Time to Hunt

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author would like to begin by making certain readers understand that the foregoing in no way advances a claim for his own heroism, which is, of course, nonexistent. He was not a Marine sniper nor even a Marine; he never went to Vietnam but served as the least efficient ceremonial soldier in the 1st Battalion (Reinf.), Third Infantry, in Washington, DC, 1969–1970. His own war story: he was present at the occupation of the Treasury Building. It was very boring. And once he cut his lip on some barb wire at Camp A.P. Hill in Virginia.

Readers will also recognize that I’ve seized events from Vietnam, fictionalized them and reinserted them in a bogus time frame for my own dramatic purposes. That includes inventing an extra year of Marine ground combat. Most Marine units left RSVN in 1971; I was stuck with 1972 because I chose that year without doing a lick of research when I was writing Point of Impact, the first of the Bob Lee Swagger books, many years back. In earlier books, I also set the action near An Loc, which turns out to be close to Saigon, and nowhere near I Corps, where the Marines served. So in a belated attempt at the illusion of accuracy, I’ve deemphasized An Loc and moved the location of Bob and Donny’s fight in the rain up to I Corps, near the Special Forces camp at Kham Duc.

I’ve also simplified the complicated events in Washington over the first four days of May 1971 into a single night, put the massacre of Firebase Mary Ann — my Dodge City — in a different year and ascribed it to a different service, and invented my own ’Nam jargon under the license of telling stories, not writing history. In fact, one of the few things recounted in this book that actually happened was the great catch that Donny remembered making against Gilman High School. It was made against Gilman, a prep school not in Arizona but Baltimore, by my son Jake Hunter, in Boys’ Latin’s victory over Gilman in 1995.

I should add that I’ve made a good-faith effort to reconcile events of this book with events previously referred to in Point of Impact and Black Light. Alas, far too many times events were irreconcilable, so you’ll simply have to trust my assertion that in other books things happened that way, but in this book they happen this way.

But where I’ve made up much, I’ve also talked with many people who had firsthand knowledge of the kind of events I describe. They’re all good men and deserve no blame for my inaccuracies or the ends to which I’ve put information that they earned the hard way.

Ed DeCarlo, retired Army CSGT, and Alvin Guyton, retired Gy. Sgt., USMC, both good buddies from On Target Shooting Range, where I spend vast amounts of time and money, shared Vietnam memories and data with me. Ed was a radio operator and briefed me on the intricacies of the PRC-77 and map reading; Alvin, a recon Marine, lent me tons of reference material and even loaned me copies of his orders to Vietnam on which to base my version of Donny’s, and tried to make me feel Marine culture well enough to imagine it. Two of the usual suspects, Weyman Swagger and John Feamster, offered their usual supplies of endless labor, commentary and suggestion, each reading the manuscript with a great deal of precision. Lenne Miller, another Vietnam vet and an old college friend, was equally generous with time and observation. My brother Tim Hunter sent me a terrific letter of constructive criticism. Jeff Weber not only lent me his name for one of the characters but also read the manuscript and offered good advice. Bob Lopez came up with a crucial idea at a crucial moment. J. D. Considine, the pop-music critic of The Baltimore Sun, my old paper, drew up a compilation tape of 1971 hits, to whose accompaniment this book was written. Mike Hill was very helpful. Bill Phillips, an ex-Marine officer, Vietnam vet and author of The Night of Silver Stars, read the manuscript carefully and helped me sort out Army jargon and replace it with Marine, but if I’ve called it a latrine somewhere instead of a head, it’s my fault, not Bill’s. Tim Carpenter, of Bushnell’s, explained the subtleties of infrared ranging devices to me. Dave Lauck, of D&L Sports in Gillette, Wyoming, and author of The Tactical Marksman, ran his fine professional eye over the manuscript, to my great benefit. Kathy Lally and Will England, the Sun’s Moscow correspondents, gave me tips and data on that city for a chapter that was ultimately cut. Warrant Officer Joe Boyer of the Marine Barracks took me on a prowl through that installation and patiently answered my questions. Jean Marbella, of my old paper and my new life, was her usual fabulous self and listened to me prattle on about titles and narrative issues late into the night. John Pancake, arts editor of my new paper, The Washington Post, just smiled every time I told him I was leaving early to work on the book. David Von Drehle, editor of the Post’s Style section, was equally generous in letting me disappear when I deemed it necessary. Steve Proctor, of the Sun, had instituted a similar policy in my many years there, and he too should be recognized and thanked.

Former Green Beret Don Pugsley wrote to me at great length about communications procedures from A camps. Charles H. “Hap” Hazard, a Sun artist and former Army intelligence enlisted man, translated a lot of stuff into Vietnamese for me, very helpfully. Dr. Jim Fisher introduced me to Dr. Charlie Partjens, an orthopedic surgeon, who discussed the physical realities of an old bullet with me. Bill Ochs, former Army sergeant, discussed something of far more intensity: the trauma of his own hip wound, acquired in action in RSVN. I really appreciate his willingness to let a stranger invade his privacy like that.

I should also thank authors who have come before me. Peter R. Senich, the Thucydides of sniper warfare, came out with The One-Shot War, a history of Marine sniper operations in Vietnam, just as I was beginning. Then Michael Lee Lanning and Dan Cragg published Inside the VC and the NVA, which was very helpful for tough little Huu Co, senior colonel. Of course I’ve drawn from Charles Henderson’s Marine Sniper, and Joseph T. Ward’s Dear Mom: A Sniper’s Vietnam, as well as the standard history texts. I never spoke to any Marine snipers, however, because I needed to be free to envision Bob Lee Swagger as I wanted him to be, warts and all.

Last, in the professional realm, I must thank my brilliant, wonderful agent Esther Newberg of ICM and my great editor, Bill Thomas, of Doubleday. And something finally for the book’s dedicatee, John Burke, who was the great Carlos Hathcock’s spotter in Vietnam, and didn’t make it to DEROS. I never knew him but his story so moved me that I had to find a way to cast it into a book, and he became my Donny Fenn. So in a way this whole thing — this book and the three that proceeded it — all came from his sacrifice. Thanks, Marine.