Message from Nam (25 page)

“I was over here when they burned Ben Sue a year and a half ago … that was a beautiful place. It was a crime to burn it down.”

“Why did they do it?”

“To flush out the Viet Cong, cut off their food supply, their hiding places. Most of the time, they can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys. So they burned it all down, and turned the whole thing into a parking lot. They claim they relocated everyone, but you can’t replace something like that. It was lovely and old, and they moved everyone into Quonset huts.” It was how he had met France, but he didn’t say anything about that. He didn’t know Paxton that well yet. “How’d it go yesterday?” he asked.

“Okay. I kind of poked around Saigon, and kept getting lost.” She smiled. And then she decided to let her hair down. “The Five O’Clock Follies sure are bullshit, aren’t they? What’s that all about?”

“I think they call it PR. Another word for it is propaganda, for our side.”

“What’s the point?” She looked annoyed. She had come here for the truth, not to be lied to. As they talked, she took her helmet off and tied her ponytail in a bun. It was just too hot even to have hair, let alone have it hang down her back from under her helmet.

But Ralph only laughed. “It gives us something to write about when we run dry, which doesn’t happen too often.” And then he smiled. “My buddies at the AP office were going crazy yesterday, apparently some guy’s nephew was due here and everyone has been instructed to keep him out of trouble.”

“What’s he doing here?” Paxton looked amused too.

“I don’t know. Visiting, I guess. Mustn’t be too smart. Viet Nam is a good place to stay out of.”

She looked him in the eye with a steady glance as the others chatted over their doughnuts. “Does that mean you think I’m dumb too?”

“Maybe.” He was honest with her. He always would be. “But I think maybe you’re different. I’ll tell you what I think when we’re through today, but I think you’re one of those crazy people who have to be journalists no matter what, who have to have the truth if it kills them.”

“Thank you” was all she said, and she put her helmet back on her head and finished her coffee.

They stopped briefly in Ham Tan, and then they pressed on to Phan Rang and Cam Ranh, and then they could hear gunfire in the distance. It was like the roll of thunder coming down from the mountains. The driver of the truck was in constant contact by radio with his base at Nha Trang, and he warned them before they got there, that they would be moving inland. They were going to a firebase that was under heavy attack, and they would be coming in from the rear. They thought they’d be pretty safe because the firebase was well protected and well armed, but they’d been under heavy fire all week, and this was exactly the story that Ralph wanted. It had taken him all week to get permission to be there.

“Their RTO’s been telling me things are pretty hot there,” the driver explained, and by now Paxton knew that “hot” always meant VC and never weather. The weather itself was unspeakable, and she wondered at times how she would breathe when they got there. As they approached the base, they were told to get down low in their seats, keep their flak jackets on, and wear their helmets. It was seven a.m., and they were stopped two miles before they got to the remote artillery base where they were going.

“I’ve got journalists here,” the driver explained when he was stopped by heavily armed rear sentries. They were carrying standard M-16’s, which Paxton already knew from Ralph were inferior to the Soviet AK-47’s carried by the Viet Cong, because our weapons jammed and theirs didn’t.

The sentries looked inside, and Paxton recognized an M-60 machine gun and the sound of a 150mm howitzer in the distance. She had tried to read up on everything, but it was different seeing it all now in action, and it was more than a little scary. She could feel her heart beating, especially when they looked at her, and continued to question the driver.

“What about the Delta Delta?”

The driver smiled. “Same thing. She’s a journalist too. Right?” He turned and smiled openly at Paxton.

“Yes, sir. I’m with the
Morning Sun
in San Francisco.” She fumbled for her papers, and they waved them on without any further questions while the driver and Ralph exchanged a smile, and she wondered what had just passed between them. “What was that all about? The Delta Delta stuff I mean.”

“You’re going to hear a lot of it while you’re here.” Ralph grinned.

“They call you that at first too?” she asked innocently, and he laughed out loud at that one.

“Not likely, sweetheart. I’d better tell you what it means. Delta Delta are the radio call signs for D-D. Doughnut Dollie.” Everyone in the truck laughed and Paxton wanted to stamp her boots.

“Shit! I came all the way out here, and I didn’t do it to pass out goddamn doughnuts!”

“You tell ’em, lady!” The driver cheered and even Paxton laughed. It was infuriating to be treated like some beauty queen who had come over to see if anyone would whistle.

“Delta Delta, my ass!” Everyone knew “Doughnut Dollies” were nice women who did a lot for morale, but it was still no compliment to Paxton.

“You’ll get used to it,” Ralph laughed, and she threatened to hit him. But a few minutes later they were told to get down as artillery fire began to whiz over their heads. They all climbed gingerly out of the truck when told, and the cameramen and the sound man began assembling their equipment. Ralph was telling them what he wanted from them, and after conferring with some of the troops, the driver was explaining to Ralph which entries into the camp were safest. But from the sound of it, none of it was perfectly clear, and a young black private who came running down to them told them what they already knew, that “they were hot hot hot,” and as he said it, he stared longingly at Paxton.

“Hey there, where you come from?” he whispered as they got down low near the truck, and Ralph confirmed to her that what she heard were howitzers in the distance. The South Vietnamese Army, the ARVN, were supporting the American troop movements. But the Americans liked to rely on their own.

In their opinion, their own guys were always better, and they were fighting the NVA, the regular North Vietnamese Army, unlike the Viet Cong, who were really just farmers although brave ones.

“I’m from Savannah,” she said, trying to appear calm as she talked to the young black guy.

“Yeah? Me too.” He gave her an address that didn’t mean much, and she smiled, suddenly thinking of Queenie.

“How long have you been here?” she asked with interest.

“In Nam?” He grinned. “Hell, baby, I’m two weeks short. I’m starin’ my DEROS right in the eye. If I can just keep my ass out of trouble for the next two weeks, I’m takin’ that freedom bird home to Georgia.” His DEROS was his date eligible for return from overseas. And two weeks short meant that he had been there for 380 days, 375 days longer than Peter had lived when he got there. “What’s yo’ name?” She was beautiful, and all he wanted to do was talk to her and touch her. He had a girlfriend at home, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to talk to Paxton.

“Paxton.”

“Yeah?” He looked amused, and Ralph glanced at them over his shoulder.

“Keep down,” he told her firmly.

They were all taken into the firebase after that, and it was an incredible view into a picturesque-looking little valley, all green and very beautiful and smoking with the constant exchange of fire. There were planes flying low overhead, and other planes were dropping bombs in the distance. The men called them “birds dropping eggs.” The commander of the firebase came to meet Ralph and his crew, and Ralph was careful to introduce him to Paxton.

“San Francisco, eh?” he asked, chewing on a cigar. “Great town. My wife and I love it.” Everyone loved someplace. San Francisco, Savannah, North, South, New Jersey, it didn’t matter where you were from. You were alive and you were new, and they were so desperate to go home and just stay alive, just touching someone from anywhere meant everything to them. “We’ve had a lot of heat around here,” he explained. “The NVA are determined to get through, and we’re just not going to let them. We held this area pretty solidly last year, and then we lost it. And now that we have it back, we’re not letting it go again.” But Paxton couldn’t help wondering how many men it had cost them. Taking a hill, a valley, a village, it all meant such loss of life. So many boys dead, and so many wounded. He explained again that they were doing pretty well. They had lost only five boys so far, and had a few dozen wounded. Was that okay, then, she asked herself, “
only
five boys” was fine … but which five? How did one choose? How did God? And why had he chosen Peter? “Would you like to come up a little closer? We’re taking a lot of shells, just stay in the areas my boys tell you.”

Ralph was pleased. He wanted a better view for the camera of the forward movements. And they stayed there all afternoon only falling back finally at three in order to eat some C rations before they went back to the heat of the action. And so far, no one had been hurt. It had been a pretty tame day all in all. They were just holding their position relentlessly, and now and then they claimed that they could see Charlie. But the truth was, you couldn’t. You couldn’t see anything, except smoke and gunfire, and the bushes.

“Well, kid, how’s it feel? You’re in it now.” Ralph sat next to her for a few minutes to smoke a cigarette and finish a cup of coffee.

“How did it feel when the
Times
sent you to Korea?”

“It scared the shit out of me,” he said with a grin.

“That’s about right.” She smiled nervously at him. Her stomach had been in a knot since early that morning.

“Did you eat?” She shook her head. “You should. It’ll help. You’ve gotta keep eating and sleeping no matter what they’re doing out there, or you may get careless and do something stupid. Keep your judgment sharp. That’s the best piece of combat advice I can give you.”

She was grateful for him. He was a nice guy, and a terrific reporter. She could see why the others were jealous of him. He was good, very good, and constantly on the alert for anything that might happen. “Thanks for the boots,” she said to him, and he patted her on the shoulder.

“Keep your helmet on and your head down, and you’ll be fine.” And with that he was off again, climbing rapidly through some trees behind some soldiers, while she wondered if she admired him or thought he was crazy. And just as she thought that, there was a huge explosion. The cameramen ran down to where he’d been, and the sound man right behind them, and without thinking of anything but him, she found herself running too, and when she got there, there were men lying all over the place and he was holding one of them, with the boy’s chest hanging wide open.

“We need medics here,” he said calmly but firmly, and someone ran to get one, and suddenly there was a radio operator in their midst calling for a “Dustoff.” “I’ve got six men down,” he said into the phone, and as he said it Paxton felt one of them touch her. His arm was blown off, and there was blood everywhere, and he had the face of a child as he looked up at her, and all he said was “I’m thirsty.”

She had a canteen at her side, but she wasn’t sure if she should give him anything. What if he wasn’t supposed to drink? If giving him something would kill him … Two medics arrived and a priest in a helmet who was attached to the unit and they started going around to the boys who’d been wounded. But the boy in Ralph’s arms had already died, and he was helping them with another.

“I’m thirsty.” No one had come to her boy yet, and he looked at her with anguish. “What’s your name?”

“Paxxie.” She stroked his face and laid his head down gently in her lap as blood poured all over her legs and she tried to pretend she didn’t feel it. “My name’s Paxxie,” she said softly, stroking his hair back gently from his face, and fighting back an urge to bend down and kiss his cheeks like a baby, as she cried for him. She tried to smile through her tears but he didn’t see it. “What’s your name?” she asked, to keep him talking.

“Joe.” He was sounding vague from the loss of blood and shock, and he started to close his eyes as she held him.

“Come on, Joe, wake up … you can’t go to sleep now … that’s right … open your eyes.” She smiled at him, and all around them everything was frantic. They were trying to carry the wounded boys into a clearing. The priest was helping them, and Ralph and the cameraman, too, and one of the medics was pounding on someone’s chest, and in a minute she could hear the helicopter whirring overhead but they were shooting at it from the brush and it had to move away again as the medic who’d been pounding the boy’s chest shouted, “Shit!” He had lost him.

“Where are you from, Joe?”

“Miami.” It was only a whisper.

“Miami. That’s great.” There were tears in her eyes and a lump in her throat and she felt sick and her legs were soaked with his blood as she held him, and the radio operator sitting right next to her in the grass was telling the helicopter to take off again. It was just too hot there.

“The hell I will …” the voice came back to them. “How many you got down there?” The voice was steady and strong and he wasn’t going anywhere without their wounded.

“I’ve still got four who need you pretty bad.” And just as he said it, there was another huge explosion.

“Shit!” someone said, and the medics were off again, and someone came back to talk to the radio operator and give him a report on the wounded.

“Make that nine. I’ve got five more for you, Niner Zulu. Can you get me another bird down here quick? We’ve got some guys who aren’t gonna wait too long.” And as she listened, Paxton closed her eyes, and knew that the boy on her lap was one of them. She tried to catch the operator’s eye, but he was too involved on the phone, and Ralph was long gone with his cameramen somewhere else.

“You okay?” a passing voice asked, and she heard herself respond, much to her amazement.

“We’re fine. Right, Joe? Right …” He was drifting off to sleep, and she touched his cheek to wake him, trying not to look at the arm that wasn’t there and the bloody stump that was bleeding onto the ground beside her. She thought of trying to fashion a tourniquet, but she was afraid of making things worse, and a moment later a medic was with him.