by C. L. Hoang
My heart ached for her and for my childhood friend. Even as my mind still grappled with their unique situation, I understood her sense of loss and her immense sadness. What illusive happiness she and Dick had enjoyed together over the past months had been shattered beyond repair. Gone indeed were a fleeting chance at love and romance and the fantasy of a future together, through no one’s fault but the impossible circumstances.
Before my eyes I saw only a friend in great pain, and it troubled me that I could do so little to help.
“Vivienne,” I called out softly to her. “You need to know that nothing changes between us, you and me. We’ll always be friends. I’ve no idea what happened to Dick or where he is now, but you have my word that I shall find him and give him your message.”
She nodded in forlorn silence.
“Hey, kiddo.” I tried to catch her eyes.
She finally looked up at me.
The words came naturally, to my surprise. “For what it’s worth: you’re one heck of a lady, in my book.”
I thought I detected the faintest trace of a smile through her tears.
Chapter Eleven
Biên-Hoà AFB, 2 Jan 1968, 2100 hrs
Hi, Mom and Dad,
Happy New Year and a big hug to everyone!
Thank you so much for your holiday care package. I also received goodies from Debbie, Aunt Millie, and even Mrs. Anderson, my history teacher in high school. That was so sweet of her. You must thank her for me the next time you see her in church. I’ll write Debbie and Aunt Millie later to thank them, too. I ended up with all kinds of nuts, cookies, and chocolates, not to mention your fruitcake, all of which I shared with our staff at the dispensary after setting some aside for the kids at the orphanages. Thanks for wrapping everything in foil paper; that kept the ants out this time.
We enjoyed a relatively quiet Christmas on base despite cease-fire violations elsewhere by the Việt-Cộng, which were expected. Somehow we also managed to miss all the whirlwind VIP tours this holiday season. AFVN News reported that President Johnson made an impromptu stop at Cam-Ranh Bay, north of here, on 23 Dec, upon returning from his visits to Australia and Thailand. Then right on his heels arrived Bob Hope and his USO troupe for their annual Christmas Tour, with stops in Sài-Gòn, Long-Bình, Cam-Ranh, Ðà-Nẵng, and at several remote outposts where the morale could use some boosting. I understand they put on a fantastic show with celebrity guests like Raquel Welch, Barbara McNair, and even the new Miss World. Some lucky guys who got to go to the one in nearby Long-Bình joked that they’d volunteered for Việt-Nam just to get tickets to Mr. Hope’s Christmas Special. But you folks at home really had the best seats anywhere, watching it on TV from your own couches.
On Christmas Eve Sunday, a bunch of us escorted Santa Claus (our MEDCAP leader) to an orphanage run by Buddhist nuns outside a hamlet on the Ðồng-Nai River. We went by jeeps but traveled the last portion of the trip in leaky sampans, since the hamlet sits on a small island in the river. It was a bit hairy, I must admit, but we wanted to take advantage of the cease-fire to make our visit, and we were hoping, naïvely perhaps, that Charlie would observe it, too. To our relief, he did, at least where we went. I wish you could have seen the joy in those kids’ eyes when they received, probably for the first time in their lives, armfuls of new clothes and gifts of toys and sweets. It really made it worthwhile. It also encouraged the kids to cooperate in the physical checkup that followed. So I want to thank you—Mom, Dad, and everybody at home who donated to our charitable cause and made it such a success.
We had a wonderful dinner on Christmas Day. Each of us got a small folded bulletin as we sat down to eat, which looked like a nice traditional Christmas card on the cover. Printed on the inside were a Christmas prayer, a message from our commander, General Westmoreland, along with the elaborate holiday menu. I bet you’d like to know what was on the menu, wouldn’t you, Mom? Keep in mind that none of it could compare to your home cooking, of course, but for a bunch of single guys away from home, it was pretty decent fare. Here goes, off the top of my head: shrimp cocktail, turkey with cornbread dressing and cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, glazed sweet potatoes and mixed vegetables, then for dessert, fruit cake, mincemeat pie, pumpkin pie with cream, fresh fruits, nuts, and candies. And yep, we sampled it all. So much for moderation. But let me tell you, there’s no greater euphoria than a satisfied stomach. It makes everything else almost bearable.
Just this morning I received your mail with all the Polaroid photos taken on Christmas Day. Now, Dad, congratulations on that brilliant idea, getting the Land Camera for Mom for Christmas. Anybody I talked to who knew anything about instant cameras loved it. And no wonder. The colors came out beautiful. My favorite snapshots are of Dad replacing a string of burned-out lights on the Christmas tree in the Moon Meadows lounge, of Mom preparing the big dinner in the kitchen, and of Jer dozing off in the chair after being well fed (so what else is new). It seemed like nothing had changed, and I was right there with you guys. But then I got homesick when I saw the picture Mom took from the parking lot of the snow-covered Eastern Sierra. With the day temperatures hovering in the 80s here, even during this coolest month of the year, I’m truly a long ways away from my favorite winter land.
Good news is I’m coming up on the halfway point in my tour. Just over six months to go, but then time has a way of stretching out interminably here in Việt-Nam. It seems an eternity ago when I first stepped off the C-141 onto the red soil of Biên-Hoà, yet it was only last summer. I’m not complaining, just making an observation. I also get you didn’t want to trouble me with all the goings-on stateside, but I’m not totally unaware of the unrest at home, especially the brouhaha of Stop-the-Draft Week, followed by the big antiwar march on Washington D.C. in October. In my gut, though, I still believe we’re doing the right thing helping the poor folks who live here, and I’m happy to take part in it.
Anyway, Mom and Dad, this national debate may rage on for months to come, if not years. In the meantime it’s fast approaching lights-out here, so I’ll need to sign off for now. Please give everybody my love and a big hug from me. Goodnight, all, and sleep tight.
Love, your son R.C.
It turned out I wasn’t the only one about to reach a significant milestone in his tour. One evening in mid-January, about a week before his scheduled R&R rendezvous with his wife in Hawaii, Bob Olsen asked me to take a short drive with him after work.
“Where to?” My curiosity was piqued since this wasn’t part of our regular routine.
“Not far,” he said. “Just to the other side of the base. Away from all this madness.”
A half-hour before sunset, we hopped in a jeep and Bob drove to the open area on the north side, far enough removed from the noise and bustle of the runway and the Army heliport. Once there, he switched off the engine, and we could hear the rumblings of nonstop activities behind us in the smoky distance. He reached into the back seat, fished out a small poster, handed it to me. “Tweety gave me this earlier today.”
It was a curious pinup poster with a curvaceous female figure on it, covered by little squares numbered from 100 to 1, with the lowest numbers lodged in strategic spots.
“Ever seen a short-timers calendar before?” Bob asked. “One hundred squares for your last hundred days until DEROS. You mark each day off as you start counting down toward flight date home.” He looked at me. “I’m officially a short-timer, starting today—square 100.”
I grabbed his strong hand and shook it. “Hot damn. Congratulations.”
And then the news hit me like a tropical blast in the face. Another three months, and my hooch mate would be going home. “You and Nancy must be excited. Soon a new phase in your lives, with Ricky along for the joy ride this time.”
Bob pointed at a promontory outside the base to the northwest. “See that pagoda atop the hill there? So tranquil and blissful—a slice of heaven on this scorched
earth, wouldn’t you say?” He scoffed. “Uh-uh. It’s actually under VC control. They have spotters up there around the clock calling in every aircraft movement on base. Never forget, pal. Nothing’s quite as it seems.”
He turned back to me with a thoughtful smile. “What’s the first thing you can’t wait to do when you get back? Ever thought about it?”
I laughed. “More than I care to admit. I suppose I’d want to vanish into the John Muir Wilderness for about a month, all by my lonesome. Never thought I’d miss it so much. The scenery there is beyond spectacular. Streams and lakes, and meadows and canyons as far as the eye can see. Normally it’s not advisable to go it alone in those mountains, but I’ll want to get away by myself, at least for a while at the outset.” I winked at him. “And then you must come out to visit, so I can hike your ass all over the Sierra. We may even go camping up on Mount Whitney, if you’re in half-decent shape.”
He gave me a slap on the back. “Only if you come visit us in Minnesota first. Bring Debbie with you, of course. The girls can hang out with Ricky and spoil the little guy all they want or go do fun stuff together. You and I, we’ll take my boat out on the lake and catch us some walleyes for dinner. Nance has a damn good beer batter she uses to cook the fish. It’ll make a scrumptious meal with homemade biscuits and gobs of buttercup squash and sweet corn on the cob. Oh, and you’ll have to save room for her rhubarb pie for dessert. She won’t let you leave until you’ve sampled it.” Then his eyes lit up at a passing thought. “You had a Hamm’s beer before? Remember the cute commercial?”
“Ah, yes. The Hamm’s Beer Bear.” I smiled and started humming. “Tom, tom, tom. From the land of sky blue waters . . .” Bob joined in and we bellowed out the rest of the jingle together, drumming our thighs with open hands as we went, bursting out in laughter upon finishing.
“Catchy little cartoon,” I said. “But it hasn’t yet persuaded me to taste-test a Hamm’s.”
“Truth be told, it’s nothing out of this world,” Bob replied goodheartedly. “It’s popular with the younger crowd on a budget ’cause it’s one of the cheapest brands around. But it’s a specialty from the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes, and I’ve been craving it like crazy. We’ll make sure you imbibe plenty of it when you come.”
Caught up in the warm, fuzzy thoughts, we lapsed into contented silence.
Then I asked him about any family plans or career moves he might be contemplating for the future. He became pensive.
“Well, there are long-term goals and there are short-term goals,” he finally said. “In the long haul, I’d love to get a shot at the new astronaut-scientist program NASA has been promoting for over two years now. Hopefully, I’d have a leg up on other candidates with my pilot training. But on the practical side, the lengthy selection and training process would take another heavy toll on the family. I’ll have to think long and hard about it. As for nearer-term projections . . .”
He hesitated, shot me a curious glance then went on. “I get that you’re here not entirely of your own accord, so there’s a chance we may not see things quite the same way. But you asked, and I’ll be straight with you.” He redirected his gaze at the serene-looking pagoda in the dying sunlight atop the hill. “I’m a simple man with simple ideals and an uncomplicated view of the world. It’s my personal feeling that we have a moral obligation to assist the people in this country so they can be left alone by the Việt-Cộng, who are armed to the teeth with Soviet and Chinese weaponry. The only thing these helpless folks have ever wanted is to be allowed to eke out a peaceful living on their ancestral land. But what chance would they stand without our help, when even their places of worship are desecrated and hijacked by the commies and turned into rocket-launching pads?”
There was a reflective pause, then Bob told me. He was seriously thinking of volunteering for a second tour. “But of course I’ll need to discuss it with Nance, and together we’ll decide,” he said. “The past year has been so tough on her already. And now, with Ricky . . .”
“You’re not bringing this up with her next week in Hawaii, are you?” I asked.
“Fuck, no,” he shot back. “We’ll spend every minute catching up and enjoying each other. You know, we’ve never been apart this long before. I really miss her.”
Darkness was fast falling around us, as if some celestial curtains were being drawn across the scarlet sky. Bob started up the jeep. “Time to get back,” he said.
“Hungry for our world-famous grub at the old club?” I asked.
“My dinner will be mostly liquid.” Bob laughed, swinging the jeep around toward the main complex. “Word leaked out about my short-timer’s status, and some of the flyboys insisted on helping me celebrate tonight. To give me my ribbon.” Anticipating my question, he explained, “You know how their lives are fraught with danger and traditions. This is just another example of those traditions that bond them for the rest of their days. Remember the famous words, ‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers’? Hell, it’s the only Shakespeare you’ll ever catch me quoting, but it pretty much sums up the spirit.”
As the guest of honor of the evening, Bob would be presented with a bottle of Seagram’s V.O. that he was to finish by his last day in country. The ritual also dictated he be given the trademark black-and-gold ribbon draped around the bottle’s neck to loop through the top buttonhole of his shirt. Every day from then on, a tiny bit would be clipped from the ribbon until all of it was gone on his departure date.
“I suppose the tradition is a good reminder to newbies of a happy milestone they can all look forward to,” Bob said. “Also a testament to the spirit of survival in all of us. At any rate, it does well to promote the esprit de corps, besides being a blast.” He gave me an elbow nudge. “Come join our little funfest tonight? In your hooch mate’s honor?”
“I’ll swing by later,” I replied. “It’s always fun to see you shit-faced. But first I’ve got to take care of some paperwork. Can you drop me off at the office?”
As the jeep pulled up in front of the dispensary, I turned toward him. “For your information, Captain, you and I aren’t that far apart in our thinking regarding the war. We can discuss this at greater length later. But thanks for speaking your mind tonight.” He nodded, and I hopped out.
“Don’t be too far gone before I get there,” I yelled out after him, as jeep and driver roared off in a swirl of choking red dust.
It didn’t take me long to wrap up my unfinished business in the office. I was set to turn off the light on my way out when the phone rang. It was Dean Hunter, gone since Christmas.
“Well, hells bells,” I said. “Welcome back from exotic Hong Kong. Where are you?”
“In the Provincial Hospital, finishing up my last round for the night,” he answered. “They were swamped while I was gone. We’re just now catching up.”
“So how was the trip? I want a full report.”
“Was nice,” he muttered in his typical understated way. “The kids who went with me were quite impressed with the service on our chartered Pan-Am. You know, sexy blond, round-eyed attendants passing out sweet smiles with warm washcloths for your face and hands. A welcome touch of civilization.”
“How was the Fragrant Harbor itself? Did the city live up to your expectations?”
“It’s like Manhattan in the tropics, with one difference: you can see row upon row of laundry flapping in the wind on the skyscrapers’ balconies. It’s colorful, actually. Wonder why they chose not to show that in Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing.”
I laughed. “Of course you wandered up the windy hill in search of Jennifer Jones?”
“We stayed on one,” he said. “A plush hotel on a hill of Kowloon. It was mind-boggling to imagine Việt-Nam less than three hours away from all that commercial prosperity. I’ll tell you more about it, next time we meet. Did you happen to look in the lower left drawer of your desk?”
I did as in
structed and pulled out a shopping bag with bold red Chinese characters printed on it. Inside, I found an adorable stuffed animal that looked half-dinosaur half-dragon, in red and yellow velvet, with a funny crunched-up face no little kid could resist.
“You found Puff,” I exclaimed. “Not particularly spooky-looking. But it’ll do.”
“You don’t want to scare the poor child, do you?” Dean chuckled. “Anyway, that was the best I could do. I stopped by a while ago on the way back from our milk run, but you weren’t around. I didn’t want to leave the bag out on your desk in case Bob might see it.”
“Thanks a bunch, Dean-man. I owe you one.”
“There’s something else,” Dean hastened to add. “I talked to Hayashi early in the week.”
“Dick! Really? Where? Was he in town? Everything okay with him?”
“Hold your horses, kiddo,” Dean said. “He called me. We had a brief chat on the phone.”
It turned out Dick had returned to Sài-Gòn only for a couple of days, to check in with his boss at the AP Bureau and to take care of his overdue bills. He’d been traveling around with a buddy of his, a young Japanese photojournalist of great renown, Kyoichi Sawada at competitor UPI, whose work had garnered him a Pulitzer Prize the year before. Together, they’d been roaming the northern region of South Việt-Nam to track a string of bloody skirmishes known as the Border Battles, shooting pictures and gathering stories wherever the action led them.
“He tried to get hold of you but couldn’t,” Dean said. “He’s already headed back north to ‘Eye’ Corps, to try to sneak into the US Marine Combat Base at Khe Sanh, just below the DMZ. Big news story, he claimed. A set-piece showdown in the making.”
“Sounds dangerous. How was he doing, could you tell?” I wanted to be careful not to let on too much of what I knew of Dick’s personal plight. Vivienne had mentioned that Mme Yvonne and I were the only people apprised of the situation.