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Pathfinder's Place

Pathfinder4 — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 08:47:44 CDT

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A veteran - whether active duty, retired, national guard, or reserve - is someone who, at one point in his or her life, wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America', for an amount of 'up to and including my life.'

That is Honor, and there are way too many people in this country who no longer understand it.

- Author Unknown

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Here you can read a sample of SPOOKS. When you've finished, just go to the "start a new thread" box at the bottom of any page and leave your opinion about what you've read. We will be checking the comments regularly; your opinions are very important to us. And although it's not required, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave at least your initials or your screen name on your comment. It's kind of hard to thank "Anonymous". Thank you.
I know some of you have your copies of SPOOKS and wish to leave a comment. Other folks don't have copies of the book yet and are only reading the sample pages contained here, so I ask you, please restrain yourselves from saying anything about the ending of the book in your comment.
Jim

NAVIGATION - Once you get used to it, finding your way around Pathfinder's Place is pretty easy.
To the left, in the box labeled "Site pages" are the titles of the main pages of this wiki. The pages with arrows in front of them have sub-pages under them that will appear when you open the first page. (There are 3 Book Review pages and 4 Chapter pages.)
Pages with just a dot are only one page. The tool-bar across the top is pretty much self-explanatory.

(Feb. 2008) SPOOKS AWARDED FIVE STARS BY THE MILITARY WRITER'S SOCIETY of AMERICA - To read the review by this august body of writers, go to the navigation bar at upper left and click "Book Reviews."

How can I buy SPOOKS? - (5/20/09) Unfortunately, until I find a new Agent/Publisher, you cannot; but you can order used copies on-line from Amazon.

(May 20 2009) LEATHERNECK PUBLISHING ANNOUNCES BANKRUPTCY - In this sagging economy, even the best can fail. And even though the majority of the staff are dedicated military veterans, and, I might add, decorated heroes, Leatherneck just isn't big enough to qualify for a Government bail-out.

Customer Review5

Pathfinder4 — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 07:38:30 CDT

Spooks: They Strike from Beyond and Leave no Trace, March 9, 2009

By	Brenda R. Cox "Brenda Cox...... kc99990" (Virginia Beach, VA) - See all my reviews

As one who has been married to two Marine Vietnam Veterans, I found this work captivating from page one to the end. I previously gathered very little knowledge of what Vietnam & Cambodia was really like to the Marines and other military folks who were there. This excellent book has touched me in many ways by revealing the inner feelings of the main characters and has made me realize part of what the medical and Special Forces personnel faced every day while serving there.

I highly recommend this book to everyone who lived during the Vitenam Conflict. I strongly feel it would make a great screen play for a movie. Thanks James for researching the material and writing this book.

Customer Review4

Pathfinder4 — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 08:19:09 CST

a book not to be missed, March 2, 2009

By	S. Taynor "taynormom" (ohio) - See all my reviews

I read this book and it captured me from page 1 to the end and left me with a sense of "amazing" .
I gave it to my mom, and this is not her kind of book and she loved it! I have told many people about this book and no one has ever complained back to me that it sucked. Everyone loved it.
It is captivating with every turn of the page. I believe that a guy and a girl would really enjoy this book.
You instantly fall in love with the characters.
There are many military books on the market but this one is so much more .

Customer Review3

Pathfinder4 — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 11:54:27 CST

From: diane smith

To: james

Sent: Wednesday, February 04, 2009 10:45 AM

Subject: Spooks

Dear James,

I want to commend you on one of the most moving books I have ever read. I was captivated from page one to the end. If it weren't for my old eyes it would have taken me half the time to read it. I was delighted to find little sayings etc you use in the book. You turned knowledge I had from friends who served in Nam more real in my eyes. I am so glad I finally got to read your book. Yes I will recommend to all my reader friends. You did an awesome job. I too would like to see you write another book so we can see the follow up on your story. Great job and thank you for a wonderful reading experience.

Diane

Photos page two

Pathfinder4 — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 07:32:01 CST

Merri Sigler's Original Cover Art from 1st printing of *SPOOKS*	Add photo caption or credit here.
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Add photo caption or credit here.	Add photo caption or credit here.

Photo Gallery

Pathfinder4 — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 07:05:25 CST

The Price Of Freedom	Merry Widow One in action at Xuan Loc, Vietnam.
The Author Some people try to turn back their odometers. Not me, I want people to know why I look this way. I've traveled a long way and some of the roads weren't paved.	40 years later, the beat goes on!
A Bowie knife similar to the one carried by Jim Cooper in SPOOKS.	A 12 ga. shotgun similar to the one carried by Jim Cooper in SPOOKS
Merry Widow One at Saigon orphanage	The current copy of *SPOOKS* .

Chapter One

Pathfinder4 — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 08:42:13 CST

Copyright 2005 James P. Slusser, Sr.
This story is a work of fiction. The characters portrayed and their stories, while based and inspired partially by factual events, exist solely in the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any persons or events, living or dead, past or present, is coincidental. (That means that some of this stuff really happened, and some of it didn’t. And I’m not going to tell you which is which.)

It is not the time of your dying that matters. It is how you lived that is important.

SPOOKS By James P. Slusser, Sr.

He dozed under one of the few trees still standing, when the whop-whop of the incoming Huey intruded on his solitude. He shifted the 12 gauge riot gun wrapped in a green T-shirt in his lap with his right hand, took another pull on the half-full bottle of Jim Beam in his left hand, and opened his eyes to watch the medi-vac land. Dog-ass tired, his ingrained survival instincts ground into him at Little Creek, Holabird, Benning, Gordon, Langley and the last year-and-a-half in the jungle demanded he stay aware of all events going on around him. As the Chopper approached the Pad at the 125th Army Surgical Hospital, Da Nang, South Vietnam, Major Winslow idly wondered why somebody would choose the tree next to the Landing Pad to sit all alone. The figure quickly forgotten, she prepared to get her patient out of the aircraft and into the hospital as soon as the dust settled from the landing. Just before the Huey with the big Red Cross on the nose touched down, he caught a flash of blonde hair in a pony tail at the door and thought, what the hell is some crazy female doing flying medi-vac. The bird settled in its own dust, and when it cleared, Lieutenant Commander James Cooper, USN/ONI (Office of Naval Intelligence) was treated to a ringside seat as Major Mary-Ellen Elizabeth Winslow, U.S. Army Nurse Corps, started backing out the door, one hand on the stretcher beside her, the other holding a plasma bag high enough to keep the fluid flowing. Even the army issue green trousers could not hide a near-perfect heart-shaped tukas as she bent over the stretcher and tended to her patient. She reached down with her right boot, searched for the skid-step, missed, and fell backwards out of the Huey, landing smack on that cute little butt. She jumped up to look around to see if anybody witnessed her somewhat embarrassing one-point landing and remembered the figure and turned to see a half-full bottle of Jim Beam hoisted in a silent toast in her direction. My God, she thought, what the hell is that? The man in all black cammies sat with two belts of shotgun shells crisscrossed across his chest against a tree. He was filthy dirty, his eyes, two reddened, narrow slits, his face, head and hands covered in green and black camouflage paint. He had no hair and a gold fishhook stuck in the lobe of his left ear. Probably shaved his head, she thought, and then noticed at least a dozen human ears on a piece of line hanging from that fishhook. She turned to the crew chief of the helicopter and verbalized her original thought, "What the bloody fucking hell is that thing sitting over there, Sergeant?" she yelled over the roar of the engine and rotor blades. "You don't want to know, Ma'am,” yelled back the Sergeant. "And you never saw him. He's a "Spook." So, she thought, that's what a Spook looks like. She turned to get her patient inside where the surgeons could finish saving his life, which she started in the field. She made a mental note to have the Security Detail remove it from the vicinity of "her" hospital as soon as she got the wounded Marine in her charge into the operating room. As soon as the young boy on the stretcher was turned over to the Scrub Team, she walked out to the Security Desk to see the MP on duty. "There's a groady son-of-a-bitch sitting out by the pad, drinking. Get somebody out there now to tell him to find someplace else to get bombed,” she told the Corporal at the desk. "What the hell is he doing in this area, anyway?" "He's waiting for me to get sewed up, Major," a deep, resonant voice behind her said. "And unless you want somebody killed or hurt real bad, I wouldn't disturb him right now." She turned to find a huge man, only a half-shade lighter than his black cammies and with a fresh, white bandage on his left shoulder that only accentuated the total effect. "Holy shit, another one." She noticed no markings, no name patches, no designators of any kind on his “uniform,” if it could be called that. "Who the hell are you and what's your Unit, Soldier?" she demanded in the most obnoxious Major voice she could muster. "And who the hell is that 'thing' sitting out there?" "You can call me Woody, Major,” he said in a crushed velvet, gentle voice that somehow didn't reflect at all the ferocity she saw in his eyes. "That 'thing' you refer to is my Boss, and anything other than that, Major, you don't have a need-to-know." The cold, black eyes appeared to soften ever so slightly. "Look, Major, I'm sorry if we intruded on your little corner of Paradise, here. I'm through being repaired, so we'll be leaving now, anyway." "Good." She watched Woody turn and walk out the door. Wonder if that‘s his real name? She didn't know why, but she followed him outside and watched, hands on her hips, while he walked across the Landing Pad and spoke to his Boss, who stood up when he saw Woody approach. Two other black-clad figures sprang up from out of the earth and joined them. As if on cue, all four figures laughed, turned to look in her direction and waved before they walked toward the beach on the other side of the Pad. Then the rage boiled inside of her, because when they got to the tide line, that arrogant bastard, the one with human ears hanging beside his head, stopped, turned back to look at her and blew her a kiss. "Get me the 'skinny' on that one,” Cooper said as they walked down the beach. "You got it, Jim," Woody replied.

* * *

The next morning Major Mary "Dusty" Winslow woke, stretched, sat up, looked around, and immediately reached for the .357 magnum under her pillow and quickly scanned her quarters. She opened the door and stepped outside, magnum at the ready and checked left, right, and only succeeded in scaring her neighbor, Nurse Lt. Margie Rockingham nearly to death when the gun swung in her direction. "What the hell, Major?" a very wide-eyed Margie screamed. "Somebody's been in my hooch, Margie. Did you see or hear anything during the night?" "Not a thing, Major. Did they attack you? Are you all right?" "Whoever it was, was damn good,” Dusty scowled. "Got in and out without even waking me, and you know what a light sleeper I am." Margie should know, since Dusty caught her sneaking that Corpsman into her hooch next door last week. "Then how do you know somebody was in there?" "Look for yourself,” Dusty pointed into her hooch. "I don't see anything out of place, Major." "Look again, Lieutenant. Just where in hell do you think that came from, over here?" There on Dusty's nightstand about eighteen inches from her pillow, sat a cut-glass vase, holding a single, perfect, blood red rose. "Gee, I don't know, Major," Margie grinned to ease the tension with a little humor. "Ghosts?" "Yeah ... Right." When she went to see Col. Sam Waterson, the CO of the hospital to report the incident, Dusty told him her own theory of how a rose got in her hooch. "I got a real strong gut feeling that this bullshit is connected to those assholes in the black cammies, Colonel." She went on to explain her encounter with Woody and the "thing" sitting by the Landing Pad. "I've heard talk about Spooks before, but never saw one until yesterday. Then when I asked for his Unit Designation, that Woody character had the gall to tell me I don't have a 'need-to-know.' Just who and what the hell are these people anyway?" Sam Waterson only had another eight months before he could retire to a nice private practice back in “The World” and one thing he didn't need right now was a bunch of grief from this twenty-two year-old piss-ant Nurse Major who had her feathers ruffled by somebody in Jim Cooper's Black Ops Group. He knew these particular Spooks, since he and only a couple dozen doctors in Country were authorized to treat them if they were lucky enough to get back from a mission hurt and alive. Officially designated, somewhere deep in the dungeons of the Pentagon, as SPecial Operations Ordinance, Covert Situations, the Government didn't consider them as people, but weapons. "All I know is, Major," he said, "I got a call yesterday telling me that a man with a stab wound in his left shoulder would come in for treatment and I should fix him up, ask no questions, and make no record that he was ever here. The person on the other end of the phone had an unquestionable position and authority to issue such an order. So I sewed the guy up, asked no questions, made no records, and I've already forgotten about the whole incident. You know more than I do, since he at least spoke to you, and you have a name." He got up from behind his desk, walked to his office door and opened it. When she walked by him, he said, "By the way Major, I suggest you forget about it too." Before he closed the door, he watched Major Winslow walk away from him to the end of the hall. He told his secretary not to disturb him under any circumstances and closed his office door. When he turned back to his desk, he said aloud, "Her tukas is cute, but I wouldn't call it 'perfect', exactly." "That just proves that you are a man of absolutely no taste at all in asses,” said Jim Cooper as he came out of Sam's private latrine. "Do you actually wear that French-whore smelling shit in your medicine cabinet?" Sam knew this man and his team of intelligence specialists routinely went places nobody else could or wanted to go, where they had to get in, find out what the “brass” wanted to know, then get back with the information without anybody ever knowing they were there. That meant if they happened to “bump into” any unfriendlies, they had to make sure there were no survivors to tell the tale. Sam felt a cold chill when he remembered the one time he was privy to a mission planning session when Cooper told his men, "Remember, there are only two orders I'm giving you once we're on the ground. If it moves, kill it. … If it don’t move, use it for cover." That pretty accurately reflected what, as one of his Doctors, Sam read in Cooper's medical records and psyche profile. While Cooper wasn't a homicidal maniac, he had little regard for the sanctity of life, and was bothered very little, if at all, if the situation required that he snuff out another human life. On the one occasion he approached the subject, Cooper looked him dead in the eye and in a voice as cold as death, said, "Our job is to capture information, not prisoners, or to make sure whoever has to be neutralized, gets neutralized.” Sam never tried to discuss the subject again. "Did you actually put a rose on her nightstand without waking her up?" Sam asked. "Fuck no. I was too friendly with Jim Beam last night. I had Woody do it. The 'word' I get on that one is, she's a widow and don't have nothing to do with any male personnel. She turn 'butch' when her husband died?" Cooper asked. "No, I don't think so. From what I gather in her background checks, she married real young to a guy quite a bit older. A Korean War fighter jock. Was well off enough financially to get her through Nursing School with a Master's Degree in Nursing before she even turned twenty and…” "How old is she now?” Cooper interrupted. "If I remember right, she turns twenty-three in a week or two. Getting back to her husband, he was still young enough to get recalled for this little fracas here, and rather than go back to war, he flew his twin-engine bamboo bomber into the side of a mountain somewhere in the Poconos. She found out about it when her next-of-kin got a call from the State Police saying that she and her husband had been killed in a plane crash. Seems her flight bag and pilot's license was in the aircraft, and the cops assumed that the female body in the wreckage was hers. The Shrinks feel she's trying to erase the fact the cheatin' son-of-a-bitch killed himself and his girl friend rather than go to Vietnam. She's probably the best Evac Field nurse I've ever seen. I've certainly never seen any nurse as dedicated to her patients. As a matter-of-fact, she's about due to get recommended for her silver oak leaves, and then she'll outrank you. Unless," Sam went on with a wry grin, "you call the Pentagon and have them promote you to Commander." "Want me to have them bump you to Major-General at the same time?" One of the few regulations Jim Cooper abided by was the one that required him, and every member of his Team, to have a physical check-up after every mission. The fact that every doctor on the list was not only an M.D., but was qualified in psychiatry and psychology was not lost on LCDR Cooper. So the next thirty minutes of what seemed friendly conversation about friends and family came as no surprise. He always passed and didn't figure any different this time. As soon as all the prodding, and needle sticks were over with, he and his Team would go to Bangkok, Thailand for a couple weeks R & R. "You ready to give me my clean bill of health?" he asked, prepared for the actual physical examination. Sam paused for maybe a heartbeat, "I'm tied up solid the rest of today. Let's make it first thing tomorrow, okay? At 0800. And stay off the sauce tonight. I don't want the nurse drawing 80 proof out of your veins." "Okay, I gotta make sure all our travel arrangements are set for the Liberty run anyway. See ya tomorrow." As soon as Cooper left his office, Sam turned to the cabinet behind his desk, unlocked it and took out a telephone. He picked up the handset, pushed a button on the instrument, waited a brief moment and said, "Good morning, General. This is Dr. Waterson. We're doing the physical at 0800 tomorrow, but Pathfinder4 passed his psyche examination." A short pause—a laugh. "Yes sir, he's still crazy as hell."

***

"Where you headed in such a hurry?" Dusty asked Margie the following morning as she rounded the corner with a basket in her hand. "To assist Dr. Waterson with a physical on four guys in Treatment 3. I gotta take these blood samples to the Lab and wait for the results." She paused. "Look at this, Major. This is weird.” She showed Dusty the labels on the sample tubes in the basket. "All Col. Waterson put on these labels are first names. I'm supposed to take them to the Lab, observe the tests, make sure the samples are destroyed afterwards, and bring the only copy of the results back to him, ASAP. Weird, huh?" Dusty checked the sixteen vials of blood in the basket; four were labeled Mike, four Bob, four Jim, and four Woody. "What do these people look like?" "Nasty. The black guy, Woody has six fresh sutures in his left shoulder and a couple older scars that look like gunshots. Mike and Bob, both white guys, don't have any significant scars, but have some heavy bruises like they'd been in a hell of a fight. The bald white guy, Jim, is the weirdest one of the bunch. Wears a little gold hoop in his left ear, built like a pro wrestler, and has legs like tree trunks. Never said a word during the whole exam. But if I had to pick one of them to get to know 'real well,' if you know what I mean, he'd be the one. Only problem is his eyes are absolutely dead, and when he looks at you, it's like they bore right through you." "Well, forget it, Lieutenant," Dusty countered. "These probably aren't their real names anyway. Did you check their dogtags?" "They aren't wearing dogtags, Major. But these are their real names. The one thing they all have in common is a tattoo on their left bicep. It's a blue and red cross about four inches long, with their name on a ribbon above it." "And they're all the same?" "Not exactly," Margie frowned. "The letters around the crosses are different. Jim and Woody have the letters U-S-N around theirs. Bob has U-S-A, and Mike has U-S-M-C." "Well, if Waterson wants those results STAT, you better get going." "Yes Ma'am." Margie continued down the hall toward the hematology lab. Later that evening, Lt. Rockingham knocked lightly on the door of the Head Nurse's hooch. "Who?" came from inside. "Lieutenant Rockingham, Major." "Come." Margie opened the door and stepped inside. "What can I do for you, Margie?" asked Dusty. Dusty and Margie were not only good nurses, but also became friends during their tour of duty at the 125th, so when they were alone, military formalities were rarely observed. "Jesus, Dusty," said Margie, "this just keeps getting stranger and stranger. Remember those blood test reports I took to Col. Waterson?" "Don't tell me," said Dusty with a half-grin as she handed Margie a drink from the bottle of Jack Daniels she always kept in her footlocker. "They all had the clap, right?" "No.” Margie laughed aloud. “They were all clean as fresh laundry. But when I got the paperwork back to Dr. Waterson, he read all the reports then burned them in the trash can in Treatment 3." "Burned them?" Dusty asked, incredulously. "Yeah. Then dumped the ashes in the Biohazard Waste container. He dismissed me and said to forget I was ever there. Who the hell are those guys, anyway?" "I'll give you the same answer I got the last time I asked a similar question. ‘You really don't want to know, Lieutenant. And you never saw them. They're Spooks."

Tommy's Chapter

Pathfinder4 — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 08:37:41 CST

Chapter Nineteen

"So who was this guy, and what did he look like?" Dusty asked Judy Donisi. "He was about 6'2" tall, had dark brown eyes, almost black, and short, dark brown hair. He didn't tell me his name." "When did this happen?" Dusty interrupted. "Night before last" Judy told her. "Anyway, he said that I wasn't to mention that I knew him, because his Mom and Dad had no idea that he was based anywhere near Vietnam. That's when it clicked that I'd seen him at the 125th. The hair almost fooled me. He was the guy that was there all in black and had his head shaved." Dusty could feel the catch in her throat as her breathing quickened. "Did he say anything else?" she asked, hoping it sounded like nothing more than a casual inquiry. "He asked me if I was home for good. When I told him I was leaving today to head back, he looked me up & down and said that was too bad. He'd already made plans with his folks and kids for last night, and if I'd had more time we might have been able to have dinner 'or something' together." "What the hell did that mean, 'or something'?" Dusty felt her pulse speed up with a feeling of anger, then got angry with herself for the reaction. She said silently to herself, "Goddamnit, you do not want to get yourself involved with that fucking killer." She couldn't understand at all why she reacted the way she did whenever the subject of Jim Cooper came up.
"He said he was going to be in Dayton for another week-and-a-half and it was a shame that I had to leave. I told him, kinda jokingly, that I could call you here in San Francisco and see if I could get another week's leave. He said 'Oh, so you're on the Fort Ord Detail this month.' I was kinda surprised that he'd know that. Then he told me that I could make the call, but he'd heard that the 125th was short on nurses already, and that you were such a 'hard-ass' that you wouldn't let me stay." "The sonofabitch was probably right" Dusty said, the anger inside her building again. "Then he said it was nice to see me, even though we couldn't spend more time together. He said he had to go to Naples, Italy when he left Dayton and it would probably be a couple months before he'd be able to get back to Da Nang." "What did the kids look like?" Dusty asked. "Why do you care?" she silently asked herself. "The chances that you'll ever meet them are slim-to-none" she berated herself. "Cutest blonde-haired little boy I ever saw" Judy responded. "His hair was the exact same color as yours, Colonel. The little girl had dark hair like her daddy. Both of them were as cute as a bug's ear."
The next morning, at 0800hrs, a black sedan with "U.S.Navy" on the doors picked the two Nurses up and drove them to Alameda NAS to board a helicopter to Fort Ord. As the two nurses were settling in on the C-124 for the flight to Manila, a Sergeant from Base Operations boarded the aircraft. "Colonel Winslow?" he asked. "That's me" Dusty replied. "This arrived by special messenger this morning, Colonel" the Sergeant responded, handing Dusty a large, white, oblong box. Dusty took the lid off the box, revealing inside a dozen perfect, snow white, long-stemmed roses. A small card inside the box read, "Have a nice trip - - C". "Goddamnit all to hell" Dusty said softly as she smelled the roses, and felt tears sliding down her cheeks. "If I didn't know better, Colonel" said Judy, "I'd think you might be missing whoever sent you those roses."
Dusty gave her a look that would peel the paint off of a tank. As the C-124 taxied out and took off, though, she was thinking about her newest lieutenant's comment. "Was she really falling for that groady, heartless bastard? How could she even have the slightest feeling for somebody that defied every decent principle that she lived by as a Nurse? It was because of people like him that she found herself up to her elbows in blood, wasn't it? And the arrogance of the man! Or was it just solid self-confidence? He definitely was someone who knew what he wanted and usually got it, wasn't he? Well!!! He sure as hell won't find it so goddamn easy to get me!"
Dusty wrestled with her subconscious over Jim Cooper all the way across the Pacific Ocean. She was still arguing with herself at Clark AFB, where they changed planes to the C-130 for Da Nang. When the C-130 landed at Da Nang, the match was still a draw.
When Dusty stepped off the C-130, it was a good thing that she was already in her cammies with her twin .357 magnums around her waist. The "Black Bitch" was sitting on the tarmac with the blades idling, and Greg Simpson was frantically waving for her to get aboard. "Judy!" she yelled at the Lieutenant, "Grab my gear and throw it in my Hooch, will you please?" She didn't even wait for Donisi's reply as she ran over and boarded the Huey and put her "brain bucket" and flak jacket on. She strapped herself in, next to the Corpsman that was already on board. "Where we goin', Greg?" she asked as the huey lifted off. "The A Shau Valley, Colonel" Captain Simpson replied. "The 227th AHB (Assault Helicopter Battalion) is taking a real beating up there at LZ Pepper and LZ Stallion."
(A Shau Valley is 22 miles long located in I Corps, about 60 miles due west of Da Nang, less than six miles from Laos, and is between two mountain ranges. The A Shau Valley was one of two strong holds for the communists. The other strong hold was the U Minh Forest. Both of these strong holds were considered by "Charlie" to be his personal territory. In April 1968 there were three abandoned airfields that were spread along the valley's floor and a deserted Special Forces Camp that was overrun in March 1966. It marked the southern boundary. It was the strongest enemy base in South Vietnam. The enemy garrisoned 5000 to 6000 troops there. It was ringed by one of the most sophisticated complex of interlocked anti-aircraft Batteries. The valley had served as a launching point for the Tet Offensive on the northern provinces. It was a major base for the infiltration of personnel and supplies into Thua Thien Province and northern I Corps. Operation Delaware was launched on April 10th 1968. The 1st Air Cavalry Division headed into the A Shau Valley. Between the 14th and the 19th of April 1968 there were over 100 B-52 sorties and 200 Air Force and Marine fighter sorties executed along with many ARA (Air Recon Assault) missions. The 1st Brigade of the 101st Air Borne Division and the ARVN Air Borne Task Force had set up to the east to interdict enemy routes of withdrawal and infiltration. On 19 April 1968, the 227th Assault Helicopter Battalion was prepared to commit its maximum available resources in the third massive helicopter assault within a month, Operation Delaware/Lam Son 216. The plan of operation was to simultaneously assault into the A Shau Valley and to insert a Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol to secure "Signal Hill," a 4,879 foot peak 5 kilometers northeast of A Loui Airfield to be used as a vital communications relay station.)
The lousy weather, combined with intense anti-aircraft fire from both sides of the valley, had resulted in several hueys going down. When a Huey crashes, along with the injuries to the survivors caused by the impact, there are usually severe burns from the jet fuel and burning magnesium in the aircraft. The LRRPs (Long Range Recon Patrols) that were being inserted by the Hueys were also under intense ground fire and the number of WIAs was climbing. The "Black Bitch" and her Cobra escort would have their hands full when they arrived. Capt. Simpson gathered his aircraft in and lifted off the tarmac, clearing his takeoff with Da Nang Control. As soon as they were clear of the tarmac, at about 100 feet altitude, Lt. Jack Moore, the co-pilot, switched the radio to the designated frequency for Operation Delaware.
Immediately upon the switching of frequency, Dusty heard a young, sobbing, panic-stricken voice in her earphones. "Mayday....Mayday...Mayday.......Somebody help us....please....please" the voice said. "There's blood everywhere....there's blood everywhere....Oh God.....there's blood everywhere........somebody....please....."
"Take that call, Jack." Dusty ordered the co-pilot. "Get the co-ordinates, and make sure they're valid." The co-pilot keyed his microphone, "This is Merry Widow One, who are you, and where are you?" The young voice in the ether came again, "Oh God.......there's blood everywhere....there's blood everywhere......help us please.......please...for God's sake...help us." Jack keyed his mike again, and in an exceptionally calm, unemotional voice said, "All right, Son, this is Merry Widow One. I have medical personnel on board, and am headed for your area. Give me your name and your co-ordinates, please." "My name?" the young voice said. It seemed to settle down just a little bit. "My name is Corporal Tommy O'Dell. I'm a Medic. The Radio Operator is dead....The El Tee is dead.....The Captain is dead.... Oh God, Oh God......I've only been here two days........there's blood everywhere.......there's blood everywhere.....help me. please.....please.......Oh God....all this blood......please help me....." "Okay, Tommy" Jack said, "We're on our way, I need your co-ordinates to find you. The Radio Operator should have a small notebook in his shirt pocket. Your co-ordinates should be at the top of the first page." After a few seconds delay, Cpl. O'Dell came back on the radio and read a set of co-ordinates. After checking his map, Jack came on the intercom and said, "The co-ordinates put him about halfway up Signal Hill. He could be in the clouds, or just under the base of them. Could be a real bitch finding him if he's in the soup." "We can't leave them there" said Dusty. "Fly the co-ordinates, Greg." "Yes Ma'am, Colonel" responded the pilot. "Merry Widow?" the radio crackled. "This is Tommy.....are you coming?.........there's blood everywhere.....I can't.......I can't.......there's so much blood....so much blood." "We're on our way, Tommy" said Jack. "I need you to find the smoke signal canisters. When we get there, I'll tell you what color smoke to show. ok?" "Okay...please hurry...please." They could hear the boy crying.
All his training could never prepare him for the carnage he must be facing. Jack keyed his mike, "Tommy, are you taking fire now?" "No" "How many live wounded do you have, and how many of you are still alive and not hit?" "There's fourteen of us still alive" Tommy sobbed into his microphone. "We're all hit somewhere...there's blood everywhere....there's blood everywhere...hurry....hurry....Oh God...please hurry." 'Okay, Tommy, we're coming" said Jack. "I want you to stay off that radio until I call you again. What's your Platoon's call sign?" "I don't know" said Tommy. "Does that mean you can't call me?" an edge of panic was creeping into his young voice again. "No" said Jack. "I'll call you when we get close and need you to show us some smoke. Did you find the canisters?" "Yes" "Fine. Just stand by and we'll be there in about fifteen minutes."
For the first time in the flight, the Medical Corpsman on board, Sgt. Bill Hatfield, spoke up, "How do we know this ain't some kind of trap, El Tee?" he asked Moore. "I think I can cover that, Sergeant" Moore replied. "Tommy" he said into his mike, "on that same page as your co-ordinates, there's a list of frequencies. Change your radio to.." he consulted a list on his clipboard, "frequency number Alpha Six....repeat....Alpha Six." Moore then reached down to his own radio and changed the dials and waited a few seconds. "Tommy, you here?" he asked. "Yes sir" came the reply. "Please hurry." "We're almost there Son, take it easy and hang on."
Dusty thought it was strange to hear Moore calling that scared-to-death Medic, "Son". Moore was barely twenty-two or three himself. "There's Signal Hill" Greg Simpson said. Dusty craned her neck around and saw the top of the almost 5,000-foot peak protruding from a layer of clouds. Looking down out of the side of the Huey, she saw a layer of broken cloud cover extending as far as she could see. She knew that they would have to descend through one of the holes in the clouds and find the co-ordinates given by Tommy.
"We're getting close" Jack said. He keyed his microphone, "Tommy, how far are the clouds above you?" he asked. "They're real close" Tommy said. "A wisp of cloud drifts through here once in awhile." "Wonderful" from Greg. "Just bloody wonderful." "I can hear you!!!" shouted Tommy from the radio. "You're almost right over me! Come get us.....please!"
God must have been listening to that poor, frightened boy that day. A breeze sprang up from nowhere and cleared the clouds from that part of the mountain. The landscape that was revealed about 1,000 feet below the two helicopters was pockmarked by the bombs dropped from the B-52 "Buffs". Directly ahead, there was a 300-foot wide area where a "Daisy Cutter" had obviously been deployed.
"I see you!!!! I see you!!!!" Tommy shouted. "You're coming right towards me!" "All right, Tommy" Jack said. "Find the purple smoke canister and pop it." Thirty seconds later, a plume of purple smoke rose from the far edge of the clearing created by the Daisy Cutter. "Monkey Catcher" Greg said into his microphone, "this is Merry Widow One. Sanitize an area around that smoke please." "Roger Widow One" responded the pilot of the Cobra gunship. As the Cobra broke off and dove down to circle the area, firing M-60 machine guns and cannon fire into the jungle around Tommy's position, Greg spotted a reasonably level area close to the center of the clearing. As the Huey started to descend, Jack told Tommy on the radio, "We're coming in now Tommy, start getting your wounded out toward the center of the clearing."
"I can't, Sir" Tommy replied. "My left leg is gone below the knee, and my right arm is busted."
"Billy and I will go get them, Greg" Dusty said into the intercom, as she unstrapped herself from the jump seat. "Tommy" said Jack, "can anybody there help with stretchers?" "Yes sir, there's a couple guys that ain't hit real bad." As the Huey touched down, Dusty could see the group of dead and wounded soldiers at the edge of the clearing. She and Billy Hatfield jumped about six feet out the door, with full medical packs, each carrying two folded stretchers and ran across the open area to the pathetic bundle of men. She saw a man covered in blood, sitting against a rock, with a radio next to him. The memory of the radio pleas from that child.... two days in country from Ft. Sam Houston ... broke Dustys heart. He had flaming red hair and a ton of freckles. He'd lost his left leg and maybe the right arm too, from the looks of it (major compound fracture, and then some..). The way she figured it, he was the “Medic” and in charge after all the others were dead. That radio contact to her Huey was the only thing that had kept him going. Why he was still alive, she had no idea. No one had done anything to stop the bleeding in his severed leg but him.... a small but effective tourniquet made from a strip of cloth and a piece of stone he'd found and wrapped tightly into a knot.
All she could think of was to give him a kiss... the beginning of many kisses...Hello and Goodbye and Farewell to so many of her precious "babies". She loved them all...with all her soul. "God....am I glad to see you guys." Then, when she bent down and kissed his forehead, he took a good look at Dusty. "Holy fuck! You're a girl!" he exclaimed. "No, I'm not, Tommy" Dusty replied calmly. "I'm a Lieutenant Colonel. I'm your nurse, and you're going home 'Lil Bro."

With the help of three members of the Platoon who were barely able, Dusty and Hatfield loaded all fourteen wounded, sardine style, aboard the Black Bitch and successfully, after a groaning lift-off, transported them to the field hospital at Camp Evans. That was the first of thirty-six progressively worse trips into the A Shau Valley that the Black Bitch made over the next seventy-two hours before sheer exhaustion made it necessary for the crew to stand down.

Chapter Three

Pathfinder4 — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 08:35:52 CST

"GODDAMMITTO HELL", said Mary Winslow after she'd unlocked the door to her quarters and walked inside. There, laid out very orderly on her bunk, was a set of beautifully gold-embroidered, pale blue Thai silk pajamas with a matching Thai silk robe. She was still swearing under her breath as she picked up the envelope lying on top of them and opened it.
"Enjoyed Bangkok", the hand-printed note read, "Hope these are the right size.... Happy Birthday and Congratulations.". The note was unsigned. "What's this 'Congratulations' shit?" she thought.
A short time earlier that morning, she'd been working in her office, trying to figure a duty schedule that called for at least 36 Nurses when she only had 24 available. She positively hated paperwork, and had several times thought about relinquishing her command of the Nurses of the 125th so that she could devote all her time to what she called "real nursing". She was indulging herself in just that thought again when a soft baritone voice intruded on her self-pity.
"Good morning, Major", it said. She looked up from her desk, and standing in the doorway...no... filling up the doorway to her office was that arrogant, bald-headed asshole in black cammies, with a shotgun in his hand and two bandoliers of 12-gauge shells criss-crossed on his chest. As she looked up, he gave her a crooked grin, winked at her, and turned away, down the hall. As she stood up to go out and give him a piece of her mind, she toppled the coffee cup on her desk, spilling its contents all over the schedule she almost had figured out. "Sonofabitch", she said as she strode to her office door, "sonofabitch" she whispered as she looked up and down an empty hallway. "Dammit", she muttered, as she realized that a goodly amount of that spilled coffee had found the right leg of her fatigue trousers.
She found the Duty Nurse and told her that she was going to her Hooch to change. She got the keys for the Hospital’s Jeep from the Marine Sgt. at the front desk and drove over to "Nurses Country". As she stripped out of her coffee-stained fatigues, down to her bra and panties, her eyes strayed to the garments laid out so carefully on her bunk. "What the hell....", she said as she picked up the robe and slipped it on. The fine silk against her skin felt so marvelous as to almost be erotic. She took the robe off and tried on the pajamas, which fit like a dream. She put the robe back on and opened the door to her closet, where she had a full-length mirror. It had been so long since she'd worn anything even remotely feminine, that she was slightly taken aback by the vision of loveliness framed in the mirror. The luster of the blue and gold silk, and the way it clung to her shape as she moved, highlighted the gold of her blonde ponytail and actually reminded her that she wasn't a very bad-looking woman. She reached up behind her head and pulled out the rubber band holding her ponytail and her golden tresses cascaded down across her shoulders and around her face. She stepped back from the mirror a pace and turned, posing for herself. "Not 'bad-looking' yerass", she said to the empty room, "I'm a stone-fucking-fox.". Then her face fell as she pulled a clean set of starched fatigues out of the closet and tossed them on her bunk.
Driving past Headquarters Building and the Parade Ground, she saw Margie and another of her Nurses walking toward the Hospital and stopped to offer them a ride. As the girls climbed into the Jeep, she spotted 'Woody', dressed in his black cammies, intently watching something out on the Parade Ground. "There's somebody you know, Margie.", she said to her friend, "I wonder where his 'siamese twin' is?", she added.
Margie looked in the direction that had Woody's attention and said, "There he is Major.", pointing out to the other side of the Parade Ground, "But what's that RVN doing over there?" The South Vietnamese soldier that Margie was referring to was between 'Woody' and his 'Boss', and was walking along the edge of the Parade Ground in a direct line between the HQ Building and the Communications Bunker. The strange thing about it was that the man would take a few carefully measured steps, stop and look around, then take a few more steps. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, Woody's 'Boss" appeared and hit the man full in the jaw with a horrendous left cross. As the RVN went down, he started to pull his sidearm, and 'Boss' leveled the shotgun in his right hand and coolly, deliberately shot the man in the chest at point-blank range.
All three Nurses jumped from the Jeep and ran over to where a small crowd was gathering around the fallen man. By the time they got there, Woody was kneeling beside him with his hand on the soldier's carotid artery, checking for a pulse. Dusty looked around and spotted 'Boss' walking away toward the Headquarters Building, as if what had just happened was the most natural thing in the world. Woody stood up, said, "Dead. Would somebody call Graves Registration to get this garbage off the lawn, please?", and stood up to walk away.
Dusty planted herself squarely in front of Woody as he started off to follow Cooper to HQ Building. "What the hell was that all about??????” she demanded, putting on her 'Major' voice again. "Colonel", said Woody in that velvety voice with almost a sigh in it, "Did you see the way that Gook was walking toward the Commo Bunker? He was pacing off the distance from the HQ Building to the Commo Bunker." Seeing Dustys uncomprehending look, he went on, "The little motherfucker is VC! He was measuring off the spots for the Viet Cong mortars and/or RPG's (Rocket-Propelled-Grenades) to land tonight or maybe first thing in the morning. Now, if you'll excuse me, Colonel, I've got work to do." And he stepped around Dusty and headed to the HQ Building.
"Tell that sonofabitch he forgot to collect his ears!” yelled Dusty at Woody's back, "And it's Major, not 'Colonel' goddammit." Dusty turned to see Margie and Carol, the other Nurse, staring wide-eyed at her. "What the fuck you looking at?" she growled, "Get in the fucking Jeep." As she put the vehicle in gear, she said to both Nurses, "Thirty minutes from now, I want to see a full report on what just happened from both of you." "A full report, Major?” asked Margie. "You betcha", said Dusty, "Right up to the point where 'Woody' stood up and pronounced the man "dead" and walked off toward the HQ Building." Both Nurses broke out laughing, "Yes Ma'am, "Colonel" Ma'am." they said in unison.
As she tossed the keys to the Jeep back to the Marine Sgt at the desk, he said, "Colonel Waterson is looking for you, Major." "Please call him", Dusty replied, "and tell him that I will be in his office in about 30 minutes." "Aye, Aye, Ma'am", said the Marine. Dusty went to her office, closed the door, pushed the coffee-stained schedule to one side and started writing her own report on the incident on the Parade Ground. Twenty-five minutes later, Margie and Carol came in and handed her their versions of what had happened. Dusty read their reports quickly, picked up her own documentation, and walked down the hall to the CO's office. "Go right in", said Sam's secretary, "He's expecting you." Dusty knocked on the office door, heard a "Come.” and walked in. "There was an incident on the Parade Ground about forty-five minutes ago that was witnessed by me and two of my Nurses", she told Colonel Waterson as she handed him the papers. "Here's our official reports on what we observed, and I would like them forwarded to I Corps as soon as possible." She then went on to relate to Sam the incident with the spilled coffee and what she found when she went back to her 'Hooch' to get a clean uniform, leaving out the part about trying the garments on and posing in front of her mirror.
"Who are those arrogant bastards, Colonel?” she asked Sam, "I'm certain that one of them has broken into my quarters at least twice now." "Isn't 'broken into' a little strong?” asked Sam. "Was anything damaged? Or missing? Way I heard it, both times there was something 'placed' in your quarters, Colonel Winslow.” Sam said with a mischievous grin. Dustys temper almost got the better of her at this point. "Whether something was damaged or missing is not the goddam point.........” She hesitated for a second. "What the hell do you mean, 'ColonelWinslow?” "That's what I wanted to see you about,” said Sam. "You've been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel, effective the first of next month. Congratulations, Colonel."
"Thank you, Sir." Dusty replied as her mind started churning. "Congratulations" had been written on the note that came with the pajamas...and Woody had called her 'Colonel' at the Parade Ground...and Sam was saying something else to her that she was only half-hearing. "............so before I go back to "The World", I'll be retiring with a star on my shoulder." "I'm sorry, Colonel, my mind wandered. What did you say about a star?” she asked. "I said", Sam sighed, "I've been recommended for Brigadier. By the time the promotion board approves it, I'll only have a couple months to go, so I'll retire a Brigadier General." "Well, that's fantastic", said Dusty, "Congratulations, Colonel, I can't think of anybody that's earned it more,” she added. She almost forgot her military manners, but made a nice recovery by saying, "And I want to thank you very much for recommending me for promotion to Lieutenant Colonel." "Don't thank me", said Sam, "My Officer reviews and recommendations are still laying right over there in my 'hold' box. They aren't due until the middle of next month, and the Board won't meet on them until the end of next month. It looks like your boost up the ladder came through some kind of 'special' channel, 'expedited' straight from the Pentagon. Who do you know that can pull those kinds of strings?" As Dusty opened her mouth to object, Sam cut her off, "Never mind, I've got my own theory. Suffice to say that I won't have to send your recommendation in with the rest of them, which saves me the hassle of trying to think up sufficient lies to get them to pass you." he grinned.
"You had something else on your mind when you came in here, I believe?” Sam reminded her. "Yes sir", said Dusty, her voice taking on an angry tone, "I want to know who these bastards in the black pajamas are, and what makes them think they can waltz in & out of my 'hooch' whenever they feel like it." Sam reached into the cabinet behind his desk, pulled out a bottle of 8-year-old Iona Scotch Whiskey and two glasses, and said, "Along with that silver oak leaf (the insignia of a Lieutenant Colonel) comes an upgrade to your Security Clearance." He poured two fingers of the amber liquid into each of the glasses, and handed her one, "Sit down, Colonel, and I will give you an education." As Dusty lowered herself into a chair, the fine Scotch sliding down her throat, Sam went on, "Jim Cooper..." "That's the asshole with the ears, right?” interrupted Dusty. "Yes", said Sam, "Now shut up and listen." he snapped. "First thing you have to know is that repetition of any part of this conversation will earn you a Court-Martial for violation of the National Security Act. The information I'm about to give you is classified Top Secret, Need-To-Know, is that clear?" "Yes sir", said Dusty, and frowned. "Why, all of a sudden, do I 'Need-To-Know'?” she asked, wondering what was coming next. "Because Jim Cooper says you do,” said Sam. "Why me?” she asked. "I think he kinda likes you," Sam said with a smile. "Screw that arrogant son-of-a-bitch." Then, seeing the look on Sam's face, she breathed a sigh of resignation. "All right", she said, "But if I'm gonna get stuck with knowing any cloak-and-dagger bullshit, you're gonna tell me everything you know about him and his job over here. "Then this won't take long,” said Sam, "because all I know for certain is that Cooper's Team is made up of intelligence specialists from all branches of the service. It seems that, a couple years ago, there was some kind of bro-haa-haa in Washington about the different Services being 'reluctant' to share intelligence information with each other. Some sort of inter-service rivalry and pride is my guess." "You mean the Army didn't want the Navy to know what it was doing, and vice-versa?" asked Dusty. "Something like that.” Sam replied. "And the Air Force OSI (Office of Strategic Intelligence) was just as bad. I heard that it finally reached a point where they were spending more time & money trying to find out what the other services knew and/or were working on than they did on what they should have been finding out in the first place. And if they all happened to be after the same thing, they wound up tripping all over each other." "I guess that's why some people say 'Military Intelligence' is a contradiction in terms," said Dusty. "I suppose,” laughed Sam. "Anyway", he continued, "the Chiefs of Staff in the Pentagon sat down about two years ago and decided to form six 'inter-service' teams of Intelligence Specialists and hand them all the 'Black Ops' jobs that were too hairy to give to the Uniformed Services. These guys don't take any prisoners, they sneak in, do the job they were assigned to do, and then sneak out. The 'ideal' situation is that nobody ever even knows they were there. Once in awhile they get a mission that is called 'Retrieve or Neutralize'. That’s when the 'target' is a human being that has information that we want or is somebody that used to be one of ours that has information we don't want the other side to have. They have to go in and bring the subject out, or 'neutralize' him." "You mean they're assassins, don't you?” It was more a statement than a question from Dusty. "Not always", Sam replied. "According to Cooper," he went on, "most of the time they manage to get in, get close enough to get the stuff they need, and then get out with the info, without anybody ever seeing or hearing them.
Cooper has only one cast-in-concrete principle for his Team when they're in the Bush. Before they take off, he gives his Team only one order, 'If it moves, kill it. If it don't move, use it for cover'. He says that’s the only way to give everybody half-a-chance of getting back in one piece." "That goddamn shotgun he carries is not the best way to keep anybody from knowing he's around the neighborhood." Dusty commented. "Very true," replied Sam, "but that razor-edged Bowie knife he carries slung between his shoulder blades is usually his weapon of choice when needed." He noticed a slight shudder from the lady across the desk from him. "I got the A/C cranked up pretty high in here. You cold?” he asked. "No", Dusty replied, "I just didn't like the mental image your last statement conjured up. Just how dangerous are these people, Colonel? And how stable are they?" Dusty was thinking about how to warn her Nurses to stay away from them without breaching her orders to maintain secrecy. "Out in the Bush" Sam answered, "I'd rather fall into a nest of Cobras than meet up with Jim Cooper or any of his crew. My chance of survival would be better. When they're on friendly turf, they pretty much keep to themselves and are almost housebroke."
Walking back to her office, Dusty saw Margie Rockingham intently engaged in conversation with a handsome, sandy haired man dressed in Levi's and a sleeveless T-shirt. Margie's bright blue eyes and flaming red hair, inherited from her Irish mother, along with a near-perfect size seven figure, always attracted the good-looking males, Dusty thought idly. This particular male was no slouch in the looks department, either. The sleeveless T-shirt only accented the finely chiseled torso of a man who obviously worked out regularly with weights, and the tight Levis revealed a slim waist and tight butt and solid legs. "Good afternoon, Major" Margie said, a little louder than needed, warning her companion of Dustys approach. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant", replied Dusty, only acknowledging Margie's companion with a barely perceptible nod. "I'll see you about 1900hrs, Margie." she heard the man say. Then his next words froze her in her tracks, "Have a nice day, Colonel Winslow." Her head snapped around and she saw it as the man walked away. On his left bicep, a tattoo of a red and blue cross, with the name "Mike" in a ribbon above the cross, and the letters U-S-M-C around the four arms of the cross. "You're going out with him tonight?" Dusty asked Margie, hoping her voice didn't reflect the concern she was feeling. "Yes Ma'am" came the reply. "And since I'm not on tomorrow's duty roster", Margie continued, "We're spending the whole day over at China Beach. Mike says the rest of 'the guys' will be there too. You want to come along?" "No thank you", said Dusty emphatically. "I wouldn't go near that bunch of Dinky Dou (Vietnamese for crazy) bastards if my life depended on it," she added, hoping that Margie would take the hint. "Sin Loi", said Margie, using the Vietnamese slang phrase for 'tough luck' or 'that's too bad'. "You just might fool yourself and have a good time. Mike said he thinks that his 'Boss', Jim, might be interested in you,” Margie said coyly.
"That sonofabitch can go to hell! And you can tell him I said so!" Dusty exclaimed as she turned on her heel and headed for her office. She got inside her office and quickly shut the door. She leaned against the closed door and wondered why she could feel her face and neck turning red and why her breathing had quickened so much.

Chapter Two

Pathfinder4 — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 08:25:16 CST

"You absolutely ain't gonna believe this one, Woody” Jim Cooper said as he slid into the booth at the St. James Bar in Bangkok. "Check this out” he said as he handed Woody a gold ring with a jade stone as big as his fingernail. "Jesus, Jim." Woody commented as he examined the ring, "This looks like a piece of Imperial Jade. Where the hell did you buy it, and for how much?"
"Didn't buy it." replied Cooper. "I'm out for my morning run along the river, and run up on this commotion. There's six ugly little bastards giving this Buddhist Monk and a little kid a hard time. Looked like your typical street mugging. The old boy was doing pretty well holding the bastards off with his Bo, that walking stick they all carry, but one of the thugs managed to get hold of the little kid."
"And you just had to stick your two-cents worth in, right, Boss? You naturally being the pushy bastard you are." Woody rarely missed a chance to rib his Commanding Officer and best friend a little.
"Fuck you. Shut up and listen. The old Monk was trying to get to the kid and one of the Zips was behind him and pulled a knife. I just happened to be right behind that little motherfucker so I dropkicked him in the groin. That pretty much took the fight out of that one, but I think it kinda pissed the other five off, 'cause now they all want a piece of my ass. The guy holding the kid let him go and the Monk took him out with a thrust of his Bo to the bastard's temple. At the same time, I gave the son-of-a-bitch closest to me a round-house kick up side his head and came on around with a hook-kick to the chest of another one. The Monk tripped the fourth one with his Bo, and he came down on his head, then back-kicked the first one I'd kicked in the solar plexus. I laid a forward punch on the face of the last one, and I guess that took the fight out of them, since they all hauled-ass up the street."
"So what's the deal with the ring?” asked Woody. "Seems that the kid is the son of some Grand Poo-Bah here and the Monk is his teacher. The bad guys were trying to snatch the kid for a ransom. That Monk can speak better English than you do,” said Jim, who never missed a chance to get a dig in at his Second-in-Command either. "Fuck you. Finish your story", Woody retorted. "OK, the Monk takes this ring off his finger, hands it to me and tells me this is a very special gem. That as long as I have this ring, I will never die anything other than a natural death." His voice was as serious as a heart attack when he said this, but Woody knew better than to ever play poker with his Commander. "I put it on and when I looked up, him and the kid were gone, like they just vanished into thin air." "Right", said Woody, "And I'm the Crown Prince of India. Where'd you buy this thing, and how many Bahts did you pay for it?" "Fuck you, Your Majesty", Cooper fired back. "Since you must have the Royal Fortune, all the drinks this afternoon are on you."
It was always their custom, when they were on R&R, to just sign all the bar & dinner checks in the Hotel, and pay the bill when they checked out. Three days later, when the time came to head back to Da Nang, the manager of the hotel told them at check-out that their bill had already been paid, "By a very affluent man who said he is most appreciative of the aid you rendered his son and the boys teacher". As Woody's jaw dropped open, Cooper just looked at him and stuck his tongue out.
"120 Wireless Road", Woody told the cab driver as he started his engine. Since there was nothing unusual about a couple Americans going to the American Embassy, neither man was concerned about being compromised. On the way, they talked idly about the places they'd visited in Bangkok, just as if they were no more than a couple of tourists or maybe servicemen on leave. When they arrived, the sun was just going down, and Cooper paid the cabbie off and tipped him generously, as any American tourist would. The Marine Guard at the gate looked them over and checked their passports, then passed them through the gate. They walked in the door and up to the reception desk, where a female Marine Corporal, with a cafe-au-lait, flawless complexion, whose shirt was a half-size too small for her ample chest was trying very hard to look both bored and important at the same time. "Good afternoon, Gentlemen", she said in a soft voice, "How may I help you?" Woody couldn't help himself, "Would you like the list alphabetically or chronologically, Corporal?" "Woods and Cooper to see John Malloy", Cooper interjected before Woody put his other foot in his mouth. "Which is which?" she asked, beaming a smile at Woody so bright white even a blind man would have winced. "Doesn't matter", said Woody in his most velvety voice, and flashing a smile equal to hers, "We're interchangeable.” "Right.” she said as she picked up the phone on her desk, "I can see you're twins." "Fraternal, not identical", said Woody as she announced them into the mouthpiece. "Mr. Malloy says to come to his office. Do you need an escort?" Woody didn't take his eyes off the Corporal, "You go ahead, Jim. I'll be along in a minute."
John Malloy looked more like a middle-aged accountant than he looked like the Station Chief for the Central Intelligence Agency in Bangkok. His looks matched his disposition, since he had all the charm and tact of an IRS Auditor, thought Cooper as he walked into the man's office. "Where the hell's Woods?" Malloy asked. "He'll be here in a minute", replied Cooper. "He's attempting to improve Navy - Marine Corps relations." "Pour yourself a drink. Here's your next job.” Malloy said as he handed Cooper a manila envelope. "You leave here at 2300hrs tomorrow. You've got tonight and all day tomorrow to set it up. You go from here back to Da Nang to collect your gear. Two days later you head for Tay Ninh to jump off to the Cambodian border. Any gear you need will be waiting for you in Tay Ninh. Leave me a list before you leave tomorrow night. You and your Team can use the three bunk rooms downstairs next to the training room." "Works for me. When will Mike and Bob get here?" asked Cooper. "They're already downstairs", said Malloy, "doing some one-on-one training with your two newbies." "Abso-fuking-lutely marvelous", snorted Cooper. "I get to take two FNGs (fucking new guys) into Cambodia." "Go get Woods and get downstairs and check them out for yourself.” said Malloy. "By the way", he added, "you know that ring on your finger is contraband, don't you?" Cooper knew as well as anyone that it was illegal for any U.S. Personnel to take Jade from Southeast Asia back to "The World". "You'll be in deep do-do if you get caught with it." "What the fuck are they gonna do to me if they do?” said Cooper with a grin as he went out the door, "Send me to Vietnam?"
"ATTENTION ON DECK!!!” yelled Mike as Jim walked into the training room in the first sub-level of the Embassy, and two of the four occupants leapt to their feet in the ramrod stiff position. "As you were.” said Cooper, "Goddamnit Mike, you know better that that shit." He then directed his attention to the two new members of the Team, "That's the last time I ever want to see you at attention unless we're all back in "The World" and in full dress uniform. Is that clear? On this side of the world, you call me 'Jim', or 'Boss'. My rank, if I have one, is not on your list of things you 'need-to-know'. I know you made it through your stateside training and through the crash courses in Panama, or else you wouldn't be here. Just give me your orders, and get back to what you were doing when I walked in."
Cooper took the manila envelope from each of the men and walked to the far end of the 40-foot long conference table and laid them down, along with the one he got from John Malloy upstairs. He walked over to the smaller table in the corner of the room, poured himself a cup of black coffee, then walked back to the head of the conference table and sat down. He opened the top manila envelope and made sure that the documents were correct and in order, then looked at the file on SSgt Gerald Weintraub, U.S. Army Special Forces, specialty, Explosive Ordinance and Hand-to-Hand Combat Instructor with a Black Belt in Tai Kwan Do. According to the dossier, Jerry was a tough street kid from the lower East Side of New York who was given the choice of the Army or Juvenile Hall when he was seventeen. Cooper reached in his shirt pocket, took out a cigarette, put the flame from his Zippo lighter to the end of it, and reached out and slid the glass ashtray with the Great Seal of The United States in the bottom over to him. "Incoming!" he yelled as he threw the ashtray the length of the table, aiming at the side of Weintraub's head. Weintraub didn't even flinch. He just reached up with his left hand and caught the missile in mid-flight and set it on the table. "Geeze, Boss", Weintraub said as he turned his steel-gray eyes on Cooper, "If you want my attention, all you gotta do is say, 'Hey Jerry'. I'm listening." As he slid the ashtray back up the table, he said, "Here, I don't smoke, I'm Orthodox."
Woody walked in, got himself a cup of coffee and sat down just as Cooper was opening the second manila envelope. "The one on the right", he said as he slid Weintraub's folder to Woody, and opened the second manila envelope. Lieutenant Steven Holman, United States Marine Corps, according to the pages in front of Cooper, was from Findlay, Ohio and a graduate of Ohio State University. He was recruited by ONI while still in College, where he was Captain of the wrestling team and middle linebacker of the football squad. He also is a crack shot with any firearm handed to him, Cooper read, and a true artist in the use of the K-Bar knife and wire garrote, a skill he developed while leading long-range recon patrols with the 3rd Marine Division. He also is fluent in Chinese, Vietnamese, and Russian. He closed the folder, slid it over to Woody, and turned his attention to the last envelope. He took out the five pages that were inside, got up, and walked over to the copy machine on the other side of the room. While the machine was spitting out five copies of the documents, he re-filled his coffee cup and lit another "hump".
As he distributed the copies to the other five men in the room he said, "Seems pretty simple. III Corps HQ thinks that 'Charlie' is building a big supply depot just outside Svay Reing, Cambodia. If he is, it could mean that he's gearing up for a push at Saigon, Cu Chi, or Di An from the west. If he is, that means they gotta beef up the 1st and 25th Infantry Divisions, and the 173rd airborne. Could also mean that they're getting ready to mount a campaign against IV Corp in the Delta. All they want us to do is get in there, find out what kind of stuff Charlie is collecting, and get out without anybody knowing we were there, hopefully." "And if we do get caught, nobody on this side of the war ever heard of us." Said Mike. It was a statement, not a question.
"O.K.", said Cooper, "This is pretty much a milk-run, which is just as well since we got two pieces of fresh meat along. When we get back from this one, we'll take a couple weeks and go back to 'The World' so Steve and Jerry can go to Chicago and get their tattoos." They all were well aware that once you joined a Pathfinder Team, you were a member of that Unit until you got discharged, killed, or the war ended, whichever came first. That's why they all wore the Mariner's Cross tattoo on their left bicep. "Mike and Jerry, you two work on a plan for insertion from Tay Ninh. Bob and Steve will work on insertion from Vinh Long, by boat up the Mekong, then heading east along the border. Woody and I will work on extraction. Make sure you have a thorough list of ordnance and equipment we'll need for each of your ideas. We'll meet back here at 1000hrs tomorrow and have a final Op Plan by 1600 at the latest. We leave for Da Nang at 2300hrs tomorrow. Nobody leaves the Embassy grounds until then. Page five is the topography map of the area around the target. Page four is the detail map of where Intelligence 'thinks' the target might be." "How sure is anybody that this 'junkyard' even exists?” Steve asked "We wouldn't get the job unless the probability factor was 80% or better,” replied Woody. Three hours later, Jim and Woody had established an extraction point south of Svay Reing along the South Vietnam - Cambodia border, along with what they thought would be a secure route to get there.
"If you will now excuse me, Commander, Sir", said Woody, "I have a prior commitment to share an extremely fine bottle of wine with a 'friend'." "Wouldn't just happen to be a certain Marine Corporal we just met, would it?” asked Jim. "Could be." was the reply "Last I heard, 'fraternization' between Officers and Enlisted persons was a crime in the United States Armed Forces,” warned Cooper. "She don't know I'm a Naval Officer, and I sure as hell ain't gonna tell her", retorted Woody. "Besides, if I get caught, what they gonna do to me? Send me to Vietnam?" "You know I wouldn't let them do that to you", said Jim with the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'd recommend that they send you to Diego Garcia." "Fuck you. You're just pissed that a certain Army Nurse Major ain't here to keep you company while I'm gone." While Cooper was trying to think of a comeback, Woody opened the door and left, chuckling to himself all the way upstairs.
At 1000hrs the next morning, the six men met in the training room, and by 1600hrs had a workable game plan for the job ahead. It was six days until the next night with no moon, and that was when they would be dropped by chopper 15 klicks (kilometers) southwest of Tay Ninh, Vietnam, just inside the Cambodian border, where they had about the same chance as a snowball in hell if they got caught.
When Cooper delivered the supplies & equipment list to John Malloy that evening, he said, "By the way, I want to talk to you about Sam Waterson............and one of his Nurses".

Spooks synopsis

Pathfinder4 — Sun, 25 Jan 2009 08:17:23 CST

When Mary Ellen Winslow received her Master’s degree in Nursing at Loyola of Chicago she never dreamed she’d be using it in a helicopter over the jungles of Vietnam. But when her husband, a Korean War fighter ace, 16 years her senior, flew his plane into the side of a mountain rather than answer his Country’s summons to return to service, and took one of his girlfriends with him, she somehow felt the only way to erase the shame and anger she felt was to serve in his place.
This single-mindedness of purpose made “Dusty”, in her superiors’ opinions, the best field evacuation Nurse in Vietnam. It never seemed to matter to her how “hot” the LZ (landing zone) might be where she would have to go to pick up wounded soldiers or marines. They didn’t realize that, as far as she was concerned, her life ended on that mountain when Jack slammed their Beechcraft into it.
That was also the reason she showed absolutely no interest in the many young pilots, doctors, and other males that tried to attract her attention around the 125th Surgical Hospital at Da Nang; until, that is, Lieutenant Commander James Cooper came along.
They say opposites attract. It must be true. Jim Cooper was the total antithesis of everything Dusty believed in. Her sole purpose for being in Vietnam was to save as many lives as she could. Jim Cooper was a Naval Intelligence Black Ops “Spook” whose sole purpose was to collect information about the enemy, and to do whatever he could to make as many Viet Cong and North Vietnamese die in the process as he possibly could. And if he wasn’t in Vietnam, he was in Europe, tracking down deserters from our own military with orders to “retrieve or neutralize”. He was a stone-cold killer and the more she tried to hate him the harder she fell in love with him.
When he proposed and she accepted, the Military Hierarchy decided that it was not in the best interest of the war effort for them to marry and leave the military, so a Command conspiracy was formed that was designed to separate them forever.
Spooks takes the reader through the horror of torn bodies on the battlefield to the intrigue of tracking defectors and spies through the streets of East Berlin. It clearly shows that all of the heroes of Vietnam weren’t big, tough guys with shaved heads, but a lot of them were little-bitty things with ponytails. But the main thing Spooks shows the reader is what it was really like for two people who met and fell in love in Hell.

Customer Review2

Pathfinder4 — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 12:41:17 CDT

From Mr James C Ryan, Oceanside, CA in a letter to the Publisher:

I have just finished the book. James Slusser is truly a gifted writer. This story is one of the most enjoyable I have ever read. Full of action and a great love story not only between a man and a woman but also a truly remarkable explanation of why men who have experienced combat together can love each other deeply as well. It's not a subject that writers express in that way usually, but your author has done it very well and most convincingly. From page 168 onward through page 338 of 364 pages I smiled, I laughed, and I got misty-eyed. This writing moves your emotions, grips you, and catches you up in the lives of the characters who are as real as real can be. You care about what happens to them. And so it is all the more astonishing that the book, in its final chapters takes an unexpected and horrible turn that turns everything upside down and inside out. Of course, the Pentagon is behind the mischief executing policy that serves its own ends first, even if two of their best people are soul-wounded in the process.

One of the major complaints I have about many writers of fiction is that often they are forced to pen an abrupt ending to an overly long story line which, as enjoyable as it is in itself, really demands better closure for the reader. This is not the case in this book. Closure is perfect. Slusser has summed it all up in a very realistic way that shows how cruel life can really turn out, and it is disturbing to the reader as characters have to adjust to a lesser quality of life then they had planned. But in an O' Henry type conclusion, he pulls the story back to the love story and its participants in an improbable but totally satisfying manner. It is unforgettable.

I would read any book this author writes.

Customer Review1

Pathfinder4 — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 12:39:40 CDT

By	Robin J. Lange "dryad57" (Indianapolis, IN) - See all my reviews

When presented with a book that doesn't weigh 15# some people may think "Oh, short book, not much to it" - in this instance they would not only be wrong, but they would be doing themselves a monstrous disservice by not reading it. It is set in a place and time that many US citizens are uncomfortable with and would rather forget - but presented in such a way that it is not a political statement, nor does it slide into any political arenas. It's a vivid and unforgettable story of what it was like to BE there, day to day, and deals with issues that would stop "civvies" dead in their tracks - but which the protagonists handle as smooth as butter on a regular basis. The strength and dedication of the troops (both those who were there because they chose to be, and those who were chosen by their country) comes through clearly. Even if some of them did not come home to us alive, their dedication is still clear.

Regardless of your personal or political views of Vietnam, put them aside and read this book. It is not about Vietnam, but without that setting the story would be impossible.

At times wrenching for what happened not only to our troops, but to the residents of that country as well as the protagonists, it also has moments that will make you laugh out loud regardless of where you might be, and will draw tears to your eyes for more than one reason. The only thing that surprised me was at the end of the book the author indicates how much time has truly elapsed, and it was much longer than I had anticipated. If only the author would have made the book longer - reaching the end and realizing I would not be able to read more of his experiences truly made me sad - it was like walking away from any good book regardless of length - these people are real and you are almost compelled to find out how things proceeded for them. I am known amongst friends and family for being a blisteringly-fast reader, so I expected I would be able to finish the book in one day. I did NOT expect that I would read it as slowly as I did, consuming every story and chapter like it was a fine bottle of wine - tastes so good you don't want to rush through it.

Book Reviews

Pathfinder4 — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 00:05:04 CST

Falling in Love in Hell! Author James P. Slusser, Sr. takes the reader on a journey through the cold war of Europe, the hot war in the jungles around Vietnam, and a very personal war that eventually becomes a relationship! In his book called “Spooks”, we get a glimpse of a life that few people can understand and even fewer have even heard about. The story is riveting as it draws you into the hearts and minds of the men and women who survived in that surreal hell that was Vietnam of the 1960’s. It is a rare combination to find a character driven story with actual feelings and emotion and yet, still deliver plenty of action.

This book states that it is a fictional story but it also notes that it is based on some actual events. The way the story is presented it is hard to determine which may be factual and what may be the author’s creative imagination. The author does a great job of blurring the line between truth and fiction. The reader is left wondering if perhaps, most of the book is reality based.

This is a love story between two very opposite and unlikely soul mates—an Army nurse named “Dusty” and a Naval Intelligence Black Ops “Spook” Lieutenant Commander James Cooper. She is hell bent on saving lives and he is a stone-cold killer. She is in Nam trying to deal with the death of her unfaithful husband while in search for her own soul. Cooper is in Nam to kill and gather information to make life a living hell for the VC and the NVA. Yet, they are pulled together and fall in love.

The intrigue of the operations in Europe lends another level of interest to the story line. Cooper is sent to track down US military deserters with orders to “retrieve or neutralize” them. Like most readers, I wondered about that concept and, if in fact, something like this ever happened. My inside sources tell me that this is far from fiction—but the author cannot either confirm or deny this. The old saying “If I tell you, then I would have to kill you” might apply here.

In any case, the way it is written leaves one believing that everything is possible. The author uses great phrasing and just enough of a dialog to make the plot move effortlessly along. This book is chuck full of solid energy. Readers of action military novels will embrace this book but it will also appeal to those who enjoy reading books that deal with the deeper emotional impact of war. If you were in Nam you will be able to relate to this book no matter what you did there during that war. For those who never served there, it will paint a mental and emotional picture of what it was like for some of those who did serve there. The author presents a very real and descriptive and factual accounting of actions and people. Totally believable story!

I loved this book and personally recommend it. The Military Writer’s Society of America (MWSA) gives this novel its highest rating of FIVE STARS!

Reviewed by:
W. H. McDonald, Jr.
Founder and former President of the MWSA and the American Authors Association
Author of “The Spiritual Warrior’s Journey”, “Purple Hearts” and other books
Documentary Film Maker, former radio show host, veteran advocate,
Vietnam Veteran 1966-67 - The 128th Assault Helicopter Company
Chaplain for The Veteran’s Village Foundation