The linguist

By Monty Splain

He was a very low level intelligence officer who had discovered some very unbelievable threats against the United States. So unbelievable that the hier up's in the Chain of Command not only scoffed at it but laughed him out of the room. He had to admit it was far fetched. But communication intercepts keep coming in with evidence to confirm his suspicions. And then incidents, sometimes dangerous incidents started happening to some of the people involved in the investigation. He couldn't tell if somebody was trying to scare them into keeping quiet or if they were only coincidental. He then discovered the threat was homegrown not international terrorists. And may even involve some hier ups in the government, the government he worked for, the government he was supposed to protect. With more evidence coming to light and the danger level rising, he had to uninvolve everybody else on the case for there safety. Now on his own he had to secretly keep up the investigation and also keep himself safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098322960

Book preview

EIGHTY-FIVE

CHAPTER ONE

Graduate high school, West Chicago, a suburb. Father commuted to a government job in Chicago. He was ex-military and suggested it might be a good option for me? If I didn’t keep my grades up, which I didn’t.

I had worked and saved some money for college. I really didn’t know what I wanted to do. I only knew I didn’t want to sit in an office for thirty or forty years and try to look busy, kind of like sitting in school.

I decided to try college anyway, to see if anything caught my interest. Probably a waste of money, but I had nothing else to do anyway. Besides, most of my classmates were going.

One year of college didn’t seem too difficult from high school, except no parents around, on your own, so more partying. College and parties were expensive, and to my surprise, by the end of the year, most of my money was gone.

We had a good time in college, but nothing there had caught my interest and my grades showed it, so I guess it was off to the job market.

I was surprised when my father was not disappointed when I told him I was quitting college to look for a job. I had a couple of friends that were installing metal siding and wanted me to join them.

I thought I might give it a try. Not a bad idea, my father said, but I want you to talk to somebody first.

Who?

See a certain person at this address he advised me, not saying who it was.

I found the address and parked out front, got out of the car, looking up, there it was, US Army Recruiting. Big hint? OK, I had been thinking about it. But from the back of my mind I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go in and see what he had to say.

The first thing he asked for was my draft card. After checking, he said my draft number was twenty-seven, which I already knew, but I still had my student deferment.

Well, he said, at number twenty-seven, you will have to deal with it sooner or later.

I didn’t know what to do and he could tell, so he said, You may not even qualify, you do have to pass the physical. If you don’t pass the exam, your decision is made. If you do, you can decide from there. Then he went on to explain all of the opportunities the Army has to offer: education, job skills, GI Bill, travel, a steady job. The economy was not good, and I really didn’t want to install metal siding. So we made a schedule for the exam in a week.

I went with my friends to install metal siding for that week and was thoroughly unimpressed. I couldn’t imagine doing that for the rest of my life. They seemed to love it: good money and working for yourself. Work as much or as little as you want. Good points, but it lacked something I couldn’t put my finger on. It may have been advancement, or something.

So, a few days later, I was on a bus on my way to the US Military Induction Center. The bus soon filled up with young men heading to the same place I was. We were all wondering and discussing the same thing. What was coming, in or out, A1 or unacceptable?

Some of them actually wanted to get in. Vietnam, the 600-pound elephant. Most thought it was almost over. Some discussion on how to fail the exam and escape induction.

The Induction Center was what we expected, no nonsense, efficient military business. The exam was quick and dirty: Congratulations, you are all A1. Only one of the original bunch was not there.

Twenty-one of us as a group were escorted to the front, where we were told to pass our draft cards forward. The sergeant took them and tore them up and put them in an ashtray and burned them. We all seemed elated. Were we now free to go, with no repercussions?

Our elation was short-lived. He told us to raise our right hands and repeat after him.

We all looked at each other, but everybody said, I promise to serve my country…blah blah blah…so help me God!

The decision was made for me. Good. We were all young, indecisive procrastinators and learned a first life lesson: if you don’t make up your mind, somebody else will make it up for you.

Before we could think about it, off we went, on the train to Fort Lewis Basic Training.

Basic Training: 4:30 AM lights up, beds made, floor waxed, breakfast, and first thing—hair.

What kind of haircut do you want? Big joke. All off. When I got to the barber, he was up to his knees in hair. Somebody said, He’s not a barber, he’s a sheepshearer.

Uniforms, calisthenics, classes, marching, guns, more marching, calisthenics, classes, fourteen-hour days. Yes, the Army does do more before breakfast then some people do all day.

Military regimen saluting and the dream sheet. Dream sheet? What do you want to do in the Army? The only thing on it that looked any good was aviation, so all three choices were aviation. Every Army MOS was on there, including food preparation. I wanted to ask if anyone had ever checked that one.

Of course there was a catch. I had officially volunteered for the draft, so I got the two-year option, but was still (RA). The catch was sign up for more years. I was surprised that with one year of college they pushed hard for me to extend my enlistment. Even a one-year extension and I could get what I wanted.

The alternative was IIB Rifle Infantryman, and to you-know-where.

We all heard that the US was pulling out of Vietnam. But personnel were still being deployed there. The current president was just reelected on a promise to get us out of Vietnam, but no president wanted to be the one to lose the war.

But if it was still an issue, I wasn’t sure the Army was for me. I wanted to experience it before I went any further, so I went with two years and took my chances.

US Army Boot Camp. 4:30: calisthenics, run, shoot, shoot, shoot, classes, military etiquette, march. Fourteen-hour days.

Fort Lewis was also a return center for personnel returning directly from Vietnam. We were told to not fraternize with these people, as if we had time to fraternize with anybody.

I could tell these people were different somehow. I had had very little exposure to the current drug culture. The small community college I went to was out of the mainstream.

But there was something I couldn’t help wondering, if it was the drugs or the Vietnam experience.

Even though I was doing fine in Basic Training, it was a unique experience and nothing I couldn’t handle—exciting, actually. But it was starting to hit me as to where I was and where I might end up.

I knew everybody that served in Vietnam didn’t end up like that, because the drill instructors and the sergeants had all been there and seemed to have handled it.

Don’t worry about it too much, political talk about getting out, OK!

We had medical classes, one of which was about a sucking chest wound: how to seal the wound, and roll the injured onto the wound so the blood would not collapse the good lung. OK.

Two days later, one of the Vietnam Vets shot another one in the chest. Apparently, he had been urinating in the potatoes instead of adding butter. So, the duty officer put a stop to it.

So, we got the wound sealed and rolled wound down and the man lived, but we never saw either one again. Something I had never seen.

Back to run, run, run, classes, shoot, shoot, shoot, the Army no-nonsense business of war.

One soldier shot his finger off and about 10 percent of our original class of 100 were derosed out. But we finally finished the longest two months of my life, and I had a feeling I had accomplished something.

Orders: Infantry A1, Fort Ord, California. Christmas leave.

Christmas leave, two weeks home to Chicago, and cold. Dad was proud, drank beer and told war stories. All friends were full of questions. Great leave but went by fast and off to sunny California.

Wow, I didn’t know any place was so nice and warm in the middle of winter and Monterey Bay right there. I loved it. But back to training, more shooting, classes, calisthenics. But fun stuff too, big machine guns, hand grenades, claymore, AIC, and helo deployment.

But also specialized in SE Asia Training Jungle, body traps, and other weapons used by the soldiers of North Vietnam. IIB we learned everything about tier tactics, weapons, camouflage, the terrain, and topography.

We were all gaining confidence about being successful in Vietnam. Many of the trainees were getting very gung ho. Let’s go.

Even with all of the political talk about getting out, the war raged on. Massive protests against the war. America wanted out, but the politicians didn’t want to lose.

So, after honing us into a professional fighting force, we were ready. Training done. Off to Oakland Army Camp. Orders: Vietnam. But after bombing North Vietnam, they returned to the negotiating table.

Oakland Army Base, three weeks. Some of the soldiers were horrified that we may not go. There was talk of sending us to Korea if the war was over.

But alas, the politicians failed again. To Travis Air Force Base, a large NC with a tiger on it = Flying Tiger, but no flight attendants or food.

Hawaii—Guam—Ti Wan, to a place I couldn’t imagine. Everything was different, the land, the buildings, the trees, the people.

We landed on an asphalt strip sticking out of the jungle. One small tiki shack. Off and on bases and trucks and indoctrination.

Hot and humid California nice, warm. Vietnam to warm, hot, humid. How did people live in this?

I was in the best shape of my life, but this heat and humidity sapped me. I thought I was in trouble. I saw no roads and heavy brush everywhere. I couldn’t imagine walking anywhere.

Many in my unit asked about this and were told don’t worry, this was the helicopter war.

Forward Fire Base. We weren’t replacing anybody; the unit had lost so many personnel that we were just assigned there just to back up the shot-up units that were already there. Oh great, shot up did he say?

They asked us what we had done to deserve to get sent to the most dangerous place in Vietnam.

I knew that wasn’t true, but this place didn’t look too healthy. And the GIs there looked crazy…drug crazy or war weary?

The stories they were telling us were only for scare factor, finding GIs in booby traps, or floating down the river. Oh, and don’t touch the body until you check it for snakes. They like to tunnel in and feed, some of the most venomous snakes in the world. Oh great! What else was here?

Indoctrine: terrain, booby traps, rivers, lakes, rice patties, roads, and hiding places.

Search and destroy. One week. Two weeks. Not a shot fired.

Two weeks here and ten-and-a-half months to go. What happened to the ’72 election pullout?

We eventually got fired on and returned fire. I didn’t even see them. We just shot in that general direction.

Wow, I didn’t even know if I had shot anybody.

It dawned on me: basic training emphasized bullets fired and not accuracy.

I asked one of the vets if he ever saw the enemy.

Oh yes, he said, you’ll be seeing them soon enough. His name was Pistol Pete because he always carried two pistols, a 1911-45 and a .38 revolver. His story was that his previous unit got pinned down by an entire brigade of North Vietnamese marching south on the Cambodia-Vietnam border. He said after 800 or 900 rounds, the M16 got so hot it could fail. He claimed they lost half of their company, and he wasn’t going to be left without firepower again.

Search and destroy wasn’t real fighting. We were flown to a reported place of enemy activity, then destroy them, that was the plan anyway.

Most of us just wanted to do what we had to do and stay alive until the eleven months were up. Short-timers were leaving all the time. Wounded were leaving all the time, but it didn’t seem like the replacements were coming in as fast.

With all the drug busts, most GIs were getting busted. Most people handled this thing with drugs and alcohol.

We searched and we blasted away at them and they blasted away at us. Our big general in-country kept telling us we were progressing and winning the war. Of course, nobody here believed him, including me. We would advance one day or week and retreat the next, a stalemate.

Big rumor, the president, yeah, the one that promised to pull out was in big trouble. Oh great, what now? His cohorts had been caught in a break-in, and even though he denied it, there was proof he knew about it. Impeachment material for sure!

The time did pass. Good, I thought. I might get out of here yet. But the day came when I was a vet there. I was orienting new guys to the place and the next thing I know I’m an acting Jack, E-5 Sergeant, and Platoon Sergeant. Acting Jack was only in duty. I could not advance beyond E-4 because I wouldn’t take that third year. So when they need a platoon leader, they had to make you an acting Jack, not a real sergeant., but they dangled it in front of you with the paper to sign up for the third year.

My first Army paycheck was for fifty dollars. I guess I hadn’t checked that before I put up my right hand.

Trying to run this platoon that was more interested in drugs than fighting was tough. I got rated by the CO every week on my performance. I would always tell him I was only acting Jack, no sergeant training. He wasn’t amused.

Morale was extremely low. We didn’t know anything. Fight, party on days off, and fight again. We didn’t even know our objective.

I thought I would be a little more informed as an acting Jack, but no. We were bombing Hanoi and intercepting supply lines in Cambodia and racking up the body count and supposedly winning. Big news, president up for impeachment, but instead he resigned? What now? Vice President takes over Vietnam war, or what, public wants out. But we are still here and so is the enemy.

I had come close to my 800- or 900-round limit in my M16. I could tell because I could smell it. I commanded retreat. That smell was something you never forget. The barrels were almost red hot. The camp field officer called me over. I’m sure he was not happy.

You left the other two platoons out there, he said.

Saved, they were in fast retreat, also with jammed M16s too hot and taking casualties. I got an Attaboy but no stripes. The only thing worse than retreating was losing men. The CO had to explain that up the channel. Losing men was the tough part, bad for morale and public weariness of the war.

Peace talks break down. Fight, party, fight! CO had me giving classes on M16 overheat and failing. It is a major problem.

CHAPTER TWO

Murcheson to platoon sergeant, smaller guy, glasses, geeky, looking not platoon sergeant material I think, but he has two years of college compared to my one. He is also a two-year man. He was nervous, so we teamed our platoons up and kept them together for the rest of the tour.

Jon Tenis in Murcheson platoon, tall hillbilly from Tennessee, easy to remember, non-druggy, had a Vietnam girlfriend, and to our surprise had, through her, learned to speak, understand, and write almost all of the Vietnamese language—unbelievable! It is a very complex language. All of our interpreters were South Vietnamese Army soldiers.

I didn’t know if the Army had any US linguists that would speak the language. He was so good when we interrogated people in the small farming villages; he could tell if they were nervous or not and if he suspected something was amiss. He was an asset to our two platoons mainly because he looked like he hadn’t finished high school. Nobody suspected.

We teased him about not having a girlfriend for the normal reason, but just to talk to her. He said she was a low-maintenance girlfriend and wanted to learn English well. In the process of teaching her, he had unexpectedly picked up the Vietnamese language. I told him to play dumb and pretend he didn’t understand anything, and later give me a full report on exact interpretations of villagers and South Vietnamese linguists.

While traversing a village one day, the linguists were conversing with the locals, and supposedly uncovered a large cache of North Vietnamese munitions and supplies in a hidden valley just to the west. They suggested it was lightly guarded and that we should proceed up the valley and destroy the cache.

While coordinating with Murcheson on what to do, Tenis came and found us. He said something was up, maybe a trap.

I decided to find out. I ordered the two South Vietnamese linguists to take the lead and show us exactly where the cache was. That was an unusual request, and they were surprised. I could see fear in their faces. I told everybody to stand by and called Murcheson for a platoon sergeant conference.

We decided that we could destroy the cache as easily with an air strike as by going there ourselves. The Air Force coordinator agreed and sent the air strike.

As the first strike arrived, there was much communication going on. We weren’t sure what was going on, but before we knew it, the next strike came in with napalm. The Air Force came in with more strikes than we had requested. The whole valley was engulfed in flames. I went to the Air Force to find out what was going on. They said the higher ground of the entire valley was occupied by over 1,000 North Vietnamese and Viet Cong.

Tenis was right and probably saved all of our lives. I arrested the two linguist interpreters. We mopped up and took several prisoners of war and a large body count.

CHAPTER THREE

Returning with our POWs and big success, the CO wanted to see me right away. As I got to his office, I noticed the battalion commander’s vehicle there also.

How did you know?

I gave my full report, and of course Tenis’ involvement in all of this, but accolades, no, not in the military. Harsh consternation. Why hadn’t I reported such a valuable asset to the chain of command, so the whole battalion could have benefitted from his expertise?

I had to defend myself. I didn’t know we seriously lacked American, Vietnamese language experts, or that the in-country ones couldn’t be trusted. After a long debrief, the battalion CO left. The company CO winked at me and gave an Attaboy.

Tenis was reassigned to Battalion Headquarters, and the war…police action went on. We blasted away at them and they blasted away at us. It finally dawned on me one day: just what was I doing here, shooting at people, trying to kill them in their country no less?

The war dragged on and on. The only thing there that caught my attention was the helicopter. I think I fell in love with it. We went all over the country and from up there you could see everything, the layout of the land, the enemy positions, possible hiding places. Everything. I conversed a lot with the pilots and hung out with them, riding on training and maintenance missions. I preferred that in my spare time, rather than hang out in the drug-infested villa.

One of them, a good friend, WO II Grimes, suggested I become a helo pilot. So I checked and I would only need one more year of college and pass a WO aptitude test. The Army allowed you to take telecourses from the University of Maryland to finish the one year, so for something to do I tried it. Before I knew it, I had completed it. Having something like this to do helped the time pass faster.

I reported to WO II Grimes that I had completed the course. And now had enough college credit hours for the WO Aptitude Examination. He scheduled it immediately. I was surprised. I didn’t know I could even take it over there. So for nothing else to do I took it. I didn’t know where I was going with this, except a sense of accomplishment.

It was the standard Military Commercial Training Examination, which I had been involved with for my duties as acting Jack. I passed it by one point.

Accomplishment. I felt good.

WO II Grimes then scheduled me for the flight physical. This was going pretty far. I held tight to my twenty-four-month enlistment and scheduled a depose date. I think I had had enough of the Army. This war went on and on.

I was soon brought back to reality from my helo elation. On a search and destroy, I ordered one of the brothers, Johnny and Rocky, on the buddy plan. I ordered Rocky to take point. Johnny and Rocky were not good at taking orders. They were only there for the GI Bill and the drugs. It was always hot and humid, and the less clothes you wore, the more comfortable you were, especially the WWII steel pots. It was extremely important that the point man wear his, because he was there to draw fire for the purpose of locating the enemy. Whenever I was out of sight, he would remove it. I had to yell at him several times to keep it on.

Unfortunately for Rocky, we didn’t encounter the enemy, we encountered a true born sniper, who was either very lucky or very good. Rocky didn’t know what hit him. Direct shot to the head. I think he was dead before he hit the ground.

I directed all fire toward where the shot had come from. Not accurate, but lots of it. We never did see him.

Pistol Pete came on the two-way and told us to shoot high, which we did. Pistol Pete was in the trees and located the sniper and dispatched him with one of his pistols.

Johnny went nuts after seeing his brother shot. He turned on me, but several of the men got between us. So he turned to the dead sniper and emptied his twenty-round clip into him. As soon as he had, we grabbed him and disarmed him. He went crazy. We almost had to tie him up, but he soon calmed down. I called it off. Personnel problems, back to camp. One body count. One casualty.

At commanding officer debrief, I expressed my concerns. I said I thought Johnny could be dangerous. Almost immediately, the clerk came in to report that Johnny was at the Medical Center, apparently an overdose.

This incident had affected me more than I thought. No sleep, being very shook and paranoid on missions. I couldn’t believe it, but I actually thought about trying some of the myriad of drugs that were available, to try to sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. The look on Johnny’s face—it was hard to see a young man die. Was it my fault?

The commanding officer said I could see a therapist. But luckily, before I decided to try that, I ran into WO II Grimes. I related the whole incident to him. He suggested I not see the therapist. It would look bad on my application to be a WO helo pilot. Great.

The closest flight physician had been deposed back to the States, so I was unable to take the flight physical. I don’t know why, but I procrastinated on seeing the therapist, something in the back of my mind. But I had had enough, and I wanted out.

At the next debrief, I asked the CO just what we were doing here, and were we accomplishing anything. To my surprise, in a weak moment, I found out he was as disgruntled as the rest of us. But then he regained his composure and recited something about the Gulf of Tonkin incident and Communist domination. But how many were going to be killed doing it?

We all wanted out, and we could feel from the consensus back home that it was coming, the big pullout. But we were still here. Nobody wanted to be the last GI to die in Southeast Asia just before the big pullout.

Then it happened. The Draft stopped. Unbelievable! Would anybody volunteer to come here?

A new phrase: NVA. North Vietnam Army? No. New Volunteer Army. The President of the United States was