Napalm's Embrace

By W. Thomas Leonard

Napalm's Embrace is non-infantry centric novel of the Vietnam War. USMC 2nd Lieutenant Jack Brady, a civil affairs officer is assigned the thankless task of winning the hearts and minds of the South Vietnamese rice farmers out in the countryside. In this attempt, he is thwarted by the military bureaucracy and intensifying war. The story is a close up look at the South Vietnamese people, their culture, and the horrors of the war they endured.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483541013

Book preview

9781483541013

Chapter One

The black Staff NCO, standing in the doorway of the Civil Affairs hootch, eyed the new Lieutenant coming across the compound road suspiciously. Instinctively he knew this white college kid would be his new boss and he resented it. ‘Another butterbar he thought.

Well, I’ve broken them in before. We’ll see what this one is made of. Place has run fine for ten months without no damn boot Lieutenant.’

Second Lieutenant John William Brady had a quizzical look on his face as he approached.

Sergeant Jackson, Brady said unsure of whether to salute or shake hands with the burly-built Sergeant.

Yes sa, Jackson replied in a casual tone shaking the Lieutenant’s hand with a firm grip.

Colonel Marcus just assigned me to the S-five Civil Affairs billet.

Welcome aboard sa. This way. Brady couldn’t see the sly smile on Jackson’s face as he turned and went in. The Civil Affairs hootch looked like an empty garage except for the desk, the chairs on either side, and a file cabinet set against the plywood wall. An acetate-covered board, with grease-pencil writing on it, hung lopsided on a single nail above the desk. The two men sat down opposite each other; Brady taking off his cover, Jackson leaning back in the chair, his thick arms folded casually across his chest, sweat glistening on his face.

The Colonel informed me that I’m responsible for thirty to forty Vietnamese civilians working in the compound here and two villages out in the countryside. He said I was to win the hearts and minds of the rice farmers out there.

Yes sa. A broken silence followed. Brady’s teeth grind behind his smile.

So Sergeant Jackson, tell me, what am I getting into?

Well sa, we’ve got the most thankless job in the battalion. We are understaffed. We have one broken down truck and absolutely no support from anyone.

How many people do we have?

It’s me, you, Corporal Chambers; he’s our driver. Pfc Hernandez is our file clerk, Corporal Osborn; he’s in charge of the gas masks we have stored in back and there’s Sam our interpreter.

Tell me about the Vietnamese.

The employees, Chambers is picking up now, will steal anything they can get their hands on; we have to shake em down every day before they leave. The villes out in the countryside, well, they’re crawling with VC. Brady waited.

That’s it?

Yes sa. That’s it.

What’s the routine?

Chambers picks up the civilians at 0830 and drives em back at 0430. He brings a second shift in at 0730 and takes them home at 2200.

Corporal Chambers is doing a lot of driving. What jobs do the civilians have?

The first shift is mostly hootch maids; they make the beds, sweep, polish boots and starch covers. We have three guys who run a laundry concession. There’s a barber, Tran Dan something and we have a few guys hauling garbage all day. The second shift are all waitresses for the officers and enlisted clubs.

Tell me about the villes; what do we do out there?

The doc gives the villagers basic medical assistance and hygiene training; he treats their cuts, bruises, gives em inoculation shots for things like cholera. We bring em scrap lumber and tin and leftover garbage.

Garbage?

Some of them feed it to their livestock and some of em eat it themselves. They’re just a bunch of mangy rice farmers.

Do you or the men have any training in Civil affairs?

No sa.

Anything else I need to know?

Rest of the time is spent trying to keep up with the Colonel’s paperwork.

Doesn’t sound too exciting.

It’s not sa, but it definitely beats being in the field.

This your first tour?

No sir, second, Jackson answered sitting up erect. Served with Second Battalion, Fourth Marines down at An Hoa in 1966; weapons platoon.

Any particular reason why your back here for the second time?

Well sa, Jackson said wiping the sweat off his brow. Once you’ve been in the field it’s pretty tough being back stateside with all them mickey mouse inspections, but it’s more than that sa. It’s what going on back home: all the racial tensions, the antiwar demonstrations, all them damn hippies waving Viet Cong flags. I don’t want to wind up in Leavenworth for assaulting a hippie. No sa, the Sergeant added looking down. Home ain’t home anymore; best to stay here. He then looked up smiling slightly. Life here in the rear is pretty good: you get three hot meals a day, a bed to sleep in, and a shower. Hell, compared to the grunts living in the jungle or on a bare hilltop, this is paradise.

This place ever been hit?

No sir. This Eight Service Battalion is pretty quiet.

Where are you from Sergeant Jackson?

Alabama sir, place called Auburn, right outside of Montgomery.

Married?

Yes sir, happily for ten years, Jackson answered smiling. Wife and I have two boys: Jerome is eight and Samuel is six.

Both men heard a truck grinding to a halt in front of the office.

That’s Chambers, Jackson said. Both men stood up.

The Vietnamese employees filed in, each clutching their identification card. On seeing the officer, they cowered as Sergeant Jackson matched each person to the card they held. In the stagnant air they smelled faintly of tobacco. They were small, averaging five feet, lean, almost skinny. Most were women who wore black pants and white, cloth-sack tops; their dark hair was pulled back into severe buns. Their brown-orange skin had the look of worn leather. The few men wore shorts and T-shirts; they were barefoot, their feet dusty brown. Some nervous smiles revealed broken teeth the color of dull ivory. One woman had a single gold tooth and a foul breath. Some spoke nervously as they held up their identification cards pointing to themselves. Brady and Jackson could only sense what they were saying since neither spoke Vietnamese. Brady couldn’t get a fix on the expression in their eyes since most kept their heads down.

Where’s Sam? Jackson asked Chambers who came in behind the Vietnamese.

Outside, the Corporal answered. One of the employees is complaining about something.

This is Lieutenant Brady, the new head of Civil Affairs, Jackson introduced. The dirty-looking Corporal with a pencil-thin moustache and eager look in his eyes, wiped his hand across his sweaty utility jacket and shook the Lieutenant’s hand vigorously saying:

Welcome aboard sir. We sure could use the help.

Glad to be here.

Now we can take some serious steps forward in trying to help these people.

We’re certainly going to make a determined effort, Brady commented. Then turning to Sergeant Jackson. Can you show me what’s in the back.

Just gasmasks sa.

As Brady stepped into the backroom and eyed the stockpiled boxes he heard, coming from outside, a female Vietnamese voice speaking rapidly, but softly. It was pleasant sounding, but had a tone of authority. Brady concluded that the woman was being firm in her complaint and refocused back on Sergeant Jackson who was explaining that the gasmasks could be used for riot control in the brig here, crowd control in downtown Da Nang or in case of an attack, we use gas to repel the VC on the perimeter lines.

There’s a Corporal in charge of these?

Yes sa, Corporal Osborne.

Where is he?

He usually comes in around 1100 with PFC Hernandez; there’s nothing to do.

Starting tomorrow, I want both of them in here at 0830.

Yes sir, Jackson answered sharply.

Coming back into the office Brady saw a Vietnamese woman sitting at the desk. Her long black hair almost covered the document she was absorbed in. She looked up. The even, ivory-like teeth in the brown face with the delicate features, shown in a beautiful smile. She stood up and extended her hand in greetings.

Good morning Lieutenant. I am glad to meet my new boss. Brady was stunned. He had assumed Sam was a guy.

Good morning Ma’am, he stammered shaking her hand immediately feeling its roughness which confused him. Jackson and Chambers were standing off to the side smiling, enjoying the Lieutenant’s awkwardness.

I am Tran Thi Sam, she said softly. She was about five feet tall, petite, and stunningly attractive with a good figure. She was wearing a white Ao Dai, the traditional Vietnamese woman’s dress which was split from the waist down on both sides to allow for ease of movement. Her white sandals matched her white satin pants.

I am Jack Brady Miss Tran. Laughingly she place her left hand on his right saying,

Sir, in Vietnamese, last name come first. Please, Sam.

Well then, Sam it is, he said withdrawing his hand. Trying to regain his composure he turned to the board on the wall which had Vietnamese names written on it. What’s this?

Sir, this is our MEDCAP schedule, Jackson explained stepping forward. These are the names of our two villes: Hoa Khuong and Phuoc Thuan. The dates are our scheduled visits and the status column lists our activities.

March Thirty-First, that’s today, Brady noted.

Yes sir. If Doc Muessen is available and Chambers says the truck is O.K. we can drive out.

Truck’s fine, Chambers put in.

Yes, I would like that, Brady confirmed. He then addressed Sam. How do you keep track of the employees? She stepped up close to the officer. To her, he was tall, about five foot eleven with an athletic build; he had a boyish face and light brown hair. His hazel-colored eyes took in the soft mound rises beneath the silken-dark hair and he struggled to maintain his composure.

Sir, today we have thirty-three employees, she explained in a direct manner. Each have two form of identification: Eighth Service Battalion ID and GVN, Government of South Vietnam ID which have name, place, date of birth, providence, family name and also have fingerprint and picture. On back of 8th Service ID is job they do and for how long they work here. She went over to the file cabinet and pulled out the top draw. We have complete file on each employee: where they live, family history, date of last physical exam, all test results. She closed the draw and pulled out the one below it. Here we have file of all former employee: what job they had, how long they stay, why they leave. She went onto the third draw. Here we have procedure for each job in compound, procedure for sick leave, procedure for complaint, emergency contact and so on. In the bottom draw she explained, here is list of replacement for each of our current employee, if we need new person. She closed the draw and stood up. All employee here have necessary paperwork and work very hard for you. Brady noticed when she emphasized a word, her mouth widened and the lines around her eyes deepened. She was older than she initially appeared. Brady guessed her age to be around 35.

O.K. sir, Jackson said. I’ll get Doc Muessen, two security men and our radio operator. We should be ready to go in half an hour.

Good, the Lieutenant said. I’ll get my .45 and be back shortly. As he turned to leave he saw Sam staring at him from the side. Her brown eyes held a penetrating expression. She smiled.

When you come back sir. We go. I show you my country.

Walking back towards his hootch to retrieve his weapon, Brady was thinking about his new Civil affairs assignment. He was totally confused; he neither expected it nor had any training for the function. Without the language he was lost; he would be dependent upon Sam to function. He smiled slightly thinking, she’s an eyeful and then in the same instant he thought of Kathleen Kelley back in New York, the woman to whom he was engaged to be married.

Coming back he glanced to his left at the S-1 hootch where the Colonel’s office was and his anger rose at Lieutenant Colonel Henry P. Marcus, at the conversation they had less than one hour ago.

Lieutenant you will be filling the S-5 billet which has been vacant for some time, Marcus began in a stern voice. As a staff officer you report to me directly. You are required to submit monthly reports detailing your activities; I want that report on the adjutant’s desk one week ahead of time.

Yes sir.

There will be an IG inspection coming up early next month. Make sure that your area of responsibility is absolutely squared away.

Yes sir.

You will be required to give periodic briefings, down at FLC Headquarters, to the G-5 staff. Make sure you are prepared at all times.

Yes sir.

And about those damn thieving Vietnamese employees; you inform each one of them that if they get caught stealing anything they will be dismissed immediately. I am not going to tolerate behavior like that in my battalion especially since we are helping these people by giving them employment.

Yes sir.

And as far as progress out in the villes, you can put anything you want in your monthly report, just make it look good.

Sir, you said a moment ago that I was to win the hearts and minds of the villagers out there.

And your point is?

What does that mean sir?

Talk with Sergeant Jackson. He’ll fill you in.

Yes sir.

That will be all Lieutenant.

Sergeant Jackson and the MEDCAP team were sitting in the open-bed of the truck chatting idly. They paid no attention to the approaching Lieutenant. Sam was seated in the cab of the truck next to Chambers. Seeing her smiling at him eased his anger. He quickly slid in next to her and promptly forgot about the Colonel.

Coming out of the 8th Service Battalion, the old truck turned right onto an orange-dirt road and headed west into the nearby foothills. As the truck lumbered along it passed a 40 foot high concrete cylindrical structure which was in ruins. Jagged chunks of concrete lay all about, rusted steel rods protruded like compound fractures and higher up, square-cut openings peered out emptily at the lush green hills. Sam watched her new boss studying it, craning his neck out the window. When leaned back in and looked at her, she said flatly:

French architecture. He looked into her face, on which tiny beads of sweat were forming; her eyes were narrow and tight.

The truck snaked its way up into the foothills, Chambers working the stick-shift and clutch in familiar regularity. At a bend in the road, which gave a commanding view, Sam raised her hand.

Stop please.

Yes Ma’am, Chambers answered. With a quick snap of her head she motion for Brady to open the door. He stepped out and helped her down. She walked out in front of the truck to the side of the road and stood there with her fists gently resting on her slender hips. Brady approached.

Welcome to my country sir, Vietnam. He came up next to her and took in the panoramic expanse of rice paddies. Thick tree lines and hedgerows jutted into the rice fields from either side. Shading his eyes from the bright sun, he could just make out peasants, wearing conical-straw hats, standing in the paddies; others were walking behind water buffaloes pulling plows. Down there in the stagnant smell, the rice farmers, their hard feet squelching in the intense greenery, were working in the rhythms of their long gone ancestors who toiled in these same fields. Brady could sense the deep connection these people had to this fertile land. And down at the end of the valley, a rugged mass of blue mountains rose up, in front of which hung thin white clouds.

There, she said pointing straight down into a tree line, is Hoa Khuong. And over there Phuoc Thuan. He turned slightly and saw another tree line snake its way along the base of steep hills. These our villages. They Buddhist. Most Vietnamese Buddhist. What think you my country sir?

It’s beautiful Sam, but it’s more than a little hot.

Leonard

Yes sir. Is very hot in Vietnam. Nothing can be perfect. Even in perfection lie flaw since no can be. He looked at her perplexed. She patted him on the arm. Come sir. We go help my people. We go Hoa Khuong first. Is closest.

Coming down into the valley, Chambers had to slow the truck down as it passed by a long column of wretched-looking Vietnamese. Worn old men clasped bundles; the women had naked babies perched on their hips and little ragged kids shuffled alongside the adults.

Who are these people? Brady asked.

Refugee, Sam answered flatly. War drive them from their home. Maybe Phuoc Thoi or Thai Lai. They go now to Da Nang or Dogpatch.

What’s Dogpatch?

It is bad place, refugee camp. I show you sometime. Long accustomed to such sights, Sam did not look back. Brady kept staring. He saw one young girl who was no more than 10 years-old. The top half of her thin body was covered in scabs and open sores. She wore dirty black pants; her long hair was matted to the side of her head, tears were streaming down her small, round face. She caught Brady’s stare and quickly disappeared in the receding column.

The truck turned off the dirt road and came to a stop in front of two sun-glinting rice paddies. Brady got out, helped Sam down and went to the back of the truck. He saw two black Marines, in full combat gear, standing there casual like, the butt of their M-16s resting on their hips. Their faces showed no emotion. Sergeant Jackson, with the help of another Marine, was offloading a footlocker with a Navy Corpsman.

Sa, this is Corporal Farnsworth and Lance Corporal Higgins from security platoon. They are our protection out here. The two infantrymen just nodded at the officer. Jackson turned to the thin boy, with the mop of blonde hair hanging down over his forehead, almost covering his eyes. Sa, this is Donald Doc Muessen." The Corpsman saluted.

"Pleased to meet you sir, the kid doctor said smiling.

And this is Corporal Myers, your radioman, Jackson said nodding to the slightly-built Marine with the heavy PRC 25 radio on his back.

Sir, Myers replied.

Lieutenant Brady is our new Civil Affairs leader and he’s off to a fast start, Jackson quipped. Brady smiled awkwardly, took his cover off and wiped the sweat off his brow.

You’ll get use to the heat sir, Muessen commented.

Just like breathing in a sauna, Myers added smiling.

Sir, Sam said pointing to the thick tree line across the paddy. Hoa Khuong there.

Chambers, stay with the truck, Jackson ordered.

I know the drill Sarge, Chambers answered putting on his flak jacket and helmet.

Higgins take point, Farnsworth bring up the rear, Jackson barked and the MEDCAP team, in patrol formation, single file, set off out onto the paddy dyke.

You ever run into any trouble out here? Brady asked Jackson feeling exposed out in the open.

No sa, not during the day. If we ever did catch a sniper round, you’d be on the horn and we’ve have air support ASAP; besides the Seventh Marines are nearby.

We’ve got their frequency to call for support, Myers put in.

Yea, good old Victor Charlie plays rice farmer during the day, Jackson explained, but it’s at night you have to be especially vigilant. That’s when the war begins, every night.

Higgins stepped off the patty dyke and proceeded up a path that disappeared into a dense grove of coconut trees. Brady looked up at the thick wall of greenery as they moved into its shade. The group stopped after a short distance. Jackson set Higgins and Farnsworth up at both ends of the trail. Myers put a radio check into battalion; Muessen opened his footlocker and started laying out assorted medical supplies. Brady could see thatched huts nestled in amongst the dense foliage. Sam walked up the path and started talking rapidly to some ragged-looking kids. The heavy air smelled of rotten vegetables, dung and other things Brady couldn’t identify. Pools of white light dotted the ground.

Sam came back and, behind her, emerging from the greenery, the people of Hoa Khuong. Like the refugees on the road, they were mostly old men, women, and children. They wore rags for clothing and reeked of malnutrition. They formed a line in front of Doc Muessen and Sam interpreted for each, what their ailment was. Half the children, slung on their mother’s hips, were naked and covered with skin rashes. An old man, with a stringy white beard, leaning on a crutch to support his one leg, stood off to the side, nodding his frail head. As Muessen handed out pills, salves, band aids and bandages the women smiled and Brady saw that they all had black teeth. He wondered how they got like that. One mother held out her daughter’s hands which were covered in sores. When Muessen poured hydrogen peroxide, the sores immediately changed into a white foam; the villagers gathered around amazed and started talking and laughing. The little girl, afraid, started crying. Knots of half-naked children clustered around Brady and started running their spidery fingers along the blonde hair on his forearms, giggling repeatedly darting back and forth.

Sam, how do you say hello? Brady asked.

Sin chao, she said smiling. He said it a few times and they repeated it in pockets of laughter. Some of the people, when they approached the kid corpsman, were extremely nervous; some were crying, talking rapidly. The Lieutenant watched the gentle and firm manner in which Sam communicated with each person. He didn’t know what they were saying, but saw the villagers bow to her in humble appreciation. Off to the side he saw Jackson talking with Higgins; they were both smoking cigarettes and seemed detached. He looked back at Sam handing out tablets, giving instructions in their use and smiled.

Brady decided to have a look around. He quietly stepped away and walked down the dirt path deeper into the ville. He came upon a cluster of thatched huts around a sunlit opening. Mounds of rice lay on round straw mats drying in the sun. He peeked inside one of the huts and saw the bareness of their existence: dirt floor, simple table and chairs, and set against the wall, what seemed like an altar with faded pictures of old people. The odor of charred incense hung in the humid air. To one side an open hearth and some pots served as a kitchen; off to the other side was a small room with a wood-framed bed. The other huts were the same, all neatly swept out. Next to one hut he saw a pen with a large water buffalo in it. As he approached it snorted, swung it flat-horned head from side to side and started pawing at the ground. Instinctively he reached for his .45.

Back away slowly Lieutenant. It was Farnsworth with his M-16 leveled at the water buffalo. Our scent is different and they don’t like it. Best to stay on the main trail sa. You don’t want to go wandering around here alone.

You’re right, Brady answered relaxing his grip. As he backed away he bumped into Myers, who, like a puppy dog, was standing right behind him smiling.

I always stay close sir in case you need to use the radio.

Understood. Let’s get back to the group. As Farnsworth watched them disappear back down the trail he laughed to himself. ‘ They don’t know shit,’ he though and lit up a cigarette, totally bored.

When Brady reappeared Sam waved him over to the large group of villagers standing around the one-legged old man.

"Sir, this is Nguyen Vanh Ving. He is village elder. Brady who didn’t know if he should shake hands with him, smiled awkwardly. When Sam introduced him, the old man clasp his bony hands together and bowed humbly. Sergeant Jackson flicked his butt and stepped closer to the group.

Sam, ask Ving if there is anything we can do to help, Brady said. She translated and Ving answered in low, but audible tones.

Sir he say when hot season come, rice paddy dry too fast, hurt crop. Need to pump water from nearby stream. He would greatly appreciate new water pump.

That shouldn’t be too difficult, Brady replied.

Sa, Jackson cut in. I wouldn’t promise too quickly. It may not be that easy to get. Brady glared at Jackson, annoyed.

How can that be when we’ve got a whole battalion full of supplies, not to mention Force Logistics Command which supplies all of I corps?

Everything for the chief here has to be requisitioned through G-5 sa and that takes time. They’re dealing with hundreds of villes. Brady knew Jackson was right, but was determined to do something.

Sam, tell the chief that we will try, but can’t promise anything soon. She translated and the old simply nodded his head in understanding. Looking at the severe skin rashes on the children and a place to vent his frustrated anger, Brady turned to Muessen. Can’t you do anything for these scores?

Sir, I give em soap and tell them to wash with it, but they never use it.

Sir, I will explain, Sam said. "Come now. We go