Page 16 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)

TOM REECE AND FRANK Quinn stood at attention in front of their commanding officer’s desk.

Dust was visible in the morning light pouring through the room’s single window and making its way through cracks in the walls and floor.

It mixed with the humid air, heavy with the unmistakable stench that emanated from the wax coating applied to the canvas material of the roof.

It was tinged with the slight smell of mildew that clashed with the aroma of diesel exhaust coming from generators and smoke from burning feces blowing in from the burn pits, each distinct odor battling for supremacy.

The CO had sent a courier to rouse them at six a.m.

Quinn knew Lieutenant Colonel Backhaus as well as anyone could, which is to say he knew the legend and, like most others on base, did his best to stay out of his way.

Tom had met him upon arrival at Phu Bai months earlier, but had not personally interacted with him since, except when the colonel would see them off before missions.

He had a tradition of shaking hands with the entire recon team before they boarded helicopters into Laos.

He never said a word to anyone but the One-Zero.

A huge German Shepherd that accompanied Colonel Backhaus everywhere was curled up on the floor to his right. How he got approval to bring his personal dog to Vietnam was anyone’s guess.

The old warrior stayed seated and slowly packed a pipe with tobacco before striking a wooden match against the top of his desk and dipping it into the bowl. He extinguished the flame, closed his eyes, and took a draw.

“Tell me about your ‘hunting expedition,’ ” he said in a thick Finnish accent.

Legend had it that the Finnish-born soldier was something of a boxer in his youth and that he had Olympic potential, had it not been for the Soviet invasion of Finland in 1939. He inflicted such heavy casualties on the Soviets in the Winter War that they placed a bounty on his head.

“Well?” the colonel prodded.

As the One-Zero, Quinn took the lead.

“You know about the hunting expeditions?” Quinn asked.

Colonel Backhaus nodded without changing expression.

The sweet smell of Cavendish tobacco filled the small space.

“I take full responsibility, Colonel.”

The dog lifted its head and growled.

Backhaus said something in German and the dog again rested its head on a large paw.

“What was your intent?” Backhaus asked.

“To train, sir.”

“Too much time between missions?”

Quinn paused.

“Sometimes.”

The unsettling nod again.

“I read in your report that you were testing out tactics for prisoner snatches.”

“Yes, sir. Assessing going in light with just Stens and High Standards.”

“What did you learn?”

“Wouldn’t want to try it against many more than seven. But it worked. We got our prisoner. Next time I’d take someone with an AW, a chopped RPD like Tom, I mean Petty Officer Reece, usually carries.”

“And you?” the colonel said, looking at Tom for the first time.

“A syringe of something to knock a prisoner out is going to be SOP from now on. We used morphine, and it worked, but it would be better to hold that in case it’s needed for someone on the team.”

The dog heard a truck rumble by outside and jumped to its feet, an ominous growl adding to the tension.

“Nein. Platz,” No. Sit, came the colonel’s sharp command in German.

“Braver Hund,” Good dog, Tom said, complementing the dog’s immediate response to the colonel’s command.

“Wo haben Sie Deutsch gelernt?” Where did you learn German? Backhaus asked.

“Von meiner Mutter. Sie war Lehrerin. Sie unterrichtete Deutsch. Ihre Familie hatte deutsche Verbindungen,” Tom replied. From my mother. She was a schoolteacher. She taught German. Her family had German ties.

Tom switched to French.

“J’ai appris le francais auprès de mon père.” I learned French from my father.

“était-il francais?” the colonel said, seamlessly switching to French. Was he French?

“Non. Mon père était ici vers la fin de la guerre, combattant avec le Viet Minh contre les Japonais.” No. My father was here near the end of the war, fighting with the Viet Minh against the Japanese.

Tom hoped his language skills and the fact that his father and Colonel Backhaus had fought in the same war would buy them some favor in their current predicament.

“Welche anderen Sprachen sprechen Sie?” What other languages do you speak? Backhaus asked, switching back to German.

“Die Navy schickte mich vor meinem ersten Einsatz zum DLI für Vietnamesisch.” The Navy sent me to DLI for Vietnamese before my first deployment.

The CO moved to Vietnamese.

“Ng??i Viet c?a b?n th? nào?” How is your Vietnamese?

Tom stumbled a bit.

“Kh?ng t?t b?ng ti?ng Pháp và ti?ng ??c c?a t?i.” Not as good as my French and German.

“Was hat dein Vater im Krieg gemacht?” What did your father do in the war? Backhaus asked in German.

“Bewaffnete Widerstandsk?mpfer.” He armed Resistance fighters.

That struck a chord with the colonel.

“Ich nehme an, Sie sprechen kein Finnisch.” I don’t suppose you speak Finnish.

“Leider nicht.” Unfortunately not.

Tom and Quinn remained at attention as the colonel considered his options.

“The usual $100 and five days of R&R in Thailand is denied. As is the Seiko for your ’Yard.

Instead, you will escort the prisoner to CCN,” he said, referring to their higher headquarters, Command and Control North in Da Nang.

“And take Amiuh with you. He’s in trouble too.

Drop the prisoner and his bag with the interrogators.

Stand by in case you are needed. Your R&R is now at FOB 4 in Da Nang. ”

“Yes, sir,” Quinn said, responding for them both.

Backhaus relit his pipe and took another draw.

“I hear they call you the Odd Couple.”

Tom and Quinn exchanged looks.

“If you get a chance, see the movie in Da Nang. It’s funny,” he said without smiling.

Tom and Quinn did not quite know how to respond.

“I’ll adjust the report to reflect your prisoner snatch mission was approved by me ahead of time.”

“Thank you, sir,” they both said in unison.

“And gentlemen, stay out of trouble. Get back here in one piece. We have a war to fight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Quinn and Tom both rendered salutes, as it seemed appropriate, and turned for the door, the low growl of the German Shepherd speeding their exit.

As Tom turned to close the door behind him, he glanced back at the colonel and could have sworn he caught the hint of a smile on the old soldier’s face.

The two MACV-SOG operators breathed a sigh of relief as they waited for a loud deuce and a half truck to rumble past.

“You never told me you spoke German,” Quinn said. “But I’m glad you do.”

Tom laughed.

“First time it’s come in handy.”

They waited for the dust to settle from a passing truck.

“Did Backhaus really do all those things I’ve heard?” Tom asked.

“Probably more. We have some interesting characters in SF. An instructor who put me through qualification had an almost undecipherable German accent. Being students and not yet having our tabs, we didn’t dare ask about it.

He wore his class A uniform to our graduation and guess what was right there along with two Silver Stars and more Bronze Stars than I could count? ”

“What?”

“A Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross and a Croix de Guerre.”

“No.”

“You better believe it. He was a German paratrooper in the war and then fought with the French Foreign Legion at Dien Bien Phu before his time with us. Rumor has it that the Knight’s Cross was awarded in North Africa by Rommel himself.

He’s at 10th Group in Germany now, doing something classified with Det A in Berlin. ”

“Sounds like a character out of a Fleming novel.”

“Sure does, but he’s not.”

They jogged across the road toward Amiuh, who had risen to his feet.

“Pack a bag for Da Nang,” Quinn told the Navy man. “Ever been?”

“Just a quick stop for briefings at CCN before the assignment here. Signed my NDA and got the plausible deniability speech.”

“Who read you in?”

“Jack Warner.”

“Was the good colonel in uniform?”

“If shower shoes, a bathrobe, and green beret are his uniform, then yes.”

Quinn laughed. “We have some unique personalities in SF.”

“Just like the SEAL Teams. By the way, could you guys have picked a more un-American piece of headgear than a beret?”

“Well, your Navy Dixie Cups were already taken.”

“Touché.”

“They will probably put us up at a safe house in the city, House Twenty-Two. FOB 4 has the Project Delta bar. Best team room in ’Nam. They call it the Delta Club. Those boys will want to take some of your Navy pay in five-card draw.”

“That’s okay. Only thing other than French that my dad ever taught me was how to play cards.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow.

“Hope he taught you well.”

Tom smiled as they approached Amiuh.

“Quinn-son, Tommy-son, did we get Seiko?”

His eyes sparkled in anticipation of his prize.

“Afraid not, Amiuh. We barely kept our rank,” Quinn said.

“What mean?” the Montagnard asked, puzzled.

“Being an unauthorized mission, we are in the doghouse.”

“What mean doghouse?”

“Just an expression meaning we got caught breaking a few rules and there are consequences. Like ‘number fucking ten,’ ” Quinn said, using SOG slang to describe something terrible, with “one” being the best and “ten” being the worst.

“There is some good news,” Tom said. “We are getting that R&R, and you are coming with us.”

“To Thailand?”

“No.”

“America?”

“Well, little America. Da Nang.”

Amiuh looked confused.

“We leave in an hour,” Quinn said. “We are taking our prisoner to CCN for questioning.”

“No Seiko,” Amiuh said, looking at the dirt. His face was the picture of disappointment.

“Shit,” Tom whispered. “Here Amiuh, take mine.”

He slipped the Seiko from his wrist and handed it to the Montagnard tribesman, whose eyes widened like he had just been given the keys to the kingdom.

“Thank you, Tommy-son.” He bowed his head. “Compass too?”

“Both yours now.”

“But you need watch.”

“I’ll get one from supply. I’ll tell them I lost it on a mission or something. That’s yours now. You have more than earned it.”

Amiuh bowed his head.

“I not forget this, Tommy-son.”

Amiuh fastened the Seiko on his wrist, beaming with pride.

“I cannot accept gift without giving you something in return,” he said, pulling the tiger claw from around his neck. “From my first kill.”

“Amiuh, I can’t,” Tom said. “That’s yours.”

“I insist, Tommy-son. You do me great honor.”

Tom looked at Quinn for help.

“Really,” Tom said. “That’s too special. I can’t accept it.”

“You must. Tribal code.”

Tom reluctantly took the gift and slid it over his head.

“Thank you, Amiuh.”

Amiuh looked back down at his new watch.

“I glad the colonel not kill you,” he said with a wide grin.

“He tried but it was two on one,” Tom replied.

“Both you dinky dau!” Amiuh laughed a laugh that sounded like it came from a much larger person. “Number fucking one but beaucoup dien cai dau.” Much crazy in the head. He laughed again and walked toward the Montagnard hooch to show off his new watch.

Quinn turned to Tom.

“You made his decade.”

“I can always get another watch. You think this gift was really a tribal code thing?”

“He might be screwing with you, but there’s no doubt you had to take it.”

Quinn looked at the Seiko on his wrist, a small Waltham compass affixed to its green nylon band.

“Meet me in forty-five at the brig. We’ll grab Charlie and di di mau to the chopper. We’ll be in Da Nang in time for beers at the Delta Club. I heard Martha Raye is singing there tonight. I just missed her the last time I passed through.”

“Roger that.”

“And Tom.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be late.”

Tom tapped his wrist

“How could I?”