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“Hey, First Sergeant, you ever been to the My Canh?”
First Sergeant McCafferty looked up to see who had snuck into
his office unannounced. Airman Second Class Bobby Timmons was standing just
inside his door. “Hey, Bobby,” said McCafferty. “You mean the restaurant
on the boat?”
“Yeah, Sgt McCafferty, the My Canh Floating Restaurant. You
ever been there?”
“Yeah, I’ve been there,” said the First Sergeant.
“It’s a nice place. Good food, good atmosphere, nice view of Saigon at
night. Why are you asking?”
“I thought I’d take Thuyet there,” said Timmons.
“She’s lived here all her life, and she’s never been there.”
“Not surprising,” said McCafferty. “Only the richest
Vietnamese go there. Their prices are geared more toward Americans and other
foreigners.”
“Well, I can afford to take her there,” said Timmons,
then thinking of his airman’s pay, “at least once.”
“When are you planning on going?” asked McCafferty.
“This weekend,” said Timmons, “probably Saturday.
Thuyet has to work in the PX every day till then, and I’m on the flying
schedule every day till then; so I thought that would be the perfect day. We
don’t get many weekends off at the same time.”
“I don’t know about that,” said McCafferty. “Sgt
Daniels over in Intelligence told me he got a report that Charlie might be
planning something for that part of town about that time.”
“Oh, Man, there’s always something. What did he say,”
asked Timmons. “Anything specific about the My Canh or Saturday night?”
“No,” said McCafferty, “he didn’t say anything about
the My Canh, and he didn’t say anything about Saturday night. What he said was
that the Viet Cong might be planning some kind of activity along the Saigon
river in the next week or so.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. That’s not even a very good
reason not to go, Sgt McCafferty. It‘s pretty darn vague.” McCafferty smiled
at the knowledge that Timmons was the only one of his airmen who would say
“darn” in a sentence like that; everyone else would have used a much
stronger word. “Those intelligence reports are usually wrong anyway, aren’t
they?”
“Well, it’s true that a lot of the stuff they predict
never happens,” said McCafferty. “But a lot of that is because they
predicted it in the first place. In other words, we found out they were going to
try something; so then they were afraid to try it. So instead of being wrong,
they just prevented something bad from happening.”
“So maybe nothing will happen at the My Canh Saturday
night,” said Bobby. “Thuyet and I don’t get many chances to go somewhere
special together, so I think I’m going to do it anyway.”
“Well, Bobby, I can’t order you not to go. But if I
didn’t have to be in that part of town on Saturday night, I’d stay as far
the hell away from it as I could,” said McCafferty. “Nothing’s happened in
Saigon for a long time. There has been a lot of crap in other parts of the
country, but nothing here. I think we’re a little overdue.”
“I know good and well if I don’t go I’m going to miss
out on a good time, you know, a special time with Thuyet. Then next week I’m
going to feel like a real sucker, and Thuyet’s going to be hurt and mad. I just
don’t think I can pass up this chance, Sgt McCafferty.”
“Well, if you do go and something does happen, a helluva
lot more people are going to feel bad next week,” said McCafferty. “Think
about that, too.” He looked up at Bobby still standing by the door and thought
about his own sons, not much younger. They were both away in college, and he
hoped somebody was watching over them a little, helping them stay out of
trouble. “Sit down a minute, Bobby,” he said to Timmons.
Bobby sat down in the straight chair in front of the First
Sergeant’s desk and looked at him expectantly. “How are things going with
you?” asked McCafferty.
Bobby looked at him a little quizzically but said, “Fine,
Sgt McCafferty, things are going real fine.”
“You working too hard, anything like that?”
“Everybody’s working hard, you know that,” said Bobby.
“We’re flying a bunch of sorties every day, but that’s the name of the
game. We’ve got a war to win.”
“Yeah, I know that,” said McCafferty. “I just wanted to
be sure you were okay with that, that they weren’t overworking you. Sometimes
these airplane jockeys can lose touch with reality.”
“Not my aircraft commander,” said Bobby. “Major Horan
is really good. He’s the best pilot in the squadron and the coolest guy among
all the officers. Our crew works good together and gets along good together.”
“Major Horan, huh?” said McCafferty. “Didn’t you guys
pick up some ground fire the other day? Four or five holes wasn’t it? What was
that about?”
“Actually, there were eight holes, counting the three
through the wings. One of the rounds almost got me in the butt, passed right
behind me and went through the roof of the bird. But no Purple Heart this
time.”
“So what were you doing to almost get your tail shot
off?”
“We were taking off from an ARVN camp under attack hauling
out a bunch of wounded. The VC were shooting at us from all directions. We’re
lucky we only got eight hits. Nobody was hurt, and the plane still got us back
home. It’s all part of the job.”
“I know. Not much we can do about that. How about this girl
Thuyet? You seem to be kind of hung up on her. That can sometimes get a little
complicated. You got that under control?”
“Man, I hope so, Sgt McCafferty. I never met a girl like
this before, not here and not in the states. She’s really nice. You’ve seen
her in the PX. She’s good looking, and quiet, and just plain nice.”
“You know, Bobby, a lot of guys have gotten hung up on the
girls over here, but it doesn’t always work out for the better. You need to
watch yourself. Make sure you’re doing the right thing.”
Bobby shook his head adamantly, “Sgt McCafferty, Thuyet is
way different from the kind of girl most of these guys get hung up on. They’re
chasing after bar girls and losing control of themselves over sex. Thuyet is a
respectable girl from a good family. I met her family. They’re good people,
and I like them. And I like her a lot. You know she works in our little dinky PX;
and even in that little store, there’s stuff most Vietnamese can’t get or
can’t afford. I told her about the big PX’s on bases in the states. I even
told her we called the states the land of the big PX. And then I told her that I
want to take her to the land of the big PX.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she can’t leave her mama-san and her papa-san.
She says she likes me beaucoup but she no can leave Vietnam. I’m going to keep
working on her. I think I love her, and I want to marry her. I even gave her one
of my patches to seal the deal.”
“You mean a unit patch?” asked McCafferty, motioning
toward the squadron emblem on Bobby’s shirt pocket.
“Yeah, this patch means a lot to me,” said Bobby looking
down at the depiction of a winged sword flying through the air. I gave it to her
just like you’d give your high school letter to your girl. It means I’m
really serious about her and only her, sort of like we‘re going steady.”
“You think it’s a good thing to get so serious about a
girl under these circumstances?” asked McCafferty.
“It’s going to be my only chance at this girl, Sgt
McCafferty,” said Bobby. “I don’t think I’ll ever be back here, so
I’ve got to do it right this time. That’s the biggest reason I want to take
her to the My Canh. It would be a big deal for her, something real special.”
“Okay, Bobby. I just don’t want you to get hurt,” said
McCafferty. “Listen, I’ve got the duty Saturday night. I’m the First
Sergeant who has to go on rounds with the MP’s that night. We’ll probably
stop by the My Canh, so I’ll be looking for you. I just hope none of us gets
our tails blown off.”
“Yeah, me, too,” said Bobby with a quick nod of his head.
“I’ll feel a little better knowing you and the MP’s are out there looking
out for me.” Then with a wave of his hand, he left the Orderly Room.
McCafferty watched him go. There’s a really good kid, he
thought, I sure hope nothing happens to him on Saturday night. McCafferty had
been in the Air Force for 22 years. This was his first tour in Vietnam, but
he’d also seen combat duty in Korea. Timmons had been in the Air Force a
little less than two years, and this was his first tour of duty anywhere.
McCafferty had worked his way up through the ranks, through all kinds of flying
assignments to become First Sergeant in a flying unit. Timmons in his first duty
assignment was a loadmaster on the C-123 cargo plane that the Air Commandos flew
in-country. McCafferty felt that it was a hell of an introduction to flying
duties for a young guy. The Air Commandos and the C-123’s were often the only
link the field troops, both Americans and Vietnamese, had to any kind of
civilization and any kind of life support. They got the people and the supplies
where they needed to be to fight the Viet Cong. The 123 could get into places
that most other transport planes could not go. So the Air Commandos made their
living by making steep descent combat landings on runways far too short for
anyone else to try. These tiny runways served the most isolated outposts of
friendly forces and were their means of getting replacement troops, ammunition,
and supplies and of evacuating their dead and wounded.
McCafferty, in thinking about Bobby Timmons in his role as an
Air Commando, thought back again to his own sons. He doubted that either of them
would ever serve in the military. They had neither the inclination nor the
disposition for it. Bobby Timmons was cut out for the role. He was both a good
airman and a good human being.
At 1800 sharp on Saturday evening, two military policemen
picked McCafferty up in their police Jeep at his Orderly Room. These were a
couple of guys McCafferty had worked with before. Corporals Randolph and Murphy
were sterling examples of the MP force, spit and polish, white cap and web belt,
bloused pants legs in gleaming boots. Randolph was black, Murphy was white, and
both were big. McCafferty felt really sharp walking between these two guys. The
theory, usually valid, was that a First Sergeant riding along with an MP patrol
could control or stabilize some situations involving young troops, especially
drunk young troops. These young guys lived with their First Sergeants every day,
so they often recognized the authority of the First Sergeant even over that of
the police.
On this evening things were pretty quiet. It was still early,
hadn’t gotten rowdy yet. Most of the bars were less than half full with GI’s
drinking their Ba Moui Ba’s
and talking quietly. The Vietnamese beer would undoubtedly do
its job and the bars would become a bit louder later. Not all the girls were on
duty yet either, but those who were in the bars were sitting in their chairs
along the wall waiting for things to liven up.
McCafferty and the two MP’s had walked through the
notorious GI bars off 100 Piaster Alley right outside Tan Son Nhut Airbase, and
then had headed downtown. They’d spot checked most of the bars on Tu Do Street
and then cruised the streets for a while looking for Americans in trouble or
Americans causing trouble.
“You guys patrol the river front?” asked McCafferty.
“Sure, sometimes,” said Murphy. “You know we’re
spread pretty thin, so we can’t cover everywhere every time. We mostly try to
establish a presence and hope it carries over.”
“You ever go to the My Canh?”
“The restaurant?” Murphy asked. McCafferty nodded. “No,
not usually,” said Murphy. “Nothing ever happens there. There’s never any
trouble, no rowdies.”
“You know there’s a warning out about VC activity in that
area,” said McCafferty. “Is there any reason we can’t go by there?”
“No, there’s not,” said Murphy. “We can pretty well
go anywhere there are American military personnel. You want to go there?”
“Yeah, if it’s okay,” said McCafferty. “One of my
young troops is supposed to be there. I’d just like to make sure he’s
alright.”
“Okay,” said Randolph, who was behind the wheel at that
moment, and he turned toward the Saigon River.
I’d have never made it in the Navy, thought McCafferty as
they walked up the gangplank that led onto the boat that housed the My Canh
Floating Restaurant. Even that little walk gave him less stability than he
liked. As soon as they entered the restaurant proper, he spotted Bobby and
Thuyet at a table along the rail. He made his way toward them with the two
MP’s trailing in his wake. As soon as Bobby saw McCafferty, he jumped up with
a big smile on his face, “Hey, Sgt McCafferty, you said you’d be here and
here you are.” To Thuyet he said, “Thuyet, this is my First Sergeant, Sgt
McCafferty.” She looked up at McCafferty with that shy, charming half-smile
common to the young women in Vietnam.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” said McCafferty looking down
at her delicate, genteel face as Thuyet averted her eyes also in the manner of
the young women here. “You kids have fun,” he said to Bobby. “We’ve got
to make our rounds.” As he turned toward the MP’s, McCafferty suddenly
remembered the cliched phase sometimes used to describe these young women. It
seemed to fit Thuyet. She could truly be described as a “pearl of the
Orient.” He thought that maybe young Timmons had indeed found himself
something special here, maybe he really should take her back to the land of the
big PX.
The First Sergeant and the two MP’s made their way between
tables of young American men and young Vietnamese women and tables of
middle-aged Vietnamese men and women toward the back of the boat. As they made
their turn to return to the front, to the gangplank, a muffled explosion sounded
from their left, from the riverbank side of the restaurant, and everything on
that side hurtled through the air toward them. Tables, chairs, dishes, food,
pots and pans, and other debris flew through the air tearing through anything in
their path, including people. Many of the people jumped up at the first sound
and almost immediately fell back again from the force of the explosion.
McCafferty and both of the MP’s were knocked to the far rail and fell there on
the deck. McCafferty lost consciousness.
When he came to, McCafferty had no idea how long he had been
out. Even in his disoriented state, he guessed that it had not been long,
because chaos still ruled. The restaurant was engulfed in smoke and dirt. It was
impossible to see more than a foot forward. McCafferty squinted and tried to
peer toward the place where he’d left Bobby and Thuyet. He couldn’t see
anything, but he began to move in that direction anyway, crouched as low as he
could get. He stumbled over bodies lying on the deck and paused only long enough
to be sure they were not Bobby nor Thuyet. His natural inclination and his
military training urged him to stop and try to help these people, but his
overriding concern for Bobby forced him to move on.
Suddenly, through a break in the smoke, he saw Bobby, lying
on the deck but moving. Near him also lay Thuyet, and she was moving, too. They
were both alive, but apparently they still lay where the blast had knocked them.
As McCafferty made his way toward them, Thuyet attempted to get up. Bobby
reached for her obviously trying to hold her down. McCafferty heard him urging
her to stay down.
But her panic evidently gave Thuyet additional strength and
she was able to pull away from Bobby. She stood up and turned in the direction
of the gangplank. She started to run as McCafferty screamed, “No, get down.
These things come in pairs.” Bobby managed to get up, too, and had turned to
run after Thuyet when the second explosion came from the riverbank and knocked
him down again. McCafferty had been moving forward in a crouch and fell
immediately to the deck. Even so, he became disoriented and the increased smoke,
dirt, and debris made him lose sight of Bobby again.
After a few seconds, McCafferty began crawling forward again
still searching for Bobby. He stopped and tried to peer through the haze. It was
useless. He could see nothing. He inched slowly forward feeling his way through
the wreckage and fallen bodies. Suddenly, through the chaos and the moaning of
the wounded, he heard sobbing immediately in front of him. He eased forward,
feeling his way, reaching out for the source. His hand touched what felt like
somebody’s back, and he stretched his face forward to see that it was Bobby.
He was hunched over, still sobbing and saying “No, no, no” over and over.
McCafferty drew himself to Bobby’s side and looked down. Bobby was cradling
Thuyet’s body in his arms and rocking back and forth as he continued to say,
“No, no, no.” Her chest and stomach were riddled with bloody wounds typical
of those inflicted by the Claymore directional mine that the VC favored in
situations like this. Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t moving. She lay limp in
Bobby’s arms. Tears streamed down Bobby’s face, and he continued to sob.
McCafferty looked down at the tiny, bloody hand curled in Thuyet’s lacerated
lap. It was clutching an Air Commando unit patch. He realized sadly that this
delicate, genteel pearl would never see the land of the big PX.
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