By William H. Logan August 1999
What is he doing here in Madrid? At the Holiday Inn, of all places?
I was sitting in a darker part of the lounge. He didn't see me. I saw him. It would have been easy. Almost too easy, It was not the Badger's way. He never made mistakes like that before. Not covering his back. Something had changed. My Vietnamese was so rusty I only caught part of their conversation. Mostly I got the part about "do choi". "Toys! What the Hell would the Badger be doing with toys?" His favorite toys I knew of were silenced rifles, garrotes, claymore mines and sharp knives. They spoke of all sorts of toys. Big toys little toys, markets and selling strategies. Much of their conversation was hard to get, with as little Vietnamese as I had left. After quite a while they all left the lounge. I waited a few moments and before I went, too. As I walked out of the lounge, I made sure they were not anywhere about. I went up to my room.
That night, all the memories came back. The countless times he and I come head to head in the steaming jungles of South East Asia. We never confined our private war to just one country. The public war stayed in Vietnam, of course, but our real war, our private war was fought in Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and even Thailand a time or two.
Next day, after my classes at the University of Madrid were complete I returned to the lounge. I sat where I had the day before and in a short while he came in with several businessmen. I heard their conversation and turned my face away until they were seated. After a while all the others left. He was again sitting back to me. Sloppy. Very sloppy. I slowly walked over to the table behind him. I pulled out a chair so that I was back to back with him. He was drinking good Scotch. Some things never change.
Just as the waiter came back with his check, I said, "This one's on me, Badger."
He didn't move or make any sound. After several moments, he said, "Can that be you, Archer, after all these years?" He had still not looked at me or turned around.
"Could be and is. Surprised to see you still alive." I replied.
"The same to you. I heard you bought it on the Quang Tri."
"They were too slow." I replied.
I had no weapon. If he had one, the vicious game we had played for so long was about to end in his favor. Even here, in Madrid, in broad daylight.
"I'm never armed any more, you know." he said.
"Nor I. Your English has improved a lot."
"Have to speak good English to sell toys, Archer. What about you, still killing people for fun and amusement?"
I answered, "I'm teaching math at the University here for a while. Keeping my head down is no longer much of a problem."
"Nor for me." He paused, "We could turn around a see what we look like now, after thirty years.
"And for me. I always wondered if you made it. Seems you did. I read all of the intelligence briefs and looked for some
reference to you, but there never was any. Nonetheless, I trust you about as much now as I did then. I will get up and walk
around my table and you can do the same around yours….. say at the count of three we can turn around and see each other.
Fair?"
"OK" he answered.
"Let's move. You count."
We did as we had agreed. We each rose keeping our backs to each other. Once I had reached the other side of my table, I
noticed there was some time before he said, "What was that clicking noise?
"Oh, Badger, I walk with a cane."
"Of course. My work?"
"Well, I must confess you did your part there. Ready to count?"
" One ….. two …. three"
We turned. I fully expected to be looking down the muzzle of some modern, silenced weapon and to die shortly. What I saw
was entirely different. He was a past middle aged Vietnamese businessman, well dressed, wearing a patch over his right eye
and missing his right arm below the elbow. He always shot right handed. I would never forget that. I was leaning heavily on my
cane. We looked at each other in shock and amazement for a few moments. We each laughed at about the same time.
"Some pair we make now," I said, "Shall we sit?"
"Yes, let's, but I propose we sit at the same table. We never did that before."
"Fine. I'll buy you a drink."
"You've bought me one before. Do you recall? Did you leave that canteen on the trail that night by accident?"
"No, I left it for you. I knew you'd think it was poisoned, but would finally drink from it out of desperation. Obviously, you did.
How are you." I said.
"Well, I am something less than when you last saw me. Where was that? Up near the Quang Tri River? Yes, I think it was.
Thanks for the wave. Never saw you again. What happened?"
"Let's see, that must have been the early morning of the 17th of December, 1972, right?"
"I guess so."
"We pulled out that night and left early the next morning. By then we knew you had or at least would win. You had fewer
dumb-ass politicians to deal with.'
"We had our share. What happened to you leg or back?" he asked.
"Well, that seven-sixty-two you sunk in my ass worked its way to my hip and then the whole deal went out. You?"
"Takeover of Saigon. There were still plenty of loyalists there, even after you guys bugged out."
"I am honestly sorry." I said.
"You are probably sorry you didn't get to do it yourself." he laughed lightly.
"I would have been then, but now I am just sorry that two old men, all shot up and torn up have to be this way."
"Yes, me too. What ever happened to Ed? He was one of the very best."
Slowly I looked down at my hands.
"Sorry. Didn't make it?"
"Yeah, Badger he made it. He had a damn stroke about 3 month's back in Maryland and died before he hit the floor. Nice,
clean and quick."
"Sorry."
"Thanks. He was a fine guy. Bad way to check out. What ever happened to your second, the one we called Dingle-berry?"
"Bao. He was re-educated after the take over and it failed to take. He was executed."
"By his own guys? The guys he fought so hard for for so long?"
"Doesn't make any sense does it? Those days are gone now and we are all businessmen or teachers. Nice suits. No night
missions. No ambushes. No death in the night. Just toys and radios and classes." He answered.
"Math is a lot less dangerous than what we used to do. Even more fun." I replied.
We got a drink and had finally settled down into pleasant recollections of two old, broken warriors who had fought each other
for years in a senseless and futile war and had somehow survived. Survived to this. Meeting by chance in a Holiday Inn in
Madrid, Spain, of all places. A terribly long way from the jungles where we used to meet.
"Tell, me Archer, do you want me to use your real name or do you still go by 'Archer'?
"OK, it's Will."
"Thanks, Will, you were very good.. "
"Does the Badger want me to use his name, or does he still just go by "Badger'?" I asked.
"Use the real one. Maybe it will help us forget some of those days. I don't dig anymore, either. I still have that picture of your
wife. The one you carelessly lost during that botched ambush. How is she?"
"How did you know that was my wife?"
"I just went to the personnel office and got your service record like any good Vietnamese Civil servant would." He laughed.
"Come to think of it, I had a copy of most of yours, too. Well, anyway she left after I got out of the Navy. Old war wounds
are just too hard to live with for very long. You?" I answered.
"Married? I was then. She left, too. I married again recently. I have two little daughters." He answered
We talked until far past midnight. Finally, he said, "Can you meet me here tomorrow? I will have a surprise for you."
"I'll bet. A claymore or a grenade?"
He laughed. "I don't have those, any more. Forgot how to work the damned things. No, I think you will find this a pleasant
surprise."
"Of course I will, provided you will let me take you to dinner."
"Thank you. I will."
We parted. I went up to my room feeling a little strange, but perhaps a little better. Thirty years is a long time. Old wounds heal
but then sometimes they come back at night. They came again that night. All of them. All of the lost friends and foes alike. In
my dreams, that night, each came on a wide stage and said his piece and bowed and left. The Badger chapter of my life was
closing. A feared and worthy opponent was gone. Vanished in the night. Now replaced by a friend, perhaps.
The next evening we met. After a few moments a beautiful Vietnamese woman with two perfectly lovely little girls came to our
table. "None of them speak much English, you know. I told them about "us" last night." He said.
"Course." One of the little girls leapt into my lap. "Chú Bill", I thought I heard her say.
"It means 'Uncle Bill.'"
"I know." I replied.