The Time: 2130 of the night following this incident.
The Place: The command bunker of the Tay Do Two Battalion Commander, twenty feet below the surface of a garden in Phong Dinh Province, RVN.
Colonel Trinh Vo Thanh placed Sergeant Van’s report on the field table, then placed both palms flat, flanking the message. He shifted his gaze to the rammed-earth ceiling and thought, Van is reliable and his employment as a day laborer for the American engineers produces valuable intelligence – and how he managed to smuggle that miniature camera into their base was a tale in itself. But sometimes he will intuit a conclusion without considering all the factors. Something is left unsaid in this report.
He called toward the anteroom and told his adjutant to send Phouc, the message runner, to him. Phouc ducked in through the low entryway, then stood at rigid attention.
Trinh smiled to ease Phouc’s apprehension. “Soldier Phouc, you have performed your mission well. But I feel that I may have missed something of import in the message. Now you may set Soldier Phouc aside and become Young Brother Phouc, as I will set aside Battalion Commander Trinh – we will sit together and my Young Brother will tell the tale of this morning’s events to his Eldest Brother…”
Phouc told Trinh of the work party’s interruption by the sound of approaching helicopters: “We could tell they were Frogs (UH-1s), not Sharks (AH-1s) or Bees (OH-6s) by the sounds, but we didn’t know if they were just Frogs or the Muttering Death (gunships, particularly UH-1Ds or-Hs in Nighthawk configuration). We dispersed to our fighting positions beneath the trees and pulled our covers over us…”
When Phouc finished his story, Trinh said, “That was a most excellent story. Thank you, Young Brother. Please wait outside.” Van decided that the Americans’ morale was low, but what Phouc described was either a highly aggressive reconnaissance or – oh, seven hells! – a very concentrated tree-killing. Trinh fervently hoped it was the former; he had personally chosen the site for the forward base because it was deep inside the woods and because it was in close proximity to his protector’s main cash crop.
Nuc mau. Tiger grass.
Which, in turn, was planted there because it was on land that bordered his protector’s holdings. And the American politicians had told their soldiers to keep their noses out of Vietnamese politics and leave the Vietnamese politicians to the American politicians…
Seven hells and the hells beneath the hells. If the Americans had indeed sprayed their chemicals on the nuc mau, he would have to placate his protector in a very visible manner…
“Soldier Phouc!”
Phouc bolted through the entryway, eyes wide. “Sir!”
“Soldier Phouc, memorize this message and repeat it to Sergeant Van: ‘You know the unit that flies the tree-killing missions. You said you saw the pilots. I want their pictures by tomorrow evening.’ Soldier Phouc, you are dismissed!”
“Sir!” Phouc exited at a crouching run.
Colonel Trinh looked at his watch. Midnight. Phouc would deliver his message by 0300 and Sergeant Van would be on the Americans’ base by 0630.
Trinh made a mental note to visit his protector at 0730 with a request…
To be continued...
Hang in there, kids (and just how many of you have been keeping up with the timeline, hmmmmm?
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