Lance Corporal Perry McMullin is a wannabe sniper prepared to help win the war in Vietnam. Navy corpsman John Henry Fox dreams of becoming a military chaplain. Now just out of medical training, he is unsure of his newly imposed warrior status. As fate brings a life saver and a life taker together, they soon become friends-but not without conflict. McMullin is on the military fast track. Focused on being a career marine, he is promoted to sergeant and trained as a sniper. Fox, never a fan of war, decides to return to college, causing the two unlikely friends to part. After instructing at MCB Quantico and working stateside intelligence, McMullin requests to return to Vietnam. Ensign John Fox has also returned to the battlefield, but this time as a navy chaplain. As a cross and sword reunite during special covert operations and top secret missions, neither has any idea that a parting of ways is in store once again. In this compelling, action-packed military tale, two men attempting to survive the ravages of war somehow manage to salvage a friendship and, in the process, discover a lasting gift that neither could have ever imagined. THE CROSS AND THE SWORD Hoi Chu Thap Va Thanh Kiem By Perry McMullin iUniverse, Inc. Copyright © 2012 Perry McMullin All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4759-4231-6 Chapter One "Good morning, Lieutenant. I'm Lance Corporal McMullin, Perry V., 1981844, and I'm reporting for duty in accordance with my orders, sir ." "Well, good morning to you also, Lance Corporal McMullin. I think that we sorta expected to see you here about two days ago ... as I recall, that is." "Well, yes, sir. You are in fact correct. It seems that I ended up getting here by way of Saigon instead of the direct flight to Da Nang that I was supposed to be on. I guess there was some big brass on board the aircraft that needed to have special concessions made for them, so we went to Saigon first. I had to catch a hop from point A to point B, but you were supposed to have been notified by the army people about that little change of plan, Lieutenant. I guess that didn't happen though. Go figure, huh?" The lieutenant seemed to be quickly growing weary of our conversation as he began to shuffle the stack of papers in front of him. "I wouldn't sweat the small stuff, Lance Corporal. Shit runs downhill, and I am just a notch above you here in Vietnam. Not everything goes as planned in a war zone, and it is what it is, but we'll probably extend your tour by two days to make up the difference." At least he was smiling at his comment as he waved me away so that he could return to the stacks of papers on the desk in front of him. With the exchange of this pleasantry, I began the process of checking into the US Marine Corps Third Platoon of the First Reconnaissance Battalion, Third Marine Division. This particular platoon was just being formed on March 15, 1965. At that time, it came under the command of in-country Special Operations and Captain Ronald Barber. This platoon was used, for the most part, for covert operations and was generally broken down to be deployed in several different locations at the same time. No one should have ever questioned who, what, when, where, why, or how we accomplished a mission. In fact, they should not even ask if we had even been out on a mission. If they did question anything, either they would be completely out of line or they'd be one of us. As the recon guys used to say, "I didn't see nuth'n, I didn't hear nuth'n, and I didn't do nuth'n, cause I weren't even there!" I had just turned twenty years old just after my graduation from boot camp in August 1964 at MCRD, San Diego. My dad had been a navy pilot during WWII and Korea, so I guess the military life always seemed like the natural route for me to follow after high school. I'd almost considered becoming a navy squid, but to me the Marines always seemed to have their shit together just a little bit more than the US Navy. Besides, the Marine Corps dress blues were awesome, and I really didn't want to wear a Dixie cup on top of my head and bell-bottom trousers with thirteen buttons. Tradition is a great thing and the Corps is full of cool traditions, but what if ya had to pee really bad? Getting those thirteen buttons undone seemed totally unsat to me. After three weeks of advanced infantry training, and then another three weeks of communications school, I was ready to attend my two very long months of Vietnamese language school. That didn't make me a full-fledged linguist by any stretch of the imagination, but I could communicate in Vietnamese with some reasonable efficiency. "Hold your own" was the catchphrase that was often used at the school. I'd never taken Spanish in high school because I always said that anyone who was living in America needed to speak English. I guess it was fair to say that, if I was going to be in Vietnam, I should at least try to speak a bit of Vietnamese. Besides, I wasn't asked if