Chapter 6
BACK IN THE world, the Beach Boys topped the charts with “Sloop John B,” and the front pages of newspapers carried headlines that Sophia Loren had tripped to the altar for the second time. Those headlines gave way to others when an unmanned spaceship filmed the moon. The populace buzzed anew when twenty-one-year-old actress Mia Farrow, star of Peyton Place, married fifty-one-year-old crooner Frank Sinatra. On American campuses, students began to picket, march, and chant, and sometimes riot in opposition to the Vietnam War.
In New York, at the United Nations, Hanoi insisted that the United States must end the bombing in Vietnam before peace talks could begin. Three days later attention turned to the Baltimore Orioles, who swept the Dodgers in the World Series.
The headlines swept back to Vietnam seventeen days later with LBJ’s surprise visit to South Vietnam and his unexpected visit to Cam Ranh Bay to salute his troops. “You are fighting a vicious and illegal aggression across this little nation’s frontier,” he told them. The same troops looked on while the President of the United States awarded General Westmoreland the Distinguished Service Medal for courage and leadership. The Distinguished Service Cross was presented to Captain Mac Carlin, U.S. Army Provisional Reconnaissance Detachment. Their handshakes were firm and manly. Secretary of State Dean Rusk clapped Mac on the shoulder and said in lowered tones, “Mac, your father is going to be so proud of you he’ll strut like a peacock.”
“Yes, sir,” Mac said stiffly.
“I’ll give your regards to him.”
Mac wanted to tell him not to bother, but he remained silent. He found himself laughing after LBJ turned to the troops as he was boarding his plane and said, “Come home safe and sound.”
Mac did his best that day to hitch a ride north on a Huey to see Casey. He had already boarded when he was asked to give up his spot on the plane to two wounded men. After that, he hadn’t had much choice but to head back to the Ho Chi Minh trail, his home away from home.
Five days later, on Halloween, Mac received word that he was the father of a seven-pound, three-ounce baby girl named Jenny. He tried to absorb the news, wanted to be happy and elated, but only felt sad and depressed. He didn’t even care that Alice hadn’t kept her word to name the baby after his mother.
THE ONLY THINGS that interested Mac were Casey Adams and his own safety.
He didn’t see Casey again for six months. It seemed an eternity. He did, however, write weekly to her, sometimes only a few scribbled lines, other times, long two-page letters, which she returned in kind.
When word filtered down the Bamboo Pipeline that a Fourth of July picnic was being planned on China Beach, Mac finagled and connived to get a twelve-hour pass to Saigon, where he wasted three whole hours trying to get a call through to Benny at the Pentagon. When he finally heard his friend’s voice, he said, “Just listen, Benny, and do what I tell you.” He spoke loudly so his voice would carry over the static on the wire. “You got it all?”
“Every word. This is all the way to . . . the top. I saw that picture of you shaking hands with LBJ and Rusk. Rusk is your old man’s new best buddy, according to the papers. They played golf when he got back, in case you’re interested.”
“I’m not. How’s Sadie?”
“Misses you. I saw little Jenny. Are you interested?”
“No,” Mac said coolly.
“Okay, I can deal with that. Who is this girl, Mac?”
“My destiny, my life. Don’t ask questions unless you can handle the answers. I gotta go, have some shopping to do for the men. I want this done ASAP, Benny.”
“Yesterday, old buddy. Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
ONE WEEK LATER, as Casey Adams and Lily Gia were peeling off their operating gowns, the chief operating room nurse, Maureen Hagen, appeared at their sides with a sheaf of papers in her hands and a murderous look on her face. “Get your gear together, girls, you’re being transferred to Da Nang. According to that chopper pilot, you have about five minutes.”
“What?” Casey blurted. “Why?”
“Did we do something wrong?” Lily demanded.
“Ever see this before?” Hagen waved a crackly piece of paper under Casey’s nose.
“It looks like a notarial seal. No, I never saw that before.”
The disgust on Hagen’s face finally registered with Casey. “Someone very high up wants you transferred to Da Nang where you will work in a nice, clean, air-conditioned hospital with trauma patients. You will work nine to five. The same thing goes for you, Gia. There will be accommodations for you, your own apartment with your very own bathroom, and you will have air-conditioning. You’ll be able to go to the beach. Enjoy yourselves, ladies,” she said nastily.
Casey stood rooted to the floor. “Major Hagen, there must be some mistake. I didn’t put in for a transfer. Maybe there’s another Casey Adams someplace in Vietnam. I don’t want to go. I’m needed here.”
“Me too,” Lily bleated.
“This is a direct order, ladies. Get your gear and move out.”
Casey still didn’t move. “I don’t understand this.”
“Obviously, someone you know has a lot of political power,” Major Hagen said, her voice less harsh than before. “I didn’t think for a minute it was you. Good luck, girls. Think about us up here from time to time.”
They scurried like rats across the compound, throwing their belongings into their duffels. Lily was waiting when Casey joined her, carrying the cornflower-blue dress bundled in the cornflake wrappers under her arm. Overhead the rotors of the helicopter whined. It sounded to Casey like MacMacMacMac.
“I figured out why you’re going, but I don’t know why I’m going. It was Mac, right? They can’t make me go, can they?” Lily said in a strange little-girl voice.
“The army can make you do whatever it wants. They allowed you to work in our hospitals, so I guess they feel they have a claim to you. If it was Mac, he would want to make sure I had a friend. Oh, Lily, do you think he’s at Da Nang now?” Casey asked excitedly.
“Let’s go, ladies,” the chopper pilot called out. “Straight to Da Nang, no stops along the way.”
THREE DAYS LATER, their blanket spread out on the sand, books in hand, Lily giggled, “I can get used to this real easy.”
“Me too. Nine to five is wonderful. And two days off. It’s almost obscene.”
“And all the comic books I want.” Lily sighed happily. “I just love comic books.”
While Lily’s eyes scanned the colorful, tattered comics, she wasn’t really reading the captions. She was thinking instead about her friendship with Casey and what it really meant to be here in Da Nang. She was a nurse, trained in the United States to help the sick. She thought of herself as a good nurse, graduating second in her class of sixty. It was right, and just, that she give back a little here in her own country for the wonderful education she’d gotten in the States. She’d done her share, given one hundred percent, just the way Casey had. Now, thanks to Mac Carlin, she had a plum assignment. This was her chance to lead an almost normal life with nine-to-five hours. She had time off. She could go to the Officers’ Club and socialize, make new friends. She turned the page of the comic book.
Tomorrow, if she wanted, when she got off duty at three-thirty, she could hitch a ride to Saigon to see her family and Eric, sleep in her own bed, and be back to go on duty at seven. She could take Casey with her if she wanted to. Immediately, she negated the idea. Later, she would invite Casey to her parents’ home. She looked at Casey, who was struggling hard over a letter to Mac. She knew her friend would write the letter over and over until it was perfect, long after she herself was asleep. Casey was in love, that was obvious. Lily crossed her fingers the way she’d seen her American friends back in the States do and whispered, “Don’t let anything go wrong for Casey.”
They were so alike. They were the same size, right down to their shoe size. They liked the same things, liked to read the same books, liked the same movies, felt the same way about world politics and religion. They were both dedicated nurses, and both loved totally.
Casey was closer to her than a flesh and blood sister. Sisters rarely confided details to one another about their love life. She and Casey did, in the quiet, sultry nights. They also shared their hopes and dreams, and in the darkness, it was easy to speak of one’s humiliations, one’s fears. But there was one great difference between them. Lily turned her head slightly, her oblique eyes full on Casey; she knew she would give up anything if she could be an American with yellow hair and blue eyes. If she were American, she might stand a better chance with Eric. If she were American, she wouldn’t have to see the shame in her parents’ eyes. The thought was so stupid, so shameful, Lily slid down in her beach chair. If she were American, she wouldn’t have Vietnamese parents who didn’t understand how their daughter could fall in love with a married doctor who was going to leave her behind. But then, if the situation were reversed and she had American parents and fell in love with a Vietnamese, those same parents would toss her out on her ear. Why can’t I just be a human being? she wondered.
There were no letters, no messages from Eric in her room. There was nothing for her to read, to hold close to her heart, except a picture of him. In the beginning he’d made crazy promises to her, saying he’d take her back to the States with him. He said his marriage had soured and he would divorce his wife. He’d said he never had an affair, and she believed him. Now, she wasn’t sure. If he really loved her, he would have found a way to get word to her, the way Mac had with Casey. Mac had found a way during a war. But then, Mac was an American and Casey was half American. Maybe that was the difference. It was obvious to her that neither one of them worried about shame, while she herself felt consumed with guilt. Was Eric seeing other women? Honesty forced her to acknowledge that he probably was, as he had an enormous sexual appetite, which needed to be satisfied on a regular basis. She felt like crying when she wondered how many women he’d seen since she’d left Saigon for Qui Nhon. Once she’d asked Casey what she thought about her romance with the American doctor. After Casey hemmed and hawed, she’d said, “In my eyes, marriage is forever. Any man who cheats on his wife will cheat on his mistress. I won’t marry until I’m certain in my mind it will work. Marriage is hard enough without having to worry about faithfulness. If you aren’t in too deep, Lily, get out before your heart breaks. What will you do when Eric leaves to return to the States?”
“I’ll wait for him to return to me,” she’d responded.
And then Casey said, “What if he doesn’t come back? What if he doesn’t get a divorce and decides to stay with his family?”
Lily recalled how blase she had been when she’d responded, “There is no other man for me. I will love only once. I will simply wait. It is my way.”
She’d read pity in her friend’s eyes, but it hadn’t mattered. Now they didn’t talk about Eric anymore because it made Casey uncomfortable. So Lily did what the American girls did—she wrote it all down in her diary and relived her memories in the darkness before she fell asleep. Memories and dreams, that was all she had. And, of course, Casey, and her disapproving parents. That they didn’t go together was all right. She’d accepted it and lived one day at a time. Happiness would find her when it was time.
“Lily, listen to what I’ve written and tell me if it sounds . . . ungrateful. I don’t want to hurt Mac’s feelings. I’m sure he went to a great deal of trouble to have us sent here.”
The Asian girl listened, her dark eyes troubled. Afterward she said, “A bit strong, Casey. Why don’t you just be honest and tell him you want to go back?”
“Then I’ll never get to see him. Five times we were scheduled to meet, and five times we were—what’s that expression?—blown out of the water. I need to see him. Letters and notes aren’t enough. I keep telling myself I’ve packed more into the time I’ve been here than if I worked in a hospital for ten years. Maybe twenty. We left Major Hagen shorthanded. I feel so guilty when I think of all the parents of those wounded soldiers. I have to go back, Lily,” Casey said firmly. “But that doesn’t mean you have to go back.”
“If you go, I go. We’re a team. Will it be as easy as it was to get here?”
“I have no idea,” Casey said. “We aren’t needed here. If anything, we’re resented.”
“Then you have made the decision?”
“Yes, right after the Fourth of July picnic. I’m not giving that up. It might be the last time I get to see Mac. I have seven more months to go after the picnic, and the way our luck is running, we’ll be lucky if we squeeze one more meeting in. Do you think he’ll understand, Lily?” Casey asked anxiously.
“If he’s the man you think he is, then yes, he will understand.”
“What about Eric?” She counted on her fingers. “It’s almost time for him to leave here, isn’t it?”
“One more month,” Lily said lightly.
“You’re going to Saigon this weekend, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’ve made arrangements with one of the C-130 pilots.”
“The blue dress is ready.” Casey smiled.
“Oh, no, I can’t. You haven’t worn it yet. I was to be second, not first. It is not right. Thank you anyway.”
“I don’t want to hear another word. You’re taking it with you. I can’t wear that gorgeous creation to a Fourth of July picnic. It’s perfect for an evening of dancing and dinner in Saigon. Take notes, I want to hear every single thing that happens. Well, almost everything.”
Lily grinned. “That’s more like it.”
THE BLAZING SUN was so brutal, Mac removed his helmet. He ordered his men to do the same. He had no desire to fry his brain in this godforsaken country. The sky was bluer than he’d ever seen it. His men were tired after two firefights in a row, and he felt as if he might collapse any second. He popped two salt tablets and watched his men do the same. He had a good perimeter now. “Kick back, men, get some rest.” He knew it was a joke, but it sounded good even to his ears.
Overhead a squadron of Phantom jets streaked by, followed by a second set. B-52’s would follow soon, based on his orders. Today would be no more than mop-up, a welcome release for himself as well as his men. He wanted to relax, to reread the last letter from Casey, but he couldn’t—not until his wounded were safely aboard the medevac choppers. And, God willing, there might be another letter from Casey. At least he hoped so; he hadn’t heard from her for over two weeks.
“What’s taking them so long, Captain?” the medic asked, his hands tight on a pressure bandage. “This ain’t exactly a hot LZ,” he grumbled.
“Freeze, what’s the problem?” Mac shouted, not liking the looks of the medic’s patient. He felt his heart thud when he looked down at the young kid, a boy from Nebraska.
“Mortars, sir. The first chopper got hit. There’s one on the way. The pilot is that guy Rick. If anyone can get through, it’s him.”
The relief Mac felt at his radioman’s words was so intense; he felt himself momentarily start to black out. Rick had a guardian angel on his shoulder—every foot soldier, every grunt, every officer said so. He himself was a believer. He’d seen the chopper pilot land in LZ’s so hot with enemy bullets, the ground smoldered. The guy had some kind of help from on high.
It took eighteen minutes for the chopper to get there. It swirled up such a thick dust cloud when it landed that Mac had to drop to his knees.
Mac swiped at the dust settling over his body as the helicopter took off. His face was black with dirt. He waved, knowing Rick couldn’t see him. What the hell would they do without men like Rick? His shoulders slumped. He’d been given a message that the two men didn’t make it. He’d known they wouldn’t but hearing it confirmed made him so angry, he slammed his helmet on the ground. “Son of a bitch!”
“Easy, Major,” Phil Pender said, coming up behind him. “Here, have a smoke.”
Mac turned. This was a new Phil Pender, one he’d actually come to like and respect. He was lean now, hard and tough, a man fighting for his life along with the rest of the company. It hadn’t happened overnight; in fact it had taken six months before the snappy lieutenant got his act together. When he realized he was on the trail for good, he’d buckled down. Next to Stevens and himself, Pender had the most kills in the outfit. He’d even managed to take two prisoners, a feat headquarters recognized and rewarded. Pender was a captain now, and he himself was a major.
“The perimeter is as tight as a duck’s ass, Major. There’s a stream over there in case you want to cool off. Stevens found it by accident. Well, actually, the truth is, it’s little more than a puddle, but it sure as hell is wet.”
“Thanks, Pender.” There was no need to give Pender orders. He seemed to know instinctively what was required in his C.O.’s absence.
Mac laughed when he saw the water Pender referred to. He almost hated to disturb the little puddle. He dropped to his haunches. He was about to dip his hands when he noticed, because he was so low to the ground, that the vines and greenery were trampled on the opposite side of the puddle. He’d come down a path that had been hacked by his men. The fine hairs on the back of his neck moved. He found himself looking overhead, sensing danger. He listened, his eyes watchful. It was so still, so quiet, he could hear his own heartbeat. He looked at the puddle again. He had only an instant, which he used to drop to the ground. He rolled back into the thick greenery, whistling shrilly at the same time he opened fire, spraying the perimeter of the puddle. He heard a grunt, a curse, and gunfire. He rolled again before he opened fire a second time, followed by return fire.
When the jungle was silent again, Mac thrashed through, his eyes murderous. “Pender, I’m going to string your ass from the nearest tree! Didn’t you check?”
“Yes, sir, I did,” Pender grated.
“How many were there?”
“Seven, sir,” Sergeant Stevens said. “You got them all. Do we leave them?”
“The VC come back for their dead. Drag them out of here and set up an ambush. Pender, you jackass, this is your detail.”
Back inside the perimeter, Mac sat down. He’d lost his cool, something no good officer was supposed to do. For a few brief minutes he’d stared at his own mortality, and he’d reacted. Jesus Christ, was he ever going to get it down to a science? Sloppy leadership, every officer’s nightmare. Shit! He had to remember Pender was as green as he was. Still, a puddle in the middle of the jungle should have been suspect, even to Pender. He couldn’t blame Pender for the band of VC. The little weasels were everywhere—under bushes, in the trees, in caves and holes. Just because an area looked clean didn’t mean it was. This wasn’t his turf. He couldn’t ever lose sight of that fact.
The idea of going into politics was starting to look better and better. “Bullshit!” he exploded, thumping the ground next to him. A snake, whose sleep was disturbed, slithered into the open, rearing its obscene-looking head, poised to strike.
“I got ’im, Captain. Don’t even breathe,” Pender hissed. A second later the snake’s head was airborne, the main body twitching at Mac’s feet.
“Good work, Pender,” Mac said gruffly.
“Just trying to do my job, sir,” Pender said quietly.
Mac moved into the open, but not before he kicked the snake’s remains into the jungle, cursing as he did. Twice within an hour’s time he’d stared at death. He felt himself shudder. Jesus, did it mean his time was coming close? He was beginning to feel as if he was only one step ahead of the Grim Reaper. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to spook his men. He had to get himself together.
“Sir,” Freeze said, “an order to stand by for cover fire just came in. Supplies. And some mail.”
Mac gave the order to take cover as a Huey gunship perforated humid air. He watched as it circled overhead, then banked, hoping to draw enemy fire. Seconds later, a second ship sizzled in, dropped supplies and lifted off, all within five minutes.
“Stevens, distribute the ammo; Freeze, dole out the C-rations; Pender, sort the mail.”
The mood of the men lifted when they heard the word mail. Word from home. How bright and hopeful their faces were. Mac felt a lump rise in his throat. For a little while, until they started on their trek up the mountainous terrain, things would be okay. Letters from home, the cure-all for just about anything.
Pender handed three letters to Mac: one from his father, one from Benny, and one from Alice. He read his father’s one-page, large scrawled note first, just to get it out of the way.
Dear Mac,
Dean Rusk stopped by the other day to fill me in on your activities over there. I understand you’re well thought of in the upper echelons of the army. (He told me the Distinguished Service Cross you received will look good in the papers when you throw your hat in the ring.)
We’re gearing up for your return, eight months or so, isn’t it? If you like, I can have you ordered back here so you can be home for the holidays. Advise as to your intentions.
The letter was signed Justice Marcus Carlin, after which his father penned in his initials. Mac snorted. “You know what you can do with all your grand plans, Pop,” he muttered.
He ripped at the envelope from Alice written weeks before. A picture of baby Jenny fluttered to the ground. He picked it up, stared at it with clinical interest, and wondered why he didn’t feel paternal. He read the short note.
Dear Mac,
I know you’re alive, otherwise the army would be knocking on the door. Your father told me you receive mail even though you’re in the jungle. So, if you receive mail, why don’t you send mail?
I understand it’s very warm over there. What do the women wear? Do they know the miniskirt is in fashion, or do they wear some kind of traditional clothing?
I will probably never forgive you for giving Benny your power of attorney. That was a lousy thing for you to do, Mac. A baby certainly costs a lot of money. You should be ashamed to have your wife beg for money.
Jenny is growing rapidly. She eats constantly.
The letter was signed, Your wife, Alice.
Mac looked at the picture of the baby again. She looked like Alice. She was chubby with a full head of hair. He supposed she was a pretty child, but her face was screwed up in a grimace. He imagined she was wearing a dirty diaper, which Alice was too lazy to change. He slid the picture back into the envelope and ripped at Benny’s letter, which was as normal as apple pie and hot dogs.
Dear Mac,
How’s it going, good buddy? Jeez, I envy you. Not really. Your old man managed to get an article in the Washington Star about you after Johnson and Rusk’s visit. It read real good. I saved it in case you want to see it when you get back.
Important news. Carol is pregnant. She swears it’s going to be a boy this time. Better be, is all I can say. We’re painting everything blue. I’ve never seen Carol so happy. Me too, for that matter. Every man wants a son. I talked it over with Carol, and she agreed to name the baby after you, if you have no objections. We want you to be the godfather. We can do it by proxy for now, and when you get back we can do it all over again.
No luck in tracking Bill. I’ve got this gumshoe named Snedeker on it. There, for a while, we thought we had a hot lead, but it didn’t pan out. We’re now working on magazine subscription lists, since Bill was a sports fiend. Something might turn up.
I saw Sadie last week. We spent the entire evening talking about you. She misses you terribly. She’s planning a ticker tape parade for you when you get back. Don’t laugh, she’ll pull it off too, you wait and see.
On the home front—your wife is more than a little perturbed with me. I didn’t know speech could be as flowery as hers. She even had your old man call me to loosen the purse strings. I told them no soap. Before I dole any monies out, I make her tell me what it’s for, and then I ask the world’s best budgeter if it will fly. What that means is I go by Carol. By the way, she loves tooling around in your Benz. That’s something else Alice didn’t like. All is well, so don’t worry about it.
Your last letter was an eye opener. I knew you could do it, Mac. I’m so proud of you, I could just bust. You just watch your butt is all I can say. You and I have things to do and places to go when you get back, and my kid needs a godfather, one who can give him ritzy presents, because that’s the only way he’s going to get them.
Take it easy, Mac, I miss you. Carol and I include you in our prayers every day. Carol sends her love, the girls send kisses, and I send you my best.
Benny
Mac wiped at his eyes. Goddamn sweat, a man could hardly see straight. The letters went in his field pack.
His fingers were careful, cautious, as he undid the flap of a fourth letter. Rick had dropped it off along with the information about his men. Before Mac unfolded the single piece of paper, he held it to his nose, his eyes closing as he brought Casey’s image to the forefront of his mind.
The moment he finished it, Mac pushed his helmet back on his head. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He felt like standing up and shouting “Hooray!” for the whole damn United States Army to hear. She wanted to go back to Pleiku where she was needed, but not until after the Fourth of July picnic. “Please understand, Mac,” she’d written, “I came here to do what I’m trained to do, just as you are doing. What kind of person would I be if I sat here on the beach reading novels when I could be helping some dedicated doctor save one of your men?”
She was right and he was wrong. Jesus, was he ever going to do anything right? The nurses and doctors were as vital to this war as the men who fought it. He laughed then, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. His men smiled tiredly. It was good to hear someone laugh in this hellhole. The problem was, how was he going to rectify his mistake? By taking precious time from his visit to Da Nang for the famous picnic all of Vietnam knew about. He’d go to Saigon on foot, if necessary, or maybe he could manage to get a call patched through from Da Nang. Whatever it took, he would do. “She’s a winner,” he told himself over and over. He read the letter again and again. When he was confident he knew the contents by heart, it too went into his field pack.
He got to his feet and stomped on an army of red ants that were as big and fat as his pinky finger. He winced at the sound his boot made when he crushed them. They left a vicious sting that made a person’s eyes water. He could see the men swatting at them as they chewed through their fatigues.
Red ants, bamboo vipers, blistering skies, and VC—all treasures of Southeast Asia.
“Saddle up! Move out!”
Day 487 on the Ho Chi Minh trail.