To Kill the Pope by Tad Szulc

“Romeo” the evening before the team set out on their assignment.
    â€œThis is a three-step operation,” he said. He sat behind his desk in the living room of his villa, mauling his cigar and sipping Jack Daniel’s from a short, fat glass. “The first step, obviously, is to move into a village—it doesn’t matter which one. The second step is to flush out the cadres. They could be village elders. Or they could be women. You begin interrogating them about how many guerrillas there are in the village or in the immediate vicinity, who are the chiefs, how they communicate among their groups, where they stash weapons and food, and so on. It’s okay to hit them, beat them, torture them, or whatever, but you gotta be patient. Dead Viet Cong don’t talk. The third step is to liquidate them after finishing the interrogation; you can do it any way you like. There isno point in letting them live—after all, they are the enemy. And, yes, it’s up to you whether you want to torch the village when you’re done . . . Good luck and good hunting, gentlemen!”
    *  *  *
    Tim’s first mission was a sweep in the southern Delta in an area of several hundred square miles roughly between the district towns of Due Long and Khanh Hung, some thirty miles south of Can Tho. Kurtski had told Tim that the sweep should take about two weeks. The team could radio Can Tho only in dire emergencies: if it was in serious jeopardy or if it had obtained information of an urgent nature requiring that it be communicated instantly—in code. The Viet Cong had learned how to intercept American radio traffic, and it was much safer to maintain radio silence.
    Aerial reconnaissance had indicated that there were dry patches of land among dikes and rice paddies near Due Long, the town nearest to Can Tho, where helicopters could drop the men. At dawn, Tim and the team were driven to the Can Tho landing zone, boarding two Huey gunships for the flight. Tim was in the lead chopper with a CIA officer, the two Ranger sergeants, and two Vietnamese Regional Forces troopers. The Hueys flew low, taking advantage of the morning ground fog below them, and twenty or so minutes later they landed, a minute apart, atop a small hillock overlooking waterlogged paddies. A stand of trees was discernible through the mist.
    â€œOkay, move out!” the pilot of Tim’s helicopter shouted over the intercom. “I can’t risk being a sitting duck here . . . There must be Charlie all around . . . Be sure you have marked the coordinates of this spot on your maps . . . This is where I’ll pick you up when we get word that you’re ready to go home . . . And, yes, have a nice day, you guys. . . .”
    The birds were gone and “Romeo” were left in what seemed like the middle of absolutely nowhere, assembling their weapons, radios, and supplies. “So where the fuck do we find the Viet Cong?” the Ranger lieutenant asked Tim softly. “Do we ask for directions or what?”
    Checking his compass and maps, Tim determined that their operational area was confined to a narrow rectangle between their landing spot and Khanh Hung, which lay approximately thirtymiles to the southeast. A dozen or more villages were within that perimeter, and South Vietnamese Intelligence had identified it as a major center of rising Viet Cong activity. Tim had already learned enough about Vietnam, though not from his CIA superiors, to assume that the Delta was very far from being “pacified”—indeed that for all practical purposes the entire countryside was controlled by the Viet Cong. He also knew that, in most cases, the villages led that double life: they were the home of peace-loving, land-cultivating families in daytime and Viet Cong strongholds after dark. Friendly Army types had given Tim private briefings.
    Although it was easier and safer for