“I was in the operating room with Lieutenant Tyson and several other men. It was a large room that actually held six or seven operating tables. It was very primitive, as I recall. There were people on each of the tables, and there were nurses and doctors in attendance. Lieutenant Tyson spoke to a man who identified himself as the chief of staff.”
“In what language did they speak?”
“Mostly French, but some English. The gist of the conversation, most of which I learned of afterward, was that Lieutenant Tyson, of course, was asking—actually insisting—that Peterson and Moody be treated. Peterson was at this point lying on the floor of the operating room. Moody was sitting against a wall. This doctor knelt down and examined Peterson perfunctorily and announced that the man was beyond saving. Lieutenant Tyson told him to try. The doctor explained—and again this is what Lieutenant Tyson told me afterward—that the hospital was on the triage system. That is, anyone whose wounds were very severe would not be helped because that would tie up too much of the hospital’s resources for little or no gain. The lightly wounded, such as Moody, would not be helped because they could live with their wounds. It was only those people in the middle group who would be tended to. Apparently neither Peterson nor Moody qualified for this group. Moody was actually being tended to by Brandt right there on the floor of the operating room anyway.”
“But Peterson was dying?”
“Yes. He’d been shot in the side, and the bullet exited on the other side. He was gagging and spitting up frothy white blood. Apparently he was drowning. He was semiconscious, and kept calling out for help. In fact, while he was lying on the floor, he pulled at Lieutenant Tyson’s pant leg. Lieutenant Tyson knelt a few times while he was arguing with this doctor. I was kneeling on the floor, holding Peterson’s hand.”
“Do you recall who else was in the room?”
“People kept coming in and out. But Farley and Cane were there almost the entire time. There were several Oriental staff in the room, again coming and going. There were also perhaps five or six Caucasians, which was one of the reasons the men of the platoon kept coming in and out.”
“Why?”
“To see the Caucasians. Other than GIs, none of us had seen Caucasians in some time. It was a novelty. There was one Caucasian woman, too, a rather good-looking woman, and that caused a little stir. As I suggested, it wasn’t an operating room of the type we picture, but only a large whitewashed room with a red tile floor and six or seven tables.”
“How long did this altercation between the doctor and Lieutenant Tyson last?”
“Hard to say. Maybe five minutes before Lieutenant Tyson finally leveled his rifle at the man and ordered him to do something for Peterson.”
“And what did the doctor say?”
“I’m not sure, but I could tell by his motions and his tone of voice that he wasn’t intimidated. He seemed to want to return to his patient, who was an Oriental male lying naked on the closest table. The man’s leg had been shredded pretty badly by some sort of explosive device. The man’s clothing, a khaki North Vietnamese Army uniform, was on the floor. So, the doctor turned away. Lieutenant Tyson spun him around and slapped him across the face.” Kelly paused.
Corva let the silence continue for some seconds, then said, “What happened next?”
“Several things were happening concurrently now. First, Farley delivered a horizontal butt stroke to the doctor’s abdomen, which caused him to double over. Hernando Beltran had entered the room and gone to the operating table where the wounded enemy soldier was. Beltran pulled the man off the operating table and onto the floor. The man was screaming. Peterson was crying. The doctor was moaning in pain. The nurses were becoming frightened. Then from the rear of the operating room comes this tall Caucasian, running at us. He was shouting in English and had an accent that I believe was Australian. We’d worked with Australian troops for a week once, and that was how I could identify the accent.”
“What was the man shouting, Mr. Kelly?”
“He was being very abusive. Everyone was stunned to hear this English-speaking man. He hadn’t said anything up until that point.”
“What was he saying now?”
“He began by telling Lieutenant Tyson to get out and take his men with him. Then he began to swear, calling us all fucking murderers. Then he moved on to larger issues, such as the fact that all we knew how to do was kill and hurt people. That we had no right to be there—in Vietnam. That the war was this and that. The sort of stuff you saw in the stateside newspapers.”
“Did Lieutenant Tyson respond?”
“No. The man was obviously overwrought. But while this was going on, Beltran and someone else had laid Peterson on the now vacant operating table. Another doctor approached, but he spoke no English or French. I believe he was German or Dutch. He was indicating by his motions that he would operate on Peterson. In fact, someone had put a tube down Peterson’s throat, I suppose to suck the blood out. But no one was paying much attention to this doctor by now. The French doctor was somewhat recovered now from the butt stroke, and extremely angry, but I had the distinct impression that the medical staff there had properly evaluated the situation and were about to cooperate. But there was still this Australian doctor who wouldn’t calm down. And then there was Beltran, who had found another NVA soldier and had thrown him off the operating table, too. Lieutenant Tyson shouted to Beltran to get out. I’m telling you what I remember, but it was somewhat confusing, because everyone was very hyper. I would imagine that these people had had about as little rest as we had, and tempers were very short. But as I said, the Australian was exhibiting the most provocative behavior.”
“What do you mean by provocative?”
“He began pointing.”
“Pointing.”
“Yes. At each of us. He would point and shout things such as, ‘You! Get out!’ or, ‘You are a bloody fucking murderer. You. You. How dare you.’ That sort of thing.”
“How did the men react to this?”
“Not too well. As I said, we were wet, tired, frightened. We knew we were headed toward Hue. I don’t think anyone expected to come back from there. And then here was this doctor, one of our own, so to speak, calling us names. Someone shouted to him that he wouldn’t speak to the VC or NVA that way, which was probably true. Also, I think the general feeling was that the enemy had caused all this misery, not us. As I said, the rest of the staff were willing to cooperate regarding Peterson, but I had the impression they were not pro-American types. They didn’t greet us very warmly. That, I think, set up the psychological atmosphere for what eventually happened to them.”
“And the Australian doctor was still being abusive?”
“Yes. He couldn’t get himself under control. Something inside him had obviously snapped. Two Caucasian males tried to pull him away, but he pushed them aside. Most of us were ignoring him, but somehow Larry Cane got into a screaming match with him. They traded insults for some seconds. Then the Australian poked Cane with his finger and said, ‘You’re a stupid son of a bitch.’ Cane pulled the trigger on his rifle and fired a burst into the Australian’s abdomen.”
Corva said, “This was the first shot that was fired?”
“Yes. But that’s all it took. Beltran went over to the two North Viets on the floor, pulled his pistol, and shot them both in the head. Then Cane, for a reason I’ll never comprehend, fired his M-16 into the far wall, splattering stucco all over. People were screaming, dropping to the floor. The Australian doctor was lying against a wall where he’d been thrown by the impact of the bullets, bleeding badly from the abdomen. Then Brandt, apropos of nothing really, yelled out, ‘Peterson’s dead.’ Cane then turned and shot this French doctor in the back.”
“What was Lieutenant Tyson doing during this time?”
“Same thing as I was doing. Diving for the floor. Cane had obviously gone around the bend. It happened really very quickly. At least I think it did. Then Lieutenant Tyson got to one knee and drew his pi
stol. He aimed it at Cane and ordered him to drop his rifle. Cane was reloading another magazine. Lieutenant Tyson again told him to drop the rifle. It was all very tense.”
“And did Cane drop the rifle?”
“He did after Lieutenant Tyson shot him in the chest.”
Ben Tyson sat with his elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hands, staring intently at Daniel Kelly, as was everyone. Tyson listened hard for a sound, but there wasn’t any. Corva seemed to have nothing to say and neither did Kelly.
Finally, Colonel Sproule asked Kelly, “Are you saying that Lieutenant Tyson shot Cane?”
“Yes, your honor. Shot and killed him.”
Sproule nodded, almost wearily, thought Tyson. Tyson looked at the board and saw Colonel Moore staring at him, as though seeing him for the first time. Tyson also saw Major Bauer’s head nodding slowly and rhythmically.
Corva came back to the defense table and poured himself some water and drank it. He never looked at Tyson but turned and went back to Kelly.
Tyson sat back in his chair and turned his head toward the prosecution table. Pierce seemed not upset and not uncomfortable. He seemed, if anything, relaxed, as if it were all beyond his control now. Tyson looked at Colonel Sproule, who seemed thoughtful. Probably, thought Tyson, this case, whose facts had eluded him, was now becoming clear and tidy in his mind.
Corva said to Kelly, “What happened next?”
“The operating room was in pandemonium, as I recall. Beltran was at the door and wouldn’t let anyone leave. Richard Farley ran over to Cane and knelt beside him. Cane and Farley were from the same town somewhere in South Jersey and had enlisted together under the buddy system, which guaranteed that the men would stay together during their enlistment. Farley was very distraught and was screaming at Tyson that he had killed his friend to save a bunch of gooks. Of course, Cane had in fact killed two Caucasians, but as I said, Farley was distraught. No one and nothing was making much sense. Even now I can’t make much sense of it.”
“Did Lieutenant Tyson at any time give an order to kill wounded enemy soldiers? Or to kill anyone?”
“No, he did not.”
“You were with him the entire time?”
“Yes. Except for a period later, after the shooting began.”
“How much time had elapsed since you entered the hospital?”
“About fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“You described the operating room scene as pandemonium. Could you give any details?”
“I recall that Beltran began giving orders. Nearly the entire platoon was in the operating room by now and Beltran ordered them to find all the gooks and shoot them.”
“Was Beltran in a leadership position?”
“No. He was a pfc. He was a machine gunner. But he was prone to giving orders. Lieutenant Tyson told him to shut up. But Farley was now standing to Lieutenant Tyson’s side, aiming his rifle at him. Lieutenant Tyson was still on one knee with his pistol in his hand and his M-16 on the floor. Farley told him to drop his pistol.”
“Did he?”
“No, Lieutenant Tyson stood and told Farley to drop his rifle. But now Beltran had his machine gun trained on Lieutenant Tyson. A few of the men meanwhile had gone back to the ward where the enemy soldiers were lying in bed. We heard six or seven shots, and I assumed they’d killed the wounded NVA.”
“What were you doing during this time?”
“Not too much. It was a very chaotic situation. I tried to calm people down, but it was beyond that at this point. Another man, Harold Simcox, was pointing his rifle at Lieutenant Tyson now. Lieutenant Tyson told them—Beltran, Farley, and Simcox—to drop their weapons, but they didn’t. Simcox was one of those men who had a bad attitude toward any authority. There was no bad blood between Lieutenant Tyson and Simcox, but Simcox was a rabble-rouser, and as soon as he smelled a mutiny, he joined the mutineers. There are always a few like that.”
“So now three men were pointing their weapons at Lieutenant Tyson. What was his response?”
“His response was to tell the three men they were under arrest. He told me to call battalion headquarters and make a report.”
“Did you?”
“No. Lieutenant Tyson’s estimation of the situation was faulty. Had I attempted to make a radio call, I’d have been shot. And so would Lieutenant Tyson. He was letting his ego get in the way of his judgment.”
“What was the response of Beltran, Farley, and Simcox to being told that they were under arrest?”
“They had a negative response to that. Farley again told Lieutenant Tyson to drop his pistol, and this time he threatened to shoot him if he didn’t. At this point, it seemed to be a standoff. Then we were momentarily diverted when one of the staff, a young Caucasian male, leapt from the window. It was two stories, but there was shrubbery outside. Beltran ran to the window, rested his machine gun on the ledge, and fired.”
“Did he hit the man?”
“He said he did. Then Beltran turned from the window and ordered all the remainder of the staff into a side room that looked like a scrub-up room. It had sinks and a toilet. Then he sent a few men out to round up any other staff members, Caucasian and Orientals.”
“Would you say that Beltran, then, was the leader or a leader of this mutiny?”
“Sort of. He was giving orders, and people were taking them. He was on a power trip. He was also shouting that this was a communist hospital. It was actually Catholic, and there were crosses and such all over the place, but he didn’t seem to perceive this.”
“And Farley and Simcox still had their weapons trained on Lieutenant Tyson?”
“Yes. And the Australian doctor was taking his time about dying. He was still on the floor crying out in pain. But Farley wouldn’t let the hospital people go near him. His reasoning as best I could determine was that if they couldn’t find the time or space for Peterson, then they shouldn’t worry about the Australian. There was a certain degree of symmetry and logic to that. During these few minutes, other people in the hospital were trying to run away, but they were shot by the men of the platoon whose natural reaction was to shoot anyone running away. At this point there was no full-scale massacre in progress, but the deaths were mounting up, and I believe that some of the men were thinking along the lines of eliminating evidence and witnesses.”
“Including eliminating Lieutenant Tyson?”
“Yes, I think so. Farley and Simcox looked as if they were trying to get up the nerve to shoot him. Beltran was inciting everyone who would listen to him. Lieutenant Tyson was ordering me to give him the radiophone. At this point, I decided that Lieutenant Tyson was part of the problem and not part of the solution. So I struck him and knocked him to the floor.”
“What was your intention in doing that?” asked Corva.
“Partly to get him out of there since he wasn’t going to leave on his own. Partly to save his life. After he was on the floor, Farley and Simcox, I believed, wouldn’t think it necessary to shoot him. Apparently this was an accurate assessment, because they then turned away from him and joined Beltran and a few others who were shoving people into this washroom. I asked a man named Walker to give me a hand, and together we carried Lieutenant Tyson out of the operating room, down a short corridor, to the first door we came to, which turned out to be a small room that appeared to be a laboratory. We put him on the floor, and I told Walker to stay there with me. We sat there awhile, listening to the shooting and the screaming. I never actually saw the indiscriminate shooting. Up until that point, the deaths had been caused by some specific factor, no matter how unjustified or illogical.”
“How long did you stay there?”
“Walker and I stayed there about ten minutes. Then the shooting stopped, and we left to see what was going on. In retrospect, I should have stayed with Lieutenant Tyson, but I didn’t think he was in any real danger any longer. I saw all I wanted to see in the hospital and came back to the laboratory about ten minutes later, but Lieutenant Tyson was
gone. I guessed that he’d left the hospital, because I hadn’t seen him while I was looking around the hospital, so I went outside and looked around.”
“Did you see him there?”
“No. And I didn’t want to go back inside that hospital. I had some fear for my own safety. I was also angry at Lieutenant Tyson for leaving the laboratory.”
“Would you describe what you saw in the hospital after you left the laboratory?”
“I’d rather not.”
“All right . . . what did you do outside the hospital?”
“I was trying to sort all of this out in my mind. I sat on a stone bench in the courtyard and had a cigarette. I saw the hospital begin to burn. The platoon began to assemble outside. One of the last people out was Lieutenant Tyson. The platoon surrounded the hospital and watched it burn. Several people who had not been shot tried to escape through the windows and doors, but they were shot. We stood around in the rain and waited until the hospital roof collapsed. Then we formed up and began moving toward Hue.”
“Did anyone threaten Lieutenant Tyson at that point?”
“During the rest breaks in the patrol there was some discussion about killing him, but no one did anything about it. Lieutenant Tyson was sort of a prisoner, and he never said a word to me or anyone as we walked. We carried Moody in a stretcher and Peterson’s body in a poncho. Farley carried Cane’s body for a while, then we took turns carrying it. We walked in single file, and no one could see anyone else’s face. It was very surreal. The more we walked, the more the adrenaline boiled out. The rain was coming down hard, and the villages seemed dead. To our front we could see Hue burning in the rain. We could actually see the flames now and hear the small-arms fire. It was early, but we decided it was time to pull in for the day. Everyone was very tired. We found an old French pillbox—a round concrete bunker—and set up there. Lieutenant Tyson kept making radio reports to Captain Browder of this sniper fire, and as long as he did that, he was safe. But everyone was wondering what he’d say when he got a chance to go back to base camp.”