Corporal Donny and four others came into the temple dragging three Vietnamese: a man and a woman of middle age, and a girl of about fifteen. “This family thought they could hide from us in the coconut shed,” said Donny.

The three Vietnamese stared in horror at the body of the monk, his robes soaked in blood, his face a pulpy mass that hardly looked human.

Smithy said: “Tell them they’re going to look like that unless they show us the tunnels.”

Slope translated. The peasant man answered him. Slope said: “He says there are no tunnels in this village.”

“Lying motherfucker,” said Smithy.

Jack said: “Shall I . . . ?”

Smithy looked thoughtful. “Do the girl, Jack,” he said. “Make the parents watch.”

Jack looked eager. He ripped the girl’s pajamas off, causing her to scream. He threw her to the ground. Her body was pale and slender. Donny held her down. Jack pulled out his penis, already half erect, and rubbed it to stiffen it.

Once again Jasper was horrified but not surprised. Rape was not commonplace, but it happened too frequently. Men occasionally reported it, usually when they were new to Vietnam. The army would investigate and find the allegations unsupported by evidence, meaning that all the other soldiers said they did not want any trouble and anyway they had seen nothing, and the matter would end there.

The older woman started talking, a stream of hysterical, pleading words. Slope said: “She says the girl is a virgin and really only a child.”

“She’s no child,” said Smithy. “Look at the black fur on that little snatch.”

“The mother swears by all the gods that there are no tunnels here. She says she doesn’t support the Vietcong because she used to be the village moneylender but Charlie stopped her.”

Smithy said: “Do it, Jack.”

Jack lay on the girl, his big frame hiding most of her slight body. He seemed to be having difficulty penetrating. The other men shouted encouragement and made jokes. Jack gave a powerful thrust, and the girl screamed.

He pumped vigorously for a minute. The mother continued to plead, though Slope did not bother to translate. The father was silent, but Jasper saw tears streaming down his face. Jack grunted a couple of times, then stopped and withdrew. There was blood on the girl’s thighs, bright red on her ivory skin.

Smithy said: “Who’s next?”

“I’ll do her,” said Donny, unzipping.

Jasper left the temple.

This was not normal. Any pretext of getting the father to talk was now redundant: if he had known anything he would have revealed it before the rape began. Jasper had run out of excuses for the men of this platoon. They were out of control. General Westmoreland had created a monster and deliberately let it loose. They were beyond sanity. They were not even animals; they were worse than that; they were mad, evil fiends.

Neville followed him out. “Remember, Jasper,” he said, “this is necessary to win the hearts and minds of the Vietnamese people.”