Page 56 of Cry Havoc

Tom watched Quinn take his seat in the back of the jeep and turn to look at the trail vehicle as the convoy lurched forward toward Saigon.

CHAPTER 16

THE TAN SON NHUTAir Base was located in the middle of the city. As soon as the convoy passed through the gates of the airport, they were in what the French had once called the Pearl of the Orient.

Saigon was a bustling city in transition. Caught between old and new, it had become the treasured jewel in a conflict they had not asked for, a prize of the Cold War, a place where the tensions between the Soviet Union and the United States had turned hot. Colonial-style buildings stood in opposition to the encroachment of modern structures in various stages of construction.

The roads were paved and surprisingly smooth compared to the potholed streets around Phu Bai. The sidewalks were still made of dirt and packed red clay. They lumbered along, passing storefronts with awnings where women window-shopped and children played at their feet. Tom wondered how the kids kept their white T-shirts and tan pants so clean. Peugeot, Renault, Citroën, and Simca vehicles that looked like they belonged in a previous decade clogged the boulevards, as motorcycles, scooters, and bicycles ridden by people wearing the traditionalnón láwide conical hats of bamboo, straw, or palm leaves wove in and out of the traffic, through the dust and exhaust that filled the air, with what appeared to be a careless abandon. Tom gazed at one motorbike that was stacked with a family of six.Unbelievable.Adding to the contrast between old and newwere occasional horse-drawn carriages. Motorized and pedaled rickshaws ferried passengers through the chaos.

Everywhere Tom looked he saw advertisements, some with familiar names like Coca-Cola, Shell, Biere “33,” and others for products he couldn’t quite discern. ARVN jeeps and cargo trucks filled with South Vietnamese soldiers and the occasional tracked APC were ignored by the throngs of people congesting the streets.

The convoy rumbled by restaurants, hotels, coffee and tea shops, tailors, markets, a Caltex gas station, theSaigon Daily Newsoffices, a bookstore, a florist, and multiple ornate cinemas. They were all showing French films of which Tom had never heard. Blue and white Renault 4CV taxis that looked like elongated Volkswagen Beetles were everywhere. The smog mixed with burning trash and the concrete dust from construction sites threatened to extinguish what was left of old Saigon.

The potent French influence, once a mighty symbol of imperial prestige, was now a sad reminder of the limits of empire. A legacy in ruin. A vestige of imperial hubris.

I wonder if we are on the same path?

They maneuvered through a large roundabout surrounded by buildings adorned with billboards. Tom couldn’t believe they made it through without crushing a scooter or rickshaw.

He looked at Amiuh, who shook his head. The Montagnard tribesman was not comfortable in the city.

The convoy slowed to a stop and Tom stood up in the back.

“What’s up?” he asked the gunner, who had lit another cigarette.

“Nothin’. Just some construction. Gonna reroute.”

The lead vehicle had come to a stop at a roadblock. The street was being repaved. Tom watched as Captain Lam turned and motioned with his hand to the truck behind him that they were going left.

“This normal?” Tom asked.

“It isn’t not.”

Tom shot him a puzzled look at the use of the double negative and then moved his eyes to the structures to their right and left before sitting back on the bench across from Amiuh.

“Tommy-son?”

“Detour,” Tom responded.

Amiuh shook his head.

“I don’t like it either,” Tom said. “We’ll be there soon.”

The big vehicle surged from first gear to second as it took a left and followed the three vehicles in front down a narrow side street. It was less populated than the one they had been on moments earlier. Almost abandoned.

“Stay alert,” Tom told the MPs, wishing he had one of their rifles.

“Tommy-son.”

“I know.”

Tom stood again and looked at the U.S. jeep between them and the ARVN cargo truck that held their prisoner. He could see Quinn arguing with Eldridge.

The two MPs were standing now as well, tense and on edge.

Only the .50 gunner looked relaxed.

The bus appeared with surprising speed from a perpendicular side street and collided with the lead jeep. The noise of breaking glass and bending metal was horrific. The bus pushed the smaller vehicle across the street and sidewalk, into a bakery, and came to a stop blocking the narrow road.