Direct Contact

By David Layman

"What am I doing back here in the jungle?" Denton asked himself the rhetorical question as he attempted to right himself, to get to his feet. "I already did all this last time around and now, well now, I am in no condition to give it another go. I have grown soft and lazy. I feel like a tree sloth. When I was a G.I. in the Army, I was a grizzled, battle-hardened veteran.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Layman
• Release date: Sep 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781476273860

David Layman

David Layman, born in Sandusky, Ohio, attended and earned both an undergraduate and graduate degree in history from Kent State University, Kent Ohio. After finishing his Ph.D courses, he chose to write novels and also completed two children's stories. His most current novel, DIRECT CONFLICT, focuses on the Vietnam War, the concentration of his academic studies. He is currently writing the sequel, and has written several other literary works.When David is not writing, he travels, engages in long-distance running, both on the beach and in the mountains. As a former Army Paratrooper and combat medic, David has taken an interest in veteran affairs and works with the Wounded Warrior project in Jacksonville, Florida. His newest endeavor is to master surfing, then to travel to Hawaii to surf the Bonzai Pipeline.David is currently working on the sequel to DIRECT CONFLICT, titled DIRECT CONTACT. Check back with us frequently for the release date.

Book preview

Direct Contact

By David Layman

Published by David Layman

Copyright 2011 David Layman

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Elianne's Letter

Chapter 2: The Decision

Chapter 3: Janet's Letter

Chapter 4: The Arrival

Chapter 5: The Reunion

Chapter 6: Tu's Letters

Chapter 7: Le's Trap

Chapter 8: Elianne's Disclosures

Chapter 9: Le's Curse

Chapter 10: Denton's Visitors

Chapter 11: Le's Visit

Chapter 12: Shangri-La

Chapter 13: The Choice

Chapter 14: Elianne's Plight

Chapter 15: The Preparations

Chapter 16: The Journey Begins

Chapter 17: The Trial

Chapter 18: Van Lai

BERNE, SWITZERLAND

Chapter 1: Elianne's Letter

I walked through the train station in Rome, Italy, awaiting the departure of my train to Berne, Switzerland. I came to the station early; I did not want to miss this train ride for anything. I secured a berth because it was an overnighter to Geneva, a short lay-over there and then a short train ride to Berne.

I had stowed my baggage with one of the conductors and bought myself a double espresso. I actually felt nervous, rather giddy actually as I began my journey to see Le, Elianne, Chem and Chan. I could not adequately express how much I longed to be with them once again.

I walked outside to a beautiful day. I found a table where I could sit and attempt to gather myself. After all, my days here in Rome had offered me great solace. I’d spent nearly the last four years alone, doing my best to gather myself up and become some kind of rational, productive human being after the war. Now, I would find out if I had found any kind of cure for myself. Who could know, maybe I would never be capable of overcoming or escaping my demons and all those souls that seemed to have come to haunt me over and over after the war. I doubted Satan would give me up so easily; after all I had thwarted him too many times during my tours of duty in Vietnam. I felt he was never too far off, no, it was that evil, demonic spirit that haunted me; no matter how much I tried to dissuade it from invading my conscience.

I went to Vietnam full of patriotism and knowing I was fighting for freedom, freedom of all oppressed people. That was what we all knew back there in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania. My antecedents and others had sacrificed and I decided why should I break tradition? I didn’t know at the time what lay ahead of me, the repercussions and my life-long battle with a spirit far more sinister than I had ever envisioned. That spirit that evil, dark, demonic spirit would not let me rest no matter how I tried to shut it out!

I gazed around and I thought of my years I’d spent here after Paris. And, I reminisced on my past; thinking back to the last years since I’d finally received my discharge from the Army.

I’d returned to Pennsylvania after my separation with the military and recalled how I knew that I had made a big mistake attempting to return home. I felt so out-of-place there, so uncomfortable, so alien after my three tours of Vietnam.

I had to get out of Pennsylvania; I had to travel and go places where no one knew me or knew of my past. I hated all the adulation and attention I received since I had arrived home from Vietnam. I despised the label, ‘WAR HERO’! I knew most of the rest of the country despised me as well. That war was extremely unpopular with the American people, I knew that. But, in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, things were different. My small hometown still seemed to revere their returning veterans. There might have been some dissenters and critics who would have liked to have screamed that I was a murderer, a baby killer, a demon but they held those thoughts to themselves. Our town was filled with war veterans and the coal mining mentality ensured that no hippies would have any kind of say; and those coal miners backed it up if need be by both the implied and real threat of brute force!

It made me both physically and mentally sick to hear people say that I was a war hero. Increasingly, I found humans to be both contemptible and overbearing. I despised that they thought of me as carrying on some great tradition, like my father and some of my other family members and others who lived in Beaver Falls. Great War heroes, they killed lots of humans to keep everyone safe, to preserve freedom. Maybe that was the case during their time, during World War Two, but my killing those Vietnamese peasants, did that constitute the same? Would those poor peasants and illiterate soldiers ever threaten Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania?

I found I would hide away, not wanting to venture out anywhere or to talk to anyone, except off into the Pennsylvania mountains, to camp out in the woods, just by myself, reading and hiking, and really attempting to trick myself, like I had never been to war. I am sure it was my way of dealing with all the hideous aspects of war and my mastery of it, and then my total denial. It was just my own way of masquerading, of hiding, letting absolutely no one else in to pry about my past.

I’d stay out in the woods for days, hiking all over the mountains. At some point, I knew I had to return to civilization, to Beaver Falls. I didn’t desire to, but I felt I needed to return. Finally, after about eighteen months, I knew I had to get out of there. If I didn’t, another war might just get started close by and it would not be against any Vietnamese.

Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania, a quiet little place, where nothing of significance ever happened. It was no longer home to me. There was nothing there I desired or cared about. My family and friends lived there, but I felt a strange detachment, quite a distinct awkwardness towards them. They even looked different to me now, as if I simply couldn’t recognize them any longer. It was a very difficult problem for me. How could I not seem to recognize my family, my parents and my sister, Janet? I felt as if Beaver Falls was my own personal Vietnam quagmire now!

I finally eased up from the table and walked slowly along towards the boarding area, thinking back and remembering when I was back there in Pennsylvania; I frowned, and I grimaced at the thought of my having to tell my family I was leaving. It was heartbreaking for everyone, and for many of our neighbors in Beaver Falls. When I broke the news to my family, they were stunned, to say the least. Mom and my sister Janet cried, and dad, well, I remembered his hurt, tortured tone. This is your home, son. Everyone wants you to stay here. You were separated from us for so long. What happened to you, Denton? Why must you leave? Do you see how distraught your mother and sister are?

I tried to explain, a very feeble attempt on my part. But, they could never understand my feelings now. I needed space, distance, I knew a long separation. For some reason, Beaver Falls, the little sleepy town in the mountains of Pennsylvania just held nothing but pain for me now; I knew I didn’t belong there any longer. I felt as if I was suffocating, drowning in a sea of misery. I would have done anything not to hurt my family and friends; anything except risking my sanity which was being tested continuously, throughout the day and even much worse at night. If I fell into a deep depression and total frustration with virtually no hope, it would serve no purpose other than possibly ending my life.

I felt I wasn’t quite ready to succumb to those ugly, vicious demons and admit that the devil had finally claimed victory over my soul. I jousted too many times with those dark, diabolical forces to give in just yet. I also had a kind of eerie feeling within me, usually hidden, yet at times, for instance, when I would awaken on one of my overextended camping forays off in the mountains, then it would surface. Yes, that eerie sensation that spoke to me. There seemed to be some little sparkle left in me, deep inside that would offer me at least some slight hope to continue on.

I tried to grasp it; at that point I seriously grasped at anything to help me with my demons and with what I felt to be a kind of intravenous drip of insanity that I couldn’t shut off, slowly, ever-so slowly dripping its poison into my brain; yes, invading my brain. I’d ponder, I’d wait, to no avail, but that little bright sparkle, well, let’s just say I felt it was something to do with my past, that eventually something, anything would surface to prove to me that there was truly something out there worth living for.

I walked along slowly and sipped my espresso and gazed out one of the large windows onto the horizon. I sighed deeply, and I recalled mother asking me, as she dabbed her eyes and did her best to control the quivering in her voice, Where will you go? What will you do? We missed you so much and feared for your safety every minute before. When you came back to us, I felt such immense relief and joy. Now this?

I tried and tried to shake the memories but it would not leave me. I wondered how I could forget about all the horrors of Vietnam, but I did my best. Yet to my surprise, it was more difficult to contend with my family’s grieving; I could not shake that torment.

I bit my lip as I recalled how my sister told me she hated me for doing this to her and mom and dad. She told me she would never speak to me again.

For me, I knew that was the bitter end. I had to get out of there quickly. When I tried to hug and kiss Janet before I departed, she stood there, unmoved, implacable, no emotion, her invective so cutting as she barely moved, staring, like a stone statue. Then, I heard her mumble, hissing, and the hatred oozing out from her, I wish they’d killed you over there. You don’t love us; you have no feelings for us. You are despicable! Go away and do not ever come back here.

Janet pulled away from me. I tried to hold her but she would not look at me. She said, loudly, Don’t! Let go of me. I hope you go kill yourself. Get out of my sight!

She jerked away and ran off. That was all I could take; I quickly hugged dad and mom and made my way to the airport, a first class ticket to Paris. I did not look back, it was time to go!

I sipped my espresso and watched some kids playing just outside the train station. They threw some little coins their parents gave them into a fountain. They squealed and shrieked when there was even the smallest splash. Occasionally, they would run after a flock of pigeons that had landed, the birds quickly fluttering away. I watched as the birds rose in flight and I knew I had made the right decision when I left Beaver Falls.

Occasionally, I would call but it was no use. I would hear mom crying and the inevitable hurt in their voices. Mom could not finish a sentence before she would choke up, sobbing and pleading for me to come home. If Janet answered, she simply hung up the phone.

I still had some time before departure so I walked outside the train station and sat down by the fountain. I could feel the gentle mist that escaped the fountain on my face and neck. It helped to cool me on this rather warm, humid morning. I recalled how I would always stand out in the rain when I was in Vietnam. I would hold my face up to the rain, hold it there for some time and allow it to wash away all of the misery, the faces of those I seemed to delight in killing. I delighted in it, well, more I thought because I’d lost touch with reality. That is exactly what happens to a human when one masters the art of war.

It was really very simple; no matter what it was you did! If you studied and learned and made a concerted effort to understand what it was that confronted you, you should become fairly adept at it. In my case, I spent long hours reading about war, learning about the Vietnamese culture and studying them up close and personal. I had a personal vendetta to settle with them after they killed Mackintosh. Fortunately, for me, I carried my lady luck with me as well and none of my adversaries ever caught me short or triggered a lucky shot from their weapon. In the end, I did what I had to do to outthink them. I made it out of there after two and a half years, suffering only from immersion foot. Lady luck had shown down on me and I suffered not a physical scratch or a cut; I mastered the art of war and at the same time I became even less than an animal, a vicious, evil spirit, not worthy of being allowed to live another moment.

I sat there and watched as the kids played, ran about and shrieked out loudly. I exhaled and wanted to believe that my life was starting over, in a sense. I was going to Berne, Switzerland to see my four Vietnamese girls and I just could not wait to see them once again. I contemplated over and over; was this my little sparkle, that little spark that I felt, that little something that had kept me afloat all this time?

I fidgeted, my mind raced and I once again pulled out the letter Elianne had sent to me. I had read it innumerable times. I felt the paper, attempting to envision her as she wrote to me. It made that sparkle grow and turn into more than a dim, low kind of light off in the distance, shrouded by the mist and the fog, there, yet actually untouchable. Why did I ever feel it? Why was it there? What did it mean?

I moved over a bit so that the fine mist from the fountain did not touch my letter. I would have died for my letter. When I first received it, I was afraid to read it. I held it and put it right under my pillow overnight. I slept fitfully that night, I recalled, afraid of its contents; a letter, written to me by Elianne Than? It put me into a total tailspin and I felt a sudden detachment from reality not knowing what to expect!

Before the dawn of the previous day I sat and thought back to the events that had landed me here at the train station. I remembered thinking that I had just about enough of life. Why was life so cruel? I knew Elianne would say that they were all fine but that it would be better to just let things go; that the past was just that, over and done with and that it was simply time to move on. I felt I was afraid that that would be what the letter would tell me.

I remembered walking down to the local restaurant, Vittorio’s, for my espresso very early the day before. I sat out on the patio and watched as the people filed by me, most off to their work place. I sat there for quite some time and as the traffic of people thinned that morning, Vittorio, the proprietor of the restaurant, came out with his espresso and sat down at my table. He did that from time-to-time, just to chat about the insignificant turns of the day, nothing important.

He sipped his espresso and adjusted his glasses. He made that certain sound, Ahh, he emitted each time after he sipped his espresso; then, his standard, Good morning!

Well, for some reason, I simply could not contain myself. I began to laugh, to relieve the stress and detachment I felt; and I did try to harness it, the laughing, I really tried, but I turned into a total fool, laughing uncontrollably. I suppose Vittorio got it, my frustration to cope, because he began to laugh as well. Shortly, we were like a couple of buffoons, laughing hysterically. His young service girl inside, Anna Marie peeked out, craning her neck, then she carefully stepped out on the patio in time and stared, then, with a look of concern she asked, in Italian, Are you men okay?

That finished us! I could barely sit up and Vittorio stood up and yelled out, very loudly, We love you, Anna Marie!

Anna Marie smiled widely but she still possessed that appearance of unsteadiness as she attempted to understand what was going on. I nodded and tried my best to catch my breath. It was maddeningly refreshing, something I had not experienced in a long-long time, maybe an eternity.

Vittorio sat back down and Anna Marie nodded and giggled, then, slowly, as if she knew something strange was in the air, said, Okay, well, I’ll be right inside cleaning up if you need me!

Vittorio glanced at me and mumbled under his thick, dark mustached upper lip, after we had harnessed our silliness, My friend, what is on your mind?

I dabbed at the corners of my lips and nodded at the letter that sat in front of me on the table. I shook my head slowly from side-to-side. My dear friend, this letter could finish me. I suppose I could just throw it away, get over it once-and-for-all, but is it better to not know of the outcome, just to walk away?

Vittorio nodded slowly, again, Ah, from a certain woman, yes, I understand your dilemma. Well, there are a number of options, young man. But, in the end, you will read it, I am sure of that. You will submit, my friend.

Then, he leaned over the table and grinned widely, Do you know why?

I stammered, not answering, simply staring off and he said, Your ego won’t allow you to walk away, Denton. The females, they know they have us, they have us, they know we are caught in our own dilemma with no escape. The Almighty made us the real weakling, not the ladies, my friend. Oh sure, you and I, both big, strong warriors, we both went to war, to fight , to exhibit to all that we were, so virile, so strong and above all, very courageous. Ah, As he threw his hand off dismissively.

He continued, If we are so big and strong why are we sitting here having any kind of a debate about this, this woman who haunts you? Can you explain it? Well, it is our weakness, our egos that in the end bring us down!

I made no comment. Denton, why should we allow ourselves to worry about these things? Vittorio asked me. We survived all the brutality and hardships of war, did we not? So, make it easy on yourself.

I leaned across the table and said, in a conspiratorial tone, I’ve not felt fear like I feel now in quite some time. This cursed letter, you see, it makes me afraid because I have no way to plan for it.

Vittorio sighed heavily and called out for Anna Marie as he finished the last of his espresso. My dear, two more please, as Vittorio held his cup up.

I watched as Anna Marie nodded and returned inside. I grimaced, and asked, What if I can’t submit?

Vittorio kicked his chair back a bit, Then young man, you are a fool.

Vittorio reached across the table for the envelope and asked, May I?

I nodded my assent. Vittorio took the envelope and said, Young and impetuous, still at odds with yourself, I see. If you’ll allow me maybe I can assist you. Allow an old man to broker your conscience; I think it will be a benefit to you.

I decided to allow Vittorio to read the letter to me. Otherwise, I might never come to a decision.

After reading the letter, he began, in his broken English, Well, very interesting, and when he finished, I sat there still feeling most tentative.

Vittorio closed the letter and looked a bit confused. Well, young man, it would appear that you are welcome by your friends. I think I understand a bit more now; this is your past and I do understand.

I smiled and watched as Anna Marie brought out the espressos. She sat Vittorio’s down, then mine. I kept staring, all smiles and I said, My dear, isn’t it a wonderful day. I think you are beautiful.

Anna Marie blushed and offered a slight giggle, and then she said, Thank you, sir!

Vittorio eyed me and asked, So, I assume you will take them up on their offer?

I nodded slightly, then I held up my hand, Sir, what do you advise?

Vittorio shrugged, I would think you to be very foolish to refuse. It is extremely rare to have friends who appear to have such a desire to see you. I am sure there are extenuating circumstances from that war. But, you must move forward and be the man they expect you to be!

I felt troubled, What man is that, can you tell me?

Vittorio wiggled his index finger at me, I am sure you will rise to the task. Oh, I know, I know you were a hero to them; whatever you did made them look at you in awe. But, this is not back then any more. They will make adjustments but they still have a very strong bond with you. Remember, they have grown and are older and more mature now.

I nodded slowly and shrugged, and Vittorio stood up and said, I think you will miss this place. But, I think I will not see you again. I wish you good luck.

Vittorio adjusted his glasses and picked up his cup, then as he turned to go, he turned back to me, Let go of the past, Denton. Things will work out; do not apply so much pressure to yourself. If you are ever back this way, stop in and I will make you my Seafood Linguini. Ciao!I said, Ciao, took the letter and finished my espresso. I sat the cup down and decided to go to Switzerland.

Chapter 2: The Decision

I sat there at the fountain and smiled a little, recalling my friend, Vittorio. I would miss him a lot. I still felt hesitant but the letter, it seemed like my lifeline, it reinvigorated me, and it offered me my only link to any semblance of normalcy. I felt alive; I felt I had recaptured my wanderlust now. My little spark that held on to me was growing inside of me. I was traveling to Berne, Switzerland and I would make my permanent residence there.

Oh, I would not become this imposing Alpha male to my four lovely Vietnamese girls. No, I would find a small, quiet room with a Swiss family and I would write, and I would study French, and hike in the mountains, I thought. I knew many there spoke the language.

I would be unobtrusive, but just being within a close proximity to them, not too close to Le, Elianne, Chem, and Chan, would suffice for me. They were the only humans I felt I could relate to; possibly because of all of the trauma we had experienced together.

I re-read the letter, very slowly, very carefully, as I did quite a few times the day before. I read a sentence and I would stop and allow myself time to mull it over, to digest it and to attempt to decipher just exactly what Elianne meant. I wished the others had written to me, but it was only Elianne who did. Still, I held no animosity, only love and the desire to be even a very small part of their lives once again.

Love, I had rarely thought of that word for quite some time. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel something for my family. No, instead, it was more that that word, love, for some unknown reason, well, it seemed when that word arose in my mind, and I attached it to my family, well my disconnect button was activated. I knew it had to be some kind of neuroses I had developed and I just simply couldn’t overcome.

It was my doing; it was my mind, so twisted and convoluted that made me think the way I thought. I didn’t consider my vicious acts of war specifically as the cause, no, instead I blamed the inherent nature of war, all the death, the destruction and how humans could be so barbaric to one another, that was what skewered my brain, made everything always seem a bit off-color for me.

I read the first few lines of the letter from Elianne. I stared at the words for a moment. I read, lipping the words that I had memorized from the very first, We would love a visit, can you come?

Did she really mean it? I wondered if she was only being polite. Did the girls really want me to come? I hadn’t seen them in quite some time, they were much younger then. They were very impressionable, now older, they might rather I really didn’t show up at their door. If I got a kind of negative reaction, would I then return to Rome?

A young child, a little girl suddenly bumped into my leg. I jerked, she startled me! She was a young, beautiful dark-haired little girl. She paid me no mind, she gathered herself quickly and off she went.

I smirked to myself thinking how times had so changed for me. I could sit here, so relaxed and lost in my own thoughts