The doctor gently squeezed Barnett’s testicles and spoke sharply in Vietnamese to Van Pao. She shrugged her shoulders and spoke in a very respectful tone to the doctor and then asked Barnett, “Did you have a recent accident where you bruised your organs?”
Barnett glared at the lieutenant and knew that if he spoke the truth she would change it to what she wanted in translating to the doctor. He nodded his head in the affirmative. The doctor had been watching his face and could read the expression. He asked another question, and Van Pao translated it.
“Have you been passing blood with your urine?”
Spencer nodded yes.
“Is there pain when you urinate?”
Spencer nodded his head again.
“Do your testes hurt?”
Spencer paused before answering and shook his head no, even though they still throbbed from the beating he had received.
The doctor opened his bag and removed a hypodermic needle and gave Spencer seven shots from different bottles of medicine.
“You see, Spencer Barnett, the People’s Army takes very good care of its prisoners of war.” Lieutenant Van Pao lifted a fork off the small shelf. “How do you people eat with these things? Don’t you stick yourselves?”
Barnett stared at the North Vietnamese officer without answering her. The doctor handed Spencer a tube of ointment for the soles of his feet and a roll of gauze.
Spencer looked directly into the eyes of the medical man and spoke in English. “Thank you.” The universal tone of voice that spoke gratitude did not need translation. The doctor gave Spencer a curt nod and left to examine Colonel Garibaldi.
Lieutenant Van Pao kept watching Spencer while Garibaldi was being examined. She was trying to figure a way to break him before the division intelligence officer arrived. She had very little time left.
The doctor gave Colonel Garibaldi a large bottle of vitamin C and the same series of vitamin-B shots that he had given to Spencer, except for the dose of penicillin Spencer had been given to fight the numerous infections he was suffering from.
Colonel Garibaldi waited until the Vietnamese left the small hut and then handed Spencer some of the vitamin-C tablets.
“You keep them, Colonel.” Barnett knew the officer was suffering from scurvy.
“There’s plenty more in the bottle, and if you don’t have some vitamin C, you’ll end up losing your teeth too!”
Spencer accepted the gift and thanked the colonel. He chewed one of the tablets slowly and tasted the acid. It reminded him of a certain brand of candy that he would buy when he had gone to the movies as a little kid.
The sun was setting, and the old Montagnard entered the POW compound carrying a bucket of hot food. His grandson walked next to him as a guide and also to carry a bucket of rice wine. The old man set the bucket down on the small porch of the raised hut and waited for the Americans to come out.
Spencer was the first one out, carrying his tin plate, followed by the colonel. The old man lifted the lid and Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. He could see the large hunks of boiled fish and the yellow pieces of egg in the rice.
“Shit, sir! Look at that!”
Garibaldi looked over Spencer’s shoulder, but he had already smelled the food and knew that it was something more than the normal boiled rice without even salt added. “Something is going on!”
“Fuck them! As long as they want to mess with my mind like this, I don’t give a fuck!” Spencer used his spoon to pile his plate high with the wholesome food.
The boy held up the container of rice wine. Garibaldi lifted the lid and smelled the fermenting juice. “I am going to wake up shortly and find out that we’re eating monkey shit and drinking elephant piss!”
The boy smiled and motioned with his hands that they were to keep the whole container of wine.
Barnett caught hold of himself before the Montagnards left, and using the food containers to block the view of anyone watching them from the guard hut or from the thick vegetation on the other side of the fence, he made the motion of a knife cutting on his wrist and looked at the boy. The nine-year-old smiled and nodded his head once. He had understood.
Garibaldi carried the wine and Spencer carried the tin of food back into their new hut. They were going to feast and get drunk, very drunk, while the dream lasted.
James and Lieutenant Van Pao watched the Montagnards leave the small American compound through the small spy hole she had cut in the side of her office hut.
“Well?” Van Pao asked James to comment.
“Very good! You’ll see that it will pay off when she arrives here tomorrow afternoon with the general.”
“It had better! We’ve wasted good medicine on them! The doctor was so angry when he left that he said he was going to send a message to Hanoi personally! He has troops dying because there isn’t enough penicillin, and he had to waste it on Spencer Barnett!”
“Believe me… You’ll get a letter from Hanoi rewarding you for your excellent service!” James took a sip from his glass of Johnny Walker Black. “I’m going to visit them.”
“Make sure you don’t say anything to mess up tomorrow’s visit!” Van Pao glared at James. He was becoming too powerful with the senior officers. His latest mission at Da Nang had cemented his trust with the top generals, and there was even talk of giving him a commission in the People’s Army!
James waited until he couldn’t hear the sound of the metal forks against the plates inside the hut before entering the compound. Garibaldi was lifting a cup of Montagnard rice wine to his mouth when he stepped through the door. James held a half-empty bottle of Johnny Walker Black in his left hand and an almost empty glass in his right. “A toast, Colonel?”
Garibaldi paused and then poured his cup of wine out on the floor.
“Dumb! But you can do what you want with your booze…. Me… I’m going to drink mine.” James sipped noisily from his glass and then smacked his lips. “Good stuff.”
Spencer glared at the traitor from his seat on his cot.
“Well, Spence! How are you doing today? Better, I hope!” James held his glass to his mouth and smiled before taking another sip. His eyes were colder than a cobra’s. He was getting in with the NVA generals, and as soon as his reputation was secure with them, he was going to ask for Spencer Barnett.
The question burned inside of Spencer, and even though he hated to talk to James, he had to ask. “Where do you get all that stuff?”
James acted as if Spencer’s voice came out of the sky. He looked up at the ceiling and barked, “A voice! I hear a voice!”
“Knock off the bullshit, James…. Where do you come up with Marlboro cigarettes and American booze out here in the jungle?”
James removed his pack of cigarettes. “Kools… Kool 100s… is my brand.”
Barnett was finished talking and sipped from his cup of Montagnard wine.
“So you really want to know?” James lit a Kool and inhaled deeply before answering Barnett. “Really, it’s simple. A matter of greed, but that’s the American way… isn’t it, Colonel?” He looked over at Garibaldi, who sat on the edge of his cot holding his empty cup upside down. James shrugged. “Do you remember guys like Sergeant Shaw?” James waited for Barnett to acknowledge his question.
Barnett nodded.
“Guys like Shaw black-market… anything. Like I said, it’s all a matter of greed. They think they’re selling to crooked South Vietnamese, but actually they’re selling to our agents.” James drained his glass and poured it full again. “Does that answer your question?”
Barnett nodded.
“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you! I saw your old buddy yesterday in Da Nang….” James walked over and refilled Garibaldi’s cup with Johnny Walker Black. “If you pour that out, I’ll have them cut your nuts off! Now drink, Colonel!”
Garibaldi obeyed. He raised the cup to his lips and sipped the scotch. He felt like crying. Scotch had been his favorite drink. The taste and smell brought back a flood of m
emories: his wife, the Officers’ Club at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base in North Carolina, parties… happy times.
Barnett waited for James to continue talking. He was curious as to whom James was referring to.
“You know, this is a good life here at A Rum. I’ve got me a tight hole, good food, plenty of money….”
Garibaldi knew where the money was coming from and felt the scotch in his mouth turn bitter.
“Did I tell you that they’re thinking of making me an officer? A real officer in the People’s Army.” James sipped from his glass and raised his eyebrows. “I’m good, you know… real good at what I do!”
Barnett felt his hopes drop. He really wanted to know who James had seen in Da Nang.
“Woods!” James stomped his foot on the mat and pointed at Barnett. “Gotcha! You thought I forgot what I was talking about, didn’t you!” James was getting drunk. “I saw your fucking buddy Woods back at the XXIV Corps Headquarters!”
Garibaldi acted as if he weren’t paying any attention to James, but he was absorbing every word that he said. He held the cup of scotch in both hands, pretending it was a rare treat.
“Now ask me, Spence…. What was I doing at the XXIV Headquarters yesterday?”
Barnett glanced over at Garibaldi, and he nodded for him to ask.
“What were you doing at the XXIV Corps Headquarters yesterday?”
“Sir!” James glared at Barnett. “Say sir!”
“Sir.”
“That’s better.” James set the empty glass down and drank directly from the open bottle. “I was getting overlays off the Corps battle maps.” James enjoyed the conversation, and it made him feel good to brag about his exploits. Barnett and Garibaldi would appreciate how much guts it took to pull off what he had done. “I just walked right in there and copied their battle plans for the next month! I must say they’re a bunch of dumb motherfuckers!”
“When did you see David?”
“Oh! You want to talk some more…. That wine must have loosened your white motherfuckin’ tongue!” James staggered to his feet. “Well, fuck you!” He left the hut, bumping against the sides of the door and missing the ladder.
Barnett smiled when he heard James cuss as he hit the ground after falling off the three-foot-high porch.
Garibaldi waited until James was out of the compound. They could hear him cussing as he walked back to his hooch in the dark. “Oh, damn! This scotch is so good!” Garibaldi hugged the cup.
Spencer found the whole act extremely funny and started laughing. The Montagnard wine was having its effect.
Colonel Garibaldi stared at the seventeen-year-old soldier. It was the first time he had heard the boy laugh, and then he thought about himself. He hadn’t laughed in years.
The sun had been up for hours. The Montagnard boy entering the hut woke Barnett from his deep sleep. Garibaldi struggled up on one elbow. They were both still drunk. The small boy picked up the night pot in the corner and noticed that it had been used only to urinate in. He carried it to the doorway and paused to look back at Barnett. The boy spoke a brief sentence in Bru and left.
Barnett struggled to his feet and then dropped back down on the cot. He felt like shit. The wine had been good the night before, but he was paying for it now.
“It must be mid-morning!” Garibaldi looked out of the door. “They let us sleep in! This is unbelievable!”
“Enjoy it!” Barnett felt like puking but fought the urge. He wasn’t going to waste any of the food that he had eaten the night before.
The Montagnard boy returned from emptying the night pot and set the earthenware pot back down in the corner. A North Vietnamese guard waited in the doorway for the boy to finish. Barnett smiled at the nine-year-old who had helped him when he had been beaten and placed in the cage with Mother Kaa. The boy smiled back and nodded at the night pot before slipping out of the door.
Barnett didn’t catch the meaning of the nod.
Garibaldi went out on the tiny porch and looked around the camp to see if there was any activity. He saw the normal guards in their thatch-covered hooches and noticed that all of them were wearing new uniforms.
“Something is going on today, Spencer.” Garibaldi went back over to his cot.
“I feel like shit!” Barnett held his head with both hands.
“Montagnard wine does that to you… powerful stuff.” Garibaldi looked over at the night pot and frowned. “I wonder if they’re going to let us out of here today.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got to defecate and I don’t want to use the night pot if I don’t have to.” Garibaldi felt his stomach roll and knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold it for more than a couple of minutes more. “Damn, I’ve got to go!”
Barnett struggled to his feet and went out on the porch to give the colonel a little privacy.
Garibaldi went over to the corner and untied the drawstring of his peasant pants. He looked in the pot before squatting over it and was glad that he did; two eight-inch-long Montagnard knives were inside the smelly container.
* * *
Lieutenant Van Pao waited on the edge of the jungle clearing with two of the camp guards. She was nervous and knew that when the helicopter landed, her future career could go either way. The sound of the helicopter approaching startled her, even though she was expecting it. The guards quickly checked their uniforms and shouldered their AK-47s.
The helicopter came in low and dropped down on the short grass in the clearing the Montagnards used to graze their animals. A North Vietnamese general and two Americans got out of the chopper, and Lieutenant Van Pao hurried to report to her division commander and his guests. The chopper crew pulled the camouflage netting from its storage place and quickly covered the aircraft before finding cool spots at the edge of the jungle to smoke and wait for their commander.
Van Pao saluted the general and smiled a greeting to the Americans. “It is a pleasure having you visit my small POW camp.”
The American female smiled and looked over at her manager. “She speaks English; how nice.”
“A lot of people do, my dear.” The American celebrity’s manager was hot and bored. He hadn’t wanted her to take this trip out into the damn jungle, but she had insisted.
“Yes, I learned English at the University of Hanoi.” Van Pao glanced over at the general for approval. “Let me show you the way.” She took the lead down the trail to the Montagnard village. “I have two American POWs here at A Rum and fifty-three South Vietnamese and Montagnard CIDG prisoners.”
“Let’s skip them and show us the Americans….” The starlet’s manager was worried about being so close to the South Vietnamese border. He was too rich to get himself killed fucking around a war zone.
“If you like.” Van Pao hid her hate.
Garibaldi and Barnett were sitting in the shade of their hut when the NVA party and their guests arrived outside the gate.
Colonel Garibaldi was the first one to see the visitors. “I know why they moved us to this hut.”
“Why?” Barnett looked up at the colonel. He had his back facing the gate to the small American POW compound.
“Look behind you.” Garibaldi’s voice got lower with each word.
Spencer turned and watched Sweet Bitch lead the party of visitors into the compound. He noticed that James was not with them, nor was he anywhere around the area.
Garibaldi and Barnett both stood and genuflected when the NVA general approached the porch. Van Pao smiled; she wasn’t sure that Spencer would obey the camp rules when senior officers visited. It had nothing to do with her; Garibaldi had explained that it was proper for them to show respect to officers senior to them. This was the first general to visit the camp, and it was the first time that Garibaldi had shown the Vietnamese sign of respect.
“Hi, soldiers!” The starlet smiled and tried acting cheerful. “What state are you from?” She spoke to Garibaldi first.
“I’m a professional soldier and we’ve lived all over the co
untry.” Garibaldi struggled to keep his voice calm. He recognized the woman from her roles in the movies. She was a big-name star. Garibaldi swore to himself that if he ever escaped from the camp and made it back to the States, he would never go to see one of her pictures again. “We’ve bought a retirement home in Colorado.”
“Oh! Really? I have a small place at Aspen…. We’re almost neighbors!” The phony statement made Garibaldi’s stomach roll. He hoped that he wouldn’t have to take a shit. He had little control over his bowels, and the rich food he’d been given the night before was passing right through him.
A guard approached the group and bowed to the general before placing a pot on the porch that contained a boiled chicken and vegetables.
“Mmmmm… that smells good!” She sniffed the pot. “At least the North Vietnamese treat you well…. It’s better than living in a dirty foxhole somewhere… isn’t it?” She addressed Spencer.
Lieutenant Van Pao glared at Spencer as he just stood there looking at the American woman.
“It depends on what you’re doing in the foxhole.” Spencer’s voice was soft.
The manager noticed Spencer for the first time. The heat and insects were tormenting him. He had been swatting at anything that moved since he got off the helicopter. He noticed how handsome the younger soldier was, even though he was a good fifteen pounds underweight. “Soldier, how old are you?” The lisp was evident and exaggerated.
Garibaldi prayed Spencer wouldn’t say something they both would regret.
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen! You’re just a boy! You should be chasing girls down Hollywood Boulevard!” The queer manager batted his eyes at Spencer.
“I’d like to; would you mind taking me with you when you leave?” Spencer grinned.
“Mmmm… that sounds like fun, but I don’t think our friends here would like that very much…. Maybe later.” The man looked away shyly.
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