I, Soldier - part 8

I led a few kidnapping missions myself until I had an experienced cadre that could train others. So first, you need to know the target’s address and routine. My preference was to kidnap guys early in the morning when they just woken up to take a leak. Outhouses are standard over there, and they were usually shared by a dozen or more people. I’d hide in the bushes with two guys while another would stand as a look out. When the target entered the outhouse, we’d leave the tree line, wait outside the outhouse door, and grab the guy as soon as he came out. I would usually put a bag over the target’s head from the front while another of my guys came up behind and choked with a wire just enough to prevent screaming while the other grabbed the target’s hands and cuffed them behind his back. While that was going on, the lookout would pull up in car, open the trunk and we’d toss the target in. After some practice we could do all that in about a minute. The lookout would speed away and the other three of us would split up and find other ways to get back to the outpost.

The interrogations were pretty easy. There was no torture or yelling. I’d just cock a pistol, hold it to the target’s head, and say: “answer all my questions truthfully and you’ll live. If not, your body will never be found.” That last threat had a particular cultural importance in Vietnam because there was a widespread belief, even among communists, that if a person is not buried within a day or two after death, they become a hungry ghost, roaming the earth forever, and torment the living. There was a psychological warfare campaign that used a spooky noise machine in an attempt to intimidate the enemy. Operation Wandering Soul was the name of it. I doubt it had much of an effect though. The war was full of expensive, complicated plans with multiple single points of failure. I was left wondering what the hell the generals were smoking. The phrase pipe dream is reference to the vivid dreams and hallucinations that come from smoking opium, though I never experienced any such thing myself from opium.

With Charlie on the ropes in the Central Highlands, Truman decided it was time for me to work my magic elsewhere. He called me into his office out of the blue.

“Well soldier, whatever we’re paying you, it’s clearly not enough. How are you feeling?”

“Locked, cocked, and ready to rock sir. As always.”

“Good to hear. You have a ton of leave saved up. Why not use some? Get some R & R.”

At this point, I was beginning to worry that Truman suspected I was using drugs to cope. Fortunately, in those days, guys only got tested on the way back home after your tour was over and even if you pissed hot, they’d falsify the results if they liked you and you asked nicely. Getting drafted sucked enough, why twist the knife and make it harder for returning troops to get a job?

“I bring it up because we got something special for you and we need you in top form. Please don’t make me order you to take a vacation.”

“I guess I could check out some of the local sights here, then Hawaii, then visit my dad back home.”

“Outstanding idea. Here, fill out these forms and I’ll have all approved by 0900 tomorrow. You don’t even need to stop by to kiss me goodbye, just get the hell out of that outpost for a while. Dismissed!”

I found an empty desk nearby and filled out the forms. God, I hate paperwork. It’s always ten times more complicated than it needs to be, and often for the sole purpose of justifying someone else’s bullshit job. Pardon my French. I say it’s been proven with mathematical certainty that if paperwork killed enemy, there wouldn’t be any left given the amount the Army shuffles around.

My first stop was Hue, the old capital of Vietnam and full of lovely old buildings. And lots of very enthusiastic and enterprising prostitutes. They seemed shocked that a young GI was more interested in contemplating the Perfume River. What can I say? Sometimes it’s fun to play hard to get. Once in a while, I’d tell a hooker in Vietnamese something like “sorry, but I have a wife back home”. Lying to strangers about harmless things can be great fun. I suppose it is one of my little guilty pleasures. It’s cheaper than gambling and more exciting than stamp collecting.

How I loved Hawaii. I took a helicopter ride around the active volcano Kilauea and basked later on the sands of Waikiki. I felt so at peace. Later, I caught a military transport plane bound for the base in Martinsburg, West Virginia. Not too far away from where I grew up. Before I boarded, I bought a bottle of whiskey from the PX and gulped it all down. Upon landing, some MP was kicking me in the ass to wake me up. He had a partner.

“Rise and shine, war hero. You look drunk off your ass.”

“Hey man, go easy. This guy looks like spec ops or something.”

It was my turn to speak.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Please forgive my lack of soldier bearing. I’ve been through a lot and am now on leave from Vietnam.”

I then showed my leave papers to the MPs.

“OK, tough guy. These look legit. Get the hell out of here or I’ll toss your candy ass in the stockade. Also, shave and get a haircut. You’re way out of regs.”

I grabbed my duffel bag and left.

I hitchhiked for a bit to get back to Jefferson County, then called my dad from a pay phone.

“Hi, dad. I’m back in town and need a ride. Can’t wait to see you again.”

My dad came to where I was. How wonderful it was to see him again. We stopped to buy a case of beer. He knew what was coming next.

When we got home, we both took a beer. He spoke first.

“Son, there are things I can tell you now that I couldn’t tell you when you were younger. You’re a man now and have been to war. I can see it in your eyes.”

I didn’t think my eyes looked that fierce at the time, but you can’t see your own face unless you spend a lot of time looking in a mirror.