Drowning in Her Eyes (36 page)

Worcester, Massachusetts, USA
—1967

Jacqui Susan had been gradually learning about her Daddy. She knew about
Bow
inwobe,
about Helen, about the
finking place
. Susan continued to teach her daily about Australia, about its a
nimals and its birds
—
and its spirits.

Marci was in a constant worry about Jimbo. She glued herself to the television nightly. What had happened to Karl? What might happen to her Jimbo? Her daughters had disgraced her. But
he
would never abandon her, why had he not written more? She still did not realise she had alienated herself from
all
her children. Marci decided that Susan should forget all about Australia and marry some local boy in order to start a new life.

Susan had told her,
“Mom, I will marry only Jack. If I cannot have him, I will have nobody.
”

“Think about your child, Susan. I cannot keep you forever.
It
'
s time you did something about your future. Susan did nothing but think about her future, filled by a little bush kid with dark hair and green eyes. Marci kept at her. She put forward a number of suitable suitors. Susan laughed in her face.

However, there was a problem for Marci. Jimmy had left her well provided for, but she had not invested her money wisely. Bob Phillips had died two years ago. Corporate regulators had found serious irregularities in the procurement processes for Defense contracts. It was rumoured that Worcester Electronic Inc. was in trouble. The stock went into free fall. From a market value of $50, it fell to $10. Marci called a stockbroker who advised her to hold the stock; a week later, the company filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy. The stock was worth nothing. She had lost nearly half a million dollars. She was devastated. How would she survive? Who would take care of her? Jimbo might, but he could be dead tomorrow, he could be dead now and she still had no information. What if he went missing, as Karl
had
? What if no one ever found out what happened to him? He had contacted her only once since he had left home, a short note to tell her he had joined the army.

Sarah was no use at all. She cried and cried over her lost husband, the one she and Marci conspired to drive out. John still refused to have anything to do with her and her mother. Marci tried to contact him. He was an accountant; he might know what to do. He refused to speak to her when she tracked down his office number. He instructed the switchboard that he would not take her calls. Finally, she wrote to his lawyers. How could he abandon his sons? They replied on his behalf. He would gladly accept custody, if Sarah would agree. She would not agree; she retired to her room with a fresh bottle of gin.

Oh, God
, thought Marci,
I did what I thought was right for them. I protected them; now they have all abandoned me
.

Saigon, South Vietnam
—1967

Saigon was a typical Asian city
—
crowded, filthy, and effervescent. The streets swarmed with motor bikes and scooters, touts and hawkers, drug dealers and prostitutes. The war had changed the city. With the influx of American troops, the big three industries, drugs, cheap whiskey, and girls, had flourished. Every bar was full of them; they were there to induce the patrons to drink more, pay for
their
drinks at grossly inflated prices, and to sell their bodies to the round eyes. All manner of sexual perversion was available. In fact, everything was available, at a price. The Americans had built huge bases and supply dumps. Venal quartermasters abounded. Conscripts decided that, if they had to be in this stinking place, they might as well profit from it. The streets thronged with Vietnamese youths of military age. If your family had the right connections or the right amount of money, it was easy to avoid the draft.

Doctors wrote spurious health certificates; bogus corporations gained exemptions for their alleged essential staff. The ARVN was composed of the poor, the ignorant, the villagers, and others who could not avoid conscription. Corruption was the growth industry. In a few more years, it would all come tumbling down. It was no wonder that some US troops were so disinterested. They did not want to sacrifice their lives for
corrupt
politicians and officials.

* *
*
*

On his second night in Saigon, Jack made his way to the Grande Hotel, a focus for journalists and foreign troops. Usually he could expect to find a few Aussies there. To his pleasant surprise, he found most of his platoon surrounded by a growing mound of
33
beer bottles and a growing coterie of bar girls. They greeted him warmly.

His
s
ergeant said,
“What
's going on
,
Boss, what have they done to you?
”

“I don
't know. I have to report to HQ in a couple of days, and then
I
'
ll find out. Maybe they
'll punish me by sending me home.
”

“Pull the other one,
” said Bluey.

Corporal McGuire said,
“We heard you
'd made Captain. Congratulations.
”

“Thanks, they must have something especially nasty planned for me.
”

Jack looked at his men, no, not his men anymore. He loved these tough soldiers. They had endured much together, protected each other
's lives, gone on leave together, and shared almost everything else. More importantly, he had not lost a man, only three slightly wounded No matter what, they would always be his brothers.

The bar was filling up. The girls departed, empty-
handed. Maybe later, they thought, after they had one last drink with their Looey, their mate.
Shit
, thought Andy McGuire,
we
're going to miss this bloke. I hope we get another like him. Maybe our lives will depend on it
.

A group of American soldiers joined them. There was always friendship between the Americans and Aussies. The American boys respected them for their skill and their dry sardonic wit. They were happy to share a beer with them anytime. Tonight, they were on a shopping expedition. They wanted to buy the Aussies
' slouch hats. They were invariably disappointed. No one was going to give up such a prized possession at any price.

McGuire looked up. One of the Yanks was staring at Jack. He continued to stare, growing red in the face, appearing hesitant, wanting to do something, not quite knowing what it was he wanted. McGuire went over to talk to him.
“What
's up, mate? Why are you staring at our Looey like that?
” The American turned. McGuire could see he was very young and very drunk.
“What is that officer
's name?
” he said.

“Jack Riordan, the best officer in the army.
”

The entire colour drained from the boy
's face. He pushed his way through the crowd of men and stood swaying in front of Jack.
“You bastard,
” he said,
“You bastard Riordan, you fucking low bastard! I have been waiting near three years for this. I
'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch!
”

There was a stunned silence. Jimbo took a drunken swing at Jack who stepped back and avoided the blow. By then, Andy McGuire had Jimbo in a bear hug.
“Steady on, mate,
” he said.
“What do you think you
're doing, you silly little prick?
”

“I know him,
” said Jimbo,
“I know that bastard; I know what he did to my sister. Let me go, he
's going to get what
's coming to him.
” He was near to tears.

Recognition dawned.
“Jimbo,
” said Jack,
“Jimbo Baker. Thank Christ
.
I
've been trying to find you for so long. How is Susan? Where is she?
”

“As if you care, you bastard. You abandoned her. You left her to suffer on her own.
”

“No, No, Jimbo, that
's not what
happened
. Please I have to know.
”

“I
'll be waiting for you, you son of a bitch. Next time you won
't have a platoon to protect you.
” He turned on his heel and stumbled to the door, followed by his companions.

“Jimbo,
” cried Jack.
“No! It was not like that, No. Come back, I want to talk to you.
”

But
Jimbo Baker was gone.

The radio on the bar began to play
‘Brown Eyed Girl
'. Jack looked at it for a minute, and then he strode to the bar, took out his Browning, and blew the radio to smithereens. His platoon rushed to him.
“Fuck
's sake
,
let
's get him out of here. This place will be crawling with bloody MPs in a minute. Grab him
,
Ronnie, out the back, quick, there
's a friggin truck of ours out there.
” Andy and Ronnie bundled him into the back of the vehicle and jumped into the front. In seconds, they were driving sedately away. As they did so, two Jeeps with flashing lights, crowded with MPs in white helmets, careered past them. A mile up the road, they stopped. Bluey said,
“Are you ok
ay,
boss
?
”

Jack said,
“Yeah, I
'm ok
ay
. I apolgise for the fuck-
up in the bar. That song has been giving me
hell
for a couple of weeks. I once had a brown-
eyed girl, but
she
'
s not around anymore. Now, let
's find another bar and you can give me a proper
send off.

They did.

Nui Dat, Phuoc Tuy Province, South Vietnam
—1967

Captain Jack Riordan saluted the Brigadier, CO of Australian Task Force Vietnam.
“Good morning, sir, you wished to see me?
”

Brigadier Freeman looked at this young officer, and liked what he saw. He saw a lean and hard looking man, handsome if it was not for the grim determination he saw in his eyes.
A man on a mission
, he thought.
Well, I have a bigger mission for you, young man. I hope you are good enough
.
“Sit down, Captain, would you like a drink, I
've got some Black Label somewhere?
”

“No
,
thank you, sir. Bit early in the morning for me.
” His stomach recoiled at the mere thought of alcohol. He had breakfasted on aspirin.

“Well, let
's get down to business. Firstly, let
's talk about the report you, Captain Donald and Mr. Scott lodged earlier in the year. There was some good stuff in there. The Americans were interested in what you had to say about their troops, their problems, and the leadership at field level. The report went right up to the top man, General Glover, and that is really something. The Yanks will not admit it publicly, but privately, they know they have a major morale problem. This goes right back to their basic training. Unlike us, they have a larger proportion of conscripts, poorly integrated with their regular soldiers. Their regulars
don
'
t trust the conscripts and the conscripts
don
'
t want to be
here.