The Shadow of Arms (24 page)

Their attitudes and views could be divided into three categories. The first included those who embraced an unmitigated communist ideology, with thought patterns oriented by their parents or relatives. Usually their families had taken part in the anti-French liberation movement before the Geneva Accords or had chosen to relocate to the north. They were youths like Thanh. The second category consisted of people burning with vengeful hatred after losing family members during the operations by the American forces or the ARVN. The third included those who had suffered agony and deserted the ARVN and joined the NLF or, like Pham Minh, those whose abstract passion for nationalism had been grievously disillusioned by the reality of South Vietnam. Those in the first two categories posed no special ideological problems, but conflicts in opinion were almost inevitable between the first category and those like Pham Minh. The divergences in views of the reality of their predicament grew more noticeable as the political training progressed.

They all got up at six in the morning and walked along the stream for an hour before having breakfast at seven. The meal was not bad. The Viet Cong brought less food with them on marches than the Americans or the ARVN. Arms and ammunition took priority over other supplies. But they had white rice on the table, along with fresh vegetables from farms on the Laotian side of the mountains. Every now and then they had pork or duck. Once every three days each barracks received a ration of tobacco and green tea from Hanoi. On Sundays when there was no training they even watched films.

Classes were conducted mainly in the morning, with group discussions of the pamphlets they had been issued. They were given lectures on such topics as the history of communism in Vietnam, modern Vietnamese history, the history of world revolution, the December Theses and the strategy of the National Liberation Front, and so on. After lunch there was a siesta hour and then presentations of examples of incitement propaganda, followed by group discussions. After that they had a briefing with current reports from the NLF on the conditions and deployments of security forces in the Second and Third Districts, as well as on the enemy's firepower and organization.

Next, their prior training in handling weapons and explosives was extended by live ammunition drills and exercises, including war games in the jungle valley nearby. After dinner, each group assembled for further discussion to review the day's activities. Sometimes they also made up short dramas depicting the present reality of Vietnam, which were presented to the others for evaluation. Lights out was ten o'clock.

Pham Minh did not stand out as a trainee. But one evening during an ideology discussion session he made a mistake, and it led to an auto-critique. That afternoon they had heard a lecture on the strategy and tactics of the NLF. The instructor, Dao Nguyen Lin, was an old veteran of the anti-imperialist movement, and formerly a middle-school teacher. He also had been a key cadre in charge of guerrilla commandos in Saigon at the time of the downfall of Ngo Dinh Diem. In his lecture, he had said:

“Urban guerrillas and rural guerrillas can be distinguished from each other by the scenarios and tactics of their struggles. In rural communities, the aim of military operations is to attempt to place the people under the command and control of the Liberation Front. Rural areas are important both as sources of supply and as strategic sanctuaries where our forces can hide out after hitting targets in the vicinity. Furthermore, with the same strength we can exercise power over a broader domain in a rural area, where security systems are less concentrated than in the cities.

“As stated in the thesis published in
Hoc Tap
in 1965, our special aim is to paralyze the administrative system of the enemy. Thus, the goal of urban guerrillas is to weaken the government through violence, establish an alternative order in the city, and spread the paralysis. Activate the dormant sentiments of nationalism in city dwellers. In the city, the enemy is very powerful and the mass is well under control. Therefore, the urban struggle must be unforeseeable and fast. Strike, run, and hide.

“Hence, the aim and targets can largely be divided in two, and then again subdivided into three. First are government agencies or figures against which the people have grievances. Second are government agencies or figures who are competent and admired by the people. Targeting the former is obvious enough, but at first glance it may be difficult to grasp why the latter would be targeted. If a certain feature of the enemy system we aim to destroy happens to cater to the wishes of the masses, then it is very dangerous. For what is sweet can mask poison. By attacking it, we kill two birds with one stone. The people will see that their competence, after all, was merely competence in maintaining a colonial reality; and the enemy will be warned that no move is safe.

“When the targets are again subdivided on the above principle, the first objective for attack would be the army of the imperialists and their facilities. The second is that part of the security system of the enemy which lies closest and most readily accessible. And the third would be all individuals and facilities whose sympathies are with the enemy. I'll illustrate with a few examples. In June 1965 a bomb exploded at a restaurant in downtown Saigon. American soldiers were killed and their bodies carried into the street and heaped up. And even more corpses were buried under the destroyed tables and chairs. The total casualties were one hundred twenty. The Liberation Front proclaimed this victory far and wide. In October of the same year, when the South Vietnamese Air Force was holding a meeting in City Hall, a hand grenade exploded resulting in six deaths and forty-five wounded.

“The embassy attack in March of the following year exhibited a new dimension of our tactics. A car stopped outside a main gate. It appeared to have some sort of engine problem. One of the three policemen standing guard approached the car and ordered the driver to stop obstructing a busy street and immediately move the car out of the way. The driver groveled, saying the engine was dead. Irritated, the policeman told him to push the car out of the way if he had to. He pretended to push it, and just then a motorbike sped up and the rider took out a machine gun and shot the policeman. Then, as the other two policemen returned fire, men inside the car shot them. All the guerrillas then fled across the street and the car, heavily loaded with plastic explosives, went off in a huge blast. A large area was leveled. Then, in June, passenger luggage exploded while awaiting inspection in the lobby at Tan Son Nhat Airport.”

It was then that Pham Minh raised his hand. The instructor gave him a puzzled look, but Pham Minh wanted to wash away a feeling of oppression he had been carrying with him ever since his student days in Hue.

“I have a few questions, sir. During the last offensive I was in Hue. Of course, I think the occupation of Hue by the Liberation Front was a brilliant victory. I have no doubt whatsoever that it advanced the national struggle. A lot of our fellow countrymen were killed. But, a few days earlier, I saw a bomb go off in front of the inter-city bus terminal in Hue. The target seemed to be the waiting room of a nearby police checkpoint, but buses standing nearby were destroyed. I saw four children's bloody corpses thrown on the concrete, and women drenched in blood were wailing . . .”

“Hold it, hold it . . .”

Dao, the instructor, stopped Pham Minh and in an icy voice asked, “So, what you're trying to say is that innocent women and children died?”

“That's, that's right, sir. I do acknowledge, of course, that such things happen in war. But you were talking, sir, about the various examples of military force used by urban action groups, and I've been wondering if terror is something tactical or political, or both. If it kills innocent Vietnamese children, what political significance does it have? If such things are avoidable, should we not go to great lengths to avoid them?”

The instructor looked around at all the trainees before he answered.

“An important point. In the instances I spoke of, I did not mention casualties among innocent civilians. Sometimes the damage can be worse than that inflicted by the enemy. Generally speaking, during an urban military action, the citizens will face a risk of injury or death that is two or three times greater than the enemy forces. However, our Liberation Front considers that all our people, whether they want to or not, are participants in this struggle on a national scale. They died in action for the sake of a new history in Vietnam.”

“What I'm saying is . . . that it can be avoided, sir.”

“All around us the enemy is slaughtering countless numbers of our fellow countrymen through aerial bombing and assault campaigns.”

In spite of himself, Pham Minh went ahead with an impassioned outburst. “Because they are the enemy! We are here to save Vietnam!”

“Violence is the worst evil in times of peace. But in the present reality, violence to destroy violence is necessary.”

“Sir, I'm not talking about the ethical standard of violence.”

“Your opinion is full of liberal sentimentalism. Revolutions are not fought in fairy tales.”

Pham Minh was about to say something more when his comrade sitting beside him tugged at his sleeve. Pham Minh turned to look at him. Once during the march, Pham Minh had helped him reach the next rest camp when he was lagging behind. He was a boyish youth from Da Nang, about two years his junior. Only then did Pham Minh realize that everybody in the group was staring at him. He silenced himself. At the end of the session, he was brought before the political officer. The officer told him to sit down and that he had heard what happened from Dao, then the discussion began again.

“I'm sure you know very well without my quoting the words of the Chairman. Our Motherland today is entering into an anti-colonial struggle. In the midst of this, we also have to engage in class struggle. Two very heavy burdens are on our shoulders. On the one hand it is a civil war, but at the same time we must fight against a foreign power. This is not a world of classical revolution where aims were unclouded, like France, where the world of the masses was easily distinguished from the world of the aristocrats at Versailles. We must free ourselves from the oppression of the colonialists and at the same time fight the disease in ourselves that is obstructing liberation.

“That an innocent Vietnamese child was killed by a guerrilla's bomb is irrelevant. The point is, the enemy dies. That the child also died was a coincidence, but to therefore call the act evil, that's an absolute ethical stance that transcends the social situation. That cannot exist. We cannot use ethical persuasion to make the enemy retreat. Therefore, the proper ethic for today is to amass all strength so that the enemy is forced to withdraw. To have the children of Vietnam, who have been brought up poorly educated and hungry, grow up happy and healthy, is also included in this scheme of ours. As a means to that end, those Vietnamese children inevitably sacrificed by our violence have actually dedicated their lives for the cause of our revolution.”

“I, too, know the contentions of Trotsky and Kautsky from reading. I shall, of course, fight against the enemy. But, I can tell you now, I did not join the Liberation Front as a communist. When peace arrives here in the future, I'll live my life as a doctor, treating people's diseases. I volunteered to give myself as an NLF fighter in order to advance the dream of our nation, but I am not a Marxist. If it's mandatory that I adhere to that ideology, I'll try . . . but . . .”

The political officer shook his head. “No, the Liberation Front is a united front. It does, however, intend to have a certain unified logic of its own for the fortification of combat strength.”

After Pham Minh left, the officer called in the cell leader from his barracks and ordered him to continue discussing the problems with Pham Minh through the end of training. He also added that everyone in Vietnam, including the fighters, had to carry out a class struggle against colonial elements within their own selves. He then wrote down his opinion in the records of training evaluation.

“Pham Minh, Da Nang native who was medical student at Hue, has many problems as a guerrilla. But he is honest. Before assigning him any leadership responsibility for missions, it is advisable to give him tasks as assistant agent. His petite bourgeois background and his brother Pham Quyen's position as chief adjutant to General Liam will make him useful for service in Da Nang. Assigning him as a supply agent is considered highly appropriate. Other possibilities are contact agent, tax collector, or procurement agent. Continuous supervision will be necessary.”

 

 

17

A cloud of red dust was hanging in the air in the direction of Route 1. The headlights of the lead vehicle gradually came into view through the dense dust. Yong Kyu checked his watch. Eleven forty. Looking over at the idling truck standing by at the Y-junction, he gave a wave. Slowly, the truck started to pull out onto the westbound road. Yong Kyu jumped in and the motor started to rev.

“Been to the supply warehouse before, haven't you?”

“Yeah, twice.”

“Once the convoy passes by, be sure to stay right on its tail.”

The driver nodded. Yong Kyu had swapped his civilian outfit for American jungle fatigues. Like Toi, he was wearing sunglasses and had a .45 stuck in his belt, intentionally conspicuous. From now on, Yong Kyu would be in charge of the supply warehouse and the market. It was more than a necessity for investigative tasks; he was personally involved in the underground transactions. The captain had more faith in Yong Kyu than in the sergeant. The non-com team leader seemed to have written Yong Kyu off. Even in their quarters at the hotel, the team leader seldom said a word to him these days. He seemed to think Yong Kyu would soon be transferred to brigade headquarters.

The pact Yong Kyu had forged with the Vietnamese provincial government was unprecedented in the history of the detachment. It was a coup even the economic operations group of the American forces had never been able to manage. His bold black market dealings were quickly given a green light. From then on, the dealing connections would be furnishing a steady flow of detailed intelligence on the black market.

Yong Kyu now needed his own independent channels for purchasing goods. The safety and stability of his sources had to be such that the dealers would at once recognize him as an important figure in the market. And whenever the buyers reported a strong demand for this or that item, Yong Kyu had to prove he could supply those products quickly.

Among the merchants there was a common saying: “If you can sell from Turen, you can buy Ho Chi Minh.” Turen was the supply warehouse that handled all the war materiel and general supplies for the Vietnamese Second Army, not to mention all the American forces in the north central part of South Vietnam. Located northwest of Da Nang, it was defended at the rear by the US Marine Division at Dong Dao and by a dense contingent of ARVN troops, and its front was bounded by the Red Beach along Da Nang Bay.

At Turen, hundreds of Quonsets stood in rows on the sandy plain, shining brightly in the sun. Supply trucks from far-flung regions were constantly entering and exiting through the three gates. From antibiotics to analgesics, from razor blades to tanks, from typewriters to computers, everything Made in America could be found there. The easiest way for Yong Kyu to tap the reservoir at the Turen supply warehouse would be to siphon from the channel running through the supply logistics corps to brigade headquarters. But opening his own direct channel would be safer.

Without his own line of supply, there would always be a risk of other forces blocking him, and he would be open to accusations that his dealings were inappropriate for his special mission. But tapping into the Korea forces' existing supply lines would later create problems and cause serious difficulties. If the Americans or the Vietnamese were to challenge him, they probably would let him off with a stern warning. But the Koreans would face difficulties as the others tightened their grip on them. Yong Kyu and Pointer could always resign, but it would still weaken their successors' position in this mission.

Yong Kyu already had it in mind to set up a warehouse stocked with B-rations. Almost every commodity they packed and processed was on hand on Turen. Almost everything a man would ever need was there. About half of the stocks were military equipment and supplies like weapons, ammunition, and vehicles. The other half was made up of daily necessities and food, including luxury goods, which were the easiest commodities to sell on the black market.

There was a wide assortment of things that made the camp life of American soldiers more comfortable but which did nothing for combat readiness. For instance, the war would go on without raisins, but upon returning from a firefight, the Americans given a hot meal would hope to find raisins in their freshly baked muffins. And those were the kinds of items coveted by the residents of Da Nang. Of course, the consumers were not the peasants on the outskirts of the city who survived on a bit of fish and a handful of rice each day. It was the government bureaucrats, merchants, and families of military officers who were the loyal consumers of all the bountiful wonders liberated from the Turen supply warehouse. The links between these consumers and the dealers made up a complex ecosystem, not so different from a food chain of predators and prey found in the natural world.

Yong Kyu decided to concentrate on B-rations because these were goods that enjoyed a broad-based and stable demand in the local population. Food provisions were classified into three categories: unprocessed A-rations; B-rations that are semi-processed or partly cooked but still need to be cooked in combination with other ingredients; and C-rations that, for use in combat situations, are made for ready consumption.

The A-rations were handled at the MAC terminal across the smokestack bridge. They included vegetables—potatoes, onions, cabbage, celery, asparagus, lettuce, and peppers—and various kinds of frozen and processed meats—beef, pork, chicken, turkey, sardines, sausages—as well as fruits such as oranges, apples, bananas, dates, grapes, cherries, melons, and so on. The produce was mostly flown in from the US, in crates bearing the black stamps of farms in California, Florida, and Washington. The vegetables were even fresher than those picked near Hoi An and trucked into the Da Nang markets.

All the grains and flours—corn, barley, wheat, and rice—were kept at the MAC 36 cargo terminal and delivered directly from there, but all B and C-rations were warehoused at the Turen supply warehouse. B-rations included all the canned and packaged foodstuffs, ranging from spices like black pepper to salad dressing, sauces, raisins, almonds, walnuts, coffee, tea, butter, cheeses, pasta, etc. Yong Kyu was confident he could keep a firm grip on the marketing channels of Da Nang with B-rations alone. These commodities could be considered the cleanest of those that flowed through the black market. Though “clean,” after all, was only a relative expression. Once he had locked up a major chunk of the food trade, he could fumble his way into other daily necessities and luxury food items, one by one. Pham Quyen did not yet seem to think much of Yong Kyu's involvement in the business. He had lived up to his promises and issued them a vehicle pass, which would expire after one month.

The Logistics Battalion truck convoy had emerged from brigade headquarters after loading supplies and was just past the Dong Dao crossroads, approaching the Y-junction. The Americans had given this intersection the nickname “Crap Crossing.” Human excrement collected in downtown Da Nang had been poured as fertilizer onto the vast, cactus-studded fields around the junction. Much of the stinking garbage from the city also found its way to the same site for dumping. The right fork of the junction led downtown, the left to the supply warehouse, and the stem of the “Y” was Route 1. In the center of the junction there was a platform that served as a traffic control box as well as a checkpoint for the Vietnamese Quartermaster Corps to conduct their inspections of the traffic passing by.

Yong Kyu had contacted Master Sergeant Yun and made arrangements for the use of a recreation center vehicle. He was supposed to give the driver twenty or thirty dollars as pocket money in the name of temporary duty allowance. It was a good opportunity for the rec center to do a little favor for CID. Yong Kyu watched the lead Jeep in the convoy make a left turn at the junction, followed by an armed escort vehicle. A cloud of red dust soon enveloped them. About twenty empty trucks rattled by, another armored personnel carrier trailing behind them.

“Get in line with them!”

The driver gunned the engine and pulled in behind the last vehicle. Maintaining constant speed and spacing, the convoy rumbled along Route 1, past the campside villages and small infantry units marching along the road. They entered the east gate of the Turen supply warehouse. Used oil had been poured over the dust, making the surface of the road look like asphalt. The sentries guarding the gate were busy controlling the heavy traffic. A lone vehicle entering the gate would be rigorously inspected, but by tagging along behind a scheduled convoy it could usually pass right in without being checked at all.

At Turen, the Allied Forces' supply transports had priority over all other vehicles. The east gate was off-limits to Vietnamese vehicles, which had to go through tougher inspection procedures for access at the south gate near the ammunition dump. Once inside the warehouse, the transport trucks were sent to docks according to the supplies being loaded. Yong Kyu knew the number of the food warehouse dock and gave it to the driver.

The procedure for delivering supplies was simple enough: the officer in command submits a requisition form issued by the supply division of
brigade headquarters to the warehouse supply office, which issues a delivery order. Upon receiving this document, the administrative officer at the loading dock loads the indicated quantity of goods and both parties sign off on the requisition receipt. Combat supplies such as ammunition could be requisitioned almost without limit, but other items had been allocated in advance according to ration standards and estimates of normal daily consumption for relevant units. Even so, supplies were always abundant and the warehouses always overflowing.

Some days earlier, Yong Kyu had visited Turen in his Jeep. He had fostered an acquaintance with a certain corporal on the administrative staff at the B-ration warehouse. Yong Kyu knew from the corporal's clipboard that he was a section chief. His clipboard held a requisition receipt ledger—once any given number of pallets had been loaded, the corporal would do a count and then sign the receipt along with the driver of the truck, then he would tear off the top copy and hand it over, keeping the carbon copy beneath to submit to his superior for inventory control.

This American corporal was a typical white with brown hair and lots of freckles. It wasn't easy for Yong Kyu to make deals with Blacks. If the counterpart in a transaction was a black soldier, there were two things to watch out for: he might turn out to be unreliable, and also there could be a breakdown in cooperation on the other side; if the senior American was black, white soldiers often refused to join in on the deal.

The soldiers in the convoy parked their vehicles along the docks and headed off for the mess hall. While they were having lunch, the documents would be processed and the loading would commence in the early afternoon. Yong Kyu walked over toward the warehouse. Each block unit of the warehouse contained twenty warehouses, enormous corrugated metal Quonsets lined up in straight rows, each the size of an auditorium. Above each dock door was posted the kind and quantity of the goods stored inside. Forklifts were busy moving back and forth, and container trucks were constantly going in and out from the offloading docks on the other side of the warehouses. On the piers in front of the Quonsets, American soldiers in running shirts or stripped to the waist were breaking out cartons or jockeying packages inside with pallet jacks.

Yong Kyu loitered about looking for the corporal. Nobody paid him any attention. His uniform was exactly like their own, except that his sunglasses and openly displayed pistol made them take him for an officer. At last Yong Kyu spotted the corporal sitting at a desk inside one of the Quonsets. He was in a sleeveless shirt and drinking a Coke.

“How are you? Hot out.”

The corporal threw a quick glance his way. “Who are you?”

Yong Kyu tapped him on the shoulder. “I'm Sergeant Ahn, forgot me already? I was here two days ago.”

The corporal whistled, shaking his head. “Hey, that whiskey you laid on me was a real hit. The guys in our barracks got loaded.”

On his last visit Yong Kyu had given him three bottles of Johnnie Walker Black Label. One right word to the soldier in charge of requisitions would easily get you three boxes of coffee for free. But Yong Kyu had purposely given him whiskey, which was forbidden to soldiers below the rank of sergeant.

“Thanks for the coffee you gave me last time, my friends said it ought to be enough to last for a few years.”

The corporal got up and went over to the icebox in the corner. “Care for a cold drink?”

“No, thanks. I'm all right.”

“How about a beer?”

“I'm on duty.”

Nevertheless the corporal came back over with a can of beer.

“Officers? My ass. Don't worry, fighting the heat is also a war, y'know.”

Yong Kyu lounged on the desk, stretching his legs side by side with the corporal.

“You're not a career soldier, huh?”

“Nope, they dragged me out here. My motorcycle is rusting back home when I should be out riding flat track races. Well, only six months left in my hitch now.”

“Corporal, I only know your rank. What's your name?”

“Leonardo, but they just call me Leon. I'm from Chicago. You know Chicago? A big city.”

“Yes, I've heard of it, Leon. Your name sounds Italian.”

“Same as the old man who painted the Mona Lisa. My grandfather emigrated to America. I've never been to Italy.”

“I like it.”

“Like what?”

“The Italian name. It goes with Chicago. We hear lots of stories about the gangsters, from the movies.”

“We've got one in the family. A Mafia man.”

Yong Kyu crushed the empty can and tossed it over the desk into the wastebasket. “How's the duty going?”

“Here?” Leon stuck his tongue halfway out.

“I'm sick and tired of it. I'd rather be in a combat unit. Time passes too slowly here.”