Twenty miles away, stretched out along Route 15, was an American supply convoy of ten trucks.
“Keep your eyes open, Simmons,” the captain in charge of the convoy told his driver. The captain held an M-16 on his lap and patted it nervously.
“Cap’n Mack, if I open my lids any wider, my eyeballs are goin’ to fall out,” Simmons said. Simmons was SP-5 Edward Simmons, a red-haired boy from Wyoming. “I reckon my ancestors felt like this when they was lookin’ for Indians,” he said.
“Vexation Six, this is Three, over,” the Jeep radio popped. Vexation Three was Lieutenant Appleby, riding in the last vehicle, a trail Jeep.
Mack reached for the mike.
“This is Six, go ahead.”
“I just caught sight of someone on the hill behind us. I think we are about to have company.”
“Do you mean ambush?” Mack asked anxiously.
“Could be.”
The last two words were no sooner out of Appleby’s mouth than there was an explosion in the road just ahead of them. It was so close that dirt and rock rained down on them.
“Jesus!” Simmons shouted. “Oh, sweet Jesus! They’re comin’ after us!”
There were several other explosions along the line behind them and Mack twisted around in his seat to see one of the trucks burning. The V.C. had planted charges in the road along the killing zone. Then they set off the charges when the convoy was in place. Fortunately, the spacing of the vehicles in the convoy was such that only one truck was hit by the planted charges.
There was no way to drive out of the ambush, so Simmons stopped, then climbed into the machine gun ring in the back seat. He pointed the machine gun, a heavy .50-caliber, toward the hillside and began firing. Captain Mack got on the radio.
“What’s the air force push?” Mack yelled.
“It’s pre-set by channels,” Simmons answered. “One for air force, two for navy, three for army.”
Mack turned to channel one.
“Hello, any air, any air, this is Vexation. Come in, please.”
A bullet careened off the machine gun ring and pieces of it shaved off, hitting Mack in the face, stinging in a dozen different spots.
“Any air, any air, come in,” he called again.
Not getting an answer from the air force, he tried the navy, and when that one drew a blank he switched to army.
“Any air, any air, this is Vexation, come in.”
Mike heard the call and he changed his transmitter to match the receiver. “Vexation, this is Gunslinger.”
“Gunslinger, what are you? Do you have ordinance?”
“That’s affirmative, I have four hogs.”
“I need ground support, Gunslinger. I’ve been ambushed and I’m being chewed to pieces.”
“Who are you, Vexation?” Mike asked.
“I’m a supply convoy with the 765th Battalion. I need help, bad!”
“Roger, Vexation. Where are you?”
“About ten clicks west of Binh Loc on Route 15. Right after you cross the river.”
“Near the stone quarry?”
“Yes, about a click west of the stone quarry. How soon can you get here?”
“About ten minutes,” Mike said. “Can you hold on that long?”
“I don’t have any choice,” Mack answered. “Get here fast as you can.”
“We’re on our way.”
“I’ll pop smoke,” Mack said. “But you can’t miss us, we’re the ones gettin’ our ass shot off.”
Mike flipped channels. “Blue team, this is Six. We have a fire mission. Follow me out.”
“All right, this is more like it!” one of the young warrants said.
Mike flipped channels again, then called Colonel Todaro.
“Gunslinger Six, this is Blue Six. Request permission to answer a call for ground support.”
“Negative, Blue Six,” Todaro replied, and Mike could hear the irritation in his voice.
“It’s a supply convoy, Gunslinger Six. He’s in trouble.”
“He can get air force support.”
“Maybe, but he called me. If I don’t get there in a couple of minutes it’ll be too late.”
“Wait one, Blue Six. Let me confirm,” Todaro said.
“Okay,” Mike said, without broadcasting. “I’ll wait for confirmation, but while I’m waiting, I’m going to Binh Loc.”
About seven minutes later he still had no answer, but he saw the convoy with a couple of burning trucks. He also saw several black-clad soldiers inching down the hill toward the convoy.
“I see you, Gunslinger, I’m popping smoke,” Vexation said.
“Roger, confirm yellow smoke,” Mike said. “Blue Six, this is Gunslinger Six.”
“Go ahead, Gunslinger Six.”
“Negative on the support. I checked with MACV and the air force is on its way. They should be there in one-zero minutes.
“I’m here now, and if I don’t respond, there won’t be anyone left for the air force to save.”
“Return to your station at once, Blue Six.” Mike flipped off the selector switch. “Smitty, when they took the transponder they screwed up the radios. I couldn’t hear what the colonel said, could you?”
“Didn’t hear anything,” Smitty said. “Come on, Mr. Carmack, let’s kill some dinks.”
“Blue flight, your target is on the hill approaching the convoy,” Mike said. “Let’s go.” Mike made a pass over the road, firing rockets and machine guns. There was another hog right beside him and between the two of them, the entire hillside was under fire. He pulled up at the end of his run, loading the rotor disc so that Ernie could feel the G-force of the turn. He twisted around in his seat and looked behind him to see the other two make their pass.
“Pretty good job, guys!” Vexation called. “You stopped them cold.”
“Here we come again,” Mike said, dropping the pitch and rolling the cyclic forward to start his second strafing run. Now he could see dozens of bodies lying in the paddy, and the formation, which had been advancing so confidently against the handful of marines, was starting back toward the wood line on the opposite side of the field. “Army helicopters, are you on this push?”
“Roger. Who’s calling?” Mike answered.
“You got your basic air force reaction team here, two Phantoms with enough napalm to barbecue Omaha. If you’ll just scoot out of the way and let the big boys go to work, we’ll take care of this little business for you.”
“Thanks, air force,” Vexation said. “But you ought to know that if the Gunslingers hadn’t showed up, we wouldn’t need your napalm.’’
“Gunslingers, huh? Like Wyatt Earp?”
The air force pilot was talking as calmly as if he were sitting behind a desk, yet all the while his plane was climbing away from the first attack with a sheet of fire spreading behind and below.
“Sort of like that,” Mike said. He looked at the destruction caused by the napalm and whistled. “It’s all yours, guys. Have fun.”
“Tell you what, Gunslinger. Those damned whirlybirds fly too long in the same place. When folks are shooting at me, I like to haul ass.”
“That’s what I’m doing now,” Mike said. “I’m doing a hundred knots.”
“God, such speed,” the air force pilot said sarcastically. “It takes my breath away. Well, there you go, Vexation, just turn them once and they’ll be done. Hold on, Gunslinger, we’re coming by.” Both jets zoomed by, rocking their wings in salute as they passed, flying so fast that Mike and the others bounced in their wake. Behind them, the entire hill was burning and the ambush on the convoy was completely broken up.
Chapter Thirteen
Mike flipped the selector switch back to Todaro’s frequency.
“Gunslinger Six, this is Blue Six, re-establishing contact. Over.”
“Blue Six, report to me as soon as you land,” Todaro said angrily.
“Roger, Gunslinger Six.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” Morris asked.
>
Mike looked over at Morris and smiled. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. You had to go where I took you. I’m the one with his ass in the crack.”
“Mr. Carmack, want me to fuck up the radio?” Smitty asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mike said. “There’s not a hell of a lot he can do when you get right
down to it. Let’s get back to the operational area and see what’s happening. From the way things were going this morning, it was a complete bust. That’s probably why Todaro is so pissed off.”
It was about a ten-minute flight back to the operational area and during that ten minutes, Mike wondered what Todaro would say. If there had been no firefight on the operation, there wasn’t much Todaro would say. He would have to balance a disobeyed order against the rescue of the supply convoy, and Mike was pretty sure that Vexation, whoever he was, would come to his defense if it ever came to that. The truth was it would never come to that. Todaro would make an ass of himself if he tried to press it.
“Hey, Mr. Carmack, what the hell’s goin’ on down there?” Smitty suddenly called.
“Where? What are you talking about?”
“Look down there, between those hootches and the river! What’s happening down there?”
Mike looked where Smitty indicated, and he saw it, too. A group of villagers—men, women, and children—stood huddled together while a line of black-clad soldiers was standing off to one side. There was a winking of muzzle flashes from the black-clad soldiers. Then the villagers began falling to the ground.
“What the hell! That’s V.C.!” Morris shouted. “Look, Mr. Carmack. They’re executing the villagers!”
“Gunslinger Six, we’ve got V.C. on the ground over here at the village on the river,” Mike said.
“Negative, that area is cleared,” Gunslinger Six replied.
“Jesus! Mr. Carmack, they just shot another bunch. They’re executin’ the whole damned village!” Smitty said.
Mike reached for the transponder, then drew his hand back. “Shit, no parrot! There’s no way we can identify them.”
“There goes another bunch, sir!” Smitty called. “Dobbins! You got a parrot?”
“Roger.”
“Squawk.”
“No response, Mike.”
“All right, let’s hit them,” Mike said. “Be careful of the villagers.”
Mike whipped the Huey around in a tight turn, dropped pitch, and rolled forward, coming down like a dive bomber. Morris opened up on them and as they passed by, the two door guns joined the shooting.
After Mike’s run, two more Hueys made a pass at the soldiers and within minutes several of their bodies littered the ground, along with the bodies of the villagers who had been executed.
“Blue Six, Blue Six, cease fire, cease fire! They are friendlies, they are friendlies!” Dobbins said. “I picked them up on Fox Mike and they squawked my parrot!”
“My God,” Mike said, feeling sick.
“I’ve got a follow-up,” Dobbins said. “We’ve just killed two American advisors, fourteen ARVN troops, and Colonel Mot.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ernie rolled the paper out of the typewriter and read it. He had filed several thousand words since this war started but so far this was the story he least wanted to write.
In every war, there have been court-martials. There have even been court-martials for murder…but as far as this reporter has been able to learn, there has never been a murder trial quite like the one coming up in Saigon.
Michael Timothy Carmack, Chief Warrant Officer, Grade 3, is a helicopter pilot. He is a very good helicopter pilot and has been decorated for bravery many times over.
Two weeks ago, Mr. Carmack led a helicopter attack team that strafed and killed fourteen South Vietnamese soldiers, two American advisors, and Colonel Ngyuet Cao Mot. Mr. Carmack claims, and with some justification, that it was a case of mistaken identity. In fact, this reporter was on board Mr. Carmack’s helicopter during the actual event, and I can attest that the ARVN soldiers were wearing black, a color associated with V.C.
The U.S. Army’s charges against Mr. Carmack are based on the fact that, against specific orders to the contrary, Mr. Carmack left his assigned station during the operation, then returned and, again against specific orders, led the attack against what he thought were V.C. troops.
That friendly soldiers were killed is tragic, and that Mr. Carmack disobeyed orders is an offense triable by court-martial, but those two things together do not constitute a charge of murder. The charge of murder stems from the fact that Colonel Mot was killed by a man who, it is alleged, was Madam Mot’s lover. According to the South Vietnamese Defense Ministry, who asked that the U.S. Army bring the charges, Mr. Carmack used the cover of mistaken identity to kill Colonel Mot so that Madam Mot would be free.
This allegation of sexual intimacy has been backed up, reportedly by a young house-girl employee of the Mot villa who claims to have actually seen Mr. Carmack and Madam Mot having intercourse. Though the house girl is only twelve years old, her testimony is very damaging.
If Mr. Carmack is found guilty of first-degree murder, he could, under military law, be executed by firing squad.
“Murder?” Le asked Colonel Phat. Colonel Phat was the survivor’s assistance officer assigned to her after her husband had been killed. “You mean to tell me that Mike Carmack is being tried for murder?”
“Yes,” Phat said.
“Why? Why would they do such a thing?”
“Because they have reason to believe that it was murder.”
“Why would Mr. Carmack murder my husband?”
Phat stared at the floor in embarrassment. “It’s...it’s not for me to comment on some things,” he said.
Le gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “My God! Because he was my lover? They think he killed my husband because he was my lover?”
“Yes.”
“But, that’s not true! What would he have to gain? My husband knew of my affairs. Mr. Carmack knew that he knew. There would be no advantage in killing Mot.”
“Perhaps the American thought that, without a husband, you would be free to marry him,” Phat suggested.
Le laughed. “Believe me, Colonel Phat, marriage was the most distant thing from my mind…or Mr. Carmack’s. Maybe we can get this stopped. Maybe I can talk to someone.”
“Who?”
“Someone in the defense ministry. Perhaps if I go to them, plead with them, they can pressure the Americans not to go through with this trial.”
“Madam Mot, you would be better off if you stayed out of this completely,” Colonel Phat said.
“Stay out of it? I certainly will not stay out of it. Not if there is the chance that Mr. Carmack will be found guilty for something he didn’t do. I want to talk to someone in the defense ministry.”
“You don’t understand,” Phat said. “It was our defense ministry who persuaded the Americans to bring the charge of murder.”
“Why?”
“There are other forces in play here, Madam Mot. Political forces,” Colonel Phat said.
“I don’t care what other forces are in play. I want to go to the defense ministry and get this stopped.”
“Very well,” Phat said with a sigh. “Let me go first. I’ll find someone for you to talk to. You stay here until I get back.”
“Why can’t I go with you?”
“It would be better if you stayed here.”
“All right. But let me know what you found out as soon as you get back.”
Le waited patiently for several hours, then was convinced that Colonel Phat had no intention of returning. She decided she would go by herself. She called her driver.
“I can’t take you,” the driver said.
“What do you mean, you can’t take me?”
“Colonel Phat said you weren’t to leave the house unless he authorized it.”
“Unless he authorized it? Look here, do you mean to tell me I am a prisoner in my own hom
e?”
“No, madam.”
“But I can’t leave?”
“No, madam.”
Le turned and walked back into her house. She stood just inside the door for a few minutes, thinking. A moment later, wearing a black ao dai, she sneaked through the back door, through the back gate, and out onto the street. A cyclo came by and she hailed it, then asked to be taken to the defense ministry.
It was dusk, and the clouds that had hung over the city all day made it even darker. It wasn’t actually raining but there was a slight mist and as she was riding in the open seat of the motorcycle, it blew against her face with a stinging spray.
They drove by a row of bars that catered primarily to Americans. There were scores of prostitutes in front of the bars, all wearing brightly colored Western-style dresses, heavy makeup, and false eyelashes. They were throwing their arms around the American soldiers and propositioning them openly. The soldiers were laughing and pinching them, or kissing and fondling the women’s breasts. For one insane moment, Le thought about having the cyclo driver stop. She wished she could go into one of the bars and begin working the soldiers, right alongside the other girls. She wished she could just lose herself in the anonymity of what the American soldiers called “Plantation Row.”
Ten minutes later, she paid her cyclo driver and stood in the blue haze of his exhaust smoke as he drove off. She walked up to the gate of the defense ministry where two Vietnamese soldiers were standing guard.
“I am Madam Mot,” she said. “I would like to speak with General Linh.”
“I know…you’re Madam Mot and I’m Emperor Bao Dai.”
“No, please, I really am Madam Mot.”
“Wait a minute,” the other said quickly. He looked at Le for a second. “She’s telling the truth. She really is Madam Mot.”
Dateline: Viet Nam: A Military Thriller Double Page 11