"Perform a what?"
The pen dropped from my hand and so did my chin. "Marriage," Schulze repeated and I saw he was in earnest. "I want to marry Suoi!"
'That is no newsl"
"I want to marry her now," he added quickly. "I thought you could do it... like a captain of a ship."
"Are you serious, Erich?"
"Hell, of course I am serious. Can you marry us, Hans?"
"I don't think it would do you any good as far as the law goes, Erich."
"We can take care of the legalities later."
I lit a cigarette and offered him one, then taking my canteen, I filled two small cups with rum. "I think we both need a drink, Erich."
We drank, but all the time Erich's eyes remained on my face questioningly.
"What does Suoi think of your idea?" I asked.
"I wouldn't have come to you on my own, Hans. We are in love."
"That is also known," I commented repressing a smile. "But you had better wait until we return to Hanoi."
He wet his lips and wiped the perspiration from his handsome face.
"I will go to pieces before then, Hans," he confessed. "What do you suggest?"
"I suggest that we have another cup of rum."
We drank. "Where is Suoi?" I asked after a while.
"In my hut—crying." .
"I hope you did not—"
"No, I didn't!" He cut me short. "That's exactly why I am cracking up, Hans. I am crazy about her."
"I can understand that," I agreed sympathetically. "She is a beautiful girl."
"She takes my hand, I kiss her, and the scent of her hair is enough to send me up the wall."
He lit another cigarette with shaking fingers. I never saw Erich so excited. "There ought to be a missionary around. The men say there is a priest in Muong Son."
"So is the Viet Minh, Erich!"
He ran his hand through his hair and rose slowly. "Hans," he spoke to me, his voice full of emotion. "I've never asked for any special favor in all these years together. I am asking for a favor now. We don't know how long we will last, do we, Hans? We cannot think of the future, not even in terms of weeks. The only certain thing we have is our present—this very day. Get me that priest from Muong Son."
There was a pause. He was looking at me penetratingly and I was thinking.
"I suggest that you should return to Suoi now. I will see what I can do about you. But whatever I do will depend on what Xuey thinks of it. He knows Muong Son and Father Bousseau, a French priest there, and only Xuey can make the trip. For anyone else it would be suicidal even to try. The place is teeming with guerrillas." I glanced at him. "I presume you know what it could mean if we lose Xuey?" He answered nothing, only sat there with his face buried in his hands. I went on. "Provided that the priest is still there and he is willing to come, and he is able to come, I shall try to get him here."
"Thank you, Hans ... thank you indeed."
"Don't thank me, Erich. I am not happy about it—and I will be damned if this isn't the bloodiest military expedition I have ever been on."
"I am sorry."
"In a sense I was afraid that this would happen, Erich. Today you, tomorrow maybe Karl or Riedl. After tomorrow it might be Schenk or someone else."
"I am sorry, Hans."
"It's all right. In the meantime be kind to Suoi and remember that she is not a European girl. The Orientals still consider love and marriage something truly sacred and everlasting."
Erich swallowed hard and extended his hand. "I shall remember it, Hans. You have my word."
Schulze left and I spread out my map to spend almost an hour pondering the problem. Muong Son was about eight miles away, as the crow flies, but overland the trip would be much longer. I sent a trooper for Eisner and told him the whole story. He seemed amused, but he only shrugged at my dilemma.
"Well, say something," I urged him. "What would you do in my place?"
"Turn in my uniform and open a marriage bureau, Hans." He chuckled. "You should ask Xuey what he thinks of going to Muong Son."
"I should never have brought the girls along."
"Nonsense!" said he. "The boys never did so well before, Hans. They are marching better—no one dares to bitch while the girls keep going without a complaint—and they are fighting better because they know we have to protect our angels—and you know it too."
"All right. You've convinced me. Now let's hear from Xuey about the affair."
The little Indochinese listened to my explanation intently. I was truly embarrassed for requesting his services in such a nonmilitary and unimportant private affair. But Xuey's face showed no emotion whatsoever—neither approval nor disapproval. "I think I can manage it," was his comment. "Do you want me to go right now?"
I nodded. He asked me to write a short note to the priest, which I did, imploring him to trust Ghia Xuey, for I could not disclose the place where he was to come.
Two days later Xuey returned alone. "The priest is dead," he reported. "The Viet Minh shot him seven months ago. I got this book from an old servant of his." From under his shirt he pulled a small leather-bound Bible and placed it on my cot. "I am sorry that I could not oblige Lieutenant Schulze."
"Thank you, Xuey, all the same."
He bowed and withdrew. I sat for a while, thinking of what to do now. Erich was right; none of us knew whether we had a future. He came in shortly afterwards, hand in hand with Suoi. He had already spoken to Xuey and looked very disappointed. I motioned them to sit down. -
"What do we do now?" Erich asked.
I reached for the Bible and opened it at random. It was the first time in my adult life that I had held a Bible in my hands. "Well, at least we have a Bible," I stated, trying to smile. "Even a ship's captain must have a Bible if he wants to perform a marriage ceremony."
Schulze's eyes lit up. "Will you do it then?"
"As a very temporary arrangement, Erich. I will do it mainly for Suoi's sake. But it won't be legal."
"Who cares!" he exclaimed. "We will know that we are married and God will know it too."
"God might know it but He won't give you a marriage certificate!"
Suoi blushed and lowered her face. "Suoi," I spoke to her, "do you understand that I cannot marry you legally and that if 1 do so, you will be married only in our hearts and in our eyes, but not in the eyes of the world?"
"Oui, I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Do you want me to do it?"
"Oui, Hans. I want you to do it."
The news spread through the camp like wildfire. And there, out in the wilderness, Sergeant Krebitz's men erected a small altar, covered with a tarpaulin sheet and decked with flowers; on it Riedl placed a wooden crucifix which he had carved the day before, expecting the priest. I placed the open Bible in front of the cross. Noy and the girls came, each carrying a single flower which they tucked gently into Suoi's hair, kissing her on both cheeks. The troops gathered around the makeshift shrine, everyone freshly shaved and wearing a clean shirt. They stood in solemn silence and were deeply touched when Erich and Suoi appeared, Erich with a stance of determination but Suoi blushing and with eyes averted. I motioned them to the altar and said, "Place your hands on the Holy Bible." Obediently they extended their hands, with Erich's hand resting lightly on hers. Strange as it may be, I saw my men, the rugged, tough fighters, who believed in only one power—that of the gun—now standing overawed before an invisible, spiritual force, no one daring to move or to do as much as clear the throat.
"Now, with your hands on the Bible, you shall say aloud, Erich and Suoi, that. you will accept each other as man and wife," I said.
"I do!" they whispered.
"For better or worse."
"For better or worse."
"Until death do us part."
"Until death do us part."
It was all I could remember.
I said to them, "I am not a servant of God. I cannot proclaim you man and wife in the name of God. I can s
peak only for us. We do accept and respect your union and we shall regard you as man and wife. And I believe that if there is a God, He, too, will accept your covenant."
I embraced them both. One after another the troops came to congratulate and to express their good wishes. Everyone was touched. Even Eisner was clearing his throat much too often.
"Blast me," he remarked, "if this was not the holiest of all the weddings I ever saw." He hugged Schulze and kissed him and then Suoi on the forehead.
"Still I suggest that you see one of God's emissaries when we get back to Hanoi. While we take care of the worldly authority," I added jokingly.
Four days later we were on the march again.
In the jungle the battalion was perfectly safe and could make better progress than on the roads or trails where we had to be on the alert for traps and enemy troops. We could, however, safely use remote paths, which sometimes crisscrossed the Viet Minh-controlled areas, far from the French garrisons. The chance of encountering enemy forces in the forest was minimal. In areas under guerrilla control the guerrillas no longer camped in the hills but in the villages, and they moved openly on the roads, dispersing only when reconnaissance planes happened to fly by. In districts from which the Legion had been expelled or had withdrawn for tactical reasons, the rules of the game changed; the Viet Minh occupied the settlements and the abandoned French stockades. Then our battalion assumed the role of the guerrillas with great success. We penetrated into areas which were out of reach for the regular army.
It was my intention to bypass Muong Son ten miles to the northwest The same evening our trailblazers hit a wide jungle path that seemed to run in approximately the right direction. After a brief survey, Xuey announced that the path had not been used for several weeks, and that it was safe. We proceeded openly and at a good rate, spending the nights in the woods, marching from dawn to about eleven o'clock, then again when the midday heat abated. Late in the afternoon of the third day after leaving our jungle camp, the forest became less dense and we finally arrived at an open area of grassland with a small settlement two miles away. It was not marked on our maps. Xuey observed the place for a long time and insisted that he could see a flag flying from a pole—the flag of the Viet Minh. We deployed on the forest line and Xuey decided to survey the hamlet at dusk. There was nothing we could do but wait.
Taking a submachine gun, Xuey prepared to leave. He wanted to go alone, and when Riedl asked concernedly, "Won't it be too dangerous?" our little Indochinese companion only smiled and said, "Remember that I was one of them." He vanished in the dark field like a cat. Half an hour later we heard the distant baying of dogs.
Xuey returned, soaking wet but satisfied. "There are paddies all around," he reported. "I could not get very close because of the dogs. The guerrillas are all local people, not more than fifty men. But I spotted two trucks."
"What trucks?"
"Loaded trucks," Xuey added. "The Viet Minh must have captured them from the army."
"Now isn't that great!" Eisner exclaimed. "They are trafficking in trucks, happy and unconcerned. Next time we may discover an underground railway line running between Chen-yuan and Muong."
"I wouldn't be surprised," Pfirstenhammer remarked. "The way our reconnaissance works...."
"There is a road but we will have to circle the paddy fields," Xuey explained. Then turning toward the girls he ordered, "Now face the woods, all of you. I want to change clothes."
I switched on my shaded flashlight and examined the map.
"The road is here all right but the village is missing," Riedl commented.
Taking my pen I marked the apparent locale of the village with a small cross. "It is about here."
"Trucks . . . ," Eisner fumed. "I believe the Chinese could build a four-lane highway to the Mekong delta without our intelligence ever noticing a thing."
Because of the dogs we could not enter the village undetected. I made a plan for encircling the settlement and moving in right on the road. It was a bold plan but I thought it would work. Dividing forces with Eisner and Riedl, we set out, following the forest line for a mile, then skirting the paddies until we arrived at the dirt road. It was comfortably dark and the neighborhood deserted. The woods on the southern bills, the route I planned to use later on, extended almost to the road and offered ample concealment.
"What are we going to do about the dogs?" Schulze queried.
"We are going to whistle!" I replied with reserve.
He screwed up his mouth and shrugged. "If you think your whistling will quiet the dogs, Hans...."
"I want to quiet their masters, Erich!" I said, then added, "Can you hum the 'Internationale'?"
"What 'Internationale'?"
"The Communist one!"
I hummed the first bars. Xuey glanced up and broke into a grin. He understood me. "Now we are going to turn into a bunch of real Viet Minh," I told the troops. "We will have to confuse the enemy, if only for the first critical minute and I think the Communist song will do exactly that."
Erich flashed a quick look of approval. "I am with you. En avant!"
Splitting troops once again, I sent a hundred men to approach the settlement from the north, between the road and the forest, then we moved on. My group was about four hundred yards from the village when the dogs began to bark. Within seconds the place was alive with barking and baying.
"Whistle!" I passed the word, "whistle for all you're worth."
Behind me the men began to hum, at first hesitantly, seeking the proper tune; then with Xuey's help, they found the melody and whistled "Proletarians of the world unite" as they marched with steady strides. Ahead of us lights appeared; dark shapes, carrying lamps, emerged from the huts.
One hundred yards!-
In an open space between the huts fires burned; a group of villagers was busy boiling syrup distilled from cane sugar, They rose and moved closer to the road to have a better look at us.
"Chieu hoy!" Xuey yelled the native greeting which was returned by a few discordant, hesitant voices coming from the darkness. "Long live Father Ho!"
Sixty yards!
No one was shooting yet. The people were curious but not alarmed. The figures on the road raised their lamps, trying to see into the darkness.
Forty yards! I knew that we had them.
"Who is there?" a heavy voice demanded. A couple of men moved forward with lamps.
"Friends," Xuey replied, "on the way south with ammunition. We are going to liberate Saigon."
The next instant we were upon them.
"Disperse!" I shouted, firing a red Very light over the huts. In a moment, the small group of people was enveloped by my troopers. The women began to scream, the men cursed. Lamps, tools, and weapons clattered to the ground.
"The French! The French!" someone yelled. From the far end of the settlement a short burst of machine-gun fire crackled. We heard a shriek, then silence.
Within seconds my men occupied the huts. Motioning Erich and Karl to follow me, I entered the nearest dwelling where husband, wife, and grandparents were already lined up, facing the wall; half a dozen children sat or rolled whimpering on the floor.
"Over here!" Krebitz called, pointing at the wall where a pistol hung in a holster. He took it down and examined it expertly. "Seven-sixty-two caliber Tokarev TT," he remarked. Emptying the magazine, he dropped eight bullets into a canvas bag which one of his troopers held ready. "The goddamned cutthroats don't even hide their guns anymore," he remarked. With a sullen glance from his blue eyes he stepped to the owner of the hut and turned him around by the shoulder. "Where are your other weapons, you whoreson?"
The guerrilla was a squat little creature with wide nose, square face, and bold, large eyes with closely grown brows. He reeled, steadied himself by grabbing at a bamboo rafter that supported the roof. His eyes seething with hatred, his fists clenched, he replied defiantly, "You may take our weapons but we shall have new ones before the sun rises."
Without warning, Sergeant Krebi
tz struck him with the back of his hand. The man toppled over a low bench and crashed to the floor with his lips ripped. "Before the sun rises you will be a dead hero, you scum," Krebitz growled.
"Take them out!" I ordered the troopers. "The kids too." As they were being led out, Pfirstenhammer handed a length of bamboo to a trooper and pointed out the man Sergeant Krebitz had struck. "Give him a dozen strokes for the good of his soul."
Krebitz was already pulling away mats and boxes, searching for trapdoors. Outside the civilians were led to the paddies, where the men had to lie down with their hands extended, facing the water; the women and old people were permitted to sit, but also facing the paddies.
From down the road came Riedl. "Anything there?" I asked him.
"Guns and grenades," he replied, "and plenty of them."
"Keep looking."
More people were brought forward and taken to the rice fields. Ransacking the huts, my troopers dumped weapons and ammo on the road. The local terrorists had an incredible selection of weapons ranging from vintage muskets and swords to submachine guns. In one of the huts, Sergeant Schenk seized a bow with twenty-six arrows, every one of them poisoned. The owner was taken to the woods and executed immediately.
Sergeant Krebitz selected weapons and ammunition that we could use, and the rest of the terrorist hardware was taken to the trucks, marked for destruction. "Let's have a look at those trucks," Schulze suggested. "I wonder where they got them?"
We found Eisner already busy examining the vehicles. "Look at this," he said, "Soviet Zises with Chinese plates."
"Don't tell me they came all the way from China."
"I wouldn't be surprised if they did."
"There is no road," Erich interposed.
"Not that we know of," Eisner agreed. "But keep searching. We might find a couple of tanks too."
Beneath one of the dwellings, Pfirstenhammer discovered a large underground shelter packed with guns and ammo. "Mortar shells," Xuey interpreted the inscription.
"Over one hundred crates, each containing eighteen shells," Karl remarked. "Two thousand rounds."
Devil's Guard Page 24