The Newsreel

The phone rang suddenly, it was Charlie all right; he thought he might call him.

'You haven't dozed off yet, have you? ' He asked chuckling foolishly

'How was it by the way?'

'Real fun Charlie thanks, see you tomorrow, bye now.'

That Charlie boy was getting too pushy. He thought angered, fishing the flask out of his bag - unscrewing it he took a long gulp and turned to watch the TV.

A few commercials still appeared on the screen, and than a news bulletin turned up unexpectedly, with quite an obvious urgency. Back home he never cared and never watched the news, nor did his parents for his sake; they were afraid to upset him at the beginning, and later on out of apathy.

But right now he did not mind on the contrary, he became suddenly interested. It was a special broadcast on the war over there, the war he left behind thank heavens.

They switched to live coverage without warning, as some unexpected event took place. Some VC's penetrated the U.S. embassy in Saigon and were put under siege! Holy mother of god! They managed to sneak in somehow, and were covering the streets below with automatic fire!

'What a Goddamn mess!?!' He muttered aloud and sat down utterly shocked on his bed. The embassy's personnel were scattered outside, while troops of Americans and South Vietnamese, surrounded the place, exchanging fire with the invaders.

How could the situation deteriorate that far, and in such a short time! He simply could not grasp and sat watching the screen petrified, as if he was still over there. The ground was littered with corpses, mutilated and bleeding bodies of military personnel and civilians.

Some must have been sprawled there on their bellies unhurt or lightly wounded, but kept clinging to the ground motionless, utterly shocked, awaiting the end of the bloody assault, their own nightmare. Soldiers in full combat harness, Americans and South Vietnamese, were shooting ceaselessly upwards, at the embassy's top windows.

A small group of them with ready arms in their hands were lined up against the embassy's wall, near the main entrance ready to break in. A middle-aged civilian appeared on the screen suddenly, running across the street towards the embassy in his shirtsleeves, to join the line of soldiers. His black tie flying behind his shoulder; brandishing a Colt forty-five in his right hand up above his head.

'The stupid idiot!' Retorted Nick aloud. The fool is trying to do a soldier's job, a one week recruit would do it better! Just look at that jerk. He thought with growing fury, watching the civilian join the line of soldiers, and move to their head.

The camera drew nearer and focused on the waiting soldiers, moved slowly along the waiting line and closed up on that jerk and his distorted face.

'I'll be...' muttered Nick with disbelief. It was the same CIA man who sat in his questioning. The same wise guy who coughed and made all kind of signs. And he's going to lead them...

That jerk was going to guide them in the embassy's levels and corridors, lead them where? To another bloody mess on top of all their blunders, due to his deficiencies and those of the likes of him!

'Serves them right the damn fools!' He almost shouted it aloud, in a sudden fury. With a swift and resolute movement he reached out and switched off the TV set. The sight of that man on the screen almost maddened him. He poured himself another large drink, with trembling hands - to calm down his sudden rage.

That pompous fool running around brandishing his gun in a show off, just like some western movie star or some metropolitan detective! I bet he never used that gun in his life, that lousy son of a bitch! He went on thinking too agitated yet to relax.

Are all those mighty men who are responsible for the lives of hundreds of thousands or even hundreds of millions, as thickheaded as that fool; who treats the Asians as if they were the same ordinary people one deals with, back home? Most of them must be it seems, otherwise such a fool as that son of a bitch, wouldn't have reached his elevated position.

They wouldn't have tried otherwise, to smite a fly with a cannon ball, would they? They wouldn't have shed so much blood, wasted so many young lives - squandered so much money, precious equipment, public funds; as if they inherited it rightfully, and could do whatever they wished, whatever they wanted!

Why should I abandon my fate in the hands of such men! I'm not turning red; I'm just taking care of myself! I won't let those corrupt ambitious politicians and high brass, to use me to their ends. I'm not going to be their blind tool, to promote their own schemes, to satisfy their greed...! Why, they're no better than the professional hit-men, who roam all over the states, from coast to coast - earning their livelihood through shooting and killing strangers, whom they see just once through the telescopic sights of their deadly weapons.

But what about the "Mob", that terror organization, which had turned crime into the most profitable occupation! Yes what about them and their devastating influence...? So what have I done after all?

Wide awake, he kept thinking in the growing darkness. It must have been that news bulletin which keeps me awake. I shouldn't have watched it. But what right had they all, those Generals, politicians, the industrialists and all the rest of them - to exploit their own kinsmen, their own compatriots? He kept brooding on and on.

That's exactly what they are doing, with their strive for power. With their eagerness to enforce their policies, laws, views, on others - make everyone think and act as they want to. Didn't they fail with their South East Asian policy of theirs? But they won't admit failure, would they? No, they'll find the scapegoats, who would take the blame for them - who would be charged and punished while they'll "carry on"... their goddamn exploitations!

What difference is there between crimes, wrong doings or any acts against the law - whether it takes place within the States or outside its boundaries? But what the hell is it? What bothers me that much all of a sudden? He wondered perplexed. Am I looking for a reason or an excuse of some sort?

The thoughts flashed through his mind but he kept evading the crucial question and turned to the broader issues, looking for the easier outlets; pushing aside his own complicated problems. But anyhow, could I, young and inexperienced as I'm try to tackle the problem, would I dare to suggest a way out?

Can I or anyone else find the real solution to that painful abscess called South East Asia? Do I've the brains for such a task? May I venture at all to contradict the ruling conceptions!

Can I or any one succeed where all others have already failed? Who are those others, but the leaders of the nation. Those who ignore the fact they did in fact fail. If that's so, I may think it over at least, form my own opinion, on those issues. There's no need to talk it over with anyone! Well, there's no solution I could think of but pull out at once, evacuate that loathsome and stinking hole! What could be wrong with such a solution?

Would it cause us a loss of face? Haven't we lost our faces long ago! Is our pride more precious than the lives of our own young compatriots? Is it wiser to conceal a failure, no matter what would be the costs?

Helping an ally is one thing, but doing virtually his proper job in his place, is quite a different matter. Why shouldn't we let the Viets settle their own disputes between themselves... That would surely end the war for America...

But haven't talked it over with someone already... It isn't exactly my own idea, is it? It's Nicole's, not exactly her own as a matter of fact, but part of the ideas she believed in and shared. It was that lecture she gave me, after the first air-raid... I can still remember how she phrased it:

"There're enough wise men on both sides of the ocean..." It was her all right behind these ideas! But in any case she was right then, and she is a wise woman; and the fact I love her has nothing to do with it! Now that Slav John, he is wise too beyond any doubt, although he isn't exactly on my side. If he isn't a Russian he must be a native of one of those Baltic provinces.

That in any case is just a rough guess, he might be a Pole or even an East German... But that's not the point, he works for them - for the Russians! So what! Didn't Lee Oswald spend two years in the Soviet Union? Didn't he come back bringing along his Russian wife with him?

He wasn't arrested for treason was he? If he had lived anywhere but Dallas - on that fatal day... Well, he would have lived on peacefully - up to this very day! Who would have bothered him on his Russian record? So what have I to be afraid of? Okay, I've met with a Russian twice, and that same Russian bought me a couple of drinks and a dinner; but I didn't tell the man anything at all.

I simply didn't have to and even if I was asked to, what on earth could I tell him! But still, it was my last chance to split, board a plane and vanish into thin air; or join my brother in California and forget the whole damn thing... Who would ever know my whereabouts? But would I give up Nicole, now? Being on the verge of meeting her again? Never, I've almost lost her once!

© Haim Kadman 1989 - all rights reserved