George Chesbro - Two Songs This Archangel Sings

"The Pathet Lao were our enemies," the Hmong continued as he tapped the ash off his cigar into a heavy glass ashtray situated between us. "While it is true that we served the Americans' interests by fighting against the Communists, it is also true that the Americans served our interests by providing us with automatic weapons, advisets to train us in their use, and ammunition. But the American-Veil Kendry, as you call him-was always much more than just an adviser. First, he had gone to the not inconsiderable trouble of learning the rudiments of our language before coming to us, and he became very fluent during the four and a half years he stayed with us. There had been other Americans, of course, but this one was different from all others. He became our leader, not because he was an American, but because he was by far the best warrior among us. Archangel was afraid of nothing. The Pathet Lao, though, came to fear him very much, to the extent that they put a very large price on his head; any Hmong who killed him, or who helped to trap him, would be paid the bounty. Needless to say, the reward was never collected."

"I assume the Pathet Lao wanted to kill all the Americans."

"Of course, but not as badly as they wanted to kill this one. Archangel was the only American they ever put a bounty on." Loan Ka paused, studied the end of his glowing cigar as he rolled it between his thumb and index finger. "Could anything I say get the American into any more trouble than he's already in?"

"Nothing you can say to me will hurt him. And I won't repeat anything you say to anyone else who might hurt him."

The Hmong thought about it as he puffed on his cigar. "I wouldn't want anything I say to be misunderstood," he said at last.

"It won't be."

"I believe that Archangel was quite mad," Loan Ka said through a thick cloud of pungent, blue cigar smoke which lent his words a surreal, disembodied air. "He seemed to have a terrible and almost insatiable need for violence, as others have a need for food, water, and rest. I will not say that he loved to kill; it may be true, but I am not certain. I do know that he loved to fight; he seemed to need to be near death, his own or others'. If more than three or four days would go by without contact with the enemy, he would become very restless and irritable. Then he would go out alone, at night, and hunt the enemy himself, armed only with his bare hands, perhaps a knife or martial arts weapons designed for silent killing. Sometimes he would be gone for as long as a week, and we would think that he was dead. But he always returned, usually reeking and filthy, covered with dirt and caked blood. I do not know what he did to his victims and did not want to know even then. I suspect he was even more savage than the Pathet Lao, and the acts he committed led to their fear of him and the bounty they placed on his head. In any case, after these lone hunting forays he would be all right for a time-relaxed, the wildness gone from his eyes, seemingly once again at peace with himself. But then the tension in him would begin to build again if there was a prolonged period without combat. Always, if the enemy did not come down the trails or through the jungle to us, he would go out after them. Archangel was the most savage and awesome warrior I have ever known. He became a legend, Mongo, as hated and feared by the Pathet Lao as he was respected and revered by us."

"When did he first come to you?"

"In early 1968, soon after the Tet offensive."

"How did he come to you? Did he just walk into your village out of the jungle?"

Loan Ka shook his head. "No. As I said, there were Americans before him. A mile or so from the village there was a clearing which was used as a helicopter landing site. That was how our supplies were brought in, and how American personnel were shuttled in and out."

"What about communications?"

"Archangel, like the others, had a shortwave radio, but its use was always kept to a minimum. There were regularly scheduled meetings twice a month between Archangel and his superiors, and Archangel would always go to the landing site at a prearranged time, unless he'd received a radio message instructing him not to."

"Did you ever see any of the men who came to meet with Veil Kendry?"

"On occasion, but only when the helicopter was bringing in supplies; then we would go to carry back the munitions. However, we were not allowed to go along when the meetings took place; Archangel was supposed to go alone. We ignored this restriction after the Pathet Lao put a price on the American's head. After that we always accompanied him, despite his objections. Six of us would escort him to the landing site, then remain a distance away."

"Were you close enough at these times to see the landing site when the helicopter came in?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever see the faces of the people who came just to talk to him?"

"Until the last time, there was only one man-the same man-who came with the pilot. He was dressed in civilian clothes."

"You're sure it was always the same man?"

"I believe so, yes, although I never saw his face because of the long-billed cap he wore. Also, every time I saw him he was wearing a pale green raincoat that seemed too small for him. He was fat, about a foot shorter than Archangel."

"If he was wearing civilian clothes, it may have been Veil's C.I. A. controller," I said, half to myself.

"They didn't like each other."

"Veil told you that?"

"No. The American never spoke of the man or what they talked about. But they were always gesturing angrily at one another, and their loud voices carried. I did not have much English then, but I could understand the sound of anger. Archangel was always highly agitated after these meetings, and he would usually go out alone hunting afterward."

"You say there was only the pilot and this man in the green raincoat at the meetings up until the last time?"

"Yes."

"When was the last time?"

"The early fall of 1972."

"This was when Veil left your village?"

"It was when he was taken away," Loan Ka replied curtly, his voice taking on a sharp edge of emotion. His eyes had gone slightly out of focus as he stared at a spot just above my head, and his face had a haunted expression, as though he were looking into the depths of a nightmare which was very old, but which he could not forget. "I'm certain Archangel received no warning that he was being taken out, or he would have told us. We escorted him to what we assumed was just another regularly scheduled meeting, but this time there were two helicopters waiting at the landing site, One was a large troop carrier, and there were a large number of South Vietnamese soldiers inside with assault weapons. The other helicopter carried the man in the green raincoat, and …" Loan Ka paused, swallowed hard, then virtually spat out the last name. "Colonel Po."

The name, "Colonel Po," struck a distinctive chord-one that was very loud and dissonant. "Liu Sakh Po?" I asked.

The Hmong nodded, and I felt the muscles in my stomach and across my chest begin to tighten. The information touched on a situation-and answered questions-that had made headlines in American newspapers for a week or more in 1972, in the fall.

Colonel Liu Sakh Po had been the most notorious officer in the South Vietnamese army. A scion of one of the wealthiest, most powerful-and, many said, most corrupt-families in South Viet Nam, Colonel Po had never, to anyone's knowledge, had a single bullet fired at him in combat. Yet he had been the most prominent spokesman for both the government and the army, in effect a flamboyant propagandist in French-tailored uniforms constantly warning that South Viet Nam would fall to the Communists if the United States did not provide ever-increasing amounts of aid. Po spent all his time in Saigon, a distance from the battlefield that did nothing to slow the numbers of large, glittering medals with which he was constantly being decorated in recognition of his "public relations" efforts.