Casca 11: The Legionnaire (8 page)

"The last months of the Japanese occupation were a most confusing time with the shift in power bases taking place daily. The Japanese had disarmed all the French, who had been ruling in the name of the Vichy government. But once France went openly to the side of the Allies, the Japanese put most of their soldiers under barracks arrest and imposed curfews on all civilians. The Japanese puppet government of Premier Kim was a farce.

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The only true resistance to the Japanese came from the different nationalist groups, such as the Viet Minh, or the Hoa Hoa or Cao Dai. These and a dozen others all had one common goal: Liberation of their country from all foreigners. Beyond that, all the ideologies were much different. Only against the Japanese was there any cooperation, and that was seldom coordinated. Each group acted as it wished, without any central leadership, that is, until Ho Chi Minh returned and established the Central Committee of the Communist party and called for a People’s Congress where all views and opinions could be heard without fear. We of the Viet Minh were the best trained and organized. All groups knew they would have to deal with us at some point, for we had too much support from the peasants. Only we, of the Viet Minh, would be capable of maintaining order once the Japanese were thrown out. We never believed that the western powers would give our lands back to France.

"Time and again we made concessions to avoid civil war. We agreed to form a coalition government, where each political and religious faction would have a voice which would be fairly heard all this, when we already had control over the greatest part of the country. Hanoi was in our hands as was Saigon. Yet the Potsdam Conference of July 1945 gave us away like we were chattel.

"The real war began in Saigon when the British, your old enemies, came in and turned the control of the Saigon arsenal and the ports over to the French, who had come in with them bringing eighteen hundred men on the British ships from Calcutta. The English general, Gracey, ordered that all Vietnamese were to turn in their weapons and submit to French authority. He even ordered the Japanese, who he was supposed to have taken into custody, to assist the French in enforcing his demands, even to the point of firing on Vietnamese nationals who refused to obey his orders. The French and the English told the Japanese to kill Vietnamese!"

Thich 's voice rose to a nearly hysterical level, and then he fought to gain control of his emotions.

"We had no choice but to resist. After all the years we had been under the heel of foreign oppressors, we were not going to bow our necks again. This time we will fight and we will win. It is our destiny. You know that your masters have no rights in this land. Let them go home and the killing will stop at the same moment."

Thich continued in this vein, telling Langer of the things which had led to their being at this place at this time. He knew that Thich was speaking the truth as he saw it. In many points he agreed with him, but not on the ones that counted most. When Thich at last finished, he leaned back in his chair, brown eyes steady on the gray blue ones of the Legionnaire. "Now tell me, what do you think of what I have said? Do you believe me? If so, what does it mean to you?"

Langer took another smoke from the pack and tried not to choke as he inhaled the acrid fumes. `I believe that much of what you have said is true, and if it were not for one thing, I might even be on your side in this fight."

Thich was exultant; his words had struck home and had a tremendous effect on the scar faced soldier.

Langer butted out his cigarette before he finished what he was saying. "That one thing is, I hate communists! I know you are sincere in what you say and believe, so was Hitler, Stalin, Mao and Mussolini. You are all sincere men who have one thing in common besides your sincerity. You will lie, steal, cheat, kill, and mutilate for the sake of your cause. I have fought communists too long though to be taken in by a story such as yours. As I said, I'm sure you're telling me the truth. However, there are many shades of the truth; nothing is an absolute. When you say you would be masters in your own land, I think not. For every bullet or rifle the Russians or Chinese send to you there will be a price tag attached that will never be marked paid in full. The coalition government you say you want to form would last only until you had the power to remove the communists when they were no longer needed. Communists are pigs who eat their own and say it is for the greater good. As you also said, I too believe the French will not be here much longer, but maybe we can hurt you bad enough so you don't get to eat everything on the table. That's reason enough for me to fight. Or, to put it more simply, I just plain don't like you."

Thich was furious. To be mocked in his own quarters in a camp where he had hundreds of soldiers at his beck and call by this, this ugly thing!

When Langer was returned to his cell he had to be dragged down the hall. A beating with split canes of bamboo was worse than a cat o' nine tails. The bamboo could strip the meat from a man's back as handily as a straight razor. But they received little satisfaction from him for their efforts. The only sounds he made were involuntary grunts as the canes peeled the flesh away from his ribs and back. As he had told Thich, he'd endured much worse things in his time.

Gus had just about enough of Sergent chef Herman's bullshit. Since the raid on the mansion he had drawn every shit detail in the Legion and had been busted back to private again. Not that the loss of rank bothered him; he was used to that. It was Hermann. Now that Langer was gone, he felt he had more control over his company again and the company commander, Captain Sarrault, was on his side for a change. He would have preferred to have had Gus put in front of a firing squad but even he had to admit the big former Panzer man was a hell of a fighter, and handy to have around when things got tight. So the worst he could do was to make Gus's life as miserable as he could in every way. His latest ploy was to have a houseboy in his employ tell him of each and every time Gus visited his favorite whore at Madame Collette's house. It was one of the few such places that had been placed off limits to enlisted men, but Gus had a passion for a young thing of mixed French and Chinese blood. He just couldn't stay away from her, and every time Gus showed up to see her Hermann gave him just enough time to get in a compromising position then he would race up the stairs, pounding on the door, crying out for Gus to give himself up so he could be properly court martialed.

Gus had no desire to go on any more of the mine clearing details or experience any other such punishments that would be waiting for him if he was brought in. Therefore he had to take the only other course open to him and avoid the situation by jumping out of the second story window of the whorehouse into the rice paddy at its rear. This was usually done in varying stages of nudity. Either he was carrying his clothes on top of his head or wearing his pants and boots, which usually curled up at the toes and cracked when they dried. He began jumping right after Langer had been taken prisoner and by the next month, from landing in the same hole, he was up to his waist in the fragrant waters of the paddy.

Hermann would stand in the window with his whore and laugh at the sight of the naked, hairy back and buttocks wading through the waters enriched by human manure. Gus swore vengeance. He spent hours of each day plotting the best way to get back at Hermann. Death was too easy, though the thought of tying a fragmentation grenade to the sergent-chef's genitals did have a pleasing texture to it.

Gus screwed up his bushy eyebrows in deep concentration, straining to come up with something truly creative. In this attitude he resembled a monstrous camouflaged beetle. Doing his best to be analytical, he tried to put in order the things that Hermann liked best. He liked to be a bully, he liked his drink, and he had an ex
-bar girl that he was keeping house with. He paid her bills and watched her like a hawk. Beyond being a bully and a drinker, the girl was the only thing Gus could think of that might become a proper payback. But how to get to her? He had hustled her when she was still working at Francine’s, before Hermann took her away and made her his private stock. Even then she wouldn't go to bed with him for any amount of money, saying, "I may be a whore but I have not gone down so far as to bed with apes!" That had come close to hurting his feelings.

Gus waited, believing in his luck and the basic justice of a man who has never done anyone any wrongs. The time would come; he merely had to be patient until fortune presented him with an opportunity to gain revenge.

It was not long before fate took a hand in Gus's problems. He was crossing the chopper pad when he caught Dominic Ciardello heading in the opposite direction. Ciardello was so pretty that he nearly turned Gus on. Black curly hair, dark eyes, long sensitive lashes and a body sculptured by Michelangelo.

Gus called to him: "Hey, Dominic, let's go get a beer. The treat's on me." He had a plan in mind which seemed even better when Dominic answered him.

"I can't. I've got to go to the dispensary and get a shot of penicillin."

Gus lit up like a Christmas tree. "Penicillin! My dear boy, you could not have by any chance contracted a social disorder?"

He nearly fainted with pleasure when Dominic spat back at him. "If you mean do I have the clap, yes, what's it to you?"

Gus gloated, thanking God for his gentle mercy, that now the Philistine was almost ready to be delivered into the hands of righteous retribution. Putting an arm the size of a normal man's thigh around the Italian's shoulder, he hugged him as gently as he could, making Dominic fear for his spine. "Dear boy, you and Uncle Gus have got to have a talk before you do anything foolish. Do you recall last month when our beloved Sergent chef Hermann gave you the extra duty for your being only thirty seconds late for roll call? And do you recall his gentle interests in your welfare when he made you take point on the last three patrols because of his love and affection for Italians? If you do, then I believe that fate has delivered you into my tender care for a mission that shall redeem both our honor and increase our fame. Come with me, my son. I have a small and, believe me, not unpleasant task for you to perform before you render your body over to the medics."

Gus immediately took Dominic with him downtown and even paid for the luxury of a three wheeled cyclo cab to haul them on their sacred mission to the house of Sergent chef Hermann's oriental Desdemona. After Hermann's girl got a look at the handsome, dashing Italian Legionnaire it took only a few seconds before they came to an understanding. A few francs changed hands, more as a matter of honor for her than anything else. After she got a look at Dominic and compared him to the insensitive brute she was living with, Gus thought she would have paid him if he had bargained a bit harder. But this was no time to be niggardly. He waited in a nearby bistro, sipping Pernod until Dominic returned from his mission with a decidedly pleased expression on his face. Together they returned to camp, Dominic to get his penicillin and Gus to wait patiently until the full fruits of his vengeance had time to mature to their full and burning glory. God, it was good to get even!

Three days later, while crossing the same chopper pad, Gus saw Hermann heading away from him He called out, "Sergent chef, a moment please!"

Hermann waited for him to catch up before giving him one of his normal looks of barely controlled loathing. He had never forgotten that day on the docks of Haiphong when Gus had embarrassed him. "What is it, Beidemann. I'm busy."

Gus took on a conciliatory aspect as he said with great sorrow in his voice, "Sergent chef, there is no need for you to speak harshly to me. I have merely come to offer you my condolences for your unfortunate condition."

Hermann looked confused, then leery as he snapped back, "What do you mean, my condition?"

Gus was barely able to control a hysterical giggle that tried to force its way out of his mouth. It took all of his self
-control to keep an even tone as he looked sympathetically at Hermann. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry to hear you have the clap!"

Hermann snorted, "I don't have the clap, you oversized baboon!" and turned away, pissed that Gus should waste his time with such childish antics. He barely heard Gus snort, choke and gurgle out happily as he left, "Yes you do!"

Hermann chose to ignore that. The animal was merely trying to work on his mind.

The next couple of days were ones of pure joy for Gus. He waited for the inevitable moment of his triumph. It came on the morning of the sixth day after Dominic's liaison with Hermann's girl. Gus was in the mess hall having a small breakfast when Hermann entered, walked up behind Gus and hit him in the back of the head with one of the metal folding chairs at the table. Gus went down on the floor, although the blow had not bothered him at all. He was laughing as he saw Hermann 's face. Hermann screamed at him in fury, "How did you do it, you son of a bitch?" Gus never told him, not being one to involve a friend if he could avoid it, especially as he now had one other bit of unexpected pleasure. Hermann was busted down to sargent for striking a subordinate in public. It was an added bonus, which made Gus nearly forgive Hermann all his sins.

The only fly in Gus's pleasure was the constant nagging worry at the back of his mind about Langer. There had been no word on him from any of their sources. Langer was the nearest thing he'd ever had to a true friend, though he had never been able to get really close to the man. They had been through more crazy times together than most people would experience in a dozen lifetimes: the frozen fields of Russia, the great tank battles at Kursk and Kharkov, and a hundred other battles where, at the end, only they came out alive. All the rest of their crew were left behind to enrich the dark soil of Mother Russia with their flesh and their blood. That made a bond between them that few men would ever know. They had survived and Gus had never doubted that somewhere, sometime, Langer would once more present his scarred face. Gus sometimes thought about that face. Langer carried his age better than anyone he had ever known and wondered if Langer had not at some time had a plastic surgeon perform a face lift. He didn't look a day older than he did at the gates of Moscow. There was a timelessness to his former tank commander that did not lend itself to the thought of death. Langer would return. It was only a question of when. Until then, Gus would wait and carry on as always. Langer would not want him to languish away, physically or morally, by refusing his normal appetite for life.

Hermann was in a black, piss
-filled mood. The Neanderthal had gotten to him. How, he didn't know. His girl had left, blaming him for giving her the clap. She said she would rather get the disease every day than spend one more minute with him.

He had lost a stripe and had been fined and humiliated, especially after he had hit Gus with the chair. The ape had picked him up like a sack of rice and thrown him across the mess hall, scattering trays and men like chaff. His face had been swollen for a week from the slap Gus had given him after heaving him across the room. The beast had not even been reprimanded, claiming that his actions were caused from the chair, which had hit his head leading to a momentary fit of irrationality.
Though he knew of it, Captain Surault was not able to take into consideration the provocation given Hermann. Something like that could never be admitted. That was the only reason he had not busted Hermann all the way down, or taken action against Gus. He was after all a Frenchman with a proper Gallic sense of humor and justice.

After this tremendous success, Gus began to devote most of his energies toward one noble purpose. He was going to drive Hermann mad. By the gentle blood of Jesus, it was good to have a cause in life! Hermann noticed that Gus was smiling a lot more than usual when he was around. The gorilla would just grin through his thick loose lips, laugh obscenely and waddle off, mumbling to himself. It was a very uncomfortable feeling to see the beast do that. He felt as if he were on patrol and knew that a sniper had him in his sights but hadn't made up his mind whether to pull the trigger or not.

Then there began a series of accidents, which were rapidly forcing Hermann into a state of paranoia.

Once when they went up for a practice jump, somehow his static line had become unhooked. Hermann had fallen nearly five hundred feet before he was about to get his reserve chute open. Investigation revealed only that the static line hook had somehow become weakened to the point that the clasp had broken under the pull of the lines. Very unusual. The thing he didn't like most about it was just before that incident, Hermann had seen Gus in the company of a parachute rigger who Hermann had once busted. Could there be anything to that? Hermann began to drink a bit more and slept with a pistol in his hand. Gus began to make plans to see that Hermann didn't get too much sleep.

A dozen other events took place, all seemingly designed to make the life of Sargent Hermann miserable. Gus was never in better spirits, except for the emotional let-downs he experienced during the moments when he wondered when Langer was going to come back.