Another War, Another Peace Read online

  EARLY BIRD BOOKS

  FRESH EBOOK DEALS, DELIVERED DAILY

  LOVE TO READ?

  LOVE GREAT SALES?

  GET FANTASTIC DEALS ON BESTSELLING EBOOKS DELIVERED TO YOUR INBOX EVERY DAY!

  Another War, Another Peace

  A Novel

  Ronald J. Glasser, M.D.

  “All I know is that I did all I could.”

  Trooper, First Air Cavalry

  Surgical Ward

  U.S. Army Hospital

  Camp Zama, Japan

  Contents

  The 40th

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  The 70th

  Chapter 31

  Zama

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  The 40th

  Chapter 1

  THE LAST BIT OF darkness clung to the wide surface of the plateau. As the sky brightened, the fog, thinning along the ridge lines, revealed patches of an oceanlike land of shallow basins and barren hills. Far from the horizon, barely touched by the gathering light, a dozen buildings huddled at the edge of a wide depression slowly separated themselves from the morning mists.

  It was an unfinished time; a place of shifting forms and changing shapes where shadowy objects appeared one moment only to dissolve away the next, and what was real was only what could be felt. Yet the instant the rim of sun cleared the horizon, the flats burst into light and six hundred square miles of rocky land and dried creek beds, bathed in streaks of orange and pink, froze into stark relief. The buildings, caught in the first rays of the sun, began to glow. The coils of razor wire shimmered with the same strange iridescence; even the walkways and helipad took on a golden hue.

  But whatever magic came with the dawn soon faded. Within minutes, the buildings of the 40th had grown worn and shabby again, and the sun, free in the sky, began once more to turn the plateau into a sweltering wasteland.

  David, impatient with the corporal, looked again at his watch. Not six-fifteen and already he could taste the salt crusting on his upper lip. The corporal was not even sweating.

  “Yes, sir, I can appreciate that, sir.” The corporal spoke in a soft Southern drawl. The accent, so unexpectedly American out there in the middle of nowhere, had startled David, but so had everything that had happened since basic, when his orders had been changed to Vietnam. After traveling halfway around the world and then spending three days being shipped back and forth across most of South Vietnam, whatever goodwill remained was quickly evaporating in the heat.

  “Look, Corporal,” David said, “don’t get me wrong. I don’t care what you carry. As far as I’m concerned, you can hook a howitzer up to the jeep and tow it along behind us. All I’m saying is that I’m not carrying a weapon.”

  “Yes, sir,” the corporal answered as if David hadn’t said a word. “I can understand that, sir, but there ain’t gonna be nobody out there who’ll know you’re a doctor. At twenty meters, there ain’t nobody’ll know the difference between you and me and any other grunt.”

  David decided it was hopeless. “Look,” he said, “I was told by Major Thorpe that this is a secured area.”

  “Yes, sir … officially.”

  “Then I see no reason to carry a weapon.” He had said the same thing at least three times, but either the corporal was deaf or more stupid than he looked.

  “Yes, sir,” the corporal went on, “but like I said, there’s just gonna be the two of us out there. Don’t get me wrong, sir. I ain’t saying it’s the Ashow Valley around here, but it ain’t the States either.”

  David looked at his watch again. “I thought we were supposed to be out of here by now.”

  For a moment, David thought he’d have to give his first order, but after a few seconds the corporal, to David’s relief, nodded in agreement and gave the cloudless sky an appraising look. “Gonna be another scorcher.”

  David sighed. “Then maybe we’d better get going before it gets much hotter.”

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal picked up his rifle and walked over to the jeep. He put the rifle next to him on the seat. David, climbing in, expected the argument to continue, but instead the corporal, acting as if nothing had happened, pointed to the backseat. “I’ve taken an extra brace of canteens. This here heat takes some gettin’ used to.”

  David nodded.

  They drove down the main street of the 40th past the Quonset huts and sandbagged buildings and on toward the gate. Groups of soldiers, some with weapons, a few in flak vests, looked up as they passed. There were no guards. They drove through the opening in the fence, past the coils of razor wire and claymore mines, out into the flats that surrounded the base.

  David tried to relax, but the heat was unbearable and within minutes he was drenched with sweat.

  Lieutenant Colonel Cramer, the hospital commander at the 40th, had apologized for sending him out his first day, but as the colonel explained, the duty was routine and the military command in Saigon had put a new priority on the medical civilian assistant programs, particularly in recently secured areas.

  “We’re right here,” Cramer said, taking him to the topographical map tacked to the back of the dispensary door. “This whole area around the 40th was the bottom of a huge lake that was supposed to have drained into the South China Sea a couple of million years ago to form the Gulf of Tonkin. In the summer it’s rocky paddy fields and dry creeks. In the rainy season it’s mud. There are a couple of hilly areas north and east of here. The northern ones merge into the mountains of the central highlands. The area military command has set up as our med caps, which is what we call the medical assistant program, begins here”—he pointed to the area directly below the 40th—“and moves up through an arc to the west of us, ending directly north of the 40th in those hills. The program calls for going out every other day, completing one full swing through our assigned area every three weeks and then starting over again. It’s mostly handing out pills. Corporal Griffen will be your driver. He’s been part of the program since it started. He’s a good soldier. I would have liked to have assigned you a medic but we’re short of corpsmen. If there’s anything you think you need, let me know. It may take awhile for big items but the small ones we can get for you right away. It’s all pretty routine,” Cramer added.

  Sergeant Bradford, the NCO in charge of the motor pool, was more specific about the missions, if less supportive. After breakfast, the two of them walked out to the motor pool together.

  “We’ve just started these medical civilian aid missions,” he said as they walked along, “but the rest of Nam has had ’em for a while. This here area around the 40th was a free-fire zone until three months ago—got hit hard, but there ain’t been no trouble since then. Captain Morril did this before you and picked Corporal Griffen to be his driver. Major Thorpe agreed with Colonel Cramer that it was best to keep Griffen on with you. He was a ranger with the 9th before he got reassigned up here. Hard-co
re but”—the sergeant hesitated—“he’ll listen, and,” he went on, becoming quite serious, as if it were important for David to know, “he ain’t on no drugs.”

  A quarter-mile east of the 40th they turned off onto a narrow dirt road that wove its way through miles of rock-hard paddies. There was no breeze. The still air concentrated the heat, keeping it close to the ground so that driving across the plateau was like moving through a great blast furnace. The sunlight worked its way around the edges of David’s sunglasses, forcing him to squint whenever he looked toward the sun, at the same time giving everything around him a strange blinding clarity. Rocks and shrubs that in the States would have blended with their surroundings stood out one from the other, while the shadows crisscrossing the shimmering landscape began and ended with such geometrical precision that David found he’d lost all sense of distance. There was nothing familiar about the plateau, nothing comforting.

  “How do you pronounce the name of the village?” he asked to break the silence.

  “‘Doc Tai,’ sir.” The corporal spoke without taking his eyes off the road. “The gooks pronounce everything with a Du in it like Doc.”

  “What’s your first name?” David asked.

  “Tom.”

  David sighed, reconciling himself to the silence.

  Half an hour later, they entered a series of low-set hills. It grew even hotter. The air became more difficult to breathe. “It must be a hundred and twenty degrees out here,” David said, wiping his forehead.

  “Yes, sir,” the corporal answered. “In the sun anyway. It’ll be ten, maybe fifteen degrees cooler when we get into some shade.”

  “Shade,” David said as if the corporal were joking.

  Suddenly the jeep jerked to the right. David grabbed the metal windshield to keep from being thrown out. He clenched his teeth in pain.

  “Sorry, sir, there was a smooth spot in the road.”

  “Smooth?” David looked at his hand. There was a three-inch blister etched across his palm.

  “The gooks lay out mines. When they put back the dirt, they sometimes do too good a job, leave a little smooth spot.”

  Clenching his hand, David looked back over his shoulder. Christ, he thought wearily, a year of this, and then he looked again at his burned palm.

  David had to force himself to believe that he was really out in the middle of this godforsaken desert, driving around with a Southern cracker who probably hadn’t made it through high school, instead of at Walter Reed or Fitzsimmonds. It was not Vietnam, though, that surprised David as much as the fact that he had become part of it.

  He’d expected to spend two years in the military; indeed, he had planned for it. David had decided early in medical school that he would be a professor, a doctor’s doctor, and the prestigious research fellowship in immunology that he had been awarded as a junior medical student had virtually assured him a future staff position in a university medical school.

  The immunology fellowships were scheduled to begin on a certain date. If you could not begin at your assigned time, you would have to wait three or four years for a new position to open. David was scheduled to start his fellowship immediately after completion of his residency in internal medicine; but during his senior year there were rumors of physicians being drafted out of their training programs. Then it happened to someone he knew, a resident who had just started a cardiovascular fellowship. David began to listen more closely to the news and became convinced that despite official pronouncements of success, the war might well interfere with his own plans.

  The issue was how to best ensure his future. There was a chance he might be able to start his fellowship on time. There was also the risk of being drafted out of it. David decided something had to be done, and with a little research he discovered that the Army had a deferment plan. The plan allowed physicians to finish their residency and then go into the Army as specialists working at one of the Army’s large referral hospitals.

  David raised the issue of the deferment plan with Dr. Beeson, the chief of immunology and the professor who had given him the fellowship, and he was surprised that Beeson knew about it. Neither Beeson nor any of his other professors had ever mentioned the war, let alone the possibility that any of their students might be drafted.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Dr. Beeson had said. “You get to do clinical internal medicine at a first-rate institution. That kind of experience can be of great help in an academic career; and it will help stabilize our program by making sure that you start on time and aren’t pulled out unexpectedly.” He agreed to change the starting date of David’s fellowship to one month after he completed his time in the Army.

  David applied for the plan and was accepted. The war did go on. By the time David finished his house staff training, there were half a million troops in Vietnam, and the drafting of physicians had become an almost common occurrence.

  David received orders during the last month of his residency to report to Fort Sam Houston, Texas, for basic training, and left for Texas the day his house staff training ended. Everything went as planned until the last week of basic. Then the Army announced that all physicians with permanent duty assignments within the continental United States would be reassigned to Southeast Asia unless they voluntarily extended their stateside assignments an extra year. David was as astonished and outraged as the other physicians, who made angry comments about extortion and threatened to call their senators and congressmen, but after the initial shock David realized that for him nothing had really changed. He had his own timetable and was not about to let the Army or anyone else interfere with his future. David was the only physician who refused to extend, and two days later his orders were changed to the 90th Personnel Replacement Center, Saigon.

  He was not happy about going to Southeast Asia; his friends and family were not pleased, either, but he’d made his decision and still considered it to be the correct one. Three years in the Army was just too long a time. During basic, a captain in the Rangers giving the lecture on command responsibility had mentioned almost in passing that three doctors had been killed in Vietnam; all of them had been in places they shouldn’t have been, doing things they were not authorized to do, taking chances they shouldn’t have taken, none of which David intended to do. And, too, though he wouldn’t admit it, there was that sense of pride in not having given in either to the Army or to whatever fears he might have unknowingly harbored.

  Still, there was a moment at the embarkation center at Oakland when the clerk behind the dispensing counter handed him his flak vest and jungle boots and, seeing the Medical Corps insignia on his collar, hesitated a moment and then, almost as a kind of benediction, whispered, “Good luck.”

  At the village, Griffen took the jeep off the road up onto a small rise about fifty meters from the first hut and switched off the engine.

  “Best to stay out here, sir, and let ’em come to us.” He picked up his M-16 and climbed out of the jeep.

  David, drained by the heat, looked at the village. Just a dozen thatch-covered huts in a circle. A few scrawny chickens pranced across the dusty ground. Behind the huts the remains of what must once have been a vegetable garden merged quickly with the rocky countryside. David wiped the sweat out of his eyes and, gathering his strength, climbed out of the jeep. Griffen had already started to pile the cartons of medication on the ground.

  “They walk by and pick up the pills?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s the idea.” The corporal continued to unload the jeep.

  David picked up one of the bottles and looked at the label. “This all we have, Tom? Vitamins, sulfa, iron, and”—he looked into the next carton—“aspirin?”

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal picked up one of the canteens, took a sip and handed it to David.

  David nodded thanks and took a long drink. The water was hot and tasted of iodine, but it helped. “Not very high-powered medicine,” he said, handing the canteen back to Tom.

  “Well, sir, I guess med command figured these a
re the ones that’ll travel in the heat.” Tom started to put the bottles on the hood of the jeep.

  David began to help, organizing the medications into rows. While they worked, the villagers began to line up. Every few moments, Tom would glance up at them. By the time all the bottles were arranged, a single line of men and women, infants and children stretched from the first hut up the rise to within five meters of the jeep.

  These were not the Vietnamese David had seen in Saigon or at the 90th replacement. What he had considered delicacy in those people had turned to frailty out here on the flats. These people seemed to have no weight to them, no substance; they were like creatures from a lighter planet. David had the uncomfortable feeling that if, indeed, all the fighting was meant to improve these people’s lives, the effort had been misguided.

  “Looks like everyone decided to come,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Tom answered, opening another carton. “All you got to do is motion ’em forward.”

  David gestured, and the villagers started to file past. Tom replaced the bottles as fast as they were taken.

  “They know how to use these?” David asked after a few minutes.

  “Use ’em?”

  David held up the line and picked up one of the sulfa bottles. “These should be taken every eight hours. Those”—he pointed to the row of iron pills—“three times a day, and the vitamins once a day. They understand that?”

  “No, sir, not likely.”

  “Well, each one of those pills is three hundred and fifty milligrams of iron sulfate. Sixty-five milligrams of pure elemental iron. In the States, they’re only used for patients who are severely anemic, and then two, maybe three pills a day for three to six weeks, four pills at the most. If anyone takes a whole bottle of those iron pills or gives five or six at a time to any of these kids, they’ll be poisoned.”

  Tom picked up one of the bottles, looked at the label and then indifferently put it back on the hood. “None of ’em can read, sir.”

  “Maybe we should have an interpreter with us.”