The War: Ripcord



Cover by - Weejoh

Written by USMC Lance

Inspiration: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mYLm18PFcwM

''**WARNING: THIS FANFIC CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE, CRUDE HUMOR, BRIEF SEXUAL CONTENT, AND BLOOD & GORE. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED**''

''This is a Military/War story, set during the Battle of Fire Support Base Ripcord during March-July 1970. This was the last major U.S. ground operation of the Vietnam War. The story follows the U.S. Paratroopers of 3rd Brigade (Now 4th Brigade), 2nd Battalion, 506th Infantry Regiment in the 101st Airborne Division of the U.S. Army.''

Please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated :)

Chapter One - Vietnam
0700 Hours (7:00 AM)

April 4, 1970

FSB Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

0700. We have just landed at Fire Support Base Ripcord. It's my first and hopefully last time in a combat zone, and it's freaking Vietnam.

I still can't fuckin' believe I'm here, honestly.

As I stepped out of the plane, the pleasant smell of female flight attendants and hot food changed quickly. It was replaced by an aroma of hot sweat, gunpowder, and subliminally, death.

A fresh new platoon of GIs, of which I was in, were deployed here to replace a platoon that was wiped out a few months back. I was nervous as hell, and the scent wasn't making me feel any better. I didn't like anxiety, so I quickly started to think of how I got here, and how things were in the past.

To be honest, before 'Nam, I wasn't having anything going in my life. There isn't really much to say.

I lived in Newark, New Jersey and I didn't do much. I lived with my mom and little brother Jerry, who looked up to me dearly. These two individuals are very important to me. I also played varsity basketball in high school. I was pretty good on the team and we won a decent number of games. We nearly won the state championship when I was a senior, but you know, one single shot can cost you everything.

After high school, my mom was thinking that I should go to college and have a nice career in something real sophisticated; Maybe business or something.

But once I noticed how much college was, It was out of the question. The shit would be too much for me.

I would have to buy clothes for Jerry because Mom never had the money and my pops was living with one of his fuckin' seventeen year old girlfriends in Miami, Florida. Dad was not a very big part of my life, he divorced mom and left us when I was six. He totally excluded us from his life and as you can expect, I resented him for it.

But then everything changed in late 1969. I came home from a basketball game, and on the kitchen table sat my mom and a military draft notice. The shit I didn't want any part of or anything to deal with it, was now right at my front door; Right in my face. Vietnam had entered my brief, young adolescent life, and now I had to face it.

And as expected, I was shocked and my mother just couldn't understand.

"How can they do this to you!??" She had said, crying. My mom had a real ugly cry, that nearly made you laugh your ass off at the wrong moments. "You're only eighteen! You're just a boy!"

I never had any interest in joining the army. Truth be told, I wanted the basic privileged life; I just wanted to be one of those regular middle-class guys with a nice family and good job. Nothing more and nothing less.

For a good time, I had really wanted to be a seismologist, a scientist who studied earthquakes because I loved science class during high school. I loved everything about it, and I thought about maybe even being science teacher as well. However, I ruled both out because most people I would tell would just laugh at me.

"You think you, a brother, is' gonna be a scientist?! Haha, you real funny man." One guy I hanged out with at the local park had said. I told him I was serious and he even laughed harder. He finally stopped and apologized. He said It was not the kind of thing he had thought of me doing in life.

It hurted me. I never even thought people had such low expectations for me. But, his statement held some truth. Being negro in America and expecting large success was a fairy tale for most, especially for those in the ghetto like me. It is what it was.

Meanwhile, there were guys all across the country burning their draft cards on live TV and fleeing to Canada to avoid fighting in Nam. It's funny because when I got the draft notice, I actually considered it. I really considered leaving everything behind, and fleeing to Canada. But after a little bit of thinking, I deemed it crazy and I wouldn't have the money to flee there anyway. It was by then that I started realizing how much I wasn't doing anything in life and I just needed to get away from home. As crazy as it is, I was actually starting to look forward for service in the military.

So time went by, I accepted being drafted, and I began basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Afterwards, I then went to advanced infantry training at Fort Polk, Louisana, in the famous Tigerland . It was a training area intended to be a simulation of combat in Vietnam, because by then it was certain I was going. I had made the dumb decision of making my MOS 11B Infantry, so there was basically no way out.

To be honest, I figured if someone was in the Army, you'd ought to fight to show your honor and dedication; Not too gung-ho, but that's just how I looked at it at the time.

At the end of the day, your main job as a soldier is to be a damn soldier; Being in the shit and participating in the shit.

Not to mention you also were more respected and made more money as an 11B. It didn't take long to find out that I was pretty wrong about that, but the point is, if you were in infantry, It was more than likely you were getting deployed to Vietnam.

And then afterwards, it finally happened. My platoon got the orders to deploy to Vietnam. We had landed at Tan Son Nhut Airbase on the 1st in a huge C-130 Hercules cargo plane. It was called the Hercules because it had a strong resemblance to the biggest plane ever built, by Howard Hughes and his aircraft company.

It was decent, but we were in a plane from 1955, so I can't tell you it was great.

Once we got here, our platoon was assigned to a replacement company for a few days, before waiting for our orders to report to our combat unit. Then at 0600 today, we got up in formation and Captain Scott, our replacement company leader, gave us the orders to report to the unit.

"So this platoon will be assigned to 2nd Battalion of the 506st Infantry in the 101st Airborne Division, located at Fire Support Base Ripcord in the A Shau Valley. This is seemingly because this platoon has received airborne and parachute training, fitting the roles of the regiment. You men should also be proud to be assigned to a very decorated and honorable unit." He said.

Captain Scott wasn't the most gung-ho person alive, but he held a deep respect for himself and the army as a whole. He loved everything about honor and purpose, doing the dangerous things that a soldier does for his country and his brothers beside him. So sometimes, he would say things like that. It was fine with me really, I respected everyone's views and opinions on things.

As long as it wasn't fuckin' dumb (completely). Captain Scott continued.

"However, this is not a full airborne unit anymore gentlemen, this is what the Army calls an air assault unit."

"This means you won't be jumping out of planes, you'll be operating primarily in helicopters. Got it?"

We replied "Yes sir!" in a chorus.

"Make sure to not mess with these men you're gonna' be fighting with. They've already been there for a month and been searching for hardcore NVA all over the A Shau. They do not have all the patience in the world for cherries and new-comers trying to make a name for themselves, although you are really fine soldiers." He said, in a way that seemed almost like a backhanded compliment.

"So the thing is, the A Shau Valley is one of the most heavily contested areas in South Vietnam. Charlie [North Vietnamese] drives trucks down there, and they bring plenty of supplies through there into the famous Ho Chi Ming Trail."

"The 101st has been tasked with gaining the initiative, and stopping these NVA from coming in through Laos into the A Shau. It's going to be a long and hectic process, and hell I have mostly doubts about it, but it is what it is."

Scott followed orders, but he knew how things looked. He knew how shit would probably turn out just like all the other battles; We lose a bunch of good men, we kill a shit ton more of the enemy, then we abandon the place, and the NVA returns. He knew it, but he didn't say anything about it.

He kept talking.

"Remember, don't do any stupid mistakes, or your ass is gonna be in a casket going home."

"The choppers are waiting for you and you'll be at Ripcord at an estimate of 0700 hours."

"Good luck. May God be with all of you." He smiled and saluted. Then he walked away, and that was probably the last time I'd ever see him.

A Lieutenant then led us to the choppers where he checked off our names. There were five to seven choppers, each containing our men. We got on and the choppers lifted off. I looked down and saw the fading Tan Son Nhut Airbase, into a then sea of green slopes, mountains, rivers, and streams. The ride seemed awfully fast, and then we finally landed in the base at 0700 on a designated 'heli pad', which was nothing more than low-lying grass.

We got out and the air got hotter. Much hotter.

This was Vietnam.

Firebase Ripcord was located on a mountain top which was surrounded by nearby mountains in every direction. The mountain top was slightly sloped sideways so the hooches at the base were a little tilted to the side. I was assigned to Alpha Company, Fourth Platoon.

I was tired, and didn't want to eat or introduce myself yet. I went to an empty hooch, as I figured it was for some of the new platoon. The hooches were the long cabin-looking living quarters for us that had fluorescent lights, and could've smelled a lot better. I sat down on a bunk and begin to unpack for a couple minutes, before a guy came in. He was a brother like me, had a baby face, and had a lot of freckles.

I remember him cracking jokes during our first orientation into Vietnam, but I couldn't quite wrap my head around his name. He didn't have his fatigue jacket on, which made it harder.

"Hey you, you in this platoon?" Freckles asked.

"Yeah." I said.

"Oh okay. So we the new guys in this shit?"

"Haha, yeah right on." Things got a little silent for about half a minute, before Freckles started talking again.

"Yo where you from man?" He came over with his ruck and sat at the edge of my bunk. He took off his flak jacket and stretched his arms out.

"New Jersey, man. Right by New York." I answered.

"Oh yeah? What they got in New Jersey?" Freckles said.

"Nothing much. The only thing they got is shitty cops, that's all."

"I think they got those everywhere bro." We grinned at each other.

"But hey, listen man, you got to come to Oakland. Over there they got them crazy fuckers called the Black Panthers. When the police kill a brother, those Black Panthers go crazy and start tearing up the place." He said.

"Yeah I've heard. As long as it's for a good cause right?"

"I hope so," He answered. "What you do back home?"

"I played basketball and I wanted to go college, but you know I was poor as shit. Like I said, there wasn't nothing much about New Jersey anyway. "

"You were drafted?"

"Yeah." I answered.

"Damn, sucks man. I volunteered for this shit." He said.

"Why?"

"Because there wasn't nothing to do back home. Just boredom. The only thing I saw were those damn hippies and eighteen year olds like us who were protesting the war. Plus I figure, why should I be staying here fucking sluts and drinking beer when GIs are dying in 'Nam?"

"Yep, you have to be educated to think like that." I said, giggling, and then he grinned like a child. Pretty soon after our little chit-chat, a tall Lieutenant came in our hooch. His name tag read "MCDONALD"

"Who are you guys? The FNGs?" He asked. He seemed bored, tired, and maybe even a little miserable.

"What's an FNG?" I answered.

"Don't sweat it, you already answered my question."

Literally right after, four other guys came into the hooch, including our squad leader.

Our squad leader was a Staff Sergeant called Clarke and a Corporal who was called David Bell was second in charge of the squad. They also just so happened to not be new guys.

I was glad. More experience meant a better chance of me staying alive. That was all that mattered.

As everyone got in the hooch and then began to unpack, the two then stood next to the Lieutenant while he began to speak to all of us.

"Okay, so you're all here. We gotta do a quick roll call, and please gentlemen, make it short and brief. No bullshitting please. It's not a Life Story, It's just answering when your name is called. Okay?" The Lieutenant said. He made his voice seemed like he had more authority and confidence than he actually did. He also seemed agitated.

I guess that's what 'Nam did to you.

I answered when my name was called and then Lieutenant McDonald gave us a quick pep talk.

"First things first people, no excessive running of the mouth about anti-war bullshit. Most of you enlisted so that is your problem. If you were drafted, you chose to show up, you could have escaped to Canada or any of those other places. You know the deal."

"Next, please keep your weapons clean. You don't keep em clean and I almost guarantee you that Charlie is gonna clean your ass."

Williams chuckled and McDonald glared at him.

"It's not funny soldier. When It's your ass being sent in a bag with a "Members Missing" stamp on it and your family is crying, you're gonna remember what I just told you. Understand?"

Williams nodded and McDonald continued on. I could tell Williams didn't really care for McDonald's statement, but he pretended like he did anyway. I did as well.

Maybe if McDonald didn't seem so annoyed I would've cared, I thought.

"Finally, no discrimination. There are no niggers, 'white boys', 'black boys', or honkies in this platoon. You're all equally the same thing, paratroopers." He said.

Then he outlined the main objective.

"Okay cherries, you'll first be tasked to search and destroy NVA mortar and recoilless fire positions, about three thousand meters from the FSB. We have been attacked by these weapons since the initial assault to occupy the base in March. These guys have been relentless, hitting us again and again and again. We've finally been able to attempt to attack these positions, as monsoon rains and thunderstorms have started to stop."

"Our main objective of this entire 'op, was to attempt an offensive against the NVA 803rd and 29th Regiments in the valley. But as you can see, It has not been going too well since you're my new platoon. So the operation will be starting next week. Hopefully it turns out well and you new guys can learn a bit from us old timers, including these two men, Dean Clarke and David Bell."

He pointed to them and they saluted.

"As you already know, Clarke is your squad leader and and Bell is in charge if Clarke is not around."

"So anyways, that's about it for today and hopefully you guys learn a thing or two. Good luck." He smiled, looking a little less agitated, and left the hooch.

"Man that man had something up his ass," Said a short Specialist we called Thomas, who happened to be our medic. We laughed a little.

"Yeah he needs to lighten up. Why he stiff fo'?" Williams said, sounding like a Native American in the second sentence.

"Trust me, he's cool. It's just gonna take some time for you to get used to him. But I'm tired of all this damn talking, and I'm pretty sure you are as well. Go get some rest. It's 0700, too damn early for conversations." Sergeant Clarke said, and we all started to do so because he was right.

I then buried my head onto my new bunk, which had a smell of hair product and beans, falling asleep.

Chapter Two - Sitting around...
1100 Hours (11:00 AM)

April 9, 1970

Fire Support Base Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

We didn't do nothing. Just sat there and did the same stuff. We ate, listened to music, read and watched the news. It came as a surprise. You'd expect to always be out in the shit, patrolling and setting up ambushes. But that was only part of it. Boredom and doing nothing made up the majority of your time.

Meanwhile during the boredom, we learned more about each other as well.

Sergeant Clarke was cool. Some late twenty-something year old from Boston, he seemed to know what he was doing and I could tell he cared about us deeply, even if we were new guys. I respected it.

"Man, I got drafted in '66 before my ass even started drinking." He laughed, beginning to talk about himself. He had a big mighty laugh, which was often funnier than the actual things he was talking about.

"So I reported to Fort Polk at Tigerland, right? The Lieutenant tells me I can be with the 1st Infantry but I was gonna go straight to combat in Vietnam,"

"What did you do?" Asked a dude we called Greene. He was pale, and had light-brown hair. His rank was Private (PV2) and he was machine gunner of the squad, carrying the big and deadly M60 Machine Gun.

He was an interesting character, as during my time at Tan Son Nhut, I'd see him hustling condoms for simple things like pieces of chocolate and other goodies with other soldiers. That was really all I knew about Greene though.

A man who traded condoms for candy. I guess that's a good start. I'd probably never ask him about it either. Meanwhile, Clarke continued on.

"I said I didn't wanna go to Vietnam and he gave me a secondary choice. He told me I could go and take NCO and airborne training for a year to skip a tour in Vietnam, then get assigned to an airmobile or air assault unit. So I was totally up for it. I figured the war was gonna be over in year or we would kick the commies ass so bad they would just give up, but boy was I wrong..." Clarke shook his head.

Then he looked up at me.

"Hey you. What's your name, man?" He asked.

"Steven."

"Oh yeah. Where you from?"

"Jersey, which is like a rip off New York." I answered.

"How you get in this mess?"

"I got drafted. God bless the Selective Service."

"Hmm. Well, I ain't got much to say but to stay on your shit man. You don't wanna be the last one to die in this mess."

"Roger that." I smiled, I just had to.

"Right on," Thomas chipped in. "I don't know how my folks wou---"

BOOM

Thomas' sentence was cut off by a huge booming sound, as seconds later, I realized an artillery round landed thirty meters from us.

I didn't see it but I felt it. The whole fuckin' hooch shaked like a god-damn earthquake.

Oh. Fucking. Shit. It was my first time ever being attacked. I almost freezed until guys started yelling and screaming all over the place, and I realized I had to move my ass.

"Get down, we're fuckin' pinned!" Bell dove for cover, as he ran out of the hooch.

"Move it, move it!" Sergeant Clarke was running while firing his M16.

The guys from the artillery batteries were on the howitzers, which were the big artillery guns that resembled cannons. We had a stockade of artillery shells, organized into ten piles. Each pile had about fifty shells, as I watched the artillerymen from the corner of my eye returning back fire towards the enemy who had surprised us.

Greene and I ran into a bunker on the base, where he began to set up the M60. In the interest of time and keeping our asses alive, I was going to be his feeder, holding the heavy belts of ammo while he fired, and also helping him reload. The sounds of the powerful weapon echoed in the distance, rattling my ear drums, as Greene let out long bursts of fire.

After a little while, I began peeking my head back and forth with my M16, firing rounds really into nowhere. I couldn't see the enemy but I just shot where I thought they were, as I finished one clip and jammed another one back in.

I was terrified. Everything was happening so quickly.

"Hey give me the bandoliers! Give me the fuckin' M60 ammo!" Greene screamed at me, as I ignored him and continued to pop rounds off into the distance.

"Hey! Hurry up you fuckin' idiot!" He screamed at me again. I got the sense he was pulling my leg, and I was pissed.

"Fuck off asshole, I'm returning fire!" I protested back.

"Look, stop being a fuckin' nigger and help me out here." He said, and that's when everything went downhill between us.

"What you call me?!" I said, in obvious disbelieve. I almost laughed because I didn't think he had the nerve to say it, especially in the midst of an attack.

"You heard me! Now get the fuck over here man!"

It was the heat of the moment, and one thing led to another. I couldn't let him get away with it, those awful words that had been used against me and my ancestors for hundreds of years. I didn't care if he said it in the moment either, he had to pay. That was it.

So without much thought, I jumped on him and punched him in the face, as he fell back on his M60. Then all of a sudden we were tumbling around the bunker fighting, like children. The sounds of artillery continued to be heard all around us, and into the distance.

Lieutenant McDonald came out of nowhere, jumping in the bunker and stopping the fighting.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?! You Fuckin' New Guys! We're paratrooper" An artillery round landed nearby and McDonald flinched.

So that was what "FNG" meant.

"Look, we're paratroopers! Get your shit together and let's kill these Charlie! Follow me!" Greene and I quickly glanced at each other. We jumped out of the bunker and started following McDonald across the mountain. We stopped at a foxhole where Greene got the '60 up again and started raking a nearby hilltop, presumebably where we were taking fire from.

Then It was over. Just ten minutes. Just that fast. Everything felt so surreal.

It was by then, where Sergeant Clarke came over and said Williams had been hit.

He had been hit bad. Real bad.

I saw Thomas and Corporal Bell lifting his body out of a bunker. They laid his body down and began administrating aid. He had had an artillery round land next to him. Amputated both arms and shredded his flak jacket. He had a deep, burning wound in his right leg as well, where shrapnel had peppered all over both legs and his torso.

"C'mon man, hang in there." Thomas said. Williams was choking up blood like crazy. He couldn't speak. This lasted for around a minute before he started trying to find his arms. Thomas then looked around, and picked up two, bloody mangled limbs. The horror on his face was something that would've struck a deep chord in anyone.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you. It's just too much blood, I'm so sorry." Thomas said. The expression that Williams' had then is something I will never forget for the rest of my life. He looked at Thomas with disbelieve, knowing that it was over all too soon for himself.

Then things got ugly. He began to go into cardiac arrest, as his body began to shake and his eyes rolled in the back of his head, almost like he was possessed.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Other guys turned away.

But It didn't matter as it all ended quickly. We put the two limbs on his chest, wrapped his body in a poncho and we called in a Huey.

"Man, fuck all of this." Sergeant Clarke said. His eyes were glistening with tears, and I lit his cigarette for him. For someone he barely knew, he was not afraid to show emotion. He wasn't, and the rest of us weren't either.

It was the first death, but surely not the last of our pain. Which was the worse part.

Lieutenant McDonald, sat there, with his hands shaking.

"I didn't believe what I told him would happen, never in my mind would I think that." He said, shocked, pointing to what he told Williams when he laughed during his lecture.

Me and Greene went to our hooch and said nothing. Bell and Thomas were sitting next to Lieutenant McDonald, looking into the distance.

Clarke silently smoked his cigarette, as rain began to drizzle from the dark overcast sky.

Chapter Three - Pain
1500 Hours (3:00 PM) 

April 13, 1970

Fire Support Base Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

I couldn't stop thinking about him. I couldn't get him out of my head. I just couldn't fucking get him out of my head. His expression, him looking at his mangled arms; It was something so surreal.

It was the first death, and I felt so damn awful. So bad. Yet the only thing that I could keep rationalizing was that I was still alive. That I was lucky to be here, and to be living, moving, and still breathing.

That even through the pain I felt for Williams, that I felt more emotion for my own self. Because I was somehow still here. Somehow, someway, I was.

I hope I wasn't selfish for it. I really fucking hope so. I hope God, if he's truly up there; Forgave me for it.

"It just happened so quick, man." Greene said. He seemed almost petrified. Some of us held more anger.

"Its these fucking slant-eyed assholes, they don't give a shit," Bell said. "They know we can kick their asses but if they launch these little surprise attacks and take some of ours, they know they'll probably win the psychological war." He was putting on a new camouflauge cover he got on his M1 Helmet.

But with all honesty, Bell was right. Beginning around '68 during the Tet Offensive, media coverage of heavy fighting and seeing guys killed and wounded on live TV fucked up peoples' mindsets.

Other stuff too, like the My Lai Massacre, is why the anti-war movement has been relentless since then.

More importantly, why Nixon is doing this Vietnamization thing, to end our involvement in the war and hand it over to the South Vietnamese.

A little soon afterwards, the squad got up and went to the makeshift showers. Meanwhile, I stayed in the hooch with Greene, and he came over to me. He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Look, I'm sorry man. I want to first say I'm sorry for calling you that word, and I'm sorry for Williams. We all are."

"I just can't stop thinking about him, man. I just can't stop thinking about him." I felt like I was about to cry but I didn't. The tears couldn't find an exit out of my eyes. I did not know what to do.

"Man certain things just happen. They just happen and you can't do anything about it. But all I can say is, is that you'll get over it. We all will. Let's go."

Yeah right, Greene. I knew Greene felt emotions a lot like the way I had, but I didn't appreciate how he used the term we, like he knew exactly how I felt about the matter. It didn't make a difference anyway. Williams was gone.

Just like that. In an instant.

After Willliams' passing, we got two new brothers in the squad. One dude was from Cheyenne, Wyoming. He was tall, big, and dark-skinned. He was a mean looking motherfucker. His name was Ronnie Wallace and he was a Corporal. This guy looked like he hit the weight room like ten times a week. When me and Greene were struggling to lift ammo boxes onto a truck earlier, he took two with both arms, put them on the truck easily, and walked away without saying nothing.

"Bravo!" Greene had said, clapping, "Brah-fucking-vo!"

Wallace did have some pretty nice helmet cover graffiti though. On one side of his steel pot said, FUCK OFF in big bold letters, and the other side said KILL 'EM ALL! with a smiley face drawn next to it.

A lot of us had unique and weird stuff on our helmets, all personal. Most used graffiti to show their views, others used it for fun, and a few used it to show how short they were from going home.

Some also used their helmets to hold things. For example, Greene had five 7.62 rounds from his M60 strapped to the circular band of his helmet. Or Thomas for example, who had a deck of playing cards strapped to the back of his.

Me personally, I had Poontang written on the side of my helmet and that was it.

As for what poontang means? It's what creates babies.

Anyway, the other dude was a PFC from Montgomery, Alabama called Brandon Rivera. He was half-black, half-latino, and had really curly hair. He kinda reminded me of those Native Americans in the old days.

Both of these guys were extra replacements to fill out the rest of the squad. Word went around that we were the last replacements that would be coming in for awhile, and most of us took it seriously. The war was really waning down, and commanders knew they couldn't bring any more combat troops in.

This meant whoever we loss, we loss. We had to deal with what we had.

A little while after we took showers, we received mail call, which was one of the most important things to us. We received letters from back home, from our loved ones, usually asking us how we were doing and what was going on.

As expected, it was great for morale, and it made things a little bit easier. Even when things could get really fuckin' tough on everyone.

For instance, Thomas just got a letter today stating he was accepted into Harvard University. It made me wonder why the hell he was in 'Nam when he had that on the line.

He was a smart kid, and I could tell he was. Only nineteen years old, Thomas had everything going for himself. He had been raised in a suburban middle class family in Connecticut, with loving parents and siblings, as well as a bright future.

He didn't tell us how he got in the Army, but now that I think about it, it's probably certain he was drafted.

We all clapped for him when we found out the news.

"Hey, good job man." I high fived him and he thanked me with a smile.

"What are you gonna study?" Bell asked.

"Haha, you know it man. Medicine!"

"There it is." Sergeant Clarke said, smiling.

"Just make sure you don't wear your uniform.... Those Harvard faggots all hate the war and hate us." Wallace said. He was cleaning his boots with some disinfecting detergent.

His statement caught everyone off guard. It was one of the first real things he said since joining our squad, and now everyone had their eyes darting on Wallace. He looked back at us, with that same mean look on his face he always has.

Bell didn't seem to like what he said.

"What the hell do you know?" He stood up and everyone started watching. Sergeant Clarke was looking closely, watching what was about to happen.

"What I know, Is what I see and hear, buddy." Wallace sarcastically saluted.

"Who the fuck are you calling 'buddy'? Where I know you from?" Bell answered.

Wallace could tell Bell was annoyed, which was probably because Bell held a bit of an ego and bias often. He didn't like guys he didn't know speaking with authority, like they had experienced the same things he had.

Bell didn't know if they did either, but he didn't care. There was something about Wallace he didn't like. Maybe it was the mean and tough looking way he carried himself, no one knows. But Bell didn't know Wallace was gonna push his buttons, because Wallace didn't take shit from anyone. It was a recipe for disaster.

"You don't know me from anywhere, mothafucka'," Wallace smirked. "Now sit ya' ass down."

"Oh yeah, black boy? You're going to make me sit down?"

Bell wasn't racist but I knew he was just saying that to get a rise out of Wallace.

"What did you just say to me?" Wallace stood up and flung across the hooch walls towards Bell. Fight.

Again. Greene and I were the first, and now this shit. The difference was, is that this was actually more of a real fight. Greene and I just wrestled in a bunker.

Wallace literally picked Bell up and threw him outside the hooch, where he landed and broke some ammo boxes.

Ouch, I know that must've hurt. Then Bell got up and kicked Wallace straight in the groin. Then they started beating on each other, back and forth. There was blood everywhere. They tussled on the ground, blood mixing in with the mud, turning into a brownish-reddish color. While Sergeant Clarke and the rest of us were trying to break it up, Wallace actually elbowed Clarke in the groin.

Even though I felt bad for him, I couldn't stop laughing, and Thomas was too.

"I hope he can still have kids. If he can, talk about balls of steel." Thomas said, chuckling.

Clarke ran to the latrine, screaming in pain. It finally took ten soldiers to break the ruckus up.

"You people better stop this shit," Lieutenant McDonald was holding both by the collar. Then he glared at Greene and I.

Bell lunged forward towards Wallace.

"Slack off soldier. Now you two shake hands." They both reluctantly shaked hands and It was over. Then I saw our company commander, Captain Barrile, asking McDonald what had happened. McDonald told him and then he shaked his head. About ten minutes later, we went back into our hooch.

We then read the rest of the mail, which was just a letter Clarke got from his girlfriend Margaret. It was a real sad letter.

"Some shit about how those assholes back home are protesting our asses." He said. He was in underwear and had a pack of ice on his balls. When he came back from the latrine, he made sure to tell Bell and Wallace where to shove it, which seemed fair to them.

"Where's back home?" Greene asked.

"Boston. You forgot already? Anyway, she said she doesn't believe anything they say about us and how she will always love me." Clarke smiled, and I could tell he was relieved that she said that.

"You know what's funny?" Rivera chimed in. He was eating strawberry ice cream and this made his speech slurred. "That not only are they protesting us, but they're protesting Nixon too."

Oh, the irony.

We all looked at him and realized It was the first thing he said all day. He smiled.

"Well, I volunteered for this shit, man." Bell said. His eye was a red and swollen, where Thomas had put a small bandage on the cut Wallace gave him.

"Why? To get your ass kicked?" Thomas asked sarcastically. We giggled, while Bell flipped Thomas a nice big middle finger. Wallace laid silent, clenching his groin and his ribs.

"Fuck off asshole. But yeah, I was in college. It was boring, the same crappy routine and stuff. Wake up, go to class, eat, go home. Same thing."

He continued on.

"So there were guys in our college burning their draft cards, which seemed like BS to me. Here we are, the people who get to have good food and good hygiene, while these guys in Vietnam are getting their asses handed to them. The protesting was getting me pissed off, so I decided to make my own stand on things."

"So, I ended up enlisting in the Army back in late '68. Took basic and got assigned to the 101st. Deployed here to Chu Lai in November '69, and got transferred to Ripcord in March of this year."

"It's whatever, though. Once I get out of this shit, I'll be alright. Hopefully get me a job and a girl back home."

He looked lost when he said this, almost kind of regretful that he joined the army.

"Wow. Real solid thinkin', soldier." Clarke laughed, and then we did.

Then even more time passed and we started playing card games. Anything to kill time, and the boredom. There wasn't much to do.

We played blackjack and I won ten dollars. Staff Sergeant Clarke had no luck at all, as he lost twenty dollars to all of us.

"Fuck this shit. You guys are fucking cheaters!" He threw his cards on the hooch table, and stormed out.

"C'mon 'Sarge! It's okay." Greene said. We were laughing, as he then came back and laid down on his bunk, beginning to silently smoke a cigarette.

He would win his money back eventually.

Then Clarke wanted to watch some color TV, and Thomas said he heard Sergeant Grear from 1st Squad had a color TV. We went to their hooch and we asked him if he could borrow it.

"Nope, you gotta buy it, man." He was smoking weed.

"C'mon pothead, just give me the god-damn TV." Clarke said, annoyed.

Then Grear raised his voice, "Look man, don't call me a fuckin' pothead. You don't know me like that. Now if you want the TV, you got to buy it."

"Fuck it," We paid ten dollars for it.

Grear grinned and said, "Glad doing business with you, Staff Sergeant."

We left their hooch. Guys around the camp were carrying supplies and filling sandbags. Some stood outside and smoked. Others talked. The sounds of helicopters and artillery were in the distance.

We got back into our hooch and turned on the TV. Thankfully, the footage was in color. Clarke was flipping through the channels. It was mostly the same old garbage on the news. Stuff about the planned Camobian Campaign, the New York Knicks in the NBA Playoffs (they went 60-22 in the regular season), and the numerous protests across the country, including a demonstration in Washington DC. There was also news that the Apollo 13 mission to the moon had had a serious explosion in the oxygen tank and the astronauts were trying their best to stay alive. The news reporters kept replaying:

Jack Swigert - "Okay Houston-- we've had a problem here."

Jack Lousma, Mission Control -"This is Houston... say again please?"

Jim Lovell - "Uh Houston, we've had a problem. We've had a MAIN B BUS UNDERVOLT."

Then Clarke found The David Frost Show. They were giving a taped episode of David interviewing The Rolling Stones. And then they played You Can't Always Get What You Want. Their lead singer, Mick Jagger, looked like he had done ten lines of cocaine.

"See, fuckin' hippy. Look at his face, man." Wallace said.

"Yeah. Bet he is protesting against us in the night, too!" Greene joked.

We kept flipping through the channels and then we started watching The Brady Bunch It was a sitcom.

Nothing was done for the rest of the day except eat, play football around HQ hooch, and then finish the day with sleeping.

The boredom was fuckin' real.

Chapter Four - Back in the shit.
1500 Hours (3:00 PM) 

April 20, 1970

Fire Support Base Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

Patrol, or at least what It seemed like. Weeks had passed, and now it seemed like we were getting a decent mission again. Our battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Andre Lucas, sent us the orders. Captain Barrile gave us the briefing, in the operations center, AKA Headquarters hooch.

"Gentlemen, what you're tasked with is to set up an ambush near an NVA supply base by a hilltop overlooking it. For the new guys here, we have originally been planning to do these type of missions since the beginning of the building of this firebase during March," As he was speaking, he was smoking a cigar.

He looked fuckin' stupid. Greene was sitting next to me, and he grinned.

"Now, because we have been sporadically attacked so far, this had been delayed," He went on. "One particular supply base, which has been the one that has done the majority of the attacking, is housing Charlie. We want to get these guys, and get them fast so we can resume our original mission."

"Us and Delta Company are assigned the job. Bravo and Charlie Company will be on stand-by, providing fire support with the howitzers. We're going to land on the mountain and search the area. Continue on, as per orders from your platoon leaders, and capture the base. Do the best you can and try to avoid as least casualties as possible."

Fuck that. I don't know why, but I felt like he knew we were going into dangerous shit.

"Platoon Leaders, make sure your squads pack up on extra ammo and meds. We might be in some serious deep shit, so prepare for anything. You gentlemen may now go back to your hooches and prepare. Good luck, I'm counting on you gentlemen."

Then when we got to our hooch, Sergeant Clarke was not looking good. He looked pissed the hell off.

"You okay 'Sarge?" I asked.

"No man. See Barrile? That man is pushing for Major real hard. He volunteered us for this shit because us and Delta are always kept up to par."

"Are you serious?" Wallace's eyes widened.

"Why do you think you guys are here? This is mostly a brand new platoon. Bell and I were originally in 3rd Platoon and the original 4th Platoon was wiped out in an ambush last month. Twenty killed, fifteen wounded out of fourty men. Sergeant Grear was in that ambush and he could never get over that his whole squad was wiped out."

"So that's why he is--" I got cut off.

"Yep, exactly why he's doing dope. The dude is depressed." Clarke said. Another cigarette was now in his mouth.

"They do anything to try to help him?" Thomas asked. He was cleaning his M16, while simultaneously packing his medical kit.

Thomas sometimes liked to pack interesting stuff in there too. Usually chocolate, and maybe even a magazine or two. Like today for instance, he was packing M&M's and last month's issue of the Playboy Magazine, which featured Hugh Hefner's girl.

I was down with it. Clarke kept talking.

"No. He's been requesting to go on R&R to get it off his mind for weeks now, but Barrile keeps denying him it because he is one of the veteran NCOs in the company. Lieutenant McDonald told Grear he was sorry and I could tell he was being sincere. McDonald is getting a thing about Captain Barrile too."

R&R was what the Army called "Rest and Recuperation" They allow you three-fifteen days to rest, party around, and most of all enjoy yourself. Usually you went to Eagle Beach where they had a lot of nurses in bikinis and stuff.

Or from the words of Bell, you could get you a good 'ol Mama San to play around with. Better have a condom while at it.

Bell then chimed in, "Yeah. You new guys have to understand, is that Barrile does not care if men get wounded or killed. He's a gloryhound. We have to all stick together and watch out for each other's asses, okay? Then we'll make it out of this shit and hopefully get back to The World."

Very soon after, McDonald came in and told us to pack up. We were moving out.

We were told to pack up on extra ammo. Instead of one soldier carrying the usual two hundred rounds of M16 ammo (5.56x45mm), he carried four hundred rounds. Instead of carrying two grenades, you carried four. We didn't need to take the flak jackets this time, thankfully. We just took our rucks and that was that. The flak jackets were just too hot, and too heavy.

A few minutes before we got on the choppers, I read a letter from my little bro Jerry, that I just received in yesterday's mail call. Jerry was fourteen and loved basketball just like me. I had been sort of a father figure to him since Dad left, and he was of the few things I had in my life. I began to read the letter:

Dear Steven,

''Guess what? I made it to the basketball team, man! We had try-outs and the coach put me on the team, but I'm a bench player because of these varsity guys. I may not be starting but at least I made it.''

''There is a lot of stuff going around here. Everyday they protest y'all and I am just sick of it. Calling you "murderers" and "puppets" for the government, you know; Shit like that. Why would they do that? It's not like they're fighting the war; They don't have the right to do that in my opinion. And I don't believe anything that they say about you and the others.

''There have also been a few race riots about a black kid who was shot by a white police officer but for the most part, everything is okay. Mom is alright; She misses you a lot, just like me man. ''

''Well peace Steven. Stay strong and I hope y'all make it out of there alive. ''

Love,

your little bro Jerry.

I smiled. I was real proud of him for making the team. I almost cried thinking about home and family. I started to write back, and tell him I loved him very much and was very proud of him. I said he would eventually be starting later in his high school life and he would do just fine.

That was until, we got called to the choppers.

Chapter Five - Back in the shit.(Part II)
1600 Hours (4:00 PM)

April 20, 1970

Hill 927, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

We left the base at 1530 hours, racing towards our objective. The ride was pretty dope, as the chopper was playing a song by The Animals. It was good and played through out the whole ride; It really fit the whole mood of what the fuck we were about to get into.

It got us calm and everyone had their 'game faces' on. The thick blades of the Huey constantly rippled through the air, sending echoes in the distance. There were twelve choppers for both companies, as this mission was of large size.

I actually wasn't scared. I wasn't fucking terrified like I how felt the first time the base was attacked. I felt calm and collected. I felt like I could get the job done today.

The door gunners, SPC. Peterson and, PFC. Colborn, then raked the hill with machine gun fire before we landed. Soon after, we rappeled down the helicopter and we were on the hill. It was go time.

"Okay! Settle down!" Lieutenant McDonald said. Captain Barrile had made Lieutenant McDonald leader of the mission.

Then we got up and started walking down the hill. We just kept walking, in formation, as I looked at the rich soil being mashed under my boots.

That's how most patrols were. Continous walking into nowhere, looking for an enemy. Sometimes stopping to set up an ambush. Sometimes getting orders to camp down for the night, establishing a perimeter in a secured area. It was all the same, and it seemed like this mission wasn't going to be any different.

It was just an endless march. Hill to hill, sometimes village to village, over and over again.

The Endless Hump, as we called it.

We were still just walking down the steep hill, crossing thick vegetation and wiping the sweat off our faces with towels around our necks. I was chewing gum and had the two bandoliers of '60 ammo for Greene, criss-crossed on my torso. Me and Greene were actually becoming real good friends. Meanwhile, Delta Company was patrolling down the other side of the hill.

The grass was thick as hell, and there were a lot of shrubs around. Rivera, who was our RTO (Radio Telephone Operator) got on the phone and called Delta Company.

"Hitman Zero Four, this is Hitman Zero Two; Area is clear, over."

Captain Barrile got on the line suddenly, not sure how.

"Pass it over to the commanding officer of your platoon, soldier." He said, his voice crackling over the radio.

McDonald asked why Captain Barrile wanted to speak to him.

"I don't know." Rivera said, shrugging.

McDonald took the phone and answered.

"Yes Captain?"

"Look, I want you and your men to bed down for a little while. Doesn't look like any 'Charlie is coming into your AO around this time, so I want you to set up fortifications with sandbags around the grain paddies on this hill. It will provide cover for incoming ambushes or attacks, just in case the NVA does arrive."

"What cover? I cannot see any cover from my viewpoint, sir. Permission requested to continue on?"

"Soldier, do what you're told," Barrile exhaled. "The choppers will be there to extract in a little while. Prepare your men to bed down."

"But sir--" McDonald got cut off almost immediately.

"No! Look Lieutenant, I told you god-dammit; Set up the sandbags and set up a perimeter!" Captain Barrile raised his voice on the phone.

"You're gonna get some people killed out here!" Lieutenant McDonald was now just as angry, and now worried.

"Are you not following orders, soldier? Get the fuckin' company, set up the sandbags, or I will Article 15 your ass!" Barrile's voice cracked again. I looked over to Clarke, who sucked his teeth. Everyone else stood quiet. Wallace looked even meaner than usual.

By this point, McDonald was very fuckin' pissed. He looked like he wanted to get artillery on Captain Barrile.

"Affirmative, sir." He finally said, the disappointment in his voice being crackled through the radio.

He muttered after, "Fuckin' asshole." I hope Barrile heard that.

"See, McDonald is getting a thing about him. Did you see how tense he was? Something is up." Sergeant Clarke said a few moments after, as we began bedding down.

"What Barrile has to know is that I'm not dying in this shit hole." Greene said. He said it with a real serious look on his face.

Then Lieutenant McDonald gave us the orders, "Alright, set up the sandbags people."

"Hey LT, there is barely no cover. How---" The young private who asked got cut off by McDonald.

"Well I received orders. There ain't shit to be done. Orders are orders soldiers. Just look out for these slant-eyes."

We then spent ten minutes filling the sandbags with dirt and grass. I was digging a foxhole with Rivera, piling sandbags around it, as we looked at the empty fields of mud and clay stretching below us. Then boredom began to creep up again, but the underlying tension that we were out in the open with no cover around us made me think twice about boredom.

Sweat dripped from my forehead. It must've been ninety degrees or something. I tried to relax and to just do what I was tasked with doing. I started to unbutton my fatigues.

But then.

''WHACK! WHACK!''

It was an ambush, and within a matter of seconds the whole fucking hill lit up like fireworks. The sandbags we had been working on, shredded and exploded around us with the impact of gun fire. Just like that.

No fucking cover, whatsoever.

"Hey Steve! Give me the ammo man!" I ran over to Greene and took off the two bandoliers. We were taking fire from the top of the hill.

Well, oh shit, we had just been there! Were the NVA following us and luring us into an ambush? God who knows. It didn't matter at the moment. I needed to survive.

We kept on shooting, and throwing grenades over the top of the hill. I could see bunkers too, that had NVA machine guns sending ruthless hail's of fire towards us. Thomas was shooting an M79 grenade launcher, round after round. I could the see the adrenaline in his eyes. He wasn't gonna die today.

"Move it people, MOVE IT! Let's get the fuck out of here!" Lieutenant McDonald screamed. Rivera was on the radio, calling in for artillery,

"Redleg, Redleg! Fire support requested, over!"

"Our guys are about to get cut up here, hurry the fuck up man!" He yelled frantically.

Then he got a response by a Sergeant who was the leader of an artillery squad.

"Affirmative Hitman Zero Two."

I heard the Sergeant order his men to fire on the radio, in the background. Within minutes, the artillery shells rained on the bunkers and our whole company watched in fascination.

I looked nearby, and then it wasn't long before I saw rounds landing near Delta Company.

"What the fuck? Why they shooting near Delta?!" Wallace said.

Then the rounds got closer. And even closer.

We hit Delta!

The men just flew up in the air literally like rag dolls. They didn't even look human. They looked lifeless. Rivera was screaming on the phone and Lieutenant McDonald was pounding his fists on the ground, screaming in anger.

"NO NO NO! CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE!" Rivera said.

"Don't fuckin' move people, they're firing on their own men!" Sergeant Clarke said.

And then it was over, just like that. We had hit our own people. Dead in vain because of someone's careless mistake. Perhaps scared, fearing for his life. We were scared too.

We immediately ran to the other side of the hill where Delta was. The choppers were already in the air. The smell of burning flesh and gunpowder instantly filled my nose.

The choppers landed where Delta was. The awful screams of wounded men were just horrible. The medics on the chopper tried their best to work on the guys they thought who could survive. Guys who were critically wounded were just laid down and received some medical attention, before the medics went back to the guys they knew they could save.

We assisted too. The guys who the medics said were probably gonna be dead; Our medics worked on them, no matter the circumstances, including Thomas.

The area was just scattered with dead men. Guys in our company were laying them down and zipping them up. There had to be at least fifty body bags; A lot of dead NVA.

But a lot of dead Americans. Our dead brothers.

No more life in them. All gone. In an instant. Someone's father, son, brother, husband; All laid in those body bags. And they had just been here just minutes before. It was beyond surreal. Words couldn't fit the situation we were in.

There was a Specialist Two who had shrapnel wounds on his arms, silently crying against a tree. Another soldier who had his arms amputated, was trying to hold on to a medic but realized he had no more limbs to support him. These were our people.

We worked the best we could and then loaded up. Rivera was crying.

"I fucking killed them, man. I'm the dude who called in the fucking artillery!" He said. Sergeant Clarke grabbed him and comforted him.

"Calm down brother. It's okay." Clarke held him together, while Rivera sobbed in his arms.

The radio on the chopper was still playing music and Greene got fed up. He grabbed it and threw it out the door.

"Fuckin' bullshit, man. If I hear music one more time, I am gonna blow this motherfucker down!" Greene said.

The chopper pilot didn't even mind. He glanced once, and continued flying. A little while passed, then we landed at the firebase and walked to our hooches.

Just that fast. One minute you're worrying about whether you're gonna die this time, then you see your dead brothers, and now you're back at base ready to chow down. It was all too damn fast.

Captain Barrile asked McDonald what had happened, and we stopped to observe.

"What happened to you men?" McDonald didn't answer.

Barrile raised his voice.

"Don't you hear me fucking talking to you, soldier?!" Barrile said. His voice was menacing.

"Yeah, I heard you." McDonald gave Barrille the finger and told him where to shove it.

"Let's go gentlemen." We continued on and went to our hooch.

Barrille sort of just of looked around, shocked and angry, and was about to do something to McDonald until another soldier stopped him.

Afterwards, we found out that there were documents from division headquarters that stated Barrille was gonna be relieved of duty as CO, tomorrow.

It was due to investigations on his leadership and also on misconduct back in the states.

He didn't seem to care, I guess he expected it.

However, before he left, he made sure to tell McDonald he was a piece of crap and that he was worthless.

We ignored him.

Big deal.

Chapter Six - Angel Warriors
1840 Hours (6:40 PM)

May 2, 1970

Fire Support Base Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

The battalion was now at four hundred and fifteen men. We had started with five hundred and two when we first arrived but thanks to the friendly fire incident and other combat operations our battalion is understrength. No one talked about Delta Company, and some guys from the platoon were pissed off at Rivera.

It was understandable but then it also wasn't. Like Greene had told me before, things just happen sometimes. No matter how awful they might be. There shouldn't be a single blame.

"You freakin' murderer, man! See, you lit Delta up! You killed them, man!" One guy had said. We called him Donnie.

"Don't call me a murderer. It was just a mistake....." Rivera shaked his head.

"Bullshit! I mean fucking bullshit!"

Rivera jumped up and held Donnie by the collar, tensely. Rivera's eyes were glistening with tears and we were watching. We didn't intervene, just watched.

"Look I am sorry. I mean I am so sorry! Really fucking sorry. I feel mercy for Delta Company and for the dudes who lost their lives that day because of my fucking careless mistake. I also feel for their families, man. What else do you want from me?!"

"WHAT THE FUCK ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM ME DON?!!" He raised his voice real high, and held on to Donnie tighter.

He was now in tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so sorry."

Donnie nodded and It signifyied that he understood Rivera.

"Please understand..." Rivera said, very soft and gently, eyes still watery from the tears that were starting to flow again.

Rivera let go of Donnie and Donnie left the hooch. Rivera sat down on his bunk and put his head down, weeping. Thomas got up and sat next to him. He put his arms around Rivera and then Rivera put his around Thomas' shoulder.

"It's alright bro, It's alright. You're going to be okay, you're gonna be alright."

Rivera was feeling guilt, simple as that. One careless mistake, because he was scaredhell, we all were. It was probably something he could never forget about, no matter what. Ordering the killing of your own, your own kind, just because you were scared and was clueless. It was just something you couldn't get out of your mind, and I just felt bad for him and the guys at Delta. God have mercy on Rivera and Delta Company. God please have mercy.

That's all I wished for. For mercy on the dead who didn't deserve to be dead. That's all.

Things have spiced up even more. We got a new CO, or commanding officer. We called him Captain Edward 'Eddie' Cunningham.

He was another interesting character. His head seemed to be shaped like a cinder block, he never seemed to blink when he spoke, and always; and I mean ALWAYS, seemed to use The John before every meal at the mess hall. It was like he had OCD, and he wanted to empty his guts out good enough for it to be hungry for the lousy chow we got.

It was bizarre. I figured he had the shits or something. I also gave him the benefit of the doubt that he was a good commander, nothing like a Captain Barrile. That's what I hoped.

Speaking of lousy chow, we kept having beef soup with grill cheese sandwiches for lunch and dinner. It got so bad, where we started calling the sandwiches Cheese Fuckers.

The chow seemed just about as bad as the entire war itself. It really signified it, it really did. Most of the time it was all the same, but rarely there were sparks in both, and sometimes things could get really awful.

Like today's chow. It's fucking shit.

"Well gentlemen, more soup and Cheese Fuckers my brothers," Wallace said. He held up his fist, sarcastically making a Black Power salute, and we snickered.

"I bet the POW camps serve better food than this." Greene answered. I hope he had more condoms and chocolate bars.

"Man, they don't even serve the POWs food." Bell came over with the same crap. He had powdered milk in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.

"Whatever. Still bullshit that we get this." Greene said.

"Well that's the Army in a nutshell, soldier." Sergeant Clarke shrugged.

"Hey, you guys think the officers get the good stuff?" I asked. Then Clarke and Bell glanced at each other, looked at me with a sheepish grin, and then laughed. They got up and walked away, looking at me like I was an idiot.

"What?"

"I don't know." Thomas joined in.

"Guess It means we don't know enough?" Greene said.

"Man, you new guys...." Wallace shaked his head, with a grin.

"Hey Wallace, you forgot you're a FNG here too? If not, where your ass been?" Rivera was eating the Cheese Fuckers.

Wallace smiled.

"Cambridge, Massachusetts, man. I had moved from Cheyenne to Mass', because I didn't have anything going back in Wyoming. I was hanging around Harvard with a few brothers and I went to the gym a lot."

"Explains how big you are. You ever heard of Arnold Schwarzenegger?" Greene replied.

"Man, who the fuck is that?"

"Some bodybuilder. He won Mr. Universe last year, he's really promising."

"Yo fuck him, and his universe." Wallace said, and we giggled some more.

"Anyways, back to the story. So I was getting into some trouble with the law and I figured I was going down a bad path, see? So I enlisted in the Army in '67 and got sent here around Tet where I was at Tan Son Nhut. We took a lot of shit up there. Came home in '69 and I didn't get no fuckin' welcome home...." He shaked his head and the smile he had was now gone.

"But yeah, then I got my orders to be sent here and so here I am."

Then all of a sudden, the whole mess hall shook. Everyone started diving for cover.

Mortar. Not again. Not another random attack. Fuck me.

Then it was just screaming, panicking and confusion. Everyone was racing out of the mess hall, grabbing their weapons.

"Okay, just get to fucking cover!" Lieutenant McDonald was screaming out orders with a piece of meatloaf in his mouth. Despite this extremely dangerous situation, I couldn't resist laughing my ass off. Greene was laughing too. Me and him ran into a bunker and we were just laughing like children. I buried my head on his shoulder and he was giggling.

"Man, let's just not get killed." He said, while giggling.

"Right on." I said.

Then he took the bipod out, and then It was back to combat. He started firing and I was firing my M16. I had given all the bandoliers of ammo to him, so he never asked me to feed him.

I was popping rounds, one at a time, picking out where I thought the enemy was. I was looking over the muzzle blasts. Nothing. Just shooting where we thought the enemy was, as usual.

"Hey Steve, do you see where these Charlie are, man?!" Greene asked me.

"That's a negative! Just stay on your shit!" I replied.

Then after a few minutes, the mortar attack was over and we found wo guys got hit. They had moderate injuries and then we called in the Hueys. The attack had shaken Thomas up a bit.

"Too much fucking bullshit I have to worry about man! Just too much!"

"Poncho over your head when you smoke in the night, malaria pills a week, no half-canteens, never walk on trails, keep your feet good, maintain hygiene, secure your frags, always clean your rifle, have no sexual relations with the Vietnamese, and now this shit? Now I have worry about knowing that I can be attacked anywhere, anytime?"

Lieutenant McDonald came over.

"Thomas, stop worrying about that shit. Think about that '69 Mustang you want."

Thomas began to smile. He had always talked about getting a Ford Mustang when he got back home and cruise around town, catching girls. I'm sure he would get it. I loved his privileged, suburban Connecticut ass.

"No, now I want a Dodge Charger bro. Hook up a super charger on the hood, and put on some new black rims. Maybe even paint the thing blue and upgrade the engine, I don't know."

"Well, my father always drove a Pontiac." McDonald replied. He said this, and for a moment he just stood silent. Everyone was looking at him to see what else he was going to say, but he didn't say anything else. He went to go talk to Clarke and then he came over.

"Turn on the TV." He said.

"What the fuck was that about?" Thomas whispered in my ear, as the TV began to come on.

"I don't know, the LT is weird sometimes I guess." I answered.

We were watching the evening news as usual, and the reporters were stating how Nixon ordered U.S. troops to cross into Cambodia and how national riots were going on around the country, against his decision.

"That man can't live without combat. He is saying he is going to withdraw troops and stuff, but then he crosses into Cambodia. Stick to a plan dumbass." Greene said, half sarcastic, half annoyed. Because truly, he didn't care where the fuck Nixon was sending more troops. He just wanted it to have nothing to do with him because he wanted to stay in one piece. Which I totally understood.

"Yeah, and they have those Greenies going in too." Clarke added on.

Then we watched 2001: A Space Odyssey which was a very good film. We watched it literally for the rest of the day, and we got a popcorn machine that we had ordered from Saigon a week before. Rivera was on it, and he was making popcorn all day, which was pretty dope.

Afterwards, Bell pulled out the Budweiserand everyone started drinking. We got drunk for a bit; Some guys listening to music, others pranking each other, and then I collapsed into sleep eventually, according to Thomas.

The hangover would be real.

Chapter Seven - Kent State
1400 Hours (2:00 PM)

May 9, 1970

Fire Support Base Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

It was the only thing they talked about on the news. Kent State this, Kent State that. Same old stuff. It all happened four days ago at around 12:30 PM. They kept playing the same bullshit with guys burning their draft cards in Washington and saying "Hell no, we won't go! Hell no, we won't go!"

Or our personal favorite, "1, 2, 3, 4! We don't want your fucking war!"

"Hey 'sarge, what do you think about what happened in Kent State?" I asked, as we all lay in our bunks doing nothing as usual.

"Doesn't mean nothin' to me, man... Those protesters mean this to me," Sergeant Clarke held up two middle fingers.

"But c'mon man they are doing what they think is right? Who knows?" Thomas said.

"Are you kidding me?" Clarke raised his voice.

"No 'sarge, no one knows what's really right or not." Thomas explained.

"So what? Doesn't mean they have the right to try to put us down, or judge us for shit that we're fuckin' tasked to do." Clarke said, a little annoyed. He didn't like the topic but he talked about it anyway.

"Yeah I kind of agree," I added on. "Not everyone is out here in the shit killing women and children. Or doing this shit for the fun of it. But you know, one bad apple ruins the bunch. It's like with My Lai."

"I guess you're right." Thomas understood. "Everyone still can believe whatever they want. I respect that."

"That's what makes America great, sometimes." Greene said.

"Man, fuck My Lai!" Bell seemed angry again. "Those fuckin' faggot pussies couldn't get a real Charlie, so they chose innocent people. Fuck them."

"Hey man, calm down," Clarke said. "I'm with you on that one though." I spotted Wallace and Rivera drinking cans of beer, playing Monopoly on the hooch table.

Then Lieutenant McDonald came in our hooch and cut off the conversation. He seemed real tired.

"I got some news. You might like it." He smiled, barely.

"Okay, so since this is one of the best squads in Fourth Platoon, Cunningham has sent orders down at division for all of you to be promoted, based on my testimony. I'm proud of you men, no matter what has happened over here or what's goin' on man back home." He smiled again, this time a little better.

"Thanks LT." Sergeant Clarke got up and gave McDonald a salute. McDonald gave back a salute and left the hooch.

So what the deal was, was that everyone who was not a Specialist already was gonna be promoted to that rank. Bell and Wallace who were Corporals got promoted to Sergeant. Clarke remained Staff Sergeant, although he was now senior advisor to Lieutenant McDonald, based on Cunningham's orders.

So he was the platoon sergeant now. He didn't get the promotion because he simply did not have enough years as a soldier to get to Sergeant First Class, but he was fine with.

Nowadays these very quick promotions happened often during the war, and better rank equaled better pay. So best believe I was happy about it.

"Well, what do you guys wanna do now?" Clarke asked.

"Hey let's play some football. I'm bored as hell." Rivera said.

So here's what we decided to do. We got 1st Squad to play with us, and we made a designated area surrounded by sandbags where we would play. The "field" was thirty feet long and fifteen feet wide. They had some Vietnamese woman around the camp who would clean the hooches, who then became our cheerleaders for the game.

You know, the Mama Sans.

They all kept cheering, "GI number one! VC number ten! Fucking A!" I had a good laugh at that.

It was Sergeant Clarke on quarterback, Me as running back, Rivera and Greene as wide receivers, and 1st Lieutenant Bob Kalsu, who had played football for the Buffalo Bills, was gonna play guard. Everytime we asked or praised him about football, he would just shrug us off. But he was a nice guy. He never cussed and was always nice to everyone. Kalsu was from one of the artillery batteries, I believe Battery A. Bell was on fullback.

Wallace was playing tight end. For a guy that was six-five and nearly two hundred and fifty pounds, It definitely did fit him.

We played and played four games. The whole company was around us, It felt like an actual football game that you saw on TV. Guys were drinking beer and shit, and also cheering us on. In the last game, Sergeant Grear called a penalty against Clarke apparently for me being offsides when I was only around half a foot from the team. Then they started arguing and that's how the game ended. It ended with us winning three games out of four.

Tired and sweaty from playing, we all hit the makeshift showers. What sucked though, was that the boiler wasn't working, which means the shower was pretty much freezing cold.

Vietnam was hot, muggy, and humid, but the freezing cold water wasn't better in contrast. I had to get my ass out after five minutes.

Then we went back to our hooch and started playing checkers, using a set Greene had gotten. The TV we had was not working unfortunately, and all we got was a static screen. So the only thing we had to do was play cards and board games. Sometimes on dreadfully boring days, we would go to the wreck room and play ping-pong and pool, but only rarely we were allowed to go in there.

I sucked at checkers, Sergeant Clarke, Greene, Thomas, Bell, and even Wallace beat me. Rivera lost to me as his goal was just to capture as many pieces as possible so I finally beat him. He didn't seem to mind.

We put the radio on. They were playing These Boots Are Made For Walkin' by Nancy Sinatra but instead, we sung this version:

"These Gooks Are Made For Walkin',

That's just what they'll do.

One of these days these gooks,

Are gonna, walk all, over -YOU."

Then we started listening to All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix for a good bit of time. Lieutenant McDonald came in, and played a few games of checkers with us. He won all four.

He grinned, flipping us double middle fingers, leaving the hooch.

After some more time, the mama sans who cleaned around our hooches came in. They were dress in these very provoking clothes and they had some beer. I don't even think they had bras or underwear on.

Man, my dick got harder quicker than a bullet leaving a rifle barrel.

"Mmmmm.... You GIs want to fuckey-fuckey!" One of them said, smiling seductively, and we laughed. We were in for it.

"Fuckin' A!" Rivera said. But Bell reminded us that we did need to use condoms or we would get the Black VD. Apparently, It was the meanest thing you could get in 'Nam, besides the supposed: Jungle Rot. They say once you get the Black VD, you wouldn't be allowed to go back to the U.S. and you would die slowly in pain and suffering in 'Nam. I didn't believe it, but I still was going to use the condoms anyway.

I mean, you couldn't fight if your dick was burning. Couldn't work.

The only person who didn't do it was Clarke because he had his girl and didn't want to cheat on her no matter what. Bell didn't do it either, even though he's the one who reminded us about the diseases. Clarke just told us to be careful and left the hooch.

We had beer passed around and we were drinking, getting a little tipsy. I starting to dance with one girl, kissing her and grabbing her ass.

Sang Thanh was her name. She seemed pretty young, maybe early twenties, maybe even my age. I had seen her around the base for awhile, and she had always look at me with this expression of curiosity, yet content. Like she wanted to know who I was.

She was around average female height, around five-four which was tall for a Vietnamese girl, but average in the 'States. Long black hair, with a round brown face, and dark brown piercing eyes, she looked really pretty. And although she was a little frail with small dainty wrists, she had a prominent feminine shape as well.

Her nails were done and she smelled like flowers. I was surprised, because she didn't look anything like the "dirty R&R sluts" Bell had told me about.

Everyone started to chant my name to fuck her and then we went to my bunk. Things got hot real quick.

I pulled the sheets over and we kept kissing. After a minute, she pulled my fatigue pants down, and started to give me oral.

Yes it felt great. Yes, this was my first time since my senior year of high school. Yes, she could've had an STD anyway.

But you only live once.

Everyone was saying, "Ooooooo! Good job Stevie Boy!" Meanwhile they were dancing with their own mama sans, and sooner or later, I turned over and started giving her intercourse, making sure to strap up. She was moaning and moaning.

"You GI.... mmmm.... you boom-boom soooo good." Were the words I kept hearing. I almost laughed my ass off, but she felt too good.

Then we were done after like only twenty minutes. She came out of my bunk smiling and licking the semen off her lips, while trying to put her bra back on. Pretty soon after, Lieutenant McDonald came in and was looking at us all, making us stop. Our jaws dropped and the Vietnamese look frightened.

The hooch smelled like sex and elephant grass. Rivera stumbled while trying to put back on his pants. Wallace looked chill, even when caught. Thomas looked shocked as hell, his underwear barely on, with his topless mama san next to him. Greene looked confused.

"Hey TROOPS! What the fuck are you all doing?" McDonald said, in a loud tone.

"Um sir---" Thomas got cut off.

"Shut your mouth, soldier. You people are banging and drinking...." He paused for a second, and look liked he was going to curse out one of us.

"...But you fuckers forgot me!" He grinned and then we all started laughing. One of the mama sans started sucking on her finger and dancing like a prostitute, in front of him. He grabbed her and started kissing her, as she complied.

Soon after, it was all over. I watched Sang Tranh, with her dainty wrists, white heels, and beautiful pink dress leave the hooch. She would be cleaning again on whatever next op we went on.

I made sure to kiss her before she left.

"GI, you very handsome boy...." She said, smiling. "You keep alive fo' me, okay?"

"I promise you baby girl." I answered, and then she let go of my hand, leaving the hooch.

I was tired as hell for some reason, and soon after I drifted into sleep. Seemed like the war and it's boredom made you exhausted like crazy.

There were definitely more things to come.

Chapter Eight - Rain
1000 Hours - 1015 Hours (10:00 AM - 10:15 AM)

June 1, 1970

Fire Support Base Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

We didn't do shit for the rest of May. There weren't any more things to come.

Just like that. We had a few mortar attacks but nothing major. Only a few guys got killed in May in our whole battalion. The month was just endless, depressing boredom. We had the same shitty food, so that didn't help either.

On May 30, It rained. It's still raining. All the ammo dumps are getting soaked with mud. The guys in the artillery batteries were just getting tired and tired of attempting to clean them and then they just gave up.

The rain kept on hitting the base, turning it into a muddy wasteland filled with trash and clay. Thunder exploded with force through the air, as lightning followed behind it. Supplies obviously couldn't come in, because it was too dangerous for helicopters to operate in very bad weather.

So we were stuck in our hooches. We hadn't showered in around two or three days, because we heard it's dangerous to shower during thunderstorms. The funk of the hooch was starting to increase.

Right now, we were siitting around eating C-Rats and cleaning our weapons. C-Rats were the canned food rations that the army gave you. We just had breakfast at the mess hall a couple hours ago, but since supplies were short, it was even worse than usual.

And we were hungry as hell. So we ate some of our rations, that weren't even better than the mess hall's lousy chow, but that was a whole different story.

"You guys hear about dudes around Dak To cutting the ears off of dead dinks?" Greene started talking. His '60 was laid across his bunk in like five different parts.

"Sure have. They want Mr. Cong as a war trophy." Wallace said.

"Yeah, a war trophy they can tell their mothers about." Thomas said. He was checking the ammo on his M16 and M79.

"They're even wearing the ears as necklaces. Fucking sick bastards." Greene was cleaning the barrel of his M60.

"I heard they raped some thirteen year old too. It's all fuckery, I'm tired of hearing about this shit." Bell added on.

"Hey that's what happens when you got some dudes who go dinky dau, man." Sergeant Clarke was saying. He was eating turkey loaf, and grimaced because of the taste.

Dinky dau was a Vietnamese term for going crazy or losing your mind. Hence, that's why we called the enemy 'dinks' at times; Because the things they did seemed fuckin' crazy to us.

Clarke continued.

"They start actin' like the VC themselves. Why do you think we got those protesters on our asses thinking all of us do this? It's because of those creeps." He threw his turkey loaf in the trash, and walked out the hooch. He stood in front of it, and as he always would, lit a Marlboro cigarette.

The rain finally began to settle down.

A little while after, Captain Cunningham gave us the word that we were gonna be packing some sandbags around some new bunkers around the base, with two squads from Charlie Company.

No one wanted to do it. No one. But orders were orders.

As expected, the dirt was all muddy and murky from the rain, making it basically clay. We began to work, making our fatigues turn brown and murky just like the clay. The work was tiring and uncomfortable, as you had to pack the sandbags thick with mud and whatever else you could find. Completely filled, they were around fifty pounds. But mud was heavy, due to all the water that was a part of it, which made the sand bags more like sixty pounds.

It sucked bad.

"I'd rather be in school sleeping in class then doing this crap." Greene said, exhausted. His fatigue jacket was unbuttoned, where his dog tags dangled on his bare chest. Both hands were filthy with mud, looking like he had just wiped diarrhea out of his ass.

"Same here," Bell said, grinning. "Maybe I should've stayed in college and kept playing beer pong."

It was the three of us around one fortification, helping each other place the bags. Bell would scoop out the thick puddles of water in the mud with a shovel, while Greene would take the mud with his bare hands, and place it into a bag that I was holding. Then I would place the heavy ass bag around the bunker.

Twenty meters from us were the rest of the squad doing the same at another fortification.

"Maybe you should've. What the fuck is in Columbus anyway?" Greene asked.

"I mean not much, it's just another big city to me. It was fun being at Ohio State man. I felt like I finally got to experience things. It was crazier than high school and that's what I loved about it." Bell said, shoveling a large scoop of water to the side.

"The anti war stuff, it was there but I didn't care at the time, I was having too much fun. It wasn't until one of my childhood friends came back from 'Nam in late '67 that the shit really start to hit me, and I wanted to join up."

"You think that was the best choice for you?" I asked, seriously.

"I don't know Steve, that's for God to decide. All I know is, after this, I'm going to be back in Columbus, doing the same shit I was before. That's all."

"See Bell," Greene flicked the filth off his hands. "I don't know how you could do college. I fuckin' hated school, it just wasn't for me. Especially in upstate New York, which basically no one cares about."

"You enlisted?" I asked.

"Yeah man, I'm a fucking moron," He said this with enthusiasm. "I'd rather be in danger and shooting shit up, then being bored and feeling purposeless in shitty little Rochester. It doesn't not make me an idiot though."

"Why's that?" Bell said.

"Because I could die, and I'm still bored ninety-nine percent of the damn time. And oh, the war might just be purposeless as well."

"So yup, both of you are fuckin' dickheads for joining. Congrats on your fine achievements." I said sarcastically, and they laughed.

"Hey man, just because you got drafted doesn't mean you're not an idiot. You could've went to Canada." Greene grinned.

"Yup." Bell added.

"You're right, I am just another dickhead. But not as big of a dickhead as you two. I'm proud of that." I answered, and all three of us settled on it.

I looked across from me, and saw Wallace throwing a filled sandbag with ease. He looked weird as fuck.

Wallace had chopped his hair almost bald, and for some reason, looked much lighter than he usually looked. Instead of being dark-skinned, he was brown-skinned, maybe even light-skinned. Corporal Erin from Charlie Company asked what the hell had happened to him.

"I used this lotion I had gotten from one of the Vietnamese ladies we was with. I guessed it don't work too good." He turned away.

Clarked sighed, and you could see a small smirk under his sigh.

"See I told you people to not mess around too much with these bitches," He said. "Wallace, you better hope that shit wears off or you're gonna be looking like a light skinned cancer patient." A few guys from Charlie Company giggled.

Wallace raised his eyebrow. "Just go fuck yourself." He said with one of the coldest tones I'd heard in awhile. I know Clarke felt those words deep down to his balls.

I know I did.

Clarke paused shoveling for a second, stood up high, and then Wallace walked over to him to see what Clarke was gonna do. We were watching.

"Yeah, what you gonna do white boy? Just 'cause you a Staff Sergeant, don't mean shit."

"Get the fuck out of my face." Clarke demanded.

Wallace sneered at Clarke in a taunting manner. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Clarke simply shaked his head and walked away. He didn't like Wallace saying that --- you could see it all over his face --- but he didn't want anything to do with Wallace. He didn't have time for bullshit.

Wallace was cool, believe me he was. But his attitude, and the way he carried himself could push anyone's buttons. He couldn't take certain jokes, and little things like that. He hasn't pushed MY buttons yet, but when he does, he'll best have another thing coming for him.

We continued working, trying to make the sandbags about five to ten feet high around the bunkers. We kept adding and putting as much mud as possible in there, until I heard a pop. A few seconds later,

WHACK!

Sniper.

The round grazed by my head and smacked into a sandbag, which exploded with mud into my face. The impact had my whole head ringing and I blacked out.

"Hey Steve! Wake up, man!" I felt a palm lightly slapping my face. I looked up and It was Rivera.

"Where am I?"

"You're in the 'Nam, my man!"

I checked my watch and It read 1015 hours. It had only been fifteen minutes. A mortar round landed near Rivera and he flinched.

"Yo give me a hand..."

He raised his hand and helped me up. My head was hurting and I felt tired. Really tired. I was in one of the bunkers with Rivera.

I'm guessing he'd drag me inside.

Then we ran out, and I saw Greene on the '60 firing rounds directed toward the hills. Guys from Charlie and Bravo Company were assisting the artillerymen in cleaning the mud off the shells, which meant quickly throwing water on the shell and shoving it in the howitzer.

Sooner or later, we ran out of the bunker, which quickly got engulfed in flames after an enemy mortar landed in it.

Unfortunately, Rivera barely made it out and got seriously wounded. He had some shrapnel wounds in his legs and he fractured his arm. The hellish wound was seeping with blood out of his arm, where you could see the bone.

"Man, just leave me here. Fuck it, I was meant to die...." He said, weakly.

"NO! No way!" I grabbed him up and he put his arms around my shoulders and I carried him for about twenty feet. I laid him down, and then Thomas ran over with some meds.

Thomas ripped his fatigue shirt open because mud and filth were beginning to get in the wounds. I was helping him put some bandages on Rivera, while Wallace and Bell ran over and provided some cover fire for us. Bell had gotten his piece hooked by some grass and Wallace disentangled it for him. Wallace grinned.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant McDonald was firing his CAR-15 with Clarke beside him about thirty meters from us.

"Hey Rivera, you're going back to The World, man!" Thomas said.

Rivera was weak as hell and slowly said, "I hope so.... I'm pushin' for it...."

The attack ended after a bit, and then we called in the chopper. Two guys from Charlie Company got killed, and the choppers extracted Rivera and the dead guys.

I didn't think about the dead guys. I did not know them. I knew Rivera, and I was worried about him. I hoped he made it out alive.

He was a gentle soul, a real nice guy who didn't speak much but loved to laugh. He was raised through segregation in Alabama, being ridiculed for having a black mother and Hispanic father.

"You're a spick and a coon, how does it feel boy?" The kids at school would tell him.

Then he eventually got into the army, following his dad's footsteps. Maybe his gentleness came from his hard childhood, I don't know.

I just hoped he made it out alive.

"You're gonna make it back to The World, man." Bell said.

"Yeah, don't forget about us!" Lieutenant McDonald added on.

The chopper began to lift off and Rivera gave us the thumbs up sign. We smiled and waved back.

"Bye bye, Vietnam! See you later mothafuckas!" He screamed with joy, as the chopper continued to climb higher, higher.

And higher. He was going home.

Chapter Nine - The 'Nam Groove
1924 Hours (7:24 PM)

June 14, 1970

Fire Support Base Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

One of the best parts of the day. Mail call.

We got a letter from Rivera. He said he was doing okay, and had been in five surgeries so far. They had to remove some muscle from the shrapnel wounds in his legs, but not anything too major. He had gotten some screws in his arms to let his arm heal well, and he would keep the arm, thankfully.

He joked about the biggest thing he had to worry about was getting fat off of C-Rats. I found that funny because they tasted horrible.

What was also interesting, was that I received a letter from Greene's sister, Sharon. She stated that Greene had told her a lot about me, and I seemed really nice. She even included how I wanted to be a seismologist, which I told Greene but to keep secret. Sharon also said to take care of Greene so he came home alive, and that he thought too much about anti-war demonstrations and his girlfriend Charlotte.

Sharon continued on, stating that she hated Charlotte because "she was a gold digger", but Greene didn't see it and loved Charlotte so much. Then she said she trusted me, and that she loved Greene to dead, and that "Whoever is a friend of Oliver [Greene], is a friend of mine."

It really touched me, it really did. You just didn't expect white folks or black folks to get along so well during times like these, but Greene and I did, even with his family.

We had gotten off to a shaky start, but now he was one of my great friends. I trusted Greene a lot. I knew he'd lay his life for me, and I'd definitely do the same for him.

I asked Greene about the letter while we were in our hooch drinking beer and playing chess. Wallace had gotten a board and pieces from a dude in Bravo Company, so we had chess and checkers. I pulled the letter from under my bunk and It read:

Sharon Greene

925 Monroe Avenue

Rochester, New York, 14624

"Hey Greene? Your sister is realnice, man." I said, smiling.

"I don't play that sister stuff Steve." He answered, concentrating on the game. He moved one of his pawns on the chess board. I captured it with my bishop. I was winning.

FOR ONCE.

"No, man. Seriously."

"How do you know?" He asked.

"She sent me a letter. You told her about me?"

"Yeah I did." He said, grinning sheepishly. "Let me see the letter."

"Nope."

"Why the hell not?" He said.

"I mean it's your sister, but she sent the letter to ME, not you." I answered.

He shook his head, and then shrugged.

"Whatever man. If you ever come to Rochester, keep away from her, alright? She doesn't need another boyfriend."

"Maybe."

"No that's a yes, seriously."

"Hey Greene, what about that girl Charlotte?"

"Aww shit, Sharon told you about Charlotte? She's always doing that, telling my business and stuff." He cringed a little.

"Yep." I said.

"Okay, now let me see the letter." He asked.

I said no again, and then he sucked his teeth.

"Fuck off Steve. Sharon had better not told you much about her."

"She didn't," I said, grinning.

"Man stop smiling, what the fuck. It's creeping me out, and it looks like you're lying through your teeth." He answered.

"Nah man, she didn't. Trust me."

"Alright then. It's your turn, move your piece."

We continued playing for however long. I easily won but I think he let me win. He didn't have no strategy except to capture as many pieces as possible until he reached my king. I was glad I won. I didn't want anything hard to do.

Last but not least from mail call was another letter from Jerry. He said that he had gotten a job as a sandwich maker at a local deli around the block.

Jerry was good at that type of stuff. He always said he wanted to become a chef and he wanted me to try out his, "Most amazing creation of sandwiches that would make you never eat school lunch again!" Jerry also said Dean Taylor, a dude I knew back in high school, had gotten killed around An Khe with the 1st Cavalry.

Dean Taylor? When the hell did he get in the army? Dean was an anti-war protester and had no business with Vietnam. When I got drafted, the dude told me to burn my card but I always declined and he would sigh at me, looking at me as if I was some type of asshole or something. The day before I left where we went on a date with some girls, he finally apologized and told me to stay alive and come home, no matter what's going on over here.

I didn't really know how to feel honestly. I mean it sucked and I knew Dean, but I wasn't extremely close with him. I just felt bad for his family, I know they're hurting. And that's the worse part.

The rest of the mail was that Wallace got some Reader's Digest magazines and a bill from the telephone company. The magazines were alright.

Later on, we got some new equipment from the armory. Two CAR-15s, the carbine versions of the M16A1, which Clarke and Bell took and replaced their M16s. The barrel on Clarke's '16 was bended.

The armory sergeant, the guy who was in charge, gave another soldier the M16.

"Hey, what the hell is this?" The soldier said. He had a big head, slim built and had black hair. His rank was PFC, and his name was Gavin.

"Your new weapon." The armourer said.

"The barrel is bended. I can't use this shit."

The armourer nudged it forward, "It's your fucking weapon, okay? Take care of it."

"NO! I ain't taking this shit!" Gavin was pissed.

Lieutenant McDonald came over and wanted to see what was all the commotion about.

"Lieutenant, this guy is trying to get me killed out here! How am I going to fight with a bended rifle?"

Lieutenant McDonald was tired, tired of all the whining and fighting. He simply told the armourer to give the guy a brand new M16 and that was that.

Our squad also got another sixty and a barrel for it, which Wallace took and replaced his M16.

It fit his big, black ass. He smiled with content when he first held it.

However, Clarke started explaining how Wallace didn't need the extra sixty, and he didn't like that. Then they got into a heavy argument, firing back insults and such.

Then the insults gradually became racial.

They got real close to each other and Wallace was pushing Clarke away from him. What ending up happening was that Wallace sent the sixty back to the armoury and got an M16. He was real reluctant to do it, but I guess he didn't want to lose his temper over stupid shit anymore.

"Hey, you guys think we're gonna have a race problem over here?" Thomas asked. He look worried.

"Don't mean nothing to me, man. A man fighting by my side, is a man fighting by my side. I don't care about his color." Greene said.

"Agreed." Thomas answered.

"Maybe if Wallace could stop being a fuckin' asshole for once, crap like this wouldn't always happen. He's always in the middle of it, when shit like this happens." Bell looked annoyed, as usual.

"I guess you're right," Thomas said. "But we don't know too much about the dude. He has his own reasons for the way he acts. I won't judge him much, but I hope he gets it together though."

"Hey Thomas, you Christian?" Greene asked.

"Why?"

"Because you sound fair and gentle like a damn minister." We laughed a little.

"Haha yeah, my dad is." Thomas said, snickering.

Then Clarke came in, and looked at us for a good minute. I guess he'd heard what we were talking about.

"If you guys think I'm some type of fucking racist, that's fine, I don't care. I know who I really am. But I won't take shit from any of you or anyone. Understand that. "

"Who the hell said you were racist? We were just asking if we were gonna have a race problem, that's all. Everything else you said isn't my problem, 'Sarge." I said.

Clarke looked at me regretfully, probably because he knew I was right.

Then he left the hooch. I don't know where he went. Lieutenant McDonald came over a couple minutes after and asked if we were alright.

We all nodded.

Clarke felt bad. Maybe he did, I don't know. But the squad didn't need all this racial crap to get us separated. Wallace and I were the only black dudes and we knew that. We understood that. It wasn't like a look out for each other mentality, but we did understand the sense of things.

Things weren't always going to be fair, and I understood that. We both did.

But, this was Vietnam where the goal was to just get out alive. Who the hell ever said anything about race or protesting? This was our war, our generation. We were going to do what was necessary to survive, It was just the way It was.

Race couldn't be a factor.

But you know what? It is what it is though. Whatever happens, happens.

Chapter Ten - Terror
0800 Hours (8:00 AM)

June 21, 1970

Hill 923, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam 

We have been at Firebase O'Reilly since the 16th, taking it under control from some of the South Vietnamese troops (ARVN).

The ARVN were pretty much garbage and useless. They just didn't have anything up to offer against the NVA, and if you were in the shit with them, it was almost certain you were fucked.

Firebase O'Reilly was close to Ripcord. It wasn't much different. Howitzers, mountains, hills, hooches, bunkers; all the same. O'Reilly was going to be used as a support base to Ripcord and provide artillery and mortar fire for the guys down there.

We were going to do our patrols from there, until further notice.

At 0700 this morning, I sprung up from bed in terror. I had had a horrible dream. In the dream, we had been bombarded my artillery shells in a sporadic attack. Our company was accidentally hit by friendlly howitzers and we started taking casualties. I lost both of my arms, just like Williams.

I was crying and praying for someone to help me but no one was there. Then a NVA soldier popped up, and grins at me. I try to reach for my M16 but I had no limbs to support me, while he snatches the '16. He throws his AK-47 at my face, fracturing my nose. As a form of disrespect, he fires two M16 rounds into my lungs.

He finished me off with my own fucking weapon!

The dream ended, just like that. Greene was putting on his fatigues and came over to me.

"Hey you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah. I guess so." I was cold, strangely.

"Well, you were having some violent movements on your bunk, man. I swear I thought I saw you trying to reach for your M16, maybe you were going to fire on us. I don't know, you weren't conscious. Just stay well, okay?" He smiled, uneasily, and patted me on the shoulder.

Then I went to the latrine, and puked my guts out. Sweating and full of nausea, I tried to keep my composure.

It was by then that I realized in 'Nam, the things you thought you could forget about, you just could not. It was different in the movies, very different. Killing was something you had to become. It just was.

I kept it all together, grabbing my fatigues and fitting on my boots. Then I went to the mess hall.

They were giving powdered eggs, toast and dehydrated potatoes with sour cream. I sat at the table where the squad was. Everyone was looking at me.

"What...?" I asked.

"You okay? We saw you moving crazy all over the place when you were sleeping, man. Greene said you had a bad dream." Sergeant Clarke had a stack of toast that was quickly disappearing. He had crumbs all over his mouth.

"I'm fine. It's nothing..." I didn't want to talk about it.

There was nothing to explain. I'm sure a lot of the guys had dreams or thoughts the same way I did, but I didn't know.

Because no one talked about it. And that's exactly what I was going to do as well. I just had to compartmentalize everything. Put it in a box, or a space, and keep it to myself.

"Anyway, Cunningham's got us on patrol." Clarke said, wiping crumbs off his mouth.

"I got briefed down yesterday, and apparently our platoon is suppose to go on a hill fifteen hundred meters from the base with two platoons from Charlie Company. This ain't the hill from last time and estimates say at a battalion of these dinks. I forgot which regiment, but I'll ask LT."

"Charlie Company is gonna leading the search for the NVA, while we provide support, and march up with them. Same old same old, pack all your shit and be aware for anything."

"Honestly, I just hope we make it out of there, man. That's all that matters right now. A whole battalion isn't any joke. We don't have nearly enough guys and it's all chance by this point." Clarke shaked his head and then finished his last piece of toast. He continued on to the eggs and potatoes.

We sat silently for a little while until Bell said something.

"I really hope he doesn't become Barrile," Bell said. "I'm not liking these missions one bit."

"We've always been marching and doing this shit," Clarke explained. "It's just these days we're usually outnumbered like a motherfucker."

"Man I don't know how to feel," Thomas said. "I really don't."

"Hey fuck these damn Charlie, eat your eggs, they're getting cold." Bell answered, and Thomas looked like he didn't have an appetite anymore. Greene looked bored. He had heard the news, but I guess he just felt neutral.

"We'll be okay. We'll do what we can." Clarke said and things went a little silent for half a minute.

We spotted Wallace walking through the mess hall, tray in his hands, with a OD green tank top on. His arms looked as big as my thighs.

Clarke and Bell turned away, their obvious grudge against him being put to display. He didn't seem to give a fuck, as he stopped in front of us, and motioned me over with his fingers.

I got up and went over to him, as I followed him to another table.

"Hey guys, chill." I heard Thomas say, looking at Bell and Clarke.

We sat down, as Wallace began munching.

"Look man, why the fuck you coonin'?" He asked me, as I looked at him eating. Another soldier behind him heard him, and shook his head. I looked at him, face with confusion.

"What the fuck are you talking about, that's the squad over there. All of us are in this together."

"So what if that's the 'squad', you think that mothafucka' Clarke is gonna lay his life down for you? Or Bell either? Really think about that. We gotta be in this together."

"What the hell is this, we man? It's either you with us or you alone. That attitude isn't helping you any bit either." I said to him.

He smiled, as he devoured some potatoes in his big mouth.

"Whatever. You obviously not woke since you Uncle Tomin' and shit. It's alright though, you'll learn."

"Nah you'll learn. You'll learn that not every white man you see is the enemy or the system. That in order for your ass to stay in one piece, none of that race shit matters over here. These Charlie don't give a fuck whether you negro or orange, if they see you you're fuckin' dead."

"Hey what you know about these 'Charlie'? These NVA mothafuckas? Your ass only been here a few months, and you think you know it all. Thinking you know who to trust. You ain't know jack shit." He said, tone getting more angry.

"Whatever man," I was getting irritated. "I don't give a fuck anymore. Trust who you want, but when you in the shit, you'll see who's there to pull your ass out of it."

"That's great baby boy. I know it won't be you with ya' pretty little face. You not cut out for this shit." He grinned, his stupid little grin that he always did to imply sarcasm.

"Fuck off." I got the hell up and went back to the squad's table. From the corner of my eye I could see Wallace laughing and shaking his head. I flipped him the middle finger.

I got back to the table, and Greene asked what's going on.

"I can't get through to him man, I give up."

"Don't waste your time Steve. Just worry about yourself." Clarke said.

"Yup. Nothing you can do." Bell added on.

"Damn that sucks. He has to get it together." Thomas said, hopefully almost.

"He will," Greene said. "We just have to leave him alone first. Just to not say much if anything at all to him."

"We're already doing that man." Clarke responded.

"No 'sarge, only Thomas and I are doing that. Just stay off his case for awhile."

"That's what the fuck I'm doing Greene. What are you saying right now?" Clarke looked at Greene like he was stupid, and Bell smiled slightly, like he was about to giggle.

"Okay okay, whatever. You got it." Greene shrugged, as he then got up and threw the food's leftovers off the tray, into the trash.

Then we all finished up, and walked back to our hooch. It was 0730 hours by this point. Lieutenant McDonald was in the hooch, playing around with a handball. He was sitting in front of the hooch table where we played board and card games.

"What's good LT?" Bell said.

"Nothing much, I just want to let you know what to prep up. I gave Clarke the deal down yesterday, but I wanted to tell you to take your flaks this time."

The flak jackets were made to protect against shrapnel, snake bites, mosquitoes, and small bullet wounds. Again, they were just too hot and too heavy.

"Why is that?" Wallace said from his bunk, as everyone else didn't pay attention to him. "I hate marching up with all that damn weight on me."

"The thing is man, I don't want any fuckin' casualties, in case we have something that happened like last time. Like with Delta Company. If it did happen, I'd rather you be in a flak then with nothing else."

"Yeah Lieutenant," Greene chimed in. "But I mean, what is it really gonna do? Once you're hit you're hit. That's it. All that thing does is keeping the snakes away, and taking finger nail sized pieces of shrapnel."

"I get that. But look at this way. Better safe than sorry. Better to have a very slim chance than no chance of being alive."

"Fuck LT, that's all you got?" Bell said, annoyed.

"Yup unfortunately. Pack up, we're heading out in ten minutes." He left the hooch. Clarke was silent. He looked almost worried.

We started to pack and that was that.

We were airlifted to the hill at 0740 hours, reaching it at 0800. The ride was rough, really rough. As usual, it was raining and gloomy in the clouds, effecting the way the helicopter moved and handled. It was shaking and swerving around the whole damn ride. I thought we had gotten hit.

"Hey what the fuck is going on!!?" Clarke was screaming, and he was about to fall out of the chopper. He was on holding on for dear life on the mounted machine gun, as the door gunner was trying to help him back in.

"It's just a lot of wind. Just a lil' rain, hold on fellas!" The pilot said.

Thomas was trying to hold on to the handles. Greene was holding on to my collar. I was holding on to nothing.

This swerving and shaking continued on for what seemed like an eternity, until it climaxed.

BOOM!

The rocket ripped through the tail rotor. The helicopter swerved all the way to the right and the door gunner hit the side of his head against the door, stumbling inside.

"We're hit, we're fucking hit!" Clarke yelled. This time, we really were.

Thomas grabbed the phone and called Charlie Company.

"Hitman Zero Three, this is Zero Two. We've been hit my enemy rocket fire! We're going down!"

"No we ain't!" The pilot said.

"We still got control of the main rotor," he was saying, "The tail rotor is shit but we can control it down!

"Then why the fuck is it still swerving??!" Wallace was holding on to the handle of one of the doors.

"Hold up, man!" The pilot's name tag was "ADAMS"

The thing kept swerving and finally stopped and got into an emergency landing position. I prayed in my head, and held on for dear life.

God don't make me die in this shit....

The smoke was starting to engulf the helicopter and then we started coughing. Bell spat out the doors.

The chopper started to violently descend on a patch of grain paddies and then we finally touched the ground. It skid about ten meters on the dirt and shaked like crazy.

We all bailed out and scraped against the paddies. The pilot finally got the thing to stop.

"Aw, fuck." Greene was moaning on the soil. The vines had slashed his arms and he was bleeding. His flak jacket was shredded.

I grabbed him up by both arms and I dragged him along. He collapsed under me.

"Yo, you alright man?!" I said.

"Yeah..."

He got up on his own this time. He was okay.

We looked and found everyone else. They were okay and had sustained very minor injuries.

"Let's go take this fucking hill...." Sergeant Clarke said. He was tired.

The other choppers landed safely after and the other door gunners shot the hell out of the hill.

McDonald ran over to us and asked us if we were alright.

"Yeah, we're good." Wallace said. Men from Charlie Company helped the pilot and door gunners out of the helicopter gave them aid.

We started up the hill with Charlie Company. Greene laid down a nice line of machine gun fire against bunkers of soldiers spraying rounds towards us. Other NVA soIdiers began scrambling to get into their fighting positions with their comrades as we cut them down with barrages of gunfire. Some began scrambling back as they saw our firepower, but they too, were cut down in seconds.

At about twelve o'clock ahead, I saw an NVA soldier hiding under a ditch, twenty meters in front of me. He seemed lost, confused in the fighting as his fellow comrades were being cut down by us. God, he looked so young.

He literally looked like he had no business being there. It weighed on my mind heavily, and I almost felt helpless for him. He was probably forcibly recruited into the NVA anyways, which was unfortunate.

Under a hail of fire, I was playing mind games with myself, trying to figure out if I should fire on him. However, sooner or later, he popped his head up with his AK-47 high over his head, trying to reload his weapon and fire on us, but then Clarke screamed in my ear to shoot him.

"Steve, get that fucking zipperhead!" Clarke said, with a sense of anxiety. I also immediately snapped back into reality, realizing the NVA soldier was still a combatant and was trying to kill me and my brothers. As of course, there was no fucking way I was letting that happen.

I lifted the M16 and pulled the trigger. His body flipped back and he lay on the floor bleeding from his hips. I killed him!

Then I realize it was fucking REAL! Shit was personal. I had taken his fucking life and now he was gone. It wasn't the same anymore.

This slipped my mind, but literally a minute later, a soldier next to the right of the NVA soldier I had just killed pulled out an RPG, rocket-propelled grenade. He then raised his arms up high and then he pulled the trigger, discharging the round.

Oh God, please don't make me die.

The round hit the dirt in front of us, thankfully, but still sent a bunch of soil and shrapnel flying into us. My fatigues were dirty as hell. Seconds later, Bell pumped a large burst into the soldier who had shot the RPG, and flapped back into the dirt, like a rag doll.

It then hit me that a guy from Charlie Company trying to move his M60 into position was right in the path of the RPG explosion.

I saw his body in front of me and there was a massive chest wound, the size of a plate. The heart was still beating and blood was gushing out of the wound. There was charred, burning flesh right above the hellish wound, and his eyes were rolling into the back of his head. His mouth was also twisted and open as he tried to gasp for air.

My eyes moved towards his legs, and those too were badly mangled and burned. I turned away. I didn't wanna see it, I just didn't.

It looked so inhumane, I'd never seen anyone look like that. I then crawled up a little, and pulled him by his collar, which crunched in my hand as it was slightly charred, and dragged him to safety. A medic from Charlie Company named Mills saw him, and he made a large grimace. He then started to work on him, even though I was sure he was gonna be dead in a matter of minutes.

We continued to shoot the shit out of the hill, and then started calling in for artillery to lit out any remaining NVA soldiers hiding under ditches or fighting positions as well.

"Hey Redleg! Heavy artillery up top the hill. Requested immediately!" Said Bell, as he was on the phone.

"Roger that, Hitman Zero Two!"

The artillery lit up the top of the hill and I saw bodies of NVA flying in the air. I remembered how Delta Company had gotten it and I started scrambling down the hill, with the rest of the squad following. Sooner or later we were at the base of the hill, and the sound of gunfire had calmed down considerably.

It was over. It seemed like a whole hour, but it had only been fifteen fucking minutes. We started walking back up the hill and the whole damn place was littered with dead soldiers.

There were also civilians from a nearby village who had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire, which was seriously unfortunate. We never intended for collateral damage, and it was the worst.

"There is fucking slant-eyes all over the place." McDonald said, "Whole fuckin' battalion we wasted in less than half an hour. Look for wounded civilians and NVA. These fuckers probably used the innocent as shields." McDonald shook his head and then spat at the ground. He seemed tired and disgusted, as we all were.

We started looking around and Greene and I found a teenaged Vietnamese boy and another teenage girl, crying over a woman. The woman had a bullet wound in her stomach. The boy, who looked to be about fifteen, was crying like crazy, as well as the girl. The boy was holding the Vietnamese woman with his arms.

"Holy shit. Hey Bell, check this out man." Greene motioned him to come over.

"It's a fucking gook. These assholes were probably working with the NVA." Bell raised his CAR-15 and shoved in a new clip. He was preparing to kill.

"Hey hey, don't fucking shoot them, man!" Sergeant Clarke ran over and slapped the weapon out of Bell's hand. He got Thomas to treat the kids wounds and then he brought them over to Lieutenant McDonald. McDonald then brought the kids to some guys in Charlie Company.

"Take them to HQ." Lieutenant Bienstock from 1st Platoon mentioned to Charlie Company. "Interrogate them if they know anything about the North Vietnamese."

Then two sergeants took the kids and brought them over to our perimeter. As we waited for an exfil from the hill, the sergeants were kidding around with the girl, asking her that we needed some cheerleaders and asking the kid if he scored on some Vietnamese. Then the boy whispered in the girl's ear and she came over.

She exploded.

The impact ripped the limbs of the sergeants, with one getting decapitated. It literally shook everyone, with guys falling down no where near the blast, as if the shock wave physically and mentally destroyed you. The boy started to run as fast as he could, before Greene grabbed the sixty and opened up on him.

The rounds kicked up the dirt and then smacked into his rib cage. A couple of rounds smacked into his neck, slightly decapitating the boy. He laid there and the dirt quickly began filling up with a pool of blood.

We didn't say anything. Thomas and Lieutenant Bienstock picked up the limbs of the soldiers, one by one. Nothing said. Sergeant Clarke eyes were glistening with tears, and the exfil finally arrived.

The choppers came and took the bodies. There were still some civilians down at the nearby village next to the hill but the door gunners shot everything in their paths. The little South Vietnamese ran, before getting cut up by a neat line of ammunition. The door gunners fired so many rounds, the M60s started to overheat.

It began to rain.

Chapter Eleven - In The Wire
0700 Hours - 2000 Hours (7:00 AM - 8:00 PM)

July 1, 1970

Firebase O'Reilly, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

We didn't talk about it. We didn't. The girl, her flesh splattered all over the place. No parts nothing. Just red and pink.

Then the sergeants.. God, the fucking sergeants! Their names were Staff Sergeant Brendon Graves, 29, and Sergeant David Harris, 25. I remember how LT. Bienstock looked when put on the white gloves and pick up each limb one by one, along side Thomas.

Their eyes were both glistening with tears. Clarke had his hand over his face and didn't say nothing.

Then we found one of the heads of the soldiers. Nothing, no face. Eyeballs dangled down the cheeks where vicious flesh and blood was streaming down, rhythimically. The mouth was sliced off by large protruding pieces of shrapnel. The flesh was spiking out all over the forehead and the nose was sliced in half. The ears were charred.

Thomas picked up the head. I still remember the zip of the body bags. Something I will probably never forget.

Sometimes during the week, I would just cry for them without even noticing it and Wallace would catch me and comfort me.

Greene skipped lunch for the rest of the month. He ate breakfast, went to the hooch, lay on his bunk, and just read magazines.

Then one time when he finally went to lunch, we asked him what was going on.

"Hey Greene, you care about the people over here?" Wallace asked.

"NO." Greene said, with a quick reply.

"Yeah because all these slant-eyes are VC and NVA." Bell added on and tried to smile.

"Sure..." Greene said, softly.

"Look it's okay to feel bad about these people over here, man. It really is. You don't have to hold no grudge on 'em." Thomas said. He patted Greene's shoulder.

Then Greene raised his eyebrow. "Me holding a grudge? Me feeling bad?" He sighed and shaked his head, "Never happen." And walked out the mess hall, just like that.

We were starting to forget. Finally.

So this morning at 0700, Ripcord has been attacked. ATTACKED! We were sleeping at O'Reilly when exactly at 0703, the loud sounds of mortars and artillery came outta nowhere. Captain Cunningham kept receiving radio from Delta Company that the base was getting teared up by rockets and mortars.

"Hitman Zero Two, this is Zero Four! We're getting heavily bombarded by enemy fire! Fire mission, OVER!" It was Captain Baker who was sending the radio transmissions.

The two artillery batteries, Battery A and Battery B, were getting their asses cut up by mortars and rockets, and they were paying too much attention trying to keep their asses alive instead of giving fire support to the base.

They sent us a radio transmission too.

"Hitman Zero Two, Redleg is in deep shit, requesting a fire mission!"

We all listened to the rockets and mortars.

"Those poor bastards are taking it bad..." Cunningham said, "Charlie's got them in their ass." By Charlie, he meant the North Vietnamese.

Bravo was operating around the jungle southwest of Ripcord and Charlie Company was at Hill 902, trying to secure 805. We were waiting for the go but all we could do is just watch.

We got lunch at 1200 Hours. Fuckin' chipped beef on toast. All we talked about was what was going on at Ripcord. Shit was real.

"I heard they're surrounded by five thousand NVA gooks...." Greene said.

"Man, they need to get me on that Freedom Bird [Plane that took men back to the United States from Vietnam] My time is too short for this." Lieutenant McDonald came over.

"Hey LT, why you join the U.S. Army?" Sergeant Clarke was trying a strategy to stop the flies from eating the food.

"My father. All he wanted me to do. He served as a company commander back in WWII and was there during D-Day. The guy is really decorated, with two bronze stars and four purple hearts."

"So he wanted me to do something in my life because you know; I didn't do anything in college except party and slack off with my buds, from like 1965 - 1967. He wanted me to go to Officers School' and be just like him, maybe even better."

"Then I joined the Army in '68 and took Officers School."

"Why are you here?" Wallace asked.

"They sent me to 'Nam and I was at Camp Evans in early 1970. Brought me to Ripcord and here I am."

"Hey Lieutenant, how old are you?" Clarke asked.

"24. Today's my birthday. I told you guys but whatever I guess." He smiled.

"No shit?" Wallace said.

"Yeah."

"Now I remember...." Bell said.

There wasn't much we could do. We all apologize for forgetting but McDonald told us to not worry about it. We got the other squads around and then they all gave him a happy birthday. So I went to the front of mess hall counter and asked one of the cooks if he had anything related to birthdays.

"Who's birthday is it?" He asked.

"Our Platoon Leader." I replied.

"Oh okay, cool man. I got some pound cake and ice cream? You want that?"

I replied with yes and then he brought over a big, half eaten banana pound cake with three quarts of strawberry ice cream to the side. He also gave me a small blue candle, as well. The rest of the squad came over and helped me carry it over to the tables. We thanked the cook and he smiled with a salute.

We brought it over to the table and then I shoved the candle into the cake. Then everyone in the mess hall went silent, the whole Alpha Company. Then came from all of us:

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to YOU! Happy Birthday Lieutenant McDonald, Happy Birthday toYOU!"

Then we all clapped and were cheering. Captain Cunningham came over and gave a happy handshake to McDonald. Lieutenant McDonald started to cry. The tears were streaming down and then everyone was patting his back and his shoulders.

"It's okay Lieutenant, It's okay. It's your birthday, man!" Sergeant Grear said.

"Thanks guys. I really appreciated it. You know I ain't never cried until now...." He laughed and then we did. "Haha, I'm just really touched, man."

He continued on. "Thank all of you. This is for the guys who died out here and are fighting their asses back at Ripcord."

"Now can I get a hooah!?" He smiled.

We all replied,

"HOOAH!"

We ate real good. There wasn't enough at all and we ended up finishing the whole supply of ice cream and cake the cooks had. Fortunately, they weren't pissed and warned us that we would have to wait a week until the new supply of desserts were delivered in. Okay, we could deal with that.

We finished up and hanged around the base. We sort of wanted to give McDonald a "birthday present." So, Sergeant Clarke and Grear got him a hooker, this time none for us. We were all tempting him to have sex with her and then he did. It was hilarious and all we heard was moaning and screaming. I never laughed so hard.

"GI GI! WHY YOU BOOM-BOOM SO HARD?! I JUST A LITTLE VIETNAMESE GIRL!" That had us cracking up. He came out of our hooch. We went back in and started drinking beer and playing chess.

Then starting at around 1930 hours, we kept receiving terrifying radio calls of scared men at Ripcord, getting constantly attacked by regiments of PAVN (NVA) or "People's Army of VietNam" One particular radio call was with this sergeant from Delta Company, scared out of his life. He said,

"''The fucking dinks, there right there! We're in our bunkers sitting down with our weapons but if we come out, we immediately start getting shot at. No where to go! All we hear is them saying "GI Die Tonight! GI Die Tonight!" I don't if I am gonna make it outta here, I'm scared; I'm nervous. Oh god..... Please......  Oh shit they're coming! They're COMING! LOOK OUUUUUT!!---''"

And then It gets cut off. It frightened Thomas.

"Bad dream....." Sergeant Clarke sheepishly grinned.

"Go fuck yourself, man!" Thomas shot back.

Clarke didn't like him saying that but I guess Karma's a bitch.

Then at 1945 hours, we saw an F-4 flying all over the night sky and you could actually see it drop the canisters of napalm. The bombs streaked across Hill 805 and went in a billowing cloud. It fascinated all of us, ironically. Our artillery men got on the howitzers and then a secondary bombardment started. The artillery hitting the hills sounded like "Peeeew, BOOM!"

"I hope Charlie Company is okay..." Thomas said.

Both of these bombardments continued on for another fifteen minutes, pounding Hill 805 and 902, as well as Ripcord. If those NVA took a direct hit, they wouldn't stand a chance.

It reached 2000 hours. Chow. Depressing. Finished the day.

Chapter Twelve - "Move, SHITHEAD!"
1254 Hours (12:54 PM)

July 7, 1970

Firebase O'Reilly, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

We were still waiting for the word to go. Captain Cunningham had given us the word that a recon team from Bravo Company had spotted NVA chatter and mortar tubes at around another hill, codenamed "Hill 1000" for being one thousand meters high.

Bravo Company landed at an LZ on Hill 1000 after capturing Hill 805 in a bloody battle. Bravo went back to Ripcord to replace Delta, who would in-turn go to Hill 1000.

Cunningham said sooner or later we would get the go to go to Hill 1000, to support Delta Company.

On July 2nd, Charlie Company got attack by a company-sized NVA sapper attack. Sappers, as they called it, were the North Vietnamese suicide bombers. We also heard that the NVA had carried satchel charges, which were essentially hand carried bombs like dynamite that were thrown at troops and detonated with a remote control.

Cunningham also said that this caused all types of confusion, with troops from Charlie Company not even knowing what was happening as the sappers came silently at first and detonated the bombs, surprisingly. It was impossible to even tell whether It was a mortar attack or the NVA had breached the perimeter.

We got a radio message with a Lieutenant from Charlie Company, screaming at Corporal Erin to move out.

"Move, SHITHEAD!"

"Get your head out of your ass you faggot baboon!"

Our squad was cracking up.

We also got our little portable TV from Grear to work again. Apparently one of the nobs inside had mud on it, causing the TV to short-circuit, which in-turn caused the static image. We took it out and cleaned it, then plugged in the TV and it worked.

They talked about an airline crash in Canada, specifically Air Canada Flight 621. Unfortunately, all 109 passengers and crew members passed away.

They also talked about some anti-war demonstrations and showed veterans throwing their medals in Washington.

Sergeant Clarke had a strong hatred for the anti-war movement, specifically the civilian protesters and we could all tell. I mean he didn't like the war but he didn't like being protested either.

Mail call. Thomas got a letter from his parents that stated that his brother Blake Thomas was KIA with the 23rd Infantry Division at Tam Ky around the Quang Nam Province. There was a lot of pain and frustration in the letter, stating that a platoon leader had mailed Thomas' parents information regarding to his death.

Blake was in a company, the letter stated, to look for a hamlet suspected of housing Viet Cong during the night. But during the foot patrol, the company was ambushed and repeatedly attacked by the fighters, at random.

In all the panic and confusion, the platoon leader lit up a flare which exposed the company and were then nearly over-runned by a whole battalion of VC. The worse part was VC were coming from both sides, which caused even more confusion.

Artillery was called in and a sqaud was trapped in the cross-fire, which included Blake. Taking fire from both sides, already half of the squad was lost.

Near the end of the battle, Blake was directing the remaining squad members to retreat when he got hit by a friendly artillery shell and was killed instantly. His parents said in the letter that the Lieutenant was sorry to have to write in those circumstances.

Man, I can't you how much Thomas was crying. I'd never seen a man cry like that before. The irony? We didn't say anything. No crying for us. It was as if the whole story had us in disbelieve and in total shock, so crying was just not enough.

Clarke eyes were gazing and staring into nothing. One-thousand yard stare.

"I'm sorry." Bell said.

Those were the only words we said to Thomas. This just wasn't the time for sympathy, It just wasn't. We stood there and did nothing. We played a few chess games but predominantly just silent.

This was our life.

Chapter Thirteen - Going back to The World.
1400 Hours (2:00 PM)

July 8, 1970

Firebase O'Reilly, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

Thomas went on leave to bring home the casket of his brother Blake and to attend the funeral. His time in Vietnam was over. When he left, he was crying and I hugged him tight.

"You're going back to The World, man. Vietnam is over for you." I said.

"I'm gonna miss you guys." He said, "You guys make me feel like I'm at home." We laughed, a quiet little laugh.

"Thomas, do something back in The World, man. Get the Dodge Charger, drive with the babes." Sergeant Clarke grabbed his hand and shaked it. Thomas nodded.

The Huey came in and then Thomas boarded. He waved at us and it lifted off.

I prayed in my head that he would be okay. I prayed. I wasn't exactly sure. The protesters would be treating him with hostility and deep down, we all knew that. Thomas was a quiet guy, he didn't talk much. But he was just like every one of us.

So Thomas' replacement was a dude called Private First Class. PJ (Peter-Jonathan) Nance from Riverside, California. He looked like a young version of the actor Marlon Brando and smelled like perfume and C-Rats. Sergeant Clarke introduced us to him.

"Alright, this is Nance from 2nd Platoon. He's suppose to be the replacement for Thomas and he's a good soldier." Clarke saluted him and Nance saluted back.

"What are ya about, FNG?" Bell said.

"Nothing much, man. You know how I got in the Army?" Nance said, "A bet."

"Are you serious???" Greene's eyes widened.

"Yep. Well not exactly a bet..."

"What the fuck was in your head to exactly do that??!!" I didn't believe it. No fucking way!

"It was not me, It was my parents. So damn strict about school and If you failed in education, you were like irrelevant to them. The deal was about whether I would pass my Finals Exams and go to college, or fail the exams, and get sent to military school. You got to love fucking outstanding parents!" Nance didn't seem to happy about it.

"Sheeeit." Wallace laughed, "Gotta love them parents, man."

Then Lieutenant McDonald came in and called us for lunch at the mess hall. Nance introduced himself to McDonald and they shaked hands. I think they were gonna get along just fine.

We had roast beef, mash potatoes, carrots, green peas, pound cake, and milk. Usually it was pretty good and better than some of the other dishes, so we were content. The roast beef was also the highlight of the meal.

Lieutenant McDonald got us a film projector and we were looking for some movies to watch.

"I found some movie called Guess Who's Coming To Dinner."

"This movie is okay. Just about some black guy and white lady coming to dinner. You got anything better?" Sergeant Clarke asked Lieutenant McDonald.

"No." McDonald said.

"Maybe the black guy ate all the fried chicken." Bell grinned.

"Well maybe your mama ate the damn fuckin' mash potatoes and shit her damn panties. You dig it?" Wallace said. Bell looked up at him with a pissed off expression but then grinned.

"Yeah maybe she did." Bell said and that ended the conversation.

At the end, we watched Planet of the Apes, some sci-fi film about astronauts meeting apes on a unknown planet. It was alright and we had a good time.

I got a letter from Jerry stating he had broken his ankle while playing ball. He had said he had already gotten surgery to fix it but also stated that mom was gonna have a hard time paying the medical bills.

I answered him right away. I put $100 in a letter back to him and said mom and him would be just fine.

Charlie Company was back on the hill with Delta Company for a second assault. During the first assault, Delta had reported finding seven dead NVA and with themselves sustaining two killed and seven wounded. Lieutenant Colonel Lucas had actually flown in to the hill to provide distractions for Delta and dropped ordinance for them.

The chopper took hits but LTC Lucas and the pilot were unscathed, fortunately.

Bravo Company were still getting pounded back at Ripcord. We received numerous radio calls from COs asking for fire support and our artillerymen were working their asses. Round after round, the howitzers fired until they began to overheat.

Eventually, our company would be going to the jungle around Ripcord. Eventually, we would be hunting for North Vietnamese and to kill, to kill as much as we possibly. Eventually.

We were still waiting for the word.

Chapter Fourteen - The Jungle
1030 Hours (10:30 AM)

July 10, 1970

Firebase O'Reilly, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

Captain Cunningham finally got the word this morning. Finally.

We awoke at 0700 hours. Lieutenant McDonald had came in with a damn blowhorn and screamed that thing right in our ears!

"Wake the fuck up, soldiers!" he said, "We're gonna go get some fuckin' Charlie!"

We were tired as fuck and my back was aching. Plus, I smelled. Smelled like mud and canned food. I went to the makeshift showers and showered for fifteen minutes.

Afterward, that was when Cunningham gave us the briefing: We were tasked to assault an LZ (Landing Zone) at Hill 805, "805" being for eight-hundred five meters that was secured by Bravo Company who were now at Ripcord.

The assault was to be done with Delta Company from 2nd Battalion, 501st Infantry Regiment. It was another 101st Airborne unit but It hadn't been involved in the largest fighting around Ripcord.

At the end of the briefing, he gave us the official new radio callsigns, from our battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Andre Lucas.

Then at 0900, we got breakfast. Powdered eggs, baked potato (Yeah, okay; instead of dehydrated ones), sausage patties, and two small pancakes. The sausage and pancakes were usually the best. The eggs were not the best as they were powdered and well, potato is potato, so not much I can say about that!

Lieutenant McDonald, Lieutenant Bienstock from 1st Platoon, Lt. Eldrige from 2nd, and Lieutenant Vasgersian (Vas-Ger-See-In) from 3rd Platoon were evaluating the official battalion SOI (Signal Operating Instructions) which contained the callsigns.

We went back to our hooches and spent an hour of weapon cleaning and maintenance on our vehicles. They kept on playing For What It's Worth by Buffalo Springfield on our little radio.

Good tune.

"I've never asked this question but I just feel like I should get it off my chest." Bell sighed.

"What is it?" Wallace asked.

"Like do you guys truly know what we're fighting for? Because I sure as hell don't know why I'm here, and better yet why we're here in this fucking country." Bell said.

"Freedom?" Nance was putting ammo into each clip individually, round by round. He would shove the clip in next, pull the bolt of the gun rapidly over and over again, and then take the clip out and begin the whole process again.

Sergeant Clarke shaked his head and quietly giggled.

"Man, you new guys don't know shit," He said. "You think we waste all these gooks for freedom? This is not some god-damn patriotic World War II bullshit, this is a slaughter."

He continued on. "And guess who's paying for it, getting casualties, and getting protested? Us. I'm only twenty-seven years old and I've seen a guy get his body split in half into a mangled mess by a damn land mine. This ain't the war people understand back in The World."

"Aww, motherfucking please...." Wallace said. "You think you are the only one? Stop being so damn arrogant, man."

"I'm arrogant? Okay." Sergeant Clarke exhaled.

"Hey you guys gonna set up the mosquito netting? I don't want my black ass to be bitten by some damn bugs probably working for the Viet Cong." I said, hopefully trying to cut off a confrontation.

Wallace and Clarke looked at me like I had said something wrong. Maybe I did.

I was in the wrong war.

We started packing up. I took four hand grenades, ten magazines, and tied my flak jacket to my rucksack, just in case shit got 'real'. We were also told to stack up on as much supplies as we could, because It wasn't known if we would be on the hill for a lengthy period of time.

I was scared, really scared. We didn't even know how much contact was on the hill, we were just tasked to assault and capture it. I put my hand on my chest and felt my heart beating like crazy.

We all walked out of our hooches and then the pilots and door gunners boarded the choppers. I was holding on to my M16, real tight and then I boarded the chopper, stumbling inside.

Mission Begun

Chapter Fifteen - On The Ground
1120 Hours (11:20 AM)

July 10, 1970

Hill 805, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

We ascended off at 1030 Hours. No one said anything on the ride.

I felt my heart beating so fast, I thought I was gonna faint or have a heart attack. I never felt so nervous in my life and all the butterflies were in my stomach.

Wallace looked through the doors with big darting eyes, the type of eyes of someone you saw who was determined and wanted to win. Greene was biting his fingernails and squinting his eyes. Nance sat with a blank expression; Bell was drinking from his canteen and Clarke had his helmet under his ass.

"Hey Sarge, why do you keep your helmet under there?" Nance said.

"Just in case someone wants a grenade up my butt." Clarke grinned and then the rest of us did.

We started to approach the LZ. I prayed in my head to god that It wouldn't be hot.

The door gunners looked out and signaled the chopper pilot It was clear.

Thank God. I hope I didn't use enough prayers.

The chopper stopped a few feet from the ground and we hopped out, one by one. We settled down and then Captain Cunningham started speaking to Captain Hughes from Delta Company, 2/501.

Hughes went back to his men and then Cunningham gave us the deal.

"Okay, change of plan. Lieutenant Colonel Lucas has tasked us to proceed to another LZ two hundred meters west and 2/501 will capture the hill. Stay sharp and shoot anything that isn't American. Move out."

Captain Cunningham put our platoon on point and McDonald in-turn placed our squad on the point, leading the platoon. We were walking to the side of the hill, throught thick shrubs, trees and bushes.

Shit, if we were ambushed, we would be cut up to shreds and confusion would happen. I got scared when I thought of it. I told myself not to think of it and attempted to think positive, but I knew It didn't mean much.

Just stay calm, and you'll be alright....

The sun began to rise and everything looked beautiful. The sky was clear, empty with bright sunshine. The morning breeze flowed through the trees and vegetation, and it felt good as it touched me.

The birds were chirping. There were mosquitoes buzzing around and I was swatting them with my M16. You never wanted to get bitten by mosquitoes. They weren't as bad as the fire ants but they still were a pain in the ass.

I dropped my ruck and fitted on my flak jacket. It was just too much to tie it to the ruck and hump even more weight. I put it back on, feeling like a thousand pounds, and then put my ruck back on, feeling like another thousand pounds. Man, you gotta love Vietnam.

WHACK WHACK WHACK!

Three rounds, just like that. We dove for cover and then out of coincedance, I had my helmet under my rear end.

"Hey what the fuck just happened Cap'?" Lieutenant Vasgersian said.

"I don't know. Stay sharp."

We moved up and then saw what had happened.

"You fucking idiot! What the fuck do you think you are shooting at??! You working for the Viet Cong?!" A sergeant from 1st Platoon was ruthlessly reprimanding a small private. The private had apparently fired the three shots.

"Sir, I thought I saw a Viet Cong under some bushes. It was a water buffalo....." The private sighed.

The sergeant grappled him by the collar."You're a fucking kid! A fucking kid! You think you're a damn paratrooper but you're a fucking kid! If you were a friggin' paratrooper you wouldn't be shooting at nothing in fucking Vietnam!"

Captain Cunningham came over and stopped the commotion.

"Aye aye, calm your shit down, soldier. It was a mistake, leave the boy alone. Let's just proceed."

The sergeant let go of the the young private and shot him a dirty look. Captain Cunningham told him to calm down and get shit right.

"You okay, soldier?" Cunningham asked the private.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry. I just thought---"

"It's okay soldier. Ain't no VC gonna be over here when the Screamin' Eagles comin' through. CURRAHEE!"

And we all replied "HOOAH!" with enthusiasm.

We continued on.

"Hey Steve, you think you can handle the sixty?" Greene grinned and continued his gum chewing.

"Yeah, you playin' man. I'm carrying a damn flak jacket, don't play yourself."

He laughed and then we stopped.

"Hey Captain, I think we got a bunker!" Sergeant Clarke motioned Cunningham to come over.

"Alright Sergeant, get some of your men to evaluate it. First and Second Platoon, protect our rear! Third and Fourth Platoon, protect the men in the bunker! Let's go!"

"Hey Clarke, I'm coming with you guys!" Lieutenant McDonald said.

Awww shit. That meant our squad was going in. Fuck.

We lowered down and jumped in the bunker. We moved forward and then I kicked in the bunker door and we proceeded in.

"Hey It's clear!" McDonald yelled back.

"Wait, LT. Hold up. I think we got some intel over here." Sergeant Clarke pulled out his flashlight.

"Hey McDonald when the fuck we gonna get outta here?" Wallace was anxious. He frantically looked around the bunker.

"When the Sergeant is finished. Help him out."

Me, Wallace, and Greene helped Clarke dig out the stuff under the bunker. Astonishing.

We found ten AKs and three RPGs. We even found seven captured M60s. Then there was maps. Detailing NVA moving positions through out the A Shau, where there caches were. Amazing.

"Whoa, HOLY FUCKING SHIT! We'll bring this back to the Captain." Lieutenant McDonald.

Then we saw another bunker door, about a ten-twenty feet where we were. McDonald told Bell and Nance to search it to see if there was anymore intel.

They walked over to it, weapons raised. Bell kicked in the door and then Nance proceeded in.

BOOM!

The blast knocked all of us down. The shockwave was crazy and nearly leveled the whole bunker. The damn other door leading to the room had been mined.

I looked down and felt blood on my dripping down from my forehead. I looked into the reflection of a broken piece of metal and realized I had gotten hit by shrapnel on my forehead. I looked at the rest of my body and realized everything was still intact. Okay, good.

I looked over and saw Nance. Huge, protruding pieces of shrapnel leaked blood in a constant motion from a hellish wound on the chest. Blood was gushing out of his mouth and his legs barely hanged on from a few lines of dangled flesh.

Bell was miracously okay. He had been wearing his flak jacket and It was all sliced up and he had a few minor blood wounds on his arms and legs. He also had a nose bleed.

The rest of us barely made it out alive.

"Oh god... Medic! I need a fucking medic! MEDIC!" Lieutenant McDonald screamed out the bunker. He was trapped under a large piece of debris!

I looked and then I saw the room began to be engulfed in flames. I quickly improvised. Greene was shaken up but alive. Greene and I grabbed Bell and dragged him out. He collasped under us but we still got him out.

The rest of the platoon ran in and then began escorting everyone else out. Then they ran back in and tried everything they could to pull McDonald out. The wood was just too heavy.

Nothing we could do. If we stayed there, then we would all die. We all bailed and ran out the bunker, and we left McDonald there. WE FUCKING LEFT HIM THERE!

I could hear him screaming, screaming for us to come back. He was crying at the top of his lungs to help him out but there was nothing we could do.

Then it was over. It burned down. We walked away from it. The smell of burning flesh filled our noses. Greene was crying and Bell said nothing, absolutely nothing. Sergeant Clarke went all crazed and started shooting at nothing.

"These fucking gooks! I HATE ALL OF THEM! Every single man, women, and child knew the fucking NVA planted the damn mines but didn't say nothing!! FUCKING NOTHING! NOW THE LT IS DEAD!"

I jumped on him and calmed him down. He cried, and I comforted him.

Wallace was barely okay and had been shaken up by the blast. He had no expression.

By the time It was 1120, Nance was dead. We called in the choppers and they escorted Nance out. A few of the medics gave me and Bell stiches for our wounds and that was that.

The chopper pilots asked what was going to happen to the LT's body and we said nothing. And then they asked Cunningham if we had the dog tags and he said no. Then the pilots sighed.

"What? How the hell we gonna let his folks know if he's dead if we ain't got no damn dog tags?" Wallace said.

"I don't know, I really don't fucking know!" Cunningham replied.

Okay, then. I wonder how would it feel if I wrote a letter to his family stating how he actually died.

No. I would never do it. It would be too much.

Yes and we're sorry.

McDonald deserved to be honored. He was a good soldier and he died in unfortunate circumstances.

Yes and we're sorry.

Or maybe he would just go MIA. Missing in Action, just like that. They would never list him dead, he just simply disappeared, July 10, 1970, A Shau Valley, Republic of Vietnam.

Yes and we're sorry.

I really didn't know what we would do.

Chapter Sixteen - The Shits
1400 Hours (2:00 PM)

July 12, 1970

Hill 805, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

We were camped at the LZ two hundred meters southwest from the top of Hill 805. Delta Company from 2/501 had captured the hill at around 0200 Hours and are camped at the top of the hill. We had captured more weapon caches and destroyed more bunkers on our way to the LZ.

The camp we had made was nothing more than tents made out of our ponchos that we all set up as living quarters. We added wood on the side that wasn't covered and put a sleeping bag as a bed and a floor.

There were no showers.

We didn't have any portable bathrooms or latrines, so we just took a big pipe that was deep and was long in length as a "bathroom." We would urinate in there.

We had a rusty barrel for the other task. Self explanatory.

The company also had no mess hall or anything, so we were forced to eat lousy C-Rats from our supplies. They weren't the greatest in the world and some of us had WWII-era rations, courtesy of the lousy U.S. Army.

So It wasn't much of a base, just a small, cheesy-looking camp that we thought of as our base.

Later after Nance and McDonald got killed, everything got worse. During the night that day (10th), It rained heavily and I silently weeped under the poncho I was sleeping in. Captain Cunningham was sitting against a tree, eyes glistening with tears, trying to smoke a cigarette.

I walked over to him.

"Sir..... Do you think we're gonna make it out of here?" I asked.

"I don't know, Corporal. You men.... mean everything. I can't promise that all of you will make it out of here, but I can promise we will stick together, no matter what. Got that?" He said.

"Yes sir."

I caught him trying to smile at me and he gave me a thumbs up sign. I gave him the thumbs up sign too. He was just trying to stay positive but the deaths were just so unexpecting. Just the freak nature of it: A land mine planted in a NVA bunker door for Americans to come in and died..... Horrible.

Clarke was currently Platoon Leader until further notice. (because he was highest ranking enlisted man in the platoon) Our squad only contained five of us. The word was everyone were getting short on men and replacements weren't coming in.

When I woke up in the morning today, I had the most terrible pain of my life. I thought I may have gotten the Black VD or the Jungle Rot, as they called it.

I remember in the orientation lecture (essentially a discussion held to be an authorization for troops to be orientated to a combat phase) a few days after arriving at Tan Son Nhut, the Major was telling us what to not get over here and what to be aware of.

He had a large southern accent, was really old --- had to be at least in his late thirties --- and he sort of walked with a limp. Dark rings of sweat were under his arm-pits and his neck.

"That Black VD will fry your dick off before you become sober," he said. "Runs through the veins, kills the sperm; lose your damn manhood. Send your ass to another gook island we call the Philippines and you'll be there getting your dick fried off and you'll die a slow, painful death."

I didn't believe it.

"Agent Orange will cook your insides out like a damn baked potato coming out of the oven. You'll be feeling like a dead VC by the time you only fifty because of it. Next thing you know, you'll be shitting rotten oranges out of your ass, too."

I didn't believe that, either.

"Don't get me started with the Jungle Rot. You get that shit, good luck with your diarrhea. You shit so much, gonna feel like they teared a grenade up your ass. Don't forget, you're also gonna eat penicillin for breakfest, too."

I was starting to believe it all as I laid down with horrible lower back pain. I could barely stand up and Clarke asked what was going on.

"I just woke up with extreme pain." I said.

"Do you need to dump?" He looked me up and down.

"Come to think of it, yes!" I replied.

He sighed. "Yeah, dude you have the shits."

"The what...?"

"This shits? Diarrhea? The runs?" He raised his eyebrow.

"Oh... What do I do now?"

"Eh, you'll be fine. Beware you're gonna be shitting your guts for like the whole damn day."

Yeah, thanks.

"I will get some Kleenex for you real quick from supply. You really lucky we got soft Kleenex or the wiping woulda' been more painful than the actual shit!" He grinned but then he said he would still get it.

Even better.

I walked over to a barrel about thirty meters from the camp and then covered a poncho over it. I checked the time and It was 0800 hours. Then I proceed to defecate all my insides out.

What made it worse was that the barrel was all muddy from the rain, so I got mud on my ass (not comfortable).

0845. Again. Shit the rest of my guts out and I skipped out on morning chow.

1000 hours, It happened again. I thought I was gonna be alright but all of a sudden, It returned in an instant.

1030 hours. I didn't have anything to shit out, so I just shit out murky water. My anus was starting to hurt, literally. The squad kept laughing but at the same time feeling bad for me.

1126. This time Greene came with me and he went on another barrel.

"Man you should right a song about this," He said. "Smelly Ass by Steven Perrier."

"Greene, go die."

I couldn't believe that it happened again at 1235 hours. This time, I even puked and the smell of the poop was making me nauscious. I got really scared and thought I really had the Jungle Rot.

We would have "lunch" at 1310 hours. It was really just getting together and eating the shitty C-Rats. Of course, I skipped out.

Then it reached 1400 hours and I was starting to feel better. I wasn't crapping every thirty minutes and now I was feeling hungry.

Looking for some C-Rats, I found "Ham and Motherfuckers." It was essentially the worse meal out of all. It wasn't even actually named "Ham and Motherfuckers.", it was really Ham and Lima Beans but It was so bad, we had to nickname it.

Greene trade his Turkey Loaf for mine. I thanked him and he said I needed it after shitting my guts out.

Ate it and went to bed. I started having dreams about our unit going into a hamlet and we massacred the civilians after a guy got killed by a sapper attack (North Vietnamese suicide bombers). In the dream, some men even raped some Vietnamese women.

I woke up in horror and I was sweating intensely.

God-damn, was I evil for thinking about shooting and raping people?

Chapter Seventeen - In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons - Herodus
2045 Hours (8:45 PM)

July 12, 1970

Hill 805, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

I had written a letter to McDonald's wife at 1700 hours, which Cunningham gave me the task to do. He had brought me over to his tent and we talked.

"I can't do it." I said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I just don't. I don't deserve it." I turned away.

"C'mon, soldier. If he were stuck in the boonies right now, you would write something for him!"

"But he's not in the damn boonies, sir! He's DEAD!"

For about a moment, It was silent.

"Look, Steven. Look. He's in the boonies but he's just in too deep. It wasn't the way It was suppose to be. He wasn't suppose to die and I feel guilt for making your damn squad go in that fucking bunker,"

"If you're feeling guilt, how about you write the letter, sir."

I walked out the tent. He didn't reprimand me or scream at me. From the corner of my eye, he shaked his head and turned away.

I came over to the squad and they asked me what had happened. Wallace and Clake were trying to get along and were playing soccer around the camp.

"He asked me to write a letter to McDonald's wife, I couldn't do it."

"Really?" Greene raised his eyebrow. "Because he told me to write a letter to the parents of Nance. Couldn't do that shit either."

"Who is he to lay this shit on us???" Bell was pissed.

"Don't know." Greene said

A big, fat rat jumped on Greene's bunk seconds later.

"Holy shit, get that thing!" I said.

Bell grabbed a twenty-two air rifle, and shot the rat dead on Greene's tent. Greene was mad and told Bell he had better had his tent cleaned before he came back or something was gonna happen.

Greene and I left Bell in the tent with the rat and we started playing soccer with the rest of the squad for hours, and hours.

Then we had C-Rats to eat again and then Cunningham called us for a mission briefing.

"Hey Steve, why do you think the LT and Nance got it?" Greene was holding the sixty by the shoulder, in a crouched position. I could see him ache as he held his rucksack.

It was the night. Observation Duty, fifty-meters away from the base camp. It was the mission briefing.

We were tasked to observe any enemy movement around Ripcord and other surrounding hills. Once they were spotted, we would call in the artillery and air strikes and then pound the fuck out of the area.

The owls were chirping and the fucking mosquitoes were on my neck. I kept trying to swat them with my M16 but nothing was working. Behind us, were the rest of the platoon.

I answered Greene.

"I don't know. I guess It was their time to die." I said.

"Man, I feel like they died for nothing, you know?" Greene replied.

"I get what you mean. Ain't no one back in The World like this war in fucking July 1970. You'd have to be a damn hardcore-conservative idiot to support this shit by now."

"You know I thought about burning my draft card and go to Canada," he said. "But I didn't wanna forget everything I've done in my life just to avoid a damn war. I don't regret not going nor do I support coming over here, but I just feel like our time is done over here."

We were interrupted by the sounds of claymore mines detonating.

"What the fuck is goin' on?" Wallace said.

"I don't know!" Cunningham was looking around the hill.

He took the radio from Sergeant Grear and started calling Delta Company from 2/501.

"Whiskey-Delta Actual, this is Hitman-Alpha; explosives heard about two-hundred meters from my AO! What's the deal, over?"

Cpt. Hughes gave an answer.

"Hitman-Alpha, that was the un-noticed detonation of mechanical ambushes set up by my troops. Apologies, Captain Cunningham."

That was it. It ended and we all went back to our observation positions. It was 2030 hours.

We watched and we waited. In the time we waited, we ate and rested.

All of a sudden at 2045, we heard loud, sporadic fire from 2/501.

"Holy fucking SHIT!" Bell said.

We could see the damn muzzle flashes with our binoculars and the fire trails. First you heard small pops of the M16s. Next, you heard the M60s in short, loud riffs. Then you heard the popping of the M79, sounding like a bottle of champagne being open.

"Objective! Shoot any of these zipperheads coming near the 501st! Let's go, let's go!" Cunningham raised his M16 and started firing pops of rounds forward.

All of us then opened up and It was chaos. Greene sent a round from the sixty that whizzed by my ear and had my whole head ringing.

We poured heavy fire into the NVA coming towards 2/501. I saw Greene cut a whole fucking squad of NVA with the sixty, one by one, in an instant of five seconds. They ran with little AKs and then got smashed by rounds in their torso and head.

Their bodies simply just lost balance and just fell backwards after they got hit.

If they got hit repeatedly more than needed, they began to flop in the air like ragdolls and landed a few feet in the mud.

Next thing you know, we're taking fire!

Fortunately they didn't know our exact position, as Cunningham stated, so the rounds just kicked up the dirt and whizzed way past us.

It was over.

"Look for wounded!" Cunningham.

We searched around and had no casualties. Thank God!

We sat down.

"That shit was intense," Sergeant Clarke said. "You guys did a good job."

Sergeant Grear saw us speaking and came over. He had just shaved using a razor he had brought with shaving cream.

"NVA don't stand no chance! Hey, they ain't got nothin' against us, man!" I looked to see if Grear was joking but he wasn't. It was weird, he made it sound like a sports competition or something.

"Yeah, okay." Clarke looked up at him.

Cunningham began to radio 2/501 and they said half of their damn D. Company was wounded and several men were killed.

"They were taking hell up there. Charlie don't play around, everyone used to think they couldn't put up a damn fight but the 501st has their damn hands full." Cunningham said.

"We got our damn hands full, too." Wallace came over with the water can and everyone took a bottle. He looked frantic and surprised.

"No shit, we do, soldier. Your damn platoon leader is dead. Fucking dead! Because I told your damn squad to evaluate a fucking mined bunker!" he said.

Everyone saw what Cunningham had just said.

For a moment everything was silent. We just looked at Cunningham. His eyes were teary and he saw that Greene's were too but they didn't concile. Wasn't no time for sympathy. Just wasn't.

Wallace passed out the rest of the water bottles and that was that.

Deep down, I really did feel the need to concile each other. I wanted to cry my life out, share the pain with everyone else, but It just wasn't always the time for that. I would just cry late in the night for our dead in my tent and try my best to hide it.

We needed to move on, but deep down, we just couldn't. Well at least I couldn't. For me, death was something I couldn't forget. It was so stressful, painful, and depressing.

I don't think I would ever be the same like I was before coming to Vietnam. Ever. I would be a different man, a different soldier, for the rest of my days.

God have mercy.

Chapter Eighteen - Bloody Fighting
1245 Hours - 1600 Hours (12:45 PM - 4:00 PM)

July 22, 1970

East of FSB Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

Two days ago, we had finally captured the base of Hill 805. FINALLY. We had destroyed many bunkers and had come in with little contact and we received one wounded during the capture.

Back on 12th, when Delta 2/501 had been in a whole lot of misery, our own Charlie and Delta Companies had help evacuate their casualties and they left Hill 805 that night, presumebably going to FB O'Reilly. What this meant, was that we were the last remaining company on Hill 805.

Bravo Company was still at the base of Ripcord getting pounded and pounded by rockets and mortar fire, or so we thought. Because of a delaying of radio transmissions between them and us, we didn't exactly know what was happening and all we could do was just hope and pray.

Lieutenant Colonel Lucas, our battalion commander, was even notified that we were gonna evacuate Ripcord, which would start on the 23rd because our whole division commander was getting all kinds of traffic on phone lines and Hueys were constantly being deployed around Ripcord and he felt that the men were not gonna gain anything fighting the rest of the battle.

At about 0900 this morning, Captain Cunningham received orders from Lucas to march to an LZ east of Ripcord.

Irony was that there was no intel about how large the hill the LZ was on, was or how much enemy contact were there.

"This is fucking suicide," Wallace was pissed. "Every time the division don't know how many damn Charlie on these hills, we always run into heavy shit. I'm telling you."

"If we make it out of here, I hope we're in damn Louisana drinking seven-n-sevens and eating a lot of roast beef, man. And not the roast beef the Army makes, either, haha."

We laughed, a quiet little laugh.

"Man, if I make it back to The World, I'm gonna kiss my girl Margaret and tell her everyday I love her. Because after this shit, you owe it to yourself, man." Sergeant Clarke said.

"You owe it to yourself for the rest of your life," I said. "After all of this crap I've seen, I don't think I would ever be the same back in The World."

"True that." Greene stared right through me, as if he were looking at my soul.

We began to pack up as much supplies from our 'base camp' as we could. Our ponchos, our C-Rats, and we even had to abandon some of the fortifications we had built.

At 1135 hours, we had gotten the word that we were gonna get a fresh new supply of A-Rations from Hueys, the fresh, hot food you got when you were at your major installation regulary at the mess hall but since we were in a camp, there was no mess hall.

They were delivered in containers and brought plates to eat on.

It was the first time I had eaten something fresh in almost two weeks. We all enjoyed it and It was like a gift to us. There were supplies of freshly, wrapped breakfest sandwiches, fresh fruit, snacks like crackers or chocolate bars, cereal, and milk with either chocolate powder or strawberry powder. They even had ice cream.

We ate like animals and finished up by 1200 hours. I had never had such a large appetite at that period, in my life!

We continued wrapping tents and putting C-Rats together, until the whole company was done by 1230 hours.

Then at 1245 hours, we got the word.

"Alright, soldiers. We're gonna march north towards the east of Fire Support Base Ripcord to proceed to an LZ and began evacuating processes. Hopefully It will go smooth and enemy contact will be minimal or better yet, none."

Cunningham.

He continued on. "First Platoon take the point and have your second sqaud leading the company. This march will go in order so after First Platoon is Second Platoon, Third Platoon and lastly, Fourth Platoon. Move out!"

Sergeant Clarke was a short-timer. He had told us he had twenty-seven days left in 'Nam and he didn't want to get killed because of quote on quote, our fucking mistakes!

He kept telling our platoon to stay on track.

"Hey, stay in formation! Stay sharp and keep your distances! Sergeant Wallace is on the point and his leading the platoon! Follow and listen to him, as well as me!"

Wallace grinned at Clarke and Clarke grinned back.

The two were starting to get along and their friendship was growing. They were starting to overcome the racial tension by friendship and earned respect.

It was good to be that way but we still all had one main goal: Look after the guy to your left and right, and make it out of Vietnam alive.

The point man, a tall blonde-haired Corporal leading the company, dove for cover and then fired three or so bursts at about an acre of land containing a rice paddy and many shrubs.

Then we all opened up and Cunningham was calling cease fire.

"What the hell happened, Corporal!!??"

"I saw three North Vietnamese in the bushes, sir! Look their under there!"

He pointed toward a line of shrubs and under, were pools of blood leaking from three dead, lifeless bodies with AK-47s being soaked in the fluids.

"I see it. Move up! We'll report it that we had three official enemy KIA! Good job soldier!" He saluted the corporal and the corporal smiled.

He got another guy to take the point and we were proceeding through the tress and shrubs.

I saw a dude take a few pics of the dead bodies but I didn't make much of it.

Then almost instantaneously, a mortar came directly at us and exploded twenty meters in front of the point man. Ambush!

We dove down and we started taking heavy fire.

"Retreat, RETREAT!" Cunningham kept screaming at us to fall back.

It was the worst, most loudest sounds I've ever heard in my life. The NVA were coming from our left flanks, at an estimated battalion sized unit.

I was behind Greene, feeding him sixty ammo toward the left flanks. I switch my M16 onto automatic and shot a quick burst at three enemy. I kept firing and firing until it started to overheat and my fingers got slightly burned.

In a matter of minutes, the majority of First Platoon had become casualties. Since It was only nineteen men in a whole platoon, fifteen were wounded and two were killed.

Our company was very understrength with only seventy-six men against a whole damn four-hundred man NVA battalion.

"They're comin' through the bushes, comin' through the bushes!" Sergeant Clarke pointed to a row of shrubs and vegetation where NVA were firing from.

Wallace came and fired at all of them, killing two and another three were wounded. I tossed a frag at them and finished them off.

Seconds later, a big concussion, and burning pain, smashed into my hand. I looked down and saw that I had gotten hit. The blood gushed out of the wound and I screamed in agony. With all my adrenaline pumping, I lost thought about the wound and just wrapped a bandage around it and continued firing.

I could see the blood gush out of the bandage as the more my heart beat, the faster the blood would pump out of my veins and out of the wound. It was starting to hurt more and then I finally called a medic over for assistance.

"Yeah, It's just a flesh wound! You'll be al" He got cut off by a round that smacked into his arm, piercing through and exiting out the forearm. I looked at him in horror and I grabbed some med supplies. I didn't know what to do, I wasn't trained for this shit!

"Medic! I NEED A MEDIC!" Another soldier ran over, miracolously unscathed and started administrating aid towards the wounded medic. The soldier looked up at me and asked if I need aid but I said no and the wound would be fine.

I checked for the squad. Bell and Wallace were both hit in their legs and couldn't stand up straight and crawled on the dirt, firing no matter what the circumstances.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Hey Bell, if we don't make it outta here, tell my mother Katherine that I love her, okay?" Wallace was for the first time that I saw him, terrified out of his life.

"No problem, man! We just got hit by some flesh wounds, it's okay!" They kept firing and firing. A whole squad of NVA got cut down by the dual of Wallace and Bell. They were wounded but they weren't gonna give up any day.

I saw Captain Cunningham, who had bloody arms filled with splinters possibly caused by shrapnel, was on the phone calling for air support.

"Able Two-Three Charlie, this is Hitman-Alpha, heavy contact spotted, over! Get some fucking air support in here, I got gooks in the wire! Gooks IN THE WIRE!"

About a minute later, I saw two F-4 Phantom fighter jets flying in formation, then each dropping two canisters of napalm weighing two-hundred fifty pounds onto the LZ killing everything in It's path.

I could see NVA swerving around the air, on fire, screaming and screaming. Once I saw that, I turned away. I didn't wanna see death like that. Humans weren't suppose to look like that.

I ran under a hail fire and saw a dead body of a skinny, short Vietnamese soldier. He had his arm around one of our soldiers with a knife in his hand, both bodies bloody and limp with burns all across the legs. Their faces were scared and nervous, just like mine.

I dove for cover and crawled over to Sergeant Clarke, face caked with dirt, eyes frightened.

"Hey Sarge! Check this out, man!"

We walked in a crouch position over to the bodies.

"That dude died trying to kill one our guys," Clarke shaked his head and tears were streaming down. "But the napalm was no match and got both."

We found two wallets, slightly melted to their skin by the napalm. Clarke and I reached over and got each, flesh pulling and pulling everytime we tried to get the wallets. I vomited and then got the wallet.

In both wallets were pictures. The American dude with a pretty girl and a baby in the girl's arms. I cried. His dog tags were also melted onto the back of the wallet and I saw a faded, melted name saying "SGT. Mike O'Neil".

The Vietnamese soldier's wallet had just one picture of him with a little girl, about seven years old. They were both smiling and hugging each other.

Clarke and I took the dog tag and pictured and ran back once we saw another canister coming in. Both bodies were nothing but charred lifeless bodies after that bombing.

I thought about my brother and my mom. What would it be like if I were killed? How would they feel?

Would Jerry feel uneasy as if he knew something was wrong? Would two officers knock on the door on a saturday morning when Mom usually made us breakfest and Jerry was upstairs, reading comic books or listening to radio?

Would they tell her that her son of nineteen years old was KIA in the A Shau Valley, South Vietnam fighting for a perhaps lost cause on July 22, 1970?

No, don't think.

Greene was still firing the sixty on a blown off tree stump against waves of NVA coming through. He had been hit by a grenade and shrapnel on the side of his head and a deep gash on his arm. His helmet was off and there was a bandage wrapped around the side of his head.

Cunningham called in another air strike and then two Huey gunships came in and the door gunners began to sweep the area.

I checked the time and It was 1330 hours.

The attack had calmed down and we were trying to care for ourselves. Most of us were wounded and only a few guys were helping out with the aid. I was helping but couldn't do much because my left hand hurted like shit.

Whole First and Second Platoon were casualties. It was an unbelieveable sight. Scattered dead NVA everywhere, scattered enemy weaponry including wasted mortar shells, wounded GIs everywhere and a few American body bags as well.

After an hour and a half, another ambush began. I got hit again, by shrapnel right below my knee and shrapnel on my back. I was starting to lose a lot of blood and starting to phase in and out of consciousness. Just brief moments of flashes of air strikes, rounds impacting, grenades, etc.

I saw someone wrapping bandaging around my leg and my fatigue shirt had been taken off where I had a huge bandage on my back.

I suddenly gained enough strength and courage to pull myself up and grab my M16. I was caked in dirt but it didn't matter now, I was trying to get out alive.

I fired a few short bursts but they went nowhere and because I was so weak, I just laid down in the mud, motionless.

It ended again and then It was 1600 hours. Clarke was dead. His body lay motionless where a round had strucked the windpipe and blood was still moving out of the mouth, rhythimically. His eyes were open and then Bell weakly closed them with his fingers.

I ran over and lifted him up, and took the photo of the Vietnamese soldier in his ammo pouch. I had the dog tag, and the two photos now. Then I shoved them in my pants pocket.

I didn't see it but I felt myself crying and crying. I saw Greene and he was crying, too. I wanted to say something to Greene but I felt so weak. I let my body go and I felled asleep.

Chapter Nineteen - Pounding.
0620 Hours (6:20 PM)

July 23, 1970

East of FSB Ripcord, A Shau Valley, South Vietnam

During yesterday night, we had been mourning over our losses. Most of us were wounded or killed and only eight guys were unscathed.

It was 0620 right now. My back, left hand, and right leg below the knee were all in bloody bandages, which meant I was obviously shirtless and more at risk of more wounds.

Greene had his arm stiched up and the bandages still on his head. He still remained with the sixty against the tree stump, unzipped flak jacket, trousers in rags, and no helmet on. He was half-awake, half-tired. I saw him crying and smoking a cigarette and then I came over to him.

"I can't believe I'm alive," he said. "I should be dead right now. If I see any more gooks coming here, I'm fucking machine gunning every single one of those bastards for what they did to Sergeant Clarke. Every single one, man!"

"Don't think like that. Don't think. If we make it out of this mess, you got to promise me that we'll go to Madison Square Garden in New York City and see the Knicks game. Haven't you always wanted to see the Knicks game?"

He looked up at me and smiled, with a grim face, caked with dirt and white teeth shining out.

"Yeah. Usually my folks were the football type and we'd see the Giants game around New Meadowlands."

"The Giants huh? They never make it to the Super Bowl, they went six and eight last year. I--"

I got cut off by the voice of a stern soldier.

"Hey TROOPS! Enough of the chit-chat! Get your asses over here!" It was Lieutenant Vasgersian. His unshaven face was slowly starting to grow a beard.

"C'mon let's go." I told Greene. He slowly rested off the tree stump and stretched his arms out. He ached with pain and lifed the sixty.

We walked about ten meters and there was Vasgersian speaking to Sergeant Grear, who was wounded in his arms with two bullet wounds.

"You guys think you can do me a favor?" Vasgersian said it with a blank expression.

Even though we had been through hell and had been wounded twice, we just had the will and courage. We were willing to do anything to die for the unit and that's what we were gonna do, no matter what.

"Yes, sir." Greene replied, after a long pause.

"I need some machine gun teams about fifty meters from the perimeter. You guys seem really messed up and I'll get some extra machine gun teams with you. Don't bother shooting because they'll do all the work, and Delta Company will be here in a sec."

He continued. "I'm really sorry but the Captain needs all the men he can get. Just gotta follow orders. You understand, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Good luck."

Greene began to walk over with three other MG teams, each with two men. A feeder and the machine gunner himself but I said another thing to Vasgersian.

"Hey LT. I got these two pics. I found it with a dead Charlie trying to kill one of our guys but then the Napalm hit." I shaked my head and my eyes were watery. I handed it to him.

He looked at me, "You okay, soldier?"

"Not really sir." I said.

"Alright I got the gun with Greene. You don't need to do it." He said.

"Fine."

He walked over to the tree stumo with Greene.

About a minute after waiting on blown tree stumps, the rumbling sound of blades rippled through the air and we all watched in fascination.

It was Delta Company. Their sixty-five men company were sent in to help evacuate our dead and wounded.

When they came and landed, their expressions on their face were in total shock. The Captain from Delta came over and asked what the hell had happened over here.

"We encountered a battalion. That's what happened." Lieutenant Bienstock looked at him and walked away.

Their men looked at us with plain confusion and shame. A few guys saw me and asked what happened to me.

"Got hit by a grenade and a wound to the hand. What else do you want?" I didn't really feel very comfortable talking about it. I didn't feel like they deserved to be on the LZ, but they were extracting us, so be it. The soldiers simply walked away.

Greene pointed to a sergeant.

"Hey you! You better take those damn stripes off or Charlie's gonna get their rocks off watching you die." He said it with a real serious expression.

"What are you talking about," the sergeant said. "I earned these."

"You don't understand. Those gooks are killing anyone who are sqaud leaders and commanding officers 'cause they think we can't have no damn leadership if our main officers are dead. Fuckin' idiots."

Sergeant Grear came over and patted Greene on the shoulder.

"Hey man, just leave him alone. He doesn't know what It's like to be here, just leave him be."

We started shoving all of our fourteen dead on the choppers and shoved our wounded that were unable to stand on stretchers. We didn't nicely or smoothly placed them on, we shoved them because we were scared for our own lives and wanted to extract out of there ASAP.

Bell was sleeping on the chopper, me and Greene outside helping the evacuating, and Wallace on another chopper with the body of Sergeant Clarke beside him. We were still on the ground but the chopper engines were on and the blades rippled through the air, blowing against the vegetation.

I came over to Bell and his whole calf muscle was covered with bandages, soaked in blood. I tapped him and he gave me a thumbs up sign.

"We're going back to The World," I said. "It's over, man."

Then he smiled and we shaked hands. He laid back down and he grabbed a pack of blood soaked cigarettes out of his pockets.

"Do me a favor before we get back to The World," he said. "Smoke one of these." He grinned, a small, weak little grin and handed the cigarettes to me.

"Haha, if you make it out of the 'Nam, I guess you can do anything, man." I opened the pack and most were drenched in blood, dripping as I pulled them out.

"Eww, yuck, man! You got your damn blood all over it!" Then Bell chuckled.

I found one that was unschathed and I got a lighter from a soldier in Delta Company. I lit it up and took a puff. It felt awful as hell going down but came up easier. I coughed and Bell laughed.

"Hey man, this is the first damn cigarette I ever smoked, you can't hold your expectations high. How about you smoke one of these damn things?"

He chuckled and said, "No thank you."

"Once I'm back in The World, I'm getting immediately back to college and telling no one what I did over here." he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because no one wants to know about what's going over here at this point and once they hear about a veteran, they're immediately gonna start the hostility again. I don't even think I'm gonna walk in my uniform when I get off the plane in San Francisco."

"Then what is gonna happen to us?" I said. "We just gonna never have no support and that's it?"

He sighed. "About the sum of it."

I really hated that he said that but he was painfully right. People didn't want to have anything to do related to Vietnam and with a veteran coming, they would try to avoid it at all costs, which unfortunately meant hostility. There was also not much we could do about it.

We got on the choppers and began to lift off to Chu Lai where we would get medical evaluation. During the evacuation, we received more incoming fire and I dove on Bell to protect him from getting shot, at the cost of me taking another round to my forearm.

Next thing I know the chopper is swerving around and there are medics all over me.

"You're one crazy son of bitch, man! Three times wounded and you're still gonna make it out of Vietnam!" one medic had said.

I blacked out and felt someone wrap a bandage around my arm a few seconds before.

I had done my time in Vietnam.

Chapter Twenty - Final Days
1600 Hours - 2000 Hours (4:00 PM - 8:00 PM)

July 29, 1970

Chu Lai, Quang Nam Province, South Vietnam

We were gonna be rotated back to the 'States in thirty-five minutes. We had arriven at Chu Lai during the night of the 23rd and had received immediate medical attention.

Most of our company were there, but most of were in different field hospitals except our squad.

Wallace had received immediate surgery to the disastrous wounds on his legs but unfortunately, he received painful knowledge that his right leg would have to be amputated below the knee.

I remember I saw him coming out crying out of the ER with a bloody bandage on his leg, on crutches, knowing he would lose it in a matter of hours or risk fatal infection.

Bell's leg wounds were flesh wounds but he had still loss frighten amounts of blood. I had walked in when he had surgery and I tried to hold his hand but he was so weak, his hand was limp.

I patted him on the shoulder and whispered to him he would be okay. He got the surgery and they had put a bunch of staples on them, and he walked on crutches with two casts on each leg.

Greene only received medical attention on his head which he got stiches but the wound only could be seen if Greene shaved his head, which he did. His arm was starting to heal up well and he still walked around with a bandaged head, which looked funny to me.

As for me, they stiched up my back and removed the shell fragments that had accidentally been stuck in there. I also needed surgery on my forearm because had gone so deep into the bone and they put some screws to support the damaged bone. My hand would be fine and only need five stiches, which took only twenty minutes.

All of us were recommended for Silver Star based on the testimony of Captain Cunningham. Bell and Wallace because of  "an exceptional level of heroism and gallantry while being under heavy fire and seriously wounded, despite overwhelming odds and killing an NVA machine gun bunker."

Greene's citation was basically the same but, "while manning an M60 machine gun consistently blown off vegetation, supporting his unit under intense enemy fire."

I was recommended for protecting Bell during the helicopter evacuation and for continuing to fight while wounded back at the LZ, even in-and-out of consciousness.

I felt bad because I thought about how Sergeant Clarke had gotten killed but I had gotten recommended for a medal. It just didn't seem fair, It just didn't.

Sometimes, we would cry and cry for Clarke. Wallace said he was sorry and regretted that him and Clarke hadn't got along so well.

I felt bad for all of us and I wondered how we would function back in The World, because Vietnam was nothing like the real world to us.

Then we received orders that our flight was ready and we were getting ready to lift off from Chu Lai. It was 1700 hours.

We all walked in our clothes, happy and proud we made it alive, yet not knowing our fate when we got home. I walked freely with Bell on crutches, Greene with a bandaged head, and Wallace on a wheelchair.

With us, were about eighty other wounded guys, a lot in bandages and crutches, lined up and we all nervously looked at the long line of caskets being loaded onto the plane. We all talked about what we do back in The World and Greene and I found a guy from the 25th Infantry Division who had lost his right hand from a grenade while in Cambodia.

We kidded around that he should have escaped to China when he had the chance in Cambodia and his hand would have been still there.

Then a Major led us to the rear of the plane and gave us a pep talk.

"All of you are lucky to be alive. You've made it out of the jungles, the 'Nam Rot, the mosquitoes, the tasteless C-Rats, the endless patrols, the rain, the heat, the Viet Cong, and most importantly, you've made it out of Vietnam."

"You all should be proud for what you've did hear no matter the events you've come acrossed here and back home, and be proud that you made it out alive and will be able to see whatever family or relatives back in The World."

"I'm proud of you people. Good luck."

Then he checked off our names, just like our platoon had when we had been going to Ripcord.

The other soldiers finished loading the caskets on the plane and then the ramp was laid and we stepped in. The engines powered on and the plane started up. A loud, crazy amount of cheers filled the plane and we were all so proud we had made it out. The plane began to ascend and then the cheering calm down.

We flew to Da Nang Airbase where the plane refueled and picked up some more caskets. We waited and waited.

"We're finally on that Freedom Bird," Bell said, weakly. "Lieutenant McDonald wanted to be on the Freedom Bird... and maybe Sergeant Clarke too..." I looked at him and tears were streaming down from his eyes.

I held his hand and told him he would be alright, that they were probably both in heaven killing crazy NVA gooks from hell, to comfort him.

It finished refueling and it ascended off again. I checked my watch and It was 2000 hours. It would be our final trip to the 'States, where we would refuel again at Anchorage, Alaska and then we would finally touchdown at Travis Airforce Base in Oakland, California.

The engines rumbled through the air. I could slowly see the trees, jungles, forests of Vietnam fading away into a sea of blue. It was over, finally over. We had done our time and were done with this war. We didn't need to shoot a gun at enemies we didn't even know where they were or why we even shooting at them, and we didn't need to see our buddies die right in front of us, for a perhaps lost cause.

We were going back to what we thought the real world was and to savor all those moments we could have with our loved ones that we hadn't so cherished before arriving in Vietnam. But at this moment, we fill grateful and guilty for making it out alive, while others didn't.

The cheers grew even louder once we were certainly out of the country and I shed some tears with the squad. We were all hugging and exhanging fives, really proud moment.

The war was over for us, finally over.

Chapter Twenty-One - Hostility
0900 Hours - 1400 Hours (9:00 AM - 2:00 PM)

July 30, 1970

San Francisco International Airport of San Francisco, California

God, I will never forget when we first landed at Travis Airforce Base at 0800. We all felt so proud and filled with happiness, we knew nothing could get us down.

We had finally seen our own American people, Amercan sun, American culture after months of being in a place ten thousand miles from home that we didn't even think was the "Real World."

We first landed and everything was quiet, except us! We were celebrating and high-fiving each other that we made it home! It was truly a special moment!

"Holy fuck, man!" Greene was astonished. "I can't believe we're actually back in The World! Can't fucking believe it!" We hugged each other and a few more tears were formed.

Once we were there, Greene ran straight to nearest pay phone and called his sister Sharon. I ran with him and I could here her screaming on the phone that this was the first time they've ever talked in months and she was waiting for him with Charlotte at San Francisco. I felt really good for him.

Then, we received orders to go to the San Francisco International Airport because we needed a commercial airliner to get to our actual hometowns and Travis AFB was a military base in Oakland.

That's when we started getting worried, because we knew there were civilians all over San Francisco and possibly anti-war demonstrators. We didn't want to get this cherishable moment ruined, we just couldn't.

They got us on military buses and our squad were together. We still had to wheel Wallace onto the bus because he was in a wheelchair but It wasn't much of a problem. We drove for about an hour or at least what seemed like an hour, and we finally reached a terminal at San Francisco International Airport. It was 0900 hours or "9:00 AM" because we were now in a civilian environment.

Once we got off, we met our families! It was a tearful reunion and I was so grateful. My little brother Jerry was there and my cousin Tommy who served with the 196th Light Infantry Brigade in 1967 around Tam Ky.

First, me and Jerry immediately hugged and Jerry was crying.

"Hey how you doing little bro?!" I mussed his hair. And he smiled.

"I'm fine! I'm just glad you guys are home and I can beat you in Basketball again!" He laughed and I did. He then said, "How's your wounds?"

"How'd you know that I was wounded?" I said.

"Because they sent Mom and I a telegram about what happened to you. Mom was at first crying because you thought you were dead, but she was crying in joy and happiness because she found you were just wounded and you're gonna get the Silver Star." He smiled.

"Oh yeah, so how's Mom doin'?" I asked.

"She's alright. She's happy your home."

"Me too."

Tommy came back from a local store around the terminal with three hot dogs, three pretzels and Cokes, for each of us.

Once he saw me, his eyes lightened up.

"Holy fucking shit! Look who It is!"

"You guessed it!" We hugged tightly and I felt like a million bucks.

"So how the hell you been Young Stuff?" He said.

"Been good I guess! I made it out of Vietnam and I get to see you guys!"

"Hey look man, we both made it out of 'Nam, man. We both lucky as hell to make it back to The World and get to eat shit like hot dogs, pretzels and cokes!" We chuckled and then he pulled me over and Jerry didn't look and kept eating.

Tommy's tone became serious and his expression too.

"Hey Steve, I got to tell you something. There's a bit of a ruckus going down there. Bunch of damn anti-war protesters, man."

"Yeah, okay. Whatever."

We walked down the terminal and he was right. Two groups of protesters across the street. It was weird, one group seemed to want the soldiers home and wanted peace, while another side was saying "Baby killers!" and "Get the hell out of Vietnam!"

The first group crossed the street and started all the ruckus again. I felt so awkward and isolated even though I was with people.

Bunch of them were pointing at me and whispering, "He's one of them." and shaking their heads. I just walked and looked at them.

One guy called me an asshole for fighting an undeclared, illegal war and I smacked him in the face. Then he shoved me and police were around and broke off the confrontation.

Few of them were spitting all over the place and some guy actually got saliva on my arm. I felt so ashamed. So ashamed that I just served through punishing jungles and saw my friends die and I was getting treated like this.

Tommy was trying to shove them back off us and the second group, ran across the street and started a confrontation with the first group. The police were trying everything they could and we ran into a cop car. The first group were pounding on the door with the bottom of their signs and the second group were pushing the first group off of the car and giving us thumbs up signs.

It was crazy and we drove off to the other side of the airport because we needed to catch a flight back to New York.

The police ran back to us and almost arrested us but realize we were vets and we were just trying to escape from the protesters. They sympathized and one of them told me to stay safe.

We got back to the terminal and I saw Greene with two women, a brunette with a really, really large chest and a blonde, long-haired girl with a bright smile.

"Hey Steve, what the fuck happened over there, man?!" Greene looked at me with a shocked face.

"We met some protesters, it ain't nothin'."

"You guys alright?"

"Yeah we are." Answered Tommy.

The two women Greene was with walked up and smiled.

"Steve I present to you, Sharon Greene and Charlotte Longoria."

"Oh my god! I can't believe It's you!" Sharon was the blonde. She ran and we hugged real tight and I kissed her on the cheek.

"Wow, Oliver told me all about you! It's amazing to meet you!" She said and smiled.

"Me too!"

Then Greene introduced me to Charlotte and we hugged and shaked hands.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "Oliver's told me a lot about you."

"You too!" She said with enthusiasm.

I introduced them to Tommy who Greene and I really connected with and Jerry, who the girls said looked "Sooo cute!", even though he was fourteen and five-foot eight. We talked a lot and all of us had a good time before I had to get my flight to get back to New Jersey.

I said tearful goodbye to Greene and we were crying and telling each other we would see ourselves again.

"I still can't believe we made it back to The World, man. Can't believe it."

"Me either. Hey tell Bell and Wallace that I said goodbye, okay? I'm gonna miss you fuckers, man. Really am."

Then I boarded the plane and It lifted off. I cried and saw the fading San Francisco.

We landed in New Jersey at 2:00 PM. The airport was not much different from San Francisco except It was smaller and had more United Airlines flights. We decided to take a ride home but that was when everything got worse.

On the bus, every single person was staring at me with darting eyes. The only person who was kind was the driver who gave me a salute and told me to not worry but to just be glad to be home. But It just wasn't that easy.

They ostracized me. I was about to take a seat next to a fine lady and she decided to get out her seat and sit on the floor and the bus driver told her to get up. She'd rather sit on the fucking floor then sit next to a damn soldier!

I was crying, feeling so ashamed that I was being treated this way. Tommy was patting my shoulders and telling me It was okay and not to worry about it. Jerry saw me crying and didn't say anything.

On our way out the bus, we were met by more protesters and another one called me a "baby killer." I felt so ashamed and like I damn failure to my country.

Because of all the hostility, we decided to walk home which was about ten blocks from the bus stop. I could still see people looking at me and even some secretly giving me the finger.

When we got home, Mom was in the kitchen making sandwiches for us. She saw me and her mouth dropped. She hugged me tight and started to cry and I did.

She kissed me on the cheek so many times and hugged me so much. We started to dance around and had a mini celebration.

But what secretly happen that I didn't tell anyone, not even Tommy or Jerry, was how much I cried that evening in my bed. Because I felt like a failure, a damn failure. My own freaking people treated me like a piece of garbage and there was no sympathy.

I was glad I was out of this war. Really glad I was.

But the memories. The memories. The killing, the shooting, the horrible return, all of it. They would be with me. Be with me like a damn angel forever.Those two haunting pictures of the NVA and our American. Until I died.

Right now, I wasn't suppose to think of that. Wasn't suppose to.

I was suppose to think of how glad I was I made it out alive and I was able to see my family and how a bunch of other guys were not able to see their familes. I was lucky, really lucky.

Just glad to be home, just glad to be home....

Extras
See The War: Ripcord/Extras