In the Valley of the Lilies
he supply chopper came to a muddy, bumpy, stop, sending Vietnamese
children and American soldiers running for cover. The weather was as always hot
beyond belief. This was our third stop at a field hospital in as many days. Lieutenant
Jones, a lanky, pretty twenty-two year old from Oklahoma, had just joined the
special services tour. She had been in-country for a month. She stepped out of the
chopper only to sink into a foot of mud. She stood there stationary for a moment as
if the whole world had opened up and swallowed her whole. Cooper, the
conscientious objector guitar player, went next, stepping into the waiting mud as if
he were MacArthur, returning to the Philippines. And I, Private Billy Bannon, went
last, hop, skipping and jumping to the front of the nearest quonset hut.
We had arrived at a field hospital belonging to the 9th Infantry Division. Our duty, was to entertain the wounded troops for an hour or so. Try to cheer them up a bit, even though some were missing arms and legs, and were just waiting to be flown home to America. We would put on our show, and then try to get back to Saigon as fast as humanly possible. It was Christmas Eve, 1969. The Christmas truce had gone into effect, where hopefully, everyone would stop killing each other for a while. Sadness hung over everything like a deep fog.
The three of us entered the quonset hut, and were immediately met by a gruff, Hawaiian First Sergeant.
�You the tweedy birds they sent from Saigon to cheer up the troops?� Cooper was checking out his guitar case making sure no mud had gotten on it.
�That�s us, Sergeant,� I replied. �That�s First Sergeant to you soldier. I run this mudhole.� It was then that the First Sergeant saw Lieutenant Jones standing there. He saw the black bar on her jungle fatigues and snapped to attention saluting her. The lieutenant saluted back.
�First Sergeant, I�m Lieutenant Jones. We�ve with the special services unit stationed in Saigon. We�ve been visiting field hospitals the past few weeks singing to the troops, hoping it helps them in some small way with their rehabilitation.
�Well, Lieutenant, we all got jobs to do in this man�s army. I guess singing got to fit in there somewhere.�
Cooper was studying the calendar on the wall. The First Sergeant noticed his trance- like attention.
�What�s so damn important on that calendar, boy?� Cooper pointed to the last day of the month, exactly six days away.
�Right there, that�s the day I leave the Republic of South Vietnam.�
The First Sergeant wiped his face as if trying to rid himself of the oppressive heat. �Don�t count your chickens before they hatch boy,� is all the First Sergeant said.
Cooper and I had been singing our way through the war for months now. We had seen every imaginable wound that one human could do to another in the field hospitals. We had become jaded and dead to the sights around us. We were tired of the whole thing and wanted to get the hell out of this country more than anything. We were both short-timers, and counting the days �til freedom. The Lieutenant, on the other hand, was from a proud military family. Her father had fought in the Second World War, and now, a General, worked in the Pentagon. He was proud beyond belief of his daughter.
After getting over the initial surprise about singing with a female officer, Cooper and I spent the past few weeks learning music with the Lieutenant, and getting to sound pretty good together. The past week, we had been practicing Christmas songs. On the chopper ride from Saigon, we sang �Silent Night� in three part harmony, while Cooper played the guitar. Cooper and I had flown from one end of this tragic country to another singing in field hospitals, officer�s clubs, and R&R spots. Considering the alternative�we were lucky. From above, the country had a beauty that was deceiving.
We were still standing in front of the First Sergeant waiting for him to tell us what to do next. He kept staring at his shoes, not sure how to deal with the Lieutenant.
�You three can go over and grab a bite to eat at the mess tent. In about an hour the soldiers will be ready for your little show. The hospital tent is over there.� He pointed out the window to a large quonset hut with a red cross flag on top. The three of us moved towards the mess tent, a steady rain falling around us.
We entered the mess tent and found a few soldiers sitting around talking and drinking warm beer. They looked up at us when we entered, gave the Lieutenant a half-ass salute, and went back to what they were doing. The Lieutenant was having a hard time with the general blas� attitude of the common soldier�it seemed like it should be different.
In a far corner, a small, fake Christmas tree was the only sign that it was Christmas Eve. The three of us sat down at a long wooden table. Cooper pulled out his guitar and started playing. The Lieutenant walked up to the food service table, I followed. We helped ourselves to some food, and then sat back down.
�First thing I�m going to do when I get back to the states,� Cooper said, �is take a hot shower for about two weeks.�
I still a had a few months to go before going home. I wasn�t really thinking about leaving Vietnam yet. It wasn�t wise. And of course the Lieutenant had her whole tour in front of her. Cooper and I had become good friends over time. We had no illusions anymore about being there. The Lieutenant, on the other hand, believed she could make a difference. She believed in the war, and all we were doing there.
After eating some cold, leftover chicken, the three of us walked over to the medical building. The rain had stopped, and a small, perfectly shaped rainbow sat on the top a mountain range miles away.
�My, isn�t that beautiful,� the Lieutenant said. She stared at the rainbow as if waiting for it to do something.
�We better get in there, Cooper said, leading us into the medical building.
The building, was a round metal construction made famous in the Second World War. Two long rows of beds on each side of the quonset hut were filled with American soldiers. There were probably fifty patients in all.
The first patient we saw had a head wound. His entire head was wrapped in white gauze. Only two eyes peered out at us. The rest of the soldiers had missing legs, arms, and stomach wounds. They all turned towards us as we entered the building.
For a second, the Lieutenant leaned up against me. I felt the breath go out of her. Even though she had sung a few times before with us at field hospitals, she had never seen the types of wounds we were looking at now. Cooper looked over at me and saw what was going on.
An army doctor came towards us. He was a fat, balding man, with a kind face.
�You guys must be the show,� he said.
�We�re special services, Captain,� I said.
�Well, you can set up right here.�
He pointed to the end of the bed where the patient with the head wound was staring at us through two dark eyes. Cooper removed his guitar from the case and started strumming. From the back of the room someone yelled, �You know any Dylan?�
Cooper played a few bars of a Dylan song, and then switched into a Christmas song.
�We�re members of the special services group stationed in Saigon,� I said, introducing us.
�Who gives a fuck,� someone yelled from the back of the hut. The Captain walked back towards where the voice had come from.
�We are here to day, on Christmas Eve, to help celebrate the wonderful holiday with all of you.�
�Ain�t that fuck�n rich,� another voice came at us from somewhere within the hut.
Cooper and I were use to this bombardment of insults. We figured the wounded soldiers had to take out their rage on someone�why not us? But, the Lieutenant was spooked. I could see it in her eyes. I knew we had to do something fast or we were going to lose her. Cooper started playing, �Oh Come All Ye Faithful.� The Lieutenant came out of her shock and started singing. She had a beautiful voice. She had sung in choirs as a child in Oklahoma. And, then furthered her singing at the University of Oklahoma where she sang light opera. Her voice was a beautiful thing to witness. The soldiers quieted down, and a few even joined in with the singing. Off to the side, a young soldier in a wheelchair, with no legs stared at us. We could not save anyone in this place�the damage was done.
When we finished the song, the soldier with the head wound lifted his hand and motioned for the Lieutenant to come towards him. He called her close to him as she leaned over to hear what the soldier had to say. Cooper and I could not hear what the soldier was saying, but, we experienced the look of fear on her face. It was as if someone had drained all the blood from her sweet, mid-western face. She pulled away from his whispering and came back towards us. She was seeing the war for the first time, and, Cooper and I knew what that could do to you.
We sang four more songs. Many of the soldiers joined in with us on �Silent Night.� Near the end of the song, the soldier with the head wound motioned for the Lieutenant to come close to him again. She looked at us, and then walked over. When she stood next to the man covered in gauze, he pointed out a small window.
The Lieutenant turned and saw the rainbow fading into a dull gray as rain clouds moved in over the mountain ridge. The Lieutenant stared at the two dark eyes staring back at her through two slits. She knew, that this man had looked into her and could see her fear. He had whispered words to her that had stripped her of her strength. She wanted to leave this building. She wanted, like us, to be back in Saigon where there was a cold beer and a clean bed. Where, the war was still out there beyond the city limits.
We left the hospital, after the Captain had thanked us for coming. We walked towards the chopper landing zone.
�What did that soldier say to you, Lieutenant?� I asked.
She looked at me with eyes full of fear.
�He said, that the ghost of the enemy that had taken his face, was now after me, and that I would never leave this country alive.�
The three of us stood there as the supply chopper loaded up for the ride back to Saigon.
�He was just trying to scare you, Lieutenant, it don�t mean nothing,� Cooper said.
The three of us were about to climb aboard the chopper when the pilot told us there was only room for two of us. We looked into the chopper and saw two full body bags, plus supplies stacked up.
�I�ll stay,� I said. �I got to go to the bathroom anyway. You two go ahead, I'll grab the next chopper and catch up with you at the hotel for a drink.�
Cooper and the Lieutenant climbed aboard, taking the two remaining seats. The chopper started its engine. I yelled to Cooper as the chopper took off, �Save me a seat at the bar.� He gave me the thumbs up sign. I then saluted the Lieutenant. I could see by the smile on her face that I had just made her day. That, some things were still working the way her father, the General, told her they would.
I watched the chopper lift off and move towards the mountain range where the rainbow was now just a long line of gray. I was about to turn, when I noticed the chopper begin to wobble. It was moving towards the white mist that sat on top of the mountain. The chopper seemed to lean to one side like a wounded bird looking for a place to rest, and then disappeared into the mist of the mountain. A few moments later, an explosion came through the mist like fire from the heavens�and then there was silence. I stood there transfixed. What had happened? This was Christmas Eve! The war had stopped for a brief time! I stared up towards where the chopper had been. The mist had suddenly cleared, and the sky had opened up to a beautiful blue, but no sign of the chopper with my friends on it. I turned towards the quonset hut and saw the soldier with the head wound staring back at me. He was trying to say something to me. I walked closer towards the window and pressed my ear against his mouth. All he said was, �Ghost.� Then started laughing through the little hole in his bandage where his mouth should be.
Back to the archive 
Return to.... SSC
