David laughed despite himself. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?” They crossed the street together.
“I did read your file,” Rollins said, “but like most, it wasn’t very complete. Even in our Army there isn’t much time for paperwork when units are being overrun. You were wounded at the 70th.”
David nodded.
“I heard the hospital was hit pretty bad the first day, that they ended up doing surgery in one of the supply buildings.”
“It didn’t get hit the first day,” David answered dryly. “It got hit the first minute. The attack on the 70th began at the hospital compound. They came through the hospital to get to the airfield. It was only a couple of hundred yards from the OR to the flight line. Blowing up the hospital was just a bonus.”
The colonel gave David a quizzical look. “Well,” he offered apologetically, “details get lost in memos.”
“I’m sure they do.” They continued to walk.
“There is something you should know, though,” Rollins said. “It’s one of the reasons I came down to find you. They plan to have you out of here by dinner.”
David stopped walking.
“They’re cutting the orders to get you home now. I know, it’s a little quicker than usual,” the colonel added gently, “but the generals don’t want any more trouble.”
But David wasn’t listening anymore. He had known he’d have to leave; he’d known it all along. No one stayed till the end. But still it came as a shock. Home. My God, David thought. The colonel might as well have told him he was going to the moon.
“Maybe we should talk about it,” the colonel said.
“Talk about what?” David asked.
“Going home, the attack on the 70th.” The colonel hesitated. “You were stationed at the 40th.”
David nodded.
“They hit the plateau west of Saigon real hard.” David said nothing. “You’ve been saved twice, haven’t you?”
David, despite himself, turned pale. “But, of course,” the colonel added, “you know that.” The colonel waited. “It was a war, David,” he said gently. “A lot of people didn’t know that; or, like Mitchell, refuse to admit it.”
The coffee shop was empty. Rollins led the way to a table near the back. “I’ll get the coffee.”
David sat down. He knew the colonel was right. They had to have hit the 40th. And he hadn’t said good-bye to anyone. He’d just gone out to the helipad and left. Couple of days and he’d return. There would be no going back now. He’d left forever.
Going home wouldn’t change anything. It surprised him that he’d been so startled to hear it. Home or not, it made no difference. He should have gone back to where he and Tom had been ambushed. The least you could do, remains viewable or not, was send all the pieces of your dead back to be buried.
The colonel put the cups on the table and sat down. He pushed the sugar bowl toward David.
“Tell me,” David asked, strangely curious, “are the generals really wasting their time deciding what to do with me? I mean going to the trouble of having someone cut special orders to get me out when I’d be gone soon anyway?”
“They’re worried,” the colonel said. “Couple dozen enlisted men witnessed your attack on Mitchell. Three or four corpsmen, all the patients in PT at the time. The generals are concerned about morale.”
“Morale,” David said, amused. “You’d better tell them they have bigger problems than that.”
Rollins reached across the table for the sugar. “They don’t think so. Your attack on the major was the first act of violence between a patient and any of the hospital personnel. The generals are not as worried about losing the offensive as they are about losing an army. No matter how it may look now,” the colonel continued, “the Tet offensive is going to end up a great military disaster for the communists. The most recent aerial reconnaissance shows that all the major bases have been retaken and that the bulk of communist troops in the countryside have all been isolated. It will only be a matter of time before they’re killed or captured.” He stirred sugar into his coffee. “The Army bent in a lot of places, but it never broke. It proved far better than even the Pentagon thought. Best estimates are two, three years for the communists to bring units in the south up to strength to take on the ARVNs, and three to five, if ever, to challenge the mainline U.S. forces.”
“So it wasn’t all for nothing. That’s going to be the idea? I’d warn your generals to be careful,” David said. “Numbers can be deceiving over here. I do have to hand it to the military, though. They’re able to find success in any catastrophe.”
“And you?” Rollins asked.
“Me?” David said, surprised. “I’ve made it, Colonel.”
“I don’t think so,” Rollins answered. “Running hundred-yard dashes right after you’ve been severely wounded and going after officers like Mitchell doesn’t sound to me like you’ve made it … Look, David,” the colonel said gently. “I think we can help each other. When this is finally over, the Mitchells aren’t even going to be around anymore. There isn’t going to be anyone around that you know. There’s not going to be a single person for you or anyone else to blame except yourself. I mean it about helping each other. There’s another assessment that can be made about Tet. I’ve talked to a lot of troopers, and there’s an almost universal feeling that for something as extensive as Tet to have occurred, everyone in authority had to have screwed up. The offensive, no matter what its military outcome, will be a great psychological success for the communists. We have enough military muscle to keep the war going for a while. But the heart’s out of it now—whatever heart there was. It’s a mess.”
But David was looking past him, staring at the entrance. The colonel turned.
A number of corpsmen from the surgical clinic had walked into the snack bar. One of the corpsmen left the group and walked over to the table. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to David. “I don’t know if you’ve been told, but the patient you helped yesterday never made it out of the OR.”
“I know,” David said. “Thanks.”
“Yes, sir.” The corpsman left.
Rollins waited.
“A casualty of your psychological defeat,” David explained.
“Someone you knew?” the colonel asked.
“No, I doubt if anyone knew him.” David pushed his chair away from the table. “Thanks for the coffee, Colonel.”
“And Mitchell? What kind of casualty was he?”
“Casualty!” David snorted.
“What else would you call it?”
“A lesson,” David answered coldly. “Believe me, Colonel, a fractured orbit’s a small enough price to pay for learning to see what you’re looking at.”
“So you decided you’d teach him.”
“Someone had to,” David answered.
“Why?”
“He was pretending.”
“Pretending?”
“That he could fix things.”
“And of course he can’t. Is that it?”
David didn’t answer.
“This isn’t a very sophisticated army, David. I doubt if there’ll be any senators or presidents of big corporations coming from the enlisted ranks of these units. If people like you give up, there isn’t going to be any hope for anyone.”
“Hope!” David mimicked. “Sorry, Colonel,” he said angrily, starting to leave. “You’ll have to save that one for your report.”
Suddenly he stopped, and stared at the colonel. “But they’re not going to read your report, are they?” David said. “No one’s going to want to know about psychological defeats.” He stared at the colonel as if seeing him for the first time. “Well”—David paused—“at least you’re right about one thing: it is a mess.”
“And with a little more time, it’ll be a mystery.”
“Maybe,” David said.
“I can get you those extra days.”
David smiled wearily. “Another day isn’t going to change much.”
&nbs
p; “It can be a beginning. This isn’t going to end when you get on the plane.”
“Colonel,” David answered, “it ended before either of us even got here.”
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Copyright © 1985 by Ronald J. Glasser, M.D.
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