by Travis Stone
'If I had Amai-'
'But you couldn't even get her could you-'
'I can-'
'You will, Nash. And when you do - kill her on sight.'
Mancini yelled from the orderly room: 'I've got him.'
'Got who?' Nash yelled, his voice, in his own mind, that of a naughty school boy.
'The reporter - Danny Thorn,' Mancini yelled back. 'He's walking down Thong Nhut Boulevard.'
'What the fuck? He's been banned from the country.' Nash ran to the jeep, grabbed the windscreen rail, and slung himself into the passenger's seat. Mancini got behind the wheel.
Nash yelled with unnecessary volume: 'Get goddamn going.'
* * *
Triet was inwardly seething.
Strapped to a hard wooden chair in the concrete dungeon, which smelled of urine and human excrement, hate boiled his blood.
Triet felt hate for the Americans: how dare they arrest and humiliate him in his own country. He felt hate for Ho Chi Minh: how dare he promise oil rights to a foreign power that were never his to give; how dare he bring the American war-machine to Vietnam.
Ho Chi Minh and General Giap are fools, he thought.
He felt hate for Danny: how dare he take Amai from him. He felt hate for Amai: how dare she betray Vietnam.
How dare she betray me!
Colonel Hitchcock left the dungeon and Triet heard him start arguing with someone just outside the door. Triet arched back and saw that it was Captain Nash. Nash looked in and Triet did his best to look pathetic and weak - as a lowly fisherman would under interrogation.
Then Triet heard Hitchcock order Nash to release him. Triet suppressed a grin. Hitchcock had been easy to fool. Skills learned in Moscow after the French war had helped Triet to beat the lie-detector. To upset the machine's calibration, he had bitten down on his tongue when telling the truth; this raised his stress profile when relaxed. On the other hand, when lying he thought of Amai giving him oral sex. The technique had just saved his life.
The two men's voices became muffled, but Triet picked up that last night's operation in the South China Sea had been a success: the towed array sonar would be installed on another junk, and the snooping of the American oil survey continued.
Then Nash went away and Hitchcock kicked the door.
Triet waited. The Mexican-looking Corporal came in and untied him.
Triet felt a deep satisfaction at being freed, but his focus was on Amai and Danny. Being tied up in the dungeon had given him time to think. His biggest fear was coming true - Amai and Danny were planning to runaway together - to America.
After all I've done for her, he thought. The traitorous bitch.
Acid hate burned in his blood and Triet knew what he would do.
Laos.
Triet was due in Laos - at a very secret tunnel complex, north of Saravane. He was to meet with General Giap; and health permitting, Ho Chi Minh himself. They would discus strategy, Tet, oil, and political issues. General Giap would not go to Khe Sanh, as Thi would have told her American interrogators; Khe Sanh was Tet's last deception - the final device for luring US Forces away from Saigon. Meeting in Cu Chi was too dangerous for the supreme commanders of The People's Army of North Vietnam; Laos was a safe mid-point between Hanoi and Saigon. Triet would return to Saigon after the initial Tet attacks were over, and the Southern capital was under Viet Cong control.
Amai and Danny will come to Laos, he thought. But they won't return.
Triet wanted to see the lovers' faces as he tortured them; he wanted to wallow in their screams; their pain; their deaths.
37
Thong Nhut Boulevard, 0635
Danny pushed through the herd-like crowd, aware of the sensation building in the pit of his gut: a duality of excitement and apprehension.
All he wanted was to get to Amai, his desire fanatical. He hoped everything was still okay between them, fearing that his own pigheadedness might have cost him the woman he loved.
He swung his body into Amai's building and ran up the steps.
Will she be making dinner? He thought.
He imagined her running to him; throwing her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and kissing him - kissing him.
He pushed open her still broken door and it creaked back, releasing the smell of trapped humidity. He went in and called out. No one answered. Amai wasn't there. He stopped by the bed and saw that the potted-plant had yellowed and wilted. Amai would not neglect it. He went to the window and opened it. The light breeze caught the bed's mosquito-net, which billowed like mist.
Danny felt a building dread. Had General Loan harassed her again? Had she been arrested? Forced to move? Had she been told he was never coming back? Who even knew?
Oh my God; Is she okay?
Footsteps on the stairs lifted his heart. Amai?
But the movements were heavy: boots trotting rapidly up, purposefully thumping each step. It was not Amai; she did not wear boots.
The boots' owner soon revealed himself as a big, uniformed man with a black eye. Danny recognized him, but couldn't immediately place him. Then it clicked: the man was Captain Nash from Military Intelligence. Danny recalled the grilling he had received at the Grand Hotel.
Nash looked angry. He came straight up to him, glaring with his good eye. 'Happy New Year, Danny.'
Danny picked-up the disdain in Nash's voice. 'So it is, Captain. What's going on here?'
'I'd like to ask you the same question. The DIA banned you from the country. How the hell'd you get back in?'
Danny looked past Nash to the stairs. If he ever wanted to see Amai again, he had to get away from Nash. 'You've got no authority to stop me doing anything.' Danny tried to go around him.
Nash blocked him. 'Not so fast cowboy. I want you to tell me where Amai is - right fucking now.'
'You tell me.'
Nash snarled. 'She's Viet Cong you idiot. She's been wreaking havoc in the last couple of days.'
Danny felt off-balance. 'You got proof-'
'You gullible asshole. That little slut's had her dirty yellow pussy all over town, fucking the shit out of anyone who's got something the enemy wants-'
Nausea welled in Danny's gut. 'What proof do you have, Nash?'
Nash's big hand shoved him backwards.
'Don't push me, asshole-'
Nash yanked Danny's satchel from his shoulder. 'You're in Saigon illegally. I need to search this.'
Danny was gutted; his hopes of finding Amai dashed. He suddenly wanted to hit Nash, but Nash was big and tough and would relish the opportunity to knock him out.
Danny wondered what Nash would do.
* * *
Nash was stressed to breaking point.
His run of failures had ruined his Military career. He would not make Major in this war; he would be lucky to remain a Captain, and it was all because of Amai.
Nash fished inside Danny's satchel. 'Maybe you're working with her?' He said. 'Maybe you're a fucking communist?'
'That's private.' Danny took a step toward him. 'Stay out of it-'
Nash held Danny at arm's length and dumped the satchel's contents onto the floor.
Danny sat on the edge of the bed. 'I'll report this to General Westmoreland-'
'Shut your fucking mouth.'
Nash knelt to inspect the pile. In it were a camera, two lenses, black film canisters, and two stapled leaves of paper.
'What's this?' Nash picked up the pages and realized that it was a typewritten news article, yet to be wired Stateside. He looked at Danny. 'This document's illegal-'
'You can't control the press, Nash.'
Danny spoke with venom, but Nash felt nothing but contempt for him. Nash stood. 'You're banned from the country; you're nothing but a parasite-'
Danny stood. 'You're the parasite here you blind fool.'
'Sit the fuck down.'
Danny did and Nash began to read:
Attn - Chief Editor
The ******** Times
&
nbsp; Danny Thorn
VIET-NAM: YOUTH-AN-ASIA
General William. T. Sherman once said that "War is hell". This statement holds little meaning for American youth - unless they have been to Viet Nam.
Viet Nam is hell in every sense of the word. But should we even be there?
All the people of Viet Nam want is their independence, and freedom from oppression; just as a young America did in 1776. Their pride in nationhood is every bit as strong as America's was in our early days of struggle.
What many people do not realize - and this included myself until recently - is that over 80% of Viet Nam's entire population is in support of Ho Chi Minh. He is widely considered, in this country, to be the George Washington of his time.
John F. Kennedy, in his inauguration address said: "We will pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and success of liberty.”
Let me tell you; the price of one American boy for ten Vietnamese boys is too higher price to pay. It is too bigger burden to prop up the American installed, South Vietnamese government. And it is criminal to stop the process of democratic elections, just to serve our own purposes.
This is the corruption and death of liberty.
It is inexplicable that we should send our youth to Vietnam to slaughter their youth; to burn them alive in napalm and hell-fire. Picture yourself burning alive for a second; imagine the searing pain and agony. Picture your children burning to death. Now ask yourself: why are we doing this to the Vietnamese in their own country?
The respect for life here is the lowest I've ever seen; American soldiers seeing the Vietnamese as sub-human, as Nazis did of Jews, and Jews do of Arabs. Our youth are brainwashed into using this racist state to mask and justify the atrocities that are committed daily and en-masse, here in Viet Nam.
We already know that a high ranking source in the military's upper echelon believes: “Unless a more positive and more stirring theme than simple anti-Communism can be found, the war appears likely to go on until someone gets tired and quits, which could take generations. The best course of action would be the dignified withdrawal from Viet Nam, as soon as possible.”
Nash could see what Danny was trying to do. This was why he loathed reporters; an article like this only gave strength to the enemy.
They, Nash thought. Shouldn't be allowed to interfere in Military business.
He glared at Danny over the page. 'You're full-of-shit, asshole.'
His eyes fell back to the words.
General Sherman was right: War is hell.
Napalm, agent-orange, crop destruction, carpet-bombing, concentration camps called hamlets: it all amounts to youth-an-asia. Why? What is it all for?
The architects of this 'counter-insurgency' and 'Limited warfare' policy, cultivate the image of the American patriot, fighting pajama clad terrorists, where the objective is not to defeat the enemy, but to win the people's hearts-and-minds.
I can assure you that our current action is far from winning the hearts-and-minds of anyone.
If General Westmoreland thinks we are winning based on 'Body count', then he is sadly ill-advised, as fresh enemy youth come in their thousands, flooding down the Ho Chi Minh Trail and into the sandals of those we euthanize.
To say that 'the end justifies the means' is madness; for the 'means' is nothing more than a sickening waste of young life: Youth-an-asia.
And as for 'the end' - what exactly is our goal?
For our great nation - the United States of America - to say, (in the words of the president) 'Our mission is peace', and then use lies to justify oppression, bombing, and slaughter - is an outrage.
It is becoming obvious however, that Viet Nam holds one great advantage over America in this conflict: their youth are ready to die for their country, because they are fighting for national liberation.
What are we fighting for?
The truth, as sad as it is, is that the United States of America is engaged in an unjust, illegal war; the purpose for which is as unclear as the motivations of the current administration. It is ultimately they who plant these seeds of hate.
The only way that this reporter can see to save the lives of our youth, and to save a country that we are destroying, is to stand up and say no to the war in Viet Nam.
We must remember that the government of our nation is at fault here; not the young men, women, boys and girls, that they coerce into this youth-an-asia disguised as patriotism.
Danny Thorn
Foreign Correspondent
Saigon, Vietnam
Nash thought: Are we on the wrong side of this war?
He rammed the idea out of his mind.
It's crap, he told himself. America is the bringer of justice. These gooks are communist scum.
Nash screwed up the article and shoved it in his pocket. 'I'm afraid this will have to be censored.'
Nash heard footsteps on the landing and turned. Someone came into the room. It wasn't Amai, just another skinny gook.
'Hold it,' Nash said. 'Stop right there.'
Then there was a loud bang and Nash felt a burning sensation deep in his chest.
38
Blood from the firefight had stained the pavement outside Triet's headquarters crimson.
Amai came away from the window and dropped face-down on the bed. The oil conspiracy had changed everything.
Until last night, her mind had been made up; she had been committed to reporting the Tet-offensive to the Americans. But now she was not sure what to do.
Was it true that Ho Chi Minh had made such a deal with the United States? Did he accept US weapons? Did he agree to let an American company into Vietnam? Did he break his promise? Was America prolonging the war to mask their hunt for oil? Major Johnson had confirmed it - hadn't he?
Maybe Triet's right? She thought. Maybe Tet will drive them out? Maybe Vietnam needs Tet?
Doubt mauled her. Americans; killing; oil; Tet; Triet's bloodbath, the thoughts spun in her mind.
She went hot with anger. What right do any of them have?
Again she pictured dead children. What should I do?
She got up from the bed, tied back her hair, and then she went down the stairs and opened the front door.
When she looked up, Amai knew that her life was over.
39
The gunshot shocked Danny into paralysis.
He watched a dark stain form on the back of Nash's shirt. Nash stepped back and his hands went to his chest. Another gunshot exploded in the small room. Danny flinched. Nash dropped to his knees. Danny could only watch; there was nowhere to run - he didn't understand what was happening.
A stocky Vietnamese man came into the room and Danny instantly recognized him as the thug from Amai's Trung Hoa Club - the one who'd threatened him with the metal bar. The thug put a bullet into the top of Nash's head.
Danny's body jerked and he looked away. He heard the thud as Nash hit the floor. My God, he thought. Nash is dead.
Danny looked back to the door. Two more Viet Cong men came into the room and stood behind the gunman. One held a small, rectangular tin-can bearing a faded Caltex star.
Amai's thug walked up to Danny and slugged him in the gut. Danny doubled-over and felt the pistol-grip strike the back of his head. He saw bright shapes and heard himself hit the floor.
The thug tied Danny's hands and feet, and then dragged him to the landing. Danny smelled gasoline. He looked back into Amai's room. One intruder was bent over Nash, going through his pockets, while the other splashed petrol over the bed and floor. Nash looked asleep rather than dead.
Danny felt a rush of heat as the fuel ignited, and thought: They're going to kill me!
Amai's thugs dragged Danny down the stairs and loaded him into the back of a green sedan, double-parked with its engine running. The thugs jumped in, the doors slammed shut, and the car speed off; its engine over-revving as the driver crashed up and down through the gears, thrashing it for all it was worth
.
Amai, Danny thought. She's done this. It was the only explanation he could think of.
Nash was right. How did I not see it? Why did I not listen?
As it sunk in, he understood that he had been easy game. He had had no power to resist her.
I've never been good enough for a beautiful woman. I should've known better.
Amai's thug tied a dusty rice-sack over Danny's head. The car lurched and Danny fell off the seat and onto the floor. He could see nothing. The car hit a pothole and Danny's head hit the wheel arch. The rear tyre ground up into the mudguard as the suspension bottomed-out, and he felt sure the tyre would tear through the thin metal and shred his face.
The car swerved several times without slowing. The dusty sack made Danny feel asthmatic. Just breathe, he thought. Just breathe.
The three thugs began to argue, but the man beside Danny quickly shouted the other two down. He was the leader. He was the one who'd attacked him on the stairs. He was Amai's man from the Trung Hoa.
Why do they want me? Danny thought. What will they do to me?
He cursed his own stupidity. It was obvious now that the Trung Hoa Club was a Viet Cong front, and Amai had gone there because she was a Viet Cong spy; just as Nash had said.
Nash's execution came horrifically back to him.
The thug pulled the sack off Danny's head and poked a finger into his forehead. 'She sold you out, Yankee.' He poked him again. 'She works for Viet Cong.' He poked him again. 'She doesn't love you, Yankee. She never did.'
The sack was slammed back down, followed by a solid kidney punch. The blow hurt, but the man's words hurt far more.
But why? Danny thought. What could I possibly have done for her?