The War Within (3 page)

“Oh, come on, Gran. You give me an intriguing opening to a story, but you don’t tell me the rest of it? You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

Grandma Meredith’s eyes flashed. “This isn’t a story. This isn’t a mystery to unravel. This is my life we’re talking about.”

“I know,” Jordan said gently. “I didn’t mean to come off sounding flippant. I’m just…surprised.” She placed a hand over Grandma Meredith’s, reestablishing their connection. “But I want to understand. I really do.”

“In that case, I’ll ride shotgun. You drive.” Grandma Meredith finished her coffee and placed twenty-five dollars on the table to cover the cost of the bill and the waitress’s tip. Then she tossed Jordan the keys to her Escalade. “Because I’ve got a story to tell.”

August 1, 1967

Saigon

First Lieutenant Meredith Chase climbed out of the belly of the transport plane and stepped onto the tarmac. The oppressive heat hit her like a slap to the face. She felt like she’d stuck her head in an oven that had been preheated to four hundred degrees. Only her whole body was broiling, not just her face. Sweat poured down her cheeks and slid down the back of her neck. What wasn’t absorbed by her clothes pooled in the small of her back. She could feel semi-circles of dampness forming in the armpits of her Army-issue fatigues.

She tossed her heavy canvas rucksack over her shoulder, adjusted the angle of her helmet with the palm of her hand, and followed the other nurses as they headed toward a utilitarian gray metal building where their commanding officer and a small support team were waiting to process their paperwork.

As the parade of newcomers swept past them, male soldiers whistled and hooted to herald their arrival. Meredith’s cheeks burned with embarrassment after one of them pulled his head out of the engine of the jeep he was tinkering on, looked her up and down, and said with a broad grin, “Welcome to BC, beautiful. I’d love to play doctor with you any time.”

His fatigues were identical to hers, from the olive shirt and pants to the black combat boots. While she was neatly tucked and pressed, his rumpled shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a white undershirt that was practically transparent from perspiration. A thick pelt of curly hair covered his chest. A few damp tendrils peeked out of his grease-stained collar.

A thought entered her head with the certainty of fact.

That’s the man I’m going to marry.

The mechanic could have been her twin. He was tall and blond with bright blue eyes and a dimpled smile. He looked like a college football hero accustomed to hearing a crowd’s cheers on autumn Saturday afternoons instead of air raid sirens and shouts of, “Incoming!”

Meredith looked away, but not before registering the surname stitched on the right side of his shirt. Moser.

“It’s better not to get too attached,” the woman directly behind Meredith said. “It hurts too much to lose them once you get to know them.”

Meredith turned to see who had spoken. Ah, yes. Robinson. The quiet one with the dark brown hair, green eyes, and broad shoulders who hadn’t had much to say during the flight from Japan. She had been content to sit back and observe with a bemused smile on her face. Meredith had felt like she was passing judgment on everyone, deciding who would make it and who would wash out. Meredith wanted to know where on the spectrum Robinson thought she belonged—potential success story or abject failure?

“I take it this isn’t your first tour.” Meredith pitched her voice deeper in an effort to project an air of command. She hoped she sounded the part because she certainly didn’t feel it. She felt like she was in over her head and she’d just stepped off the plane.

“As a matter of fact, this is my fourth.” Robinson sounded like a world-weary veteran, which, Meredith supposed, she was. Even though they weren’t on the front lines, they were at war, too. “I’ve been in the ’Nam off and on since ’62.”

Robinson took two long strides and drew even with her. Meredith knew Robinson’s first name was Natalie, thanks to a quick round of introductions on the plane, but for some reason her surname felt like the more appropriate moniker. Robinson exuded leadership, even though she was, unlike Meredith, no more than a buck private.

Meredith’s nursing degree and certification as a registered nurse meant she was awarded the rank of first lieutenant when she volunteered. Back in the world, Robinson must have been either a licensed practical nurse or an orderly. Otherwise, she would have been named an officer when she first volunteered. Five years later, though, her lowly ranking didn’t make sense. With multiple tours under her belt, Robinson should have advanced to the rank of sergeant or corporal at the very least. Either something in her character or, more likely, something in her personnel file, had prevented her from moving up the chain.

Meredith didn’t know why Robinson’s superiors hadn’t seen fit to grant her the promotion she seemed to deserve and she didn’t care. Robinson was supposed to defer to her, but she had much more experience in this region. Even though they’d just met, Meredith would follow her anywhere.

“How old are you?” Meredith asked. She was twenty-three. Except for Doris, the middle-aged woman whose snores had serenaded them from the time their plane had taxied down the runway in Okinawa until it landed at base camp in Saigon, most of the other nurses appeared to be around the same age.

Robinson smiled and hooked a thumb in her waistband. She walked with the bow-legged, loose-limbed grace of a cowboy. Her stance only added to the impression. When she narrowed her eyes, she looked like a gunslinger sizing up her competition. “Don’t you know better than to ask a woman how old she is or how much she weighs?”

Meredith had never experienced any qualms about answering either query. Then again, she had always been a little bit different from the girls she’d grown up with. Girls then; women now. Women with whom she still shared little in common except a place of origin.

“May I ask where you’re from then?” She thought she detected a Southern accent when Robinson spoke but couldn’t pinpoint which state was to blame.

Robinson smiled as if she found Meredith’s discomfort amusing. “Jekyll Island, Georgia. You?”

“Omaha, Nebraska.”

Robinson nodded. “Naturally.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Nebraska’s the Cornhusker State, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, so?” Meredith couldn’t follow her train of thought.

“You have hair the color of corn silk and eyes as blue as a Midwestern sky. Where else would you be from?”

When Robinson smiled again, Meredith felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She’d never had a similar reaction to anyone before, let alone a woman. There was a name for people who had such feelings. A name she didn’t answer to.

“You’re going to roast in this heat, Nebraska. I hope you knew what you were getting into when you volunteered for this assignment.”

Meredith laughed despite herself. “You sound like my mother.”

Robinson raised a hand to the sky. “Heaven forbid.” She looked at Meredith with a questioning but sympathetic frown. “Your mother doesn’t approve of you being here?”

Meredith watched a Chinook helicopter come in for a landing. As the dual rotors slowed, soldiers rushed out and began unloading the cargo. Meredith swallowed hard as dozens of body bags were loaded in a fleet of ambulances and ferried to a building that must have housed either the morgue or graves registration. She dragged her eyes away from the unwelcome sight.

“In my mother’s mind, it’s okay for my brother to do his part and serve his country. I’m supposed to keep the home fires burning.”

“In a few weeks, you might wish you’d listened to her.” Robinson placed a steadying hand on her arm. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy to have you here. Good nurses, like most things in Vietnam, are in short supply.”

A lump formed in Meredith’s throat. She’d been an Army nurse for two years. She’d seen more examples of man’s inhumanity to man in those twenty-four months than she had in her entire life. She’d worked tirelessly and without complaint despite long hours and imperfect conditions. This was the first time someone had thanked her for her efforts. Robinson made her feel like her contributions mattered. Like
she
mattered.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. We’re a small but hearty band. I’m glad I can welcome a new member. If you have any questions or simply need someone to talk to, let me know. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

When Robinson removed her hand, Meredith immediately longed for its return. She missed the comfort and sense of safety Robinson’s touch had briefly provided.

The group entered a building marked Arrivals/Departures, which put Meredith more in mind of a pleasure cruise than a twelve-month stint in a war zone. Four ceiling fans whirred overhead, churning the still, stagnant air but providing little relief from the stultifying heat.

Meredith and the seven other nurses who had flown with her from Okinawa formed an orderly line parallel to the intake table, where a woman with a lieutenant colonel’s silver oak leaves affixed to her uniform collar held court.

“At ease,” the woman said, pushing her gunmetal gray chair away from the table. Her voice was filled with quiet command. It was a voice Meredith suspected was equally at home lavishing praise or giving blistering corrections. Her uniform was wrinkle-free, as if it and its owner had never seen a drop of sweat. Meredith would love to look that unruffled.

She and her companions dropped their duffels at their feet and folded their hands behind their backs as their CO slowly walked back and forth in front of them.

“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Billie Daniels. While you’re in Saigon, you will be under my command.”

Meredith thought her commanding officer would be a gray-haired veteran. Instead, Lt. Col. Daniels appeared to be only in her late twenties or early thirties—the space of time her mother often referred to as the uncertain age between immaturity and experience. Meredith hoped the LTC had more of the latter than the former.

Lt. Col. Daniels’s dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun, which added to her intimidating appearance. Her eyes were like lasers. Every time she focused them in her direction, Meredith had to fight not to lower her own in deference.

“For the first month, you’ll be working at one of the model hospitals we have established to help the locals provide quality medical care after the US no longer has a military presence in this country,” Lt. Col. Daniels said. “Then you’ll be randomly assigned to evacuation hospitals in Long Binh or Qui Nhon. You’ll work the emergency room, triage area, and intensive care. Sometimes you’ll see as few as ten patients per day. Other times you’ll be inundated by over three hundred. When you work triage, your job will be to help the medics separate the expectant patients—those not anticipated to survive their wounds—from the ones who have a better chance of making it home.”

“Permission to speak, ma’am?” a nervous-sounding voice asked from the end of the line.

Meredith knew the voice well. Lois Dunbar, its chatterbox owner, had talked everyone’s ear off on the plane. Meredith knew much more than she cared to about her fellow first lieutenant’s adventures with enlisted men from San Francisco to Hawaii to Japan. The ones in Vietnam, she supposed, were next on the list.

Lt. Col. Daniels stopped pacing in front of the line and turned to face Lois. “Permission granted.”

“What happens to the expectants? Are they left to die?”

Meredith had the same question, but she hadn’t dared interrupt the lieutenant colonel’s speech to ask it. Lois was a braver woman than she was. Or more foolish.

“One thing we do not do in this man’s army,” Lt. Col. Daniels said with a flash of steel, “is abandon our own. You’ve sworn the same oath I have. Our mission is to save as many people as we can. If that means deciding against a six-hour surgery in a hopeless attempt to salvage a lost cause while we can save four other men in the same time, so be it. Expectants usually present with massive head trauma, multiple amputations, or other catastrophic injuries. We make them as comfortable as we can and someone on staff sits with them until they pass on. They are treated with the respect they deserve at all times and at no point are they ever left alone. Is that understood?”

“Ma’am. Yes, ma’am,” Meredith and the rest of the nurses said in unison.

Meredith sneaked a peek at the end of the line. Lois looked so cowed she probably wouldn’t speak even if asked.

Dare I to dream?

“If my calculations are correct, most of you have accumulated thirty days of leave,” Lt. Col. Daniels said. “Time off can be taken any time as long as you have the days saved up and your absence doesn’t conflict with staffing needs. Saigon offers its fair share of diversions. I’m sure each of you will be tempted to spend some time there when you’re on leave. Even when you’re out drinking with your friends, don’t forget you’re still at war. This entire country is a war zone. No area is safe, Saigon included. Vietcong sympathizers love targeting establishments where large crowds of American military personnel tend to gather. They place bombs in bars and strafe restaurants with machine gun fire from the backs of passing motorcycles. I want you to take every possible precaution. It won’t guarantee your safety, but I’ll sleep better at night knowing you didn’t take any unnecessary risks. Never leave this base unaccompanied. Make sure you have someone with you at all times. And, above all, make sure someone always knows where you are. Is that understood?”

“Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

“My aide, Private Flynn, will provide each of you with a work schedule and show you to your quarters.” Lt. Col. Daniels pointed to a bespectacled young woman holding a clipboard. Flynn looked barely old enough to attend a sweet sixteen party, let alone enlist. “Settle in and get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow. Work shifts at the hospital are twelve hours on, followed by twelve hours off, seven days a week. Reveille is at 0500. For those of you on first shift, transport leaves at 0530 and your shift begins at 0600. If you’re late once, you’ll be put on KP for two weeks in addition to your regular duties. If you’re late twice, it will result in the revocation of weekend leave for you and the rest of your unit for a month.”