1800 Hours Local, 17 January 1966
Officers Club, Tan Son Nhut Air Base
Republic of Vietnam
The Wolf, dressed in the camouflaged fatigues known as Tiger suits, wearing his mashed and sweaty sun-faded green beret for the first time legally in eight months, was at the wheel of a jeep rumbling down a dusty road on Tan Son Nhut Air Base headed toward the O’ Club to celebrate. He was happy. Thoughts of church bombs and nosie newsies were behind him, although he did remember, with a yearning ache, the cool green eyes of the girl, Charmaine. All told, he was happy. More than happy, ecstatic was the right word. Colonel Morton had arranged for the 5th Special Forces Group at Nha Trang to give him the transfer he had wanted for so long. Rather than function as an advisor out of My Tho in the Dinh Tung and Kien Thung provinces in the Mekong Delta area of IV Corps in the southern portion of Vietnam, he was assigned special duty to an SF A Team; Detachment A-302, in III Corps. And not just any A Team, Det 302 was a Mike Force team. That meant they were the mobile reaction force for all of III Corps.
Allowed to recruit two companies of Nung Chinese mercenaries and one company of Cambodians from jails and elsewhere, the mission of the III Corps Mike Force was to react to SF camps in trouble, particularly those that served as watch posts along the Cambodian border, or go out on small unit patrols to find Charley (as they called the VC), but not to engage the larger units, just to call in some artillery, or air, or U.S. infantry units. They also performed BDAs (Bomb Damage Assessments) after B-52 strikes. Elite of the elite, the Mike Force team selected their own members from a long line of volunteers who had to have at least one tour at an SF camp under their belt to be considered.
The Wolf was on temporary duty (TDY) to the Mike Force for a few weeks to augment their intelligence gathering and assessment capabilities of a suspected buildup in War Zones C and D. He was delighted to throw away his tin pot and don the Green Beret he had worked so hard to earn many years before. He thought with disgust of the leadership of the 7th ARVN Infantry Division. The lower ranks, although eager, did not fight well and, as a puking advisor the Wolf couldn't do anything about it. You don't advise a man into combat, you lead him. He had been caught, more than once, leading platoons from the 7th into heavy VC encampments.
Secretly, the J-3 Ops people at MACV were delighted with Wolf's assignment. Officially they had to get rid of the Wolf since the 7th ARVN Infantry Division commander and both Province chiefs wanted the Wolf out of their jurisdiction. He was not operating the war in a manner conducive to profit making for them. MACV, operating under the McNamara policy of "we are guests in Vietnam," complied and pulled the Wolf out. His old mentor, Army Colonel George Morton heard about it and arranged his new job with the commander of the 5th Special Forces Group, who was only too happy to oblige.
Major Wolfgang the Wolf Lochert drove to the Tan Son Nhut Officers Club in a MACV jeep signed out to him by a Motor Pool sergeant who was delighted to do this small favor ("Any time, Major, any time,") in return for an authentic VC flag. The Wolf had purchased a dozen such flags from a street vendor in My Tho. That the flags were authentic VC was undisputed since the vendor, who also sold black market cigarettes, liquor, and other items, was a known VC. He was allowed to run free because he never detected the local Viet police following him to his weekly clandestine meetings, thereby allowing the U.S.-sponsored South Vietnamese intelligence gathering net to flourish.
Besides taxing the locals to raise funds for their National Liberation Front, the VC had a neat little business churning out the cheap cotton rags with a yellow star on a split blue and red background, Viet Cong heraldry, to hawk to American G.I.s and newsmen on the street. The better fabric went in the VC line unit flags. The Motor Pool sergeant, in turn, would sell or trade the authentic VC flag to Saigon commandos for twenty dollars or items of comparable worth. He hoped to do more business with that rude and ugly Major Lochert.
The rude and ugly Major Lochert parked his jeep in the shade on the east side of the club. He removed the rotor, rigidly chained the steering wheel to the brake pedal, squared away his green beret and headed for the club. He had things to celebrate before tomorrow when he was to report in, first to the C Team near the village of Bien Hoa, then to the Mike Force A Team near the Bien Hoa Air Base. Nearing the club door he noticed the cloud buildup, a sure prelude to the usual afternoon thunderstorm. Close behind him walked Bubba Bates, with Tui.
"Why do you keep wanting to come to the Officers Club?" Bubba Bates asked Tui. He was frowning. "You've never asked before, now all of a sudden it's a big deal." Tui had been badgering Bates to take her to the club. She finally succeeded and this was her first trip. She had not answered Bubba's petulant questions.
Bates was wearing his usual uniform of thin black pants and a short-sleeved white shirt open at the neck. Tui had on a simple white summer cotton frock with thin black vertical lines down the side accentuating her curves. She carried a black leather purse that looked and opened like a business envelope. She had combed her brown-black hair back in wings on either side of her face and let the rest fall in a perfectly straight line down her back. She looked fourteen and virginal. It was slightly after 1800 hours in the early evening. To avoid the imminent rain storm, they had dashed from Bate's parked car to the club entrance. A cool and gusty breeze smelling of wet dust hinted at the downpour to come.
Walking in front, Bubba barged through the throng of Vietnamese and Americans, all in civilian clothes, gathered to play the slot machines arrayed on both sides of the front door. Tui was appalled at the informal--no, worse than informal--the sloppy, rough atmosphere. This was not like the carpeted French Officers Clubs she had known that had high ceilings and quiet manners. This club was like the Texas roadhouse she had seen in an American movie. The smell of stale beer and old cigarettes assailed her nostrils. A low muttering of harsh conversation broken by clangs and whoops from the slot players assaulted her ears. Sweating fatigue-clad men gathered at the bar in groups, pairs, or alone, eyes roving. Other men sat at tables or stood in conversational clusters along the walls. Vietnamese waitresses scurried from group to group with trays of drinks and cans and bottles of beer. The lights flickered as a thunder clap shocked the air out of the club for a heartbeat. Rain began to crash on the tin roof.
Knowing why she came, Tui followed Bubba Bates to a table in the farthest corner of the rapidly filling bar room. At first she kept her head down in the proper fashion of a Vietnamese co, an unmarried woman. Then, remembering the American women she had studied at Chez Robert's, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and slowly glanced around to study every man in the club. Her heart was pounding and she really didn't register what she was seeing. But, in the timeless fashion of women everywhere, she knew every eye was focused on her. That gave her strength. By the time they reached the table, her pulse had slowed. Bubba sat without offering her a place or holding her chair. Tui remained standing, poised and erect, next to a vacant chair. Bubba was busy snapping his fingers at a trio of Vietnamese waitresses at their bar station.
"What the hell," Bubba said, turning to see Tui, still standing, tall and proud. "Siddown," he snapped. Tui's nerve almost broke. As she was about to dismantle the tableau she had staged by sitting down, a figure broke loose from the gawking men at the bar and dashed to her side.
"Geez, here, let me hold this for you," the man said as he pulled the chair into proper position. Tui looked full into his face, into his eyes, holding her glance that microsecond longer than necessary, giving the unmistakable signal of obvious interest, that here is all-woman looking for all-man.
"Thank you," she said, eyes dropping to the name on his fatigues, "Thank you, Lieutenant Parker. Would you care to join us?"
At that, Bubba, who recognized Parker as that dickhead lieutenant involved in the humiliating incident in the terminal, jumped to his feet knocking his chair backward. He grabbed Parker's arm with his left hand to swing him around into a right cross.
"Oh nuts," Parker breathed, at last recognizing the man with Tui. He ducked, causing Bates's swing to go wild. Tui jumped up and stood back. As Parker ducked he had spotted a beer bottle on the table next to him. Coming up he grabbed it by the neck with both hands and swung it like a baseball bat into Bubba Bates' face. Bates fell back, hands going to his nose, which started to spurt blood, tripped over his fallen chair, sprawled backwards, cracked his head on the floor and lay there, all the fight gone out of him.
For an instant, Parker was aghast at what he had done in unthinking reflex. He thought that if Bates were to get up and come after him he'd run out the door in a panic. As his pulse and adrenalin flow slowed, he realized he not only had survived an attack, but had won the encounter. He shook his head, smiling ruefully, as he realized the only two fights he'd had in his life had been with the same man over two different women. Vietnam, he thought, is one helluva place.
He looked over his shoulder to see Tui backed up against the wall, eyes wide. He stepped to her side, marveling at this wondrous creature who seemed so out of place. He was too intent to notice that behind him, a civilian dressed like Bates, walked from the bar toward the table. He was one of the two Alpha employees who had helped Bates from the terminal when he was doubled up from his encounter with Nancy Lewis. As he was about to grab Parker, an Army officer in a Tiger suit stepped in front of him and thumped a thick hand flat against the civilian's chest. Hearing the sound, Parker turned.
"Let it go, Mac," Wolf Lochert growled, lips back in a menacing grimace that was, Parker thought, exactly how Neanderthal man about to spear a saber-toothed tiger must have looked. "Get your buddy and get out of here." Lochert jerked his head toward the fallen Bates. "And we'll take the lady home." White-faced, the Alpha employee nodded and once again helped a defeated Bubba Bates from the champs d'honneur.
As the two Alpha employees withdrew, Lochert explained to the harassed Club Officer, who arrived too late to see anything, that the "Ell Tee here, was defending himself against that frapping sillyvilian who shouldn't be allowed in here anyhow, and did the Club Officer desire to follow this incident up with any kind of a formal report, perhaps?" After a second's thoughtful deliberation, the Club Officer replied that no, he did not, gave a surprisingly wide grin, and walked away. Lochert turned back to Toby and Tui. He pointed to his table.
"C'mere and siddown," he commanded. Tui and Parker sat, Parker first holding her chair.
"Parker," Lochert rasped, reading the name tag, "for a flyboy Ell Tee, you ain't doon too bad." Lochert had a look on his face, actually less a scowl than normal, that Parker thought was almost approving. "But you sure don't know how to finish a fight."
"Ah, colonel, I mean major," he said, "really, I'm not a flyboy. That is, I'm not a pilot. Or a navigator, for that matter." Parker cleared his throat. He really wanted to look at or talk to the girl he had apparently just won in combat fair. The dragon was, if not slain, at least vanquished temporarily. But, he wanted to know what Lochert was talking about. "And, ah, what do you mean about `finishing' a fight?"
"When he was down, you didn't kick him in the head a couple times to let him know you were serious. Now he'll be coming back at you. From behind," Lochert added.
Tui, no longer playing the femme fatale, demurely kept her head down to listen. She had to measure these two and find out what they could do for her and for the cadre. "Meet people, take names, we will do the rest," Buey Dan had instructed. A young thieu uy (lieutenant) and an older thieu ta (major) didn't look all that promising, she thought, except as a way to meet others. She looked up.
"Please," she said, "may I have a martini?"
Lochert swung his head to stare at her for an instant then asked in rapid fire Vietnamese, "What do you know about martinis? Where are you from, little sister?"
Flustered at hearing her own language, Tui stammered slightly as she said in English, "I have had martinis before. In England and in France. It is what I drink."
She spoke French accented Vietnamese, Lochert noted. "Est-ce que tu parle Francais?" Wolf Lochert asked the Eurasian girl deliberately using the familiar form as if she were a bar girl. Tui hesitated slightly before answering. This longnose was probing. "Yes, I speak French," she said in English, deciding to concentrate on the younger man who obviously wasn't as perceptive as the thieu ta. "Of course I speak French. I lived there. And England, too." Trying to dismiss Lochert, she tilted her head back to look at Parker. She needed some estimate of his potential.
"Have you been here long, Lieutenant?"
"Uh, no ma'am, only a month. And, please, my name is Toby."
"Yes, Tow-bye," Tui said, indicating she had trouble getting the pronunciation correct, "and do you like my country?"
"I haven't been here long enough to find out, or even off this air base. You're the first…” He stopped in confusion. "Ah, you are Vietnamese, aren't you?"
"Yes, Tow-bye, I am Vietnamese. I am what one calls a métisse. My mother was Vietnamese." She paused for a moment to glance at Wolf Lochert. "My father was in the French Foreign Legion. He was killed fighting the Viet Minh when I was very young. He was a great hero." Her tongue flicked up for an instant to her upper lip in a movement, Wolf thought, caused by nervousness.
Parker couldn't help staring at her. He had never seen nor imagined such rare and fragile beauty. Her high cheekbones, the smooth tanned skin, the way her mouth would curl when she showed perfectly white and even teeth in quick, nervous smiles, her French way of rolling her R's, captivated him. She would touch her tongue to her upper lip every so often as if to taste of some hidden and exotic flavor.
"Where do you live?” Lochert asked in Vietnamese.
Tui flushed. Aware, she knew how she had to answer. "With Mr. Bates," she said in a low voice, hanging her head. Her hair on the left side swung forward, partially hiding her face. She made no move to brush it away. Parker felt his heart fill to near bursting.
"We'll get you out of there," he blurted, implicating Lochert without really knowing if he could even count on him.
"No." Tui's head swung up involuntarily. "I mean, you can't do that." She stammered slightly.
Lochert squinted at her and pulled his lips back, "Why not?" he barked.
"I have no other place to go. I have no home. My mother is dead. I have no family in France." Tui lowered her head and pulled a delicate white lace handkerchief from her bag to hold to her eyes.
Parker, nearly weeping with compassion, reached over to take her hand. "Hey," he said, "I mean it. We'll take care of you." He looked at Lochert. "Won't we, Sir?"
Army Major Wolfgang the Wolf Lochert studied Air Force First Lieutenant Toby G. Parker for a long moment, then turned to look at Tui. His scowl receded, his face almost softened.
"Yeah," he growled, "we will."
2145 Hours Local, 17 January 1966
Restaurant My Canh, Saigon
Republic of Vietnam
Later, Lochert and Parker sat with Tui long after they finished their meal at Restaurant My Canh overlooking the Saigon River. Curfew was in one hour at eleven o'clock. They were less than five blocks from Bubba Bates' apartment on Hai Ba Troung. No one had said much, though from time to time Toby Parker had asked Tui how to say a few polite things in Vietnamese. And he did brag a bit that he was flying the next day on an important mission. Toby wanted desperately to be cosmopolitan and witty and to lead sparkling conversation, but he found he was all but tongue-tied in the presence of this remarkable girl. Wolf Lochert had been silent yet purposeful as he ate and seemed at his ease. So they had relaxed and let the happy accordion music of French village songs surround them and take the place of what could only be stilted conversation.
Tui looked at her tiny watch on a narrow black band of material matching her purse. Parker, who had stared unabashedly at her all through the meal, caught the glance.
"It's near curfew time, isn't it," he said.
"Yes," Tui replied.
Mumbling something, Lochert placed a stack of P on the silver plate with l'addition and motioned for the Garcon to come get it.
"Cam on, Thieu Ta Wolf," Thank you, Major Wolf, Tui said.
"Cam on, Too Tah Wolf," Parker echoed, grinning. The Wolf nodded acknowledgement. As they stood up to go, a figure approached from the crowded My Canh bar. It was Charmaine.
"Why, hello there, Major, ah," she looked at his nametag, "Lochert. You didn't give us your name the other day." She grabbed for Lochert's hand to shake it. He reluctantly allowed her to do so, her warm fingers feeling delicate and moist in his big, knuckly paw.
"You do remember me, don't you? You ruined Shawn's film, then left us without a word." She searched his dark brown eyes for some sign of recognition.
"Yes, I remember," the Wolf said in a low voice, wishing he could look away from the deep green of her eyes. He released her hand and cleared his throat. "Now it's your turn to remember. I do not like newsies," he articulated with crackling clear words. He wanted to reach out and touch her lush, mahogany-colored hair.
"I'm not a newsie, I'm a dancer, Major Lochert," Charmaine said.
Shawn Bannister appeared at her side. He nodded at the Wolf. "Major Lochert," he said, not trying to shake his hand. He glanced briefly at Parker and Tui, news antenna twitching, trying to place them and wondering what in hell they were doing with this Green Beanied gorilla. He returned his attention to the Wolf, trying to decide the best way to approach him.
"I really want to do a story on you, you know," he said.
"Yeah, I'll bet you want to do a number on me," the Wolf said, turning to glare at Shawn Bannister. "I know that left wing rag of yours. I know that California Sun. I know what you wrote about the Americal Division's hatchets and I know what you'd write about me. 'Ape-like Cretin Eats Babies in Vietnam,' that's what you'd write. I know your type."
Charmaine cringed at the exchange. Behind the fierce glare she saw the suppressed hurt in the Wolf's eyes. Somebody wrote something like that about him once, she said to herself.
"It's not like that," Shawn said. "I didn't write that piece about Patton's son and the hatchets. Besides, this is different. You are a professional soldier and my readers want to know about professional soldiers; where they're from, what they do, why they..."
"Shawn, we're disturbing these people," Charmaine said, cutting him off. She turned to the Wolf and took up his hand with both of hers.
"Pay no attention to him, Major Lochert. He can find plenty of other people to write about." She squeezed the Wolf's hand. She liked and instinctively trusted this big fellow. Though he seemed so volatile in his words and actions, she perceived a great gentleness in him. She released his hand, noting he had returned a faint pressure.
"Shawn, sometimes you are a bore," she said, steering Bannister away, "Let’s go back to the bar." The Wolf stared after them for a moment, then shook his whole body for a second like a fur-bearing animal shaking off water. He looked back at Toby Parker and Tui and nodded his head toward the door.
They retrieved the jeep, installed the rotor, unchained the wheel, and drove away, Tui in front. Toby sat sideways on the jump seat in the back, where he felt exposed in the open jeep during his first night in Saigon.
Wolf parked the jeep 200 meters from the apartment Tui had pointed out. He had never turned the lights on because the Vietnamese drove French style, with only parking lights on in the city at night, or with no lights at all. "Wait here," he growled, then added something about a "recon" that Parker took to be Army slang for reconnaissance. He was right. In a few minutes, unseen, the Wolf glided up noiselessly in the dark behind them and placed his hand on Parker's shoulder.
"HUP," Parker blurted as his heart leaped in startled terror. "Stay alert and stay alive," Wolf repeated the first maxim a longnose learns in Vietnam. "No one there," he added. He was lying. He had seen some activities but had judged them no immediate threat. That they were being watched he was sure.
"In America, the boy walks the girl to the door," Toby said to Tui after he vaulted out of the back to help her from the front seat.
"Merci," Tui said with a lilt that made Parker's knees tremble, "but Tow-bye, Towbee," she corrected, "you must not. Someone will see. I will be in trouble."
"I've got to see you again," Toby Parker said, "do you have a phone?"
"Yes. No," she corrected herself. "The telephone is for Mr. Bates's business. It is an Alpha Airlines telephone. You cannot call me."
"I'll come here," Parker said.
"No, no," Tui said quickly, "you must not." She looked at him intently. In the dark he couldn't see her eyes suddenly soften. "Meet me at the Restaurant My Canh two nights from now. At eight o'clock." She broke away from Toby Parker and ran, silent and doe-like, in the direction of the apartment until she disappeared in the darkness.
Toby Parker was mesmerized by the swing of her derriere as she ran from him.
Wolf Lochert's eyes squinted slightly as he watched.
"Come on, kid," he said after a moment, "you got to fly tomorrow you said. Let’s go home."
They drove down the near-deserted street, jeep muffler nasally rumbling in sync with the gear shifting.
Silent as a wisp of smoke, Buey Dan broke cover from a recessed iron grill doorway and caught up with Tui before she entered the apartment building.
"Little Sister," he hissed, pushing her toward the door, "we must talk. Open the way to the courtyard."
Her eyes rolling with fright, Tui tried to settle herself. "Uncle, you know you must never come here," she said trying to keep her voice steady.
"We have a change," Buey Dan said in a whisper as they stood under a stairwell. "But first, who is that man?"
"A mere thieu uy, a first lieutenant of the Air Force. But he does carry things to Bien Hoa," she said before she could stop herself.
"Bien Hoa," Buey Dan mused, rubbing his chin. "I meant the other man, the big one driving. Who is he?"
"Thieu Ta Lochert of the Forces Spéciale. I think he too will go to Bien Hoa, to the Nung unit, I think."
Buey Dan was doubly grateful for the name and location of the man he must kill, but he had business of a more urgent nature.
"You must get me Bien Hoa information," he said to Tui, "it is necessary. Immediately."
"Yes, Uncle," she replied, wondering how much Toby Parker knew. "But what kind? Order of Battle, base defense, outer perimeter size and composition, defensive weaponry?" She had learned her trade well.
"No, no," Buey Dan replied impatiently. "We know all that. And we have all the distances and aiming points for our rockets and mortars all staked out." He paused to look around. Night sounds from the apartments echoed faintly in the courtyard. The still air smelled of Vietnamese food.
"We need to know if the mui lo suspect an attack from the Loc Ninh area and if they plan to reinforce and reorganize their defenses before next Sunday."
Tui gave a start and hesitated briefly. "The Thieu Uy also goes with things to Loc Ninh, this I know," she said, surprised at the feeling deep within her that she was betraying something. She came close to not telling Buey Dan this additional information about Toby Parker. Her heart began to pound.
"You must see him again," Buey Dan ordered, "immediately. What arrangements did you make?"
Tui paused. "None," she said, “I cannot see him again."
Buey Dan stared at her in the dark, his eyes glistened. Quick as a snake he grabbed her by the throat to pinch her voice box.
"Liar. Little Sister slut, you lie. I heard you tell the Thieu Uy you would see him in two days at the Restaurant My Canh." He pinched her throat nerve, sending hot wire pains into her jaw muscles. She whimpered deep in her throat.
"You are coming with me now," Buey Dan said. "You have no need to ever return upstairs." He nodded up at Bates' apartment. "You will stay with some members of the liberation in Cholon tonight. We will get you on to Tan Son Nhut tomorrow to see the Thieu Uy, to bring him out so we can talk to him." Using a hypodermic needle, Buey Dan's men had abducted other Americans for interrogation. None were ever seen again.
"He flies," Tui squeaked through the pain, "he flies to places like Bien Hoa and Loc Ninh."
"Then meet him as planned when he returns. We will pick him up then. No one will miss a Thieu Uy."
Buey Dan grasped her arm and led her away, into the night.