Dateline: Viet Nam: A Military Thriller Double

by Robert Vaughan

  “Make mine well done,” Bill said.

  “Hell, at this point they’re all well done,” Hunter replied.

  “Come on, Ernie, we’ll go get more beer,” Bill suggested.

  The three men climbed down from the bunker. Then, as Ernie and Bill went to get more beer, Hunter moved along the fence line toward the officers’ club, where he had seen the cookout. He was right about the steaks being left on the grill because he could smell the cooked meat.

  Hunter sensed it, more than he saw it...a quiet sound, an almost imperceptible shadow down inside the rolled concertina wire that lay at the base of the perimeter fence. Hunter made no sign that he had seen or heard anything. He didn’t look toward the fence, not even the slightest glance. Instead, he continued walking with the same, nonchalant stride with which he had begun. Then, when he was a few feet beyond the shadow, he let himself look back.

  There, lying very still, was a Vietnamese in the black pajamalike uniform worn by the V.C. This V.C. was on his stomach and moving slowly, right down the middle of the roll of concertina wire, totally oblivious to the barbs. He was pushing a satchel in front of him, and Hunter knew that the satchel must be loaded with explosives.

  It wasn’t too hard to figure out the V.C.’s mission. While his friends were making a demonstration across the base and creating enough action to bring all the security teams on Long Binh, plus Puff, this guy was sneaking around to the other side to plant a satchel charge where it would do the most good, such as in an enlisted barracks or BOQ. Maybe he would just throw the charge into the nearest bunker.

  Whatever the mission, Hunter knew from his experience with them up-country that Charlie had a good chance of accomplishing it. That was because the typical V.C. sapper was tough and skilled enough to move through barbed wire without even slowing down. He was also dedicated enough to his Cause to give up his life in the effort.

  Okay, you son of a bitch, Hunter thought. I’ll help you give up your life.

  The V.C. knew, of course, that Hunter was there. The advantage was in the fact that the V.C. didn’t know that Hunter knew about him. Quickly, and catching the V.C. totally by surprise, Hunter stepped into the concertina wire and brought the heel of his boot down sharply on the V.C.’s wrist. He felt the bones go under his heel, and he saw the V.C.’s hand open up involuntarily as he released his grip on the satchel.

  Hunter reached down and picked up the satchel charge, then tossed it over the fence as far as he could. It exploded harmlessly out in an adjacent rice paddy.

  “Jeez! Did you hear that?” someone back in the bunker said. “That was close!”

  Hunter grabbed the V.C. by the back of his neck and dragged him up, right through the concertina wire. The V.C. came up with a knife in his other hand and he made a wild, slashing motion, which, if it had caught Hunter, would have disemboweled him. The V.C. had the advantage of a weapon and desperation. Hunter, though really not much larger than the V.C., had the advantage of strength and two good hands. Neither he nor the V.C. made a sound as they engaged in their life-and-death struggle.

  The V.C. slashed at him again but Hunter counterpunched, going in right over the V.C.’s wild swing. He caught the V.C. on the point of his chin and the V.C. went down on the concertina. The V.C. made a gasp, followed by a gurgling noise, and Hunter didn’t understand why until he saw the steel stake. The stake was driven into the ground at an angle, sharpened to prevent attackers from throwing their body onto the concertina and thus providing a mat for others to cross. Hunter’s adversary fell on the stake and it came all the way through his body, protruding from the front as a bright, red spear.

  “I’ll give you this,” Hunter said under his breath. “You were a gutsy little shit.”

  Hunter brushed his hands on his trousers, then went on to do what he had started to do.

  The steaks were on a grill that had been built on a concrete pad right outside an officers’ club. The coals were still hot, and though the steaks had been moved to one side of the grill when the attack came, they were still close enough to the heat to be cooking, and their rich, succulent aroma filled the air.

  There had evidently been a party of some sort going on because in addition to the steaks there were bowls of fresh fruit, freshly baked bread, and several bottles of liquor. When the attack started, everyone had run to the bunker, leaving all this wonderful food and drink unattended.

  Leisurely, Hunter walked over to the grill. There were a dozen or more thick, brown steaks, crisscrossed with grill marks. He picked up the long-handled fork and moved them around until he found three he wanted. Then he took three more for good measure. He took a couple of plates, forks and knives, grabbed a loaf of French bread, then went back to the bunker. Bill and Ernie were already back.

  “What took you so long?” Bill asked.

  “I found a Charlie sneaking along the fence line,” Hunter replied.

  “Damn! That looks good,” Bill said, seeing the steaks and the French bread. “So, did you take care of him?”

  “Yeah,” Hunter answered without elaboration. He opened a can of beer that was so cold that ice was still clinging to the outside. “Can you believe it?” he asked. “These people here actually drink their beer cold.”

  “Yeah,” Bill answered. “I guess I better get used to that. That’s the way it is back in the world, as I remember.”

  “Seems to me like I recall that as well,” Hunter said.

  “Hey, listen!” Ernie said.

  “Listen to what? I don’t hear anything,” Hunter replied, chewing a bite of steak.

  “That’s just it,” Ernie said. “The shooting has stopped.”

  “Well, we must’ve beaten back the red menace,” Bill suggested.

  “Careful there,” Hunter joked. “Time was when I was the red menace.”

  A moment later the generators started again and all the perimeter lights that had been turned off during the VC attack went back on. Immediately after the perimeter lights went on, the lights in the barracks, BOQ’s, and clubs came on, and that was followed by music. Bill could hear Neil Diamond singing “Sweet Caroline.”

  “Hey! Hey, it’s over, you guys!” someone shouted. “Come on out, it’s over!”

  “Yeah,” another said. “I guess we whipped their asses good.”

  The officers who were grilling steaks came out of their bunker as well.

  “Carl? Carl, how many steaks did we have on this grill?” one of them called.

  “A dozen. I think. Whv?”

  “Son of a bitch! Somebody took half of our steaks.”

  “Who the hell would take steaks in the middle of a mortar attack? You must have forgot to put the other half on, that’s all.”

  “How the hell do you think they got their commission?” Hunter asked, laughing, as steak juice ran down his chin. “They can’t even count.”

  “You know how it is with the war ’n all,” Ernie answered. “They’ll take anyone they can get.”

  “Hey! Hey, ever’body, look at this!” someone shouted excitedly. “Here’s a damned gook hung up on a steel stake! He must’ve fallen on it tryin’ to get in! What do you think about that?”

  “We sure are lucky. If he hadn’t tripped, he could’ve made it to our bunker easy. Look how close it is.”

  “No, we aren’t the ones lucky, man. Look at those three dumb shits sittin’ up there on top of the bunker, eating and drinking like they don’t have a care in the world. They’re the ones lucky. They were up there during this whole attack.”

  “Lucky? They’re not lucky. They’re crazy.”

  Chapter Two

  Ernie stood with Hunter as they watched Bill and the other returning G.I.’s load onto the Freedom Bird for the flight home. The returning soldiers were all in khakis, their ribbons making a splash of color on the otherwise drab uniforms. For most of them, it was the first time they had been out of fatigues in over a year and they moved awkwardly in the now unfamiliar dress uniforms. At the top of the mounting ramp
, Bill turned and smiled, then flipped the entire base “the bird.”

  “I’ve observed that one of the hardest things about being over here is telling friends good-bye,” Ernie said. “He seemed like a nice guy.”

  “Yeah, I’m going to miss the son of a bitch,” Hunter said. “You try not to get too close to anybody. Soon as you do, they either get blown away or their time’s up and they go back home. At least this one had a happy ending. Damn, I’m hungry. What say we get a little breakfast before we start for An Loi?”

  “Fine by me, but it’s my treat,” Ernie offered. “It’s the least I can do to pay you for taking me with you.”

  “Can’t beat that. What I don’t understand is why you want to go to An Loi. That’s the asshole of the world.”

  Ernie laughed. “I’ve heard that same appellation applied to a dozen other places.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Being a reporter, I guess you get around quite a bit, don’t you?”

  “It’s my job,” Ernie said. He smiled. “On the other hand, it also allows me to leave if things get too bad.”

  “Yeah, well, An Loi isn’t like Omaha Beach, or Iwo Jima, or anything like that. But it’s not like the Vietnam these straphangers down here know, either. Where you want to eat?”

  “Anywhere you want. After all, you did buy dinner last night.”

  Hunter thought of the steaks they had eaten and he laughed. “Yeah, those guys couldn’t count worth a shit, but they did cook a good steak. There’s a little place just outside the gate that we might try.”

  “You’re talking about the Blue Diamond?” Ernie asked.

  Hunter laughed. “I see you’ve been there before.”

  “Like the songs says, I been everywhere.”

  The Blue Diamond was five hundred meters north of the gate on the east side of the road. It was in the middle of a little row of hooches and shops, most of which were showing their wares on shelves out front. Jungle fatigues, boots, canteens, web belts, and other G.I.-issue items were displayed openly, unashamedly, right alongside the dolls, velvet paintings, plastic utensils, cheap watches, and fake jewelry.

  They were greeted by a dozen children who pulled on their arms and pants legs, entreating them to buy or give money.

  “If the V.C. recruit their soldiers from these little shits, I can see why they got such guts,” Hunter said. “We can have the damnedest fire fight you ever saw and one minute later kids are out polishing up the brass. It’s a wonder more of them don’t get killed.”

  The restaurant smelled good inside. It smelled of fried ham and bacon, fish, savory Oriental spices, pepper, vinegar, and nuc mahm. A smiling old woman met them, and she motioned them to a table.

  “Shit!” Hunter said. “Last time I was in here there were a lot of pretty girls waiting tables.

  “Must have been afternoon,” Ernie suggested. “Yeah, come to think of it, it was. What’s that got to do with it?”

  “You’re up-country, you aren’t wise to the ways of the big-city girls,” Ernie said with a chuckle. “All the pretty girls are sleeping now.”

  “Why?”

  “Think about it, Hunter. Most of them work until four or five in the morning.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Hunter said. He sighed. “I guess you’re right. Well, I didn’t really have time for anything like that, anyway. All I want is something to eat, then get on back. I’ve got a night patrol to take out.”

  The men ordered spring rolls, fried rice, noodle soup, fried ham, bun mae, and coffee. Ernie doctored his rice and spring rolls with nuc mahm.

  “You mean you can eat that shit?” Hunter said, commenting about the pungent sauce.

  “It takes a while to get used to, I’ll admit,” Ernie said. “But I like it now.”

  “I’ll stick to soy sauce and hot peppers,” Hunter said.

  The first part of the trip back to An Loi was up Highway 1. Highway 1 was wide, well paved, and crawling with as much traffic as any major highway anywhere. Jeeploads of American M.P.s and Vietnamese Q.C.s zipped up and down the highway, their jeep’s long antennae bent by the wind. With the white-striped Jeeps and helmet liners giving them authority, they whipped in and out of traffic as if it were their sacred right to do so. They owned the roads in the same way highway patrolmen owned the roads in the States.

  Ernie and Hunter were talking about the army and the fact that Hunter was “going for his twenty.”

  “I look around and see all these kids,” Hunter was saying. “Most of them hate the army; they count the days until they can get out. They think all they got to do is walk right out into the world with their arms spread wide and some high-paying job’s gonna fall right into their laps.”

  “It’s their youth,” Ernie suggested.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Hunter said. “Or, maybe that’s just what kids learn in the outside world.”

  “Outside world? You mean civilians?”

  “No. I mean outside world, rather than the reservation.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m Sioux,” Hunter explained. “Born and raised on the Pine Ridge Reservation not too far from Wounded Knee. You ever heard of Wounded Knee?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “The last battle between my people and the whites was fought there,” Hunter said. He laughed, a bitter, scoffing laugh. “Some battle. My people sat on the ground while the soldiers massacred them. My great-grandfather was killed; my grandfather lost an arm.”

  “Damn. Don’t you sometimes feel a little like a traitor, being in the army?”

  “Nah. This army isn’t that army. And this army’s my home. I enlisted in the middle fifties…March of ’55, to be exact. I belong in the army. Here, I’m part of something, something bigger than myself. Can you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand,” Ernie said.

  “What was there for me back home? Work in a service station or garage, maybe? Tend sheep, or cattle? No, that wasn’t for me. And it’s not that I make more money in the army. Fact is, I could own my own service station, or my own cows, and I’d probably make more than I do now. I’m a soldier not for the money…but because it’s what I am, it’s what I’m about. Hell, I know I’m not supposed to admit this, but I’m even enjoying this damned war. After twelve years of training, it was like being all dressed up with no place to go. Vietnam gave me a place to go. I’ve been here for three tours.”

  “The army’s sent you back two times?”

  “Sent me back, hell; I haven’t left,” Hunter said. “I’ve voluntarily extended each tour.”

  “Then you really do like it, don’t you?” Ernie asked.

  “Yeah, well, it isn’t just that. The way I figure it, it takes at least a year to learn your way around and another year to know the people. You aren’t worth a shit until your third year. Then you’re mean and green.”

  “And that’s you, huh? Mean and green?”

  “You goddamned right,” Hunter said. “Here’s our turnoff.”

  They left Highway 1 and traveled no more than two hundred meters when they saw an M.P. Jeep sitting at the side of the road. As they approached the Jeep, one of the M.P.’s got out and signaled for them to stop.

  “What’s up?” Hunter asked, as the M.P. stepped up to them.

  “Where you headed, Sarge?”

  “I’m going to An Loi,” Hunter said.

  “Who’s this?” the M.P. gestured toward Ernie.

  “I’m Ernie Chapel,” Ernie said. He pulled out his I.D. and press credentials for the M.P. to see. “I have clearance from MACV.”

  The M.P. looked at the credentials for a moment, then handed them back. He stroked his chin. “We just got word that a V.C. patrol is working the road up ahead,” the M.P. said. “They may be setting up an ambush.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s what they do,” Hunter said.

  “What I’m getting at is, you may want to wait until another few vehicles come along. Then you can go with the convoy.”

  “No, thanks. I’d rather take my
chances alone.”

  “Just a minute,” the M.P. said. He walked over toward his own Jeep and spoke to the other M.P. That was when Hunter noticed the other M.P. was a second lieutenant. The second lieutenant nodded his head, then got out and came back toward Hunter. Hunter saluted him as he approached and the lieutenant returned it.

  “Specialist Anderson tells me you don’t want to wait for a convoy to be formed.”

  “No, sir,” Hunter said.

  “Why not? It would be safer.”

  “Who figured that out?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lieutenant, if you were a V.C. in charge of two or three men on a suicide mission like this, who would you rather attack? One single Jeep or a convoy?”

  The lieutenant thought for a moment. “Well, I’d want to make it count,” he said. “I’d probably wait for a convoy. But that’s different.”

  “Why? You think the V.C. are too dumb to figure that out?”

  The lieutenant sighed then stepped back away from the Jeep. “All right, Sergeant, go ahead,” he agreed. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Thanks,” Hunter said. He shifted into gear and drove away, leaving the lieutenant and SP-4 standing in the road behind him.

  “You got a weapon, Ernie?” Hunter asked as they drove away.

  “No. I’m a noncombatant. If I get caught with a weapon, my credentials will be pulled.”

  “Yeah? Well, if we’re hit, throw your credentials at them.”

  Ernie looked around at the rice paddies and thick groves that crowded down to the road. This route, unlike Highway 1, was narrow and winding, with dozens of blind spots and hundreds of opportunities for ambuscade.

  “I guess I see what you mean,” Ernie replied. Hunter unsnapped the leg pocket on his jungle fatigues, then pulled out a German P-38 pistol. He handed the weapon to Ernie.

  “I bought this while I was in Germany,” he said. “I’m not supposed to carry a personal weapon, but it’s a sweet little piece and I like having it around.”

  “Thanks,” Ernie said. He held the gun in his lap.