Saigon (49 page)

The white-painted Red Cross Dakota carrying Joseph back to Dien Bien Phu skimmed in fast and low through a break in the mountains, banking and turning sharply to avoid flying across areas where the Viet Minim had burst through the defense perimeter in strength. Through a side window Joseph caught his first glimpse of the endless trenches which had been dug rapidly across all the hillsides, like contour -lines, as the Communists had moved inexorably down on the camp. At some points he saw that they had already advanced to within a mile of the command center, and inside the perimeter itself, the wreckage of burned-out aircraft, trucks and devastated gun emplacements bore tragic witness to the great toll that the enemy’s daily artillery barrages had already taken on French resources. 

“Those two hills to the north, Gabrielle and Beatrice, were overrun in the first few hours of the attack,” said a grim-faced French medical orderly who was flying in with blood and plasma supplies to help evacuate wounded from the overflowing field hospital. “Since then the Communists have pulverized the camp with their guns nonstop for fifteen nights.” He leaned closer to Joseph and pointed to the heart of the fortified camp where a swarm of troops arid vehicles was coming and going. “That’s the field hospital. It was built underground to deal with only forty wounded at a time because our masters in their wisdom thought all casualties could be flown out to Hanoi. Now the Communist guns keep the airstrip closed for all but an hour or two a day, and hundreds of injured men are lying around in tunnels leading into the hospital. Every night the monsoon rain floods the tunnels, and gangrene has become as common down there as salt in the sea.” 

The medic’s voice was bitter and resentful, and Joseph could only nod wordlessly; although in Hanoi the French high command had admitted the battle wasn’t going well, the visible deterioration in the camp since his last visit shocked Joseph deeply. In the early morning light he could see that the overnight storms had left the area awash with gray and ocher slime, and the entire valley floor was littered with muddied parachute silks. It was obvious from the air that a high proportion of the food and ammunition packages being dropped to the garrison were now falling among the enemy outside the shrinking perimeter, and Joseph wondered how Paul had been faring in all the mud and chaos of the past two weeks. Battles had raged constantly day and night during that time, and he knew from the press conferences he had attended in Hanoi that several officers on the staff of Colonel de Castries had been wounded or had collapsed under the strain. 

As the plane turned its nose towards the battered airstrip, anxieties that he’d been holding at bay during the long flight from Hanoi crowded back into his mind once more. With the military situation deteriorating rapidly in the Viet Minh’s favor, his desire to spirit Lan and Tuyet away to some safer place in Asia had become an obsession that haunted his thoughts day and night. He had been sleeping badly and had spent much more time than was necessary chasing battle reports and badgering military contacts in Hanoi for information. Each new admission of Viet Minh success had heightened his feeling that time was running out, and seeing how fast the defenses of Dien Bien Phu were crumbling, he was filled with new fears that all would be lost if he didn’t act quickly. 

The growing signs of devastation in the French camp below him by some strange association also made him feel more acutely than ever the wretchedness of his betrayal of Paul. Struggling courageously against the odds in his fetid bunker, the French officer suspected nothing of his long deceitful liaison with Lan and was utterly unaware of Tuyet’s existence. The thought of confessing to years of deliberate deception, although he ached to do it, filled Joseph with horror, and as he watched the trenches and barbed.. wire entanglements rise towards the plane, he suddenly found that with part of his mind he was almost hoping he might find Paul already dead: the chances that he wouldn’t survive the terrible siege had to be high, and despite the ignoble nature of the thought, Joseph found himself wondering if that wouldn’t be the kindest trick that fate could play. Already deeply disillusioned about Vietnam’s future and his own attempts to make amends for the past, how would Paul be able to endure defeat and the news that his wife had betrayed him over many years with a man he had always trusted as a loyal friend? The truth about that, thought Joseph miserably, would almost certainly prove the last straw. Or would it? he wondered, with a sudden wild surge of hope. 

Perhaps the bond of friendship they shared might even be strengthened by his forthright confession. Might not Paul respect him the more for his honesty? He might even welcome the news once he got over the shock. After all, it had been Paul himself who had admitted that his marriage had long been a failure. Freed of the burden of a hopeless future with Lan, wouldn’t Paul be able to see the war and his own role in it in a clearer perspective? He might realize then he must at long last tear himself away from the hopelessly lost cause Vietnam had become for him and look again to France for his future. . 

The sudden mortar barrage that greeted the Dakota’s arrival on the airstrip broke into these muddled thoughts, and Joseph clutched the sides of his seat as the plane’s wheels made contact with the pitted surface. It braked rapidly to a standstill, and while groaning French soldiers on stretchers were hurried aboard amid the din of exploding shells, Joseph crouched beneath the aircraft’s fuselage; when its hatches were slammed closed he rode back to the command center in one of the makeshift ambulances and got the driver to drop him at the chief of staff’s dugout. He hadn’t tried to give advance warning of his arrival this time, and when he knocked on the side-post and pulled back the sacking covering the entrance, Paul looked up from his paper-strewn table in astonishment 

“Mon Dieu, I don’t believe it! I must be suffering hallucinations.” The French officer rose from his seat and gripped Joseph’s outstretched hand fiercely. “You’re either very brave or very foolish, Joseph, to come back. Not even French journalists are venturing out here anymore.” 

“The Gazette decided they had to have one more worm’s eye view report from Dien Bien Phu, and I jumped at the chance to come and drink some more of your cognac.” .Joseph grinned, but inwardly he was taken aback by Paul’s appearance. Part of the head bandage visible beneath his steel helmet was grimy and discolored, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was gray with fatigue. His movements too were stiff and slow, signaling clearly the strain he’d undergone in the past two weeks. 

“You’d better put this on.” Paul handed Joseph a steel helmet and waved him to a chair. “Even the worms are wearing them in the valley now.” He sank back into his seat with a weary smile, and from outside, the sudden stutter of small arms fire became audible, interspersed with deeper-throated artillery salvos. 

“Things look much worse than when I was here last,” said Joseph tentatively. “And you look about all in, Paul.” 

The French officer shrugged. “There’s not much point in trying to tell you otherwise. mon vieux — the situation’s grim. From the moment we lost Gabrielle and Beatrice we knew Dien Bien Phu wasn’t going to produce any magic victory for us. They lay down a heavy bombardment on us every night, then follow up with massive ‘human wav& attacks. Our own artillery’s been virtually knocked out, and it’s only a matter of time before the runway’s destroyed. Then we’ll really he at their mercy.” He paused and lifted a warning finger in Joseph’s direction. “I don’t advise you to stay here very long. Not many more planes are going to get out.” 

Joseph shook his head in dismay. “What does Colonel de Castries plan to do?” 

“I’m afraid de Castries has taken it all very badly,” replied Paul with a troubled look. “He’s hardly been out of his bunker since the attack began. He doesn’t chair the daily command meetings either. Colonel Pierre Langlais, a Breton paratroop officer, has virtually taken command. He’s planned what counterassaults have been made on Elaine, Dominique, Francoise and Huguette — those are the hills closest to the command center.” Paul broke off and pointed to the map on the wall behind him where the shrinking perimeter had been re-marked daily in red. “But as you can see, the enemy are squeezing us into a smaller area all the time. As soon as we succeed in putting the flag of France back on one hill, the Viet Minh run theirs up on another.” 

“How many men have you lost?” 

Paul’s face darkened. “Maybe a thousand dead all told and twice that number wounded. We estimate that we’ve killed five times as many of the enemy, but Giap is making a calculated sacrifice, and he can replenish his forces indefinitely. With the airstrip almost unusable, only paratroops can replace our casualties. Most of the Algerians and the Thais have deserted already and gone to live in holes in the riverbank.” Paul’s shoulders sagged and he slumped lower in his chair; outside the noise of a new action on one of the group of hills close to the command center was growing, but Paul ignored it. “If I were you, Joseph, I’d get out on the next plane that comes in I’ll get my adjutant to give you a quick tour in a jeep for your story — then get back to Hanoi as fast as you can.” He picked up a field telephone, ordered the vehicle, then grinned wearily at the American. “Things may be bad but that’s no reason to let a good friend get caught here like a rat in a trap.” 

For several seconds Joseph sat listening indecisively to the sounds of the battle raging outside; then he drew a long breath. “Thanks, Paul. I appreciate your help very much — but I hate the thought of you having to stay on in this hellhole.” 

The Frenchman shrugged and said nothing. He shuffled some paperwork abstractly on the desk, then glanced up at Joseph again. “And how’s everything in the outside world, old friend? What have you been up to since you were here last?” 

“I’ve divided my time between Saigon and Hanoi mostly, trying not very successfully to keep tabs on this mystifying war of yours.” Joseph hesitated, wondering with a feeling of panic whether Lan might have mentioned in a letter meeting him in Dalat, “I managed to snatch a couple of days off at the Lang-Biang Palace. It’s all changed there now — but the scenery’s still magnificent.” 

“Lan’s at Dalat too right now, I think,” said Paul, sorting idly through his paper again. “Did you see anything of her?” 

“Yes. When I heard she was there I paid her a visit to tell her I’d seen you.” Joseph found himself hard-pressed to keep his voice casual. “I told her you were well despite the circumstances.” 

Paul nodded without looking up. “And how was she?” 

Joseph hesitated, feeling his heart begin to beat faster. “As lovely as ever, Paul. She seemed very concerned about you.” 

Paul raised his eyes and stared at Joseph, but at that moment the door curtain was pulled aside and his adjutant entered. Paul cocked his head on one side, listening for sounds of gunfire, but the valley had gone quiet. “You’d better get your reconnaissance trip over while this lull lasts,” he said with a sudden briskness. “We’ll drink some cognac when you get back.” 

Joseph followed the adjutant up the sap with a profound feeling of relief and clambered into the jeep beside him. During the next hour he was glad that he had to concentrate on the junior officer’s briefing as the little vehicle raced around the remaining strongpoints. When he returned to the chief of staff’s dugout, Paul had already opened a new bottle of cognac, and he rose and poured generous measures into two mugs. 

“And what are your impressions of our gallant fortress now, Joseph?” His voice was heavy with irony, and he pushed a mug towards the American with a resigned smile. “You see some changes have occurred since your last inspection, yes?” 

Joseph nodded unhappily. “It all fits with what you told me before I went out, Paul. It doesn’t look very promising.” 

“Then let’s drink to better times in the future, mon vieux. It’s better not to dwell too much on the present.” Paul lowered himself wearily into his seat once more. “There’s another ambulance plane on its way in. My adjutant will drive you out to meet it— there may not be another one in today.” 

Joseph nodded his thanks, and they drank in an uneasy silence. 

“Joseph, my friend, I can’t help feeling that something’s worrying you besides this nasty business.” Paul gazed at him intently over the rim of his mug. “In the past we’ve always been open with one another, but now somehow you’ve become a different man. You never look me in the eye anymore — you have a furtive air about you.” 

“It’s just the damned war, Paul,” said Joseph quickly. “Cot respondents may not do any fighting — but they suffer from battle fatigue, too.” 

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” 

Joseph avoided his eyes. ‘Sure I’m sure.” 

Paul continued staring at him, and Joseph shuffled his feet uncomfortably under his gaze. “Maybe life in this damned rabbit warren is warping my senses, mon ami,” he said speaking very quietly, “but to my eyes you looked shiftier than ever when I asked you about Lan. Is she doing something I don’t know about? Is she having an affair with somebody?” 

Joseph had been standing beside the desk looking down at Paul, but the question struck him like a whiplash, and he turned away. 

He searched his mind frantically for some suitable evasion, then realizing that he had already betrayed his feelings, he turned slowly back to face Paul again. “The last thing I wanted to do was to speak of this here,” he began hesitantly, his voice barely under control. “In fact, Lan made me promise I’d say nothing to you until it was all over. But now that you’ve said what you have, Paul, maybe it’s better for all of us that you know the truth. It’s been agony for me keeping it from you.”