by Eric Meyer
We droned on through the afternoon, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Mine were straightforward, first and foremost I had to locate Helene and re-unite her with Sophie. Then of course there was the other problem, we were broke, the business had died when the Viet Cong shells struck. As if reading my thoughts, Paul spoke suddenly.
“We’ve got a lot to do when we get back. They hit us pretty hard.”
Ritter laughed. “Hard, are you serious? They wiped us out, completely, totally, we’re ruined. Everything destroyed, aircraft destroyed, hangar bombed to rubble, we’ve got nothing left.”
“I think the Cessna was relatively undamaged,” I said quietly. They both looked at me, astonished. Then all three of us burst out laughing, one four seat light aircraft, that was all that was left of our once thriving airline.
“We need to start again,” Paul said quietly. “I’m not going to let it all go down the drain after so many years. We need to raise money and buy more aircraft, just one to begin with. Maybe we could do some temporary work flying for another airline.”
The thought struck us all at once. Air America. They were recruiting and with our combat record we should be picked up straight away.
Air America was an American passenger and cargo airline established in 1950 and covertly owned and operated by the Central Intelligence Agency's Special Activities Division. It supplied and supported United States covert operations in Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War. The airline flew civilians, diplomats, spies, refugees, commandos, sabotage teams, doctors, war casualties, drug enforcement officers, drugs, and even visiting VIPs all over Southeast Asia. Its cargoes on occasion, part of the CIA's support operations, involved logistical support for local tribes fighting the North Vietnamese forces. Forced draft urbanisation policies, such as the widespread application of Agent Orange to Vietnamese farmland created a disruption in local food production, so thousands of tons of food had to be flown in, including live chickens, pigs, and cattle. On top of the food drops, known as rice drops, came the logistical demands for the war itself, and Air America pilots flew thousands of flights transporting and air-dropping ammunition and weapons to friendly forces. Reportedly they were always on the lookout for pilots, especially those with combat experience and not inclined to ask too many questions or be overly enthusiastic about correct paperwork.
I was about to say that it would be impossible for me to commit to working full time for another airline until Helene was located, but then Paul pointed out that the reverse was true.
“Think about it, as an out of work civilian you’ll find it next to impossible to get information to help find her. As a contractor for the CIA’s own airline, we’ll be well placed to ask questions. It’s always better working from the inside, my friend. As an outsider, you’re nobody.”
I thought about it, but I was already convinced. Making contacts inside the CIA could be the best, even the only hope of locating my wife. Once we had found her, I had no doubts about getting her back. We’d been on that kind of mission before and none of us had any qualms about doing it again. The trick was discovering where she was being held.
“You’re right, it could be our way in.”
I left Paul and Ritter talking enthusiastically about flying the multitude of different aircraft that Air America operated, many from Tan Son Nhat itself. Amongst them was the C-47, the Dakota which we used to operate, as well as our destroyed four engine Douglas CD-4s and the DC-6s which we were all cleared to fly. But it looked like being a long, slow hunt to locate her. I could only pray for better news when we reached Saigon.
During the journey the medics tended the wounded, working hard and rushing to administer pain-killing injections when one of them started groaning with the agony of their injuries. Sadly, what the Starlifter offered in terms of capacity and speed it definitely lacked in comfort, like most military transports it was Spartan in the extreme. One man literally screamed in agony, he was bleeding badly from wounds in his body, legs and arms, probably from a mortar shell. Around him the floor was literally awash with his blood which they seemed powerless to stop and eventually his screams stopped altogether. The medics quietly carried him to the back of the aircraft where he joined the rest of his fallen comrades, destined for a bitter return to the U.S.A and a family grief stricken and destroyed by the loss of their loved one. The cabin was silent, apart from the roar of the engines. All talking had stopped as everyone was left with their private thoughts. There but for the grace of God go I, or something like that. It had been the pure luck of the draw, a soldier in the wrong place at the wrong time, when a mortar shell struck at random. There was little conversation for the rest of the journey.
MP Sergeant Cohen was sitting further along in the cabin, on the opposite side from us. From time to time he shot me venomous glances, he’d obviously decided to take out the whole of his hate and resentment for the Nazis murder of the Jews on me. On a man who had no part in the affair. I still couldn’t blame him, but he was becoming something of an irritant. Soon, we landed in Tan Son Nhat. The devastation was shocking, buildings wrecked, broken aircraft scattered around the field and smoke still billowing up into the sky. It was a nightmare landscape. At one end of the airfield was our base of operations, the hangar was almost totally destroyed and our two DC-4s smashed beyond any hope of repair. We disembarked and began the long walk over to inspect the damage. Emile de Grasse and Joe Ryder had been working on one of the DC-4’s, a hopeless attempt to salvage some of the parts for possible future use, I imagined. They came to meet us, clearly relieved that we had returned in one piece. Emile came and shook our hands.
“Hey, it’s good to see you guys again, Joe and I were inspecting the wreckage, it’s not good.”
We walked towards the broken hangar. I laughed at Emile’s choice of words.
“Not good is one way to put it, Emile. How about total and utter disaster, I think that sums it up a little better?”
He looked thoughtful. “Well, maybe, maybe not, we’re not sure yet, me and Joe.”
“What do you mean, not sure?”
“Look, guys, we’ve spent the time while you were away making a thorough inspection of the two DC-4s. We’ve gone through them completely, every component, every piece of metal and every spare part that survived in the hangar stores.”
“So what are you saying, we can sell all of the spare parts and recoup some of our money?” Paul asked him curiously.
“No, I’m saying that we think we can scrape up enough parts to rebuild one of the DC-4s, to get it flying again.”
“Emile, Joe, you guys are geniuses. What can we do to help?”
“Nothing. Just stay out of the way, we’ll need a lot of time and maybe a few prayers, certainly a month.”
Ritter and Paul were clapping them on the back. “Good work, we’ll give you all the time you need. Look, I have to get out to Cholon and look in on Sophie and find out the details of what happened to Helene.”
Paul nodded. “You get moving, Ritter and I are going over to the Air America building to see about some temporary work.”
“Air America?” Emile looked up sharply. “You’re planning on working for the CIA?”
“Just to get some cash in while we rebuild, Emile, this is strictly temporary.”
He shrugged. “Just be careful, I’ve heard people say that they’re even worse than the Viet Cong.”
We left them to get on with rebuilding the DC-4, it seemed an impossible task but Emile was one of the best in the business, if he said it could be done, it was probably true. I left Ritter and Paul and drove our old Land Cruiser into Cholon, thankfully the vehicle was untouched during the attacks. Wreckage lay strewn everywhere and it was quite obvious that the whole city had been a battleground. The battle still raged in Cholon.
I had to persuade an ARVN checkpoint to let me through, the whole area was still being fought over. Rifles cracked overhead, mortar shells dropped spasmodically and American tanks were moving around the outskirts.
“My family home is there, my daughter is in danger.”
“Yes, I understand. I’ll detail a couple of men to go with you and check out the route. Good luck, Jurgen.”
I thanked him and two ARVN troopers climbed into the back of my car. I drove on, managing to avoid any brushes with the enemy and reached my bungalow. While the two men took up position outside I went towards the building. Nguyen Vo Lan opened the front door, her eyes widening in surprise. “Jurgen, I didn’t expect you back. I’m so sorry about Helene.”
“Thanks, Lan, bring me up to date on everything. Where’s Sophie?”
“She’s playing in the nursery.”
“Is Nhu with her?”
She shook her head. “I sent Nhu into town to get supplies, she’s due back shortly.”
I walked through and found Sophie, she leapt into my arms and I hugged her tightly. Thank God that she at least was safe.
“When is Mama coming back, Jurgen?”
I laughed. I insisted she called me Jurgen, in spite of Helene’s disapproval. Maybe it made me feel younger, but it was sure good hearing it from her today.
“Soon, my darling, soon. You carry on playing, I have to talk to Lan.”
I left her and went into the lounge. My office manager looked different, instead of her more formal outfit, the Vietnamese silk Ao-Dai dress, she was wearing black trousers, a black silk blouse and a red bandanna in her hair.
“You’d better be careful with what you wear at the moment, Lan, you look almost like a VC terrorist, although a lot prettier. Now tell me about Helene.”
She was taken aback at first about my comments on her clothes, but she soon ignored it.
“On that first day, there was a great deal of fighting close by. Helene and Sophie were here with Nhu, I went out to find out what was happening and to look for someone in authority to tell us if we needed to evacuate. When I got back, the VC were here. They held us at gunpoint while Helene was forced to fix up a wounded VC officer. He seemed very high ranking, someone of importance. When they left, they insisted that Helene went with them to look after him. I tried to protest but they threatened to shoot me.”
She was almost weeping with fear and misery. I gave her a few moments to recover and pressed her further.
“Did they say where they were taking her, any indication, or for how long they would have her?”
“Nothing, I’m so sorry.”
We heard a vehicle pulling up outside, I assumed it would be the ARVN captain checking with the soldiers who were mounting guard.
“I need to get you out of Cholon, Lan. You can’t stay here, not with a battle still raging. I’ll find somewhere in the city, a hotel would be fine for a few days until I can rent somewhere that is safer.”
She looked wary. “Look, I know there has been fighting here, but the city is not safe either, especially for a child as young as Sophie. I’d sooner stay here with her until it’s all over.”
I wondered what she knew that I didn’t, there was certainly fighting in the city but not as persistent as here. I was about to insist they move when there was a loud banging on the door. Lan went to open it and was almost physically hurled back into the room by a squad of American MPs, four in all, followed by an MP Lieutenant. One of the MPs was Cohen, the Jew who had made himself so obnoxious on the journey to Da Nang.
“Jurgen Hoffman?” the officer asked. I nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Mr Hoffman, I’m Lieutenant Withers. Under the military powers that are in force during the emergency I have orders to search this house, kindly stand aside while my men look around.”
“I’ll go and play with Sophie,” Lan said.
I nodded. “Search the house, what the hell for?”
“We had a report that a Viet Cong unit was sheltering here, we need to check it out.”
I smiled coldly. “Lieutenant, while I was ferrying one of your military aircraft to Da Nang, a VC unit did occupy the house while one of their officers was wounded. They kidnapped my wife, who is a doctor, when they left. She is still missing, yet you come here now to search? Shouldn’t you be out looking for her?”
“Sorry, Sir, those are my orders. Men, make a start.”
Cohen led them off to ransack my home, smiling broadly at the misery that he was able to bring upon me and my home.
“I need to get my daughter first, she’s in the nursery.”
“Yeah, ok, bring her in here while my men are looking.”
I fetched Lan and Sophie and they sat and waited while we heard the soldiers doing their best to trash my home, Cohen’s orders, no doubt, but there was nothing I could do about it. Withers looked slightly startled at Lan’s rather militaristic way of dressing, I wished she’d worn something a little more feminine and less likely to make her look like a Viet Cong, but it was too late to worry about that. We heard a distinctive shout from upstairs and then the soldiers came stamping back down into the lounge, Cohen was triumphantly holding up a handful of leaflets. He handed one to the officer and gave one to me with a laugh.
“So that’s what you get up to in your spare time, eh, Hoffman?”
It was a cheaply copied single sheet of paper with a message in French and English, exhorting the population to rise up and hit back against their capitalist slave owners. The Republic of South Vietnam and their American allies, of course.
“This yours, Hoffman?” Withers asked coldly.
I laughed. “Do you not listen? I explained that a VC unit took over this house and kidnapped my wife, obviously they left those leaflets while they were here. My God, you’re wasting time, I need to find my wife.”
“We found them hidden, Lieutenant, didn’t look like they were left by accident, they were in a cupboard underneath a loose floorboard,” Cohen said.
He was almost gleeful, I wondered if he’d planted the leaflets himself. Probably not, the VC had been here, that was obviously where they had come from.
“Look, the VC were here, that’s been made perfectly clear, if they left leaflets in the house that has nothing to do with me.”
I was getting exasperated with their plodding approach. What the hell were they doing, there was a war going on several hundred yards away and they were messing around with a few damned leaflets, undoubtedly left by the retreating VC. I had raised my voice to shout at them when the lieutenant stopped me dead.
“Mr Hoffman, I want you to come back with me for questioning, I feel that something is going on here and we need to get some answers. Sergeant, take him out.”
Cohen came forward grinning with one of his MPs, they took one arm each and dragged me towards the door.
“Lan, I’ll sort this out, look after Sophie for me,” I shouted desperately.
“Don’t worry, she’ll be safe,” she called back.
They dragged me into the jeep. “Not so nice being on the receiving end, is it?” Cohen smiled.
I ignored him, he was only trying to bait me. We drove to MACV headquarters and I was put in a cell. I had lost my airline, my wife, my home and my freedom all in a matter of days. I could honestly say it was the absolute low point of my life.
* * *
‘It doesn't require any particular bravery to stand on the floor of the Senate and urge our boys in Vietnam to fight harder, and if this war mushrooms into a major conflict and a hundred thousand young Americans are killed, it won't be U. S. Senators who die. It will be American soldiers who are too young to qualify for the senate.’
George McGovern
It was damp and stinking in the tunnel, but this room was brightly lit. In the background, the muted sound of a generator could be heard, powering the lighting and other system
s that were part of the underground infrastructure. Surprisingly for such a rudimentary and claustrophobic setting, the room’s occupants were seated in chairs, battered old leather armchairs but still more comfortable than the hard chairs or bare earth that were in use by the other tunnel dwellers. An older man walked quietly into the room with a tray of tea. He set it carefully on the table and was about to serve the four men when one of them, Cu Chi Local Commander Nguyen Cong Trong, nodded to him to leave. He bowed and hurried away, they were alone. Ba spoke first, Major Ho Van Ba, Hanoi, PAVN liaison officer and personal representative of Commander of the People’s Army of Vietnam, Vo Nguyen Giap.
“Comrades, the Commander is not happy, not happy at all.”
His gaze swept around the room and settled on Dung Vo Phuc, Viet Cong commander for the Saigon district. Phuc stared back at him, he wasn’t about to be flayed by a lackey from Hanoi, regardless of his status. A veteran of the French war and countless guerrilla actions against the ARVN and U.S. military, he had done everything possible to make a success of the offensive.