Even on marches Berlin searches subconsciously for some sort of water nearby. It is a mooring for him, a way to orient him in a foreign land. “He sat with his back to the river, deep in his hole, glad to have water behind him. Sure, the silence was scary, but even so he could not imagine dying beside a river” (O’Brien 108.) The water behind him is as solid for him as a bunker. He cannot reconcile his positive views of water with the idea that death could occur in such a peaceful place. On the march to find Cacciato the stream beside the unit acts as a guide, carefully delivering them to their quarry. “It was soothing to climb and listen to the rush of the water, imagining from the change in sounds how the stream would be breaking over rock, or curving, or slowing at a level spot, or tumbling down to a deep pool” (O’Brien 108.) Even on a dangerous mission in enemy territory Paul Berlin can retain some sense of calm and remove himself from the ever present threat of death.
It is no coincidence that his imaginings of their march to Paris take place at an observation post next to the sea. The sea is not only a calming, benevolent presence it is also a source for imagination. Gazing out over the seemingly endless expanse of the ocean Berlin’s mind can race across its surface and feed his imagination on the mysteries that grow there. Next to the sea he feels calm and unafraid watching the waves come in “one draped evenly over the next, spreading themselves out with the calm repetitive motion of energy given and energy returned” (O’Brien 63.)
But the lunacy and horror of the war in Vietnam cannot let such a harmless memory and symbol remain unscarred. Instead the war will upset Berlin’s world and make him question everything he believes is true and good. After one battle water can no longer be seen in such an optimistic light. “They found bomb craters full of the dead…then, late in the morning, it rained. The craters filled with gray water. It rained that day and the next day. On the third day, still raining, the craters were high with water, and the charred bodies of the dead bobbed to the surface, bloated now. It was then that Doc Peret named it Lake Country” (O’Brien 177-178.) This image of water is the one that pervades Paul Berlin’s mind. He tries to reconcile it with his life-long assertion that water is a powerful yet positive force, but cannot. He cannot see water as a life source because “everything in Lake Country was dead” (O’Brien 238.)
Water serves as an important motif for how the Vietnam War overturned accepted views and wreaked havoc on anything that made the men feel safe. Paul Berlin clung to water as a symbol of safety and calm until his experience in “Lake Country” irrevocably links water with death. With this motif O’Brien reveals a small piece of the truth about war. It will challenge everything you held true and maim anything you hold dear.