One March afternoon in 1969 I was on the deck of a Chinese junk listening to the water clop against the wooden hull and enjoying a breeze that blew toward the South China Sea. The junk bobbed rhythmically with twenty other boats tethered to the Phan Thiet wharf. At sunset, Paul Dettman and I would sail for Phu Qui Island fifty-two klicks and twenty-four hours away to reconnoiter that sandy speck, so tiny and remote the Hueys refused to go looking for it because the ocean winds were strong and they might run out of fuel before finding it.The boat beside me rocked with the wake while its crew lo