by Barry Sadler
By dawn, Casey had outdistanced the VC. He was well ahead of them entering onto one of the plateaus scattered about the highlands, leaving the jungle behind and below him in the valleys. Here, the terrain resembled some parts of the American southwest, with broad and flat grasslands. By noon, with the sun high in the sky, heat waves had begun to shimmer and quiver in the distance. Twice he had heard the sounds of aircraft overhead: a flight of fighter bombers heading southeast, probably going back to Ton son Nhut airbase outside Saigon, and once the droning of an old C-46 heading toward Laos. It probably belonged to Air America and was making a hard rice drop, as munitions were called, to the Meo tribesmen in the mountains around the Plaines Des Jars.
Two hours later a flight of three Hueys and two gunboats passed over escorting a dust-off chopper carrying two wounded Special Forces men from the camp at Cheo Reo to the hospital at Dalat. Casey waved his arms frantically at the helicopters. He thought they'd missed him when one of the gunboats made a sharp sliding turn to pass right overhead. The doorgunner kept the sights of the M-60 on the man below till it was clear that he wasn't a Viet. The dust-off gained some altitude and orbited as the other gunboat provided security till its brother ship had touched down and taken aboard their unexpected passenger. Casey didn't care where they were going as long as there was a bath and bed there.
Ho stood concealed at the edge of the plateau watching the flight of helicopters take Casey away from him. This did not end the chase. Ho had promised himself that he'd have that scar-faced swine even if it meant going into MACV itself, and he would. He signaled to his men to turn back. He had many things to do this day.
CHAPTER FIVE
The chopper hadn't completely settled down on the perforated steel-plated landing zone inside the relative safety of the compound before Casey was ducking under the blades, which to him always looked as if they were going to take his head off. He still carried the AK-47 he'd taken off the Charlie he'd snuffed at the Bihnar village. Intelligence would probably want to check the serial numbers and see where it came from, Russia or China. Captain Delfino Gomez, a slightly built, curly-haired man whose bloodlines showed the strains of Castile and who was a onetime native of Leadville, Colorado, motioned over the sound of the rotors for Casey to come to him. As Casey neared him the Captain's eyes said, Goddamn, that son of a bitch looks like he's been through the mill. "Are you okay Sergeant? Do you want to go to the dispensary before reporting to the old man?" Gomez's stare went to the holes in Casey's tunic and the blood stains. Before he could ask the obvious, Casey beat him to the punch. "That's not my blood, Captain. I'm all right. If you want I'll check in with the medics later." Casey knew from long practice that it worked best if you just gave them something they could understand and relate to. Even if they didn't quite believe you it usually took too much mental effort for them to pursue a line of questioning that was awkward or silly sounding.
Gomez led him over to a jeep, climbed in the driver's seat and started the motor. He had seen Casey around from time to time but had never had much to do with the man, other than give an occasional order which was always acknowledged by the sergeant with as few words as possible. It was a bit difficult to resist the temptation to question him during their ride over to Battalion HQ, but he knew that Colonel Tomlin would get pissed off if he did. The short ride from the chopper pad across the compound gave Casey a chance to try and get his story straight. The colonel was no fool and he'd want specific answers. A column of ten Armored Personnel Carriers passed them, heading for the gate to join in a search and destroy operation around the base of the mountains to the east of Kontum.
Captain Gomez pulled the olive drab jeep into the spot reserved for him at HQ. Casey followed him into the white painted building that had once served the French as a school house. Casey ignored the slightly distasteful and questioning looks from the office personnel. They took great pride in having a neat and clean office operation and didn't like to have it tracked up by derelicts.
Captain Gomez told the colonel's secretary, Sp/4 Amos Ferguson, a former rifleman who could type over a hundred words a minute and was therefore too valuable for line duty, even though he requested it once a week, to announce their presence.
Colonel Tomlin had the look and manner of a southern lawyer, which he had been prior to Korea. His eyes were narrow, mouth calculating, with thin lips, but not without some humor. He was now a professional military man who had given up a not so thriving law practice to stay in the military and had found that his talents were much better suited to the gathering and interpretation of intelligence than they were to trying to get some dope dealer off the hook.
He had read Casey's file and had a number of questions that he wanted answered. Besides, he wanted to know where the son of a bitch had been for the last two weeks, especially now that he had acquired the documents which were lying in front of him. He hadn't had a chance to get a full translation, but from what had been translated he knew that the fecal matter was about to come in contact with the rotating oscillator...
"Enter." He liked short sharp single word commands. Casey and Captain Gomez presented themselves in front of his desk and reported. Tomlin never took his eyes off the documents in front of him. He dismissed Gomez with an offhand acknowledgement of his salute and turned his attention to Casey as the door to his office closed behind the captain.
"At ease sergeant, and take a seat. I'll be with you in a moment." Casey did as he was instructed and settled heavily into a plush leather chair. Tomlin was trying to get his questions in order, besides which he had learned that silence on the part of a superior was often a ploy when it came to gaining the psychological advantage over underlings. From beneath the captured documents he removed another file. Casey's 201. In it was all that was known of the man sitting in his office smelling up the room with the odor of an unwashed body, wood smoke and God knows what else.
The personnel file in front of him did nothing to set his mind at ease. There were too many holes in it, too many things unanswered that made his lawyer's mind pick up speed. Yes indeed! A most interesting file.
He raised his eyes to those of the sergeant and still said nothing. This was a practiced and effective move that put the object of his attention in a state of unease and inflicted guilt feelings, whether the man had done anything or not, and Tomlin, having practiced law in Nashville, Tennessee knew that everyone had always done something. It was just a matter of finding out what it was. This technique quite often brought answers to questions he hadn't even asked or thought of.
Casey returned his gaze with disinterest. He knew what the colonel was trying to do and locked his own eyes on those of the superior officer. Tomlin suddenly felt uneasy under the return gaze of the somehow unsettling gray-blue eyes that looked back at him with such disinterest. It was a feeling that he wasn't used to. Clearing his throat, he shifted the weight on his ass from one cheek to the other and broke the eye contact with the distinct feeling that he had been bested. He didn't like it much.
"Sergeant, just where and how did you come to gain possession of these documents?" He indicated the captured papers with a miniature chrome-plated bayonet letter opener. Casey kept his story simple, saying only that he'd managed to escape the ambush then had followed after the VC till he was able to catch, and in the process, take the papers off an enemy officer. Tomlin tried to query him on details but gained little for his efforts, other than what had already been said. On a chart, Casey indicated the area he thought he'd been in and the route he'd taken in and out of the Song Cai River valley.
Tomlin resisted the impulse to explore the situation further. There was a time and place for everything and sometimes the stage had to be set first.
"From your file, Sergeant, I see that you are not American born and enlisted under a French passport. The only thing that Intelligence has come up with on you is that you served with the French Foreign Legion here in the fifties and had fought at Dien Bien Phu. Is that correct?"
Casey nodd
ed his agreement. Tomlin pursed his lips, cleared his throat and went on. "Now as to your place of birth and the date you gave us, some facts were not possible to check out, such as the city in Germany that you say is your birth place. It no longer exists and there is no way to check you out any further. What do you have to say about that?"
Casey leaned slightly forward. "When I was discharged from the Etrangere I was given, as you know, a new passport and French citizenship. As to where I was born, or when, that is my concern and will remain in the past where it belongs. When I enlisted I made it clear that I was not going to give any information about my past other than my service with the French army. At that time, the Americans were in need of people who had experience in this region of the world and we came to an agreement that my passport was all that was needed for the purposes of identification. I see no reason to change that agreement now."
Tomlin knew that there were several hundred, if not several thousand, others serving in the American Armed Forces who had fought with other armies, some of them hostile to the interests of the United States at one time or another. Many of them were what was known as DPs, Displaced Persons left over from World War Two, or like this man, one who had served in the French Foreign Legion in order to gain a new identity and passport which made them legal citizens of their host country.
Casey pointed a dirty fingernail at the documents on the colonel's desk. "Have you gone through all of them yet?"
"No! Just enough to know that these are very important."
"Then, Colonel, I suggest you take a look at the third page under the heading of Nguoi My, about halfway down the page."
Tomlin did as Casey instructed. His heart skipped a beat when he saw his own name in a list of about thirty others under the Vietnamese heading of "Americans."
Casey spoke again, his voice low and earnest. "I really don't think you need to know any more about me other than that I am on your side. And I am the only one here who knows what Ho looks like. Let me have my head and I'll bring you his, and probably save yours." Tomlin felt a sudden chill race up his spine to settle in the nape of his neck. It was not pleasant to see your name among others who had been scheduled to die. The normal risks of war were bad enough without being singled out for extermination. His interest in the scar-faced sergeant's past was now something he could care less about.
"What do you mean Sergeant Romain? I mean about giving you your head?" The words were slightly choked.
Casey rose from his chair and turned his back to the colonel. "I want you to put me on detached duty and let me go where I want when I want. I'll either capture or kill Ho for you and..." he paused, "for myself. I have a personal thing to settle with him."
Tomlin had spent enough years listening to the tones in men's voices to know that Casey was in deadly earnest and right now that was to his advantage. "I'll think about it, Sergeant. For now, go get yourself cleaned up and rested. I'll talk to you again tomorrow. Be here at 0900 hours."
As Casey left the office, again in the company of Captain Gomez, he heard the colonel bellowing for his interpreter to get his ass in the office and finish translating "these goddamned papers" before he had the little bastard reassigned to the ARVIN as a rifleman. Tomlin shoved Casey's file back into a drawer. He was no longer interested in what the man had done in the past as much as what he could do in the future.
Gomez climbed back into the seat of the jeep and hit the starter, pausing a moment before shifting into gear. "What now, sergeant? Where do we go from here?"
Casey bummed a smoke from him, lit up and inhaled deeply. "Wherever I can clean up and get something to eat. I'm supposed to see Colonel Tomlin again in the morning, so anywhere you put me will be all right."
Gomez nodded, put the jeep in reverse, pulled out and headed for the transient barracks, which would do for now.
By the time Casey had had the incredible luxury of a hot shower, Gomez had arranged for a clean uniform to be issued and delivered from supply to the transient barracks, where those waiting for reassignment or shipment back to the states were being processed. There were a few like Casey who were just stopping there for a day or two on their way to someplace else. Gomez left Casey to his own devices after loaning him ten dollars so he could get a few personal things like a razor and cigarettes. After a lunch in the mess hall of sausage and potatoes, which tasted as if they had been prepared in the states and shipped over two weeks ago, Casey went back to the transient barracks, lowered the blinds on the small window, stripped down and lay his body between clean sheets. He'd sleep through till the next morning, then he'd settle with the colonel. He knew the type well enough and had little doubt that Tomlin would see the wisdom of his suggestion now that he knew his own ass was on the line.
Tomlin's interpreter, Minh Tran Quan, had been in the service of the American forces for three years and had been a good and valuable aid to them. A small man, with the manners of a browbeaten accountant, he always deferred to all the Americans he met, always smiling and bobbing his head up and down, making his Adam's apple do tricks. Minh had been expecting his current master's demand that he make an appearance and had prepared for it. As always he had his old brown leather briefcase with him. Grinning his way past the colonel's infantryman secretary, he entered Tomlin's office to be greeted by a barrage of questions and accusations.
"You little slope headed son of a bitch! Why didn't you tell me that my name was on the damned list? Have you lost your mind entirely? What the hell do we pay you for anyway, you incompetent little twit?"
Minh bowed his head in acceptance of the rebuke being heaped upon him. Smiling his most ingratiating grin he answered Tomlin's questions with no trace of having heard the insulting tones.
"I wished it to be a surprise for you, sir."
"Surprise! You wanted it to be a surprise?" Tomlin half rose from behind his desk. "Now just what makes you think you have the right to determine what will be a surprise and what will not?" Minh nodded his head up and down as before, opened his briefcase and froze the colonel in his half-raised position.
The clicking of the hammer being drawn back to full cock on the American made Colt 45 automatic pistol sounded as loud as a 60 mm mortar round explosion.
"It is quite simple, sir. You see, you belong to me."
Tomlin closed his eyes, knowing what was going to happen next.
Spannng! The powerful explosion of a pistol going off deafened him. But where was the pain? The shock of a heavy caliber slug tearing through his flesh? He opened one eye tentatively. Minh lay face up five feet away from where he'd opened his briefcase. The front of his face was gone. Brains and bone splinters littered the top of Tomlin's desk.
Amos stood in the doorway, a crowd of office workers gathering behind him, his own forty-five giving off a wisp of blue tinged smoke from the breech. "You know, sir. I never did trust that little shit very much. Now can I have my transfer to a line company?"
Tomlin's legs had turned to water. He collapsed heavily back into his overstuffed chair. Weakly, he croaked out an answer to Amos' question. "Yes! Certainly! Anything you want."
"Thank you, sir." Amos put the safety back on the pistol and returned to his desk to write up his new request for reassignment.
CHAPTER SIX
For Tomlin, after the initial shock had worn off and he had come to grips with the realization that he was not among the immortals, it had been a soul shattering experience. He had gained a new fondness and appreciation for his life. All other considerations of the war took a distant second place to his own survival. What was it Sergeant Romain had said?
"I am the only one here who knows what Ho looks like. Let me have my head and I'll bring you his, and probably save yours."
The colonel spent the next hours, and half the next morning making the necessary arrangements to see that Sgt. Romain could indeed have his head. Tomlin had to pull a lot of strings and call in several IOUs at MACV, but at this point in life there was no price too great to pay.
&nb
sp; The news of Tomlin's near assassination spread over the compound and was greeted with responses ranging from "ha was a lucky bastard" to expressed sympathy that the interpreter had missed his chance to rid the world of an asshole. It was, therefore, with little surprise to Casey that he was once again summoned to Tomlin's office. This time his appearance was more to the liking of the office staff. A shave and a clean uniform took years off his appearance. Captain Gomez was already there when he arrived.
"Good morning, Sergeant. The colonel's waiting for us." Casey acknowledged the greeting with a nod of his head and followed Gomez into Tomlin's sanctum sanctorum.
Both were granted permission to sit. Tomlin stroked his chin with his fingers, knowing this gave him a thoughtful and learned countenance that added import to his words.
"Gentlemen! I have made some arrangements pursuant to our conversation of yesterday. Sgt. Romain, I have decided that you were correct in your assessments. It seems that you are right in that you are the only one we know of who has seen Colonel Ho. I have checked with all of our intelligence agencies to see if anyone else has a file or photograph of him, and there is nothing other than some general information as to his family background and education. I shall, in due course, make that file available to you both. I say both, because as of this date, you are both relieved from any other duties and are to devote yourselves to finding and terminating our good Comrade Ho, and any of his operatives you may come in contact with."
Tomlin cleared his throat and stood, his back to the office window. His scalp tingled as the thought of being silhouetted in the window frame passed through his mind. He took one large step sideways, taking him away from the exposed window and, he hoped, unobtrusively nearer the wall map of Vietnam, as if that had been his sole purpose in moving.