Authors: Travis Stone
Amai kept seeing
Chaske's gray face and brown eyes.
'He's on,' the
signalman said. 'Who wants it?'
Danny took the
microphone.
'Do
not
re-veal
the General's i-dentity, or lo-cation.'
Danny spoke into
the microphone: 'Sir. It's Danny Thorn here. Can you hear me?'
General Weyand's
voice was heavily metallic: 'Danny. You're alive. What the
hell's
going
on out there?'
Amai listened as
Danny told General Weyand about the Tet attacks. She took Danny's hand and
waited for Weyand's response.
'It's worth
consideration,' Weyand said. 'Thanks Danny. Glade to hear you're alive.'
Amai squeezed
Danny's fingers. 'Make him understand.'
'Sir,' Danny
said. 'It's imperative that you act on this immediately.'
'I'll need time
to consider it. Thanks for your effort. I'll be in touch.'
'You
must
guarantee me that you'll act right away.'
The line was
dead.
'He doesn't
believe us,' Amai said. 'He's going to do
nothing
.'
'There's nothing
more we can do.'
Amai felt sick.
She couldn't believe the American Commander's ignorance.
Danny pulled her
to him. 'It's not your fault.'
'It is Danny. We
both know it. Without me, the attacks wouldn't have been possible.'
69
G
eneral Weyand sat in left front seat of a UH-1 Huey, flying from the
Mekong Delta to
Saigon
.
To his left,
another fiery sunset boiled over
Cambodia
, and doubt boiled in his mind. He couldn't get Danny's words out of
his head.
Bull Anderson at
the
Ground
Infiltration
Surveillance
Center
had
officially informed him that the number of trucks per month traveling down the
Ho Chi Minh Trail had increased to over 6000. Bull had unofficially informed
him that Danny's brother, Captain Chaske Thorn, was seldom wrong.
What does it
mean?
Danny's theory
about the North Vietnamese luring his forces out of
Saigon
so as to initiate a general uprising, just didn't seem credible;
but something in the detail sparked his suspicion - something
felt
wrong.
Weyand decided
to call Colonel Hitchcock at MI. He raised him on the chopper's radio.
'Yes, Sir?'
Hitchcock's voice was short.
'Colonel, I'm on
an un-secure channel, but I'm going to be blunt. Do you believe the enemy will
attack
Saigon
?'
'Sir, call me
went you hit the ground.'
'Just tell me
what you think, colonel.'
'I'm sorry, Sir.
It's a rumor started by my more
inexperienced
staff. Truth is, the North
Vietnamese
don't
have the military capability.'
The chopper
lurched in a pocket of turbulence.
It's not
their capabilities that interest me,
Weyand
thought.
It's their intentions.
'And you've encountered nothing to
suggest an eminent attack during the Tet ceasefire?'
'Khe Sanh is the
Tet target,' Hitchcock said. 'Not
Saigon
.'
'Thank you
Colonel.'
Saigon
's muted lights fluttered below, the blades walloped the humid air
above.
Saigon
is my responsibility,
Weyand thought.
I'd
hate to be the guy that gave it to em on a platter.
A voice that
wasn't his own spoke inside his head. It was clear and richly baritone. He
wondered whose it could be: his father? His conscience? God?
Weyand sat
ridged. The voice had said:
The Vietnamese will attack
Saigon
.
* * *
General Weyand sat behind his desk, lifted
the telephone receiver, sucked in a deep breath, and dialed General
Westmoreland's number.
He knew
Westmoreland would not see this his way.
Westmoreland
answered cheerily.
'Sir,' Weyand
said. 'I believe we have a major problem on our hands.'
'What's on ya
mind, Fred?'
'I'm predicting
a nationwide, go-for-broke attack by the enemy. I want to pull forces back from
the boarders into The Saigon Circle.'
'You're wrong.'
Westmoreland barked. 'Khe Sanh is the target. All Intel points to it. Giap
thinks it'll be my
Dien Bien Phu
.'
'All the same,' Weyand
said. 'My job is to guarantee
Saigon
's protection.'
'Jesus. H.
Christ . . . What're you basing this on?'
'My gut.'
Westmoreland
went quiet and Weyand could hear a high-pitched ringing sound through the
receiver.
Say something
goddamn it,
Weyand thought.
He held his
breath.
Westmoreland's
voice broke the quiet like howitzer. 'Your gut's good enough for me, General.
How many units do you need to move?'
'At least
fifteen maneuver battalions,' Weyand said, feeling elated. 'Starting
immediately.'
70
January 31, 0246
am
Saigon
10°46'49"N
106°42'11"E
D
anny couldn't sleep.
Amai lay on her
back beside him, her hot breath caressing his shoulder. His eyes moved over her
bare chest to her face. Her lips puckered slightly in her sleep. He loved her
like this - he was glad she was safe.
Looking at her
he felt a surge of hope. The pain of Chaske's death would never heal, but with
Amai at his side, he could get through it. Everything was going to be okay.
For years of his
life he had hidden from meaningful relationships and emotional bonds. Perhaps
it was fear of rejection? Perhaps it was self-loathing? He didn't know; denial
had blinded him for so long. This, he understood, was why he had become a
foreign correspondent: to hide.
With Amai he
would hide no longer. He felt close to a success that he had never thought he
would find - love.
An explosion
shattered the quiet.
Amai jolted
upright. 'Tet!' She said.
More explosions
followed. They did not stop. The building - a four story hotel - shook on its
foundations.
Danny thought
that the hotel would collapse. 'Let's get out of here.'
They threw on
clothes and ran down the stairs. The foyer was filling with dazed and panicked
faces. People didn't know what to do, so they just stood around.
Danny led Amai
into the street. Gunfire echoed between the buildings. Threads of panic spread
down Danny's back. 'Back inside,' he yelled. 'Find the back exit.'
They ran back
into the hotel, weaved through the crowd to the rear, and exited into a narrow
lane.
'What do we do?'
Amai said.
'Get to the
Embassy.' Danny led the way.
He looked back.
A line of jeeps, crammed with GIs sped past their hotel.
Danny led Amai
through
Saigon
. He didn't know
what to expect - he just wanted to get Amai to the embassy.
They ran into
Mac Dinh Chi Street
. The sky around the
six-story Embassy was dark with smoke.
We made it,
he thought.
Gunfire crackled
from inside the Embassy grounds. Smoke drifted over the eight-foot wall and
into
Thong Nhut Boulevard
.
Several heavy bangs rocked the street. Danny saw a gaping hole in the Embassy's
concrete barrier. They had walked into a battleground.
Through the hole
in the wall he could see the wriggling bodies of Viet Cong soldiers. One lay in
a dark pool of blood. Others fired from behind the Embassy's flower pots toward
the chancery.
Christ
, he thought.
They're going to take the Embassy.
From an adjacent
building, green flashes of Viet Cong tracer-fire arced into the Embassy's
masonry and glass. Ricochets and return fire laced the street with red and
green.
'What do we do?'
Amai said.
Danny
un-holstered his camera, brought it to his eye, and started taking pictures.
71
T
he dawn revealed to Triet the evidence of his failure; a failure he
could not accept.
Everywhere he
turned in
Saigon
's frantic
streets, lay dead Viet Cong. He knew none personally, but they were
his
men. He had sent them to their deaths.
Reports from his
lieutenants on the ground had confirmed that all Viet Cong attacks had been
repulsed, except in Cholon, where they would soon capitulate.
Tet was a
failure; his life's goal destroyed. Amai was to blame.
'Traitor,' he
screamed. 'Traitor. Traitor.
Traitor
!'
In a massive and
unmatched movement of troops, US units had been pulled back inside the
Saigon
circle. The move had undone months
of deception work, and had ensured the city's survival. Tanks that Triet's
commandos had planned to take over had been moved. Breeches had been removed
from vital artillery that they had planned to seize and turn on
Saigon
.
Amai did
this,
Triet thought.
She informed the Americans
.
I will hunt her down - and I will kill her.
Triet walked
through
Saigon
. His skin burned
with rage.
The chancery
should be under our control,
he thought, seething.
The
radio station should be broadcasting our messages of revolution.
But they were
not.
Then he saw
something. He looked again and his hatred flared.
He was sure it
was Amai - standing on the sidewalk.
Is it her,
he thought?
He looked
harder.
It is.
She was talking
with several other women.
Triet took his
handgun from its armpit holster and closed in. A few yards away he started
firing. He hit all three women and they all went down.
When he stood
over the body, he knew it wasn't Amai.
He cursed
himself and inserted a fresh magazine into the pistol. It was his last one.
People rushed to the fallen women. He turned and walked away. He wondered how
he could've made such a mistake. He wondered how he would find Amai.
* * *
Triet saw Amai on Dong Khoi. This time he
didn't trust his eyes. He walked toward the woman and he saw Danny beside her.
Danny was talking to General Loan.
Shock hit him.
It
is her.
The gun was
still in his hand. He picked up his pace. Amai looked beautiful; her hair
flicked about her face as she talked and smiled.
You bitch.
Her face filled
his vision.
No one else
existed.
He raised the
gun.
Die you
stinking bitch!
He pulled the
trigger.
* * *
Amai heard the thump as the bullets hit
flesh.
Someone near her
dropped.
It was
Cam
.
Amai shrieked.
Amai dropped
beside
Cam
and took her head in
her hands. Amai looked back through the marines' legs and saw Triet. He had a
gun.
'It's him.' She
pointed and yelled: 'Triet.'
In slow-motion
she saw Golota charge Triet; Triet fire the gun; bullets hit Golota in the legs
and chest with no effect.
Golota smashed
into Triet and they went to ground.
A pack of
marines surrounded them.
Triet was hauled
to his feet. Someone dragged Golota away by his armpits, his blood smearing the
pavement.
General Loan
moved toward Triet, taking slow, deliberate steps. Amai saw a smile spread
across Loan's face. She heard him say: 'So you're the man. I never thought I'd
be this lucky.'
Loan's skinny,
bare arms dangled from the cuffs of his flak-vest. He stalked around Triet like
a feral cat circling a mouse.
Amai held
Cam
in her arms; she had turned gray. Amai
screamed for help. An Army medic came.
Involuntarily,
Amai looked back at General Loan, and when she did, she couldn't look away. The
energy in the street surged, like the seconds before a lightening strike.
Loan raised a
stubby pistol to Triet's temple.
At the last
second, Amai closed her eyes, and the report of the shot echoed inside her
head.