War Paint

By Brian Lehman

WAR PAINT is a quirky thriller and a naval warfare story like no other from the Vietnam War. It is April 1972 and the fading war has suddenly reawakened with the Easter Offensive, a massive invasion by North Vietnam into South Vietnam. United States troop strength in the war has fallen to new lows and twenty-year-old surfer Jeffs Ryder is a new member of the crew of a destroyer known as the Rat at the very time that the United States Navy has become the tip of the spear in repelling this aggression. He and his fiancée Cathy’s lives are turned upside down as his ship and many others are sent to the war. Unknown to Jeffs and the crew of the destroyer, their most dangerous enemy is not the one they expect. A secret group committed to the destruction of the ship, and an unbalanced navy fleet commander have joined forces in a conspiracy to send the Rat on a perilous mission and a confrontation with patrol boats carrying ship killing missiles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Aug 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684704002

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LEHMAN

Copyright © 2019 Brian Lehman.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

RSV: [Scripture quotations are from] Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1946, 1952, and 1971 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0398-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0399-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-0400-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019907091

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 07/22/2019

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the following groups and individuals

WO1 Charles A. Richardson, United States Army.

Killed in action in Thua Thien Province, South Vietnam June 5, 1970

Signalman Arly Thomsen (1952-2000) United States Navy

Every United States Navy sailor who ever served aboard the USS Rupertus DD-851

Every United States Navy sailor who served aboard a ship in the Vietnam War

Dava Parks

My Anh Nguyen

Julie, my wife and best friend, for her love, her inspiration and for putting up with my consumption of vast amounts of time and energy to complete this book.

Colby, my son, who has always been encouraging and supportive of my writing endeavors and aspirations.

PROLOGUE

October 1967—The Eastern Mediterranean, near Port Said, Egypt

This would be the last day, the last hours, of the Israeli destroyer Eilat. She had started out her life in Britain in 1944 as H.M.S. Zealous. Sold to her new country in 1955, she had now just passed her 23rd birthday. At 363 feet and armed with four 4.5 inch guns, six 40mm anti-aircraft guns and torpedoes, the Eilat was not a particularly impressive vessel among the world’s navies, but she was the pride of her country and crew.

Many thought it laughable that the war that had begun in June had become known as the Six Day War. It was now October 21st and the captain felt very much that he had been at war for more than four months. Three months earlier the Eilat had blown an Egyptian torpedo boat out of the water and ever since he had wondered when the retaliation would come. Being a knowledgeable electronics officer, he worried that the destroyer had no reliable means for defending against an attack from the missiles that were carried by some Egyptian patrol boats, though not much was known about them. It was commonly believed that Isreal’s air superiority and ability to retaliate would prevent the missiles from being used. After all, even during those first six days of more intense warfare not one had been fired.

The Eilat and other naval units had been patrolling the Sinai coast in the eastern Mediterranean for four months. The captain confirmed they were not only outside the twelve mile territorial limit but another mile and a half just for good measure. To the east was Port Said, the northern entrance to the Suez Canal. It was late afternoon, coming up on 1730 hours and the sun would be setting in a few minutes. The crew of just over two-hundred men would complete their assigned patrol in a few hours and set a course for their homeport in Israel.

In Port Said, someone in the Egyptian navy had decided enough was enough. They knew there would be consequences to suffer for what they were about to do, but they had held their Komar missile boats and their Styx missiles at bay long enough. As the Eilat took up its patrol position, two missile boats just at the entrance to Port Said finished their launch preparations. They motored slowly out to sea toward the destroyer that was now silhouetted so well against the setting sun, their small low profiles not yet attracting any radar attention.

As they neared a ten mile distance they targeted the Eilat with their radar and fired their first missile—the first one in history ever fired on an enemy ship from another surface craft.

Aboard the Eilat the flash of the launching attracted a great deal of attention. Most of the crew, including the gunners, having never seen such a thing did not fully recognize the danger, even though they were at battle stations and watching the approaching threat.

The smoking, lumbering missile with its bulbous fuselage and stubby wings looked more like a plane in some sort of trouble. The captain watched as the sub-sonic missile showed no signs of slowing or falling short. Too late, he ordered the destroyer into a turn that would present her narrow beam as a small target, but the missile kept coming. The gunners seemed to finally realize what they were seeing as it came closer, but by then they had only seconds. A frantic sailor began firing a machine gun at the approaching Styx, but the missile was keeping its appointment with history.

The destroyer reeled from the huge explosion just above the water line. A boiler room and engine room were incinerated by the thousand pounds of explosive. All power was out, many of the life rafts had been disintegrated, several gun positions were gone and a fire was spreading.

Moments later a lookout reported, Missile to port!

The stricken warship was slowly circling, powerless, with its port side coming around full profile for the second missile. Several men began firing machine guns sooner this time, but their ineffective weapons were no match. The missile struck the port side, peeling back the main deck amidships and toppling one of the stacks. The basic structure of the hull was now buckled out of shape. There were no radios and no power to fight the spreading fires.

The ship was listing fifteen degrees to port and taking on massive amounts of water. Many of the crew had been killed or wounded. It was nearly dark now. They had dropped anchor to stop their slow drift closer to Port Said. After jury-rigging a transmitter, a radioman was finally able to contact an army unit inland to relay their distress message. The wounded were put into rafts so the rest of the crew could depart faster if the order was given.

Key bulkheads were giving way and the destroyer was beginning to settle at the stern and listing more. The captain gave the order to abandon ship. Many of the crew were still clinging to the hull as the floatables were thrown overboard and the crew was warned to move farther away from the sinking ship.

A man in the water shouted, Missile! They all watched as this one made its fiery low approach from the darkness and hit at the stern, staggering the ship with a needless final, mortal blow. Scattered in the darkness, the captain and his surviving men struggled to put distance between themselves and their former ship. It was bow up now and slipping beneath the sea. Groups of men did their best to stay together and find others in the pitching darkness.

Unbelievably, a fourth missile was fired. There was no ship left to hit, but more men were killed by the force of the explosion in their midst as the missile struck where the Eilat had been.

The survivors were rescued a short time later. Of the crew of more than 200, forty-seven were killed and more than a hundred wounded. For the first time in history a ship had been hit and sunk by missiles fired from another vessel.

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ONE

Present day—Santa Cruz, California

Grandpa, you ever kill anyone in the war?

Across the room, Jeffs Ryder looked up from the magazine he was reading. His thirteen-year-old grandson, Mav, was standing looking at the living room wall crowded with family photographs.

His son, Cruz, who was leaning against the door frame chewing something from the kitchen and sipping from a bottle of beer, shrugged and gestured at the wall. Navy pictures.

Yeah, I did, Jeffs said.

Really? Mav pointed up at a ship photograph. Were you in the war on this ship? Is that a battleship?

It’s a destroyer, Jeffs explained. It was the Vietnam War.

This the ship I heard you call a rat before? Mav said.

Jeffs smiled a little. It is.

Grandpa means his ship killed people in the war, Cruz said, then he saw the peculiar look his father gave him and knew right away that was the wrong explanation.

Mav turned and caught a glimpse of the unspoken exchange between the two men. The ship killed a lot of people?

Jeffs nodded.

Wow! Mav looked at his father for a moment then repeated his first question. You ever kill anyone yourself, Grandpa?

Jeffs thought back more than forty-five years to days he thought of often but rarely talked about, mostly because nobody ever asked him, but also because he knew most people who weren’t there just didn’t get it.

Yeah, I did, he repeated.

Did you shoot him? Mav asked.

Yup.

Where was he?

Jeffs pointed. On that ship, the destroyer.

Mav turned and looked at the photo again then turned back. Why’d you shoot him?

It was a war. He was an enemy soldier and he was shooting at me and my friends, Jeffs said.

Grandma Cathy said you were a big war hero and I should ask you about it.

Jeffs glanced over at his son, whose mouth was hanging open. Maybe that day I was. It was a very interesting day.

I’ve heard some navy stories from you but, you shot a guy? On the ship? How come I never heard about this before? Cruz asked indignantly.

Jeffs cocked his head and a grin took over his face that made him look years younger. I guess I should tell you all about it sometime.

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TWO

War News – March 1972

The long war in Vietnam, after winding down the last couple of years, appears to have reawakened in the form of a large scale invasion by North Vietnam across the DMZ—the area separating North and South Vietnam. On March 30th, a massive attack by thousands of North Vietnam Army (NVA) troops, accompanied by hundreds of tanks and preceded by what may have been the largest artillery barrage of the conflict, overran forward bases all along the DMZ and miles into South Vietnam’s northernmost provinces.

In a hotel room at the edge of downtown San Diego, Jeffs Ryder and Cathy Stone were lying in bed, her head resting on his chest.

A short drive away, the destroyer USS Rattano rested pier side at the 32nd Street Naval Station waiting for him.

It was bad enough when we thought it would be weeks away, Cathy said.

Jeffs glanced at the alarm clock and sighed. Seven hours.

She kept telling him she didn’t want to waste the time they had left with crying, but he could feel tears tickling their way down the side of his chest.

How much time will we have on the ship in the morning? she asked shakily. They had already talked about this, but she needed to hear it again.

Family and visitors get to come onboard and hang around for thirty, forty minutes or so before the ship gets ready to get underway.

My mom told me the other day that she thinks it’s a good thing that all this delayed our wedding plans, Cathy said. She said the seven months that you’re gone will be a good test for us. She thought it would especially be good for you to have a chance to do some growing up.

No guarantee about the seven months. Jeffs scowled then let out a quick sneering laugh. Yeah, my mom and dad said almost the exact same thing. They said something about you being more mature than me and that I had a lot of partying to still get out of my system before I had any business getting married. They said twenty and nineteen is way too young. I told them we’d both have birthdays before I came, back and I asked them how old they were when they got married. They told me I was being a smart-ass. I don’t think they expect us to stay together through all this.

She raised up on one elbow, wiping away her tears and looking into his eyes. What do you think? she asked.

Well, I think I was being a smart-ass.

She made a face and waited.

Hey, even after we’re married can’t I still surf, party on the beach, hang out with our friends, all the usual stuff?

Cathy stared at him as she slowly shook her head. Well, no, Mister Smart-Ass, not all the usual stuff.

She quickly rolled away from him and stood. More tears were coming now, and she angrily wiped them away with both hands as her voice rose. Have you forgotten how the hell you ended up in the navy? If it weren’t for Judge Crawford, you’d be sitting in jail! We’ve been talking and planning about building a life together and now you say this bullshit. Is that what you think that you’re just going to go back to your life of partying and getting arrested for stupid shit?

He sighed. I’m sorry I said that. I want you more than I want my old life back.

He knew it sounded like the thing he should say, but he wasn’t so sure it felt true. Some days he almost liked the navy and other days he hated it. Some days he felt like marrying her and some days he thought it would all just be easier if he did go back to his life of partying and not giving a damn. But he knew she loved him, and he thought he loved her. And he sure as hell knew he didn’t want to be taking off in the morning to go to a far-off war.

A grin came to his face. You know you’re cute when you’re mad and naked.

She looked down at herself and grabbed a pillow, hugging it in front of her. She wanted to stay angry, but she couldn’t help smiling. Her voice calmed and returned to a softer level. Dammit, Jeffs. Are they right? Are you still too immature? Are we both too young to get married?

Honestly, I’m not sure, but we are getting older every minute. He held open the sheet and motioned her back into the bed.

She hesitated a few moments then shoved the pillow into his face and hurried back under the sheet beside him.

He wrapped his arms around her, and they were quiet for a long time.

You promise to be safe over there?

It was the same thing she had said every few hours for the last two days. They both knew it was a senseless, desperate question.

As he always did, he answered, It’s a war.

She nodded and said, I know, like she did every time.

I promise, he said as usual.

But neither of them had any idea what any of that meant, or what to expect or how to act or what to think or how to feel or how to just be normal in this situation.

Cathy rolled away from him, then turned back and straddled him giving him a shy half smile. You recovered yet?

Let’s find out, he said.

Wait. How old were they when they got married? He reached for her breasts and she slapped his hands away. Really, how old were they?

Jeffs grinned up at her. Nineteen and twenty.

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THREE

War News – April 1972

It has become apparent after the initial hours of confusion following the so-called Easter Offensive which began on March 30th that it is indeed, according to American military spokesmen, a massive attack and an all-out effort designed to bring South Vietnam to its knees. Because of the Vietnamization process there are now fewer than 70,000 American troops left in South Vietnam, a steep decline from the 1968 peak of over a half million. The bulk of the fighting has now fallen to the ARVN, the Army of the Republic of Vietnam.

For too many people in too many ways, life had been askew for quite some time. Napalm, Hueys, Viet Cong, KIA, body counts, Tet, doves, hawks, DMZ, fragging, the Ho Chi Minh Trail, Agent Orange. Names and words largely unknown just a few years before were now common knowledge. Children had grown up hearing them, teenagers had come of age along with them, adults engaged in everyday conversation about them. For years the television war news, rather than being simply delivered, had intruded into homes with the droning background whop, whop, whop of helicopter rotors. That noise was now firmly entrenched in the American psyche as the signature sound of the Vietnam War.

During the peak years of the war, the national television news had routinely and unemotionally reported weekly and monthly combat deaths in the hundreds, week after week, month after month. Those numbers were also announced in cities and towns where they became names of sons, brothers, friends, neighbors, and former classmates, and the reaction was anything but unemotional. The number of Americans killed had passed an inexcusable 55,000, and there were few people left who had not known, or known of, at least one of them.

For a couple of years the war had been going through something called Vietnamization. This was President Nixon’s dubious scheme to end the war with honor that would gradually hand over the unwinnable war to South Vietnam to fight. In truth it was nothing more than giving up a little at a time while piling up the number of killed and wounded in the process of rolling along to eventual sure defeat for South Vietnam.

Many in the Pentagon knew some kind of attack by North Vietnam was inevitable as American military strength in the country steadily dropped. Most of these experts had concluded that it would be a while longer before the North would be able to mount much of an attack. The inevitable came on March 30th, sooner than thought and on a massive scale which caught everyone by surprise. Americans called it the Easter Offensive and if it wasn’t stopped, South Vietnam would be overrun and fall in a matter of weeks. Letting that happen now would put responsibility for such a swift defeat on the United States and would tarnish the honorable process of gradual withdrawal from the war.

The next day all pending leaves were cancelled for sailors stationed aboard many west coast warships, including the crew of the destroyer Rattano, a ship known to many as the Rat. Crew members were given seventy-two hours to get their affairs in order and prepare for immediate deployment to the Western Pacific. The same was happening all over the fleet. Carriers, cruisers, destroyers and support ships on their way home were ordered back and most ships scheduled to return soon to the States had their deployments extended.

Crewmembers and families were talking and milling about the Rattano. Most of the conversations were bland small talk or sailors pointing out features of the destroyer to their families and friends. But the tension in the air was palpable and everyone was feeling the time slipping away. Their parents were there, but Jeffs and Cathy were nearly oblivious to those around them. They could not hold hands any tighter and the two lovers’ eyes kept trying to reach into each other but what they saw gazing back was mostly profound apprehension.

At 0845, the announcement was made throughout the ship. "Now hear this. At this time all civilians and non crew-members are requested to make their way off the ship. On the Rattano, make all preparations for getting underway. Set the special sea and anchor detail. Duty officer set the bridge watch. Line handlers stand by."

A crowd of wives, girlfriends, parents, grandparents, siblings and friends stood waving and cheering. Some just stared, and many of them struggled through tightened throats and tear-blurred vision, as the USS Rattano pulled away painfully slowly from pier three at the San Diego Naval Station at 0900 hours the morning of April 7, 1972, to begin the first day of what would be her final deployment. She would soon became part of the largest U.S. Naval force to be assembled since World War II.

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FOUR

War News – April 1972

This week in the war:

April 2nd – President Nixon authorized U.S. vessels offshore to strike at the enemy forces with carrier launched warplanes and naval gunfire.

April 4th – President Nixon authorized increased bombing of NVA troops in South Vietnam and B-52 strikes against North Vietnam. A Pentagon spokesman said these missions will be flown out of Thailand and Guam.

April 10th – For the first time since November 1967, U.S. B-52s bombed North Vietnam. To protect upcoming U.S. air attacks, their priority targets were surface to air missile (SAM) sites.

Four days after leaving San Diego, the Rattano sailed into Pearl Harbor, Hawaii with her 268 enlisted crew and twenty-one officers aboard. The haze grey warship penetrated its 390 foot length into the seductive clear waters of the island paradise with the swagger of an aging but still dangerous gunslinger. Just a few hundred yards behind sailed the two other destroyers that made their way across the Pacific from San Diego with her. The day before, two others had come and gone. The next day a cruiser and three more destroyers would pass through.

Destroyers were the predators of the navy. Long, narrow, low, fast, with sleek upswept bows and, like that aging gunslinger, they wore their guns out where everyone could see them. Their lean, menacing form cut through the sea with a certain attitude and the men who served on them knew it.

One of those men was Signalman Seaman Jeffs Ryder. His route into the navy had been an uncommon one, and the rowdy, smirking, tall, blonde California beach kid was unlikely to ever be transformed into a proper navy man, but he was learning to adapt. He had been aboard barely two months, but long enough that he was gaining some appreciation for just what it meant to be a destroyer sailor.

When he let himself think about it, his heart ached for Cathy and he couldn’t fathom how he could possibly be apart from her for what was scheduled to be seven months. Even so, there was a youthful, naive part of him feeling restless, maybe even a little eager, to get on with the adventure of going off to war halfway around the world. Right now though, he had a more immediate concern that was keeping his mind less on Cathy and the war. He had been to Hawaii before and he’d been grumbling the entire way across the Pacific that this visit would be just twenty-four hours long, restricted to the base and include no surfing.

The next morning, Commander James Mac McHenry, Captain of the Rattano strolled out onto the port bridge wing holding an after-breakfast mug of coffee. At forty-seven he was the oldest man aboard the ship and he was coming up on his thirtieth year in the navy. He had thought the last deployment would be it for him with the war winding down for the United States, but his ship and a host of other warships were now on station or advancing toward the waters off Vietnam. So this one was a bonus—one more chance to do what he did best, and this time around he planned to do some things differently.

He knew most of the obsolete gun destroyers like this one would be scrapped or sold off to foreign navies as soon as this obsolete war was over. He wasn’t shooting for a promotion or a new command and there was no one to please but himself.

Taking a minute to enjoy the rest of his coffee he gazed around the historic harbor, absently rubbing his graying stubble with his free hand. Downing the last swallow he turned and shouted up toward the signal bridge just one deck above. Any signalmen up there?

Jeffs’ head appeared over the railing. Yes, sir.

How ya doing, Ryder? Want to get off the ship for a while?

Sure, Captain. We hitting the waves for a little surfing?

McHenry shook his head. No such luck. Find out if Radio has any traffic to send or pick up and meet me out by the truck.

Two minutes later, Jeffs and Leon Thomsen, a radioman and one of Jeffs’ best friends, made their way across the pier. Both were dressed in the standard enlisted working uniform—blue chambray shirt, denim bell bottoms, and dark blue ball cap. McHenry was waiting by the bulky, drab-gray four-door pickup the base had provided, holding the refilled mug, dressed in the normal officer khaki trousers and shirt.

Leon held up a manila envelope. Classified traffic I gotta take myself, sir.

They both saluted, but McHenry casually waved them off and opened the passenger door himself.

Radio just about back in action? McHenry asked.

Leon nodded. Yes, sir. Chief Ross says they’ll be done with the transmitters in a couple of hours then we’ll be back to sending our own message traffic.

Jeffs started the truck. Where you headed, Captain?

"The Holliner, a couple of piers over. He pointed out the direction. You guys drop me off, go on over to the message center then come back. I can walk back when I’m done."

He dug his wallet out of his pocket and handed Jeffs a five. Here, grab yourself some doughnuts from that little place right next to the club. Get a couple dozen, enough for the signal and radio gang. Get me a couple of maple bars. It shouldn’t be too long, but I have to meet with that bastard DeMoorts, so it might take longer than I want.

Jeffs held up the five. "Thanks, Captain. Isn’t DeMoorts the skipper of the Holliner?"

McHenry turned so he could talk to them both. We were Lieutenant J.G.’s aboard a destroyer on a training cruise. On his turn at berthing the ship, he was screwing it up. I jumped in, gave new orders to the helmsman and engine room, and saved some of the pier, at least

Jeffs laughed. Some of it?

McHenry was grinning at the memory. Yeah, we still tore up about fifty feet of it. It wasn’t much of a pier. More like a rotting boat dock. It was old and I don’t even think it was being used for anything, but still…

So Captain DeMoorts thinks you made him look bad? Leon asked.

McHenry nodded. He made himself look bad. The training officers spent half a day dissecting his mistakes for the rest of us. He’s hated me ever since.

Everyone says you never use help from tugs when you berth the ship. Jeffs said. Just to keep showing Captain DeMoorts you can do it?

McHenry chuckled. I don’t need the help but some ports make you use tugs. We’re all good at something. Me, I can thread one of these cans anywhere, forward or backward.

Backward? Jeffs asked.

McHenry nodded. You never know.

Leon was nodding emphatically in the back seat. Well, Captain, I wasn’t there, but I’ll bet you were right on.

Thanks, Thomsen. Pull up right here, Ryder.

Jeffs stopped the truck at the head of the pier. The Holliner was the first ship in line.

McHenry stepped out, closed the door and leaned back in the