bend in the road. He seemed anxious to speak, but hesitated to interrupt. Cao nodded at him.

  The man said, “We were getting equipment from the enemy dead, as always. One of them had this in his shirt pocket. I was not robbing him. It was there for anyone to see.”

  He held out a wallet. Cao glanced inside and handed it to Harker.

  The American looked at the papers and spoke to the man. “It belonged to the other American who came here in the helicopter. Have you found him?”

  The man shook his head. “We looked for him and for the man with him. We found the white thing they carried. There is blood there.” He looked to Cao nervously.

  Harker turned to him, also. “Your men are excellent troops. You must be very proud of them.”

  Cao thanked him and dismissed the other man, who went looking for others to tell what had happened and been said.

  They watched him until Cao turned back to them. He looked up at Harker. “You are a mystery to me, Dai Uy, you and your friend. I am pleased that I could help you in this matter between you and the other American, whatever the cause. And we owe our lives to your help. You fought with us and you fight very well. I think you are very good soldiers, even though I was unsure of you at first. I think these men who died must have been very bad, because I do not believe you are proud of the way they died.”

  They stared at each other, digesting the words and the look of the face before them and Harker finally gestured with the wallet. “I’ll see this gets turned in back in Saigon.”

  Chavez reached for the radio again. “I’m calling to get our ass out of here,” he said. “I’ve had all I want for one day, buddy.”

  Harker didn’t hear him. He was watching Cao’s PFs remove their wounded. One carried a man piggy back. There were tourniquets on both of the passenger’s legs but blood drizzled from his feet nevertheless. The pattern in the dust looked like ancient writing.

  Chapter 49

  When Winter led the way into the State Department building the Marine at the desk passed them along with such calculated disinterest Taylor winced. He stole a glance at Harker’s face and the locked determination it had shown since he came in from the field to describe Barline’s death. For the two days since, he’d been submerged in a silence that created its own gravity, engulfing all communication around him. Even Winter’s efforts had failed.

  Both Harker and Chavez faced the hurricane of interest generated by the incident with unshakable confidence. They professed no knowledge of information that sent Barline to that particular place, nor had they any explanation for his foolhardy venture forward of the already-threatened line of PFs. The only time either man showed any emotion was Chavez’ outburst when he angrily described Cao’s insistence on secrecy and the obvious breach that put Barline in the picture at all. Then he apologized for having no more to add.

  Harker refused to speak or write beyond the most fundamental facts, made no apologies for his reticence, and seemed to defy anyone to make him say more. At the obligatory press conferences his delivery was stiff and formal and his eyes roved the attendees in a manner later described in various terms, the most popular being “chill” and “hostile.”

  The interviews had been unqualified disasters, creating more questions than they answered. They left the official MACV explainers at the regular news briefings more exposed than ever to the scorn of their interrogators.

  Winter was summoned to Carr’s office. Taylor invited himself along on the theory that it might take two minds to think up things to divert Carr from Harker’s studied insolence. He had expected to have to argue about it and was uneasy when Winter’s quick acceptance revealed his own uncertainty. For the first time since becoming aware of the incident, Taylor had felt afraid.

  They stepped out of the elevator into an empty hallway that had the feeling of having been hurriedly cleared. Their steps were heavy sounds, pounding on the carpeting. The secretary in Carr’s waiting room rose when they entered, her expression breaking its professional facade long enough to reveal a layer of tension. She asked that the others wait until called, introduced Winter, and left with graceful speed, avoiding eye contact with either Taylor or Harker.

  Taylor leaned back and stared at Harker’s ear. “Did you set him up?” he asked quietly.

  Color rose in Harker’s cheek, the only sign he’d heard. Taylor repeated the question, then, “One of us has to know for sure, man—me or the Old Man. We’re here to squash it, but it’s going to be a lot tougher if you keep asking for trouble.”

  Harker swung to face him, anger surging. Taylor waved a bored hand. “Don’t start on me. You’re over-acting and you’re getting ready to be a martyr. Tell you the truth, I think you did it.”

  Again Harker flushed and opened his mouth and Taylor rode over the protest. “Just listen. I don’t much care if you got Barline killed or not. He wouldn’t weep for me, I don’t weep for him. But you’ve got Winter’s ass hung out like a wet peacoat sleeve, babe, and I’m not in much better shape. We don’t need the Unit investigated. We better have our gear in order before we tangle with this guy, Carr. I’m too close to retirement to lose the whole works.”

  Harker broke the staring match to glance around the room. Taylor watched him and laughed softly.

  “Looking for bugs? Forget it. They wouldn’t dare. They’ve got their own problems. While we’ve got the time, let’s hear it all.”

  It came in nervous bursts, relief becoming more apparent as the details poured free. At the very end, Taylor marked the taut skin around the eyes and the thinned lips of a man laboring under a load even though his strength has long since faded.

  He reached out to put a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Hang in,” he said, winking. “We can handle it if you don’t come unglued, you hear? Nobody’ll lay a glove on you if you start behaving right. Stop think
ing and acting like you’re mixed up in something terrible.”

  The sullenness returned. “You’re the expert, aren’t you? You just do it and don’t think about it, don’t you?”

  “I think about it. I try to be objective.”

  “Is that what you call it?” He snorted before dabbing at sweat on his forehead. “We’ve all seen you working on your precious objectivity. Or is it only a lack of conscience?”

  The muscles in Taylor’s jaw wadded and for a second the hand on Harker’s shoulder tightened. He closed his eyes in a protracted blink and when he opened them, he put his hand in his lap and spoke conversationally.

  “Once, when I was a kid, I was fishing and I fell asleep. I woke up with the damndest feeling I ought to remain absolutely still, so I did, but I moved my eyes and I saw this dog fox with a chipmunk trapped at the base of a tree. The fox’d lunge and the chipmunk’d nail him on the nose every time. A couple of times I thought it was over—the fox got him—but the chipmunk got loose and backed up against his tree again. And pretty soon the fox quit. Dropped his brush, backed off, and went looking for an easier meal. It was a good lesson.”

  Harker’s impatience swelled his voice. “So you watched an animal save its life. Should I tell everybody Barline threatened me?”

  Shaking his head, Taylor said, “I’ll bet I’ve told a hundred people that story and every goddam one of them identifies with the chipmunk. Now, listen to me.” He tilted forward, eyes hard. “Animals don’t have a corner on predation, they’re just a whole lot less organized about it than humans. We invented wars, but there’s still the occasional one-on-one thing where someone has to die. So I learned from the fox. He knew he could kill the chipmunk, but he knew he could get hurt so badly doing it that his next kill or his next escape might be jeopardized. What I’m saying is, you handled the first half of this deal all wrong. You decided to be the predator, but you got all mixed up with right and wrong and guilt afterwards. You were off base going in, Harker—you didn’t back off when you had the reason and the chance to get the hell out, so now we’re all sweating. The trick now is to last it out. You break wrong and you take everybody with you.”

  Harker mustered a sneer. “I did what I had to do and I’m not afraid to take what’s coming to me. You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? No great victories, no glorious defeats, just a quick, clean kill.”

  The chair sighed under Taylor’s weight as he sat back and smell of plastic gushed into the room.

  “Forget glory and all that. That was other wars and maybe the next one.” He rubbed his chin and added, “One more thing. Don’t ever give me any more shit about what I’ve done or how I’ve done it. I don’t plant bombs for civilians. I don’t send anybody into a meatgrinder while visions of Presidential Unit Citations dance in my head. I’ve never once asked for anyone’s understanding, but I’ll level with you. I expected some from my friends.”

  Harker looked down at the figured carpet. “I’m sorry. It’s not like I—” He twisted his face and gestured helplessly.

  “Good.” Taylor nodded approval, continuing in the face of Harker’s blank confusion, “You stay nervous. And stay puzzled. You haven’t done anything, remember. You got caught up in an unfortunate incident. Barline stepped in it all by himself, right? Right. You tried to explain things to him. You’ve been surly because you keep thinking there was something you might have done to stop him. He made the trouble.”

  The door swung open before Harker could answer and Carr said, “You gentlemen can come in now.” There were no clues in his voice and his features were professionally impenetrable.

  Surprise almost checked Taylor in the doorway when he looked past Winter and saw Earl’s forbidding mask. Harker cleared his throat nervously.

  Winter said, “I’ve been explaining to Mr. Carr that you didn’t have any idea Barline was coming to watch the Ruff-Puff operation.”

  The full import of the speech escaped no one. Carr smiled and Earl’s knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair.

  Harker said, “That’s correct, sir. I said so at the press conferences. If he’d let us know, we’d have arranged for him to go with me. He could have seen anything he wanted. He didn’t have to carry on the way he did.”

  Earl shifted in his chair, then back to his original position, every movement an expression of disbelief.

  Taylor caught a change in Harker, an infinitesimal lifting of his chin. “I know what you’re thinking, Colonel Earl, and I wish I had an excuse. When Mr. Barline said he was going forward, I told him there could be hostile troops on that road, but he insisted he’d be back before they closed on us. I couldn’t stop him.”

  “The hell you couldn’t!” Earl twisted in the chair again. “He was a civilian in a combat area. You knew how close the VC were. I believe you failed completely to warn him of his danger.”

  “No, sir.” Harker looked embarrassed. “I know a lot of people think that because Mr. Barline always acted as if he wanted us to lose this war, but he was entitled to his opinion, sir. And if I’d physically restrained him, Colonel, who’d have defended me if he made a stink about not being allowed to go where he wanted to go? I don’t mean to sound impertinent, but are you willing to tell one of these media people he’s forbidden to go anywhere, unless it’s a classified area?”

  “Of course not!” Earl snapped, his color rising. “I wouldn’t let him walk directly into a VC attack, either.”

  Winter said, “Not VC. The unit’s positively identified as NVA. We have their track all the way down through Laos into the Cambodian border area.”

  “So what?” Earl demanded. “The question isn’t who killed Barline but how it was allowed to happen. I told you, the Senator is enraged. He wants to know exactly what happened out there.”

  Half-turning, Winter directed his comment to his officers, affecting a gross confidentiality. “Mr. Barline covered the Senator’s last re-election campaign. They became good friends. In fact, one of the Senator’s opponents—”

  Earl made a growling sound as he rose from the chair. “I have to warn you, Colonel, no matter how confidential this conversation’s supposed to be, if you continue—”

  “Shut up.” Winter’s command was just loud enough to carry over Earl’s speech.

  Carr coughed and made as if to speak, but one look from Winter’s slitted eyes and he sat back quietly.

  Winter said, “I can give warnings, too. If you ever speak to me like that again, I’ll have you court-martialed before you can plug in your connections. Secondly, I don’t believe a word of the innuendo that was thrown around about your Senator. I’m sure you’d be the first to claim that any accusation has to be backed up by evidence. But that’s not slowing you down very much in Harker’s case, is it? I think your judgement in this entire issue is clouded by your determination to see it as something where our every move is wrong, just as did Barline. He wrote thousands of words poo-pooing the reports of NVA troops operating out of Cambodia. I find a certain irony in the fact he was butchered by people he’s steadfastly maintained don’t exist.”

  It was a long speech, and Taylor was glad it was over. He could feel Earl’s frustration as clearly as he could feel the tension headache at the back of his own neck. The whole conversation had gone on long enough. Harker was clearly off the hook. Carr’s expression said he was satisfied with their position. Taylor looked at him again to verify and told himself he’d never know if Carr really believed or if he simply acknowledged a good defense.

  He was startled to hear Earl speak again.

  “Barline’s not the only man to die in suspicious circumstances who’s had connections with your Unit, Colonel.”

  The accusation in the statement shot adrenalin through Taylor in a flood, clamping down the pain of the headache, tightening his muscles.

  “If you have something to say, get it out,” Winter said.

  Taylor looked to Carr for help, but the dapper civilian didn’t know Winter well enough to recognize the men
ace in the soft-spoken response. Taylor sighed and leaned back, only to be pulled forward by Earl’s next shot.

  “There was that man Trung, reportedly shot by the VC as a traitor. I know for a fact he leveled a personal threat at your Major Taylor, there.”

  Again, very quietly, Winter answered. “So?”

  “You arrested Trung. Another man died on that occasion. When Trung was freed, he refused to speak out against his illegal treatment, yet he felt strongly enough about it to threaten this man’s life. And now he’s dead, slaughtered while he slept.”

  “You’re making an accusation? A charge?”

  “You know I’m not. There’s no evidence.”

  “Exactly what I was telling you before. But I’ll give you more than you’ve given me, and assume Trung was killed by American efforts. Was he actively engaged in opposing our war effort? Had his work resulted in the injury of Americans, or their deaths? If those things are true, Trung was a soldier. Why does it become necessary to take him to court? In fact, why does he rate your protection while we don’t?”

  The normally composed expression cracked momentarily and Earl covered the lapse by looking away. In doing so, his eyes met Carr’s and they each held, probing. Taylor watched them, fascinated by the immense power as they sought a clearer view of the inner man. He left them long enough to observe Winter and Harker. They showed no particular interest and it concerned him that he might be reading too much into the staring match. When he checked, however, they were just breaking the contact and Taylor was disappointed no one else had noticed its intensity.

  Earl turned back to Winter. “You’re questioning my patriotism. You mistake my contempt for an immoral war for a favorable view of the enemy. I’m as philosophically opposed to men like Trung as you are. But he’s not the real issue. Do we have the right to interfere in another country’s politics? And it is politics, not morality, that got us involved in this war. But it’s morality that forces me to challenge your methods. Once your techniques become standard, the differences between Trung’s side and ours are only external. The rottenness will be universal.”