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As he stood on that rough dock staring into the mad bustling crowd, Jody Dillon wondered just what the hell he was doing back in this damned stinkin country. As one of the US advisors to General Deng, the commander of the conscripts who patrolled the lower delta of the muddy Mekong, he'd spent most of his tour cleaning up after the messes caused by these reluctant freedom fighters.

The Americans weren't supposed to be here. He knew that even before the long hairs picked up their pot and their protest signs. Stick some of them sons of bitches in a stinkin flooded rice field, gook kids dressed in black pajamas taking pot shots at you from cover so thick you can't return fire. That would give the peaceniks some proper perspective.

Jody had been here even before they'd begun to send proper troops, clean shaven Yankee boys along with some of his kin from the good old confederate south. That was back when his life was literally in the hands of the chaotic South Vietnamese government. With all the shit which rained down upon their heads, he'd wondered that any of his team had gotten out alive.

"Messa Deon? " the quiet voice had slipped in below his radar somehow, the operatives' right hand moving to rest against the service revolver concealed beneath his light coat. While not exactly travelling incognito, Jody did try leave his uniform behind when on his own. It kept any potential sniper guessing.

"Who are you? " he turned slowly, finding a deceptively young Asian; thin of face and form, waiting patiently for a response. While Jody still retained a certain boyish look, even in his late twenties, this inquisitive stranger seemed almost ageless.

"My pardon. " the dark eyes; set in bony sockets, seemed almost to laugh at the officers' question. "I am sent from General Yun, to escort you to his offices. I believe I was to ask if you like Madame Buttafly? "

The spooks with the CIA worked over time to come up with these bad passwords and equally dismal counters. Even as the US openly brought their soldiers into this civil war between the communist north and the quasi republic south, the agents for all interested parties still had their work to do.

"I dream that I was a butterfly, dreaming I was a man... this is idiotic. " he complained. "General, huh? I didn't realize that Yun had been promoted since his work with Deng. "

"He recalls you fondly as well. " chuckled the Vietnamese soldier. "I'm called Chu Long, aide to the general, commanded to see to your comfort while in Phan Thiet. "

"Not long a stay, I hope. " thought Dillon as Chu went to pick up his drab olive duffel. "I prefer to carry that myself, thanks. Personal items. " he lightly chided the eager young officer.

"Of course, I understand. " Chu responded, feeling the uneven weight at once, knowing what it meant. "But I'm sure the general impatient for seeing you. I have a car waiting. "

It was the usual black sedan, likely a Ford or some German model which the dictatorial military leaders seemed to fancy. Only a few steps from the old fascists of Germany and Italia during WWII, some of these quasi soldiers. Officer was a joke term for many, having bought their way into the title without real training to back it up.

Deng had been one of those, content to send young men into hostile territory only to pull them out at the first sign of trouble. A fat stuffed pig of a man looking to curry favor with the wealth of the west. Likely his extravagance got him killed more than his incompetence.

Yun, however, had the makings of a true leader; back when he was a lowly foot soldier. He took the initiative several times as he lead Jody's people through enemy lines to their various objectives. That was last year. Only seven months had passed between the time Dillon returned Stateside and the Pentagon ordering the officer to volunteer to go back for one last assignment.

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