Colonel Mang made another note on a piece of paper and said to me, “When you arrive at Nha Trang, you will report to the Immigration Police and give them your address. If you do not find accommodations, inform them of this.” He looked at me and said, “They will see to it that you have a place to sleep.”
I thought he meant jail, but he continued, “They have some influence with the hotels.” He smiled.
“I’m sure they have. I thank you, Colonel Mang, for your assistance, and I won’t keep you any longer.”
He gave me a nasty look and informed me, “It is I, Mr. Brenner, who am keeping you longer.” He took a sip of tea and said to me, “How do you propose to travel from Nha Trang to Hue?”
“By whatever means are available.”
“You must inform the Immigration Police in Nha Trang of your means of travel.”
“Can they help me with transportation?”
He seemed to miss my sarcasm and said, “No.” He looked at me and asked the big question. “You have five days between the time you leave your hotel in Hue and the time you are to check into the Metropole in Hanoi. What do you intend to do with those days?”
Well, I had to go to Tam Ki on a secret mission, but I really wanted to go to Washington and break Karl’s neck.
“Mr. Brenner?”
“I’m going to travel up the coast, by train or by bus, to Hanoi.”
“The trains do not run for four days after Sunday. The bus is unsuitable for Westerners.”
“Really? Well, I’ll hire a car and driver. Through Vidotour, of course.”
“Why do you wish to travel by land and not aircraft?”
“I thought it would be educational to see the former North Vietnam on my way to Hanoi.”
“What do you wish to learn?”
“How the people live. Their customs and way of life.”
He thought about that a moment, then informed me, “For ten years, the people in the north suffered and died under American bombs, and shells from your battleships. I recommend to you the Vinh Moc tunnels where the residents of that coastal town lived for seven years during the American bombardment. You may not find those people as friendly to you as you may have found them here in the former American puppet state.”
Colonel Mang might make a good Cong World tour guide. I said, “Well, then, I want to learn from that experience.”
He seemed to be mulling this over. If I was Colonel Mang, I wouldn’t press Paul Brenner about this loose itinerary from Hue to Hanoi. Because if Paul Brenner was up to something, then most likely what he was up to was going to transpire during those days.
Mang looked at me and said, “You are free to travel north from Hue to Hanoi by any legal means at your disposal.”
We made eye contact. We both knew we were both full of shit.
Colonel Mang made a few more notes on his piece of paper, and though I’m trained to read upside down, I can’t even read Vietnamese right side up. Colonel Mang said to me, “And when you are in Hue, you will visit the places in the vicinity where you were stationed. Correct?”
I replied, “I intend to take a day trip to Quang Tri City and see my former base camp.”
“Well,” said Colonel Mang, “you will be disappointed. There is no city of Quang Tri any longer. Only a village, and no evidence of the former American bases in the area. Everything was completely destroyed by American bombs in 1972.”
I didn’t reply.
He said, “You will report to the Immigration Police in Hue.” Colonel Mang sat back, lit yet another cigarette, and stared at me through the smoke. “So, how have you spent your days in Ho Chi Minh City?”
Not wanting to piss him off again about place names, I said, “In Ho Chi Minh City, I saw many excellent places. I took your advice and went to the Museum of American War Crimes.”
He didn’t seem overly surprised at this, making me wonder if I’d been followed.
I continued, “I saw photographs of what happened to the South Vietnamese soldiers and the Montagnard hill people who didn’t lay down their arms after the surrender. They paid a high price, but they should have just gone into the re-education camps like a few million other people, and they would have come out happier and better citizens of the Socialist Republic.”
Colonel Mang seemed uncertain of my enthusiasm and conversion. Maybe I was laying it on too thick, but there was no reason to stop. “That evening, I had dinner at the rooftop restaurant of the Rex where the American generals dined while their troops fought and died in the rice paddies and jungles.”
I made eye contact again with Colonel Mang. If he was sharp, he already knew from my hotel bill where I had dinner, and that I hadn’t dined alone, unless I ate a lot. But he just stared at me.
I said, “On Sunday, I saw the former presidential palace where Diem and Thieu lived like emperors while their soldiers and the people suffered and died.”
Again, I couldn’t tell if he already knew this. I decided that I was giving him too much credit for police state efficiency. I said to Mang, “I’m very impressed with all I’ve seen and learned.” I elaborated a bit, as though I was an inmate in a re-education camp looking to get out.
Colonel Mang listened as I related my many moments of epiphany, and he nodded. He seemed to be buying it. If I’d bought those Ho Chi Minh sandals, I would have put my feet on his desk, but I seemed to be doing okay without the props.
I said, “On Sunday, I went out to the Cu Chi tunnels.”
He leaned forward. “Yes? You traveled to the Cu Chi tunnels?”
Colonel Mang realized he’d shown genuine surprise instead of inscrutability. He asked, “How did you get to Cu Chi?”
“I took a tour bus. It was absolutely amazing. Two hundred kilometers of tunnels, dug right under the nose of the South Vietnamese and American armies. How in the world did they hide all that dirt?”
Colonel Mang answered my rhetorical question. “The soil was thrown into streams and bomb craters by thousands of loyal peasants, a kilo at a time. When the people work as one, anything is possible.”
“I see that. Well, it was all very educational, and it certainly changed my thinking about the war.” So, let’s get the fuck out of here.
Colonel Mang stayed silent for some time, then asked me, “Why do you travel alone?”
“Why? Because I couldn’t find anyone to go with me.”
“Why did you not join a veterans’ group? There are groups of men who shared the same experience and who return with organized tours.”
“I’ve heard about that, but I wanted to come here during Tet, and I made a last-minute decision to just come.”
He looked at my visa again and said, “This is dated ten days ago.”
“Right. Last-minute decision.”
“Americans usually plan for months in advance.”
Obviously, this is what first caught the eye of the guy at the Passport Control booth. I owed Karl a kick in the nuts. I said, “I’m retired. I just go where I want, when I want.”
“Yes? And yet your passport was issued several years ago, and there are no visa stamps or entry and exit stamps on the pages.”
“I travel in the United States and Canada.”
“I see. So this is your first overseas trip?”
“Since that passport was issued.”
“Ah.”
Colonel Mang gave me one of those looks that suggested he was somewhat confused by an inconsistency in my responses. He changed the subject and asked me, “Are you married?”
I replied, “That is a personal question, Colonel Mang.”
“There are no personal questions.”
“There are, where I come from.”