The War You've Always Wanted by Mike McLaughlin

Author:Mike McLaughlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Koehler Books
Published: 2024-04-25T00:00:00+00:00

KHÔNG CÓ GÌ

It was more closet than room. A lone bulb strained to illuminate a space barely ten feet wide. Hanging from the walls were yet more bulletin boards covered with photos, note cards, and memos. Against one wall, a narrow desk sagged under the weight of books in Vietnamese, French, and English. Against the others were metal tables holding stacks of document boxes, with more below. Dates were scrawled on each in black marker, followed by arcane abbreviations.

The photos were a mix. Some were the grip and grin type. Smiling officials from both nations congratulating each other. Performing great works. Others were less pretty. Taken while under fire or just after the shooting had stopped. Some had probably made it to press. Others had notes scrawled with red ink, usually with an X at the end. Stark images of people—the maimed and the burned and the ruined.

Dolan gaped at them.

Talking on a phone was a young ARVN officer, tall and lean. He wore rumpled ODs, and his hands showed traces of dirt under the nails. He spoke rapidly in his own language, with the air of a man finishing a tough job and gearing up for another, handset jammed between ear and shoulder as he scribbled on a notepad. He nodded at Dolan, waving him in as he finished the call.

“Is for translate for you, yes?” the man declared as he hung up. “Means we be there soon!”

Dumbstruck, Dolan saluted. In the field that would have earned him a royal ass-chewing, but in this setting, he didn’t know what else to do.

The man grinned and saluted in return.

“So! You new, hah? Is yes? You is new?”

Dolan winced. It was the worst English he’d ever heard. The man spoke so loud and so fast that his words crashed into each other. He sounded like the seven samurai on bennies—and they didn’t speak English at all.

Dolan nodded stupidly.

“Yes, sir,” he added, feeling stupider still.

“Me Lieutenant Vinh! Me translator is want for you to write!”

Dolan’s mouth fell open. Beyond embarrassed, he shut it again. He considered trying his simple bush Vietnamese—all forty words of it—but didn’t, knowing he’d sound more like an idiot than he already felt.

“So! Is for we do story about school, yes?”

Dolan bobbed his head automatically.

“Is good! There for you is uniform!”

Dolan turned to study fresh fatigues and sets of khakis hanging from hooks on the wall. Each shirt bore his name and, incredibly, three stripes on the arms.

“Is for you put on now! Next is we go!”

Dolan nodded, dazed.

The officer burst out laughing and shook his head.

“Relax, man. You’ll be fine.”

Dolan blinked. The man had spoken without a trace of accent.

“You’ll catch flies with that mouth, Dolan,” he went on. “Your first order is to close it.”

With effort, the new sergeant complied.

“I did say relax, didn’t I?”

Dolan was dumbstruck. It was like hearing two men speak with the same mouth.

“Sir, I—”

“San Francisco,” Vinh continued. “Born and raised. I’m Kwan.” The man grinned, reaching to shake hands. “And don’t use that ‘sir’ business unless there are other officers around.

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