Devil's Guard- The Complete Series Box Set

by Eric Meyer

  We looked at each other. He needed urgent medical treatment and we had been stripped of even the most basic necessities. Helene did her best, we had a little water and she tried to clean him up and soothe his physical wounds as well as murmur quietly to him to ease his mental wounds.

  No one slept that night, we all dreaded the door banging open and another of us being dragged out for torture, but the door stayed shut. In the morning they brought us fresh water and a bucket of rice slop, evidently our breakfast. We ate, if we were to survive this ordeal we would the energy that we could glean from every single calorie of the disgusting mess. Then we waited. Ritter prowled around the room, searching every nook and cranny for a possible weakness. In the end he sat down, exhausted. Goldberg lapsed into an uneasy sleep, or possibly unconsciousness. It was interrupted by nightmares when he twitched and jerked sometimes shouting and raving.

  “He needs treatment in a hospital,” Helene said to all of us. “When they come we must insist that take care of him properly, or at least give us the means to do it. He needs morphine, ointment for his burns, antibiotics for the infection as well as basic bandages and dressings.”

  I nodded. “I’ll ask them when they come, Helene. We all will.”

  It was quiet throughout the day. The Viet Cong slept through the day and began operations in the night, in order to avoid surveillance. Shortly after dark, Ba came back to us with six soldiers as escort. The door crashed open and he stood there looking at us balefully. He was about to speak when Helene went over and began haranguing him.

  “The man you tortured needs medical attention, Major, I have a list of...”

  He punched her in the face, so hard that she spun over and fell to the ground. We leapt up to defend her but the soldiers levelled their assault rifles and the major quickly produced a small automatic pistol. Ignoring Helene completely, as if she had never even spoken to him, or he had not hit her so hard, he started shouting at us.

  “You are all terrorists and spies, you will be questioned about your counter-revolutionary activities and then put on trial. When you are convicted you will be shot. You,” he pointed straight at me.

  “You will come first.” He turned to his men. “Bring him, make sure he does not escape.”

  * * *

  ‘The picture of the world's greatest superpower killing or seriously injuring 1,000 non-combatants a week while trying to pound a tiny backward nation into submission on an issue whose merits are hotly disputed, is not a pretty one.’

  Robert McNamara 1967

  “Mr President, we need men, pure and simple. That’s the equation, give us the troops and we can prevail militarily, at least.”

  “You’ve had a lot more men already, Earle, we can’t just keep throwing our young men into South East Asia, people are starting to ask when we’re going to get out of that particular war, not get even more involved. It’s just not popular.”

  “I understand, Sir, but I’m not asking for more troops to be sent over immediately, we need to recruit more to be stationed on U.S. soil as a reserve for when they’re needed in any of our overseas commitments.”

  Johnson shook his head. “The electorate won’t wear it, General, you know as well as I do. Recruits are getting harder to locate, lots of our young people are evading the draft, many going overseas. The numbers of volunteers is on the floor and the prospect of sending more of our people to their deaths in Vietnam is not one that appeals to me. They’re dying for nothing. Robert, you agree, don’t you?”

  McNamara nodded. “Absolutely, Sir. The plain fact is we’re not getting anywhere. The war is stalemated.”

  “That’s just not true,” Wheeler reacted angrily. “Our men are pushing the communists hard, enemy casualties are at an all time high, we’re winning the war, gentlemen.”

  “Our people don’t know that, though, do they?” the President fired back. “A fortnight ago we were still getting reports from General Westmoreland that the Viet Cong were almost finished as a fighting force, that the war was as good as won. Then they start the new offensive and it seems that everything we’ve been told was, quite frankly, nothing more than fantasy.”

  “Sir, there are steps being taken over in Vietnam that we feel will bring the war to a much speedier conclusion. But what we really need is the go ahead for more extensive bombing operations.”

  “We’re looking at that,” McNamara interjected hastily.

  “Mr Secretary, I’m aware of your views on the bombing, but I’m afraid that we have to be able to bring our technology to bear on the enemy if we are to make any substantial gains.”

  “Bombing a few innocent civilians in mud huts isn’t going to bring about the end of the war, General. All it will do is recruit more soldiers for the enemy,” McNamara continued.

  “Mr Secretary,” Wheeler went on, “If I could remind you of MACV Directive 381-41, specifically as it concerns our new Phoenix program. The intent of Phoenix is to attack the NLF with a rifle shot rather than a shotgun approach. We plan to target key political leaders, command/control elements and activists in the VCI. Studies have shown and you are correct in your assumptions, that heavy-handed operations, such as random cordons and searches, large-scale and lengthy detentions of innocent civilians, and excessive use of firepower are detrimental to the war effort. They definitely have a negative effect on the civilian population. We also plan to capture NLF members rather than kill them, after all, these people need to see that we behave differently to the communists.”

  “How is Phoenix progressing, General? Have you had any successes?”

  “We’ve got a mission under way at present, Sir. We’re waiting to hear the result.”

  Wheeler almost crossed his fingers, he knew full well that Colonel Goldberg’s operation to take out the Viet Cong leader responsible for the Saigon offensive was not strictly part of the Phoenix program, but it was near enough.

  “Would you let me know when you do hear?” Johnson asked him.

  “Yes, immediately, Mr President.”

  “Good. Now, about the bombing, where are we there?”

  “As you know, Mr President, Operation Rolling Thunder is continuing and constantly under review. In addition, we have the ongoing strikes against the Ho Chi Minh trail as well as the defoliation program, Operation Ranch Hand.”

  Operation Ranch Hand was a U.S. Military operation that started in 1962, part of the overall herbicidal warfare program during the Vietnam War called Operation Trail Dust. Ranch Hand involved spraying an estimated twenty million U.S. gallons of defoliants and herbicides over rural areas of South Vietnam in an attempt to deprive the Viet Cong of vegetation cover and food. In 1964 the Federation of American Scientists objected to the use of chemical and biological weapons, stating that they felt the program violated the Geneva Protocol of 1925. The American Association for the Advancement of Science issued a resolution in 1966 calling for a field investigation of the herbicide program in Vietnam. In 1967 seventeen Nobel Laureates and five thousand other scientists signed a petition asking for the immediate end to the use of herbicides in Vietnam. Johnson was uneasy about that side of the war effort.

  The President sat pondering where to go next. The two men waited patiently.

  “We’ll continue as planned for now, we won’t change anything. But it’s no good pretending I’m happy, because I’m not. And now this Tet thing, which contradicts everything that came out of MACV, it could be the beginning of the end.”

  “But we’re beating them hands down, Mr President,” Wheeler objected.

  “So you say, Earle, but remember what Ho Chi Minh said, if they lose twenty men for every one of ours they kill, they’ll pay the price. Can we pay that kind of a price?”

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was silent. So was McNamara, but everyone in Washington knew that the Secretary of Defence was on his way out.

  “Keep me posted on that Phoenix program mission, General. At least one bit of good news would be welcome. That’s all.”

&n
bsp; The two men left the Oval Office. Wheeler spoke to his aide.

  “Get me an update on that mission into the Triangle, find out if they’ve heard anything.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the aide saluted and went to find the radio room.

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.’

  Roger Allen LaPorte, an American pacifist who set himself on fire in protest of American policies in Vietnam.

  They fell on me and tied my hands behind my back with heavy cord while the other soldiers covered the others. Then they led me out and relocked the door. I was taken to a nearby house and pushed into an office. They forced me to sit on a wooden chair, two soldiers stood either side of me and two behind, their rifles pointed at me. Major Ba sat behind the desk and studied me for a few moments.

  “You are Jurgen Hoffman, husband of Helene Hoffman, the doctor?”

  I was surprised that he knew that much about me, but I should have guessed that being in Vietnam for as long as I had, they would have a substantial file on me. Besides, I had truly been a thorn in their sides, at least, I hoped I had.

  “Part of our tunnel system has been destroyed, what can you tell me about it?”

  Ba glared at me and I ignored it. He had an ugly face, not unlike a monkey, it was an easy face to ignore.

  “You will answer me, what happened in the tunnel? Who ordered the explosives to be set? There are many men missing, presumed dead, I want to know what happened to them.”

  His voice had risen to almost a scream. “You have damaged property of the People’s Revolution, someone must pay.”

  I lost it then. “And what about my property, you ugly bastard? What about my two aircraft and my hangar? What about my house invaded, my wife kidnapped? Your People’s Revolution isn’t worth a pile of turd.”

  He was shocked for a moment, then he ran around the desk, the guards held me and he started punching me in the face. He barked an order, the guards threw me to the floor and he laid into me with his boots. Finally he stopped. I wasn’t badly hurt, nothing was broken, he’d struck out in rage and as usually happened, his blows were poorly timed and delivered. His guards hauled me back up into the chair.

  “It is a crime to make such remarks about our revolution,” he continued.

  I ignored him. Whatever he was going to do was already decided, I wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction. Finally they dragged me back to the prison and dragged out the next victim, Jack Bond. One by one they took us until we had all been interrogated, all except Helene. The process was lengthy, by the time the last prisoner had been brought back, Ritter von Schacht, it was already starting to get light. The Viet Cong working day was coming to an end and all military activity started to wind down, until the immediate vicinity had gone quiet. We were all exhausted and settling down to get some rest when the door lock rattled and opened, Ba stood there, flanked by his guards.

  “It is the decision of the military command that you are all to be executed as spies, sentences to be carried out at midnight tonight. Execution will be by pistol bullet to the back of the head. Long live the revolution.”

  He smiled coldly, spun on his heel and marched out, barking orders. The door slammed shut and was locked.

  Goldberg was beginning to recover, though God knows how. He had managed to get some rest and with Helene’s help, was trying to get some circulation moving in his battered body. The pain he must have been in was horrifying, but he made no complaint. We sat around and held a council of war. Paul spoke first, he had obviously been looking at any possible options that might be open to us.

  “I see the only way out of here is to jump them when they come for us. If they have six guards and Ba, we should be able to take them.”

  Woltz was sceptical. “We’re unarmed, Paul, against six assault rifles as well as the Major’s pistol. They’re not good odds.”

  “They’re the only odds we’ve got,” Ritter put in acidly. “So we’d better get used to them.”

  We talked about how it would work, jump the guards, grab at least one of their assault rifles. Providing that Ba didn’t start shooting first with his pistol and providing that there were no other guards outside the prison. Providing there were not a hundred other imponderables we hadn’t thought of. But as Ritter had said, they were the only odds we had. We tried to get some rest, we’d need all the energy we could summon for our breakout attempt. Then the door lock rattled. It was only midday, much earlier than we’d anticipated, we weren’t ready and they’d caught us by surprise. An officer in the uniform of the People’s Army of Vietnam came into the room. It was Le Van Minh.

  He held up a finger for quiet. “The guards are all asleep, if we hurry we can get you away.”

  “Minh, this is fantastic,” I said to him as we scrambled out through the door. “How did you manage it?”

  “Someone gave the guards some bottles of captured American whisky and dared them to drink it, said they weren’t as tough as the Americans. They drank the lot.”

  I smiled as we ran along the track that led away from the prison. The guards were collapsed close to each other, their faces smiling happily in sleep. They wouldn’t be happy when Ba found them. Probably he’d have them executed for dereliction of duty. That was their problem. Minh led us to a building that was on the eastern side of Trang Bang, well away from both the prison and his house. Two young boys approached us with a small handcart. Inside the cart were our weapons and radio that they’d lifted from Ba’s headquarters. We were back in business. We went through a side door into the house and the boys followed pushing their cart. We were shown into a bare, empty room where we picked out our weapons and equipment, Bond checked the radio.

  “It’s all working, I can contact Saigon any time.”

  Goldberg looked at him, his face was strained and stretched with the pain he was suffering.

  “Send them a brief signal, Jack, I don’t want anything intercepted. ‘Mission ongoing, will need possible backup and extraction during next four hours.’ That’s it.”

  Bond spoke briefly into the radio, nodded as the acknowledgment came through on his headphones, then turned off the set.

  “They’ve been messing with the set, the batteries are almost gone. Maybe one more transmission, maybe another two, that’ll be about it.”

  “That should be enough,” Goldberg said.

  He looked terrible, he was sliding backwards, clearly his treatment had hit him harder than any of us had realised. Then he collapsed, his eyes rolled upwards in his head and he lay on the ground unconscious. Helene immediately rushed to check him over. She listened to his breathing, then put her head on his chest and listened. Goldberg’s breathing had become very erratic, he was gasping for air, his body starting to shake. His skin went blue, then he jerked and stopped breathing altogether. Helene started to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation, she worked hard to get him breathing again but after ten minutes or so she gave up and stood up.

  “He’s dead, I’m sorry.”

  We just stood there in shock. Then Minh came into the room.

  “You need to get moving now, when the Viet Cong find out what has happened they’ll alert the whole countryside,” he looked down at Goldberg, then up at us. “Dead?”

  I nodded.

  “We will dispose of the body, don’t worry, we’ll see he gets a burial. Now please, go before the communists realise who is helping you.”

  I held out my hand. “Thank you, Minh.”

  We shook hands. “Good luck.”

  I looked at Major Diem. With Goldberg gone he was the most senior officer. “Major?”

  He nodded. “I will lead, let’s go.”

  We left the house and started along the jungle path that Minh had told us to take. As we were unburdened by any casualties we were able to make good time, we were almost running. I held Helene’s hand, I’d intended to pull her along but she
seemed quicker than me, she was very lithe and athletic and she ran on slightly ahead.

  “How far are we from Saigon?” she asked me breathlessly.

  “About thirty miles. About two days on foot.”

  “I don’t think we have two days, do we?”

  I shook my head. “We’ll be lucky if we have two hours. But they should pick us up, they’ll be sending in a helicopter.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  I didn’t answer. We ran on, must have got five miles before we hit trouble. It was a causeway between two rice paddies and initial reconnaissance showed it to be clear, so we dashed across. The first bullets whistled over our heads and we dived for cover, sliding down the slope towards the rank, foul smelling water. Then a machine gun opened up, a long burst stirred up the water but he couldn’t quite see us.

  “This’ll alert them for miles,” Diem said. “Sergeant, would you call for air support?”

  “Sure thing.” Bond took out the radio and called it in. “They’re sending in a gunship, it’s only a few minutes out, they need us to mark where we are.”

  “Does anyone have a brightly coloured piece of cloth?” I asked them.

  They all shook their heads. Then Helene ripped off her shirt and removed her bra, a bright blue silk garment I had bought her years before. Their eyes almost popped out at her naked breasts.

  “Will this do it?” she asked innocently.

  “Er, yeah, I guess,” Jack said. He hit transmit and told them we would be waving a bright blue brassiere.”

  “Would you repeat that?” came back through the speaker. Then the set died.

  “I think they got it,” he said.

  I took hold of Helene’s bra while she buttoned her shirt back on. If anyone was going to wave her bra in the Vietnamese countryside, it would be me, her husband. We kept our heads down and heard the approaching ‘whop whop’ of a helicopter. Then it came into view, a Cobra gunship. I waved the bra and saw a hand wave out of the open door in acknowledgment. The machine gunner realised their danger and switched their aim to the gunship, there were two riflemen there too, they both started firing short bursts. They missed, then the nose of the gunship swivelled around and fired. It sounded like a revving engine, a machine-like noise as thousands of rounds hit the Viet Cong position. Their guns fell silent and we climbed back up to the causeway and carried on running. We reached the end of the path and came across the remains of the Viet Cong ambush, three soldiers, their bodies unrecognisable after the gunfire had shredded them. I saw Helene shudder with distaste, but it was them or us.