Laughter in the Shadows (17 page)

After a quick farewell to the district chief, we followed the team leader across the stream in the rear of the village, then into the forest. We spent the next two days hiking along jungle trails, giving wide berth to hamlets where our teams had been operating. We maintained radio silence, because Nelson’s walkie-talkie could give away our location. At night we slept in groves of bamboo or in fields of rice sheaves, until on the third day we came out on a road that led to Luang Prabat.

When I arrived back at the base, Lucky greeted me casually as if I had just returned from a trip to town. I told him I was surprised he wasn’t concerned about his base chief having been absent for three days. He said somewhat curtly he had assumed I had been “holed up somewhere with Colonel Nelson,” and furthermore had not alerted Viensiang or Headquarters that I was missing, because I hadn’t requested authorization to leave Luang Prabat.

It was one of many times that Lucky would cover for his base chief, and I thanked him for not sounding the alarm.

The Eclipse

Beyond the moon,

La lune ne garde aucune rancune.

—T. S. ELIOT

Doctor Henri, a French doctor, whom I had gotten to know fairly well, had come by the Base one evening to visit. The doctor had been in Luang Prabat for over twenty years, having stayed on after the French pulled out of Indochina. Dr. Henri
was a fount of information on Luang Prabat personalities, most of whom he had treated at one time or another, and on local lore.

I had gone to fix him a drink when several explosions, not too far away, shook the bungalow. When I rushed outside, I saw tracers streaking across the sky accompanied by the sound of machine-gun and artillery fire ricocheting through the mountains. The increasing crescendo of firing reminded me of the “mad minute” demonstrations at Fort Benning, and I was convinced Luang Prabat was under attack.

I started to rush out to the radio shack when I felt the doctor grabbing my arm to restrain me. Pointing up at the sky, he said,
“Calme toi, mon ami! La grenouille est en train de manger la lune! Magnifique, n’est-ce pas?
Calm down. The frog is eating the moon. Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Dr. Henri then explained that when an eclipse occurs and the moon blacks out, the Cham believe that the black shadow is that of a giant frog trying to eat the moon. The Cham fire at the moon to frighten the frog away, to keep it from devouring their moon. Once the eclipse is over and the moon reappears, it means the frog has been driven away, and then they start firing all over again to celebrate!

I looked up at the moon. The doctor was right. The shadow did resemble a frog.

I was still staring up at the moon when Colonel Nelson roared up in his jeep, jumped out, and asked if I knew what the firing was all about. When I explained, he burst out laughing. “I wonder how my logistics officer is going to explain to the Pentagon about a year’s supply of ammunition having been expended to frighten off a frog!”

The Recoilless Rifle

Unhappy is the land that has no heroes.

—BERTHOLD BRECHT,
Life of Galileo

Three Cham army outposts in the First Military Region had been overrun. The defenders, offering little resistance, had melted into the jungle at the thump of the first mortar round. Esprit de corps was sadly lacking in the recently nicknamed “Frightened First” Region. Morale was low. There was little will to fight.

Something, or someone, was needed to revive the Cham army’s flagging spirit.

It was General Ouane’s idea for me to go to Nam Bac. Captain Sang, commander of the outpost at Nam Bac, had been asking for reinforcements for his undermanned garrison. Since the First Region had no reinforcements available, Ouane asked me to go to Nam Bac and offer Sang some of our “special teams.”

I told Ouane the special teams had not been trained to defend military outposts. They were mobile and only lightly armed, and their mission was psychological warfare and civic action, not static defense. If the teams were attacked, they had been trained to disengage and melt into the jungle.

Ouane brushed aside my protests. He said the teams could be used to carry out reconnaissance missions, to set up early warning networks, and to train village militia, adding that their presence alone would boost the morale of the understrength garrison. Turning on his best betel-nut smile, Ouane told me he had already advised the commander at Nam Bac I was coming.

Nam Bac

The youth felt a flash of astonishment at the blue, pure sky and the sun gleamings. . . . It was surprising that Nature had gone tranquilly on with her golden process in the midst of devilment.

—STEPHEN CRANE,
The Red Badge of Courage

The helio landed on the dirt airstrip and taxied to the end. A windsock flapped listlessly alongside a corrugated iron shack. Several fifty-gallon fuel drums, probably empty, stood next to the shack. The airstrip was deserted, and there was no sign of Captain Sang. Johnson, the helio pilot, was uneasy. He recommended we go back to Luang Prabat, but I told him the captain who was supposed to meet me was probably out in one of the nearby hamlets and, having seen the plane circling, would come down to meet me. I told Johnson to take off, reminding him to come back the following afternoon to pick me up. Johnson shrugged his shoulders and didn’t try to argue. Once I was out of the helio, he spun the plane around and took off, leaving me standing in the prop wash.

I watched the helio as it headed back to Luang Prabat and wondered if I had made the right decision. The only sign of life was an emaciated cat, half-heartedly chasing a gecko that had darted out from behind one of the oil drums. I looked up the road that wound up the hill to the fort on top. Shimmering in the sun, it reminded me of a French Foreign Legion outpost in Beau Geste. I was transfixed, conjuring up ghosts of French legionnaires striding the ramparts in their white kepis, and I almost didn’t hear Captain Sang drive up in his jeep. Sang jumped out and apologized for not having been at the airstrip to meet me. As I thought, he had been out in one of the villages when he heard the plane fly over the fort.

Captain Sang was about my height, large boned and stocky. He had a mahogany complexion and, thinking back to the sun-baked fort, I was surprised his face wasn’t more lined and weather-beaten. We climbed in his jeep and drove up to the fort. As we approached, a sentry called out, and the heavy gates swung
open. Inside the fort, fifty poilus in sun-bleached khakis snapped to attention and brought their bolt-action rifles to port arms. Behind them, on a raised wooden platform, sat two World War I machine guns and a 60-mm mortar, anachronisms in a time-warped outpost.

When we had finished inspecting his garrison, Sang led me over to his quarters, a room with a wooden table, two chairs, a bed, and a folding cot in the corner for his guest. Sang spread a map out on the table. He pointed to Nam Bac, which was at the end of the road from Luang Prabat, ninety kilometers to the east. Sang said Nam Bac was a rich rice-growing area, which made it a tempting target for the Pathet Cham. He suggested we climb onto the ramparts to get a better view of the area.

We climbed a ladder, its rungs worn smooth over the years by soles of French and Cham sentinels mounting to man their posts. Then we walked over to the northern rampart, which provided the best view of the town. Huts and kiosks lined the bank of the river that wound slowly through the town, then picked up speed to turn the rice-grinding waterwheels further down. The south rampart backed up to the forest, its trees almost touching the fort. It looked as if an enemy force would have no difficulty approaching the south side of the fort without being detected.

From the west rampart I could see jitneys and Citroen trucks being loaded with rice and charcoal for Luang Prabat and villages along the way. When the dry season ended, the road would become almost impassable, making it difficult if not impossible for transporting supplies, or the reinforcements, which would not be coming.

After climbing down from the ramparts, we got into Sang’s jeep and drove out of the fort to make the rounds of nearby villages. The captain said he wanted to show me the area and he could also check on units of hamlet militia. Sang drove without an escort, because most of the people in the area were related to soldiers in the fort. He had recently noticed, however, that they no longer invited him into their homes, which he attributed to fear of retaliation from the Pathet Cham, whose patrols had recently been spotted in the forests nearby.

I could see what he meant when we approached one of the hamlets. The villagers were working in the rice paddies, and when they saw Sang’s jeep approaching, the hamlet militia ran to retrieve their rifles, which they had hidden under sheaves of rice. When Sang lined up the militia to give them a pep talk, they were obviously nervous and kept looking over their shoulders. When we left, I saw the militia running back again to hide their rifles in case the Pathet Cham came by.

I asked Sang about the reports of Pathet Cham troops moving into the area, whether they were reliable or merely rumors. The Pathet Cham often used scare tactics, exaggerating the size of their forces before launching an attack. These
tactics had been so effective that a number of garrisons had surrendered without a shot being fired.

Sang insisted the threat to Nam Bac was real. His reconnaissance patrols had spotted Pathet Cham units in the forests, and he believed it was only a matter of time before they attacked the fort itself.

It was almost dark when we got back to the fort. Sang lit a fire, and after a supper of rice and chicken soup, we pulled our chairs over to the fireplace. I decided to bring up the special teams before Sang asked. I told Sang that I had been reluctant to come to Nam Bac, because in spite of what General Ouane might have told him, our teams would be of little use in defending his outpost. Furthermore, if an attack on the fort was as imminent as he thought, our teams would not be able to get to Nam Bac in time. I added that I had reminded General Ouane that these special teams were small, mobile, and only lightly armed and would be little use defending an isolated outpost such as Sang’s. I apologized for being so blunt, but I didn’t want Sang to think I had come under false colors. The only reason I had come was because Ouane had insisted.

Sang nodded, poking at the embers of the fire that had almost gone out. He got up and added some more wood to the fire, then sat back down and turned his chair toward mine. He told me not to worry. His friend Ouane meant well, but Sang knew the offer of the special teams was a token gesture. When he had received Ouane’s message that I was coming, however, he had agreed because my visit would give him the opportunity to discuss his plan to save Nam Bac. For his plan to succeed, he needed my help, which is why he was glad I had come.

Ever since coming to Nam Bac I had the feeling that Captain Sang was holding back. He talked about his understrength garrison, his shortage of weapons and ammunition, and increasing reports of Pathet Cham units massing near the fort. If Sang believed his command might soon suffer the fate of the Alamo, why was he so outwardly calm and unfazed? He acted like Captain Kurtz in Joseph Conrad’s
Heart of Darkness
, not mad but borderline. And he had a plan to save Nam Bac. He went over and got his bayonet to make a sketch on the dirt floor. He scratched out a long tube with a sight on one hand, a trigger underneath, and a tripod to set it on.

“Voila!
The 75-mm recoilless rifle!”

Sang was familiar with the weapon he had sketched in the dirt. At one time he had attended an orientation course at Fort Benning and had seen a live-fire demonstration of the 75-mm recoilless in action. He had been impressed watching the trajectory of white smoke as the rocket zoomed toward a tank a hundred meters away. All that was left after the rocket hit its target was a smoldering metal carapace.

“Getting back to Nam Bac. Let’s say I have a 75-mm recoilless rifle and a supply of white phosphorous rockets. I set up the recoilless on the south rampart and
aim it in the probable direction of the enemy attack. When the attack begins, I fire the recoilless. Whoosh! The 75-mm rocket streaks through the woods, leaving a trail of white phosphorous behind, slashing through trees and lopping off Pathet Cham heads! I fire another rocket, and another and then cease firing.

“At that moment, the loudspeaker on top of the fort begins to blare out curses from the Pi inside the fort, angry at being disturbed by heathen Pathet Cham who have no respect for the spirits. The Pi vow vengeance on the Pathet Cham unless they leave them in peace.”

Sang was convinced that the combination of the fire-spitting weapon and the Pi’s curse would panic the Pathet Cham. They would throw down their guns and run in spite of their Vietminh advisers trying to stop them. And they won’t come back, because the Pathet Cham know Nam Bac is cursed by the Pi!

Sang looked at me and waited for my reaction. At first I didn’t say anything, convinced that Sang had become delusional or was having a pipe dream. But when I looked at him, I realized he was deadly serious and tried to think of something to say besides how far-fetched his plan was. I was still pondering my response when I began to have second thoughts. Was his plan that far-fetched? Desperate situations call for desperate and unconventional solutions, and Sang’s plan had elements of both. Plus Sang was convinced his plan would work.

I don’t know whether it was the fire’s reflection on Sang’s face or a burst of sympathy on my part for the beleaguered commander. I thought again about his plan and that maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched. He was probably right about the reaction of the Pathet Cham. They weren’t hardened fighters like the Vietminh, and their awe and fear of the Pi was as deep-rooted as any Cham. The “smoke-and-fire” secret weapon and its disturbance of the slumbering Pi might tip the balance.