The Village by Bing West Page B

the fields, and he would find them trying to coax the girls into the bushes. Set them on their knees in the hamlet to plant small vegetable gardens, and they would sneak off to an abandoned hut to drink beer. Scatter them at night in four-man teams among the houses of Binh Yen Noi to trap VC, and, if they felt it safe, they would cluster together, light a lantern and play cards. If they heard a suspicious noise, they would blow out the light and remain huddled together, inviting a grenade. Good-natured young men by day; frightened children by night.
    Their leader was different. Phuoc was in his thirties, a pleasant, intelligent man who knew the people and the Viet Cong. Tactics and fighting did not interest him. The second day he was in the village, he suggested that his men be combined with the PFs under the leadership of the Marines. Phuoc’s talents lay in talking and listening, a business to which he devoted most of each day. He believed he could outthink the Viet Cong, and that the people would warn him of their approach. So, like Lam, he would stroll around the hamlet in the early morning, talking with the farmers on their way to the fields and stopping by the market to gossip among hundreds of women who congregated there. Unlike Lam, he carried no weapon.
    The night patrols remained the responsibility of the Marines and PFs, and Beebe usually let the patrol leader choose his own men. It was generally agreed that Brannon’s patrol group was the best, because it had Luong. Nguyen Van Luong did not look impressive. He had a flat face, slightly protruding teeth and a squat body scarcely taller than his M-1 rifle. He was middle-aged and had fought for the Viet Minh against both the Japanese and the French. He drank too much and hated to farm or fish. But he could worm his way through a dry thicket without breaking a twig and he could spot a Viet Cong on nights so dark other patrollers could not see the man in front of them. Luong loved to play jokes, and that was what attracted him to Brannon. In turn, Luong’s reputation attracted followers among the PFs. In particular, the younger of two brothers named Khoi attached himself to Luong. Khoi was a pleasant, unobtrusive youth and Luong didn’t mind his company.
    About four nights after the arrival of Phuoc and the RDs, Brannon’s group was slated for a short patrol through Binh Yen Noi. Beebe had decided to go with them. While waiting to get started, Brannon was, as usual, clowning with Luong. This annoyed Beebe, who was phoning in the patrol route to company headquarters.
    â€œBrannon,” Beebe yelled, “why don’t you and Luong get out of here? Go play in a paddy or something.”
    Unfazed, Brannon replied, “O.K., we’ll start heading toward the ville. You and the others can catch up. Let’s di-di, Luong.”
    The two best shots in the combined unit left, and Beebe leisurely finished sending in his list of map coordinates. Brannon and Luong had been gone fully five minutes before Beebe took Khoi and started out after them.
    Wanting to overtake Brannon before he reached the shadows of the hamlet treeline, Beebe moved at a fast clip, with Khoi lagging behind. It was cloudy, but there was enough light to see about fifty yards out into the paddies. Beebe was not worrying about security, since Brannon was somewhere on the road out in front.
    Brannon and Luong had walked away from the fort side by side, wisecracking and goosing each other with their rifle barrels. Both came alert as they neared the dark treeline. To their left were paddies, the trees were in front of them, and the cemetery marked by grass lumps and white tombs lay to their right.
    â€œDung lai,” Luong said.
    Brannon stopped. Luong was backing up. No lights and no sounds were coming from the hamlet. It was too early for such quiet. Luong saw movement behind a gravestone.
    Squatting, he fired. Brannon flopped down on the trail beside him, and brought his