Laughter in the Shadows (18 page)

A quixotic Cham captain, a recoilless rifle, and the Pi. An unlikely combination that just might work.

I told Sang I would get him a recoilless.

The helio arrived the following afternoon to pick me up. Captain Sang drove me to the airstrip. I gave him my word I would try to get the recoilless and would let him know as soon as possible. After we took off, I asked the pilot to circle back over the fort. I looked down at the ramparts and over at the hamlets where the militia had hidden their rifles under the rice sheaves. I wondered how near the Pathet Cham were and how long Sang had before they attacked. Once we leveled off at three thousand feet, the fort and villages soon shrunk into small dots on the landscape. As we left Nam Bac further behind, I began to wonder if I had lost my perspective. The destiny of an outpost like Nam Bac, which had loomed so large in front of the fire, diminished as the dots faded from view.

I wondered what Headquarters’ reaction would be to my request for a recoilless rifle to save some remote outpost that wasn’t even on their maps. A fireside
glow loses something in cable transmission, especially when the cable is laced with references to Pi and fire-spitting rocket launchers. They would probably pass the cable off as fantasy from a base chief “too long in the sun.” I put my misgivings aside however and drafted a cable, which I had finished by the time we arrived back in Luang Prabat.

I handed the draft to Lucky, who took it out to the radio shack. He came back a minute later, holding the draft in his hand. “You really want to send this?”

I wasn’t surprised at his reaction. Lucky was of that breed of radio operators who didn’t hesitate questioning or holding back messages they thought were better “slept on.” I had drafted several cables late at night, cables Lucky had found overemotional and didn’t send. He would hand me the unsent cables the next morning and wait for my reaction in the light of day. I was always glad Lucky hadn’t sent them.

This time, however, I didn’t defer to Lucky and told him to send it as written. I knew it was the Pi that was bothering him, but I assured him that was what would get Headquarters’ attention. In the cable I pointed out that increased enemy activity indicated that an attack on Nam Bac was imminent because of its importance as a rice-growing area and that its loss would provide the Pathet Cham with a plentiful supply of food and livestock. I then described Captain Sang, an imaginative and energetic Cham officer trained at Fort Benning. I pointed out that his garrison was understrength, low on ammunition, and with no prospect of resupply or reinforcements. I was going to add something about “stemming the tide” in northern Cham and that if Nam Bac fell, Luang Prabat would be next, but I scratched it out as overkill. But I left the rest in:

WHILE GARRISON VULNERABLE, SANG BELIEVES THAT WITH SURPRISE AND EXTRA FIREPOWER PROVIDED BY 75 MM RECOILLESS RIFLE, NAM BAC CAN BE HELD. PLAN CALLS FOR FIRING RECOILLESS IN DIRECTION OF ATTACKERS, ROCKETS CUTTING SMOKE TRAILS OF WHITE PHOSPHOROUS THROUGH FOREST SETTING FIRE TO UNDERGROWTH AND INFLICTING CASUALTIES ON PATHET CHAM. LOUDSPEAKER MOUNTED ON RAMPARTS OF FORT WILL THEN EMIT CURSES FROM “PI” SPIRITS AGAINST PATHET CHAM.

SANG’S FORCES WILL THEN RECOMMENCE FIRING RECOILLESS AND OTHER WEAPONS, THEN STOP AND BROADCAST ANOTHER WARNING FROM THE “PI” TO LEAVE NAM BAC. SANG IS CONVINCED COMBINATION OF FIRE FROM SMOKE-SPITTING “SECRET WEAPON” AND ANGRY CRIES FROM “PI” WILL FRIGHTEN OFF PATHET CHAM WHO WILL NOT RETURN BELIEVING NAM BAC IS “CURSED.”

DEFENDING REMOTE OUTPOSTS NOT AGENCY MISSION BUT UNCONVENTIONAL WARFARE IS. CHAM ARMY DESPERATELY NEEDS A VICTORY AND HERO FIGURE WHICH NAM BACK AND SANG CAN PROVIDE. REQUEST ONE 75 MM RECOILLESS RIFLE AND WHITE PHOSPHOROUS AMMUNITION BE SENT LUANG PRABAT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. WILL ALSO REQUIRE HELIO FOR ONWARD TRANSPORT OF RECOILLESS AND AMMUNITION TO NAM BAC.

The Agency is at its best dealing with crises. It thrives on nonconformity and doing the unprecedented. The request for a recoilless received top priority. Warehouses crammed like Fibber Magee’s closet with Tibetan saddles and Russian uniforms were searched until an offshore support base came up with a recoilless and three cases of white phosphorous ammunition.

Ten hours later a C-47 landed in Luang Prabat with the recoilless and white phosphorus ammunition. The helio arrived the same day.

We had no trouble loading the case of white phosphorous rounds into the back of the helio, but fitting in the recoilless was difficult. We finally had to unbolt the copilot’s seat, wedge the recoilless in kitty-corner, and rebolt the seat. I had to squeeze into the cockpit under the recoilless, letting it rest on my shoulder blade for the trip to Nam Bac.

The sky was clear until we climbed over the mountains, where we ran into heavy turbulence. Every time the helio hit an air pocket, the recoilless dug into my shoulder, leaving me with several black and blue souvenirs to remind me of the Nam Bac operation.

When the fort finally came into sight, Johnson throttled back and prepared to land. Then suddenly he nosed the helio back up, pointing to the flagpole on top of the fort. There was no flag flying and no movement inside the fort. I asked the pilot to buzz the fort and the villages nearby. Maybe Captain Sang hadn’t received Ouane’s message that I was bringing the recoilless. The pilot dropped down and buzzed the fort, and then skimmed over the villages. No sign of Captain Sang or his jeep, only a few sheep that raised their heads when we flew over. The normally crowded marketplace was deserted, strange for that time of day.

I began to have misgivings. Sang had agreed to fly the flag upside down as a danger signal, but not flying the flag at all didn’t make sense. I thought Sang had probably been too busy preparing his defenses to worry about the flag.

I told Johnson to land.

The helio hit the airstrip hard because of the extra weight of the ammunition and almost lurched off the runway until the pilot got it under control and skidded to a stop next to the shack beside the empty oil drums. I wedged myself out of the cockpit and climbed down, putting chocks under the wheels, because
Johnson, the pilot, refused to shut off the engine. When I had descended from the plane, Johnson shoved the recoilless out the door. As I lifted it onto my shoulder, Johnson revved the motor of the helio and sent me sprawling on the tarmac.

I got up and looked around. No sign of Captain Sang, only an old man was sitting on one of the overturned fuel drums smoking a pipe. He seemed undisturbed by the vibrations of the helio engine, staring blankly at the figure standing in front of him next to the recoilless. I left the recoilless on the ground next to the shack and walked up the road to the fort. The sun was directly overhead, and I was drenched with sweat by the time I reached the gate of the fort.

The gate was open and I walked inside. The quadrangle where Sang’s poilus had smartly snapped to port arms was deserted. Only a few withered tumbleweeds blew around the parade ground, and I had the eerie feeling I was being watched. I looked up at the parapet. No sentinels or legionnaires’ ghosts, only a crow that might have been a vulture perched on one of the towers. I walked over to Sang’s quarters. The door was open, ashes from the hearth blowing around the room. The bayonet Sang had used to sketch the recoilless lay in front of the fireplace. The chairs we sat in discussing Sang’s plan for saving Nam Bac stood next to his desk. It appeared my Cham Davy Crocket and his entire garrison had abandoned the fort.

His great plan and fireside bravado had been smoke and mirrors, all for effect, for some reason I couldn’t fathom. If it was all an act, as it now seemed with the dust blowing around his empty quarters, he was Cham’s greatest thespian. On the other hand, maybe I was jumping too soon at the wrong conclusion and being too hard on Sang. And myself. Maybe after waiting several days, Sang had decided that the recoilless, like the promised reinforcements, would not be coming. Time was running out and he had decided to abandon the fort before it fell to the Pathet Cham and he had to surrender.

Time was running out. I could hear the thud of mortar rounds and small arms fire in the distance, no doubt a Pathet Cham welcoming committee on its way to Nam Bac. I decided I had better get to the helio before the pilot decided to take off and leave without me. I ran out of the fort and down the road. By the time I got to the airstrip, mortar rounds were dropping on the far end of the runway, kicking up clouds of red dirt. Johnson was waving frantically from the helio.

I ran until I reached the helio and started to climb in when I remembered the recoilless. It was still sitting on the ground where I had left it. There wasn’t time to unbolt the seat and wedge the recoilless back into the helio. The Pathet Cham were already at the far end of the runway, but I didn’t want to leave the recoilless for them to use in their next attack on another isolated outpost.

I looked around for something to disable the recoilless. I found a rusty iron bar near one of the oil drums and used it to pry off the sight and firing mechanism. I tossed them into the helio and then hefted the recoilless onto my shoulder.
I walked toward the old man, who was still sitting on one of the oil drums, unperturbed by the mortar rounds thudding along the runway. As I walked toward him, I could see that he was smiling, almost as if he was expecting me. He put his pipe down, braced himself against the fuel drum, and slowly managed to get to his feet. As he was pulling himself up, I noticed the faded patches on his khaki shirt where chevrons had once been sewn. He was
un ancien combatant
, a montagnard veteran who served as a corporal or sergeant in the French maquis.

The old man kept gripping the rim of the oil drum as I walked toward him. When I was several yards in front of him, he stood up straight, then brought his wizened hand up in a military salute. We stood there facing each other, the grizzled veteran and the young knight-errant. I lifted the recoilless from my shoulder and held it out to the old soldier, who looked puzzled when I tried handing it to him. He finally stepped close enough so I could roll the recoilless onto his veined, outstretched arms. When I was sure the recoilless was firmly cradled in his arms, I stepped back and saluted.
“Au nom du gouvernement des Etats-Unis, je vous presente ce souvenir en reconnaissance de votre courage et de votre heroisme. Je vous salue et vous souhaite bonne chance!
In the name of the government of the United States, I present you with this memento in recognition of your courage and heroism, and as a token of our friendship and esteem. Good luck!”

I turned around and jogged back to the helio. Johnson was pumping his fist out the window pointing to the mortar rounds “walking down” the airstrip. I swung up into the helio, and Johnson revved up the engine. We taxied at high speed down the airstrip around the newly cratered potholes. A mortar round landed fifty feet in front of the helio as Johnson pulled back on the stick, climbing almost straight up.

When we were high enough to be out of the range of small arms fire from the ground, I asked Johnson to circle back over Nam Bac. Pathet Cham were running down the airstrip and some had already reached the road to the fort. They apparently hadn’t noticed the old man still standing with the recoilless cradled in his arms. As I was watching, he shifted the recoilless onto his right shoulder and headed into the mountains.

I still think about the grizzled old maquis and can picture him in his mountain hut above Nam Bac, sitting in front of the fire, watching the smoke curl up the olive-drab stovepipe, the metal plate at the bottom reading: “Property U.S. Army. Serial #168043.”

The Funeral

The eleven-year search for the “perfect” sandalwood tree for the king’s sarcophagus was over and a propitious date for the funeral chosen. The prime minister and
his cabinet had arrived from Viensiang along with foreign dignitaries and ambassadors, including Averell Harriman, representing President John F. Kennedy. The ceremonies and rituals lasted for three days, culminating in a funeral procession of honored guests, each applying a torch to the funeral pyre.

Besides representing the president, Harriman had another mission. Following further incursions into Cham by the North Vietnamese, President Kennedy had gone on American television. Standing in front of a map of Asia, the president pointed to Cham and announced that here the United States was “drawing the line” against communist aggression in Southeast Asia. The Cham in Luang Prabat, including the group at Le Cercle, told me they were proud that the American president on television had singled out Cham.

The euphoria was short-lived. The “line” turned to sand, and Harriman was sent to Cham to work out an agreement with the other signatories to support a “neutral” Cham.

Colonel Nelson and I didn’t know about Harriman’s special mission when we escorted the former governor to the palace to have dinner with the king. We took advantage of the long walk to urge Harriman to put pressure on the Pentagon to send a battery of 105 howitzers to Luang Prabat for the defense of the capital and to back up Cham units elsewhere in the region.

Harriman nodded as we walked, which led us to believe he would support our request. Harriman’s “nods” were deceptive. When we arrived at the palace gate, Harriman pointed to his hearing aid. He said he had deliberately turned it off because he knew we were going to ask him for support to the Cham army in the north. However, he had been sent to Cham by the president to negotiate a cease-fire, which he intended to do. He said he was sorry, but the defense of Luang Prabat was not on his agenda.

Harriman got his cease-fire, but it didn’t hold, and the domino that was Cham tottered, then fell.