Page 22 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)

“You might have been the first person to insert into Laos with fins; case of beer,” Quinn said, reminding the SEAL that any first meant that operator was on the hook to supply a case of beer for the team.

“Water was freezing, though,” Tom continued.

“I didn’t expect it to be so damn cold. The barrel was also a bit heavier than I thought.

I had to swim it to shore in the dark, replace the cap with one the Agency designed that was attached to an explosive device, and then swim the drum back out to put it in with the others without being seen. ”

“Can’t believe you pulled that one off.”

“I honestly think the Agency was surprised as well. We detonated it when it arrived at their collection point, which was about three klicks south. Blew the fuel depot sky high. Came out on strings under Kingbees. All told, that op was seven days.”

“That’s a long one.”

“It felt like it. The mission being successful, they decided to keep me around for future maritime missions. Assigned me to you.”

“Glad they did. Cheers.”

Quinn looked out across the South China Sea.

“You know, you keep going northeast from here and you hit China,” he said.

“I know,” Tom responded.

Quinn shook his head.

“We aren’t just fighting the NVA here. We’re fighting China, the Soviet Union, Eastern Bloc countries, even Cuba. It’s like we are here so they can all take their shot.”

Tom listened as Quinn continued.

“This war, it’s not like our fathers’. It’s different. NVA wears uniforms, but the VC don’t. Pathet Lao don’t. In World War Two, those guys were there until they were wounded, died, or won. We are rotated through by the year, making no real progress.”

“McNamara is tracking the body count,” Tom offered.

“The body count is bullshit, and if it did mean anything, the enemy has a much higher tolerance for death. You know what they call the war in the North?”

“They call it the American War.”

“That’s right. But in Vietnamese the full translation is the War Against the Americans to Save the Nation. What does that tell you, Tom?”

The SEAL shook his head.

“It should tell us all that we are going to lose this one,” Quinn continued.

“Like the colonists fighting the British in our revolution, the greatest military in the world at that point in history. And we won. Why? We were fighting for something, not against something. And we were on our home turf, fighting for our families, our land, our way of life.”

“If it’s a losing war, then why do you do it?” Tom asked.

“Same as we all do, I guess. The nation asked. We answered. Though I’m getting a little old for it.”

“You’re twenty-eight.”

“That’s ancient in SOG years. I’m old enough to remember when SOG stood for Special Operations Group.

They changed it to Studies and Observations Group pretty quick.

More bland. I haven’t been here since the beginning, the Colby years, but I was here for Shining Brass, White Star, Project Omega at Kontum, Hatchet Force, Snakebite, Project Delta.

Doubt America will ever hear of SOG or Delta, which is fine by me. ”

Tom studied his friend, wondering what he was getting at.

Quinn took another sip of beer.

“Life expectancy in SOG isn’t great. Life is a matter of inches in ’Nam.”

“Sometimes less,” Tom said, draining his beer and signaling the waitress for two more.

“You are either going to make it out or you’re not. Simple. Life is simple over here. Maybe that’s why we do it.”

“Maybe,” Tom said.

“One of the Delta One-Zeros you met last night, Gary Stedman, told me something years ago when we were running ops into the An Lao Valley. We were back at Nha Trang after a particularly nasty firefight that should have killed us both and he said, ‘Training gives you an edge, but luck will wield the sword.’ ”

“Just like poker.”

“I guess so.”

Quinn paused, gathering his thoughts.

“You know, the closer you are to the war the less the politics matters,” he said.

“It was probably that way for our fathers too. But then came Hiroshima and Nagasaki. We suddenly had the power of gods. American identity is tied to this war, Tom. How we emerge will put us on the path for the future we deserve.”

“You a philosopher now? What does that mean?”

“It means war is our most primitive instinct. Well, a close second behind sex. America is the dying god. She’ll be replaced. It’s only a question of what will replace her? The Soviets? A new America that’s America in name only? I mean look at this place. What do you see?”

Tom scanned the beach, taking in the scene.

“Some soldiers trying to have a good time before they go back to the jungle.”

“But deeper. The hierarchy, the authority of the garrison military in the States is just an illusion. Long hair, ripped uniforms, drinking, smoking pot; that’s what we gravitate toward beyond the eyes of the parade grounds and air-conditioned halls of the Pentagon.

War is our ritual.” Quinn paused. “That’s only partly the booze talking. ”

“You get wiser when you drink.”

Quinn laughed.

“There is something else,” he said.

“What is it?”

“We are losing too many guys.”

“It’s war.”

“It’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was with Project Delta our teams didn’t just vanish. We were smaller, harder to infiltrate. SOG has gotten too big. Too much command and control. Too many teams disappearing across the fence.”

“You think we’re compromised?”

“I’m certain of it. There is a mole in Saigon, probably in the Special Exploitation Directorate, which is now called STD—Special Technical Directorate—a South Vietnamese SOG contingent. Their command-and-control staff know too much about what we are doing in Laos.”

“STD,” Tom said, shaking his head. “Someone has a sense of humor. Have you voiced your concerns up the chain?”

“More times than I can count. The brass is all about working with our Vietnamese counterparts, no matter what it means for us on the ground.”

Tom waited until the waitress delivered two new cold beers and removed their empty cans before speaking.

“Quinn, I wasn’t entirely honest in the CO’s office.”

“Who gives a fuck?” Quinn said, pulling the pop top from his beer can and tossing it on the table.

“Well, I’d feel better if you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“The real reason my dad was in Vietnam at the end of the war.”

“What’s that?”

“He recruited Ho Chi Minh to spy for the OSS.”