"Jesus Christ. That's just what I'm saying, David. That's a real war over there. You seem to think it's just another firelight. Do you realize you'll have to go back through combat training again for six weeks, just like a goddamn marine. Because that's what you're going to get into. Didn't you see in that ALNAV the other day that they're going to name one of those new Knox-class frigates after some lieutenant who got himself killed in those riverboats? Do you want to have your mother break a bottle of champagne over the bow of the one they name after you?" As an afterthought, he said, "I'd much rather drink it if it's all the same to you."
David's face became more serious. "I know you're right, Dan. But I think I really belong there. And like you said, I'm a lifer. This is my career, and I don't want anything else. I'm still single. And I guess there's really a hell of a lot I've got to learn over there." He thought for a moment back to the days when he and Phil were racing their PT boats up and down the coast, burning diesel fuel like it was water. Christ, he thought, we figured we were just like the cavalry charging in there to break up all those Indians. And that's just the way it is, he said to himself. Not so long ago we were chasing the Indians, and now we're chasing the gooks out of their own country.
"I guess you're right, Dan. I wouldn't want you to go with us. You could get hurt, and there's probably no reason for you to take the chance." He stretched and smiled. "But I don't have much choice, even if I didn't want to go. Hell," he grinned again, "that's why I conned myself into this cushy detailing job — so I could write my own orders! Do you know what I mean?"
The other man was suddenly more serious too. "Yeah, I suppose so. That's why the hell I want to get out after this tour. I extended to get to D.C. And I want to make sure none of this rubs off on me before I get out. You guys are so serious sometimes, I feel like I ought to see a shrink and find out why I don't care to duck bullets. Then I remember. I went to a normal college, a civilian one — not the Baltimore Boat and Barge Company."
"Wrong town," David said, amused. "You mean Annapolis, not Baltimore."
"Like hell I do. I mean Baltimore. In my last wardroom we decided Baltimore was the shiftiest place any of us ever saw, and we decided anyone who went through four years of that shit you did must have thought they were in Baltimore. Hey, I shit you not. I was just over there to see a chick a couple of weeks ago, and it was so bad, I thought I'd taken a wrong turn into the Academy." He stopped. "Hey, David, what am I into this for? You are-writing those orders, aren't you?" He looked at the papers on the desk.
"Right here." David waved some papers at him. "But first I'm going to give myself a week back home, and then three weeks of sin in San Francisco. Followed by those six weeks with the marines, and then off to dear old Saigon in time to help them celebrate their New Year, and in sixteen months I'll be back here with a chest full of fruit salad. And by then, I will have gotten another stripe and be Lieutenant Commander Charles, and our esteemed boss, Captain Kehs, will have written me orders to go out to Monterey, and you take it from there, my friend."
"Okay, my friend. If that's the way you want it. I will look forward to the day when we can sip martinis and celebrate your still being alive." He paused and thought for a minute. "Did you say you're going to be there in time for their New Year — parties and all that stuff?"
"Yup. They call it Tet."
Mundy had been right. Thank God he's not here. I can just see that "I'm always right" look of his, thought David, looking at the water and mud. It wasn't a normal rain compared to what anyone back in the States would call normal. It was a cloudburst, with the exception that it had been raining just as hard since the previous night.
And Mundy had been even more right about another thing. He had received all that marine training because that's what they were doing — acting like marines! The main effort since they'd been there was to protect their added squadrons of Swift boats and river-patrol boats by building a fortress around the base. They laid minefields around the perimeter, dug trenches, built fortifications, went on patrols to cleanse the area, and on and on and on. And when they weren't doing that, they were cleaning weapons and practicing maneuvers in the river. But they were definitely not going out on missions, at least not the type that David had dreamed they would. Their weapons were rifles, grenades, 50-caliber machine guns, mortars — just like marines.
And the worst part was that they looked like marines, right down to the fatigues, flak jackets, and helmets. The sailors in the squadron looked like marines with hair, and he suspected some of them were even beginning to act that way.
Nothing had been like he expected. Their welcome was already in progress when they managed to land at Ton Son Hut shortly after the Tet Offensive began, the New Year's party that had amused Mundy. As they came in low for their approach, he could see sections of Saigon burning. The only information they had was the pilot's comment over the speaker that there was fighting near the airport and there was a possibility they might come under fire on their final leg of the approach, but he hadn't seemed concerned. He was probably a marine, too, David thought.
The moment the door to their plane opened, he knew they had arrived at the war. There was the smell of smoke in the air, and artillery explosions in the distance. Closer to the airport, they could hear small-arms fire, occasional shots for a few seconds, followed by rapid fire from a number of weapons. Well, he said to himself, I cut my own orders, so there's no one to blame but myself.
Inside the main building in the reception area it had been business as usual. Military and civilian personnel, both American and Vietnamese, went about their business seemingly unaware of what was going on outside. His processing was similar to landing at Kennedy after a European vacation, slow, methodical, disinterested — no one cared that Lieutenant David Charles had returned once again, this time as second in command of a riverine squadron.
There was no time for sightseeing. They were expected to report immediately to the base camp on the Mekong, where their headquarters were located. As David learned later, the Navy planned reliefs very tightly, and there were two officers very much looking forward to their arrival. When one was that short in Vietnam, after twelve months of surviving, they wanted to be relieved immediately, if not sooner, and turnover of command required a day or two of familiarization.
Once the Navy agreed that they really were who they said they were, a helicopter took them to their base camp, north and west of Saigon, well up the Mekong toward Cambodia. They flew over lush, green tropical forests, perfectly laid-out rice paddies that sometimes extended for miles, and little clearings that signified villages. This was the part he had rarely seen during his last tour. Previously he had been on the ocean, always returning to the coast, but rarely inland unless they had a few days off. And, then, they usually went no farther than downtown Saigon. Now, he realized, he would see the real Vietnam.
But up until now, he'd seen very little of the country. He had spent his time assisting Lieutenant Commander Mezey in setting up the camp as he wanted it run, which was one eighty out from the way the previous officer had set it up. The new CO figured that the Vietcong would know almost immediately that new management had come in and they would try a few night attacks to see how they were doing. Mezey simply didn't want his defenses set up the same way, since he assumed the Communists had probably memorized them. The second night after they relieved, the attack came. He had been right.