“Yes. She interviewed Corporal La Torre.”
“I thought you gave instructions that the corporal was not to have visitors.”
“I did. She convinced the idiot captain at the prison that she wasn’t a visitor.”
“How is that?”
“Mademoiselle Friang can be very persuasive.”
“And that doesn’t concern you?”
“Why should it? Whatever information she was able to pry out of La Torre is bound to be suspect. Besides, he will probably be convicted in a few days and his execution will eliminate any testimony he might give in a court.”
“I see.”
“I don’t think it’s wise to chase after every lead she might find. Acting on our concerns just makes her think she’s on to something. It is in everyone’s interest to let things rest and carry on as if nothing unusual has happened.”
“I’m not sure she would agree.”
“No. But she may be convinced. Both the American and Colonel Bigeard were involved in our operations. When the time is right she will need to be reminded of that. She will not want to hurt either of them no matter what she finds.”
“So in the meantime we just let her keep digging?” said Trinquier.
“Yes. But we don’t have to make it easy for her. We do have rules, you know,” said Massu.
FOURTEEN
It was night and thick clouds obscured the heavens over Dien Bien Phu. Coyle, dressed in a Foreign Legionnaire uniform, descended from the dark sky on his parachute. He could hear the gunfire and explosions below. He looked down and the valley was on fire in many places. Huts and rice fields burned. It seemed like the ground itself was red-hot beneath the clods of dirt. Tracer rounds streaked across the battlefield from all directions. It was impossible to determine which were the French trenches and which were Viet Minh. He didn’t know where to steer his parachute. There was a fifty percent chance he would land on or behind enemy lines and be shot or taken captive. He was dropping fast. It would not take long before he knew his fate.
He could see some of the soldiers and nurses that he jumped with floating down and landing only to be shot by Viet Minh patrols tasked with hunting down the new recruits attempting to parachute into the French garrison. The Viet Minh took advantage of their helplessness as they became tangled in their parachute lines. Coyle had parachuted several times before when the plane he had been piloting was hit by enemy fire and he was forced to abandoned it before it crashed. He guessed that it was good he had jumped with others not as experienced as he in parachuting. They would keep the Viet Minh occupied while he landed and hopefully escaped. He felt guilty at the thought. He wasn’t afraid to die. He had faced death many times before but he wanted to survive so he could save Brigitte. She was down there someplace in that hell hole and he needed to find her… to protect her.
He saw a series of trenches across a hill and the burned ruins of a building that he recognized on top of the hill. It was the mayor’s mansion where Brigitte had been living while reporting on the siege at Dien Bien Phu. He pulled his parachute’s cords and steered toward the hill. He could see French troops in the trenches firing their weapons at the Viet Minh as they charged the barbed wire perimeter. The French were too few and the Viet Minh too many. It would all be over soon. The French garrison would be overrun. He had to find Brigitte fast if he was to have any hope of saving her.
He landed on the hillside and slid downward when his parachute fluttered in the wind and pulled him toward the enemy lines. He pulled out his knife and plunged it into the wet ground to stop himself from sliding. He released his parachute harness with his free hand. The parachute floated away. He crawled back up the hillside until he reached a trench. He pulled himself over the edge and dropped into black water at the bottom of the trench.
The trench was still and the floor had turned into a thick mud covered with water. The smell was putrid and it made Coyle want to vomit. He didn’t. It was pitch dark and he couldn’t see anything but the occasional glimpse as a stream of tracer bullets from a French machinegun passing overhead. He tried to stand but his arms and legs were stuck deep in the mud. He pulled one of his arms free and reach up to find something that would give a handhold so he could pull the rest of body out of the mud. His hand felt something but it wasn’t very stable. He decided it was better than nothing and he pulled on it. His other arm came free. He used it to grasp the side of the trench and again he found something that was unstable. A parachute flare launched from a mortar ignited high above the trench. He looked over at the wall of the trench and found instead of dirt the rotting corpses of French soldiers. He reached down and grabbed one of his legs with both his hands. One by one he pulled his legs free of the mud. More corpses rose up from the mud and floated in the black water. He wished for darkness again and the flare went out. He waded through the corpses and the black water until he again found the soggy bottom to the trench and gained good footing. He wanted to get away from the stench of death as fast as possible but knew he would be an easy target if he left the trench. He moved along the trench until he found an intersection that took him up the hill. He followed the new trench line until he reached the top of the hill and pulled himself out.
Before him stood what was left of the mayor’s mansion after almost two months of constant Viet Minh artillery fire. He called out in a hushed voice for Brigitte. There was no response. He moved forward in the darkness and called out again. “She ain’t here,” said a voice. Coyle couldn’t see who it was but the voice was familiar. He moved in the direction of the voice. Another parachute flare ignited above. He saw the owner of the voice… “McGoon?” said Coyle.
“Hey, Coyle. How they hanging?” said McGoon in a weak voice.
“They’re hanging fine. What are you doing here?”
“The Daisy Mae crashed.”
“I know. I saw it. And I saw you die.”
“Oh, that’s not good.”
“But you’re okay. You’re alive.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“My gut hurts.”
“Yeah. You got torn up something awful.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“Have you seen Brigitte?”
“Yeah. She helped me after the crash. She carried me up here.”
“Brigitte carried you up the hill?” said Coyle knowing that McGoon weighed over two hundred and fifty pounds.
“Yeah. She’s really strong for such a small thing. Said she’d be back latter to check on me.”
“Where did she go?”
“The hospital.”
“Brigitte’s at the hospital?”
“Ain’t that what I just said? You really need to have your hearing checked, Coyle. I think you may be getting old.”
“I’ll do that McGoon. Right now I’ve got to get you off this hill.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Why not?”
McGoon moved his hand away from his stomach and revealed a long gash with his intestines popping out in places.
“Oh my God,” said Coyle.
“Yeah. That’s what I said the first time I saw ’em.”
“I gotta get you a medic.”
“I don’t think there’s much they can do. My guts keep falling out every time I try to get up. It’s really annoying. I think it’s better I just sit still.”
“You can’t, McGoon. The Viet Minh are coming up the hill. They’ll be here soon.”
“Ah, that’s okay. I still got my survival pistol. I’ll fight ‘em off.”
“I ain’t leaving you, McGoon.”
“You got to, Coyle. It’s the only way you can save Brigitte.”
What McGoon was saying seemed to make sense to Coyle. “Yeah. I think you’re right,” said Coyle. “Is there anything I can do for ya before I go?”
“No. I’m good. Thanks for stopping by. I was getting a bit lonely.”
“I’ll come back
once I find Brigitte.”
“That’d be swell. Maybe you could bring a couple of beers with ya.”
“You got it, McGoon,” said Coyle as he moved off toward the back of the hill.
An artillery shell exploded nearby throwing dirt up into the air. “You’d better hurry, Coyle. I think they’re coming.”
Another shell slammed into the wall next to McGoon and exploded. McGoon caught fire and screamed. Coyle ran back toward him but the distance between them kept growing until McGoon and the ruins of the mansion were completely out of sight.
Coyle found himself next to the entrance to the garrison hospital. There were a thousand wounded French soldiers sitting and lying around the entrance waiting their turn. One was missing a head as his body waited patiently. More shells rained down exploding and kicking up great clouds of dirt and rock. Coyle knew he was dreaming but he didn’t dare wake up until he found Brigitte. He entered the underground hospital.
The underground hospital was more cave than a structure. The engineers had dug out dozens of tunnels and rooms into the hillside. Water was seeping through the walls of the tunnel and mixing with the blood from the wounded. The mixture was turning the ground into a reddish-brown sludge. The air was thick with flies and smelled like the trench he left earlier. The wounded patients leaned against the wet walls and those that couldn’t stand sat in the mud on the floor. Many had hacking coughs while others groaned from pain.
Coyle walked down the tunnel looking inside each of the rooms for any sign of Brigitte. Doctors and nurses operated on the wounded under the most abhorrent conditions. The bottom of their surgical gowns were covered in mud and the tops were covered in blood. They had run out of morphine several days ago but their scalpels and saws continued to cut. It was the only way to keep their patients alive. Many died.
Coyle rounded the corner to one of the side tunnels and he saw Brigitte leaning over a Viet Minh soldier trying to calm him down. “It’s okay. I’m here to help you,” said Brigitte.
The soldier babbled something in Vietnamese like he was delirious and hallucinating. “Brigitte?” said Coyle.
Brigitte turned and smiled. “You came,” she said.
“Of course I came,” said Coyle as he embraced her and held her tight. “I thought you might have died.”
“I can’t die, Coyle. I have too much to live for.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
The Viet Minh reached into his jacket and pulled out a grenade. The pin was already out. He loosened his grip and the spoon flipped off the grenade activating the timer. “Brigitte, we have to go,” said Coyle with panic in his voice.
“I can’t leave, Coyle. It’ll make such a great story,” said Brigitte.
The grenade exploded.
Coyle woke screaming. He was alone in his C-119 sitting in his pilot’s chair. He had dozed off after parking the plane. It took him a moment to get his bearings. He was still in Algeria at the military airfield. He rose and left the cockpit.
Coyle thought about Brigitte and what his dream meant. He climbed out of the plane and walked across the tarmac. He entered the terminal below the control tower.
He walked to the payphone and called Brigitte. “Hey,” he said when she answered.
“Is everything okay, Tom?”
“Yeah. Everything is fine. I just needed to hear your voice.”
“That’s sweet. When are you coming back to Paris?”
“Soon. I just have a couple more missions I need to fly.”
“With Bruno?”
“Yeah, plus a troop transport to Nice. Are you okay, Brigitte?”
“Yeah. I’m fine just really swamped at work.”
“Sure. I understand. Me too.”
“We need to find time for each other, Tom.”
“We will. I love you.”
“I love you too, darling. Good night.”
“Good night,” said Coyle and hung up.
He doubted he would get much sleep but he was sure he could find a stiff drink at the officer’s club. He needed it.
Saadi and Marwa rode in the back of a taxi through a business district in Paris. Marwa had a shopping bag sitting beside her on the floor. Saadi instructed the driver to pull up in front of an office building. “I will just be a few minutes, darling,” he said to Marwa.
“We’ll wait,” said Marwa.
“You know I must charge you for the waiting time?” said the driver.
“Of course,” said Saadi as he stepped out of the taxi leaving Marwa in the back seat.
Saadi walked into the office building. He continued through the lobby and slipped out the back.
There was another taxi waiting in the alley behind the building. Saadi climbed in the back where Ludmila was waiting with an identical shopping bag sitting on the floor beside her. “Hello, darling,” said Ludmila.
“Thank you for picking me, darling. We will have a nice lunch. I have the perfect place,” said Saadi and gave instructions to the driver to take them to a shopping district. The taxi drove off.
Inside the taxi at the front of the building the driver glanced in the rearview mirror at Marwa. She didn’t like that he could see her in the mirror. She picked up the shopping bag and moved over directly behind the driver’s seat. The driver grunted as if insulted. Marwa watched out the window and waited.
The taxi holding Ludmila and Saadi pulled to the curb in the shopping district. Ludmila stepped from the taxi holding the bag. “I just need to return my shoes, darling. I will only be a minute,” said Ludmila.
“We will wait,” said Saadi.
“I will need to charge you for waiting time,” said the driver.
“Of course,” said Saadi as he watched Ludmila trot through a crowd of pedestrians and into the front entrance of a shoe boutique.
Three minutes later, Ludmila came back out without the shopping bag and hopped in the taxi. The taxi drove off and turned down a busy boulevard. “Oh, no. I forgot my wallet at the office,” said Saadi. “Driver could you please go back to the office where you picked me up?”
“Of course,” said the driver and turned down another street heading back the way they came.
The explosion at the shoe boutique killed everyone inside. It also seriously injured twenty pedestrian hit by flying shards of glass when the front windows shattered. Burning shoes tumbled out onto the sidewalk. Smoke poured from the burning building.
Brigitte felt the explosion in her office and the windows rattled. She looked out the window and saw the black smoke from a fire billowing up into the sky. It’s close, she thought as she grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
The taxi holding Marwa also shook from the explosion. “Feels like another of the those damn bombs went off,” said the taxi driver.
“Yes indeed,” said Marwa as she reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of pliers.
Brigitte ran out the front of the building and looked around. She saw the parked taxi and waved to the driver.
In the backseat of the taxi, Marwa already had the top of the tea biscuit tin open, exposing the explosives inside. The driver could not see her in his rearview mirror. She crimped the pencil detonator and closed the lid. “I’ve changed my mind. I will join my husband inside,” said Marwa handing the drive the fare plus a big tip. “Keep the change.”
She pushed the tin back into the shopping bag and pushed the bag under the back seat. She stepped out of the taxi and walked into the building. Saadi and Ludmila would be waiting in the alley behind the building. Saadi had killed the taxi driver with a wire garrote so there would be no witness of the three of them together.
The taxi driver in the front of the building saw Brigitte waving at him and pulled up. He felt fortunate to find a fare so quickly. Brigitte got in and told the driver to head for the shopping district. The taxi drove off. “Where are you going?” said the taxi driver.
“Just follow the smoke,” said Brigitte.
The driver looked at Brigitte in the rearview mirror
and said, “You’re that famous reporter, yes?”
“Yes. Please watch the road and hurry.”
“I’ve read your articles. The ones on the siege in Vietnam. They were good.”
“Thank you. Watch the road please.”
A fire truck sped through the intersection in front of the taxi. The driver slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting it. Brigitte threw up her hands to keep from hitting her head on the back of the front passenger seat. “That was a close one,” said the driver.
“Just follow the fire truck,” said Brigitte slightly peeved.
The driver did as she said and turned down the intersection. Brigitte glanced down at the shopping bag that had slid out from underneath the seat. “I think one of your customers left their shopping bag back here.”
“Probably that curly-haired lady. I’ll go back and give it to her once I drop her off.”
“Curly-haired?”
“Yeah. Beautiful long black curls. Natural I think. Ya don’t see that much anymore. Women are always cutting it short. Easier to care for I guess. Not my wife. I tell her to keep her hair long.”
Brigitte looked down at the shopping bag and saw the edge of the tea biscuit tin. She reached down and carefully pulled it out. It was the same lid as she had seen in the aftermath of the other bombing. She carefully opened the lid exposing the bomb inside. “Pull over!” she said.
“But we’re not there yet,” said the driver.
“NOW!”
“All right. All right. Don’t get your knickers in a bunch. I’m pulling over,” said the driver slowing down and pulling to the curb.
“Get out of the car,” said Brigitte opening the back door.
“What? Why?”
“You’ve got a bomb in the back seat.”
“Where?” said the driver as her turned around and looked into the backseat.
Café Wars Page 17