Review of Deadly Waters: The Vietnam Naval War And Its Aftermath
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Review of Deadly Waters: The Vietnam Naval War And Its Aftermath
[Following is a volunteer review of "Deadly Waters: The Vietnam Naval War And Its Aftermath" by Randy Miller.]
I didn’t expect a naval war book to feel this tense without constant missile strikes or screaming alarms. But Deadly Waters: The Vietnam Naval War And Its Aftermath pulled me into a much more unnerving space—one where a slow-moving sampan on radar or a ripple in the water carried more danger than a full-on firefight. What’s fascinating is how Miller focuses on the confusion and frustration of dealing with a war that never shows its face. Page after page, the threat isn’t some big battle sequence—it’s the constant question: is that boat a fisherman or a smuggler? Is that teenage boy waving from the junk deck holding an AK beneath the rice sacks? I think this is where the book really hits hard—by focusing on how hard it is to fight an enemy who doesn’t want to be seen until it’s too late.
The tension during those moments when the USS Hawke moves to intercept a suspicious contact is brutal in its restraint. There’s a sequence around page 420, I believe, where the boarding team approaches a boat that seems empty, and just as they get close, fire erupts from below decks. You know it’s coming, and still, it knocks the breath out of you. It’s a sharp reminder of how much of this war was fought in shadows and hesitation. These weren’t ship-to-ship skirmishes with clear flags and flashing lights. They were mind games, carried out on foggy rivers and off murky coasts. The whole setup—big, heavily armed destroyers chasing tiny wooden boats through island labyrinths—feels both absurd and terrifying. And it’s told in a way that, in my opinion, doesn’t glamorize any of it. It feels like a giant trying to step gently through a minefield of glass.
What also adds an unexpected layer of weight is the inclusion of Lieutenant Diep’s perspective. This isn’t something you usually get in American military fiction. He’s not a caricature. He’s layered, deeply committed, and also deeply exhausted. There’s a moment when he’s hoping for bad weather, praying for fog so his overloaded sampan can slip through unseen. But the sky is blue, the water calm, and he mutters something like, “a beautiful day to die.” That line stuck with me. He’s calculating, angry, even a little bitter toward the young NVA troops in his boat who are seasick and jittery. He thinks they’re soft. He’s seen too much, done too much to pretend any of this is glorious anymore. Including a voice like his gives the book a kind of moral complexity that stays with you long after the scene ends.
I did find myself wishing that some of the American supporting characters were fleshed out with the same kind of care. Moretti, for example—he shows up a lot, especially when something goes wrong, like that near collision during underway replenishment. But we never get much sense of what drives him. Is he ambitious? Bitter? Insecure? He’s used well to create friction and pressure, but feels more like a device than a person. Same with Borg, the engineering assistant. He has a few solid moments with Rollins, trying to calm him down during equipment tension, but again, we don’t get inside his head. I think a little more time spent on them could have added texture to the crew’s dynamics, especially since the book is so focused on how different departments clash or hold together under stress.
Even with that, I’m giving this one a full 5 out of 5 stars. The way it handles asymmetric naval combat is something I haven’t really seen done this well before. It’s quiet, tense, and incredibly human. There’s a kind of stillness in the way Miller writes these sailors—like they’re always bracing for something they can’t quite see. And when that something finally shows up, it’s never what they expected. Which, honestly, seems like the most honest way to write about a war like this.
******
Deadly Waters: The Vietnam Naval War And Its Aftermath
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
I didn’t expect a naval war book to feel this tense without constant missile strikes or screaming alarms. But Deadly Waters: The Vietnam Naval War And Its Aftermath pulled me into a much more unnerving space—one where a slow-moving sampan on radar or a ripple in the water carried more danger than a full-on firefight. What’s fascinating is how Miller focuses on the confusion and frustration of dealing with a war that never shows its face. Page after page, the threat isn’t some big battle sequence—it’s the constant question: is that boat a fisherman or a smuggler? Is that teenage boy waving from the junk deck holding an AK beneath the rice sacks? I think this is where the book really hits hard—by focusing on how hard it is to fight an enemy who doesn’t want to be seen until it’s too late.
The tension during those moments when the USS Hawke moves to intercept a suspicious contact is brutal in its restraint. There’s a sequence around page 420, I believe, where the boarding team approaches a boat that seems empty, and just as they get close, fire erupts from below decks. You know it’s coming, and still, it knocks the breath out of you. It’s a sharp reminder of how much of this war was fought in shadows and hesitation. These weren’t ship-to-ship skirmishes with clear flags and flashing lights. They were mind games, carried out on foggy rivers and off murky coasts. The whole setup—big, heavily armed destroyers chasing tiny wooden boats through island labyrinths—feels both absurd and terrifying. And it’s told in a way that, in my opinion, doesn’t glamorize any of it. It feels like a giant trying to step gently through a minefield of glass.
What also adds an unexpected layer of weight is the inclusion of Lieutenant Diep’s perspective. This isn’t something you usually get in American military fiction. He’s not a caricature. He’s layered, deeply committed, and also deeply exhausted. There’s a moment when he’s hoping for bad weather, praying for fog so his overloaded sampan can slip through unseen. But the sky is blue, the water calm, and he mutters something like, “a beautiful day to die.” That line stuck with me. He’s calculating, angry, even a little bitter toward the young NVA troops in his boat who are seasick and jittery. He thinks they’re soft. He’s seen too much, done too much to pretend any of this is glorious anymore. Including a voice like his gives the book a kind of moral complexity that stays with you long after the scene ends.
I did find myself wishing that some of the American supporting characters were fleshed out with the same kind of care. Moretti, for example—he shows up a lot, especially when something goes wrong, like that near collision during underway replenishment. But we never get much sense of what drives him. Is he ambitious? Bitter? Insecure? He’s used well to create friction and pressure, but feels more like a device than a person. Same with Borg, the engineering assistant. He has a few solid moments with Rollins, trying to calm him down during equipment tension, but again, we don’t get inside his head. I think a little more time spent on them could have added texture to the crew’s dynamics, especially since the book is so focused on how different departments clash or hold together under stress.
Even with that, I’m giving this one a full 5 out of 5 stars. The way it handles asymmetric naval combat is something I haven’t really seen done this well before. It’s quiet, tense, and incredibly human. There’s a kind of stillness in the way Miller writes these sailors—like they’re always bracing for something they can’t quite see. And when that something finally shows up, it’s never what they expected. Which, honestly, seems like the most honest way to write about a war like this.
******
Deadly Waters: The Vietnam Naval War And Its Aftermath
View: on Bookshelves | on Amazon
