An Imperfect Man

By Ted Hovey

John Carew grew up in the shadow of his deceased father’s heroic war acts. Seeking his own identity, John joins the military and goes on a harrowing journey that begins his quest to find God. Along the way, he makes some bad choices that bring heartache in his personal relationships. Although he achieves many of his life goals, he yearns t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Prairie Publishing
• Release date: Aug 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9780990809739

Ted Hovey

Ted Hovey earned his MFA at Hamline University. He served with the U.S. Army in Munich, Germany, from 1960 to 1962 - the period of the Berlin Wall Crisis and the Cuban Missile Crisis. After the Army, Hovey worked as a CPA.

Book preview

1

The idea that soldiers care so much about their comrades that they will give their lives to save the lives of others is a lie. I know. I saw what really happens. I was in Vietnam, and I was behind the Iron Curtain in East Germany. No one cared about me, and beyond doing what I could to keep them alive, I didn’t care much about any of the others. One night in Nam, two of our men died because no one cared, or at least we didn’t care enough.

The rain came down in waves. Hard downpours alternated with steady, gently falling rain. We waited in the jungle at the edge of a clearing. Our plan was to wait until the last light was off in the hospital building — and then to wait one hour longer.

Our mission was to find a Russian doctor and bring him back to our side, safely. He had somehow signaled the CIA his intent to defect from the Soviet Union. Our team of Army Rangers was selected to go in and get him. This was what we were trained to do. We were four soldiers working as a team.

The dim lights went off in the camp hospital, one by one. We waited. Our team was lead by Sergeant Gene Rector. Sergeant Weld was our radio operator. Sergeant Lucas carried a light machine gun. My role was that of medic for the team. Also, I spoke Russian.

This set of skills was the reason I was flown from Germany to Vietnam to be part of this mission.

When the time came, Sergeant Rector gave the signal. We slithered through the wet grass at the edge of the jungle. I crawled toward the camp hospital in the center of the clearing.

The camp was not closely guarded, probably due to the fact that the camp was actually in Laos. It was on the Ho Chi Minh trail that ran from North Vietnam southward — the route used by the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) to move troops and supplies into South Vietnam.

There were no barbed wire coils or other perimeter defenses. We saw two guards pacing among the few buildings — the hospital and several smaller huts. Rector quietly killed one with a knife, and Lucas killed the other. I went directly to the hospital and entered.

I stood quietly inside the hospital and noticed that I was near the doors of several offices. The patient ward was about fifteen feet down a hallway. There was a strong scent of medicine. I took a penlight out of my field jacket pocket and shined it on the office doors. One door had a small sign with Dr. Rogotsky’s name on it.

I tapped lightly on the door. I heard voices inside, and then the door opened about an inch. I immediately pushed the door open and went inside. I held my finger to my lips as I shut the door behind me. I shined my penlight on the doctor, and then at the person in the bed. It was a girl.

Get ready to go, I said in Russian.

But … said the doctor.

Who is she? I said.

She is coming with me.

No, she isn’t. Now get dressed and pack whatever you need into these.

I handed Dr. Rogotsky a rucksack and a smaller musette bag, and gestured for him to get busy.

We had planned this operation and practiced it — time was of the essence.

We’ve got three minutes, doctor.

She has to come with me.

Who is she?

She is my nurse.

You won’t need a nurse where we’re going.

But — I am in love with her.

I don’t care. She stays here.

The girl was getting dressed.

I felt for my knife and opened the snap on its sheath.

The doctor stuffed items of clothing and toiletries into the bags. He reached over to touch the girl and talked to her in Vietnamese. She looked at me with deadly hatred in her eyes. I kept my eye on her as I tried to create a sense of urgency with the doctor. Every second counted now.

A bell rang outside.

Surprise was no longer on our side.

I took the knife out of its case.

The doctor lingered. At one point, he dropped the bags and embraced the girl. I picked up his rucksack and musette bag, and then grabbed the doctor by his shirt and pulled him toward the door. I opened the door and pushed the doctor through.

The girl screamed.

I let go of the doctor, covered the girl’s mouth with one hand, and drove my knife into her with the other.

The girl lay on the floor, her screams were now replaced by soft gurgles. I had to stop her screaming. It had to be done. If we were trapped inside the hospital, it would be over for us. Dr. Rogotsky was frozen in place — he stared at the girl’s lifeless body.

Floodlights came on the minute we stepped outside of the hospital. There were NVA soldiers running around outside. Although armed, they were half dressed, they looked confused, and they were running this way and that. The doctor and I were still fifty feet or so from the edge of the jungle. I shot the two closest guards.

Gunshots were popping. The remaining NVA soldiers shouted as they tried to figure out what the fuss was all about. I struggled to push the doctor along towards the jungle. He was crying. He kept looking back to the hospital. I saw Sergeant Rector firing at the NVA soldiers.

Luckily, my six foot four, one hundred ninety-five pounds was able to move the small-framed doctor steadily toward the jungle and relative safety.

Lucas and Weld shot the floodlights out, but they stood up to do it and were clear targets for the enemy who were now increasing in number. I heard Lucas yell that he had been hit. I heard nothing from Sergeant Weld.

I reached the edge of the jungle with the doctor — Sergeant Rector soon followed us. Bullets were zipping through the leaves and smacking into trees. We turned and shot at the moving dark spots that were the growing crowd of NVA soldiers. I wanted to throw up, but I had to keep the doctor moving. The bile rose in my throat.

I whispered to Sergeant Rector that he should hold on to the doctor while I went back to help Lucas. I would get him to the jungle with us, if possible.

No, Sergeant Rector said.

What? Why not? We can’t leave him there. I’ll check on Weld also, I said.

You stay here, Carew. We’ve got the Russki doc, and that’s our mission.

But what about Lucas and Weld? I said.

What about them? They knew this was a dangerous mission. They were just unlucky.

I’m going back — we can’t leave our men back there, especially not if they’re still alive.

Rector pointed his weapon at me.

If you do, I’ll shoot you too — I kid you not, Sergeant Rector said.

You son-of-a-bitch, I said.

After another short exchange of fire, there were no more flashes from NVA guns. I didn’t see any more shadows. We took the moment and moved further into the jungle.

We moved steadily until the first signs of dawn appeared. Our plan was to become invisible, and to sleep during the day.

We created a shelter of palm fronds and leaves, and laid our ponchos on the ground to sleep on. The doctor was still crying and mumbling, although he alternated his sobs with the most hateful Russian expressions, directed at both Sergeant Rector and me.

Rector asked me what happened in the hospital. I told him about the girl, and that I had killed her, and that I wished I hadn’t. I said I should have gagged her and tied her up in the doctor’s bedroom.

You were right, Carew, Sergeant Rector said. She did have to be wasted. She was holding you up. She could have ruined our whole mission.

How was that? I said. The bell was ringing, so the gooks were already alerted — I could have gagged her and tied her up.

Yeah — but she did alert the guards, Rector said. What the hell difference does it make now, Carew? She’s dead. The doctor’s safe. Now we just have to get back to Da Nang with the good doctor safely in hand.

Rector and I agreed we would trade off sleeping and standing guard, four hours on, four off. I took the first shift awake.

The Russian doctor wouldn’t sleep. All he wanted to do was talk to me. He asked many questions about our mission, and what I thought the probability was that he would get to the United States safely. I had no answers for many of his questions. His questions about life in the United States were easier, but I tried to keep my answers short.

I was tired. We all needed to rest. Doctor Rogotsky asked me again and again why he couldn’t bring his girlfriend with him.

I thought he should have been smart enough to figure that one out by himself.

He asked me why I killed her. I said I had to do it. I wasn’t sure myself, but that is what I told him.

My hands were shaking. That had never happened to me before.

Doctor Rogotsky seemed to be a sensitive as well as an intelligent man. I wanted to get to know him better, but this was not the time. Also, I could sense that he hated me for what I did.

It was dark when Rector woke the doctor and me. We had to make our way back to the clearing that had been chosen for our pickup point. We had stashed a radio there on our way in.

The walk this night went smoothly. The doctor was quiet. His hatred for Sergeant Rector and me was obvious, but whenever the doctor said anything with a hateful tone while looking at the sergeant, Rector responded with a torrent of cuss words in English.

Sometime around 1:00 a.m., I sensed that we were headed in the wrong direction. We would miss the pickup clearing unless we changed our course. I suggested this to Sergeant Rector.

So — college boy Carew thinks I don’t know where we’re going, does he? If you’re so fucking smart, then here — you take the map and compass. I’ll be glad to watch over our commie doctor.

This was Rector’s way of acknowledging he didn’t have a clue as to where we were.

Doctor Rogotsky looked at me with confusion on his face. He could read tone of voice and facial expressions, and they told him to worry even more about his American escorts.

I decided it would be better to decline Rector’s offer. Sooner or later he would figure it out and get us to the landing zone, or as we called it, the LZ. And I could concentrate on keeping the doctor safe.

We walked an additional two hours in daylight — but finally we reached the LZ. The mission plan called for us to be picked up at 1930.

We slept most of the day — it was very hot. That evening we prepared our gear and waited for the chopper to bring us home.

Nineteen thirty came and went. No helicopter appeared. No message came over our radio. There had been no backup plan in case a helicopter could not get to us.

At midnight Sergeant Rector broke radio silence and called our base at Da Nang.

Yankee doodle six, this is bravo one seven, over, Sergeant Rector said.

This is yankee doodle six. Go ahead, bravo one seven, over, came over the radio.

Ah … yankee doodle six. We are sitting here on the North Pole with a gift for you. We are waiting for Santa and his reindeer so that we can be home by Christmas. When will Santa come? Over, Rector said.

Um…, negative on that, bravo one seven. There is no Santa Claus. Over.

What do you mean, there is no Santa Claus? Where the hell is he? Over, Sergeant Rector said.

No response.

Sergeant Rector was beside himself. He ranted and swore. He glared at Doctor Rogotsky. I moved between them.

It took us two more nights of walking before we reached a U.S. Marine outpost. Their supply helicopter gave us a ride to Da Nang.

We checked in at Ranger headquarters and turned Doctor Rogotsky over to the powers that be. That was all part of the original plan.

Sergeant Rector went on an angry search for the reason why we weren’t picked up by our chopper as planned. The real reason was more bizarre than I could have imagined. A new Lieutenant Colonel arrived as part of our chain of command while we were on the mission. He got scared that our LZ was either in Laos, or close enough to give the North Vietnamese propaganda fuel for our operations in Laos. He was right about that, of course — but he put us in danger. There was a lesson for me in that.

I had killed several NVA soldiers. I had failed to silence the girl when I had the chance. So I had killed her. I thought it had to be done in order for us to accomplish our mission. Maybe she was innocent. Maybe she was just in love with the doctor. Still, as hard as it may seem, I decided she had to die. After all, we were operating according to the underlying assumption that the mission came first — no matter what the cost.

I couldn’t believe the incompetence shown by Lucas and Weld. They paid for it with their lives. Sergeant Rector didn’t escape my judgment. His leaving Lucas and Weld behind was uncalled for.

I decided not to report Rector for leaving Lucas and Weld out there. So what? After all, Rector might have been right. Our being heroes might have meant that we wouldn’t get Doctor Rogotsky safely back to our base.

As for the doctor, once we reached Da Nang he seemed giddy — he was on his way to the great amusement park called the United States of America, the land of round doorknobs and big, well-stocked stores.

Most of all, I felt that I had failed as a soldier. I shouldn’t have had to kill the girl. I should have defied Rector and gone back to check on Lucas, at least. On the other hand, we had to do these things in order to complete our mission — or so I believed. Whether necessary or not, I felt as if my soul had been wounded.

These thoughts woke me up in the middle of the night many times during the ensuing decades.

I wondered if Big Mike would have killed the girl. Was it really necessary? I wasn’t sure.

I just wasn’t sure.

And I kept wondering...where was God that night?

2

My father’s name was Michael Evan Carew. Some of his contemporaries called him Big Mike. His coach at Ohio State called him Big Mack. I called him daddy.

Mike met Florence, my mother, at a county fair in 1938. I was born on August 15, 1939. We lived in Celina, Ohio, where Dad was a high school teacher and a coach.

I have only a few memories of Dad, and those are dim. I was