Word of Honor by Nelson DeMille

theirfiriends to die, and who have soiled their pants in the heat of battle. I have had revealed to me things of which you cannot even begin to dream. I tell you, my friend, war is hell, but take heart: When a soldier goes to war everything is pre-forgiven.
    Tyson had never forgotten that cryptic last line: Everything is pre-forgiven. But by whom? How? When was it pre-forgiven? That line was meant to pique his curiosity; to entice him back onto the couch of Dr.
    Stahl. And it almost had. But in the end he did not answer the letter, because it was unanswerable.
    Some time after that, Dr. Stahl, like a statistically significant percentage of his colleagues, had killed himself. The Times reported that the overdose of Quaaludes may have been accidental, but Tyson did not think so. Tyson

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    thought that Vietnam killed by contact, association, and proxy.
    Tyson floated to the edge of the tub and spread his arms out over the rim to steady himself. He stared up at the infrared lamp overhead and felt its waves warming his face. He recalled that he was not particularly surprised at Dr. Stahl's suicide. For all Stahl's assurances about not being judgmental, not being shocked, the man was after all human. He had listened to an army of sick men fill his ears with grief until it had filled his heart and soul, and like a slowacting virus, had overcome his immunities.
    And one day he discovered he was dead and made it official.
    Tyson had been unexpectedly saddened while reading the obituary. But on a practical level, he was concerned about what had happened to Stahl's case files, though he had never made any inquiries.
    Stahl had ended most of his sessions with the words "You cannot run from the demons, so you must make friends with them." He had advised Tyson to recall the dream in detail, talk with the characters who peopled the dark landscapes of his mind, until one day they would become familiar, friendly, then perhaps banal and insipid. So, lying there in the Jacuzzi, Tyson went through it again. But this timeand there was no mistaking it--4he characters in the dream had become more malevolent. The dream had taken on a special and prescient significance. In fact, the nightmare was becoming reality. All is pre-forgiven, Dr. Stahl.

    Marcy walked naked into the bathroom and lowered herself into the tub. She drew a long breath, inhaling the eucalyptus, smiled, and closed her eyes.
    Tyson watched her breasts bob in the water, then turned his attention to her face. Rivulets of sweat ran from her brow down her cheeks. He thought she looked fine without makeup. She extended her legs and floated atop the misty water. Tyson reached out and massaged her toes. She murmured, "Oh, that feels good."
    Marcy spread her floating legs, and Tyson knelt, leaning forward, cupping her buttocks in his palms. As he moved his head between her legs, she said,
    "You'll drown if you try that."

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    "What a way to go."
    "Ben!"
    He buried his face deep in her groin, and she brought her thighs together, slipping down farther into the water, taking him down with her. He struggled for a moment, broke free, and surfaced, spluttering. "Bitch."
    Shelaughed.
    Tyson retreated moodily to his end of the bath.
    Marcy lifted herself out of the sunken tub and stood on the tiled edge, her legs parted as she stretched and yawned.
    Tyson watched her and was instantly reminded of the photograph. It had originally appeared in Life magazine and had been reproduced a number of times in books dealing with the 1960s. It was a black-and-white photograph showing a group of students in Los Angeles's Griffith Park during the winter recess of 1968. It must have been a mild day because they were all cavorting in the nude at Mulholland Fountain.
    The occasion was a rock concert according to the Life caption, though when the picture had been used on a network TV documentary about the 1960s, the occasion had been described as a love-in. A photographic essay