by Larry Bond
“Yes.”
“I am Dr. Quan.”
Zeus moved his clothes to his left arm and held his right hand out to shake. The doctor hesitated a moment, then clamped his hand around Zeus’s.
“You need something for your things,” said the doctor. “Come into my office.”
“Thanks.”
Zeus followed him into the room, which was more like a small alcove off a narrow corridor that ran perpendicular to the main hall. The nurse Zeus had followed was standing at the edge of the alcove, watching apprehensively.
“Thank you,” Zeus said as she started to leave. “Thanks.”
“Here,” said the doctor, taking a mesh bag from behind a filing cabinet near the wall. He held it open. Zeus squeezed his clothes in. More water dripped on the floor.
“I’m very sorry,” Zeus told him.
“Someone will clean it up. Don’t worry.”
The office space was small, with a metal desk pushed up against the side, and the filing cabinet taking most of the space opposite it. The doctor seemed not to have a chair, not even behind the desk.
“I wanted to see Dr. Anway,” Zeus said. “She had helped me before. We’re friends now.”
“Dr. Anway.”
“Anna.” Zeus couldn’t believe that anyone who worked here, let along another doctor, wouldn’t know her. “Where is she? Is she working today?”
“Dr. Anway is not here.” Dr. Quan pushed his lips together, his cheeks pinching inward.
“Where is she?” Zeus asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What happened to Anna?” said Zeus, leaning closer.
“She was arrested as a traitor,” said the doctor, looking down. “I know nothing else.”
~ * ~
6
South of Hanoi
Perry needed to make the call to Washington from outside the bunker, not just because the signal for his scrambled sat phone wouldn’t reach from beneath all the cement and metal grids, but because he could not trust the Vietnamese not to listen in. He certainly would under the circumstances.
Unfortunately, that meant standing in the rain and the wind to make the call. He pulled the collar of his raincoat up and took his cap out and put it onto his head, pulling the beak down over his eyes until he could barely see.
The phone rang once on the other side before Walter Jackson, the President’s National Security adviser, answered.
Personally. One measure of the importance of his mission.
“Walter, this is Perry.”
“General.”
“I need to talk to the President. As soon as possible.”
“That’s not a problem, General. He happens to be right here in my office.”
There was a slight delay as the President picked up another phone.
“Harland. Bringing good news, I hope.”
“No, Mr. President. I’m not.”
“Okay.” Greene’s voice dropped about a half octave, and the cheeriness was gone. “Tell it to me straight.”
“One of my men died in action.”
Perry explained the circumstances briefly. Neither Greene nor Jackson interrupted.
“I think that, unfortunately, under the circumstances, it was a necessary sacrifice,” said the President.
His voice was so emotionless a shudder ran through Perry’s body. The general immediately upbraided himself. The President’s attitude was hardly surprising; it was exactly the way a commander ought to think. The stakes were much higher, much more important, than the life of any one individual.
It was the way Perry should think. It was the way he had thought in the past.
“Our read on the situation is a little more positive today,” said Jackson, filling the silence. “Between the action in the east and the storm, the Chinese advance is stalled. If you can capitalize on that, delay it even further, that would be a good thing.”
“The Russian missiles should be there soon,” said the President. “I’m still working with Congress. Eventually, you’ll have real support. I may send SOCCOM; we’re discussing that right now.”
SOCCOM was shorthand for Special Operations Command— Special Forces, Rangers, SEALs. Covert units the President could essentially sneak into the country without telling Congress.
“Continue helping the Vietnamese,” added Greene. “Spare no effort. We have to slow down the Chinese.”
Perry’s throat suddenly thickened. “Mr. President, I think under the circumstances we’re going too far. Given the status on Congress, if we have more casualties—”
“Not to be crass, Harland,” said Jackson, “but what casualties are we talking about? We haven’t committed troops.”
“One of my majors just died.”
“I’m sorry about your man, Harland. Those are my orders,” said Greene.
“George—”
“If you’re unable to carry out your mission—”
“That’s not necessary,” said Perry, almost under his breath.
“Good,” said Greene.
Perry struggled to articulate his objections to escalation by pieces. Bringing in special ops troops now for more missions wasn’t going to change the war. The only effect would be dead Americans—more people like Christian.
But the President had already hung up. He punched off the phone and went back inside the bunker.
~ * ~
7
Hanoi
The door to Anna’s apartment was open. There was no one inside, and the place seemed neat and completely in order, as if she had just gone down to a neighbor’s. But she hadn’t.
No one in the building answered his or her door when he knocked. Not that he would have been able to talk to them anyway.
Zeus had no idea what to do. Finally he went back to the hotel, changed into his BDUs—the only clean clothes he had left—and had the driver Chaū had left him take him to the bunker.
~ * ~
“What the hell did you do?”
General Perry’s words slapped Zeus as harshly as the rain had. He curled his fingers into fists and looked at the ground.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“What did I tell you? I told you to stay away from the action. Why the hell aren’t you in civilian clothes?”
“This is all I had that was dry.”
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Perry shook his head. “You’re out of control, Major. I gave you orders—you know what our mission here is. We are not here. We are not involved. I thought you understood that.”
There were any number of things Zeus could say, but Perry was in no mood to be interrupted. His stars were screaming, and the only option was to shut up.
“What the hell got into you, Zeus? You were the responsible one.”
“General, I can’t say—”
“You’re damn straight, you can’t say. Why did you let Christian jump on that tank?”
Perry had obviously gotten a report from the Vietnamese.
“I didn’t let him do anything, sir,” said Zeus. “He ran before I could stop him.”
“Christian did that? Christian ran into the line of fire?”
“It wasn’t like that. There were explosives set to a bridge, and they didn’t go off. Christian thought he could fix them. He went with the demo guy and I went after him.”
“What the hell does he know about demolitions? Jesus, Zeus! You should have stopped him.”
“I did run after him. In the storm, it was hard to tell what was going on.”
“Damn it, Murphy! I told you to stay away.”
Zeus felt his cheeks burning. Part of him realized that Perry was just unleashing his frustration, fairly or unfairly, on the object that happened to be closest at hand.
Unfairly. Perry’s attitude was one hundred and eighty degrees from where it had been only a few days before. He’d approved the mission to Hainan, which was even more suicidal than what he and Christian had just done.
“Go back to your quarters,�
� said Perry finally. “Don’t come until you’re called for.”
Zeus turned on his heel and left without a word.
~ * ~
Perry folded his arms in front of his chest, angry with himself for losing control. He’d been unfair to Zeus.
But then everything about the situation was unfair. They shouldn’t be here in the first place if the country wasn’t going to support them.
Now he had to deal with Christian’s death.
There was a knock on the door. One of Trung’s colonels leaned his head inside.
“General, if you have time,” said the colonel, “General Trung would request to talk to you.”
Perry walked with him to Trung’s office, his mind still fixed on the problem of Christian. It was the lying to the family that bothered him. He couldn’t tell them what had happened because of where it had happened, so he’d have to make up a story. That was lying.
It dishonored everyone.
Trung was talking to General Tri, the commander in the northeast whom they’d been helping. Perry stopped just outside the doorway.
“General Perry,” said Trung in English. “We would be honored if you could join us.”
“General.” Perry nodded at Tri.
“We are very grateful, once more, for your help,” said Tri. “And for the sacrifices of your men.”
“Yes.”
“Were you successful in obtaining the weapons?” asked Trung.
“I’ve been told two planeloads of Russian AT-14s are en route,” said Perry. “There will be more.”
“We have only the missiles for the infantrymen?” said Tri. “Nothing for the tanks?”
“That’s all so far.”
“As we are constituted,” said Trung, “the best strategy would be to use these weapons in the north immediately. In the west we still have time.”
“Agreed,” said Perry.
“If Major Murphy is agreeable, we would appreciate his tactical advice,” said Trung.
Perry stiffened.
“Major Murphy needs to rest,” said Perry.
Trung stared at him. Perry stared back.
“The Vietnamese people are grateful for your sacrifices,” said Trung finally. “As is General Tri.”
“Thank you.”
“We have no experience deploying that weapon,” continued Trung. “We would be grateful for assistance.”
Perry had been ordered to provide assistance—which meant that he should allow Murphy to help.
It was his duty.
“Once the major has rested, he can assist in developing a proper strategy,” said Perry. “I’m sure he’d be happy to do so.”
“Thank you, General. We are most grateful.”
“Yes,” said Perry. “I’m sure.”
~ * ~
8
Hanoi
Zeus needed someone to help him deal with the Vietnamese so he could find Anna, but it was pretty clear to him that General Perry wasn’t going to help. The only person he could think of who might was Ambassador Behrens. So instead of returning to the hotel, he went back to the embassy.
The rain had slackened to a light mist. That was bad, he thought; the more water, the better for the Vietnamese.
The Marine in the center hall told him the ambassador was out. He suggested he see Juliet Greig instead, and pointed Zeus toward her office.
Zeus sneezed as he went up the stairs. “That’s all I need now, a cold,” he muttered.
Greig’s office was a suite, with two outer offices and a larger inner one. When he didn’t see her in any of the rooms, Zeus decided to stand near the hallway door and wait for her. He’d been standing a few moments when he realized he smelled coffee being brewed somewhere in the vicinity. He walked toward the end of the hallway, and found a room that served as a kind of kitchenette, with a counter and a small refrigerator and a microwave.
Greig was standing in front of a Mr. Coffee, watching as fresh coffee poured into the carafe.
“Real coffee,” said Zeus.
“Major Murphy.” Greig, surprised, gave him an exaggerated sideways glance, then took the pot from the holder and poured a cup. “Would you like some?”
“That’d be great.”
She reached up and opened the cabinet, taking down a cup. Stretched, her arm muscles showed strong definition.
“And how would you like it?” she asked.
“I’ll just drink it black.”
“Good choice.” She handed him the cup she had already poured. “We don’t have any milk. And the sugar supply is getting low.”
Zeus took the coffee and held it under his nose. The steam felt good on his sinuses.
“Smell good?” she asked, her tone slightly mocking.
“My nose is a little stuffed up. I think I’m getting a cold.”
“That’s too bad. How’s the storm?”
“It’s, uh . . . wet.”
“I see.” She glanced down at the floor. He’d trailed rain onto the rug.
“It was worse before,” said Zeus.
She poured herself a cup, then took a sip.
“Are you here for a meeting?” she asked.
“I kinda have . . . there’s a problem with one of the Vietnamese doctors who helped me. She’s in trouble. I was wondering if the ambassador could help.”
“Let’s discuss this in my office,” she told him.
~ * ~
For the ambassador to intercede in a case of treason would be highly unusual, Greig told Zeus after he explained why he had come. There were all sorts of political nuances involved, and Behrens would almost certainly refuse to be involved on an official level.
Unofficially, Greig might be able to do something herself. She was the acting consul general, and as such, used to helping Americans deal with the Vietnamese authorities.
Still, she didn’t hold out a lot of hope. Her body language—arms furled in front of her breasts, legs crossed in a tight wedge—emphasized the point. She sat at the edge of her desk, a few feet from him in the large inner office.
“The Vietnamese government is very hierarchical,” Greig told him. “They don’t take very kindly to outside interference. They’re very touchy.”
“I’m not trying to interfere. I just want to get her out. She’s not a traitor.”
“They may see things very differently. The Chinese are massacring their people.”
“That doesn’t give them the right to kill injured prisoners of war,” said Zeus. He started to get up from the overstuffed chair. “I’m sorry to waste your time.”
“Wait, wait. Relax, Major.” Greig put her hands on the desk behind her, as if bracing herself. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t try to help. I’m just putting things into their perspective, that’s all. If you’re going to help her, you’re going to have to understand the system she lives in.”
“You don’t sound very optimistic.”
“I’m trying to be realistic. I’ll talk to some people in the government whom I know. That’s where I’ll start. But with the war, obviously, I don’t know how much help they’ll be.”
“I risked my life for them. One of my friends got killed.”
“Which friend?”
Zeus was surprised that Greig didn’t know about Christian.
“Some of the Vietnamese I met,” he told her, deciding to backtrack. “They didn’t make it.”
“Mmmm.” She didn’t seem to believe him, but she didn’t press. “Let me ask you a personal question, Zeus. What’s the nature of your relationship with Dr. Anway?”
“There is no relationship.”
“None?”
“She helped me, that’s all. And I... I saw what happened.”
“I’ll do what I can, Major. But don’t expect miracles.”
~ * ~
9
Forthright, Ohio
Josh kicked the clod of dirt, watching it burst into a dozen small pieces as his toe launched it into the air.