Up Country by Nelson DeMille Page A

This continued for perhaps two or three minutes, then the lieutenant turned his back on the captain, and walked toward the opening through which they had entered.
    I then saw the captain draw his pistol and shout something to the lieutenant, who turned back toward the captain. Nothing more was said, and the captain shot the lieutenant in the front of his head. The lieutenant’s helmet flew into the air, and the man was thrown back and lay dead on the floor among the rubble.
    I was so surprised at this that I failed to react as the captain ran out of the building. I waited to see if the sound of the pistol would bring enemy soldiers, but there was much gunfire and explosions around the city, and this single shot was not heard above the others.
    I lay there and looked down through the hole until nightfall. Then I descended the staircase and went to the body of the dead American. I took his canteen of water, some cans of food, his rifle and pistol, his wallet, and other items from his body. He had a fine watch, which I took, but as you know, if I were captured by the Americans with this watch, or any other American items, I would be shot. So, I will have to decide what to do with the things I have taken.
    I thought you would be interested in this occurrence, though I can attach no meaning to it.
    Have you heard from our parents and sister? I have heard from no one in Tam Ki for two months. Our cousin, Liem, has written to me and said that they see trucks filled with our wounded comrades passing through each week, and long columns of healthy
comrades marching south to liberate our country from the American
invaders, and from their Saigon puppet soldiers. Liem says the American bombers have
increased their activity in the area, so, of course, I am worried about our family. He
says the food in Tam Ki is sufficient but not plentiful. The harvest in April should
provide ample rice for the village.
    I have not heard
from Mai, but I know she has gone to Hanoi to nurse the sick and wounded. I hope she will
be safe there from the American bombs. I would have liked her to remain in Tam Ki, but she
is very patriotic, and goes where she is needed.
    My brother, may you be safe and well, and may this letter
find its way to you, and then to our family. If mother, father, and sister read this, I
send my greetings and my love. I have much faith that I will be out of Quang Tri in a day
or two, in a safe place so that I may fully recover, and continue with my duty to free our
country. Write to me and tell me how it goes with you and your comrades.
    (Signed) Your loving brother, Vinh
    I refolded the letter and thought about what I’d read. This letter, written to a soon-to-be-dead brother certainly gave me a different perspective of the war. Yet, despite the stilted translation, and the patriotic tag-ons, I thought this was the kind of letter that could have been written by an American GI; the subtext of loneliness, homesickness, fear, concern about family, and, of course, the barely hidden anxiety about Mai, who I guessed was a girlfriend. Girlfriends working in military hospitals in the big city were certainly subject to some temptations and pressures the world over. I smiled.
    I felt that I could relate a little to Tran Van Vinh, and I realized that we’d once shared the common experience of war at the same time and place. I might even like the guy, if I actually met him. Of course, if I’d met him in 1968, I would have killed him.
    As for Lee, remarkably our paths may also have crossed. My battalion of the First Cavalry Division, after the action at Quang Tri in February, was airlifted to Khe Sanh in April to relieve the siege there, then airlifted into the A Shau Valley in May. We were an air mobile unit, meaning that wherever the shit was hitting the fan, we’d go in by helicopter. How lucky can a guy get?
    Well, enough pleasant reverie. I re-read the letter, concentrating on the details and circumstances of the alleged murder.