Red Flags (27 page)

"And you bought this?" Ruchevsky said.

Slavin nodded. "Hard not to. Everything he said was the truth."

"Except," I said, "the part about what the narcotics are for."

"All I know is he approached me to propose it to the Katu. Poppies grow best at altitude, so the Katu were the obvious choice. Liberation Front people escorted me into the foothills to meet with them."

"VC accompanied you?" I said.

"I went the final stretch alone. They were afraid."

"Do Viet Cong oversee or protect the fields?"

"No. The Katu carry the raw opium down to them from the mountain to a nearby river."

"Where?"

"Three miles downriver from their village—that was the plan."

"They transport it by water?"

"I don't know. I never went back."

"But their village is near water?" Ruchevsky said.

"Yes, as always with the Katu. It's on the side of a sloping hill surrounded by peaks."

"A big village?"

"A hundred longhouses. Yes."

Ruchevsky had him mark it on our map and said, "Can we get a look at those opium fields of theirs?"

Slavin sat up. "The terrain is extremely steep. The Katu must have built a thousand bamboo steps into the mountainside so they could climb up. I downed two canteens on those stairs. At the top it levels off. It took another hour to reach the field."

Ruchevsky said, "You think we could observe the fields without their knowing?"

"There's no way you could climb that mountain except by their stairs. And they are closely guarded. A helicopter landing would give you away instantly. They're far too vigilant and untrusting. I'd advise against it." He looked from one to the other of us. "You aren't intending to hurt them, are you? The Katu, I mean."

"Reverend," Ruchevsky said, "you haven't been back to those fields, so you haven't seen the quantities of opium they're cultivating up there. Those poppies are putting hundreds of thousands of dollars in NVA coffers."

Slavin looked genuinely shocked. "I don't want the Katu to suffer for my stupidity."

"You think they deserve your concern?" Ruchevsky said.

"You may see their behavior as savage, but is it that different from what we're doing here? Except that we're far less concerned with the disposition of our victims. We stack up ours like cordwood and bulldoze them into pits. They practically worship theirs."

We thanked Slavin for his candor and left him standing on the porch.

Ruchevsky said, "What can you do to those fields?"

"Bombard them with mountain goats," I said. "It's not likely we're going to get any more air assets. Sounds like Mr. Lund has really been studying his crop science and not just pushing new strains of rice, the smug bastard. Talk about not knowing which war you're in or whose side you're on. You think Captain Nhu is only collecting tribute at Chinh's behest?"

Ruchevsky said, "I'll get my shop in Saigon to check out Nhu's family finances: work down the family tree, sniffing for money. Chinh's too. And Lund's. Wolf Man's agricultural adviser and air marshal needs to be shut down."

The last stragglers were leaving. The guards made ready to withdraw. I went over to Miser at the beer cooler.

"Get to the crypto rig and let Jessup know there's an American mixed up in all this."

"Who?"

"USAID man. Get the major to trace back Whalen Lund's time in country and see if he's done anything we can detain him for. I need to take him out of the equation here. He's collaborating with the hostiles, receiving kickbacks for expediting cultivation of certain agricultural products and maybe helping transport them. It would be a big help if Jessup could get him ejected from the country."

"Like a transfer?"

"Like arrested and deported. Hell, bust him for aiding the enemy and execute his ass. I don't care. Just run him the fuck out of Cheo Reo."

I
DROVE COLONEL BENNETT
to the stucco residence behind Roberta's clinic, as she'd requested.

"Captain, you seem ... are you thinking I'm—"

"Sir, I don't get paid to think. I'm just wondering what I need to do if there's an alert."

"There's a field phone at the clinic connected back to our signal shack. Major Gidding knows to contact me."

"Yes, sir," I said, thinking his career was toast if we got attacked while he was unaccountably elsewhere. Or worse still, if someone passed along information to the VC concerning his whereabouts. What was the bounty on a shiny new American bird colonel?

"Thanks, Captain Rider."

"You're welcome, Colonel."

He looked guilty and a little forlorn. As well he might. The NVA were getting ready to launch some big operation, and we were that much more at risk without him in the compound. I put the jeep in reverse and backed out of the narrow alleyway into the bumpy street. Roberta was wrong. This wasn't some casual wartime romance for him either. He was closer than ever to his first general's star and risking everything for her. He had chosen her over us. I felt betrayed. Jealous too, since I would have made the same choice in an instant.

I had just finished my evening round of radio contacts down in the commo bunker when a VC came up on the frequency to say in decent English that they'd be having their midday meal in our mess hall tomorrow. I took back the mike from the radio operator and said, "Yeah, hurry on over, fuckhead, and we'll hand you your lunch—personally. No problem."

Miser came halfway down the steps and beckoned me outside.

In the darkness, he whispered, "We got a situation."

"What?"

"Sergeant Rowdy. He's downtown, shacked up."

"He broke curfew?"

"Yeah. But that's not the problem."

"Sarge, it's been a long day. What's the problem?"

"There's VC in town tonight."

"How do you know?"

"We just got a call in the signal shack on the field phone from Dr. Roberta. She said to tell you right away. You'd know what to do."

"Right." I pushed at my cropped hair, wondering what the hell to do.

Miser said, "I should alert the duty officer and the guards on the wire."

"For sure, but don't say anything yet about Rowdy."

"Yes, sir."

"Where is he?"

"At the Brown Fairy."

"Opium den?"

"Seems like. Getting laid and blasted."

"Shit." A military scrip dollar would buy him a dozen pipes, and I doubted he'd ask for change. By now he'd be too far gone to stand, much less walk.

We set out over the gravel parking area toward the lone light of the night shift in the signal shack.

"Don't call a full alert," I said. "Call Ruchevsky at his place and warn him. Kill the perimeter lights. Have commo notify Pleiku we've got company in the area and we need gunships on standby, and Spooky on station here with its Gatling guns, immediately."

"And BUFFs?"

"Buffs?" I said.

"Big Ugly Flying Fuckers—B-Fifty-twos."

"Christ,
no!
"

Miser shrugged. "Okay, okay."

"Did Rowdy just stay in town all day or sneak out after curfew?"

"Crabbed out after the gate closed," Miser said. "His pals gave it up. They've got some secret back way."

"They'll have to show me. I'll go out that way too."

I went to gather my stuff. Miser jogged to the commo bunker to do his part. I burst into the signal shack, demanding to know Rowdy's trick. Geronimo escorted me to the wall of steel planks out back and showed me their "pet door," an eroded ditch where rainwater had dug its way underneath the barrier. The signalmen kept it covered with sandbags, which they pulled away to reveal a shallow depression. I took off my boots, shimmied through, and emerged into a dark world. I tied the laces together and draped the footgear over my shoulder.

Muzzle angled down, I crept away, trying to keep the dry ground from crunching underfoot. I followed the curve of the compound to the corner of the bare field where we had watched the young Vietnamese gather ground wood. I felt around with my toes for the diagonal path, hoping that no Vietnamese garrison guard would hear me. At the end of the path, I stepped on the road to town and let it lead me to the main street.

A single browned-out bulb was strung high on a bare pole, the town's lone streetlight. Reaching the edge of the deserted market, I sensed movement at the far end and heard men talking in Vietnamese. The rhythmic crunch suggested several of them, moving left to right, upright and confident. I didn't dare step out onto the wider expanse of the square. I hid in the blackness against the closed shop fronts and eased toward the alleyway that led to the clinic. More voices. Between the buildings it was so dark I couldn't see the sights on my rifle. I waded through the murk with my left hand outstretched, the pistol grip of the rifle in the other.

Gas lanterns burned painfully bright in the clinic, its screened sides open to the night air. Roberta leaned over a gurney. All around her stood armed VC. A few of the men held the patient down and one barked at her as she worked on their wounded comrade. He swallowed moans and grunted and tried to keep from crying out as she explored a wound on his shoulder. He lost consciousness for moments at a time. They hadn't permitted anesthetic: he'd need to travel fast, away from Cheo Reo, as soon as she was done.

Blood streaked her hands and arms to the elbow. She carefully withdrew a hemostat from the man's flesh as he winced and moaned. A shrapnel fragment clinked against the metal of a bowl. No sign of the colonel.

The men in the clinic had no night vision at all in that harsh light. When the wounded man's loud scream caused them all to turn toward him, I crossed to Roberta's house and slipped in. Bennett stood just inside the door, rifle aimed at my heart. He lowered the carbine. I held up my hand, fingers spread, signaling five hostiles. He nodded, face shiny with sweat.

The VC hadn't come for him or Rowdy—a relief. They'd come for Roberta's help. By the unwritten rules, since she was an unarmed female noncombatant, they'd normally leave her once she was done. But you never knew. Three missionaries had been seized years earlier and not seen again. There were no guarantees.

Bennett and I stood by the windows, helpless, rifles at our shoulders.

"The second from the left," he whispered, voice hoarse with fatigue and anxiety. "Wolf Man."

"I see him."

"Your eyes are younger than mine. If they make a move to harm her, drop him. I'll go at the rest."

We had Bennett's Viet Cong counterpart in sight, and though we were outgunned, we had all the advantage of surprise we needed to even the odds quickly. But Roberta was in the line of fire and there were undoubtedly more VC out there in the dark in blocking positions, securing the group's exit route. If a fight broke out, they could join in quickly.

"Is anyone with you?" Bennett said.

"No. I snuck over by myself."

Me and my M-16,
I thought. I'd brought extra ammo for us but he was carrying a carbine. Wrong caliber.

The moans eased. The worst was over, or maybe the wounded man had fainted again. She worked steadily, sewing him up. The VC seemed less intent and anxious.

"I guess we'll know the score soon," he said. "I hope you won't be sorry for coming to the rescue."

Roberta worked on the wounded man for half an hour more, speaking easily to the circle in melodic Vietnamese. When she announced she was done, Bennett and I tensed and raised our sights. If there was going to be trouble it would be now. I estimated how many I could stitch firing on automatic. Wolf Man wouldn't be one of them. He was too close to her and too antsy, always moving.

Spooky's twin propellers droned overhead, its machine guns ready to pour down a thousand tracer rounds a second onto the unfortunate enemy in an unbroken red ray. The VC froze, looking up toward the sound. Wolf Man barked orders at his cadre to help the wounded man. Two stood him upright between them and half carried him away. Wolf Man didn't say another word. Just left. The rest sped after him.

Roberta slumped against the gurney for a few seconds, then stripped off her gloves, doused the lanterns, and crossed to the house. Once inside, she fell into Bennett's arms. She didn't even seem surprised to find me there. Her voice trembled as she talked herself down from the experience. Bennett asked about her patient.

"He's Montagnard," she said. "Three of them were. The rest Vietnamese, including their leader with the stubble beard. He's fluent in Rhade, though."

"That was a long procedure," Bennett said.

"The bullet's in pieces. The smaller chunks were hell to dig out. He's bleeding still. I sutured what I could. They really shouldn't move him."

Emotionally spent and exhausted, she sprawled across the thin mattress and the Western pillows that looked completely out of place. Three chairs, a table, and the plank bed were the only furnishings. She fell right asleep.

A chair creaked as Bennett sat down. "She called the compound when her nurses warned us Viet Cong were in the town. If they had come in here, I'd be dead. She kept them away."

"The doc takes charge."

"She does." He stood, arching his stiff back. "I'm in trouble. There's a train bearing down on me." All I could make out was his white forehead. "Were you ever that taken with anyone?"

"Once."

"How did it work out?"

"Train hit me and kept going."

He nearly laughed until he realized it wasn't funny. "You like her," he said.

"Yes, sir."

He started to say more but stopped himself. It occurred to me at that moment that I wasn't there by accident. Bennett intended to lure me into their circle—Roberta and his. Like the drive to Mai Linh, when I first met her, our being together wasn't serendipity. The colonel engineered it. I was the fallback. If he went home to his wife, if the Army discovered his adultery and cashiered him, if anything happened to him, I'd be there. To console and distract Roberta, to be infatuated. My anger rose.

I didn't want him to talk, so I said he should get some sleep too, that I'd stand guard. He didn't argue. He reversed his chair and sat backward on it, head resting on his arms, rifle across his lap. I leaned against the doorjamb and tried to see anything I could outside so as to distract myself and keep awake. There wasn't a lot. Toward dawn, I awoke abruptly, still standing, as vehicles screeched to a halt outside the house. With much shouting and gesturing, a large contingent of Colonel Chinh's regional militia pounded on the louvered door, demanding admission. Stripping off my fatigue shirt, I stood bare-chested in front of them, yawning. They all wore black pajamas and olive-drab hats strapped under their chins, and held their carbines at port arms. They were led by Captain Nhu, looking splendid in tailored fatigues and shiny insignia. He was clearly startled to see me, and slightly embarrassed.