This War Never Ends

By Reg Ivory

After serving for seven years in the United States Air Force, he knows combat and is uniquely familiar with Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia. He brings these insights into his latest novel “This War Never Ends.” The book combines intrigue, action and global conflict with a touch of romance, culminating in an exciting and surprising ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664133389

Reg Ivory

Reg Ivory has been a newspaper industry lobbyist and director of the Southern Newspaper Publishers Association. He attended Master’s programs in creative writing at Kennesaw State University and the University of Tennessee. He is the author of There is No President, Headless, and Heartless. He lives with his wife in Nashville.

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Copyright © 2020 by Reg Ivory.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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.

Rev. date: 09/28/2020

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

1

Jack Novak had been staring at the goldfish in the large tank in his living room for over a half-hour. He noticed the way they glided softly over the gleaming diamonds on the tank’s bottom, occasionally nudging one of the jewels aside as they searched for food.

It was exactly one year since the US customs agent delivered the carefully wrapped box of diamonds from his friend and former army buddy, Frank Skinner. The value of the jewels at that time was slightly over two million dollars. Skinner’s email message this morning from his home in the United Arab Emirates contained a link to a website on the Antwerp, Belgium, diamond exchange which showed the current value of the gems had increased a bit more than a half-million.

Not a bad investment, Novak thought, remembering that the jewels nearly cost him and his detective partner, Homes Kinney, their lives. He watched Homes sleeping on the sofa in front of him and smiled. The beer can – disturbingly named Worm Guts - on the sleeping man’s stomach was about to slide off and Jack caught it just in time.

Homes. Homes, wake up. Wake up or I’ll pour beer all over you.

Never waste good beer, Homes said, opening his eyes and grunting. Who’s been murdered now. You’re supposed to be a detective. You handle it.

Hey, buddy. It’s our anniversary. Skinner’s package of shiny rocks arrived one year ago today.

Well, I guess that is a good reason to celebrate. Homes took a long swallow of his beer. Maybe we ought to clean the fish tank to observe the occasion. By the way, the water in that tank isn’t hurting those diamonds, is it?

Novak smiled. Not much hurts a diamond. But I’ve been thinking.

Oh, shit. Here we go again. Every time you start thinking something happens to disturb our nice warm little spot in Roswell, Georgia. What is it this time?

I’m thinking we ought to take a trip.

A trip to where?

Jack got up from his chair and walked around the room. What would you think about going to Vietnam?

Homes jumped up off the sofa. Viet – where? Are you fucking serious? What the hell for?

Jack handed his roommate a letter and sat back down.

The letter wasn’t long and Homes read it through quickly, then once again.

Okay, so this lady was married to a guy that flew with your dad in Vietnam and she wants to know if you know anything about him. So what? You don’t know anything, do you?

Jack handed Homes an old photo. I know his name. Tom Hardy. That’s him with my dad standing next to their F-105.

Homes went into the kitchen to get another beer. Jack, for God’s sake. You’ve told me the story many times. You never knew your dad. He was shot down when your mom was still pregnant with you. All you have are some of his letters to your mom, some pictures, and those God damn Bobby Darin records you listen to all the time. So why does this dame’s letter make you want to go to Vietnam? Don’t tell me you’re going to search for your old man. Or his body? That sounds like a bad Rambo movie.

No, nothing like that. I have all the stuff the war department sent to my mother. They know he was killed and they sent his remains back home for burial. He crash-landed in Laos, not Vietnam, after he bombed Hanoi. He was hit and trying to get back to his base in Thailand but couldn’t make it. Tom Hardy was flying the back seat with him. They never found Hardy’s remains. Mrs. Hardy doesn’t believe he’s still alive. She just wants to know something – anything about him.

But, dammit, you don’t know anything. So why go to Vietnam?

I don’t know that I can explain that very well. It’s just a feeling I’ve always had – to find the place where my dad died. Maybe talk to the people in the area. See if anyone remembers him, or Hardy. Things are a little slow for us now with the agency and God knows we’ve got the money.

Holmes sipped his beer. "Ah, I notice you keep saying we, buddy. Like, you and me. But I have no desire to go to Vietnam or what’s the other -?"

Laos, the small country a little to the west.

Yeah, whatever. Besides, I had an uncle killed over there. Most of us knew someone. That war was a bunch of shit, Jack. Why put your mind back into all of it? And I don’t think they like us very much over there, do they?

Jack smiled. "Oh, Vietnam has become a big tourist attraction for Americans. Laos, too. The guys who fought there and can still make the trip are going back to see what things look like now. So do their relatives who read their letters and listened to their stories when they got back home. And I’m saying we because I want you to go with me."

That’s damn nice of you, Jackie. Of all the fucked-up places in the world.

Homes, I know this is asking a lot. And I won’t be pissed if you pass. But I just thought I’d ask.

What about taking a vacation in Mexico instead? Beaches, beautiful women, Lots of beer and tequila. I know you’re not drinking any more but I can take up the slack for both of us.

There’s beaches and beautiful women in Vietnam, too, Homes. The guys who’ve been over there and come back brag about how nice it is. It’s not like those old war movies.

But how do we even get there? We can’t just fly direct from Atlanta to Vietnam.

Almost, Jack said. The route is Atlanta to Paris, Paris to Moscow. Then Moscow to Hanoi.

You’re shitting me. How long does that take?

Altogether, about twenty-three hours.

TWENTY – You’ve got to be kidding, Homes said.

Jack laughed at his friend. Actually, I think we’d stop in Paris and see the sights, maybe do the same in Moscow. Two or three days in each. Kind of break up the trip.

Oh, sure. You make it sound like a luxury tour. It’s VIETNAM, for God’s sake. And what was that you said about Hanoi? Why not fly into Saigon?

They call it Ho Chi Min City now, Homes. Everyone except the guys who served there. For them it will always be Saigon. But Hanoi is a lot closer to where we need to go in Laos.

You mean the trip ain’t over yet?

We’d pick up a plane in Hanoi and fly to Dienbienphu.

And how long does that take?

Well, only a few hours, then we’d have to drive to Muang Xon. The whole trip takes maybe 10 hours.

Dien – Wait a minute. Don’t I recall that this Dien- place is where the French got their asses kicked just before the Vietnam war?

That’s the spot, Jack said, smiling. We could drive all the way from Hanoi but that would take ten hours, too. Through a lot of jungle roads. And there are always some surprises.

"Oh, now you’re using the jungle word. This gets better and better. Jack, how much of a chance do we have to get back alive?"

Homes, you only live once.

Yeah, but I’m still working on my first time.

2

It’s hotter than hell here, Jack. Homes looked back at their plane from Moscow as they walked into the Hanoi terminal. One day we’re in winter in Russia and the next it’s 115 in the shade.

Hey, you had a good time in Paris and Moscow, didn’t you? What about those Russian women?

Homes smiled. Yeah, I have to admit I was surprised at those dancers we saw. I thought all Russian women were fat and ugly. I couldn’t go for some of their food, though. What the hell is borscht, anyway? Tasted like sour red soup to me.

And that’s exactly what it is, Homes. Made out of beets.

No wonder the Russians are always going to war. They want something decent to eat.

The two men went quickly through customs, with Jack commenting on the friendly smiles and welcomes.

Yeah, well I’m not buying all that, buddy. We were at war for what – ten years or more? You mean they’ve forgotten all that? And they’re still commies here, right?

Technically they’re socialists, but we consider them communists. And I don’t think they’ve forgotten the war. They just realize that was in the past and this is a new era. And it doesn’t hurt that American tourism brings in several billion dollars every year.

You’re shitting me. First, we blow up their country, then we come over here for vacations?

Homes, it’s been forty-five years since the war ended. Times change. Hanoi is beautiful and we’ll take at least one or two tours through the Old Quarter and have a few meals before we leave.

They don’t eat borscht here do they?

Jack laughed as they flagged a cab. Not unless we can find a Russian restaurant.

Before they left the states, Jack received detailed information from a Vietnamese travel agent in Atlanta experienced in trips throughout southeast Asia. So far, the recommendations in Paris and Moscow were excellent and he felt that would also hold true for Hanoi and Laos.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now tell the truth, Homes. Isn’t this a beautiful city?

Homes was busy poking suspiciously around his dinner. Yeah, it was nice. I preferred seeing the John McCain Memorial at that lake, even though it looked kind of shabby.

What do you expect, Jack said. John was their enemy and they shot him down after he bombed their city.

How long did you say he was captured here?

About five and a half years in the Hanoi Hilton. They did offer to free him early after he was captured but he refused.

Homes grunted. "Tell me again what the hell it is that I’m