Mississippi author DeStefanis returns with ‘The Ghost’ sequel

Mississippi author Rick DeStefanis with the seventh book in his Vietnam War Series. ’Specter of Betrayal’ is a sequel to 2022’s offering, ‘The Ghost.’

   If Rick DeStefanis isn’t on the plains writing westerns — “Rawlins: No Longer Young” kicked off that series in 2018 — you’ll likely find him immersed in environs similar to Cuc Phuong, Vietnam’s oldest national park and a dense jungle of primitive forests inhabited by mosquitoes, dense heat, exotic animals and, once upon a time, predators intent on killing American soldiers.

The tally of DeStefanis’ Vietnam War Series now comes to seven, with the most recent, “Specter of Betrayal: The Ghost II,” arising as a haunting sequel to 2023’s “The Ghost.”

DeStefanis doesn’t just write war stories. He writes war stories laced with meditations on the human condition, exploring themes of guilt, redemption and, especially in these last two books, ghosts of the past.

So it is with “Specter of Betrayal.” But before we get to that book, a caveat from the author: “This is the second book in the two-part story about ‘The Ghost.’ If you haven’t read book one, I strongly recommend that you read it first. Much of what is written in this second book is a continuation of that story, and it will make this one more understandable and enjoyable,” DeStefanis writes in a note to readers.

In other words, you’ll have to do some homework before you get to Book II, and that’s a good thing because this is what I published about Book I, “The Ghost,” a couple of years ago:

‘The Ghost’

Rick DeStefanis writes his own brands of fiction — Southern, Western and military — from his home in North Mississippi, but slide into any one of his much-praised series, and you’re anywhere but in the Magnolia State.

The most recent of those is “The Ghost,” the sixth book in DeStefanis’ Vietnam War canon. Based on true events from during that war, the series has been compared favorably with the likes of early Vietnam writers such as Tim O’Brien (“The Things They Carried”) and James Webb (“Field of Fire”), and it’s likely the author’s early 1970’s experience as a paratrooper with the 82nd Airborne Division that so accurately flavors his humanizing stories.

“The Ghost,” though, isn’t quite like any of those earlier offerings. Easily the best of the six — all but the first two, ‘The Gomorrah Principle’ (2013) and ‘Melody Hill’ (2015) are standalone novels — DeStefanis textures this military fiction with Native American spirituality, conceptualizing a harrowing descent into the war’s, and country’s, inner bowels.

Prompted by his father, second lieutenant Martin Shadows visits his Lakota Sioux grandfather just before he departs for Vietnam. Shadows will be in-country as a military intelligence officer, and so foresees little of the danger new officers typically combat. His grandfather — a man he had met only once before, and then as a child — foretells a different future, four visions that cast Shadows in the fiery light of enemy conflict.

The rational soldier discounts the visit with his elder, but being immediately called into a secret mission upon arriving in Vietnam sets his grandfather’s foreshadows alive: Exploits with a North Vietnamese spy, isolation in a North Vietnamese prison and other increasingly horrific events prove the truth of his grandfather’s foresight.

“There are many ways to find a man’s deepest fears,” Shadows is told by a commandant in Vietnam. If only he had listened to his grandfather, Shadows will come to realize, he might not have had to discover this on his own. Set during the Vietnam era, “The Ghost” is a novel for today — both a mixture of superstition and mysticism, and a heralding addition to the reality of American war fiction. And so we turn to book two, a worthy successor to that lead-in.

’Specter of Betrayal’

Haunted by the desperation of the Montagnards, Shadows is drawn back to Vietnam. These indigenous peoples of the Central Highlands of Vietnam participated heavily in the Vietnam War and were recruited by the Army of the Republic of Vietnam and its American and Australian allies. And paid the price for their alliance.

Given the close similarities between the spiritual and physical heritages between the Lakota-Sioux and Montagnards, Shadows feels no other choice but to return to the battlefield to help the people he felt he left behind. When he unearths a deep betrayal against those he’s come to rescue, the fire turns “friendly” and it’s up to the officer, amid airstrikes and treachery from his own superiors and supposed protectors, to lead the Montagnards to an American safe zone.

As with his previous offerings, the pacing of “Specter” is unflagging and DeStefanis doesn’t shy away from the brutal realities of combat with scenes built to emphasize the horror of war and the psychological toll it can take on those immersed in it.

Couple this with the author’s vivid sensory capture of the war — you can smell gasoline as the thudding pulse of helicopter blades resonate throughout the canopy — and the result is a novel that pays tribute not only to those who served in Vietnam and elsewhere, but to the lingering effects of betrayal as the lines between friend and foe blur — and loyalties are tested to the extreme.

Reach reviewer Tom Mayer at tmayer@cullmantimes.com.

Kill a Cow–Save the Planet!

I try to focus my posts on odds and ends, entertaining asides, stuff about writing, positive things, whatever, but seldom do I delve into politics. This will be a first for my Author’s blog right here at www.rickdestefanis.com. With this post, I’m stepping off into some deep stuff all the way up to my eyeballs. Normally, I avoid arguing with the irrational. Afterall, who’s the bigger fool—the fool or he who argues with a fool? My hand is up. Ooogh, ooogh, pick me, teacher!

This is my Alamo! I am standing my ground! I will no longer remain silent. So, here it is, my rant on the elite experts (and I use that term with great sarcasm) who would have us eat bugs and such, so that we might stop climate change by eliminating herds of farting cattle—excuse me, I mean cattle emitting greenhouse gases.

Let’s start with NYC Mayor Eric Adams who told New Yorkers they should eliminate meat and dairy products from their diets to save the planet. Now, we know Mayor Eric isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but like some powerful liberal leaders, you don’t have to be the sharpest tool if you’re the biggest hoe. Never mind. Strike that from the record. Mayor Eric ain’t no hoe. Besides, it’s tacky. Oh, but I digress. Back to the rant at hand.

Some idiot Harvard professor basically said the same thing when he said our domestic cattle herds, dairy herds, and other such groups of four-legged grass-munchers are contributing significantly to greenhouse emissions, insinuating that they must be regulated. Yes, another governmental buracracy is in the works, the CFC–the cow farting commision. I can no longer remian silent, and therefore must challenge this Harvard half-wit with my argument.

You see, I’m from the South, and I have three vices, blondes, bourbon, and fried chicken. The first two are discussions for another time. I’m going to focus on the fried chicken—the mountaintop of southern cuisine. Okay, maybe one of them. It’s sort of like the Tetons in the Rockies. You know–like Mount Barbeque, or Mount Ribeye, but fried chicken is like Grand Teton. But wait! Do chickens fart? Never mind. I’m being tacky again. Strike that from the record. But remember, mess with our fried chicken at your own risk.

Let’s look at it from a more logical standpoint. What about hundreds of thousands of Wildebeests and such roaming the African Serengeti? Should we kill them all? What about the same numbers of caribou and reindeer roaming the Artic? Start killing those reindeer, and God help us if one of ’em is named Rudolph—just sayin’. And think about the elephant and water buffalo herds in Africa and India? If such expert logic is accepted, the disappearance of thousands of elk and bison that once roamed the eastern US should have resulted in an ice age of sorts—right? Just sayin’. I mean the argument is based on a Fauchi-like science that invites such counter-reasoning until I can’t help myself. Are we being greenhouse gas-lighted?

If only we could have the support of the thousands who derive their living from those domestic herds–might we succeed? Perhaps. Depends on how the woke folks deal with them. Maybe, it’ll be a commission on the insurrection of the steak eaters. They’ll hold a congressional investigation and enlist the DOJ to begin issuing warrants. Heck, they might even conjure up an excutive order for businesses to begin serving stemcell steaks made with 3-D printers, I think not, but that may be a good way to tell just how committed some of the climate change zealots really are to eliminating our T-bone steaks. I nominate Gretta Thornburg to head up the first stem cell steak test group. We’ll serve stem-cell steaks (well done) with humus on mint leaves and cucumber water. For entertainment, we can have Joe and Cornpop sing Camptown Races.

Okay, I can carry my depravity only so far. Thank you for letting me vent.

 



The Use of The S-Word

We had an event down here recently that made the news for four or five days running. Folks up North didn’t quite understand why we Southerners totally freaked out when it happened. No, I’m not talking about Robert E. Lee surrendering at Appomattox Courthouse. We’ve come to terms with that…such as it is. I’m talking about something else. It’s not easy to talk about because it’s considered a four-letter word down here.

I’m talking about a four-letter word, the occurrence of which is often accompanied by the use of another four-letter word. Yep, we did hear it a few times, frequently accompanied by the F-bomb. Understandably, both came primarily from our northern transplants—bless their hearts. I’ll explain.

Living in the “sunny” South can be a challenge for folks from up North—at least for the first year, two, or three, and yes, I heard a few of them combining the F-bomb with that other four-letter word more than once. You see, up North, the word—not the F-bomb word—but THAT other word—is one normally considered fit for common usage and is not necessarily considered vulgar. But you say it down here in Mississippi, and you better get the heck outta the way. Just sayin’.

You see, up North that word is often combined with other four-letter words, like -fall, -plow, -salt, -shoe, or five-letter words like -chains, -tires, first-, third-, all of which usually occur by sometime in November. Yep, we got 5-8 inches of the nasty stuff, and it stayed around for four or five days. Down here, we folk set off the tornado sirens when the “expert meteorologist” says there’s a possibility of “snow.” There it is! Yes, I said it. I put it in lowercase letters to reduce the effect, but it won’t matter. I’ll probably be banned from Facebook, Amazon, the church bulletin, and every local paper within a hundred miles.

 

Even the deer don't like the white stuff. I took this one in the Coldater River Bottoms.

So, anyway, the difference is in the interpretation. “Snow” in Yankee is a fairly innocuous word indicating a need for those aforementioned other four- and five-letter pre- or suffixes— -plow, -salt, -tires ‘etc. Here in the South, on the other hand, the mention of this profanity is a call for mass mobilization. The lines at the gas stations stretch out onto the highway. The propane dealers sell out within hours. There’s not a generator to be found anywhere south of the Maxon-Dixon, and the grocery store shelves—well they can only be described in biblical terms (Exodus 10:12). Yes, it resembles the locust plague.

Grocery carts are piled high with two months’ worth of milk, bread, tater chips, and Diet Coke (the inclusion of which is to off-set the inflationary effects of the aforementioned chips and bread). And should you arrive there more than five or six hours after the “expert meteorologist” mentions the S-word, you’re screwed. You’ll be met with yards of empty shelves, or at the least, lines of shoppers stretching down the aisles all the way back to the meat department and not a grocery cart in sight. And if you waited until the four-letter S-stuff began falling, bless your heart, the drive home is gonna be an adrenaline ride that makes turn-4 at Talladega look like kitty cars.

There are several rules we Southerners follow while driving in snowy or icy conditions. First: Stay very close behind the guy in front of you. Not sure why, but it seems to be common practice, so just do it. Second: If you come up on a bridge or overpass, apply your brakes vigorously. Afterall, the bridge always freezes first and you gotta creep across it, even on the interstate highway. Never mind that jack-knifing 18-wheeler behind you. That’s why they put ditches and medians on the roads. Third: Do not under any circumstances exceed ten miles per hour. Oh, and if you Yankee transplants think you’re getting’ off from this one Scott free, guess again.

Northerners learn quickly that Southerners panic and drive ten-miles-per-hour for miles on end, even on packed snow. There’s only one response. TAILGATE!! Yeah, give ‘em some NASCAR bumper love. And at the earliest opportunity pass them in the median or off the shoulder of the road and hope you don’t overlook a concrete culvert. Poor things are simply frustrated, and not without just cause when the closest thing to a snowplow in the county is a front-end loader. The problem is in the venting. It only fogs up your windshield and increases your chances of ending up in a ditch.

Oh, and did you know that a four-wheel drive vehicle can’t stop any faster than a two-wheel-drive one? This issue tends to occur in both demographic groups and is described by Ron White as something that can’t be fixed, so I’ll reserve comment. The deer pics are for my northern friends, so as to sooth their nerves and relieve their anxiety.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…if you enjoyed this little commentary, please sign-up for my mail list. Go to www.rickdestefanis.com and do it. I have had numerous friends and loyal readers tell me “I didn’t know you came out with another book.” Subscribe and you will get about one email a month, and if you’re in a bad mood, that’s why God created the delete key. I now have twelve novels published—seven in the Vietnam War series and four in my Rawlins Saga western series. Subscribe and don’t miss another book. And your update: I finished the second draft of Specter of Betrayal the sequel to The Ghost, Rumors from the Central Highlands of Vietnam. I’m still hoping to have it out in the spring.

Happy reading, and don’t forget Valentines Day.