Shock of War

“You speak English?” Zeus asked. “I’m looking for Dr. Anway. I’m, uh, Zeus Murphy. Major Murphy? She worked on me… I was her patient. I am her patient.” He looked down at his scrubs. “I was just patched up. I wanted to make sure… I thought, you know, she was a doctor so I wanted her to check me out.”

The nurse shook her head, her mastery of English overwhelmed by the sheer amount of words that had flooded from Zeus’s mouth. She pointed to the floor: a small puddle had dripped there from his wet clothes.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“You are a patient?”

“Yes. Dr. Anway’s.”

She came over and put her hand on his arm. He let her guide him out of the ward. When she turned in the direction of the stairs, he stopped.

“I wanted to see Dr. Anway before I left.”

She frowned at him, then turned and walked in the other direction. Zeus decided his best bet would be to follow.

The room where the shooting had occurred was on his right. He glanced in as he passed, only to make sure Anna wasn’t there. It was empty.

A middle-aged man in a lab coat came out into the hallway. “You are Major Murphy,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I am Dr. Quan.”

Zeus moved his clothes to his left arm and held his right hand out to shake. The doctor hesitated a moment, then clamped his hand around Zeus’s.

“You need something for your things,” said the doctor. “Come into my office.”

“Thanks.”

Zeus followed him into the room, which was more like a small alcove off a narrow corridor that ran perpendicular to the main hall. The nurse Zeus had followed was standing at the edge of the alcove, watching apprehensively.

“Thank you,” Zeus said as she started to leave. “Thanks.”

“Here,” said the doctor, taking a mesh bag from behind a filing cabinet near the wall. He held it open. Zeus squeezed his clothes in. More water dripped on the floor.

“I’m very sorry,” Zeus told him.

“Someone will clean it up. Don’t worry.”

The office space was small, with a metal desk pushed up against the side, and the filing cabinet taking most of the space opposite it. The doctor seemed not to have a chair, not even behind the desk.

“I wanted to see Dr. Anway,” Zeus said. “She had helped me before. We’re friends now.”

“Dr. Anway.”

“Anna.” Zeus couldn’t believe that anyone who worked here, let along another doctor, wouldn’t know her. “Where is she? Is she working today?”

“Dr. Anway is not here.” Dr. Quan pushed his lips together, his cheeks pinching inward.

“Where is she?” Zeus asked.

“I don’t know.”

“What happened to Anna?” said Zeus, leaning closer.

“She was arrested as a traitor,” said the doctor, looking down. “I know nothing else.”

6

South of Hanoi

Perry needed to make the call to Washington from outside the bunker, not just because the signal for his scrambled sat phone wouldn’t reach from beneath all the cement and metal grids, but because he could not trust the Vietnamese not to listen in. He certainly would under the circumstances.

Unfortunately, that meant standing in the rain and the wind to make the call. He pulled the collar of his raincoat up and took his cap out and put it onto his head, pulling the beak down over his eyes until he could barely see.

The phone rang once on the other side before Walter Jackson, the President’s National Security adviser, answered.

Personally. One measure of the importance of his mission.

“Walter, this is Perry.”

“General.”

“I need to talk to the President. As soon as possible.”

“That’s not a problem, General. He happens to be right here in my office.”

There was a slight delay as the President picked up another phone.

“Harland. Bringing good news, I hope.”

“No, Mr. President. I’m not.”

“Okay.” Greene’s voice dropped about a half octave, and the cheeriness was gone. “Tell it to me straight.”

“One of my men died in action.”

Perry explained the circumstances briefly. Neither Greene nor Jackson interrupted.

“I think that, unfortunately, under the circumstances, it was a necessary sacrifice,” said the President.

His voice was so emotionless a shudder ran through Perry’s body. The general immediately upbraided himself. The President’s attitude was hardly surprising; it was exactly the way a commander ought to think. The stakes were much higher, much more important, than the life of any one individual.

It was the way Perry should think. It was the way he had thought in the past.

“Our read on the situation is a little more positive today,” said Jackson, filling the silence. “Between the action in the east and the storm, the Chinese advance is stalled. If you can capitalize on that, delay it even further, that would be a good thing.”

“The Russian missiles should be there soon,” said the President. “I’m still working with Congress. Eventually, you’ll have real support. I may send SOCCOM; we’re discussing that right now.”

SOCCOM was shorthand for Special Operations Command — Special Forces, Rangers, SEALs. Covert units the President could essentially sneak into the country without telling Congress.

“Continue helping the Vietnamese,” added Greene. “Spare no effort. We have to slow down the Chinese.”

Perry’s throat suddenly thickened. “Mr. President, I think under the circumstances we’re going too far. Given the status on Congress, if we have more casualties — ”

“Not to be crass, Harland,” said Jackson, “but what casualties are we talking about? We haven’t committed troops.”

“One of my majors just died.”

“I’m sorry about your man, Harland. Those are my orders,” said Greene.

“George — ”

“If you’re unable to carry out your mission — ”

“That’s not necessary,” said Perry, almost under his breath.

“Good,” said Greene.

Perry struggled to articulate his objections to escalation by pieces. Bringing in special ops troops now for more missions wasn’t going to change the war. The only effect would be dead Americans — more people like Christian.

But the President had already hung up. He punched off the phone and went back inside the bunker.