The Legend of Ma Qui: The American Phantom of Vietnam

By Len Hudson

When First Lieutenant Hugh Jones, an American Infantry officer, and Captain Debbie Stittsworth, an Army nurse, meet in Vietnam, the mortar rounds and bullets are flying. Wishing only to do his job in Vietnam and go home, Jones finds himself in love with the spunky nurse. Her death, at the hands of the enemy, drives him to the verge of insanity and beyond. Ma Qui, the phantom, is born seeking revenge on those who took his love from him. His enemy tries to kill him on the battlefield and follows him home to America. He questions if a man can move on from loss and survive the horrors of war. Other women in his life: Chantell, a Viet Cong soldier, Margaret, a librarian in the Montana Historical Library, Doctor Francine Harder, an Army Psychiatrist and Mrs. Ethel Kimble, a World War II widow, seek to bring him peace even as he saves their lives. Along the way: he leads men in desperate battles, rages in the jungles of Vietnam as the feared American soldier, Ma Qui, saves several peoples lives, including that of President Richard Nixon, excels at the first Army Ranger School for General Creighton Abrams new Ranger Battalion, finds himself leading the life of a spy in North Vietnam and is himself buffeted by the storms of living as he thinks deep thoughts about his life, love and loss. But it isn't until the dedication of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial that Jones finds the peace he has sought for a decade. He finally reconciles with his violent past when he returns to Vietnam, twenty years after his first trip to the embattled nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667875743

Book preview

Death stalked the land

Chapter 1

Death stalked the land. Blood flowed into the creeks and rivers where it was diluted by the monsoon’s relentless drumming. Nations poured out the lives of their youth, in an endless parade of carnage. People rioted. Governments fell. The past was repeated. The future changed. The question, of who was right and who was wrong, was lost by men and women simply trying to survive. It was into this hellish landscape that Hugh Jones’ mind now traveled. Indeed, death stalked the land, and he was death.

June 18, 1972, outside of An Loc, South Vietnam - First Lieutenant Hugh Jones paused before he stepped from the jungle. He touched the knot over his left eye and winced. He removed the bandage covering his right eye and checked to see if the swelling had gone down. No blood came away on his hand, so at least it had stopped bleeding. He took a deep breath and sighed as it escaped.

His radio operator looked at him and grimaced, Damn LT, a common Army substitute for the formal Lieutenant, you look like I feel, all beat to shit.

Jones closed his eyes and nodded grimly. Yeah. I feel like I been through a meat grinder. Jones changed topics. Have you radioed that we are coming in with twenty-nine friendlies?

Yes, sir. We are supposed to pop smoke to let them know where we are.

All right, Jones said. We are popping smoke. The RTO relayed the message as Jones threw a smoke canister from the concealment of the jungle. It immediately began hissing green smoke onto the ground and into the air.

They see green smoke, the RTO relayed to Jones. I confirm green smoke, he spoke into the radio handset.

With that message complete, Jones led the way up the hill to the American and Vietnamese defenses. All of the men with him were as beaten up as he was. Exhaustion hung from them like a worn and dirty cloak.

For the past two months, he had been advising and fighting beside elements of the Third Ranger Group. An Loc had been under siege since April 13, and the Vietnamese Ranger Group had been instrumental in stopping the North Vietnamese advance. Although he was an infantry officer, his education and degree had earned him a second specialty in Military Intelligence. He usually went to the field with the troops to gather the information the Army needed to defeat the enemy. That nearly always meant doing some fighting too.

Being there also meant he passed accurate information on to his higher headquarters. The average American or Vietnamese grunt always overestimated enemy strength. His job was to find out the strength, morale and the equipment the enemy had and to accurately report it. He also gathered enemy documents when he could.

He stumbled some as he moved up the hill. His legs were tired, and his mind was numb. At the gate to the defensive compound, he saw his commander, Lieutenant Colonel James Hollingsworth, waiting impatiently for him. His RTO mumbled under his breath, but loud enough for Jones to hear, The boss is up there. I wonder what crap job he has for us now.

Hollingsworth nodded at the exhausted officer and stepped aside as his men filed through the gate. Jones counted them as they passed. He wanted to be sure he had all his men and no extras. Satisfied with the count, he turned his tired eyes to Hollingsworth and nodded his head in salute. In Vietnam, you never saluted in the field. Saluting an officer in the field was like signaling, Here he is. Shoot him.

Jones gave instructions to his Vietnamese counterpart to get the troops cleaned up, fed and given any medical care they needed. Then he turned to his commander. Hollingsworth was a no bullshit kind of officer, so Jones knew whatever he wanted was important.

Hollingsworth looked uncomfortable. Jones wondered, as did his RTO, what shit detail he had drawn. I know you have been in the bush for two months, but General Abrams wants a good briefing from someone who was in the thick of it. He wants you in Da Nang ASAP.

Jones took a deep breath and shook his head. Do I have time to clean up and change before I go? That’s a pretty long haul from here.

Afraid not. They want you up there, like yesterday. Plus our billets and facilities have been blown to pieces. You can get a shower and some clean fatigues in Da Nang. He held up a bag and said, I put some cash in there.

Hollingsworth handed him the bag with what felt like a couple of boxes of C-Rations and a folder with orders in it, turned him toward the waiting helicopter and wished him luck. Jones looked at the Colonel, smiled slightly and jogged over to his waiting transportation. Hollingsworth knew what kind of officer Jones was. The young First Lieutenant was a career-minded officer who tackled every assignment with authority and dedication. To him, there was nothing more important than the mission.

The bird lifted off as soon as Jones’ butt hit the seat, even before he was buckled in. He put his head back and relaxed. Just before his mind shut down in sleep, he remembered his first stop in Da Nang. In Da Nang, he had taken a hot shower, eaten hot food and, in the Officers’ Club, drank cold beer. Then he passed out, his head rattling around with the turns of the helicopter. Jones did not even wake up when the helicopter stopped to refuel and pick up other passengers. His state of fatigue was such that he had to be shaken to be awakened at Da Nang. Are you all right, LT? the crew chief asked.

It took Jones a moment to clear his head and figure out where he was. Where are we? he asked groggily. Da Nang? The crew chief nodded his head and helped the tired officer to the ground and pointed to the nearby administration building.

It was almost sunset before Jones got to the Military Assistance Command Vietnam (MACV) remote command building. A very squared-away First Sergeant sat at a desk in the first office in the building and looked up when he entered.

Hello Lieutenant, you look like you need help. Jones nodded, a faint smile on his face. How can I help you? the old soldier asked.

I came over from An Loc to brief General Abrams about the situation there.

The NCO shook his head. You just missed him. I don’t have his itinerary. I will try to find out when he will be back. OK? Jones nodded. I’ll find you someplace to sleep and get you something to eat. Looks like you could fall asleep on your feet.

That I could, First Sergeant.

The old soldier yelled for someone named Adams and gave him instructions to find the Lieutenant a hot meal and a place to sleep. Jones turned to the old soldier and gave him a salute. Thanks, Top.

Forty-seven minutes later, his guide had gotten him fed and led him to a cot in a medical tent labeled Recovery.

This tent hardly ever has anyone in it, so you shouldn’t be bothered. I will wake you up at 0530 for chow, and then we’ll get you clean fatigues and a shower. If there is any shelling tonight, there are a series of foxholes right over there, his guide pointed.

Thanks, Specialist Adams. I appreciate the help. It has been a long day. Adams smiled and left. Jones pulled one of the cots as far back into a corner as he could and spread a blanket on it. He removed his boots and draped his horribly smelly socks over a field chair to air out. Two big rules in Vietnam: take care of your feet and your teeth. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would find a toothbrush. But now he slept.

Roller coaster ride

Chapter 2

Jones slept hard. After more than a month in the field, battling a determined enemy, he was used up, both physically and mentally. Then he started dreaming. He was on a noisy and bumpy roller coaster. It shook him and hurt his ears as the roller coaster thundered through the dark. Suddenly, he was 100 percent awake and knew the noise came from incoming mortar rounds, not an amusement park ride.

After ten months in country, he had learned to come awake instantly and be completely alert. The skill served him well as he almost automatically grabbed his M-16, web gear and pack. No time for the boots now, so he left them and sprinted toward the foxholes Adams had pointed out earlier.

He was getting close and thought he was in the clear when an enormous force from a mortar round explosion behind him collided with his body. He was picked up and thrown through the air like a rag doll. He closed his eyes, pulled his arms in and came down in the foxhole he had been aiming for. The thought that streamed through his mind, as he was projected through the air was, How do I survive being hit by a mortar round? He expected to land hard, but found soft yielding flesh beneath him, cushioning his fall.

He lay there for a moment catching his breath. He mentally surveyed his body for signs of pain that would indicate injuries. He was surprised to be alive. Then something was poking into his stomach from below, and he was sure someone was screaming at him, but he couldn’t hear clearly because his ears were ringing so badly.

Finally, he pushed himself into a more upright position and pulled his foxhole companion to their feet. As his hearing cleared, he began to understand the screaming woman, Were you trying to drown me, you stupid son-of-a-bitch?

Jones looked down and realized he had pushed her, face first, into six inches of muddy water that covered the bottom of their shelter. He could see her face in the light from the flashes of enemy mortar fire. She was totally drenched. Her face was covered by slimy mud and was dripping putrid water.

Jones always carried a clean handkerchief, in this case a large green cloth bandage from his first aid kit. He pulled it from his pocket, held it up to the thoroughly pissed off woman he now faced and offered it to her. With a lopsided smile on his face, he suggested, Perhaps you can use this.

The bandage was fairly clean and only a little bit damp from Jones’ pocket. She looked at it, grabbed it from his hand and began to wipe the mud and water from her face. In the flashes of light, as he watched, he saw that she was a truly remarkable looking woman. Light brown hair surrounded a pleasantly oval face with strong features. Her lips were full, while laugh and character wrinkles tickled the edges of her eyes. When she was finished, she looked at him and said, Thanks, in a way that really meant, No thanks, you idiot.

The light in the foxhole was pretty much constant now, as one side or the other had fired illumination rounds to be able to see in the dark night. He risked a look over the top of the foxhole. Enemy mortars continued to fall and about four hundred yards out, he thought he could see enemy movement. He checked his weapon and put on his web gear so he would have ready access to his spare ammunition magazines. He had a total of one hundred rounds and a couple of grenades on him. That wasn’t much if the enemy pressed the attack.

Are you armed? he asked the woman. 

Of course, she replied as if he were the stupidest person she had ever talked to. We are in Vietnam.

He laughed. But, can you shoot?

I was raised on the ranch in Montana and can shoot a coyote at three hundred yards. Will that work?

How about ammunition?

I’m sitting on three boxes of M-16 ammo and have ten full magazines over here. Think that will be enough?

She was being very abrupt and caustic in her conversation with him after their bruising introduction.

Someone fired more illumination rounds, making it look like daytime, in the middle of what Jones knew would be a very long night. He looked at his watch. It was a little after 2300 hours. The Viet Cong and North Vietnamese liked the time frame from 2300 to 0400 as their favorite attack times. It gave them plenty of time to operate in darkness while their American enemies were trying to rest from their daytime operations. The enemy slept during the day and fought at night. Americans worked all day and also fought at night.

He turned to his companion and extending his hand he said, Hugh Jones, ma’am.

A firm but soft hand shook his in return. Debbie Stittsworth, Captain Debbie Stittsworth.

I guess that puts you in command, ma’am. I am but a lowly First Lieutenant. He ducked as an enemy mortar suddenly struck quite close. Have they been attacking you like this much?

About eight months ago they did. Usually, it is just a few mortars to ruin our sleep. But this feels like something else, don’t you think?

He agreed. This is exactly how the assault on An Loc started, and we just pushed them out of there after almost three months. A lot of dead GIs and ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) along with a lot of VC (Viet Cong) and North Vietnamese.

He peeked over the top of their protection again. He could definitely see enemy activity at the far reaches of his vision. As he watched, he looked around and saw numerous sandbags strewn around. He reached out and began to pull them closer to the foxhole. He was raising and hardening their fighting position.

Soon, Stittsworth began helping to pile more bags around her side of the hole. In minutes, they had raised their protection by about a foot. The extra sandbags gave them something to protect them from enemy small arms fire as they, in turn, fought for their lives. Finally, he constructed two six-inch-wide slits to fire through and added another layer of sandbags taken from the rear of their defenses.

Let’s get this place organized, he said as he began to place spare magazines within reach. He opened the three wooden cases of M-16 ammunition and removed the rounds from their cardboard boxes so they would be easier to grab when they needed to refill empty magazines. OK, I am going to put all these rounds between us. Put your full magazines to your right, and I will put mine over here to the left. When one is empty, just drop it out of your weapon onto the empty crate here by the rounds. Then we can refill when we need to and will know what is full and what is not.

She looked at him and tilted her head closer so she wouldn’t have to shout so loudly over the still incoming mortar rounds. Sounds like you have done this a time or two before. He nodded. This is my first firefight, she said, a slight tremble in her voice. I’m not really supposed to be out here. I just came here to find a private spot to … It was a really rough day.

He smiled broadly. There are a lot of support troops surrounding this position. At least two layers of defenses in front of us so I think our chances of seeing the sunrise are pretty good.

He had to yell so that he could be heard over the cacophony caused by the enemy mortars that had now been joined by American 50 caliber and M-60 machine guns along with the unique sound of American 155 mm howitzers.

There was hardly an inch of Vietnam that wasn’t covered by American artillery fire. It had proven instrumental in many battles, both large and small. It still amazed Jones that, after so many years of fighting in the beleaguered country, the enemy was still strong enough to launch this kind of an assault into the very teeth of the withering artillery fire.

He knew what a well-directed artillery barrage could do. He had seen one artillery battery drop three rounds per gun, a total of eighteen rounds on a company of unprotected infantrymen. There were only a few survivors, and the flesh had been flayed from the rest or they had horrid shrapnel wounds.

He slid back down into the foxhole and re-checked their ammunition, equipment and sandbags. He looked at his battle buddy and saw fear on her face. He reached over and patted her on the shoulder. Sinking down next to her, he explained their battle plan. The VC will be trying to get through to the important stuff behind us. There are a bunch of infantrymen between us and them, but if the enemy is persistent, our guys will have fall back positions, I would guess one or two before they get to us. So, we are really in the clear until they fall back to the foxholes and bunkers around us. That is when we get into the fight. Charlie will only be fifty to seventy-five yards out, so we will have to shoot quickly. He paused as he saw her shrink away and lower her chin to her chest…

He smiled. Captain Stittsworth. She didn’t respond. Captain Stittsworth!

Yeah, yeah, she screamed. I can fucking hear you!

He looked at the commander of the foxhole and smiled. Do you kiss your grandmother with that mouth?

She flipped her hand under her chin and at him. She wasn’t smiling.

OK, then. Stay with me. The only way we get out of here is to fight as a unit. I’ll cover left and you cover right. The enemy will be close, so it will be like shooting fish in a barrel. If we get breaks during this attack, we will refill our magazines and be ready for the next wave. Do not get fixated on one place. Keep your eyes moving, and shoot anything in front of you that is moving. Now, listen very carefully. I said shoot anything in front of our position. You will not have time to decide friend or foe. They will all be the bad guys. So put your weapon on semi-automatic and shoot them all, as if your life and my life depend on it, because they do, he finished.

Jones could almost see the steel growing in the spine of the Captain from Montana with the muddy face. She straightened up, took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. I… I will be ready. When they come, she shuddered a bit, I will be ready.

Have you eaten? he shouted over the thunderous mortar and artillery fire.

How can you think about food right now? She was incredulous but had a motherly boys-will-be-boys expression on her face.

Fighting like this takes a lot out of you. You should eat something. He dug into his pack and came up with a can of peaches, a can of beans and two John Wayne bars. He pulled his dog tags over his head and used his P-38 to open both cans. She took the peaches.

I don’t have any silverware, she commented bewildered.

We’re in the field, Captain. Just drink them out of the can. Stittsworth tried it, and juice slid down her chin, which caused her to laugh. You have a nice laugh, he said as he dug beans from his can with his combat knife.

He was halfway through his John Wayne bar when the enemy shelling stopped. He looked through the firing window he had built in their defenses. His vision was too limited, so he looked over the stacked sandbags. The American artillery was still firing, and the Viet Cong were advancing wildly toward the American positions, his and Stittsworth’s.

Jones ducked back down, John Wayne bar in hand. Stittsworth’s eyes looked like saucers in the dark foxhole. Finish your food. It will be a while.

He had a ritual that he completed every time he and his men went into combat. He wanted to do it now but felt uncomfortable asking it of a total stranger. It’s stupid not to, he told himself. Just ask her, he thought. It’s always worked before, so, ask her!

Captain, he started hesitantly. Captain, before I take my soldiers into a fight, we always say a prayer. Are you good with that?

She smiled, Of course, Lieutenant. Go ahead.

Jones took a deep breath and waited for the Spirit to fill him. Lord, Debbie and I are in kind of a spot here. There are a lot of men out there who will soon be trying to kill us. We ask that you let us prevail today to see the sun rise. If you can’t do that, we ask that you meet us at those Pearly Gates to welcome us into your loving arms. Amen.

Debbie answered with another Amen. Jones looked at her and saw a tear slide down her cheek. He reached over and gently brushed it aside. They leaned in toward each other, and for many moments they were frozen, their helmets touching, and his hand on her cheek. A certain peace and strength flowed through them. They were ready to face whatever would come  … together.

He knew

Chapter 3

The initial wave of Viet Cong and North Vietnamese hit the first ring of the American defenses, along an area of the perimeter about two hundred yards wide, at 0030. It was repulsed after fierce fighting.

Enemy reinforcements appeared from the hazy smoke, and the second wave hit the American defenses at 0117. They overwhelmed the first line of foxholes and bunkers. The Americans fell back where they were joined by other defenders to once again repulse the enemy.

The enemy fell back and regrouped. Again, reinforcements joined their ranks, and they advanced on the American defenses. They hit at 0157. After desperate fighting, the enemy was repulsed. As the enemy retreated, the Americans fell back to positions surrounding Hugh Jones and Debbie Stittsworth’s soggy foxhole.

Jones and Stittsworth had been watching the battle hoping the enemy would take their lumps and end the attack. He turned to her, more nervous than he had ever been while facing the enemy. It’s our turn now. Are you ready?

She nodded her head, her lips pursed.

It took the enemy fifteen minutes to prepare for this assault. Jones and Stittsworth fired their first rounds into the advancing soldiers at 0301. Jones threw his grenades into two groups of Viet Cong and poured withering fire into those men trying to kill him. Stittsworth held up her side of the defense. Although he could not see how accurate her aim was, he could tell from the regular pop-pop-pop from her M-16 that she was firing quickly 

Jones picked up his last full magazine and inserted it into his weapon. He heard his battle buddy screaming, "Look out!!!" She aimed her weapon directly at him, and he ducked. She fired three times, and a dead VC fell onto him. He pushed the little man out of the foxhole and got back into the fight. And just like that, the enemy was