Operation Thunderhead (16 page)

The new guard returned to insist that Dramesi continue with his writing. It was a fairly certain thing that Ferdinand couldn't read English; he didn't speak it to his prisoner, but he didn't have to be able to read to see that Dramesi wasn't doing as told. The pages that had been brought to him were blank, that was plain enough. With a series of insistent grunts, Ferdinand indicated that Dramesi should start writing. Then he left the cell.

Before the day was over, Dramesi had another visit from the doctor and received another shot of antibiotics. There was no way he was going to write down anything close to the details of his missions, but he wanted to buy as much time as he could. Several times over the following few days, either Ferdinand or Goose would look into the cell. Their instructions to Dramesi consisted of little more than an unintelligible bunch of noises, but the tone was obviously that of a warning.

Ferdinand appeared to just consider his assignment a job and didn't go out of his way to injure or harass his prisoner. On the other hand, Goose was a vicious, unstable sadist. It wouldn't do Dramesi any good to antagonize the lunatic who had so much control over his life just then. When the warning sounds echoed through the hallway that either guard was coming, Dramesi would quickly set to work and at least give the appearance of writing on the paper.

The part of the prison where cell #2 was located had been named Heartbreak Hotel by the other POWs. Dramesi had no way of knowing this during his incarceration there since he didn't speak to a single American the entire period. The eight cells along the hallway indicated that there could have been as many as sixteen other prisoners in them if they all shared the double-bunk layout, but Dramesi never heard another voice in the area outside that of the North Vietnamese.

Shouting out, “Is there anyone here?” Dramesi hoped for an answer back. No voices returned his call. From the wall that he shared with cell #1 there came a series of thumps minutes after he called out. There was a sequence to the thumps, but Dramesi had no idea what the code was. He banged back on the wall with his fist, but that didn't garner him a response. There were no answers to his cries. He was only talking to himself.

HEARTBREAK AND BEYOND

It was only a couple of days since he had been given the orders to write about his missions that Dramesi found himself under closer scrutiny by the guards. His ability to stall off the guards and Bug looked to be running out. Every time they peeked in, they would pound on the door and indicate that Dramesi should be writing. He would simulate scribbling for a while and the guards would leave. Then it was the time for another interrogation.

It was the fifth of May when Ferdinand opened the door to cell #2. It was easy to see that he wanted the prisoner to come with him, since he had brought Dramesi a pair of crutches. Though the crutches were too long, they did help the still very badly injured prisoner to hobble along and follow where the guard was leading.

The path they followed was out the door and into the main courtyard of the prison complex. On the other side of the courtyard, the pair entered another interrogation room, this one considerably less threatening than room #18 had been.

Two men were in the room waiting for Dramesi to be delivered, one of whom had been an interpreter during Dramesi's first session in room #18. Here in this room he wasn't being threatened, and there were no torture devices in sight. No ropes, chains, shackles, or bars were in the room, just two men who wanted their questions answered. And the subject was a little different from Dramesi's previous interrogations.

The interpreter spoke English well enough and only seemed interested in learning about the prisoner's escape attempt. Mentioning a number of U.S. military sources of information, Air Force survival manuals, and training centers, there wasn't any question that the interpreter hadn't already learned on his subject. He was going to be a very hard man to deal with.

Listening much more than he spoke, Dramesi sat through the interrogation. The main interests of the interpreter were threefold: He wanted to know why Dramesi had escaped in the first place. He also wanted to know how strongly Dramesi felt about the results of his attempt. And finally, the man wanted to convince the prisoner that escape from North Vietnam was impossible, particularly for a Westerner.

The interpreter also pushed the fact that Dramesi was simply a criminal, even though he didn't really seem to be convinced of that himself. What he was certain about was the fact that any further attempts to escape would only result in pain and punishment for Dramesi.

If the first few weeks of his stay at the Hanoi Hilton were any indication of things, Dramesi had no trouble believing that last part. But the conversation didn't change his opinion about escaping, or his desire to succeed at gaining freedom through his own actions.

The session simply ended with the interpreter giving a signal to Ferdinand, and Dramesi was sent back to his cell. That was all: no torture, threats, or anything much. Just a period of conversation, though a fairly one-sided one, and a return to confinement.

That same night, Ferdinand came into cell #2 to wake Dramesi and exchange his clothing. The fouled and stinking black shirt and shorts were taken and he was given a long-sleeved shirt and long pants. Both pieces of clothing were dyed in alternating pale red and gray stripes: unmistakable prison garb.

In the time since he was released from the stock, Dramesi had been trying to catch up on sleep, resting to the best of his ability and getting up only for his meager meals or a guard's knock at the door. The dreams he had while sleeping were an escape, but a strange one. They were among the most vivid he could remember in his entire life. But even in his subconscious, he knew that he had to go back from whatever escape his dreams took him; he had to go back to cell #2 at the Heartbreak Hotel.

The afternoon on the day after his escape interrogation, Dramesi's subterfuge about writing on his missions was discovered. Ferdinand came into the cell and took the pen out of the prisoner's hand as he sat and pretended to write. Crumpling up the papers with barely a glance, Ferdinand took them, the ink, and the pen and left the cell. He hadn't even attempted to read anything on the pages, just crumpled them up as if he knew they were worthless.

Another surprise came as Ferdinand returned to cell #2 later that afternoon. Indicating that Dramesi was to follow him, he led the prisoner down to cell #8. That cell held a shower, which Dramesi was allowed to use. For the first time in the thirty-four days since his capture, Dramesi was clean. Even his long hair was dealt with as Ferdinand cut it with a pair of clippers. The unkempt beard Dramesi was sporting was also shaved, or at least trimmed considerably, with those same clippers.

That evening, Goose came in to cell #2 to take Dramesi out of the room. He wasn't blindfolded and could see that they were going to another section of the complex that was new to him. In another room was the camp commander and something Dramesi hadn't seen in more than a month: a fellow American.

Bug sat behind a table, in front of which was a stretcher on the floor holding a tall, slim American. The man, still wearing his military crew cut, was pale and looked worn. By the appearance of the cast extending the length of his right leg all the way from the waist, he had been badly injured. Chances were good that this man was a new arrival at the prison and probably had only been captured recently.

Before speaking to Bug or the prisoner, Dramesi stood at attention as straight and steadily as he could. But he didn't bow and made no attempt to bow. Bug and Dramesi looked at each other steadily, neither saying a word. It was obvious that Bug was expecting a show of respect. It was just as obvious that Dramesi wasn't about to do what Bug wanted. Looking away, Dramesi gazed at the man on the stretcher.

Finally, it was Bug who spoke, asking if Dramesi wanted to live with the man on the stretcher.

It was an odd question. Given Bug's apparent lack of skill at English, it may have been the only way he could say what he meant. Not sure of the situation, Dramesi paused before answering. It was not unheard-of for other apparent prisoners to be planted in order to gain information. But it was a fairly sophisticated technique, and Dramesi didn't know if the North Vietnamese used such actions. His experience was that the local interrogation techniques tended to lean toward the brutal rather than clever, but he couldn't afford not to consider the possibility. Dramesi had information that he didn't want the North Vietnamese to know about, particularly that he had been a forward air controller with the 4th Infantry Division in South Vietnam.

Still, the fellow American on the floor was injured, and he could be company at least. Finally, Dramesi said yes.

Bug asked the man on the stretcher the same question, and received a no answer. He may not have understood what Bug was asking and the camp commander repeated his question. The man on the stretcher also reluctantly said yes. If he was a plant in order to learn information from Dramesi, he was acting the part very well. It could also have been that the man in the cast considered Dramesi a possible plant.

After the roommates had agreed to each other, Dramesi was quickly taken from the room. Once more he was blindfolded to keep him from learning about where he was going and Goose led him to another part of the complex. They ended up in a part of the Hanoi Hilton the POWs had named the Golden Nugget in Little Las Vegas. The odd names were all taken from places back in the States that were familiar to most if not all of the prisoners, most of whom were pilots or flight personnel. Using the names, they could communicate about locations and if their messages were intercepted, it would be that much harder for the North Vietnamese to understand them.

Now Dramesi was put in room three of the Golden Nugget. The cell was only about a foot wider than cell #2 had been. Again, the furnishings were simple and functional: just the two bunks along the two walls and a bucket. The door to the cell was made of solid wood. There were two others openings in this room, each a one-by-two foot window in the side walls. The windows were barred and closed with shutters. That made things dark and tight as far as the air went in the room.

Before too long, a pair of guards brought the injured man in on his stretcher. They placed him on the other bunk and left. Dramesi soon learned that the other man was Al Meyer, a navigator who had been shot down just a couple of weeks earlier. It may have been his broken leg or his situation; it could have just been his nature, but Meyer was demanding and not very polite about making them. Over the next several days, Dramesi did what he could to help his roommate in what were deplorable conditions. He did finally have to tell the other man that his name was John, not “hey.”

The only consideration the North Vietnamese showed to the injured man was an issue of what they called “special food.” The broth he was served was a little thicker, and some slices of potatoes and pork could be found in it. For Dramesi, he only received his usual rice and bowl of thin green soup. The two prisoners also received a banana each. And a real bright spot showed up in the food the day they received some bread with their meal. The bread was an intermittent thing at best. After some time had passed to build up a record, they figured that the chances of getting bread with a meal were nine to one. But a loaf of bread was a real morale booster for the imprisoned men.

One of the other things that raised Dramesi's spirits was the ability to speak to other Americans. He would play word games and quizzes with Meyer to help pass the time. With the ability to move about, Dramesi would exercise, little at first and then gradually more, so as to regain at least some of his strength.

During the “quiet hour,” signals had been arranged among the prisoner population to warn of guards approaching the Golden Nugget series of rooms or the Thunderbird cells across the alley. With the windows of the cells open, the men could even see each other. The first fellow prisoner Dramesi spoke to was Dave Gray.

Gray had been shot down in late January '67 and had bad back injuries as a result of his ejection. His F-4C had been shot down after only his fourth combat mission. The enjoyment of the conversation waned when Dramesi said that he didn't think the prisoners would be released for at least a year. Gray was visibly depressed. When the other prisoner finally asked Dramesi what he based his opinion on, the answer was straightforward. U.S. forces were just starting to operate at a high level in South Vietnam. Dramesi felt that the military actions of the United States would take about a year to reach their objectives. Then, the prisoners might expect release when the United States held the upper hand.

Incoming prisoners were the only source of unbiased news for the men already being held. What Dramesi told to Gray was passed along to the rest of the population, even to the prisoner's senior ranking officer (SRO) of the camp, Commander Stockdale. His opinion might not have been agreed with by the others, but it was certainly shared.

Another thing that could lift the spirits of a number of the prisoners, Dramesi among them, was the sound of U.S. air strikes coming in around the city. While in the Heartbreak Hotel, the sounds of the jets and explosions had been muffled by the structure. In the Golden Nugget, the roar of U.S. airpower could be plainly heard. Even the return fire of the North Vietnamese, the green and red streaks of tracer fire, could be seen through the windows as the projectiles climbed into the sky. One night raid was huge, appearing like a Fourth of July celebration to Dramesi.

The guards were concerned about the prisoners when the air strikes took place, but not enough to move them to any real position of safety. When the air-raid sirens sounded, the guards rushed about and ordered the prisoners to take cover under their bunks. More than once, Dramesi ignored the guards and watched the raid, particularly the local air defenses, as best he could. He was gathering information, military information on where the local troops positioned themselves during an attack, how many were armed with automatic weapons, and where the strongpoints might be. It was information that could help when he next escaped.