Abandoned: MIA in Vietnam (26 page)

CHAPTER 42

“This man!” the Vietnamese officer in the starched, neatly pressed, green uniform yelled. He pointed at Byrnes, asleep on the straw mat laid over a wooden pallet.

Two beefy guards dragged Byrnes to his feet before he had awakened completely. One slapped the back of his head. “Stand upright. Look the major in the eyes,” he said. A dog barked in the distance.

Byrnes opened his eyes wider, trying to see the officer in the dim light of the prison barracks, a hot, corrugated metal building with only dim, dirty skylights for light and ventilation. Scores of other prisoners lay scattered on pallets and the dirt floor around him. Most feigned sleep, not wanting to participate in the harassment of their comrade.

“He claims to be an American, yet he speaks fluent Vietnamese with a northerner’s accent,” the officer said. “Is that correct?”

“Yes, Major Binh,” the second guard said, pulling Byrnes more upright by his shirt. “What should we do with him? He has spent months in isolation and years in indoctrination. Still he defies us.”

“Put him in my car. I want him interrogated in Hanoi,” Vong Binh said. He paused, sniffed the air and made a disagreeable face. “No. Wait. I don’t want to ride with this smelly scoundrel in my car. Find him some clean clothes. Make him take a shower before putting them on. Do you have soap and shampoo?”

“Yes, Major,” a guard said. He pushed Byrnes from behind toward the cinderblock outbuilding that housed the latrines and a single shower that served 250 prisoners. “Move it, Con co.” The barking increased when the men stepped between the buildings into the dirt prison yard surrounded by concertina wire, machinegun towers, and guard patrols.

“Have him ready to go in thirty minutes,” Vong said. “I will be in the camp commander’s office collecting his papers.”

“Yes, sir.”

About forty-five minutes later, Byrnes found himself in a large, black Russian made Zil automobile. The guards had handcuffed his hands in front of him. A chain connected the handcuffs to a pair of leg irons around his ankles. He sat in the spacious rear seat of the vehicle with Major Binh. Two more people could have fit comfortably between them in the large car. The major appeared familiar in some way, but Byrnes could not place where or when they may have met.
Certainly, I would have remembered the scar that runs from the man’s chin to his right ear
, he thought.

Vong remained silent for the entire four-hour drive to Hanoi from Lang Son and the re-education camp near the Vietnam-China border. Near the end of the trip, the Zil crossed a bridge over a large river. Within the city, Byrnes became aware of hundreds of scooters, small motorcycles, and bicycles on the streets. There were few automobiles visible. “That was the Red River,” Vong said, speaking for the first time, “the ancestral home of our people, if you remember your history from school. You saw the sign, I’m sure.”

“I don’t read Vietnamese very well,” Byrnes said.

Vong ignored Byrnes’s response. He said, “And you may remember seeing pictures of the presidential palace.” Vong pointed to a yellow building that Byrnes thought would have looked more at home in Paris, or at least in Europe. “A French architect designed it. I believe it’s called Italian Renaissance architecture.”

There were few multi-story buildings in the city, the majority being single-level with orange tile roofs. The few tall buildings stood out, giants among the pygmies. The Zil stopped in front of one, a soaring, gray stone, severe-looking, functional building. “This is the Ministry of Defense, and is where I work, Prisoner Byrnes. Your hands, please.”

Byrnes held his hands in front of him. The major unlocked the chain that ran to the ankle cuffs, and then unlocked them. The chain and leg irons fell to the backseat floor of the vehicle. He left the wrist cuffs on Byrnes. “You are in the middle of Hanoi, Prisoner Byrnes. There is a small chance you could run away from me, but you would have difficulty escaping from the city, especially with the handcuffs on. Do you understand?”

Byrnes said, “I’m enjoying my day away from the minefield, Major. I am in no hurry to return. It’s nice to rest for a while, too. Why am I here?”

“Insolent prisoner!” Vong said. He slapped Byrnes’s face. The door behind Byrnes opened, held open by the driver, who reached in and pulled Byrnes out of the vehicle by his collar. The man made a fist and reared back to punch Byrnes.

“No!” Vong said. “I suspect he understands he should remain compliant now. True, Prisoner Byrnes?” Byrnes nodded. “Good. Driver, you are dismissed. Someone else will return this prisoner to Lang Son this afternoon or tomorrow.”

“Yes, Major,” the driver said, closing the back door. He walked around the black car and opened the front door. He spoke before climbing into the vehicle, “Major?”

“Yes, Corporal?”

“I doubt we will meet again, sir. Enjoy your retirement. It’s been a pleasure being your driver for the last five years.”

“Thank you, Corporal Bui. You have been a most helpful assistant. Have a long and happy career, soldier,” Vong said.

“Thank you, sir.”

Vong and Byrnes stood outside the building. They watched the Zil recede in the distance, returning to the military motor pool. “Moron,” Vong said.

“Insults, now,” Byrnes said. “May I know why I am here, Major?”

Vong laughed. “I meant the driver, not you, Con co. Corporal Nguyen Bui is an idiot. The slap to your face was for his benefit. I apologize,” he said. “You don’t recognize me, Con co? After all we meant to one another? You got me beat up in the south for letting a prisoner carry my AK-47, while I carried Thien Vu. The man who lost his leg.”

Byrnes stared in disbelief. Uncertain, he said, “Binh. “Vong Binh, my friend.” Byrnes’s disbelief became incredulity when Vong unlocked Byrnes’s handcuffs, removed them, and slipped them into his uniform coat pocket. He then shook Byrnes’s hand.

“Why did you do that?” Byrnes asked.

“We are no longer at war, regardless of what my country thinks. I want you to come to my office,” Vong said. “Your new papers are there. We wouldn’t let prisoners walk around the Ministry of Defense, would we?”

“I don’t understand,” Byrnes said.

“You will. From now on, if anyone asks your name, it is Vong Sang. You are my brother. One year younger than I. You have been a guard in the re-education camps since the end of the war, and you, too, are now retiring,” Vong said. “Understand?”

“You have a brother?” Byrnes asked.

“Missing and presumed dead by my family since the battle for Quang Tri Province in 1972, ten years ago. Your military called it the Easter Offensive. It was the first province liberated in the south,” Vong said.

“What if your brother returns?”

“He won’t. Ten years is a long time. We lost a half million soldiers in the war against the United States. More than half of them are buried in unmarked graves, or are missing in action. Unfortunately for us, fortunately for you, the records kept by my government are far from complete,” Vong said. He opened the heavy metal door that led into the building.

“Won’t they miss me in camp?”

In a low, flat tone, Vong said, “I have already sent word to your camp commander that you will be executed for crimes against the state.”

Stunned, Byrnes followed Vong into the building and up four flights of stairs. They passed two young women in bright green uniform pantsuits, who chatted among themselves after acknowledging the major. Vong nodded silently toward them and kept walking. “No elevator,” Vong said. “We won’t have them until the power grid is restored. No one likes being trapped in an elevator when the power goes out.” He chuckled. They encountered no one else in the hallways or on the stairs.

In his office, Vong handed Byrnes a set of clothing, including new underwear and new sandals. “We’ll see about a haircut and shave when we get home,” he said, as Byrnes changed. No sooner had Byrnes buttoned his white shirt and Vong had placed his prisoner’s garb in a bag than there was a knock at Vong’s door.

“Enter,” Vong said. He stood upright and saluted when he saw Colonel Vu enter. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”

“At ease, Major,” Colonel Vu said. “Or should I say Mister Binh?” Seeing Byrnes, he added. “I’m sorry, Binh, I didn’t realize you had a guest. I just wanted to wish you well in your retirement. You have been a fine asset to our operations group.”

Vong held his left hand out toward Byrnes. “Colonel Vu, this is my younger brother, Sang, one of the heroes of Quang Tri. He came from our village to accompany me home. He is also retiring. Until a month ago he was a guard at one of the re-education camps.”

Byrnes made a slight bow toward Colonel Thuy Vu. The colonel took a step toward Byrnes. He made a slight bow and held his hand out to Byrnes. Byrnes made a quick glance at Vong, who nodded his head. Apprehensively, Byrnes shook the officer’s hand. “The State, the People’s Army, and the Party thank you for your sacrifices, Sang,” Thuy said. He then shook Vong Binh’s hand. “Your ancestors must be particularly proud of your family, Binh. Have a safe journey home. Think of this old soldier occasionally.”

“Yes, sir,” Vong said. Thuy left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

After he had been gone several minutes, Vong said, “Not bad, brother Sang. On the way home, we’ll have time on the train and bus to teach you some greetings customs.”

Byrnes smiled, “You mean other than the one where you are slapped or punched in the face on meeting?

Vong laughed. “No longer, little brother. No longer.”

CHAPTER 43

Standing on the manicured front lawn of the Byrnes’s home, among a hundred people he didn’t know, Wolfe thought about slipping out of the post-wake social party. He decided to say good-bye to Tammy Kimura first. In search of her, he found her sister, Yasuko Barnes, instead. “I’m going to leave, Mrs. Barnes,” he said. “First, I’d like to say good-bye to Tammy. Do you know where I can find her?”

Reading her dislike for him on Barnes’s face proved easy for Wolfe. The words out of her mouth surprised him, however. “Oh, Dr. Wolfe,” she said, frown pinned to her face. “I’d like you to meet Datu Ocampo. He’s a diplomat at the Philippine Embassy in D.C. He was Jim’s roommate at Annapolis during plebe and youngster years.”

The short, dark-skinned, plump, white-haired man put his right hand out toward Wolfe. “A pleasure to meet you, Doctor.”

“Did she say,
Daytoo
Ocampo, sir?” Wolfe asked, shaking the man’s hand. “Oh, and call me Addy or Addison.”

The older Filipino smiled. He said, “She did, but my kids have been calling me Data, ever since
Star Trek the Next Generation
came out. Friends my age call me Dat.”

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Barnes said, almost pleasantly. “Tammy went to see about more refreshments, Dr. Wolfe. She should be back within a half hour.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Barnes,” Wolfe said.

Barnes answered clipping her words with loathing. “You are welcome, Doctor Wolfe.”

Wolfe shook his head. He spoke to Ocampo after Barnes left. “I’m afraid she doesn’t like me very much,” he said.

“I’ve known Yaz for over fifty years,” Ocampo said. “She doesn’t like anyone very much. She lives in her own little world. If anyone intrudes without an invitation, they are an interloper and not to be trusted. Don’t worry about it. It took her twenty years to warm up to me. She said you knew J.T. in Vietnam?”

Wolfe nodded. He took a sip of sweet ice tea. “Not exactly Vietnam. Jimmy and I were shipmates on the USS
Oriskany
. It’s an aircraft carrier. Or was. It’s an artificial reef off the coast of Pensacola, Florida, now. We spent time in the Gulf of Tonkin launching aircraft against the North Vietnamese, actually moving aircraft around the hangar deck. We also visited Japan, the Philippines, and Hong Kong. It was like a working, sight-seeing cruise at times.”

Ocampo laughed. He said, “After I graduated from Annapolis, I returned to the Philippines and became an officer in the Philippine Navy. I also spent some time in the Gulf of Tonkin, on a destroyer the Americans lent my navy, BRP
Datu Kalantiaw, PS-76.
It and I shared a first name. It was re-named after one of the first Filipinos to make a pact with the Spanish in 1565.
”

“I didn’t realize foreign students attended the US Naval Academy.”

“Up to sixty each year,” Ocampo said. “That’s how J.T. and I became roommates after Plebe Summer ended and the academic year began. Some upperclassman decided J.T. looked too Asian. He was a good guy. It broke my heart to see him resign. He would have been a good officer. He had a great sense of honor and duty. I suppose he got some of that from both his mother and father.”

“You got along well, I take it,” Wolfe said.

“Not at first,” Ocampo said. “You have to remember the Philippines was raped by the Japanese during World War II. Many of my family died in concentration camps. My grandfather and father served in the US Navy as messmen. They happened to be home on liberty when the war started, on December 8, 1941 in the Philippines. The day after Pearl Harbor. Both were stationed on the USS
Houston
, but couldn’t get back to Panay Island before the
Houston
sailed. Eventually, they joined the Filipino resistance. The Japanese captured and executed them. I had vowed never to trust a Jap.”

“The same
Houston
that was the first American ship to go down in battle after Pearl Harbor?”

“The same,” Ocampo said. “Their fate would probably have been the same had they gotten back to the ship before it sailed. In any event, it took me three months to learn to like J.T.”

“What changed your mind?” Wolfe asked.

“The first day in the swimming pool. In order to avoid mandatory swimming lessons we were required to swim across an Olympic-sized pool and back. We plebes stood in lines along the side of the pool. We were supposed to jump in, swim across, swim back, and climb out unassisted. He told me later that he had looked at the other end of the pool when some plebes jumped in and disappeared under water. He assumed that was the deep end of the pool. He expected to hit the bottom when he jumped in because he thought he stood at the shallow end. Consequently, he didn’t bother to take a deep breath when he jumped. It was twelve feet deep. There was no shallow end. He came to the surface sputtering. I thought we might have to pull him out, but he managed to swim across and back. Barely. When he told me the story, I realized he was human, not inhumane. It broke the ice.”

Wolfe smiled. Byrnes had told him that the navy thought Byrnes should hold his breath, sink to the bottom, and walk, if the ship ever sank. They didn’t think much of his swimming ability. Now Wolfe knew why. “I saw him swim at the enlisted men’s pool in Subic,” Wolfe said. “He did tolerably well. Apparently you liked him well enough to room together the second year.”

“Yeah. We had filed down all the sharp edges by the end of plebe year, before the youngster cruise. We caught the USS
Robison
, a destroyer, in Puget Sound, went to Hawaii, where J.T. swam in the Pacific and almost learned to surf. At some point, he realized he had to paddle out about a mile to catch a wave. We didn’t have surfboard leashes connecting our ankles to the boards back then. He thought if he lost his board it might be a long swim to shore.”

“Where else did you go on the cruise?” Wolfe asked.

“I got to show him around my home town, Manila. He made friends with everyone in my family, even the veterans from World War II. Then we went to Japan. I met his extended family in Tokyo when the ship docked in Yokosuka Naval Shipyard.” Ocampo’s eyes watered. He wiped away some tears. “They treated me like family. I’ve been back many times as a diplomat. Each time I stop in and see his family. We are close friends, now.”

Wolfe waited until Ocampo had regained his composure, then asked, “What happened the second year?”

Grinning, Ocampo recounted their return to the Naval Academy. “When we got back, it was like vacation from vacation. No more bracing, no chopping in the middle of the passageways or square corners, as much food at meals as we wanted, no more recitals of minutiae about formations or meals for the upperclassmen. We
were
upperclassmen. Academics required attention, of course, but without the plebe harassment, we easily got through our studies. I played soccer; he played 150 pound football. We had it made.”

“Until the knee injury?”

“Yeah,” Ocampo said. “When they twisted his knee after the interception in the Army-Navy  150 pound game, he said he heard a pop. His leg collapsed when he tried to run to the sideline after he was tackled. The docs at the academy weren’t especially helpful. They told him he’d never fly; he wouldn’t pass the physical. That ate at him and ate at him. He threw books around the room. ‘Why study when they won’t let me fly?’ he said many times. Finally, he gave up and quit. There was nothing I could do to stop him. Captain Byrnes tried to reason with him, too. He told him there were more careers in the navy than flying. So did his girlfriend, although she wanted him to be a ground-pounding jarhead anyway.”