by Eric Meyer
I floored the gas pedal, and we surged forward, taking a bend on two wheels, and half a klick further we came upon a unit of South Vietnamese Marines. I stomped on the brake pedal. “Who are you?”
The young officer, a Marine 2nd lieutenant, gave me a long, hard look. “South Vietnamese 5th Marine Battalion. Who are you?”
I identified myself quickly. “Warrant Officer Carl Yeager, Army CID. Mister, you’ve got trouble heading your way.” I told him about the fake Marines, and at first he didn’t believe me.
“Are you certain? There shouldn’t be any more of our guys in the area.”
“Lieutenant, they’re not your guys. They’re the enemy. Communists, Vietcong, whoever! You’re about to come under fire.”
“I…uh… don’t have orders for this. I need to check with my superiors.”
I could cheerfully have strangled stupid bastard. “There’s no time.”
I glanced at his men, and they were staring at me in open curiosity. “Listen to me? Do any of you understand English?” Several heads nodded, and I pointed in the direction from which we’d come. “Enemy soldiers dressed in Marine uniforms. They’re coming here to attack the bridge. Attack the bridge, got it?”
They finally got it, and at last they began to move. The Lieutenant made up his mind, and his men were already moving when he shouted orders. They positioned themselves behind sandbagged emplacements, and I saw the ugly snout of a machine gun poking out, an M249. It was the best we could do. I drove over the bridge, parked, and got out to see what happened. We’d been just in time. The fake Marines had somehow snapped into some semblance of precision marching, and in the half-light of early dawn it was possible to overlook the uniforms that didn’t look quite right, and the banana-shaped magazines that definitely shouldn’t have been there.
The ARVN lieutenant abruptly stood up from behind a sandbagged emplacement and shouted a challenge. The enemy soldiers paused, staring at him for a few seconds, and then a man bellowed in order. The front rank dropped to one knee and opened fire, while from the rear ranks four men ran forward, and they were carrying satchel charges. The target was obvious. They intended to plant them on the bridge to prevent reinforcements using it to cross, and I realized I was looking at the beginning of the Second Battle for Saigon. They lost the first battle badly, when American troops and South Vietnamese shot the shit out of them and sent them back where they’d come from with a bloody nose. Our Intelligence suggested they’d taken massive losses to both men and materiel, and it would be a long time before they came back.
Intelligence was wrong, and as so often, proved that the name ‘Intelligence’ was more of a label than a measure of their abilities. The ARVN Marines cut down the racing men with the satchel charges in long bursts of semi-automatic fire, but it wasn’t over. The rest of the attack went in, fake Marines charging genuine Marines, and the Communists outnumbered the real thing by a factor of around four to one. What saved the day was the machine gun, the M249 began firing, and whoever was operating that gun knew his business. As one box magazine emptied, the loader replaced it with a fresh one, and the stream of 7.62mm bullets was almost continuous.
The attack faltered, and the ARVN pressed home their advantage. When the attackers turned to run, the lieutenant screamed an order, and they pulled out from behind the sandbags and went after them. It was a bloodbath, and they shot them down with no mercy, with no quarter. I saw three enemy soldiers throw down their weapons and put up their hands, only to be riddled with bullets from behind. Almost as fast as it had begun, the attack ended, except for one man who’d somehow managed to run onto the bridge with his satchel charge before he went down to a volley of bullets. He was crawling forward like a rabid dog, refusing to give up, and I guess he knew the end would be the same anyway. He intended to make the Imperialist dogs pay, and I saw him put his hand inside his satchel to detonate the charge.
He never made. A bullet spat out from beside me, so close it almost deafened me, and Massey had his M-14 to his shoulder. The bomber collapsed in a heap, and he put three more bullets in him. None of them missed, the body twitched several times and was still. Ray walked up to him, put a final bullet into his head, picked up the satchel, and tossed it over the side into the Saigon River.
“I am grateful for the warning. You saved the lives of my men.”
I looked around, and it was the lieutenant of ARVN Marines. “No sweat.”
I waited for Ray and Lam to join me, and we continued over the bridge. When we reached the other side, a man in uniform stepped out in front of us, and he wasn’t alone, another half-dozen uniformed men were with him.
“Show me your ID.”
Cops. I glanced at Ray. “We’re fucked.”
Chapter Five
We reached for our IDs, all except Lam. She shuffled her feet, pretended to go through the pockets of her coat, but already it was too late. The cop, a sergeant, gave her a long hard stare, and his eyes went wide.
“You!” She didn’t reply, “You will accompany me to headquarters for questioning.”
Another cop strolled up and stared at me, his face inches away. “This man is wanted, too. I believe his name is Carl Yeager. His photo is on the wanted list.”
The guns came up, and they weren’t taking any chances. The sergeant snapped an order, and men produced handcuffs and started forward to manacle me and Lam. Massey stepped between us and them, snarling protests, but they outgunned us, and I knew without question we were done for. They’d drag us to some dark basement, kick the shit out of us to find out what we knew, and the end would come soon after. Bullet in the head to ensure I was silenced.
“Stop!” The voice came from a few meters away, and the lieutenant of Marines was striding toward us. He wasn’t alone. The rest of his platoon was behind him, and each man had a rifle held like he meant to use it, “What’s going on here?”
“I have a warrant for the arrest of these people.”
The Marine officer grimaced. “Don’t you know what’s going on here?”
“These two fugitives are trying to escape.”
“These people saved the lives of my platoon. Look at the bodies on the bridge! They’re attacking.”
The NCO looked blank. “Who?”
“You moron, this is Tet, all over again. The city is under attack from the Vietcong, and for all I know North Vietnamese troops. You’re not arresting anyone. Your men can stand here and help me guard this bridge.”
“We can’t do that. We have police duties to attend to.”
“Sergeant, the city of Saigon is still under martial law, following the Tet Offensive. Which means you have a single duty, to obey the military to ensure the security of the city. Get your men on that bridge, and keep your eyes skinned. They’ll be back.”
He tried to bluster. “My men are not fully trained. They’re not soldiers. I need to report back to headquarters for further orders.”
“I’ve given you further orders,” he spat, “Your job is to obey them. Failure to obey the military when Saigon is under attack is a capital offence. That means the death penalty. Do you understand me? Now get your men on that bridge, and don’t move until I tell you different.”
The cop mumbled an order and led his disconsolate men out onto the bridge, where they stood shuffling from one foot to the other, clearly unhappy about being ordered to prepare to meet the Communists.
When they were out of earshot, the lieutenant looked at us three. “If I were you, I’d get out of this area before more police arrive. I don’t know why they want to arrest you, but I doubt they’ll give up.”
“It’s appreciated.”
We shook hands and climbed into the jeep. I drove away without any idea of where we were going. Or where we could go. The Communists were staging another attack on the city. Those fake Marines at the bridge couldn’t be an isolated unit. As if to confirm my understanding of what was happening, machine gun fire crackled across the night sky, and in the distance mortar shells began to e
xplode. Security was always tight in the capital, but now they’d call out every cop and soldier, and they’d be watching every intersection, street, and bridge.
Massey glanced at me as I drove aimlessly. “Where’re you headed?”
“No idea.”
A helicopter roared overhead, a gunship, followed by several more.
“That’ll be the 120th Aviation Company Gunship Platoon, they’re based at Tan Son Nhut. Give them hell, boys.”
They gave them hell. The Hueys were sweeping down on a suburb south of the city from where intense mortar fire was coming, and they poured in machine gun fire and rockets. The mortar fire ceased, but more was coming from elsewhere in the city. Cop cruisers and military trucks and jeeps were roaring past us, taking no notice of a single American jeep. I stopped in the shadow of an old apartment building and parked between two other vehicles.
“We can’t drive around Saigon all day, not in the middle of a battle. We need a plan.”
Ray shrugged. “We should get back to Tan Son Nhut. They’ll need every man.”
“We go back to Tan Son Nhut and they’ll likely arrest us. That’s assuming we make it past the gates.”
“Do you have any other ideas? I hate to be stuck out here when there’s a fight on. I’d sooner be…”
An ARVN jeep skidded to a stop next to us, and a harassed-looking officer shouted across. “Don’t you know what’s going on? All hell’s broken loose. We have two battalions of NVA regulars attacking Cholon, and we need every man. I’m asking you to report to your duty stations immediately!”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but barked an order at his driver who floored the gas pedal. They took the corner on two wheels, and we could hear the engine receding in the distance. We also heard the chatter of automatic fire and the bark of semi-automatic rifles. I was about to start the engine and head back to Tan Son Nhut, when Lam leaned forward from the back.
“We must reach Le. This could be the start of a plot to overthrow the government, under the shadow of a mass attack on the city. We need to find out what she knows.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “Lam, we appreciate the way you feel about your sister, but right now the city is in chaos. It’s an armed camp, and there’ll be men running everywhere with orders to shoot first and ask questions afterward. There is no question of going to Police Headquarters. They’ll start shooting the moment they see us. Don’t forget those cops on the bridge. They have an APB out on both you and me. Forget it, we won’t even get close.”
“She has a point,” Ray murmured, and I could see he was working something through in his mind, “This could be a good time to get to her. Everywhere is in chaos, and we’d have a good chance of slipping past the guards. They’re looking out for Vietcong and NVA, not for their own people.”
I could hardly believe he was agreeing with her. “It won’t work.”
“It would if I wore police uniform,” she said, “I have a uniform at home, and if I can get there and change, I’m sure I can get us in there.”
“Lam, all I’m sure of is you can get us all killed.”
“Why don’t we try it?” Ray said, “What do we have to lose?”
Our lives?
We drove to an apartment block several streets away and waited while Lam went inside. When she emerged, she wore the camouflage uniform of a constable of the National Police Field Force. She climbed into the jeep and apologized for not having a warrant card.
“They took it away from me when they fired me. But at least I have your gun.”
The Colt was strapped inside a button down leather holster on her belt, so at least she looked the part. I started the engine and drove through the chaotic streets. People were everywhere, running every which way, vehicles narrowly avoiding collisions, horns blaring, and the noise was against a backdrop of small arms fire and mortar shells. It was getting worse, and at that time I’d no idea how many troops the Communists had sent in to attack the city. One thing was for sure; they had more men than our Intelligence branch had assessed.
I parked at the rear of Police Headquarters, a grim and forbidding four-story building surrounded by a high perimeter fence. Sentries patrolled inside the wire, and steel bars protected the first floor windows. Lam was all for walking through the front door.
“Everything is so chaotic, I doubt they’ll ask for my ID.”
I shook my head. “Everything is so chaotic they’ll be checking and double-checking. Forget the front door. The must be a back way.”
She gestured to a fence. Two sentries had just met in the center, about turned, and were heading back to the opposite corners of the building. “That’s the back way.”
It was Massey who came up with the idea. They had a blind spot when they were facing away from the center of the building, and it could just be possible to get inside. Especially with the amount of noise being kicked up by the attack, and with no alternative, we prepared to break into one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the city.
We almost made it, but a mortar shell smashed into an adjacent building as we were walking toward the locked gate, and they turned suddenly and saw us. Smoke and dust drifted past us in a cloud, and we were just two American soldiers and one of their own people. We picked up the pace, Lam waved, and they waved back. We walked around the corner out of sight and circled the block to come out next to where we’d parked the jeep. Another mortar shell crashed even nearer, kicking up more smoke and dust until it hung everywhere like a thick blanket of fog.
The sentries stopped and stared, and it wasn’t difficult to work out what they were thinking. The first shell landed a short distance away, the second shell even closer, and the third shell… The hell with it. They ran inside, leaving the rear of the building unguarded, and I started running toward the rear gate.
“We’ll never get another chance. It’s now or never.”
The gate was locked, and Massey climbed over the four-meter fence. I pushed Lam up, and he helped her over, and I followed. We still had the locked rear door to get through, except it wasn’t locked. In the alarm, the sentries had left it unlocked, and we merely opened it and stepped inside. And into the arms of a burly cop who was heading toward the door, probably to check on the sentries. His eyes bulged in astonishment at seeing an American soldier step inside the building, and he made a grab for the pistol at his side.
We couldn’t afford a shot, not in this place, where there could be several hundred cops within spitting distance. I hammered my fist into his face, slammed my right knee into his groin, and he reeled back in astonishment, his mouth opening to cry out. I hit him again with a bunched a fist, so hard I snapped several of his front teeth, dropped my rifle the floor, and jumped on top of him. He was beginning to recover from the initial shock, and I felt his hands trying to grab my neck, and I ignored it. The priority was to stop him shouting for help, and I punched him again, but this time in the throat. He started choking, and blood sprayed from the broken teeth inside his mouth, but he struggled and fought hard, even though I’d damaged his windpipe and sucking in oxygen took most of his strength.
Still he made a huge effort, gave up on trying to choke me, put his hands under my chest, and pushed up hard to get me off him. I felt my balance going, but as I fell to one side, my hand touched my rifle. I gripped it with the other hand and swung it overhead just as he was struggling to get to his feet, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. His face a bloody ruin, covered in blood, but he was a big strong man, able to continue fighting back, desperate and determined to raise the alarm. At least he was, until I swung the rifle in a high arc and brought it down in a blow aimed at his head. I missed his head, but the steel muzzle hit him on his already damaged throat, and his body jerked in agony.
He was in serious trouble now, his boots hammering on the ground in an attempt to get purchase. I used the rifle again and again, beating it over his throat until his movements ceased, and he lay still. A final sigh of escaping air came from
his bloody mouth, and he was dead.
I got to my feet and wiped the blood that had sprayed on my face. Massey and Lam had disappeared, but they came from around the corner.
“We’re close to the stairs leading down to the cellblock,” he murmured, and he sounded as casual as if he was talking about visiting the local coffee bar, “We should be able to get down there, and I doubt the guards will give us much trouble.”
“Thanks for helping.”
He looked down at the body. “Him? Why would you want any help? You dealt with him, no problem.”
“Yeah, thanks. Give me a minute, and I’ll hide the body.”
I found a janitor’s closet with mops, buckets, and brooms inside. I doubted they’d be washing the floors any time soon, so Ray helped me drag the body inside and attempted to disguise it from a casual glance with cleaner’s overalls.
Lam led the way around the corner, and the passage was empty, although further inside the building everything was chaos. Phones ringing, voices shouting, and the sound of running feet as men and women raced from place to place, confused, and frightened. She’d been right. This was the ideal time to get inside the building, although I wasn’t sure if it would be the ideal time to get out.
We were at the top of a set of stone steps that led down into the basement. “The cellblock is down there. Careful, there will be a guard at the desk when we reached the bottom.”
She went down the stairs at a brisk pace, like she was on some official errand, and we followed. The cop, a corporal, was stationed at the bottom of the staircase behind a high counter, and he gave her a puzzled look. “What business do you have down here, I wasn’t expecting anyone?”
He glanced at us as we came into view, but with no reason for alarm. We were American soldiers, allies of South Vietnam, and he looked back at Lam, who gave him a broad smile. “They must’ve forgotten to inform you. These men have come to interview a prisoner.”
He shot her an oily look and spoke in rapid Vietnamese. She turned to us.