Devil's Guard- The Complete Series Box Set

by Eric Meyer

  He listened intently. I noticed that heads had turned to listen too, well, let them. He had asked a question, I would give him a straight answer.

  “They beat us because when our rear echelon forces were terrorising the population, stealing their land, enslaving them, the communists promised them everything if they would fight for Stalin. Land, wealth, food, freedom, everything a man could want. And of course, it they refused to fight for Stalin, there was a bullet for them. So they fought, in their millions and millions. The communists here are making a similar offer. While the government gives them nothing, no hope, only endless corruption so that everything they own is liable to be stolen from them by the officials, the Viet Cong offer them peace, bread and land,” I smiled. “In fact, that was the slogan of Lenin, the architect of Soviet Communism. Peace, bread and land. Whoever can offer them that will win.”

  There was a silence in the mess tent. Then a voice came from a dark corner at the back of the tent.

  “Ain’t no fucking Nazi gonna tell the U.S. Army it’s beat before we’ve even fought a battle.”

  We looked over as a tall man got up. He must have been six feet six inches tall and almost as broad, unusual for Special Forces who tended to be more conventional in appearance, often slight and wiry. He came over to us.

  “You hear me, Nazi? Are you telling us that we’re beat before we even start?”

  “No, leave it Jerry,” Ed said to him, “they’re drinking with me.”

  “It’s ok, Ed,” I smiled. I believed I had the big guy’s measure, undoubtedly a bully, very strong but a heavy drinker and right now he’d clearly been indulging for some time.

  “In the first place, my friend, I am not a Nazi. And in the second place I did not suggest that the Viet Cong would beat the U.S. Army.”

  He lunged forward, shouting, “You’re a shitfaced liar, you fucking Nazi bastard.”

  He telegraphed his move very obviously. Even before he launched the blow I was ready for him. A huge fist came around that would have broken my jaw if it had connected, but I stepped slightly to one side and scooped his ankle away, chopping the side of his neck as he went down. He lay quietly, unconscious. The tent was silent, the other soldiers astonished that their huge comrade had been knocked out so easily. I looked around the room.

  “Before I go, let me be clear. The American forces will probably beat the Viet Cong, but the day you leave Vietnam the Viet Cong will roll through this country like a knife through butter. Good night, gentlemen.”

  We walked back to the plane. The wind had risen and it had started to rain. Through the blackness we could see the trees bending in the wind. We checked the ground anchors to make sure the Douglas was securely tied down.

  “What do you think?” I asked Paul.

  “Monsoon,” he replied, “it’ll be here by morning, it’s going to be a bastard to take off.”

  “We’ve done it in worse,” I replied. I heard him grunt. He didn’t sound happy.

  As usual when we were away from Tan Son Nhat, we took turns on watch. There was little to worry about, the Special Forces patrolled regularly, they were taking no chances this close to the DMZ. By morning the storm was just as bad and we sat in the cockpit to wait it out. We heard a noise at the door and looked around, a captain was climbing in. He walked through to the cockpit.

  “Gentlemen, my name is Captain Forester, I’m in command at this base. We’ve has a message from Saigon, you’re required to return immediately to Tan Son Nhat.”

  Paul smiled at him. “Captain, we’d like nothing better than to go home, but in this weather we have no choice but to wait it out.”

  The American looked cold. “Sir, you don’t understand. You are to return to Tan Son Nhat, my orders are to make sure you leave immediately.”

  Paul looked at me. I tried to reason with the soldier. “Captain Forester, you can see the weather outside. If we try and take off now it is quite likely that we will not even clear the airfield. That won’t help anyone if you have a crashed plane littering your field.”

  “Nevertheless, Sir, I have my orders. You will take off from this airfield within the hour or your aircraft will be impounded and become the property of the U.S. government. Either whole or in pieces,” he smiled thinly.

  I could see Paul beginning to glow bright red with anger and I hurried to head off a violent confrontation.

  “Paul, leave it. Captain, we will take off as ordered.”

  “Very well, have a safe flight,” he grunted ironically as he left the cockpit.

  “What the hell, Jurgen, it’s impossible, we’ll never get off the ground, we’ll lose the plane.”

  “Maybe. I’ve been watching the weather, it swirls in with torrents of rain, then the wind and rain eases for perhaps a minute or two, a tiny weather window. If we can catch that moment, we could make it.”

  “That’s crazy,” he said angrily.

  “No, not at all. Would you have us walk home and give the C-47 to the U.S. government?”

  He was thoughtful for a moment. “Ok, perhaps that’s not much of an alternative. We’ll need to be throttled up ready to go as soon the weather is about to ease, it’ll be touch and go.”

  “When has that ever stopped us?” I asked him.

  We pre-flighted the plane and started the engines. We taxied to the end of the short strip, head to wind, and waited with the brakes on. It was impossible to see more than fifty yards in front of us, the rain smashing against the windscreen. When I thought the window was approaching, we throttled up, the engines screamed and then nothing. The rain lashed against the aircraft, shrouding the field in wet mist. After a minute, Paul shouted across to me over the noise of the engines. “Jurgen, we’re going to overheat, we’ll need to throttle back.”

  “Another few seconds, just wait.”

  I could see him looking at the gauges, the starboard engine was already in the red, the port engine nearly there. The engines continue to scream, the gauges rose, and then something, some sixth sense, told me that the moment was about to happen.

  “Go, Paul, brakes off, let’s go!”

  With a look of astonishment on his face as if I’d just told him to jump off a cliff, he released the brakes. The engines were still screaming and the rain beating down on us as we hurtled along the field, gathering speed. To his credit, Paul made no further objections, trusting in my judgement, but I wondered if his trust was misplaced. We reached takeoff speed, he looked over to me, but I kept going. Suddenly the wall of green jungle loomed in front of us, I wrenched back on the column, we left the ground and the rain suddenly, magically eased. Paul began retracting the undercarriage and added his weight to the control column as we fought to gain height to clear the trees. We weren’t going to make it, then I saw a slight gap in the tree line, I banked the plane over and kicked the rudder bar to take us towards it. We edged nearer the tree line, I banked over more steeply and we were in the gap. We gained height and within seconds The C-47 was soaring over the jungle.

  We flew on in silence, Paul throttled back slightly to stop the engines exploding and we continued to slowly gain height. We looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “Gott im Himmel, Jurgen, you’ve taken five years off of my life.”

  I laughed, we’d made it. At six thousand feet we burst out of the clouds and rain into clear sky. Provided we didn’t run into a wayward MIG or trigger happy ARVN fighter jock, we’d be back at Tan Son Nhat by afternoon.

  “How about some music?” I said as we eased the throttles back to cruising speed and the intense racket of the engines became more bearable. He turned on the radio already tuned to AFN. It was playing 'The Wanderer' by Dion and the Belmonts. It seemed appropriate for the two of us, lost forever to wander the skies over the dank, hostile jungles of Vietnam like the tale of the Flying Dutchman that became one of Wagner’s most famous operas.

  “What made you start the take off roll before the weather window arrived?” Paul asked.

  I shrugged my
shoulders, not wanting to share the moment with him. In truth, I didn’t know for sure myself. We had faced death many times over the years, the grim reaper always seemed to be waiting for me with open arms. I could swear that at the blackest moments I’d seen him, hideous in his hooded black cape, grinning at me with his skull like face. So it was at Lang Vei, yet this time I’d clearly seen Helene standing next to him, her hand outstretched. If I told Paul, he’d have me checked out by a doctor, so I kept quiet. The mind played strange tricks on you.

  When we landed at Tan Son Nhat, two American civilians, probably CIA, were waiting outside the hangar for us. As we taxied in and stopped, they walked over to the aircraft. Almost certainly they were behind our being forced out of Lang Vei, I wondered what the hell they wanted that was so important.

  ******

  ‘A revolutionary must be thrifty, be resolute to correct errors, be greedy for learning, be persevering, adopt the habit of studying and observing, place the national interests above personal interests. . . be little desirous of material things, and know how to keep secrets’

  Ho Chi Minh

  The men glared at each other, Giap wondering how Pham Van Dong, Chairman of the Council of Ministers of North Vietnam, dared to criticise Ho. The President of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam had made it clear that they were becoming far too dependent on aid from China. Yet Pham Van Dong objected, coming out strongly on the side of the Chinese. Ho tried explaining once again.

  “For a thousand years this country belonged to China. On a dozen occasions during that period, the residents of Vietnam attempted to expel the ruling officials and soldiers by force of arms. Many of the rebels had even been born in China or descended from Chinese ancestors, but they did this out of a desire for power or freedom from the oppressors. The final revolt in 939 ended with Vietnam receiving vassal status from its massive northern neighbour, which entailed the payment of tributes to China in return for our autonomy. They were replaced by the French, who we drove out. Now we have the Americans, who we will also defeat in the course of time. Are we to replace these invaders with the Chinese, invite them back for a further thousand years?”

  Le Duan nodded emphatically to agree with the President’s word, Giap added his own weight.

  “Let the Chinese in, Chairman? That way is madness, we have fought hard for the first victory of our struggle for independence. Now, before we have beaten the Americans, you talk of opening the door to the Chinese once again. Would you have us paying tribute for another thousand years?” He sneered as he finished. He had not shed blood to forge his professionally trained army into becoming servants of China.

  Pham was calm and refused to be flustered. “Comrades, all that you say is true. But listen, in the past we took arms from the Americans, has it made us vassals of America? No, they will suffer inevitable defeat at the hands of our loyal army,” he nodded towards Giap. After Ho, Giap’s favour was not to be discarded lightly.

  “But listen, we already have the Russians on our side, even as we speak their guns and munitions are travelling down through Laos to reinforce the struggle in the South. Are we their vassals, their client state? Of course not. Is there any rule, any law that states that we cannot accept the generosity of more than one patron? I say take everything the Chinese have to offer us. They think we are fighting their war against the imperialists for them, as do the Russians. Let them think so, when our country is free of the foreign invader we will send them the bill for fighting their war. We will owe them nothing, they will owe us everything. But to achieve victory, we need guns.”

  They all nodded, it was a strong philosophy.

  “So you make no agreements, Comrade Pham, no promises?” Giap asked.

  The Chairman shook his head. “None, nor would I ever commit to making any kind of agreement.”

  Ho overrode them, it was time to move on.

  “So it is agreed, we accept the arms from both China and Russia and make it clear they are all in our debt for fighting their war for them. Agreed?”

  They all nodded.

  “Excellent. Now what of these two Americans being held at Son Tay? How can we use them to our benefit?”

  Le answered him.

  “Propaganda, Comrade President. One of them is certainly a CIA spy, we will put them both on trial. Perhaps the American public would like to see that their government is sending spies to invade foreign nations.”

  “I have heard there may be a rescue attempt,” Giap said abruptly.

  Ho looked at him sharply. “When is this due to take place?”

  “It is being planned now, Comrade Ho. We had word from Saigon to expect someone to try and break them out of prison. As yet, we have no further details.” Giap paused, as if he wanted to add something, but he continued. “I have sent a company of soldiers to reinforce the local militia, we expect to prevent any attempt at a break out.”

  “You have given orders to shoot the invaders on sight?”

  Giap nodded slowly.

  “Excellent, Comrade Giap, keep me informed,” Ho said.

  “Now, about the rice harvest for this year. How can we distribute sufficient to feed our army and yet prevent the peasants from starving?”

  “Perhaps they will just have to starve, the army must take priority,” Le Duan said.

  “Will you then give them your rations, Comrade?” Pham Van Dong asked.

  Giap let them bicker, he was thinking about the rescuer from the south, and one of them in particular. He made a note to get clarification from his contact in Saigon.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Three

  ‘We believe that Communist progress has been blunted and that the situation is improving. . . . Improvements which have occurred during the past year now indicate that the Viet Cong can be contained militarily and that further progress can be made in expanding the area of government control and in creating greater security in the countryside.’

  NIE 1963

  We shut down the engines and slumped for a moment in our seats, still astonished that we had got off so lightly at Lang Vei and made it home safely. When I had drawn breath I got up and walked back into the cabin and opened the door. The two men were stood there waiting for us.

  “Mr. Hoffman, we’re glad you got back safely, could we talk to you for a moment?”

  Paul and I climbed down the ladder to the ground. “You’d better come into the hangar and I’ll find some cold beer,” I said to them.

  “That’s ok, Sir, we don’t need any beer, we instructed the base commander at Lang Vei to order you back so that we could have a talk, we have a new contract for you.”

  Paul spoke angrily to them. “Your stupid order to get us to take off from Lang Vei in a storm almost cost us the aircraft, we certainly do need a cold beer, so your business will have to wait a little longer.”

  He walked to the port wheel, there was a tangle of foliage around the leg. He looked at me and smiled, then pulled a small branch out from the leg and gave it to one of the men.

  “Here, this is yours, government property, part of your field at Lang Vei.”

  They looked at it without understanding and followed us into the hangar. Johann was grinding pieces of metal, the broken wheel leg was on the bench. He waved to us and carried on and we went into the office. We took an ice cold bottle of beer apiece and sat down.

  “Now, gentlemen, how can we help the CIA?”

  Why were these people always surprised that they were so obvious. Just like Miles Anderson, these clean-cut American WASPs could not be anything else in their middle class American clothes and middle class American faces that were now looking at me with surprise. Perhaps they thought that ordinary well dressed American businessmen came to airfields in the war zone of Vietnam to charter ramshackle aircraft to carry anonymous cargoes around the country.

  “We’d better introduce ourselves, I’m Milton Burns, and this is Robert Anderson.”

  We shook hands, I thought that Anderson looked familiar. “Mr
. Anderson, are you by any chance related to Miles Anderson?”

  He nodded, “Yeah, Miles is my older brother.”

  “So you both went into the same line of business?”

  He smiled. “It seemed like a good idea, they were actively recruiting at Harvard, so when I graduated I just followed Miles into the Agency.”

  Milton Burns leaned forward. “And you, Mr. Hoffman, we understand you had a military career before starting your own airline?”

  I waved my hand around the hangar. “Not much of an airline, I’m afraid. A Douglas C-47, a Cessna 170B and a tired old Junkers JU52. Hardly any competition for your Air America.”

  “It’s not ours, Sir, Air America is a purely civilian operation, a commercial airline like yours.”

  Paul nearly choked on his beer, at least Anderson had the grace to go pink with embarrassment at the transparent lie.

  “As you wish,” I replied gravely.

  “However,” he continued, “I was asking about your military career. Where did you serve?”

  “I was a Senior Sergeant in the French Foreign Legion, here in Indochina, or Vietnam, as it is called these days.”

  “So you’ve seen plenty of action against the communists?”

  “Some, yes.”

  “And before that?” He was looking at me keenly.

  “Mr. Burns, I’m sure you have a file on me, the CIA has files on all foreigners in Vietnam, does it not?”

  “It is true, we do keep files, but they don’t always tell the full story. You fought in the Second World War?”

  “As you know, Mr. Burns, I was an officer in the SS, I fought on the Eastern Front.”

  “Yes, so I understand. Tell me about your service in the Foreign Legion, did it ever take you behind enemy lines?”

  I was suddenly very wary. Paul and I looked at each other, we had both taken part in a highly secret mission up on the Chinese border, before partition. It was still classified secret by the French government, I didn’t like the way this was heading.