by Joe Haldeman
Rescue
The Tet Offensive started prematurely in Spider’s area. The original plan had been for the nationwide attack to begin in the early morning hours of January 30th, but the powers-that-were in Hanoi called for a twenty-four-hour postponement at the last minute. A lot of the Viet Cong and NVA troops in what America called II Corps didn’t get the word in time, so six cities, including Pleiku and Kontum, were infiltrated and attacked a day early, just after four in the morning, precipitating the artillery response that had helped Spider stay awake on guard duty.
That should have let the cat out of the bag, but it didn’t.
The Americans declared the truce abrogated and the army put all its troops on full alert. Most of the troops treated the alert with their usual cynicism; “maximum alert” came more often than mail. The ones in Saigon were going to be spectacularly unprepared.
The people around Pleiku and Kontum, though, did have their hands full—including, emphatically, the new fire base that covered the road between Kontum and Dak To, full of scared green troops and rattled by conflicting fire orders. Nobody was especially concerned about not having heard from Sarge’s patrol.
Two days later, a very nervous squad, mostly FNGs, set off down along the streambed to find out why Sarge’s patrol didn’t respond to repeated radio hailing. If their radio had stopped functioning, they should at least have sent a squad back for a replacement.
They found Spider first, lying almost catatonic under the tree, whimpering. Even Killer didn’t recognize him at first sight: wild-eyed, befouled, smeared all over with dried blood. He had ripped off his shirt and torn with his nails at the skin of his chest and abdomen. When they tried to help him he fought them off like a wild man and then collapsed.
From where Spider was, they could smell the rotting remains of the rest of the men. Killer blew an LZ upwind from them and a helicopter came out with two enlisted men from Graves and a stack of body bags.
At first there were two men unaccounted for. Eventually they found Moses’s head in a tree about forty yards from where he had exploded. The other missing man, a rifleman who was on his second tour in Vietnam, walked into Kontum two days later. He said he’d been following orders to retreat back down the path and had gotten separated from his squad and hopelessly lost. He wandered till he found the road. He eventually went before a court-martial, accused of desertion under fire, but was not convicted. The only other living witness to the action did not respond well to questioning.
To get Spider to stay on the stretcher, they’d had to bind his wrists and ankles with tape and strap him down. When he was medevac’ed he tried to throw himself from the helicopter.
The hospital in Pleiku was very busy, more civilian casualties than military, but they were able to shoot Spider full of Thorazine and clean him up enough to assess his condition. Small shrapnel wound in the left leg, superficial scratches on thorax, self-inflicted; bruise and laceration on forehead, mild concussion. The diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia. The treatment was drugs and a straitjacket and a ticket to Walter Reed.
FEBRUARY
First impressions
WALTER REED ARMY MEDICAL HOSPITAL
PSYCHIATRIC DIVISION (INPATIENT)
Preliminary Patient Assessment
DATE: 2 Feb 68
PHYSICIAN IN CHARGE: CPT Michael Folsom for MAJ G. B. Tolliver, MD
PATIENT: E3 John Darcy Speidel US 334789213
JDS was a combat engineer in Vietnam, one of two survivors of an ambush of a small patrol in II Corps. He was injured only slightly but the experience seems to have exacerbated a previously existing psychotic condition.
His first assignment in RVN was a clerical position in Graves Registration, Kontum. He assaulted the NCO in charge of his office and was reassigned to a field position in lieu of Article 15 proceedings or a summary court-martial.
(Statements from other EMs and NCOs who knew him: “He was weird but a nice guy.” “He always did what you told him to do but never seemed quite ‘with it.’” “He sat around and read science fiction all the time. He was really serious about it.” “He seemed alright to me but I know I’m crazy. I signed up for another year in this shit hole.” These are quotes from radio interviews requested by a staff psychiatrist, handwritten on a yellow sheet appended to the patient’s file from 121st Evac in Pleiku, RVN.)
The patient arrived in a comatose state, heavily sedated with Thorazine. Wounds from enemy action included a small shrapnel wound in the 1. thigh, rear; fragment extracted and wound debrided and closed with five stitches, and a laceration to the forehead which required three stitches. Patient claims he was shot in the head, but that is inconsistent with the nature of the wound.
The patient also denies homosexual orientation, but presents syphilis chancres in both mouth and anus (not penis).
Self-inflicted scratches on the chest and abdomen have become infected; three stitches were necessary to close a tear to r. nipple, which has developed a local fungus infection (“jungle rot”). There is a similar fungus infection, well developed, on back of 1. hand.
The patient is not yet communicating well. He was acutely agitated initially, and is alternately combative and reticent now. His medication, which on admission was 400 mg. Thorazine I.M. q4—6h., now stands at 500 mg. a day, administered orally.
JDS’s file had an FBI flag. The Bureau’s Military Liaison Office sent over some information that might be useful. His family and friends live in the Washington D.C. area; the flag is there because his girlfriend is involved in questionable activities related to draft resistance and Martin Luther King.
When asked whether he wanted his family to visit, JDS responded firmly in the negative. Asked about his girlfriend, he said he did want to see her “when he was better,” but he called her “Lee.” His girlfriend’s name is Beverly, but the man she lives with is Lee Madden, an antiwar activist who was granted a draft exemption because of well-documented homosexuality. So there may be a complex relationship involved.
The second version
We were on a small patrol headed out a few miles from fire base to set up two ambush points in case Charlie violated the truce. We might just be doing recon, though. If the force was too big for us to engage, we’d let them go by and then radio their position in for artillery and air strikes. Then the idea was we were supposed to attack them on their way back, but Sarge thought it might be more sensible to first let them go on by a ways, and call in the first artillery between us and them, so as to have them running away from us instead.
We never got to try out that strategy, though. They were waiting for us. It was a good ambush. We walked into this clearing and they must have had us completely covered.
I was walking point when the ambush started, and one of the first rounds hit me. It must have gone through my helmet, which slowed it down enough so it knocked me out but didn’t kill me. Anyhow I don’t remember seeing any of the battle until it was over.
Then a gook was walking around with an AK-47, that’s when I woke up, he was shooting everybody left alive, or anybody who looked like he might be alive. So I closed my eyes and played dead, and he walked right up to me and then went on by. I mean I could feel the muzzle of the AK-47 on my forehead, hot, but I guess he figured I was dead, so why waste a bullet?
After that, I don’t know. I guess I went a little crazy.
Three Contributions to the Theory of Sex
Through a predictable bureaucratic screwup, Spider’s parents thought he was still in Vietnam, when in fact he was only twelve miles away, in the “Looney Tunes ward” at Walter Reed.
When he’d gotten to Vietnam, Spider, like most soldiers, had signed a document asking that the army not notify his parents in the event of his being “lightly wounded.” So if they got a telegram, it meant they would see him soon, in a bed or in a box.
Someplace in the 121st Evacuation Hospital there were two file trays for the records of incoming patients—“Telegram” and “No Telegram.” Spider’s
physical wounds were superficial, so his records were tossed on the “No Telegram” pile. Under normal circumstances, somebody would certainly have checked before he left the hospital for Cam Ranh Bay and home. But with Tet going on, things were far from normal.
Tet worried Ray and Carrie Speidel. They hadn’t heard from John in weeks. They called Beverly’s dorm and left a message; she called back saying she hadn’t had a letter in twelve days. But she thought that the Tet confusion probably had slowed the mail to a standstill.
So when Captain Folsom called from Walter Reed, they were relieved as much as worried. Folsom said that John had been through a terrible experience, and although his physical wounds were superficial, the psychological wounds were profound. No, it would not be a good idea to come see him, not yet, but Captain Folsom would appreciate it very much if they would come in for a talk with people involved with John’s case.
That turned out to be an interview with Captain Folsom alone, who admitted he wasn’t a doctor. He had a master’s degree in psychology, specializing in abnormal psychology. Faced with being drafted, he had joined up, and his useful specialty kept him off the battlefield.
This is not to say his job was easy. He’d belatedly found out that he really hated crazy people, and now he had to spend almost all day with them.
CPT. FOLSOM: Thank you for coming to see me so quickly. Sometimes people are reluctant.
MRS. SPEIDEL: When their sons are involved?
CAPTAIN FOLSOM: People are afraid of mental illness. And ashamed. It’s not a clean heroic thing like a bullet wound … but it can be just as serious; more serious.
MR. SPEIDEL: John had a bullet wound, too.
CAPTAIN FOLSOM: Yes, shrapnel, anyhow, and other … light injuries associated with the ambush that put him here. But if it were only those injuries, he could go straight home. Or would’ve been sent back into combat; never left Vietnam.
But the psychiatric wounds are so severe he may be under treatment for a long time, though I hope he can be an outpatient soon.
MRS. SPEIDEL: Live at home?
CPT. FOLSOM: Or by himself, if that’s what he wants. I would feel more comfortable if he went back to a family environment.
MR. SPEIDEL: What actually happened?
CPT. FOLSOM: Well, it’s hard to say, exactly. There was only one other survivor to the ambush, and he ran away, didn’t see anything. And John seems confused about it, understandably. He was unconscious for most of it.
All we know for sure is that John’s platoon was attacked by an overwhelmingly large force. The battle was probably over in a few minutes; there wasn’t even time for them to call for help.
MRS. SPEIDEL (dabbing at her eyes): How terrible.
CPT. FOLSOM: Yes. Evidently the enemy forces then went through and shot all the wounded. They passed over John because he was unconscious, and they took him for dead.
MR. SPEIDEL: Bastards.
CPT. FOLSOM: The Viet Cong are a cruel, implacable enemy. Your son is very brave. (He shifts and clears his throat.) He saw things that no one should have to see.
MR. SPEIDEL: I suppose that could drive anyone crazy.
CPT. FOLSOM: Well, of course we don’t like to call people crazy. But yes, an extremely terrifying or gruesome experience can cause a person who previously was acting normally to … exhibit symptoms of mental illness.
Is there any history of mental illness in the family?
MRS. SPEIDEL: Terry.
MR. SPEIDEL: Uh huh, yeah. My brother Terry, his uncle, shot himself last month. He locked himself in the garage and sat in the car with the motor running. Then he drank a whole bottle of gin and shot himself. In the head with a shotgun.
He hadn’t been right since Korea. He was really gung ho, joined the Marines and all, but he was in a car accident, a jeep, before he could see much action. Came back with two gimpy legs but no medals or anything.
See, he’d missed out on the war, World War II, on account of flat feet. He got them fixed up, though, and was just barely young enough to get into the Marines when Korea rolled around. And then he didn’t get to be a hero anyhow.
After a while, a couple of years, he began telling people he’d stepped on a land mine, up in Inchon. He could tell you anything about that battle, and a couple of others. He even had a bunch of medals, bronze cross or something—
CPT. FOLSOM: Bronze Star.
MR. SPEIDEL: Yeah. He must have picked them up in a pawn shop somewhere. He had a rifle and a Marine uniform that he kept in a case in the living room with the medals. Drove his wife crazy; she left him. Couldn’t hold onto a job. He got by on his disability payment and handyman stuff, carpentry.
I didn’t talk to him much after a couple of years. I guess he could tell I was disgusted with him. He’d come by after school, before I got home from work, and play ball with Spider. They got along all right.
CPT. FOLSOM: That’s John?
MR. SPEIDEL: Yeah, that’s what he liked to be called.
MRS. SPEIDEL: The kids in grade school teased him about his long arms and legs, and called him Spider because of our name. He got back at them by taking it as a nickname.
MR. SPEIDEL: He even had a pet spider, a tarantula. It died while he was in Basic Training.
CPT. FOLSOM: Mrs. Speidel, has there been any mental illness on your side of the family?
MRS. SPEIDEL: (Thinks for a minute) No … what about your father, Ray?
CPT. FOLSOM: Your father?
MR. SPEIDEL: Oh, yeah. I never met him. Mother had Terry when she was eighteen. I guess they had to get married. Then she got pregnant with me and the guy just walked out. Nobody ever heard from him again.
I don’t know. Is that mental illness or is it being a jerk?
CPT. FOLSOM: Impossible to say, of course. Did she ever tell you anything about him that would make you think he was strange?
MR. SPEIDEL: She won’t talk about him at all. I don’t even know his name.
CPT. FOLSOM: Hmm. That’s extreme.
The pet tarantula is fairly odd. Did Spider have any other unusual hobbies?
MR. SPEIDEL: Science and science fiction. He made a telescope, ground his own lens, I mean mirror. Has a big rock collection in the garage, even some pretty expensive fossils and meteorites he bought with paper-route money. I got him a microscope when he got out of junior high school.
CPT. FOLSOM: He wasn’t successful at it in college, though?
MR. SPEIDEL: Well, he’s smart, but he never learned how to study. He kind of drifted through high school and then college hit him like a ton of bricks. He’ll do better when he goes back, like I did. If he goes back.
CPT. FOLSOM: Oh, he will. It’s just a matter of time. What about the science fiction?
MRS. SPEIDEL: He’s such a nut about it. (She pauses and looks at her husband.) I don’t mean a nut nut, I mean he’s really serious about his collection. He goes down to the used-book stores around Ninth Street at least once a month, buying and trading.
He has hundreds of books, all alphabetized and cross-referenced. I mean he has a 5×7 card made up for each one, where he typed out a summary of each book and what he thought about it, and there are holes punched along the side of the card that classify the book as to what it’s about, whether he gives it an A, B, or whatever. What year it came out …
CPT. FOLSOM: Punched holes? Like an IBM card?
MR. SPEIDEL: NO, the holes are just along the margin. It’s a system he made up himself. He can stick a long knitting needle through the hole, say, for time travel, and give the stack a shake, and all the time travel books fall out of the stack. Pretty ingenious.
CPT. FOLSOM: Does he collect other books?
MRS. SPEIDEL: Science. He used to collect comics, but he sold and traded those away when he got so involved with science fiction. Oh, I brought him some. (She rummages through her bag and brings out three shiny, garish paperbacks. Captain Folsom takes them and studies them for a moment.)
CPT. FOLSOM: I’ll keep them for hi
m. Right now I don’t think it would be a good idea to encourage, ah, fantasy.
Is there anything you can tell me about … Spider’s childhood that might have disturbed you at the time? Ways he was different from other boys?
MR. SPEIDEL: Maybe he was more moody than other boys, more quiet. He didn’t go out for sports a lot, except Little League. He was a pretty good outfielder, but he lost interest in baseball when he was around twelve.
CPT. FOLSOM: Hm, puberty. Tell me … did he ever show any interest in boys?
MRS. SPEIDEL: Boys?
CPT. FOLSOM: I mean a homosexual interest.
MR. SPEIDEL: What, queer? (He looks at Mrs. Speidel and they both laugh.) Spider’s absolutely girl crazy. He couldn’t keep his eyes or his hands off them. If he’s queer he hides it pretty well.
CPT. FOLSOM: I see. (He writes a lengthy note.) Other than quietness, what would you say made him different from other boys? Special?
MRS. SPEIDEL: Well, we didn’t have any other boys to compare him to. Everything he did was pretty special.
CPT. FOLSOM: Does he have any sisters?
MR. SPEIDEL: No. We had a daughter who died at the age of two.
CPT. FOLSOM: Ah. Was he extremely upset?
MR. SPEIDEL: We all were.
CPT. FOLSOM: HOW old was he then?
MR. SPEIDEL: Nine.
CPT. FOLSOM: Did he do anything unusual afterwards? Like claiming to have seen her ghost. Hearing her talking to him?
MRS. SPEIDEL: She couldn’t talk much. She was just two.
CPT. FOLSOM: I know, I know. (Takes off glasses and rubs eyes) Mrs. Speidel, I’m trying to find out whether John had some mental problem as a child. In the movies, somebody sees or does something traumatic and goes insane, but it’s not that simple in real life. Usually it’s a pre-existing condition. A person starts to exhibit schizophrenic symptoms and the people around him will say, ‘Oh, he just broke up with his fiancée,’ or ‘It must have been his war experiences’—but he was actually ill all along. A lot of schizophrenics start to present symptoms at John’s age.