PART I

1

He was vomiting. He didn't realize when it had started--was barely aware it was happening now. He would have never imagined that he would react in this way. For months afterwards, he would think back and dwell upon the incident uncomfortably with an inquisitorial self-examination much greater than usual. He had heard all kinds of stories about one's first reactions to combat, such as the deep and fear-filled revulsion one felt at the first sight of blood. Then there were the involuntary excremental expulsions that one could experience during an artillery barrage failing to heed the admonition, "Keep a tight asshole." But vomiting was something he never expected--not from himself.

Yet this wasn't really combat. The squad he was with had not encountered the enemy nor had it been fired upon. HIs squad, B squad, had been sent in search of A squad, which had been sent on patrol earlier that morning and had failed to return as scheduled. Sergeant First Class Melvin Wood, B squad's leader, had suspected that A squad might have run into trouble and had conferred with the platoon lieutenant. Not surprisingly, Second Lieutenant Grover Paulsen had asked Sgt. Wood to take B squad in a search for the missing squad. Sgt. Wood was right--most of the men in A squad were dead. The few who still managed to live could hardly be properly thought of as "survivors." Out of the original seven men, the three who were still technically alive seemed to be more in a state of limbo--dazed, numbly conscious, waiting in a dim vestibule for a decision to be made on their final destiny by inexorable forces beyond human communication. They seemed to be at a point where they would not have uttered the slightest protest at whatever decision was made on their fate, no matter how absurd. It was as if by now they had experienced the outer limits of absurdity and were totally resigned to it.

The soldier that the men of B squad had seen first was very slowly waving his arm as he lay on the ground, his head on the small of the back of a dead buddy. He had an empty, expressionless gaze on his face. He should have seemed happy, or at least, relieved that American soldiers had arrived on the scene, but his face expressed little sign of emotion. The thing that had particularly shocked the men of B squad and had been most instrumental in making Private First Class Richard Mendez unexpectedly ill was the grotesque sight of the wounded soldier waving his arm--which had been blown off right above the elbow. The end of the splintered bone could be seen, and blood was slowly oozing out of the damaged limb. The flesh at the end of the remaining stump was covered in parts by blood that had slowly begun to cake. Some of the ripped shreds of flesh had begun to curl inward toward the bone, but mostly the raw meat just dangled loosely as if looking for some proper function now that its accustomed task had been interrupted. Long, narrow streams of blood had formed trails down the upper arm and toward the armpit of the private.

It was especially amazing to the men of B squad that the soldier could have the strength to wave his arm after what must have been several hours of being wounded. It made the incident all the more gruesomely bizarre and perhaps at least partially explained why the G.I. seemed able to show little feeling. He was summoning every bit of strength in his body just to wave his emaciated left arm. He apparently feared that he and his unfortunate fellow comrades might not be seen by the search party. The seven men had been ambushed in a dense jungle area through which the path they were following led. Most of the men were at least partly covered by trees or low-lying brush. Indeed, the search helicopters that had been sent out earlier had been unable to locate them, which was the reason that B squad had been sent out on the search. For some unknown reason, the Viet Cong had fled before making sure everyone was dead.

The other two surviving members of the patrol did not present as horrifying a picture as the first living soldier, but they were obviously suffering deep pain. One of the living had received two bullet wounds in the back, but these could not be seen because he was lying on his back. The third man who still alive was lying on this left side. He had received bullet wounds on the left side of his abdomen about two inches above his left hip bone. He was clutching his side with his left hand both trying to assuage the piercing pain and to suppress the blood that flowed from the bullet punctures. His hand was now colored completely crimson, and it shone whenever light hit the wet blood covering it. The soldier moaned lowly at regularly spaced time intervals of about 30 seconds. A large amount of blood had spilled onto the leaves and ground below the wounds. Of the dead men, one made a particularly lasting impression on Mendez. This man was left face up, completely flat on the ground. The lower part of his shirt had been ripped apart by the explosion from a grenade and so had the left side of his stomach. It wasn't a large rip in the man's flesh, only about eight inches. Blood had poured from the puncture, but it had not been a great amount--not enough at least to obscure the man's entrails, which Mendez and the others could clearly see as they got close. What appeared to be part of an intestine could be seen through the flesh hole--a shiny, tubular structure still fresh and moist. It had performed a vital function for a man who had been alive but a few hours before.

As Mendez stared at the naked intestine, he was momentarily taken back in his mind to the times he had been in front of the meat counters at supermarkets. In the beginning, when he was a small child, it had felt eerie to see the raw meat and fresh animal organs sitting in open display waiting to be picked for consumption by the day's customers. With time, he became used to the sight just as everyone else always seemed to do, and so now the sight of the soldier's guts was quickly becoming a commonplace, accepted event as if it had been experienced many times before. Mendez was suddenly jolted from the position his mind was taking by a half-conscious pull from within that reminded him that this was an actual human being he was observing. Mendez had never before seen a fellow human injured to the degree this man was. The most serious injury he had ever observed before this had been the broken leg suffered by one of his high school football teammates, left tackle Clarence Humble, who had shrieked as he rocked sideways in pain. There was also a more significant difference that Mendez's mind was groping to comprehend. It slowly came to him that the real distinction was that this bodily injury had not been accidental. Perhaps though, it could be called an accident since it had been an unexpected event--a surprise ambush by the Viet Cong. Maybe even the Viet Cong had been surprised when they first heard the approaching American soldiers. Mendez realized that it was unrealistic to think that way. The stomach-punctured soldier and his dead and wounded comrades had suffered their fate not through fortuitous circumstance but as the result of purposeful action--by human beings.

At that moment, Mendez got a clearer glimpse of the ultimate reason he, his fellow American G.I.'s, and the enemy had been brought to these jungles. They had been brought to kill--to kill people.

Mendez was awakened from his reverie by the radiotelephone operator's voice giving directions to the Medical Evacuation helicopters on the location of the ambushed G.I.'s. " . . . all men have been hit. Some obviously dead, exact number not yet known. Others seriously wounded, must be attended immediately." The radioman was obviously uncomfortable and finished the message by nervously adding the functionally superfluous remark, "It's not a pleasant sight."

2

It was not until now that the full reality of the Vietnam War clearly dawned on Richard Angel Mendez. He had arrived in Vietnam 9 days before on January 9, 1968 as a member of Company A, 1st Battalion, 3rd Infantry, 10th Brigade, Americal Brigade. He was in 1st Platoon. Before coming to Vietnam, the company had trained in Schofield Barracks in Hawaii near Honolulu beginning in March, 1967. The training had been physically demanding, but it had not been as demanding as he had expected. Before that, basic training at Fort Ord, California had required long days, and the trainees were usually very tired at the end of the day--certainly tired enough to make them fall asleep very quickly and soundly.

They had been constantly made aware of the fact that they were training for war and that they would have to use their acquired skills in the not too distant future. Yet, war always seemed remote, especially in surroundings of picturesque Hawaii that favorite subject of travel posters, land of high surf and bikinied beach beauties. The cost of living was high in Hawaii, but it did little to stop most of the soldiers at Schofield Barracks from going out to look for a good time, even if it meant spending all their pay on the same day they received it. Whether it was to be spent chasing mainland girls on vacation in Waikiki, getting drunk in bars downtown, or buying an expensive stereo to send home, little thought was given to the virtues of frugality. After all, the common age of the members of Company A was 19 years, and the vast majority had never received the pay they were receiving now. Accordingly, it seemed to be an open invitation to step into that long awaited world of financial freedom in which a person has the power to partake of so many of the pleasures of American life including the multifarious items that constantly appear and reappear in the horizon of consumption. There was little thought to be given to family responsibilities for future needs. This carefree attitude was typical for young men of 19 and 20, but it was particularly true of young men who knew they were going to war.

The flight to Vietnam on board the Boeing 707 seemed out of place. It had seemed odd to be transported to combat in steaming jungles and muddy rice paddies aboard a modern airplane equipped with all the conveniences including attractive stewardesses with constant smiles surrounding gleaming teeth and individual earphones so that each passenger could listen to tapes of a variety of musical styles and old radio shows. The interior and upholstery of the airplane were new and spotlessly clean. As with automobiles, luxury was something that seemed to work well in setting people's minds at ease.

The soldier's had made the remarks customarily made about attractive stewardesses. "See that stewardess over there," said one of the soldiers, "she said she was gonna come over here and sit on my lap when she got through with what she was doin'."

"Hell, if she really wants to get a good charge, she's gonna have to sit on mine," interjected another soldier who overheard.

"Ah, get out o' here, Tom. You're just jealous," answered the first one.

Another soldier commented, "Whatever happens, you better get all the thrills you can because the only thing out in the bush is going to be Rosie Palm."

There was an air of uneasiness beneath all the mirth and chatter. It could be sensed, after a while, that part of the reason for the joking conversation was a conscious attempt to avoid more somber and unpleasant thoughts. During the long trip, moments of silence were inevitable. It was at such moments that the young soldiers could be seen staring quietly out the 707 windows at the beautifully clear, turquoise water of the Pacific Ocean below or at the intricately shaped clouds against the background of a clear, light blue sky, which seemed to extend forever.

To Richard Mendez, it seemed especially bewildering as he spent a good part of the trip brooding upon his present situation while looking at the majestic scenery that passed outside before his eyes. At times, the sky could be seen in its purest color through the clear, pure air. The Pacific Ocean--in a different, but equally pure, hue of blue--stretched lavishly in all directions to meet it at the horizon. At one point, the scene moved Richard so much that he wished he could dive into the ocean or fly up and reach to sky to capture that purity. At other times, the atmosphere was filled with clouds. Whenever the airplane was above the clouds--as it was most of the time, the clouds below seemed to form a deliciously soft carpet upon which one could luxuriatingly spring around forever. Yet, whenever the aircraft traveled below the clouds, more impressive and ethereal sights were presented. The immense white clouds, in their infinitely changing forms, seemed to manifest the very essence of nature in all its grandeur and majesty. Indeed, Mendez had often imagined that God himself must have been stationed above one of the large clouds, looking much like Michelangelo had pictured him, watching over the world and surveying the various chores that had to be done.

Upon leaving Kwajalein for a refueling stop, the airplane approached large, dark rain clouds. This scene changed Mendez's mood in sharp contrast to the serenity he had experienced only an hour before while looking at the white clouds. The deep dark clouds now appeared to symbolize the mysterious and sinister side of nature, holding back agonizing secrets in a mockingly devilish manner. In particular, they seemed to be covetously guarding the answers to pressing questions that Mendez had been asking.

Mendez could not get over his bewilderment over the fact that the Army had put him, a college graduate, in the infantry. Surely the Army could utilize his talents more effectively than by placing him in the infantry. After all, he thought, it was obvious that anyone could carry a gun. It was clear from looking at many of the men in his company as well as other infantry "grunts"--as they were called--that it didn't take much brains to carry a rifle. It was true that Mendez was strong enough to hold his own in the infantry. He was 5'9" and weighed 160 pounds. He was solid and muscular. Incidentally, he had wavy black hair, brown eyes, brown skin, and thin lips. He was good-looking and friendly enough in responding to other people's social initiatives, but he himself was not particularly outgoing. Mendez was a little introspective but was trying to change that. He knew it wasn't considered cool.

Most of his fellow soldiers in Company A were young men who had barely passed high school only a couple of years before. A good number of them were high school dropouts who had nevertheless done well enough on the Army qualification test to be eligible to serve. About 10 of the men in the company, however, had not done well enough on the basic aptitude tests. Instead they got in under a newly devised program that called for remedial education for them. Several of the men had told Mendez that they had yet to receive any of this remedial training.

Yet, here he was a graduate of UCLA, an indisputably good university, on his way to a year's duty to a combat zone as just another grunt. It was true Mendez had not particularly stood out in any endeavor while at UCLA. He had received a good number of "gentleman's C's" and had finished with a 2.8 average. Neither could it be said that he had completed a difficult major like engineering. Instead he had chosen to major in history. Nonetheless, he figured that he should have still been given a job in support, such as a clerk or supply specialist. It was true that he had refused the opportunity to go to officer's school and had instead chosen to serve simply as a draftee because he wanted to get his obligation over with as soon as possible. Yet, he knew that other college graduates who had made the same choice had been given desk jobs. He couldn't believe that he hadn't gotten a better specialty on account of low aptitude test scores.

When he took the tests, he thought they had been very simple and was sure that he had done well. He was feeling alert and fresh. He wasn't complaining, like some of the others taking the tests, that he had a bad hangover or that he hadn't gotten any sleep because had had spent all night "screwing this wild chick." Later on, he realized that most of those making alibis were doing it to save face when it was found out that they had scored low. In high school, Mendez had done well on his SAT's, scoring a 610 on verbal and a 587 on math. Surely, he figured, these scores translated into high Army qualification test scores since the Army tests were so much easier and the field of competition much less keen. It bothered him that he had not been able to see his tests to find out where he had gone wrong. He had been told his scores, but they were meaningless because they had not been explained to him. The tests could have been graded wrong, or he might have been assigned someone else's scores by mistake. There was no way of knowing what had happened.

The Army was a large organization that operated with amazing efficiency given both its size and the lack of continuity which stemmed from the constant transfer of personnel. It was hard to see how records were kept as straight as they and that there were not many more errors. The Army was the biggest organization with which most soldiers would have to deal, but there were many others. Everyone griped about the Federal government, but Richard knew there had to be a lot of inefficiency in private companies. He had developed a distrust of insurance companies after having gone through an ordeal in which a premium payment for his auto insurance had taken five months to straighten out after it had been sent to the wrong office.

"Would you like to eat lunch now, sir?" asked one of the stewardesses. Mendez was startled from his involved thought by the question but managed an answer, "Yeah, sounds like a good idea." The stewardess who had asked him about lunch was the one he had found most attractive from the time he had come on the plane. Some of his fellow G.I.'s disagreed, but to him there was something indefinably special above and beyond her physical attraction.

After lunch and some chatter with the fellows near him, Mendez was drawn back to his questioning. Another circumstance that he couldn't fathom was why he had been drafted in view of the rheumatic heart disease he had suffered from the age of eight. The whole thing took Mendez by surprise. He had heard of others who had been able to avoid military service with much less serious ailments. His heart had been normal for the past several years so the Army doctor found him physically fit--1A. Mendez appealed and submitted letters from his doctor stating that the heart condition could still recur. The draft board refused to change the 1A. He wondered now whether there might have been some error, such as someone forgetting to include his own doctor's medical records in the file. Maybe the draft board had just been plain stubborn.

Just as bewildering to Mendez as his questionable placement in the infantry was the more general question of why any men on the airplane were being transported to combat in the first place. Somehow it all seemed very incongruous in the civilized modern world. Being in this airplane in this situation seemed very odd--as if it were all happening in a dream.

A few hours later, airplane came in for a landing at the airbase at Cam Ranh Bay. As the airplane approached the runway, one could see how impressive the country was in its beauty. What impressed Mendez the most were the beaches. They looked very clean and inviting as their white sand posed a striking sight. Mendez was surprised that beaches that beautiful could be found outside of California and Hawaii. He then realized that he had somehow been led to believe that only those two places could have impressive beaches.

From the airfield at Cam Ranh Bay, the men of Company A were taken by buses to the Americal Division headquarters in Chu Lai, a few miles south of Danang on the northern coast of South Vietnam. On the way, the bus was met by a crowd of 8 to 10 young boys ranging from 6 to 16 as it slowed down for an old man whose cow had come onto the road. The boys started shouting different requests from the soldiers in the bus. They were apparently used to making these requests of G.I.'s passing by.

"Hey, Joe, you got quartah, today, Joe?" shouted a 15 year old.

"Hey, numbah one G.I., you got any candy or Coke?" shouted an 8 year old.

"Gimme quartah, gimme quartah," yelled several of the others.

"How about cigarettes, Joe?" asked an experienced looking 14 year old.

As the bus pulled away, one of the soldiers threw a dime at the 15 year old who had first asked for a quarter.

"Ah, fuck you, Joe," answered the boy irritably. "You cheap, you cheap, Joe."

"Hell, they don't look like they're starving to me," quipped pudgy Pvt. Ron Dotson from Yazoo City, Mississippi to Mendez.

"Naw, i guess not," replied Mendez slowly, "but they don't look like they're in real great shape either."

Yeah, I guess you're right there," answered Dotson. Mendez wondered momentarily what the kids might have gone through in the last few years since the fighting in Vietnam had become intense. They wore old, sometimes raggedy clothes. Some were especially unkempt. Perhaps, Mendez thought, these boys had been orphaned by now. He felt thankful that he had enjoyed a less troubled childhood.

In Chu Lai, the Company had to spend several hours in processing and orientation. The familiar questions on the familiar forms had to be answered. "Hell," remarked one of the men, "it seems like Uncle Sam's got to process you every time you shit." The orientation lasted two hours, and the master sergeant who gave it told them very little that they hadn't heard before. He looked like the typical crusty NCO that is shown in so many war movies with all kinds of war stories to tell and other war experiences that he had already forgotten. He was tall, stocky, had a slight paunch, looked icily confident, and had a rugged face. The master sergeant had a receding hairline and looked especially fearsome when he had a scowl on his face. He looked like a cross between Aldo Ray in Men in War, only slightly more polished, and John Wayne, only more experienced.

In his speech, he gave them an official welcome and told them that they would be given the best care possible. "This is it--Vietnam--the place you've all been hearing so much about lately," he continued. "It's for real, now. You're not just playing war games anymore. Keep your head and eyes open all the time and remember that you really can't trust anyone. We're here to help the South Vietnamese, but you never really know who's who." In a quieter tone, "Personally, let me tell you the best thing is not to trust anyone with slant eyes. You never know what they're going to do."

Chu Lai had many of the conveniences that were found back in the United States. It was a large base that had been planned and laid out with care. The PX had many of the items found back home and at lower prices, especially merchandise from Far Eastern countries like Japan. Quality Japanese hi-fi equipment and cameras could be bought at almost half the price than they could in the United States, and any U.S. import duties didn't have to be paid. There were many other items sold at the PX that seemed strangely out of place in a combat area--electric razors, after-shave lotion, cologne for men, and the more popular condoms like Trojan and Sheik.

The men of Company A had several hours to browse around in Chu Lai. They spent the night in the base and prepared for the next morning when they would be taken out in helicopters to what would be their home for the next 12 months--Landing Zone Sally. LZ Sally was the base camp or "fire base" from which Company A would operate. It was located in Quang Ngai province, one of the northernmost provinces of South Vietnam. Quang Ngai was probably the province in which the Viet Cong were the strongest. LZ Sally was located approximately 10 miles north of Quang Ngai City and a little south of Danang. It was definitely what was popularly called by the G.I.'s "Indian country."

The next morning A Company was flown in several helicopters to LZ Sally. The men were unusually quiet; there was little joking or horseplay. Their silence was mostly due to their sleepiness in the early morning, but there appeared to be a certain amount of pensiveness. With the exception of a few, small scattered clouds, the sky was clear with a rich blue. This allowed the sun to brightly illumine the countryside as the men looked down from their helicopters. The sunlight brought out the rich green color of the mountain jungles with all their trees and luscious vegetation and the golden yellow colors of the rice paddies and brush in the valleys. The fresh morning light cast dancing reflections on the small river that wound eastward below with water that looked unusually pure, and it helped the gentle-looking hills cast playful shadows on each other. It all seemed to fit the perfect description of an enthrallingly serene panorama of nature.

Company A was able to enjoy a few peaceful, uneventful days after arriving in LZ Sally. The men had time to settle in both physically and psychologically, at least to the extent that it is normally possible to get adjusted to their kind of situation. A few short patrols had been conducted close to the fire base, but there had been no action of any kind. Everyone knew that the patrols were not conducted because there was any suspicion of Viet Cong in the area, but rather the men were sent out to keep them "loose" and familiarize them with the terrain. They started to joke about what a picnic it really was.

"Hell, if my father knew he was paying taxes so we could do this, I don't know what he'd do," quipped Pvt. Ronald Mangini from Meriden, Connecticut.

"It's just like the Army," remarked Pvt. Bill Arnold from Clarksville, Tennessee, "always making something out of nothing."

Arnold was generally quiet and did not usually begin conversations. He had a couple of friends and discussed the latest company gossip with them but otherwise he stayed to himself. By contrast, Ron Mangini often started conversations with anyone who might come along. He often offered joking remarks and comments to anyone who might be around. Whenever he engaged in long conversations, they were usually about himself. It was not that he was unusually self-centered or personally insecure. Mangini was in reality quite sincere and was not interested in proving himself better than anyone else. Nor did Ron wish to show anyone whom he might consider his inferior what his proper place was. It was obvious that Mangini's bragging stemmed more from a puerile narcissism which he had not yet outgrown, although he was now 23 years old and thus older than most of the enlisted men in the Company. His self-centered preoccupation was also due in large part to the fact that he had indeed been very happy in the last few years and considered himself to have generally led a very contented existence. Being drafted into the Army ended the good times he was having, but he took it all in stride, made the best of it, and tried to keep up his optimistic, jovial spirit.

Mangini had a wild, exuberant way of describing events and breaking news to people. He would talk very quickly with great excitement and emotion, even though the subject at hand might not demand such excited attention. In speaking, he would often gesticulate wildly, and he would often invent or popularize little sayings and catch phrases that would become fashionable around the company every so often.

One phrase, for example, was "Eeee-yooow!" which was used as a general exclamation whenever possible. Another phrase which became very popular was "What can I say?" This remark was generally used casually and calmly. It was used to show a certain resignation on the part of the speaker to a current situation but without showing any anger or dejection. There was instead a certain air of humor and irony behind the remark which showed a steadfast acceptance of one's present fate and the ability to laugh at oneself. Clearly, the phrase was a very old one, but its importance and popularity was based in the manner in which it was used. Later on, a couple of guys would get slight wounds and humorously repeat, "What can I say."

Mangini had enjoyed his teenage years and young adulthood, and there were several reasons for this. His father's auto repair shop also gave Ron the opportunity to get good deals on cars that he found for sale through the garage grapevine. Then, after buying the cars, he had the facilities to improve the cars in a large variety of ways--from engine modifications to body customizing. He worked hard on each of the cars that he owned and it paid off. The cars were fast and attractive as well. He had a good sense of artistic proportion in the improvements he made on the automobile bodies. His success won him the admiration of the guys at school and, more importantly to him, popularity among the girls.

Mangini also had other things going for him. He was handsome with a bright smile that reflected a generally positive attitude. His hair was dark brown and his eyes a brighter shade of brown. He stood 6 feet tall. He was strongly built and muscular with a dark complexion which could tan deeply in the sun. For a while, he had exercised with weights in his cousin's gym, but he had never developed his musculature extensively to any point of great definition. Rather, he had developed a certain amount of strength and a bulky, solid look. Mangini had that relatively rare knack of making people he had just met feel at ease, which was mainly due to his easy acceptance of them as individuals.

One major drawback to Mangini's exuberant personality was that his excitability could make him blind to the feelings of others. As a result, there were several occasions on which he inadvertently insulted people without being at all aware of it.

In spite of his shortcomings, he almost always had a steady girl since he first became interested in girls at about the age of 13. The girls were generally among the most attractive and popular ones at school. He had been going with his present girl, Ginny, since his senior year in high school. He really liked her and somewhere in the back of his mind he had thought of marriage, but he had never mentioned it to her or to anyone else for that matter. It wasn't that he consciously intended to hide his feelings. It was just not in his nature to think seriously about matters very far in advance. He enjoyed living life from day to day and didn't give very much thought to the future. He considered that induction into the Army had been the most traumatic experience in his life, but he managed to fall-into a pretty active social life while in training in Hawaii. Not too long after arriving in Schofield Barracks, Mangini was able to break into a crowd of guys and gals that hung around a popular bar near the base. He became particularly well known through an antic that he would often perform. Whenever he was feeling good (which was often) or feeling drunk (which was more often), he would swing from the metal rafters near the top of the ceiling. He would skip from rafter to rafter in Tarzan fashion until he got tired. At first the manager of the bar was reluctant to let him perform the stunts, but afterward he allowed it, especially when he realized that it might bring the place some notoriety and thus be good for business. Mangini suffered a couple of falls which occurred on occasions when he was especially drunk. After the falls, he would refrain from his practice for a short period of time, but soon he would return once again to his cherished pastime.

During the time in Hawaii, Mangini did not become seriously involved with any women, and he continued to write often to Ginny. During the last month, however, he had developed an unfounded, irrational fear that he might be getting a "Dear John" letter from Ginny telling him she had found someone else, or at least that she thought it would be better for the two of them to have more freedom to see other people. He didn't dwell on the thought very much and generally dismissed it as a contagious fear he had gotten from other soldiers around him who would sometimes receive "Dear Johns" from home.

3

After the ambush of A squad on January 18, nobody joked about whether the war was real or not. The night of the 18th, the men were more quiet than usual. The next day various rumors began to circulate--a not uncommon occurrence. Mendez, hearing all the many new rumors, was reminded of all the different times rumors that had circulated back in basic training and then again in Advanced Infantry Training (AIT) in Hawaii. Most of the rumors proved to be totally unfounded. Mendez thought about the reasons why rumors began so easily. It was clear that the men were apprehensive about the future. Of course, it would have been better if the commanders had kept them informed as much as possible, but that was probably against military policy. After all, if the men were always appropriately informed, they might come to expect that as a right.

Among the many rumors being circulated, one was that any day soon the Company, along with other infantry companies that would operate in conjunction with it, would be moving out to engage a large force of the enemy soldiers from the Viet Cong's 48th Battalion.

"I heard those gooks in the 48th Battalion are a pretty sharp bunch of troops," said Mangini who was one of Mendez's hut mates. There were eight men in the quonset hut altogether. Two others that Mendez was close to were Dennis Kelly from Natick, Massachusetts, a suburb of Boston, and Carlton Werner from Harpursville, New York. Carl would usually just say he was from Binghamton.

"Some of 'em slopeheads been fightin' this war for several years now, and they know what's coming off," commented Mangini who often talked in a cowboy accent that he had picked up from Western movies. He would generally use the accent when he wanted to act tough in a humorous situation or when he talked about someone who was tough or down to earth. He also unconsciously used the drawl in contrast to the slight New York City area accent that could be detected in his normal speech.

"I bet some of them can be meeean." remarked Kelly calmly but reflectively, "Wouldn't want to fall into their hands." Kelly had a detectable Boston accent, but it was not very strong.

"Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if they decided to attack the base camp later on tonight," interjected Werner. "I think our restin' days are over, boys." Werner, like Mangini and many young men their age, also liked to throw in a Western movie drawl into his speech. It was 8 P. M.

"Yea, I think things've been quiet for a while because the V.C. agreed to a cease-fire for the holidays," said Mendez. "I think I remember hearing that the Vietnamese have some kind of holiday around Christmas, too--they call it Lunar New Year or something." Mendez was actually quite sure about what he was talking about. He had heard all about it on the news on radio and T.V. last month, but he often felt he had to pretend that he didn't know or wasn't sure about certain information in order to avoid being thought of as an egghead or somehow odd. Mendez continued; "With this ambush yesterday, though, it looks like maybe they've decided the good times are over and now they're gonna start some action, goddamn 'em."

"I don't know," said Kelly, "maybe Charlie's pretty weak now. President Johnson and all those guys keep saying we're really winning the war and that the fuckin' dinks don't have much strength anymore. They haven't done anything big for a while. Maybe we've really kicked their asses now."

"Yea, well, they've been saying that the war's almost over for quite a while now," answered Werner, "so I sure as hell wouldn't fuckin' bet on it."

"Yeh, that's no lie," replied Kelly.

"All I say," commented Mangini, "is that if they're gonna hit us tonight, just don't let them hit this fuckin' hut or anything near 'cause I want to get a good night's sleep. They can hit anything else they fuckin' want in the camp, just don't wake me up. If they wanna fuck with the kid, let 'em wait 'til morning." Mangini then immediately craned his neck forward and opened his eyes wide pretending complete disbelief that he had correctly understood what he had just uttered. He acted as if in fact he had somehow been unexplainably under a compulsion to say what he had said. Everyone else laughed, immediately realizing that he was going through one of his familiar humorous acts.

"Yeah, Ron," answered Werner, "why don't you just go on outside the fence there and yell it out to those fuckin' gooks so they can know not to mess with you."

Werner was 19 years old and he looked not a day older. He was thin and stood 6'1". He was lively and youthfully energetic. He was easily livened up by others who might want to talk or party. Carl didn't have any special charisma or endearing traits or mannerisms that made him stand out such as was the case with Mangini, but he was outgoing and friendly. He easily initiated conversations with almost anyone. He had grown up all his life on a farm near Binghamton, but he still acted and talked very much like a city boy. One could tell this from his interests and his way of talking. He was often heard singing a contemporary tune, sometimes hard rock and sometimes soul music.

Carl was often smiling. He had a large mouth that made for a wide grin. He had large eye sockets filled with richly blue eyes. He had bright blond hair and his cheeks were filled with a healthy red tinge. His skin was smooth and youthful, but it had been exposed many times to the wind and sun on the open farm fields.

Carl had helped his father on the farm throughout his life almost as far back as he could remember. He didn't mind working in the fields. He liked the hard physical work, but at times it could be very exhausting. Usually he went out to do his chores on the farm willingly because he knew there was much work to do and his father needed all the help he could get. Sometimes, however, he had to be prodded into getting down to work. These were the times when he would have preferred to go play ball or go to a rock concert or just plain visit friends or go somewhere in a car with them. It wasn't easy to practice self-denial in such instances. Although he had lived on a farm all his life, he still found many attractions in the world outside, and there were many ways to keep in touch with outside happenings. The television, the radio, magazines, and gossip with friends kept Carl aware of an exciting world of entertainment, sports, popular music, cars, etc. It seemed like such a stimulating and enjoyable atmosphere out there in places like Hollywood and New York City. With attractions like that, he was aware that he would not want to spend the rest of his life on a farm. He didn't have any particular ambitions to be a great movie star or a famous ballplayer. He just knew that he wanted to live in a city where he could be closer to those kinds of attractions and where he could have an exciting job like the ones that he heard people talk about or saw in movies. He knew farming was no fun. It had always been a difficult life, and his father claimed it was getting harder all the time. His father said it was more work for less money.

Werner looked at his father and saw how tired he looked and at how much older he looked as time passed. He worked so much that it seemed that he hardly had time for fun. He was kind and concerned enough as a father, but it seemed that he had forgotten how to play and just enjoy life for its own sake. Carl looked at him and wondered how he could have ever been a playful young boy. It was hard to believe it, but he probably had been lively and carefree at one point. Carl wondered what might have changed him so and then remembered his mother telling him that "family responsibilities" could change a man dramatically. Carl didn't look forward with much eagerness to having that happen to him.

The men in the quonset hut went back to what they were doing. Mendez was looking at the latest "Playboy" magazine. He had gone through it already to look at all the nude photographs and was now looking at all the jokes and cartoons. He thought about reading some of the articles which looked interesting but felt too lazy. They seemed a bit too long. He hadn't done much reading since he got out of college, and he told himself he should keep informed but didn't really get around to reading much. Kelly and Werner went out to get into a card game they had heard about, while Mangini stayed on to read a "fuck book." "Fuck books" were sexual novels, which along with Playboy, were the most popular reading material in A Company. Comic books were in second place. There wasn't much else to do until lights out.

After lights out, the men in Mendez's hut all went to sleep soundly. They didn't have to worry about much, they figured, until morning since none of them had to pull guard duty. At 2 A.M. their hopes and sound sleep were shattered.

BOOM! BOOM! Loud blasts shattered the night's silence and immediately awoke everyone in the camp.

One of the blasts was very close to the Mendez hut, and it made Mangini spring up immediately. "What da fuck. What the hell is going on here?"

"We're getting hit!" answered Kelly loudly. "They decided to attack. Goddamn them."

"Better get in the foxholes," exclaimed Mendez.

"Where's my M-16?" asked Werner sleepily. He was always slow in waking.

BOOM! A mortar shell landed very close to the hut. "Goddamn it!" yelled Mangini in a shrill voice much different from his normal tone. He was still in a deep panic as was everyone else except for Werner who was still not wide awake enough to react to anything very strongly. 2 A.M. was the customary time for the Viet Cong to make their mortar attacks. There was little to protect the men from the mortar shells except to fire back with enough force to make the enemy pull back. The fire base was protected by a fence made of concertina barbed wire strung with tin cans in order to help prevent a running attack on the camp. The tin cans served the function of serving as an alarm by making noise whenever anyone tried to sneak through the wire. In addition, a large number of Claymore mines were strung along the fence to fend off intruders. Clearly none of these defenses helped very much against airborne projectiles. The soldiers had dug trenches to drop into whenever shelling of the base began. The trenches were lined with sandbags, which would hopefully provide added protection.

"They're gonna hit us, they're gonna hit us!" yelled Mangini frantically as he scurried aimlessly about. His eyes were wide open as he ran quickly in and out of the hut with no apparent purpose in mind, except possibly to try to collect his senses. ''What are we going to do against these shells? What can we do?" he yelled childishly. He also didn't seem to be addressing anyone in particular. The other three men had by now managed to crawl into the foxhole in front of the tent after grabbing their M-16's.

"Goddamn it, get in the foxhole and shut up before you get hit," Kelly yelled at him. "Calm down, just calm down." He yelled both angrily and nervously, not knowing or thinking about what had to be done other than to get into the protective cover of the foxhole.

BOOM! Just then another mortar shell landed right next to their hut, just a second after Mangini had ducked into the foxhole. "Sheeeit!" exclaimed Mangini in amazement as a blanket of dirt flew into the foxhole from the impact of the shell. Mangini imagined how he might have been out there lying on the ground dead if he hadn't gotten into the foxhole at the instant he did. Mendez and Werner were silent as they crouched petrified, with their faces against the foxhole walls and their forearms high covering the sides of their faces and necks.

Mortar shells continued to explode all over the fire base, and the soldiers were beginning to fire into the jungle night. Apparently some had collected their senses enough after the initial surprise to be able to take some action. Just then another mortar shell was heard to hit, BOOM! Since it was not immediately followed by another mortar blast, there was an interval of silence between the frequent loud impacts of the shells. However, the slowly increasing noise from the firing of the American rifles could be heard. In addition, one other distinctive sound was heard. This was a blood-curdling scream from the vocal chords of an American--"Aaaaaahhh!" Apparently he had been hit by the last mortar shell--it sounded like the shell had hit its target squarely. Werner had been slowly awakening all this time since the beginning of the shelling, but there was no doubt that, after hearing the loud scream, he was now wide awake. His normally large eyes were now unusually wide open and as was his unusually large mouth.

"God, I wonder who the hell that was?" queried Kelly. "Poor bastard," he added in a subdued perplexity.

"What the fuck?" said Mangini, who was still in a daze wondering just how close he had come to death. Each of the four men wondered who had been hit and whether they knew the fallen soldier. In truth, the fallen soldier was a member of the 3rd platoon and was hardly known by the four men.

By now, Kelly and Mendez became aware that there were many Americans firing into the jungle trying to hit the enemy positions. The noise was increasing ever so steadily and becoming louder every minute. Kelly and Mendez very cautiously and trepidly raised their heads and peered over the edge of the foxhole. Slowly, they positioned their M-16's and began firing. Werner very soon followed their example.

After a few seconds of firing, Kelly's fear seemingly turned into an enraged anger as he screamed, "Come on you fucking bastards. Come on out and fight, you goddamned gooks." His yell was barely audible to the others as the din of the weapons reached a fever pitch. After this, any conversation between the men would be almost impossible. Mangini finally showed his head above the line of the foxhole and started firing his M-16 into the dark, forbidding curtain of night beyond. His mood had turned from a dazed fright to one of rage--like that of Kelly--at the ugly and menacing forces beyond the bushes.

The deafening din of the firing continued unabated for a half hour. No one had any specific target in sight as there was none to be seen in the night. The strategy was to try to repel the attack through sheer, awesome firepower. A blanket of ammunition was thrown at the VC in hope of discouraging their attack and forcing them to pull back. The Americans fired vast amounts of ammunition. There was never any worry of running out. Supplies and equipment were something the Americans always had in abundance. The soldiers of Company A were free to keep firing unrelentingly, almost hypnotically, into the threatening space outside the camp's wreath of barbed wire.

The fire came mainly from the M-16s carried by most soldiers, but there were some M-60 machine guns and mortars that were mostly handled by 4th platoon, the weapons platoon. Some of the machine guns were firing tracer bullets which added an eerie effect to the dark, harrowing scene. The repetitive flashes of light pierced forward savagely in every direction. Flares were fired into the jungle to help to see the furtive attackers, but they were of little help. They merely added a strange, weak, reddish-brown tinge of color to the area around the perimeter. They met little success in penetrating the secretive night. A bluish-white flash of light could be seen from the mortars each time they were fired. The many scattered flashes of light that could be seen lit up the night in Fourth of July fashion.

The soldiers were aware of the display of light but had no time or inclination to ponder on the similarities to fireworks. Every man in the camp was as wide awake as was possible by now. Their eyes were wide open reflecting their mixed sense of fear, anger, and disgust. They were peering intensely ahead and acting reflexively, instinctively, in the only way they knew how in fending off a tormenting threat to their cherished safety, an attack on their very existence. The soldiers kept firing for a long time automatically and hypnotically into the black blanket of danger ahead. The American fire subsided well after the VC mortar shelling ceased. On the American side, there was one dead and one wounded. On the Viet Cong side, there were no casualties, although the Americans wanted to believe there had been many. It had been a typical nighttime Viet Cong mortar attack.

4

For several days after the ambush, life was quiet and dull for Company A. The night of the mortar attack most of the men had been able to fall asleep quickly. It apparently helped that they were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. It was on the following night that most of them slept fitfully and uncomfortably. Many of them had nightmares when they were able to finally fall asleep. Fearful cries, mad groans, and frantic cursing could be heard as the men were tortured by their dreams. Everyone was figuring there would be another mortar attack like the one the night before, but nothing happened. Neither were there any attacks on the following nights. It was a steady war on the nerves. During the day, the men stayed in the camp for the most part. No search and destroy operations were undertaken. There were two small patrols that were run in the week following the mortar attack, but the 1st platoon did not participate in either one of them. The men in the company were bored and anxious to know what was in store next.

The gossip was as lively as usual with all kinds of speculation as to what was going on in the mind of the Company Commander, Captain Stanley Mark Look from Walla Walla, Washington and the other officers above him. For the most part, the men respected and trusted Captain Look, but there was an air of indecision in his manner and this made the men wonder whether the failure to undertake any major action might not be the result of poor judgment. All sorts of attempts were made to second guess the effect such failure to act might have on the company's eventual fate.

"Sarge, I wonder if it might not be better to attack the VC now," Pvt. Leonard Washington from Los Angeles, California suggested to Sergeant First Class Melvin Wood from Columbia, South Carolina. Washington was tall and wiry. He was intelligent and alert. He had a wide vocabulary and could be very articulate whenever the occasion presented itself. He generally spoke English with a solid Midwestern accent unadorned with any traces of ethnic speech. However, whenever Washington was around just talking or joking with the "brothers," he could take on the thickest black Southern drawl and use the latest popular black ethnic expressions as well as any other black. He was generally well-informed on current events and could show wisdom and good judgment in conversation.

Both his father and mother had attended college although neither one had finished. Washington's father was a successful insurance salesman who had been in the business for many years. His father had been very disappointed when Leonard had dropped out of college after only one year of attendance. He had harbored hopes that his son would go on to finish and get a good job, perhaps even enter one of the professions. Leonard had done average work in high school, but his teachers pointed out that he could do very well if only he applied himself. His father had hoped that he would finally catch fire in college and do as well as he was capable of doing.

Washington had not cared very much about school when he was growing up because it was dull and lifeless. He hated just sitting all day and learning things that weren't exciting. He often acted up in class along with some of the other kids. He did it to put some life into the place. It just added some fun to it all, he thought. He hated the kids that were always so quiet and obedient. They were so "uncool." He knew he was as smart as any of them, but he wasn't about to get into what he saw as the game of trying to please the teacher.

Young Washington had confidence in his abilities. If anything, he was too cocky and even arrogant at times. He knew he could do well in school, but he just didn't want to. In sports he had good ability. He was especially fast, and he stood out as a pass receiver in football. He played end on the high school "B" team, but he had not gone on to play on the varsity because of conflicts with the coaches. He resented their attempt to run the lives of the players off the field as well as on it. The coaches had gotten on him when they had been told by someone that he had been seen smoking. Washington had gotten mad and decided that it wasn't worth it to give up his independence and the things he liked to do. He quit the team even though it was clear that he. would have been able to play first string.

Washington had also gone through a period in which he had gotten in many fights. This had happened in grade school and in junior high. He was one of the best fighters. He moved very quickly and usually got the best of his opponent at the beginning. He felt proud to be a good fighter. His friends feared and admired him for his athletic and combative abilities. Physical strength and ability were important in his group of friends. Washington once beat up a kid badly. He had clearly subdued the other boy, but he kept on hitting him until he had given the youngster a severely bloody nose. Afterwards, Washington had reflected briefly on what he had done and on what he had felt. He had continued pounding on the other boy because of a rage he had felt. He didn't know the exact origin of the rage. He wasn't sure whether it came from anger, frustration, fear, or resentment. He just knew he had felt a strong animosity. He thought that the dislike toward the kid came partly from the fact that the boy was one of the most popular of the pupils with the teacher. He also came upon a surprising realization for the first time; much of the rage was against the boy because he was white.

Washington continued to express his tactical opinions to Sgt. Wood,"I mean, you know, it looks like maybe they're not so strong right now, you know. They haven't done anything after the attack that night. It seems like if they were really that strong they would've hit us again. Maybe we should get them motherfuckers now while it's a lot easier."

"That could be. I dunno," answered Sfc. Wood. In actuality, Wood had given the matter some thought. He had talked to Captain Look about precisely the same idea of attacking very soon. Wood thought it was a better approach for the same reasons that Washington had mentioned. Wood had not pressed the matter very hard. It wasn't his style to be insistent. It was clear that the Captain was reluctant to make any kind of decision. Sgt. Wood couldn't understand why. He was aware that he had a hard time trying to figure out Captain Look.

Stanley Mark Look was well aware that it was best to make a definite decision but he had never been one to make quick decisions. He had always preferred to take his time in making a decision, weighing all the reasons to be considered on both sides before arriving at a definite conclusion. Yet now, in considering whether the Company should make an attack, he knew that there weren't that many considerations to take into account. It was clear that an attack was advisable at this point and that the risk to the Company was relatively minor. He felt not merely reluctant; he felt frozen to do anything about calling an attack upon the VC. He was beginning to realize that he simply did not want to be responsible for leading his men into battles in which at least some, and possibly a large number, would be killed.

He had not expected to discover these feelings within himself, either when he entered the Army or when he arrived in Vietnam. He had been in favor of U.S. involvement in Vietnam ever since he had first begun to hear about it in 1963. He had never been a fervent supporter of the war, and he had hoped very much that the U.S. would not have to become heavily involved. He was sure, however, that President Johnson and his advisers had made the right decision when they had decided to send troops to South Vietnam. He was positive that they were all intelligent and sincere men who made sound decisions for the good of the country and its allies. He knew that he was not fully informed on all the details behind the history of the war, but it was impossible to be truly well informed about all national affairs. He believed that he was better informed than many people. After all, he had graduated from college. He had received a bachelor's degree in business administration from the University of Washington.

As far as he could understand, North Vietnam and South Vietnam had been created as two separate countries in 1954 by the treaty that ended the Indochina War against French colonial rule. North Vietnam became Communist. The United States was committed to defend South Vietnam from oppression by the North through U.S. membership in the Southeast Asia Treaty Organization. To Look, this was sufficient cause for the U.S. to become involved in military conflict in South Vietnam. There were other historical details involved, but Look was sure that they were minor ones. For the most part, he felt he had faith in his country and in the President to make the right decisions. It was his duty as a citizen to see that his country's commitments were honored and its policies were successfully carried out. If this meant going to war, it was unfortunate, but he had an obligation to serve his country.

In spite of these beliefs, they did not now seem strong enough to motivate him to become a fierce commander, willing to lead his men into combat regardless of the possible consequences. He knew that his reluctance did not stem from disloyalty or lack of patriotism. Neither did he want to admit that their was any cowardice on his part. In childhood and in school, he had been a good, obedient boy. He had faithfully carried out any duties that had been assigned whether at home or at school. He had not been an outstanding student, but he had performed diligently enough to graduate from college with a respectable academic record. He knew he had always done his best.

In the days after the ambush on A squad, he mentally wrestled with himself almost continuously, trying to figure out what it was that seemed to be holding him back. He tried to understand why it was so hard to make the decision to attack.

Apart from giving the men time to consider strategy, the lack of activity gave them plenty of opportunity to clean their M-l6s, a task which had to be performed faithfully since the rifles jammed easily if they weren't kept clean. Sgt. Wood kept on B squad to keep their rifles clean. "You know you want those damn rifles to come through when you need it, or else you just might find yourself kissin' your ass goodbye," he would tell them. Apart from rifle cleaning, there were few other chores to be performed. Every so often each man's turn would come when he would have to pull guard duty. Standing guard would be a tense experience, but it was only relatively so. Any tension was created more by the silence and lack of someone else with whom to talk in order to pass the time. The VC rarely tried to overrun a camp by surprise nor did they send solitary intruders to sneak into a camp. The Viet Cong generally made their presence well known through mortar barrages.

During their working hours, the men were bored but for the most part they knew they should have been thankful for the long moments of ennui. They were aware of what the alternative might very well have been. Yet, there was still an anxiety that at moments made them yearn irresistibly for some means of breaking the spell of tension. "Hell, I still feel like I wanna get into something. In a way, I think I'll feel better after I kill my first dink," Kelly told Mendez, staring into the space ahead as he sometimes did.

On January 26th, exactly a week after the Viet Cong mortar attack, the entire company went on a search and destroy operation. A decision had been made for Capt. Look by his superiors. The men were informed about the operation the day before by the Captain. He addressed the Company seriously but managed to show confidence in them and in the expected success of the expedition. "The village we're going into tomorrow has been friendly to the VC in the past. From reconnaissance reports, Charlie hasn't been in there for a while. We've still got to be damned careful, men. You can't ever tell where or when Charlie will pop up. They just might be in there--even if just a few of them--and give us a good fight. We've gotta go in slow and careful.

"Now whether we find VC or not, we've got orders to make a village relocation. I think you've heard about that kind of thing before and know what it means. It's the kind of thing that the Army's been doing for years now. I guess it's the best way to go about eradicating the VC, but after all this time, it doesn't seem to have done much good. They just seem to be able to take hold of support in other villages. Of course, all that's just as a matter of background--I guess I'm getting carried away giving my opinions. The fact is we've got our orders for tomorrow, and that's what we've got to do.

"A village relocation means we've got to move all the inhabitants out of their homes--for good. We'll destroy all food that they can't carry with them, kill off the livestock, and burn their hooches. The reason for all that is obvious. We can't leave anything at all for the VC to use. The people of the village will be transported to what are called resettlement camps, but we won't be involved in that. We'll be leaving at 0700 tomorrow morning."

The following morning the members of A Company boarded the helicopters that were to transport them to a point just outside the village. They boarded the choppers quietly and with relative calmness. Mangini was unusually quiet, while Werner was laboring, as usual, to try to get fully awake. Mendez wasn't thinking very much about what might happen. His mind was relatively calm. He was simply trudging forward into whatever seemingly inevitable events the day would bring. All in all, the men of Company A acted surprisingly like crusty war veterans who expected no surprises that day and who knew that they could handle themselves well in the event that there were any firefights.

Perhaps, it was the fact that they had come through the mortar attack of the previous week relatively unscathed that made them feel that they were now veterans who could handle themselves in any situation. Or their calmness could have been attributed to the company commander's speech that did not communicate any great sense of danger or urgency in the mission.

The helicopter ride gave the men another chance to get a look at the Vietnamese countryside. It was a clear, sunny morning that cast a splendorous light upon everything below. Mendez was once again taken in by the scenery presented below the airborne vehicle. He could now see once again the bright green of the forests. There were different shades of green to be seen. Then there were the yellow-brown colors of the rice paddies in which could be seen a few Vietnamese and their work animals already toiling at this early hour of the morning. Yet, this time he noticed something he had not noticed on the first helicopter trip the Company had taken to their fire base. The countryside below was not as pure and unadulterated as it had appeared before. This time one could see a number of craters scattered through the area. Most of them were near the highway. The Air Force had apparently found reason to bomb the fields below at different times. The craters made by the bombs would obviously mark the countryside for years to come.

Another trace of warfare was a large portion, perhaps 1,000 feet long, of a field which had been burned almost completely black. Mendez tried to figure out what it was that had caused the burning. Perhaps, he thought, the conflagration had not been the result of warfare operations but had instead been the product of an unfortunate accident that had befallen the Vietnamese farmers who owned the land. But then what, Mendez wondered, could have caused the fire if it had been started by the Vietnamese. Mendez then remembered the most probable cause of the fire--napalm. That was right, he thought, they often dropped napalm bombs in Vietnam in attempts to flush out the VC from an area. They also did it to burn crops so the VC wouldn't get to them. At other times, they did that with insecticides instead of napalm.

Near the end of the ride, the helicopters passed over a village, or rather what had once been a village. There were no inhabitants to be seen in the former village. Where the houses had stood, there were only a few remnants to show the former human habitation, and there were only black outlines on the ground where the walls had stood that had now been burned down. This, Mendez thought, would be the way the village to which they were going would look like tomorrow.

The helicopters landed 2,000 feet away from the village to avoid any possible VC fire coming from within the village. The soldiers were confused as to what to do after they landed. There had been no detailed instructions as to what was to be done immediately after leaving the helicopters.

"Hey, Rich," yelled Kelly to Mendez, "do they want us to just start going in now, or do we wait for everyone to land so the Company can go in together?"

"I don't know," yelled back Mendez. It was hard to hear on account of the loud noise made by the helicopter engines. "I suppose we ought to wait, but I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders.

The loud noise made Mendez aware of the drama of the situation. They were going into a village that was supposedly infiltrated by the enemy with the possibility that the Company would encounter fierce opposition from the Viet Cong. There could be one of those pitched battles that were the stuff out of which wars were made. Here it was, the kind of situation about which so much had been written and movies had been made. It was the very drama of war, and here he was somehow mysteriously in the middle of it. He hadn't really wanted to be here before, nor did he relish the idea of being present now. But here he was in the middle of it all now, and he couldn't get over the feeling of disbelief that it was all happening.

All the while, he was aware of the sound made by the helicopters, and for a second, he was reminded that he had noticed before in his life that certain sounds often aroused his emotions and seemed to enhance the drama of the particular moment. He had wondered whether he was the only one who was moved in that way. Certainly no one had ever mentioned that sound affected them in the same way. Before, he had often been aroused by the sound of drums, such as in parades or in football games. Loud continuous noise--like the sound of the helicopter engines--had also excited him, sometimes bringing out feelings of an aggressive nature. This was especially true whenever the loud sound was present at a gathering of a large crowd.

"I guess we better get our asses movin'." yelled Werner flashing his large grin. He was apparently taking a cue from many of the men who were now proceeding toward the village in small groups, although there did not appear to be the organization that was to be expected. At that moment, Sfc. Wood came by and yelled at his men as he continued to walk forward in a slight crouch, while looking ahead cautiously. "Get low and keep your eyes open at all times. Cut out all the unnecessary chatter. You cain't tell when they could start firing, so be ready at all times. We're in no hurry. It's better to take it slow and easy and don't get too far ahead." The men in his B squad didn't have to be told twice. They respected and saw him as a serious, truly professional soldier in whom they could trust.

All the men now approached the village very slowly expecting to hear the sound of the Viet Cong rifles firing at them at any moment. Every single one of them was afraid, yet they proceeded calmly without panic. Each one moved forward slowly, even though no one was sure that the next step would not be his last. It was not clear whether their relative calm was the result of a fatalistic resignation to the fact that they might be pierced by a bullet any second. Or their seeming composure might have been the result of a newly found confidence in their ability as fighting men, which had blossomed after the night of the mortar attack.

They continued to creep slowly and finally arrived at the village without being fired upon. A few of the villagers could be seen around their modest huts and in the streets. They were going about their business as usual, but it seemed that there were many who were staying hidden inside their houses, peering out of their windows fearful of what might happen in the ensuing moments. Capt. Look soon came upon the scene and asked questions from two old men. He and some of the other men who tried to talk to the villagers were able to communicate very little because of a serious language barrier, They were told little that they didn't already know. The old men said that there were no Viet Cong in the village and that the VC hadn't come to the village for several weeks.

The men walked slowly through the village, keeping out a watchful eye and checking to see that there were no Viet Cong hiding in the village. For the first few minutes, the village was very quiet, and it was apparent that the main concern of the villagers was to stay out of the way of the soldiers. After a while, small packs of kids started coming up to the soldiers, yelling and giggling.

"Hey, Joe," they would shout, "have Coke. Hey, cigarettes." The kids had a good supply of American soda, candy and cigarettes. The soldiers realized where the goodies went that kids begged G.I.'s for at other places. The men were not interested in the merchandise as they had not been out in the field for very long. Later on, after being out on the field for several weeks, they would more readily miss many of the conveniences they were used to back in the States. They would also become better acquainted with the kinds of cigarettes the Vietnamese boys had to offer, Park Lane was perhaps the most popular of the new brands to be found exclusively in Southeast Asia. It was clear that the reason for this popularity was the fact that Park Lane cigarettes were not the typical "tobacco" cigarettes.

Suddenly, a loud explosion went off in the middle of one of the small hamlet's streets. The soldiers reflexively ran for cover behind the huts. They did not ask questions until they were behind safe protection. They waited but no more explosions or fire of any kind was heard. Instead, one of the G.I.'s was soon heard yelling frantically, "The little bastard got me, the little bastard got me!" He was one of the soldiers from 3rd platoon. He was writhing on the ground holding his left thigh as he kept on screaming. Several G.I.'s came to help the fallen soldier. He told them what had happened.

"This little dink was coming toward me. He started running to his right and threw a grenade at me."

The G.I. didn't appear to be very badly wounded. He was mainly hit by shrapnel as the grenade had bounced far in front of him. There were no other soldiers close enough to get hit. The news of the incident spread throughout the Company in a matter of minutes. The soldiers became angry when they heard about it.

"Hell, you cain't trust a fuckin' one of these gooks," said Ron Dotson disgustedly. "You just cain't."

"Yeah. We oughta shoot down every single one of these fuckers," added Kelly. His eyes were fiery and piercing with anger. "Hell, what's the captain waiting for? We oughta get started in cleaning up this goddamn village."

The men very soon got restless and as eager as Kelly to get on with the operation. Capt. Look felt the mood of the men but did not give out any orders. He was still trying to find Vietnamese who might know better English, although he was quite sure that the search would prove fruitless. Second Lieutenant James Corley from Phoenix, Arizona, who was in charge of 2nd platoon, was anxious about getting the mission under way. He was a dedicated soldier who took his Army duties very seriously. While in ROTC at Arizona State, he had never seriously considered following a military career, but since entering active duty, he had decided that he would probably stay in as a career. He liked the discipline, the organization, and the idea of leading men.

Lt. Corley came up to Capt. Look. "Captain, is it all right with you if we start evacuating people? The men are anxious to get on with the mission and they're getting a little restless."

"Yeah, yeah, Lieutenant," answered the Captain, "that's a good idea. I guess that's a good idea."

"I'll take my platoon and start at the northwest corner of the village, if that's O.K. with you," remarked Corley.

"That's fine, Lieutenant," answered Capt. Look. "Go right ahead."

Although the relocation operation was neither well-organized nor properly coordinated, it wasn't very long before all the men were busy doing the job they had come to do. Most of them were going about the task energetically. They certainly needed no special prodding, especially after the incident with the grenade. Many like Kelly and Dotson were downright furious. They had to forcibly drag some of the Vietnamese out of their houses. The old people were especially reluctant. All of the inhabitants knew immediately what was going to happen when the American soldiers started to tell them to get out of their houses and to take out their belongings. The Vietnamese had heard of villages being evacuated before, and they knew that it meant not ever being able to come back home again.

Cpl. Kelly was one of those who was having a particularly hard time getting the Vietnamese to leave their little huts. "Come on, get da fuck out," he yelled at one old man as he pulled him by the collar and back of the belt. "Don't you know what's good for you?" The old man, who wore a frightened look on his face, gave a muffled sob. Kelly then reached for a small 8 year old boy and led him out with a soft kick with the inside of his foot.

Dennis Kelly was still smoldering over the boy's throwing of the grenade at the American. His anger was not surprising since being temperamental was one of his better known traits. Aside from his short temper, Kelly had always been considered a good, well behaved boy back home in Natick, a suburb of Boston. He was the third oldest in a family of 10, and he had always been the most helpful to his mother in carrying on the family responsibilities. Kelly's father had died from lung cancer when Dennis was 10 years old. He had taken his father's death hard and had become very helpful to his mother after that. Dennis hadn't particularly stood out in school. He had received passing grades, and he had always been polite, although there had always been a definite streak of rebelliousness in him. Dennis was very fond of his family, every single one of them. He liked being part of a large family, and he had planned to have a large one when he grew up. He knew he would love it. He was very fond of children.

After getting the family out of their house, Kelly put his cigarette lighter up to the roof of the house. The thatched palm leaves caught fire immediately. Some of the other huts had already been set on fire. Eventually, all the houses would meet the same fate. A young woman, the mother of the young boy that Kelly had kicked out, came crying to Kelly and grabbed him. She was trying to stop the burning of her home. It was too late by the time she grabbed him--the hut was already well on fire. Pvt. Curtis Boyd of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, led the woman away struggling and screaming. She was taken to the edge of the hamlet where trucks would soon stop by to pick up the inhabitants. The same scene was repeated at many of the other houses. All around there were women and children crying and even some of the old men. Most of the soldiers went about their business efficiently and to a certain extent coldly, still resentful of having to fight a war against such a devious enemy. The faces of some of the soldiers wore the same looks of confusion and bewilderment that could be seen on the faces of the Vietnamese. After setting the huts on fire, the soldiers proceeded as ordered to rip up all the sacks of rice and other food that they could find. Some of the people tried to stop the soldiers from destroying the food, but they were pushed away.

Richard was cutting up a rice sack. Pvt. John Roy from Jackson, Alabama, came up to him, "Hey, Rich, these people don't seem to understand it." Roy looked at a group of them with a pitying expression. "They probably know about those crummy camps they' re going to be put in," Roy continued. "I'm sure they don't look forward to it."

"Nah," answered Richard as he reluctantly pushed the rice into the fire that was starting up. "These fucking huts aren't much, but I guess it's a lot to them. They don't own very much and haven't got many clothes, either."

"It doesn't look like they eat too much, either," said Roy. He helped Richard with a certain reluctance.

"Hey, look what I got," exclaimed Werner as he ran up. He had a very happy and satisfied smile on his face as he showed them a shiny gold bracelet. "I took it from that hut over there. Fuck, they don't really need it anyway. I saw some of the other guys doing it, so I figured why not. Shit, it's just little things."

Werner moved on. Some of the other soldiers sounded just as gleeful as Werner. They were letting out war whoops and talking excitedly. The fire seemed to arouse them all the more. By now, most of the huts were on fire. Other soldiers reacted more like Roy. Pity was generally not reflected in their faces. Instead, it was a blank expression which expressed more of a somnambulistic disbelief.

Right then, they were startled by rifle fire. They soon realized that it was only some of the other men shooting the livestock as had been ordered. The animals didn't run. They were standing next to the burning huts. They slumped down in their places with unbelieving, bovine stares. They were hard to kill completely so some of them were just left to sit there and slowly bleed to death. They didn't make any noise, but there were plenty of other sounds to be heard. By now, the sound of the burning palm roofs of the huts was very loud. Beyond that could be heard some of the yelling of the soldiers, but most clear of all the sounds was the crying of the women and children.

5

At the end of the day, Mendez sat thinking about all the Vietnamese in the village as they watched their houses burning. He hadn't seen anyone express any outright anger or hostility toward the Americans, but he had certainly not felt either very welcome or admired. He had sensed a strong feeling of detachment and remoteness between the civilians and the soldiers. There were none of the warm feelings that he expected between American soldiers and their allies. Perhaps they had in reality been seething with anger but had suppressed it for fear of retaliation.

The whole scene had not been anything like what his father had described upon returning from the fighting in World War II. He very vaguely remembered his father Frank Mendez coming home from the war in December, 1945. It was the earliest memory he had of his life, and no doubt it was impressed upon his mind because it had been a very important day--the first day he had ever seen his father. His father was full of stories to tell. He had served in Europe, and his favorite story was about the day the Americans entered Paris. Richard didn't remember anything about what his father had said in 1945, but he would hear the story many times afterward of how the Americans entered Paris. According to his father, the Parisians cheered madly when the Americans marched into Paris. They loved and deeply admired the soldiers, and the soldiers gave candy to the kids. "Everyone had a grand time," his father would remember with glee.

He envied his father now. What had happened today did not seem at all like the way his father said soldiers and civilian allies got along. He probably just had too romantic a view of what war would be like, he thought. Perhaps, his father had exaggerated the grander aspects of war. He believed his father's account of the American entry into Paris because he had read and seen film clips about it. Now he was thinking that perhaps his father had only told about one side of it and had omitted to talk about what had happened to civilians caught in the middle of the fields of battle. It probably was really true that old soldiers tended to forget--even if only unconsciously and unintentionally--about the less triumphant aspects of war.

Mendez then thought back about the year 1945 and how it was a year of various adjustments for many families. He for one did not meet his father until past his 2nd birthday. He was born on November 4, 1943, and he first saw his father on December 16, 1945. It all reminded him of one his favorite motion pictures The Best Years of Our Lives, which dealt with the many adjustments that people had to make right after the war. The film was voted Best Picture of 1946 at the Academy Awards. The characters in the story found various postwar obstacles in their way, like product shortages, expensive housing, and social/emotional readjustment. They sometimes became discouraged and dejected in the face of their problems, but ultimately they were courageous, optimistic, and determined to overcome. The picture was touching and inspiring. They just didn't seem to make them like that anymore.

While Mendez and his family were being reunited in Los Angeles, Weldon H. Meriwether was being reunited with his wife in Kokomo, Indiana. They had married just before he had left for the war in the Army Air Corps. They had met at Purdue University where he had received a degree in electrical engineering in 1940. He had gotten a job in Indianapolis after graduation, but it was soon afterward that he had been drafted.

Meriwether was very happy to be back in 1945 and was eager to continue with his career and with raising a family. He felt optimistic about the future. Luck was certainly with him. While in New York after his arrival from Europe, he had gone on several job interviews, and he had been hired by a well-known company to work in a plant on Long Island. His wife was as thrilled as he was. She was proud of his energy and ambition. He was tall, thin, good-looking and almost always talking and making plans about the future. They decided to have three children and to start on that project as soon as they moved out to Long Island.

Meriwether also thought about his career plans. He liked engineering and technical work. He was certainly going to try to grow and learn in his field. But he wasn't going to be satisfied just with that. He also liked thinking of the possibility of rising high in the administration of an important company, maybe even as high as president. He knew it would take much hard work and a willingness to put up with many conflicts and inconveniences, including those created by supervisors and other employees. Nevertheless, he was willing to endure those hardships. Meriwether believed in the adage that there was a price to be paid for every benefit.

He cherished the thought of being able to rise high in professional status and the added bonus of being able to earn a high salary. With good pay, he would be able to provide well for his family. He could buy an attractive and spacious new home, an abundance of clothes and toys, a good college education for each child, and many other advantages.

Meriwether was determined to avoid pitfalls that would get in the way of achieving his plans and dreams. He knew there were many obstacles, but he was also confident that he was learning from experience and would continue to learn.

He remembered one particular incident that had taken place in Sicily in 1944 from which he had learned a very valuable lesson. It had involved a master sergeant who was put on court-martial after a colonel had accused him of insubordination. Meriwether, who was a first lieutenant in line to soon become captain, had been a witness to the master sergeant's alleged disobedience. He agreed to be a witness at the court martial even though he could have found a way to avoid being a witness in order to avoid the risk of antagonizing the colonel. He was not in the colonel's unit, but Meriwether knew that as a superior officer the colonel could make considerable trouble for him. As a result of Meriwether's testimony, the sergeant was acquitted of the charge. Meriwether was passed up for promotion when he was considered a month later. He was not presented a very satisfactory reason for the denial of the promotion. He was again unexplainably passed up a few months later. It was not until a full year later that he finally was raised to captain. He swore at that moment that he would never again stick out his neck for anyone if it meant risking a substantial detriment to himself.

Mendez's father had not returned home immediately after the end of the fighting because there had not been sufficient transportation to return everyone home immediately. Riots broke out among servicemen at some overseas bases in protest against the government for not bringing them back home soon enough. Perhaps an unspoken reason for leaving the soldiers overseas longer had been the considerable tension between Russia and the Western Allies. Some even talked of war. The Soviet Union occupied several eastern European countries with its army and gave encouragement to forcible government takeovers by indigenous Communist parties. This Soviet aggression was partly based on its belief that it needed friendly countries around its borders for protection against treacherous Western nations and partly based on the Communist idea of promoting social revolution around the world. The Western countries were unhappy with the Russians because of this aggressiveness and for having signed a nonaggression pact in 1939 with Germany, which also contained a secret agreement to divide Poland between the countries. Westerners were also still mindful of the crushing violence that had taken place since the ascendancy of the Communist government. There had been the Red Terror in 1917, in which it was said that over two million people were killed, and the Stalinist purges of the 1930's.

At the same time, there were considerable problems in postwar readjustment in the Far East. In Indochina, the Vietminh, a Vietnamese nationalist group organized before World War II to oppose French rule, had helped to recapture their country from the Japanese. After defeat of the Japanese by the Allies, they were able to form a provisional government and gain control of the country. This marked the first time Vietnamese had control of their country since the French took complete control in 1883. In 1945, Ho Chi Minh, leader of the Viet Minh, wrote several letters to President Harry Truman and the U.S. State Department asking for the help of the U.S. and the United Nations in opposing the reestablishment of French colonial rule in Indochina. President Truman apparently never answered the letters. Without help for the Vietnamese, the French were able to regain control over them before long. The British were given the responsibility of clearing the Japanese from southern Indochina and restoring peaceful conditions. With the acquiescence of the British, the French launched a coup d'etat against the provisional government on September 23, 1945. The French and British actions were apparently motivated by the fear of the Communistic orientation of the Vietminh. The French quickly regained control of Saigon and took many prisoners. The British allowed Japanese troops to aid the French in fighting the Vietnamese. By Christmas, the French were strong enough in the south to take on the job of "pacification." American General Douglas MacArthur protested the actions:

If there is anything that makes my blood boil, it is to see our allies in Indochina and Java deploying Japanese troops to reconquer the little people we promised to liberate. It is the most ignoble kind of betrayal.

In late 1945, a young man by the name of Richard Milhous Nixon had just returned from uneventful duty on a Pacific island with the U.S. Navy and was getting ready to run for Congress. Nixon was a respectable, hard-working citizen, although like anyone else, he had his shortcomings. He had, for instance, cheated in a college debate by quoting facts and figures from a blank piece of paper, contrary to the rules of the debate. In 1946 he would run a vigorous campaign against incumbent Jerry Voorhis, a ten-year House veteran. One of his tactics would be to reportedly telephone thousands of voters and tell them the falsehood, "This is a friend of yours but I can't tell you my name. I just want to tell you that Jerry Voorhis is a Communist."

At the same time, a Democratic Congressman from Texas by the name of Lyndon Baines Johnson was changing his political strategy in order to better adapt to the practical reality of a Texas that was becoming increasingly conservative. A New Dealer under Roosevelt, he would gradually move to the right by consistently voting against civil rights measures and by voting in favor of the Taft-Hartley Labor Act. Johnson had served in the Navy in World War II, but it had been a very brief stint. It had been done mainly for propaganda purposes, and he had quickly been called back to Congress.

6

A few nights after the relocation, Richard had a dream in which Werner appeared. When he woke up in the morning, he didn't remember any of the details of the dream, but he had a vivid image in his mind of how Carl had appeared. He recalled his face with the bright red cheeks, the wide, trusting smile, and the bright eyes that reflected a ready affection for everyone. But then on top of his head was a Nazi helmet! Richard felt bad about having such a dream about him. Carl could never be a damn Nazi.

Yet, he had looked so much like a Nazi in the dream, so realistic. Richard then remembered hearing that many of those Nazi soldiers had been very young, especially near the end of the war. Some of them probably had looked very much like Carl.

The days after the Company's mission of the village relocation were as uneventful and full of tedium as the days before the mission. The men cleaned their rifles and their huts over and over, trying to pass the slow time away somehow. A few work details were thought up by the officers to keep the men busy, but these didn't take very long to complete. Furthermore, they didn't relieve the men from the constantly prevailing sense of boredom, since the assigned chores were artificial ones--designed only to keep the men busy. The men were very conscious of this. They had by now become aware of the Army's "busywork" policy and they resented being manipulated in such a manner.

Many of the men would spend long hours playing cards, but even this would get boring after a while. Much time was passed in conversations which sometimes had little coherence, but this was not important since the real object of the discussions was not so much enlightenment as it was entertainment. The Army, the Vietnamese, friends, and families back home were often discussed, but the most popular subjects were cars and sex.

MANGINI Hell, my favorite car is the Corvette. There's no car like it. It's got all the fuckin' power you want, but it's also got maneuverability. It turns a fuckin' corner as good as any other car.

PFC. DANIEL SADOWSKI (from Worthington, Minnesota) Ah, come on, Ron. How about the Porsche or Ferrari? Don't fuckin' tell me they don't handle better.

MANGINI Oh, yeah, but they don't have the power off the line a 'Vette has. Shit, I had a buddy back home with a Corvette and I saw him beat several Porsches in the street. They were no match, man.

CPL. JERRY GATES (from Dover, Delaware) Well, I'll tell ya, I know a car can beat Corvettes, and it ain't no goddamn foreign car--a Plymouth Hemi. I know, I had one myself before I came in. Hated to get rid of that son-bitch. It was a good car. It was nice looking--chrome valve covers, chrome air cleaner lid, and the chrome headers made a big difference. It had fuel injection and four on the floor and shit. I tell you I beat some Corvettes with that car and a bunch o' others, too.

SADOWSKI Yeah, I've heard those Hemis are pretty good. I had a Chevelle SS 396 myself before I came in. It was a new '66. It ran damn good and shit, but the big problem with it was it didn't have a positraction rear axle.

MANGINI Fuck, you can't do very much if you don't have positraction.

SADOWSKI Yeah, I know.

MANGINI You fuckin' Polack, I know I'm gonna get me a Corvette when I get out da war, man. And I guess if I can't afford it or something, I'd probably settle for a Chevelle SS. Hell, I can work on any car right in my old man's garage; he's a mechanic, you know. I've learned a lot from working in his garage.

GATES You gonna work as a mechanic when you get out?

MANGINI Yeah, I like fuckin' around with cars. Shit, I'm gonna build me up a car that nobodycan beat when I get out, boy.

PVT. ROBERT OWENS (from Gary, Indiana) Man, shit, I don't give a fuck about no car that can beat anybody. Give me a Cadillac, man. Man, that's the baddest car there is, far as I'm concerned. Those motherfuckers give you the prettiest ride and luxury, maaan! All kinds o' power, and reclining seats and shit and the automatic cruise control. And some of them got gold plating, I heard, in some of the interiors. Makes you feel like a fucking king, boy.

SADOWSKI Hell, come, on, O. Why don't you tell it like it is. What you want is a fuckin' pussy wagon.

OWENS Hell, you ain't lyin'. Those holes really go for them kind o' cars, you know, all that luxury and shit.

MANGINI Fuck, don't tell me they don't go for a Corvette, man. They just love being seem in one of those.

OWENS Sheeit, man. The broads I know'll take a Fleetwood over a Corvette any ole day. You shittin' me?

MANGINI Ah, come on, O.

Cpl. Edward H. Sutton from Brooklyn, New York, came into the area the men were sitting in. Sutton, like Owens, was black, but unlike Owens he was short--5'4." Sutton had been born in Jamaica and had come to Brooklyn when he was 10. He was articulate and well informed compared to the other G.I.'s. He was ambitious and reflected seriously about many of the events that took place. He was individualistic in his thinking. He was interested in social problems, but he was not concerned exclusively with problems that affected only black people. He was one of the older soldiers in the company at 24 years of age and had just started his second enlistment before coming to Vietnam. He was religious in a quiet, personal, and nondogmatic sense.

Owens, by contrast, was 6'2" and 19 years old. He was powerfully built, although his muscles weren't particularly well defined. He was generally quiet and in many ways sensitive but he could be sociable and would often get into talkative moods.

Gates was a 20 year old who had led a tough life as a boy in Dover. He was white. His parents had never gotten along very well, and he had gotten a skewed view of relationships. He had the opportunity to become very independent at a young age since neither of his parents had seemed to care very much about where he spent his time. He had found early that it was often necessary to develop a tough demeanor both out in the streets as well as at home. His father left the family when he was fifteen. This had been one of several misfortunes that he had been forced to endure.

SUTTON Hey, did you hear (speaking in a slight Jamaican accent) about those guys that Shukitt and I talked to on Highway One on the day of the relocation? .

GATES Naw, Sutton, what the fuck they say? (Speaking in his normal blustery manner.)

SUTTON They were telling us about the Viet Cong ears they'd collected. They do it every chance they get in their company and other companies. They said the brass are starting to send word down that they don't want it done anymore. Probably some people back in the States putting pressure on the Army to cut out that kind o' shit, man.

SADOWSKI Yeah, I'd heard about that shit before I got out to 'Nam. I heard some guys had a whole bunch o' gook ears in bottles with chemicals and shit.

GATES Fuck. I don't care what anybody says I'm going to get me a collection of ears. I don't give a fuck what anybody says.

MANGINI What da shit, man? (Laughingly.) They gotta give a guy a chance to take some decent souvenirs home--huh." (Mangini turned on a transistor radio to the Armed Forces Radio and Television Station (AFRTS) in Danang. "Little GTO" by Ronnie and the Daytonas was playing.) Hey, there's one of our songs, boys. And remember "409" by the Beach Boys? {Pause as they listen momentarily.)

OWENS (who had worked in a steel scrap yard before coming into the Army) Man, I just cain't wait to get back to the world and start driving around in a Cadillac. And I'm gonna get me a job and make me some good bread, too. Man, I'll be spendin' cash and talkin' trash, boy.

SADOWSKI You ain't the only one.

GATES I'm gonna get rich, motherfucker, or l'm gonna die trying. There's a lot of rich people in this world, and there's no reason why I can't be one of them, goddamn it.

MANGINI I'm sure you can get rich, but you might have to do some illegal shit.

GATES Shit, that ain't no problem. It don't bother me. Fuck, how do you think a lot of rich fuckers got their money. Happens all the time.

SUTTON Look at Rockefeller. He did a lot of shady things and nobody did anything to him.

A few days later, in the evening in the hut of Pvt. Gary Menefee from Bedford, Indiana, a member of D squad, 1st. platoon.

KELLY (in a low guarded tone). Fuck, did you see those niggers dancing around last night in front of Boyd's tent?

CP. WILLIAM C. GORE (from Wellington, Kansas) Yeah, you know those spear chuckers always have to be doing their jig.

GATES Yeah and then they have to go and start talking that bullshit jive talk of theirs and getting loud and shit. I never see why they always have to get so fucking loud and shit. Gotta talk loud and play the goddamn radio loud so everybody else'll be forced to listen to that jungle music.

MENEFEE (imitating a black's accent) Soul music, baby, ain't you white boys heard 'bout soul music? There ain't nuthin' else in this world, mothafucka.

GATES Yeah, well, you can shove it.

ARNOLD Then there's all the shit they've started back home--going around and trying to burn up every goddamn city in the country and shit.

KELLY Fucking bastards. They oughta just ship 'em all back to Africa. They don't like it, they don't have to stay.

MENEFEE The fuckin' thing is the dumb fuckers are so stupid they just keep burning up their own neighborhoods and houses. I can't see what the dumb asses are trying to do by that.

KELLY Those fuckin' coons just better not try to come to my house. I'll shoot their ass good.

GORE (after a pause in the conversation) That fuckin' Boyd is one of the ugliest fuckers I've ever seen. Dark as hell and the thickest goddamn lips.

KELLY Yeah and then lots of times you'll see an ugly spook like that going around with a nice looking white chick.

GATES That kind o' shit makes me wanna puke. Goddamn it.

ARNOLD Shit, you just have to make sure that kind o' shit just doesn't happen. My senior year in high school, there was this big shit romance between this nigger and a white girl. Well, the summer after graduation, these guys I know decided they were going to teach this coon a lesson. He'd been told to cut out the shit, but the bastard didn't pay any attention. They beat the shit out of him.

7

Several days later, 1st platoon was allowed to break the monotony of life in the camp. The platoon was allowed to go on patrol. There was no clear objective nor had there been any report that VC had been sited in the area. It was an attempt to reconnoiter the area in general, although no plans were being made for any kind of operation in the area. There would probably be no encounter with the enemy, and everyone was aware of this. Then again, there was always the possibility that they could run into bad trouble of the kind that A squad had met almost a month before. Nevertheless, many of the men were more than willing to run the risks rather than face the continuing daily boredom of the fire base.

The men went out on a very nice day. It had been raining heavily for several days, but today the sun was shining bright. The sun brought out the many beautiful colors of the rich vegetation of the jungle. Green was by far the predominant color, but there were other colors to be seen. At first the men walked very alertly watching out for any unusual signs of Viet Cong origin. After a while, the soldiers became more relaxed and began to enjoy the many sights and smells of the jungle. They started joking and laughing more easily. It was early in the morning, and the heat was not as oppressive as it would be later in the middle of the day.

C squad was ahead of the platoon, although by now men from the different squads had intermingled to a great degree. The point man was Sgt. Gregory Schermer from Hastings, Nebraska. He was walking slowly and carefully and was well ahead of the second man in line, Pvt. Eugene Majszak from Evanston, Illinois. Walking along with Majszak was Pvt. Dotson. Close behind and to their right was Pvt. Hernando Smith from Waycross, Georgia. There were many fragrances to be appreciated from the jungle vegetation, and the birds of the jungle sang their intriguing chants in a wide variety of styles. Although the chirping and cawing of the birds reached a fairly high volume, the overall feeling of the men in walking through the silvan setting was one of quiet and peace.

The serenity was rudely broken by a piercing explosion which was immediately followed by a second, equally loud, explosion. Seconds afterward, Sgt. Schermer began to scream. It was a very loud series of yells. The yelling was continuous as each scream was closely followed by another. The screams were so loud that it seemed that Schermer must have been using every ounce of power he had in his lungs. His yells were interrupted only by desperate curses, "Aaaahhh, aaahhh, aaahhh, goddaaamn, aaahhh, aaahhh . . ."

Smith was also yelling much like Schermer, but the volume was not nearly the same. Smith would also moan along with his screaming. Majszak and Dotson were writhing on the ground. They were moaning lowly and did not appear to be in as much pain. The rest of the men had been totally startled by the explosions. The screams of Schermer and Smith did not help them retain their composure. The men quickly hit the ground and looked for cover. Many of them started firing into the bushes, although they had seen no one. They sprayed the surrounding trees with bullets hoping to hit whoever might have caused their present agony.

Mendez had found cover behind a tree. He had fired a few shots and stopped after realizing there was no VG around to fire back. Fifty feet ahead of him something suddenly caught his attention. He tried to focus his eyes to make sure that he was really seeing what he thought was the object ahead of him. It was an Army boot--a U.S. Army boot. It was lying on its side. It had not been lying there long. He was sure of that now. He could clearly see now that there was a human foot in the boot and part of a leg protruding from it. Blood was beginning to ooze down the boot now. Mendez felt eerie at the sight. He was beginning to feel sick. The feeling of being ill went away as quickly as it came. The feeling of a surrounding unreality about the entire event lingered on. It would linger on for a long time.

The foot belonged to Schermer. He had stepped on a mine and now continued his horrifying screams, "Aaaahhhh, aaahhh, aaahhh . . . ." Smith had stepped on another mine. Smith's entire right leg had been severed by the explosion. Majszak and Dotson had only been hit by shrapnel from the mines and were not seriously wounded.

The men continued to shoot wildly into the brush. Most of them were not very aware of who had been hit. They merely knew that some of their comrades were in deep agony from the screams they had heard. The fear and panic they felt at the moment was almost as if they themselves had been actually hurt. They had no thought about stopping to consider what harm had been done or what strategy had to be used. They were fighting back instinctively against an unseen, unknown, and awesome danger.

Sgt. Wood and the other squad leaders finally calmed down the men. The firing stopped. Sgt. Wood got on the radio and reported the incident. He gave directions of the platoon location so that helicopters could fly in to pick up the fallen men. Schermer and Smith quieted down. They had been given shots of morphine by the medic. As the helicopters approached, Schermer lay cursing his luck, "Goddamn it, how da fuck am I gonna do it without a goddamn foot now. Fucking shit, man. Fuck those goddamn gooks."

Majszak and Dotson lay quietly waiting. They could see that they were not seriously injured. They were aware that they would be staying away from the front for some time while they recuperated from their wounds. Smith died just as the helicopters were landing.

After the helicopters left with the wounded men, the platoon was ordered back to the fire base. No one said anything for a long time as they walked back. The mood now was much different from what it had been before the platoon had run into the hidden mines. Each soldier seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts or else too shocked to have very much to say.

Werner finally broke the silence. "Shit, it's too bad, I guess. Those guys really got hit bad, huh."

"Yeah, man," exclaimed Kermit Cooper from Athens, Georgia, "I ain't never seen anybody get as fucked over as those two dudes did." Cooper--as could be expected--was nicknamed K.C. He was talking excitedly as he often did.

"It must be the shits to know that you're going to have to go around the rest of your life without a foot," added Arnold.

"It could be a problem," said Raymond Henry from Drummond, Montana., "it could be a problem." He made the statement in his usual calm, soft spoken manner. Ray was a strong farm boy who stood 6'1". He was generally reserved, except that he would now and then boast that he came from "God's Country," fondly referring to his home state.

"The thing is, bud," interjected Sutton, "they never said war was quite like this, you know. I mean on television and shit. I never saw them show anybody get hurt quite that bad, did you?"

"Hell, no," answered Arnold.

"Remember we used to watch Combat on TV back in the barracks in Hawaii?" asked Werner excitedly. "Shit, man, they never showed guys fucked up that bad."

"Yeh, man," jumped in Cooper, "you'd see guys get hit and maybe you'd see a little blood, man, but that was it, man. Shit, compared to that, out here it really gets all hostile and shit."

"Yeah, I remember one of my favorite movies when I was a kid was To Hell and Back," said Werner. "Shit, I went to see that a bunch o' times. Hell, I remember Audie Murphy made it look easy-throwing grenades right and left."

"Yeah; bud," added Sutton excitedly, "and did you use to watch those old World War II movies they used to show on the late show on TV. I remember some of those fuckin' movies like Guadalcanal Diary . . . and, and The Halls of Montezuma with Richard Widmark. Shit, they made it seem like fucking war was fun and exciting. A bunch o' laughs, man."

"I remember when I was a kid I used to read comic books about the Army fuckin' fighting in Japan and Korea," said Henry. "I used to really like them."

8

That night Mendez thought back, like Sutton and the others had done, on his earlier impressions of what combat was like. The radio was on and a two year old Beatle song was playing, "Nowhere Man."

Doesn't have a point of view,

Knows not where he's going to,

Isn't he a bit like you and me.

He remembered one particular occasion in the summer of 1950 when he was playing war with several of his friends. They were at a friend's house, and there were six kids playing altogether. Richard remembered that his side had gotten the right to pretend they were the U.S Army, while the other side had to pretend that they were the North Koreans. He remembered it vividly because the North Koreans represented a new enemy. Before, it had usually been the Japanese and sometimes the Germans. In June, North Korea had invaded South Korea, and the United States had joined a United Nation's force that had gone to the rescue of South Korea. Mendez remembered the serious concern shown by his parents and other adults over the developments. His father repeatedly pointed out that North Korea was Communist and worried that it was receiving help from Russia and China. He thought they might be planning full scale invasions of other Asian countries in the area. Mendez remembered thinking how unfair it was for the Communists to start an invasion without any good motive.

So now there was a new enemy to fight against. All the boys had plenty of toy guns to use in the imaginary war. Some had imitation machine guns, while others had toy rifles that were closely modeled on the actual item. Some of the rifles resembled modern M-1 carbines and others resembled the older carbines that were used in the Old West. There were some plastic hand grenades in the arsenal, and one boy wore an Army canteen. Every boy had something, even if only a pistol. The kids had received most of their toy weapons as presents from parents and relatives for their birthdays or at Christmas. In addition to the sounds the guns made, the boys were adept at making a variety of sounds imitating explosions--boom, plow, bam, bang. Bullets went zing, wheeew, ping.

Richard and his friends would play for long periods of time, sometimes for hours. Numerous intensely fought battles would be waged and the balance of victory would swing back and forth. Many spectacular feats would be performed, and there would be countless demonstrations of heroic valor. Hundreds, sometimes thousands, of men would die in the process, and yet the boys who were the actual real life participants would continue fighting and would in no way be eliminated from the field of battle. None of the boys actually gave it much thought. They found great enjoyment in playing war. He could still clearly hear the sound of little boys' voices yelling and laughing.

Richard also remembered that in 1950 he started becoming interested in movies. He remembered one particular film that he liked very much was Destination Moon about Americans on a spaceship that tries to go to the moon. It was the first science fiction he remembered seeing. Another one was The Next Voice You Hear in which several people keep hearing the voice of God on the radio. Afterwards, many more science fiction/horror films would be released in the 1950's. This new popularity of science fiction/ horror coincided with an intense concern about flying saucers. In many of the plots, earth was invaded by some foreign being or humans were threatened by a mysterious monster. Films like The Thing, It Came From Outer Space, Invaders from Mars, War of the Worlds, and Creature from the Black Lagoon (a 3-D film) were appreciated by adults as well as children, A frequent star in these films was Richard Carlson who also starred in I Led Three Lives, a TV show about Herbert Philbrick an actual American spy who helped uncover Communist conspiracies. It seemed that everyone in those days was for some reason obsessed with movies that presented threatening possibilities of alien invasion and great fear of the unknown. Richard remembered that his favorite song of 1950 was about a monster "The Thing" by Phil Harris.

9

It was early on the morning of February 16, 1968. The Company was rising and beginning to prepare for a sweep through a village that would be made that day. It was very humid. The relative humidity was 82%. That was a normal reading. It hardly ever went very much below that even on the best days. The soldiers put on their clothes, which were still wet because of the dampness. They were becoming used to this steam bath feeling by now.

"Man, this jungle rot is really starting to get to my tired-assed feet," remarked Owens as he put on his socks.

"Yeah," said Werner, "I'm starting to get a little, too."

Cooper from D squad had come over by now. The K.C. liked to hang around with Owens and the other blacks. "Boy, I'm just hopin' ol' Charlie don't feel like gettin' all hostile and shit, today. The K.C. just not up for gettin' in no motherfucking firefight and shit, today. I didn't get a good night's sleep and the K.C. just feelin' too tired and shit."

"Well, look at it this way, Coop," said Mangini laughingly, "if you get hit by a fucking bullet just right, you may be able to catch up on all the sleep you lost and more." Everybody laughed. There was a momentary silence.

Then Cooper answered, "You ain't lyin', Ron. You ain't lyin'." Cooper was tall and wiry and was often joking around. He was usually in high spirits no matter what the situation might be at the time. He always greeted everyone cheerfully and at times in a boisterous fashion. When he got drunk, he was especially talkative and loud. He tried to get along with everybody. He didn't bicker at all with any whites who might act unfriendly to him. He was polite to them and kept his distance. As for the whites who were more accepting, he treated them just as openly as he treated his black friends.

Yet, behind all the joviality and good spirits, Cooper had a sad face whenever he wasn't smiling and one took a close look. One realized then that all the high spirits and optimism were in reality a cover for underlying conflicts about himself and his relations with others. Richard associated Cooper with the current hit by the late black singer Otis Redding, "Dock of the Bay."

Before the company boarded the helicopter, Capt. Look briefed the men on what the operation involved. "Men, we're going into a hamlet called My Khe 6. This is still in the area of Pinkville in which most of our operations will take place. That's what the area is called in the military maps. This village was known to be sympathetic to the Viet Cong, but it's supposed to be deserted now. Just in case, there is an artillery barrage on the hamlet right now. There are also helicopter gunships and some jets bombing the old village. With all that, there shouldn't be anyone left. Still, it'll be a good idea to go into the village carefully."

The company went to the village in seven helicopters and assembled on a deserted rice paddy outside the village. The hamlet was behind the timber line and was well hidden by the surrounding trees. The soldiers approached reluctantly and cautiously. It was very quiet now. Apparently, the artillery barrage had ceased long before. The approaching soldiers saw the first little houses. They were the same old clay huts they had seen before. They looked clearly deserted. Second platoon was in the lead. 2nd Lt. James Corley had volunteered his 2nd platoon to enter first. The soldiers were holding their M-16's in ready position at their hip and pointing straight ahead.

All of a sudden, a few small children ran out into the street. Pvt. Larry Galbraith almost fired at them but suppressed his natural reflex to shoot in time to avoid killing someone. "Damn, what's happening here?" he exclaimed. He was a black from Atlanta, Georgia. He was thin and of medium height. His face showed intelligence and a delicate attractiveness. Just then an old man came out on the street trudging nonchalantly. He was carrying a small sack on his shoulder. At the same time, a woman came out of the front door of her hut. All of the Vietnamese were startled when they saw the American soldiers. They started to draw back. There was fear in their eyes. Even the children were not friendly like the ones the soldiers had met in other places. They immediately stopped their shouting and laughter and disappeared behind a house.

"Shit, I thought this fucking place was supposed to be all cleared out," yelled Nick Passero from Buffalo, New York.

"What the fuck? It don't even look like it's been hit with artillery," added Herman Foreman, a full-blooded Cherokee from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. Foreman had as deep of a Southern drawl as could be found anywhere in Dixie. The soldiers went into some of the huts and found that most of them had been deserted. Apparently, the Vietnamese who were still in the village had returned after the hamlet was first cleared out. The soldiers had not been fired upon so they assumed that there were no VC around.

Lt. Corley came up to try to interrogate some of the Vietnamese. He grabbed the arm of the old man the soldiers had seen a few moments before and asked him, "Where are the VC, where are the VC?" The old man held his hands up to show that he didn't understand the question. He mumbled something in Vietnamese. He looked very scared and began to tremble. "Come on, old man, you know," yelled Corley angrily as he shook him by the arm. "Where are VC, where are VC?" he repeated. The frightened man said something quickly in Vietnamese. He was apparently still trying to communicate the fact that he didn't know what Corley was saying. Corley then put the barrel of his M-16 close to the man's head and fired two shots. "Tell me, where are VC?" Corley shouted, "the VC." He fired two more shots into the air. The man was shaking violently by now.

Pvt. David Shoppach, who was standing alongside the Lieutenant, started sniffing the air. Some of the other soldiers also noticed a strange odor. Shoppach then came to a realization, "Hey . . . hey, I think he shit in his pants. I'll be goddamned, I bet he did." Several soldiers had gathered around by then, and they all laughed loudly. Shoppach then kicked the man from behind right square in the middle of the butt. The odor grew more intense. The old man started whimpering. Lt. Corley pushed him away, "Get the fuck out of here." Everyone else was guffawing heartily by now.

The soldiers went to the houses and started showing people they had to get out. In the distance, the sound of airplanes could be heard. The other platoons were arriving by then. They stood around confused for a while, and then began to help in evacuating the civilians.

Suddenly, an area containing several huts was riddled with bullets from above. The men hit the ground or ducked into the houses. A half minute later, the village was hit by another barrage of bullets from the sky.

"What the hell is going on here?" yelled Pvt. Ted Perry from Oakland, California with a fearful and exasperated tone of voice.

"Since when do the dinks have planes?" asked Chris Marchetti from Sacramento, California.

"Don't tell me the VC captured some of our choppers," said Pvt. Robert Davis, a black from Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

"They' re U.S. helicopters," replied Richard, "I just saw the first one before I jumped in here." They were all inside a deserted house.

Just then a Phantom F-4 jet could be heard going overhead. It was followed by a loud explosion.

"Bombs, too," exclaimed Pvt. Houston Mason from Mt. Pleasant, Texas. He was usually quiet and calm, but he didn't sound very composed at the moment. The loud crying of a woman could now be heard.

"Somebody probably screwed up and doesn't know we're in the village," said Pfc. Andy Kotakis from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

"Yeah," agreed Perry, "but, I'm not about to go out there and wave them away."

"Maybe, it would be better to get out of here and get back out into the clearing that we started from," said Kotakis. "After all, their target is the village. They wouldn't be shooting at us out there."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea," said Marchetti. "Let's make a break for it."

"You could get hit on the way out there," said Mason. "It might be safer here."

"Naw," replied Marchetti, "there's no telling how long they'll be bombing this place. Let's go. I'm going." Several of the men ran out, including Richard. Some of them headed straight for the trees. Richard and the others ran along the street, right next to the house. Richard heard and then saw a little 2 year old boy alone, crying frantically. Richard saw an old woman across the street who was almost completely oblivious to what was happening. She was walking along slowly. She suddenly looked up into the sky, and Richard saw a contorted expression of horror come over her face. He instinctively dove for cover next to a house. He looked at the woman again for only a split second, but it was a very vivid impression. Her mouth was wide open now, her eyes seemed much bigger, and her face was much more distorted with her vision of terror. A bomb then hit right next to her and knocked down the hut behind her. When Richard looked up, he could not see her anywhere. He and the others got up and started running for the open field of rice paddies where the helicopters had left them earlier.

Richard ran as fast as he could before the next bomb or barrage could hit the village. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen until he could get well away from the hamlet. He was weighed down by gear and equipment, but he was running very fast. He didn't have time to be tired. He was now panting heavily, partly from the physical exertion and partly from sheer terror. He had to get out alive. He wasn't about to be blown into thousands of little pieces like the woman had been. He hadn't even seen a trace of her after the bomb hit and he looked up again. He was running for his life, and it seemed as if he had been running for hours. He couldn't see the field yet. It was no telling how far it was. He looked up to see if a plane was coming. He imagined his face taking the tortured shape that the little old lady's face had assumed. He could see no planes in sight. He felt better; maybe he could make it. The men who had been in the hut in the village were now arriving at the field.

Capt. Look was on the radio telephone talking frantically. ". . . there are men in the village . . . Americans. Somebody's bombing it right now. Can you get to them? It must be a mistake . . . . I said it's a mistake. (Pause.) It's My Khe 6. We're supposed to be making a sweep through right now . . . ."

All of the soldiers were thoroughly confused, and most of them were trying to talk at the same time. "What do those stupid motherfuckers think they' re doing?" Pvt. Harry Page, a black from Cleveland, Ohio, exclaimed rhetorically.

"I'm sure glad I was able to get out there in one piece," said Pvt. Michael Goff in a daze. Goff came from Grand Forks, North Dakota and was a recent replacement--a newby--for Smith who had died in the recent ambush.

"What were dose dumb gooks doing in da veellage?" asked Pvt. Emiliano Alvidrez in a thick Hispanic accent.

Alvidrez had been born in Mexico, but he had been raised in Falfurrias, Texas. Alvidrez had tried to make friends with Richard before, but Richard didn't particularly like him. The main thing that bothered Mendez was that it seemed that Alvidrez took it for granted that they should be friends simply because both of them were Mexican. Yet, Richard didn't see that they had very much in common except that they could both speak Spanish. Even then, Richard's Spanish wasn't very good so he felt uncomfortable in speaking it. Richard resented many Mexicans like Alvidrez who chose friends because of the ethnic group they were in rather than as individuals.

Richard made it back safely. He didn't say anything. He was still shocked by what had happened and what he had seen. He realized that he had come close to death, especially when that last bomb had hit. It seemed at the time that he was in the village for hours, but he now realized that it had only been a few minutes. He couldn't erase his mind's picture of the horrified old woman looking into the sky. He also kept seeing images of Picasso's painting Guernica which pictured the bombing by the Nazis of a small town in Spain during the Spanish Civil War. The look on the old woman's face was just like the ones of the people in the painting.

Capt. Look finished talking on the phone and gave a sigh of relief. He came over to the men and told them, "Somebody got the signals crossed and attacked the village late. They didn't even know we were coming. They say they told the pilots to knock it off."

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Marchetti.

"The planes haven't swept through again," pointed out Page. "Maybe they saw there were Americans in there."

"We'll wait a while to make sure and then we'll have to go in to see if anybody got hit," said Look. "We'll have to hurry with the wounded, and we'll take a body count."

"Are we going to count those people as VC?" asked Perry.

"Yeah," said the Captain, "they're all the same, I guess." Ten minutes later, the soldiers went back into the hamlet. They found 3 wounded G.I.'s and 1 dead. Of the Vietnamese, there were 10 wounded and 3 dead.

10

In the chow hall.

BRYANT (in a surprised tone) Did you see those gook hooches the other day? I don't know how they fucking live in them.

PVT. THOMAS JONES (from Wiscasset, Maine) Yeah, most of them just had dirt floors. Can you imagine living in a fucking place with only a dirt floor? I can't believe it (in amazement).

HENRY (in his usual low tone) And those walls and roofs aren't much better.

BOYD (in his usual tone) Those roofs are just made of straw. Man, how long can something like that last?

HENRY Not long. They've got so many people living like sardines in each little fucking hut. They ought get some more room.

BRYANT Then everything stinks so fucking bad. They don't believe much in modern sanitation, do they? Those stupid outhouses they got. They ought to get off their asses and put in a good sewer system. Hell, they could do it with inside toilets and shit.

DAHLMEYER Then all the shit furniture they've got. About all they have is some beds, a table, a few other pieces of junk and that's it.

Dahlmeyer was born in Syracuse, New York and grew up there in the poor white section of the central city. Most of his childhood, he lived in a house on Belden Avenue. His father worked in a factory. He made good money, but he was often laid off. After each lay off, it was usually a long time before he would go to work again. Sometimes, he had to find a new job with a different company. His father started drinking heavily. He would come home irritable and sullen,and then he would start drinking. There were many days in which Mr. Dahlmeyer would fail to go to work because he had gotten too drunk with his friends the night before. Besides Carl, there were two other boys and three girls in the family.

JONES Can you imagine living without electricity and things like TV and radio and stereo and other shit. God, I'd die if I had to live like this. These dinks are pathetic.

BRYANT Yeah, like they say, they ought to just pave over the whole fucking country, put all the gooks out to sea in a raft, and let it sink.

11

Mendez had guard duty that night. He was trying to remember when he had first heard of Vietnam, this far away land with its different people and strange customs. He knew he hadn't been very aware of Vietnam or of even Southeast Asia for most of his life. There were so many different countries that it was hard to keep up with them. It was much the same as with Africa, it seemed to him, where new countries seemed to spring up every few months. It seemed that the newspapers and TV focused much greater attention on other places and countries in the world such as Europe, Russia, and China. Consequently, Mendez had come to feel that small countries were not that:important. It was surprising now to see the impact that Vietnam had made upon U.S. foreign affairs.

He had been a history major in college, but he had not been at all interested in taking any courses on Southeast Asia. He didn't remember anyone ever talking about taking a course on Southeast Asia. Yet, they often talked about courses they took on Communist China or even India or maybe the Middle East. He was sure there must have been at least one course on Southeast Asia in the course catalog, but he just couldn't remember seeing it there.

Mendez knew that he had become conscious of the existence of Vietnam only within the last few years, but he did remember hearing of Indochina when he was a small boy. He had recently discovered that Vietnam was actually a part of the area that was previously referred to at most times as Indochina. He then remembered what must have been the first time he had heard of Indochina. He was around 10 years old then and judging by the historical dates that he had recently read, it must have been early 1954.

He had a very clear picture of the circumstances now. He was in the kitchen with his mother. He remembered that he was lying on the floor. He must have been playing with a toy or a game--possibly he was looking through a magazine. His mother was preparing lunch; at least that was what it seemed like from the picture in his mind. The radio was on, and the news had just finished. His mother sighed.

MOTHER Oh, boy, I just hope that war doesn't turn into another big thing. They just finished the fighting in Korea and now they're talking about another war.

RICHARD What war, mother?

MOTHER Oh, there's some war going on in Indochina, and they say it's getting more and more serious.

RICHARD Who's fighting it? Is the United States in it?

MOTHER No, the United States isn't in it. It's between the French and the Communists, but they're saying that the United States may have to help out the French or the country will become Communist.

RlCHARD Where is Indochina? '

MOTHER I don't know really. I guess it's down near China somewhere. I've never heard of it before.

RICHARD Then what are the French doing there?

MOTHER I don't know really. I guess they're trying to stop the Communists.

RICHARD It sounds like in Korea, huh.

MOTHER Yes, I guess so.

RICHARD Where did the Communists come from?

MOTHER I don't know. I think they're from Indochina. I really don't keep up on all those things. It's very confusing.

RICHARD If the Communists are from Indochina, then why are the French fighting in their country?

MOTHER I really don't know.

Unknown to Graciela Mendez and to most of the American people, the U.S. came close to entering the war in Indochina in the spring of 1954. At the same time that Richard and his mother were talking on that Saturday morning of April 3rd, Secretary of State John Foster Dulles was meeting with Congressional leaders in Washington to consider a plan for military intervention in Indochina. One of the legislators present was Senator Lyndon Johnson. The meeting ended with the understanding that Dulles would seek the cooperation of other countries before asking Congress for a joint resolution approving intervention. Dulles was unable to get any commitments from other countries. The British pointed out that the peace conference soon to begin in Geneva could very well bring about a negotiated settlement. The Geneva conference reached a final agreement in July. An important point agreed upon was that a provisionalmilitary demarcation line was fixed between the northern and southern portions of Vietnam. Another important provision called for the unification of Vietnam through general elections to be held in 1956.

In February, 1954, Daniel Wine, a Philadelphia school teacher, was subpoenaed to appear before the House UnAmerican Activities Committee. Wine was a popular physics teacher. He had a thorough knowledge of his material. He had graduated from the City College of New York in 1940. After spending World War II in the Ordnance Corps with the U.S. Army in Europe, he came back to get a master's degree at the University of Pennsylvania. He had been interested in theoretical physics, in particular the field of quantum mechanics. For that reason, he had seriously considered going on to study for a doctorate. He finally decided against this because it would have taken several years to accomplish and would have been very difficult with a wife and children to support.

Wine was well-liked as a teacher because he was organized, enthusiastic about his subject, and imaginative. He was also amiable, good humored, and always willing to give extra help to anyone that needed it. His imaginative presentation of the subject matter was very probably aided in an unseen manner by his broad interests in many different fields of learning, including literature, music, and history.

When Wine was subpoenaed by HUAC, he knew he was going to be questioned on his past Communist party affiliations. For the past several years now, many professors and teachers in different parts of the country had been interrogated by Congressional committees and by school boards. Those who had not cooperated fully, as for instance by pleading the Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination, had almost always been fired on one ground or another.

Wine went through genuine mental anguish in trying to decide how far he would go in cooperating with HUAC. It was very tempting to go along and take the easy way out. After all, he wasn't the only one that had to be considered. If it were as simple as that, it would have hardly posed a problem. With a family under his responsibility, Wine knew it would be traumatic to all of them if he were to be fired. He talked it over with his wife who had the same misgivings and was fully aware about the possible outcome. She urged him to cooperate to whatever extent necessary. "It's not worth the risk, Dan," she pointed pleadingly. "It's not worth it to ruin everything just for some old Party principles or to show them you're tough and strong. It's better if you tell them everything and assure them that you've realized your past mistakes." She went on a little longer, but it became hard to understand what she was saying because she was very emotionally upset. It was hard on Wine. He was hoping for her acquiescence and support in case he decided to resist the Committee.

Several days later on the night before the hearing, Wine sat down and told his wife what he planned to do. "I've thought it over very carefully, please believe me. I'm fully aware of all the problems that can come from not cooperating, but there are just some things that one cannot run away from. I plan to tell them everything they want to know about myself and my past, but if they ask me to turn in other people who I know were members, that's where I have to draw the line. It's bad enough that I have to confess and apologize about my own past, but I'm not going to bring in other people who have participated in no wrongdoing except to belong to a militant and dedicated political organization. And I'll tell them that I no longer support or sympathize with the Communist party but not because of fear but because that's the way I truly feel."

He now switched from an angry tone back to a somber one. "The reason I'm doing this is that at some point people have to stop running, and I'm going to tell them that tomorrow. If tell on people who used to in Party, they may get fired from their jobs. It also bothers me very much that this antiCommunist crusade seems to have very definite strains of antiSemitism. You can tell it by some sly statements made by a few of the more reactionary crusaders. From what I've heard it's an obvious motive behind a lot of the hysteria against the New York City teachers. Some of it is being perpetrated by certain Catholics like that Father Coughlin. It seems to me they should know better." His wife didn't say very much, but it was clear that she was not only unhappy but angry at his decision.

The following day, Wine was calm and forthright in making his answers to the interrogator.

INTERROGATOR Mr. Wine, are you now a member of the Communist party?

WINE No, sir, I am not.

INTERROGATOR Have you ever been a member of the Communist party?

WINE Yes, sir, I have.

INTERROGATOR What were the dates of your membership?

WINE I was a member from 1938 to 1940 and then again briefly from 1947 to 1948.

90

INTERROGATOR Can you name anyone who was or is a member of the Communist party?

WINE Sir, I refuse to answer that question upon the grounds of the First Amendment.

INTERROGATOR Mr. Wine, you can be held in contempt of Congress for refusing to answer the questions of this Committee? Are you sure you have now renounced your membership in the Communist party?

WINE. As I said before, I ceased being a member in 1948. I abandoned the party when I decided that it was too rigid and dogmatic in its adherence to certain Communist principles, among those the idea of advocating the violent overthrow of national governments. I now think that much of the Communist approach is unimaginative and that its form of government is needlessly totalitarian.

I will not, however, apologize and cower on account of my past beliefs and associations as so many have done who have appeared before this Committee, here and in other parts of the country. I will admit mistakes in judgment and mistakes based on ignorance. On the other hand, I will also proclaim that I take personal pride in having had the courage to join an organization that I judged to be sincerely dedicated and effective in trying to help poor and working people both here and around the world. (There was a murmur in the room after Wine finished his statement.)

INTERROGATOR I will warn you again, Mr. Wine, that you can be held in contempt of Congress for refusing to answer the questions of this Committee. I will ask you again. Can you name anyone who was or is a member of the Communist party?

WINE I refuse to answer that question upon the grounds of the First Amendment. (Said in a growing tone of outrage.) Furthermore, I refuse to play a part in the massive and hysterical witch hunt that this Committee and other groups like it around the country have conducted in the past several years. There are hundreds of scared people in this country scampering for protection of their reputations and careers. They are repenting and confessing in spite of the fact that they don't seem to understand very well what they did wrong or why it is wrong. The time has now come for people to rise and put a stop to this.

Richard tried to remember other events in his life at that time. His memory was hazy, but he distinctly remembered two movies that made an impression on him. He saw both of them with the whole family. The first one was It's a Woman's World. He didn't know why that particular motion picture had stuck in his mind. He hadn't been particularly impressed with it at the time as being a great motion picture. Perhaps it was the fact that he would later hear the Four Aces sing the theme song from the movie on the radio on several occasions. More likely, it was the fact that the movie presented a picture of adult life, and Richard often wondered what it was like to be a grown-up. He often felt eager to grow up and join the world of adults; it seemed like so much fun and excitement. It's a Woman's World was about life in the world of big business. It showed young corporation executives striving hard to climb the ladder of the company. Richard's father, who was an electrician, liked the picture and said being an executive could be very exciting. Richard agreed. To his 10-year-old perception, it seemed like a very stimulating life that required great sophistication and intelligence. He also noticed that it seemed that the most beautiful and charming women were attracted to these sharp executives. Ultimately to Richard, it really did seem to be a woman's world since the main reason for the male search for success was the desire to attract women and please them with security and luxury.

He also clearly remembered that he was very impressed by The Robe, the first film made in Cinemascope. Richard liked the costumes, especially the ones worn by the Roman soldiers, and he admired Richard Burton's bearing and style. Most of all, he--like his family--felt great reverence toward the subject, the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. He was very moved and agreed when his father said that they should all be very glad they lived in a devoutly Christian country.

12

It was February 24, 1968. The Tet Offensive was underway after several months in which the Johnson administration had been claiming that the North was too weak to carry out any type of major attack against the South. In Hue, it was claimed by South forces that the Viet Cong had assassinated more than 3,000 innocent civilians. Other observers claimed that the heavy casualties had instead been caused by the intense bombing of American airplanes trying to ferret out Viet Cong from the city. Many of the city's ancient, beautiful buildings were thoroughly demolished by the bombing.

The G.I.'s of Company A in Landing Zone Sally were not greatly affected by the offensive. It was true that there had been more ambushes and enemy operations during the last few weeks, but the fighting in the area was not nearly as intense as it was in the cities. The soldiers were sitting in the camp today. Their minds were on much more distant and appealing matters.

SGT. JAMES SHUKITT (from Grants, New Mexico). Son of a bitch, that broad had the biggest fucking boobs you ever laid eyes on. (In a savoring tone) I mean they were big and beautiful and, man, were they soft. I would just lay there and squeeze 'em for hours. I don't know, but I guess I've always really liked big fucking tits. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like everything else and shit. It's just that nice knockers drive me crazy.

PVT. PAUL ROBINETTE (from 2nd platoon and Philadelphia, Mississippi). Shit, that's the way I am, too. I just love to put 'em in my mouth and fuckin' suck 'em good. And you take that fucking nipple and put it between your teeth and just sort o' squeeze it real gentle-like. Boy, I swear those fuckin' broads just love that shit.

MANGINI I don't know, but I love to get my dick sucked real nice and slow by a broad. Then, you come real slow and shit.

MENDEZ (smiling). Well, I'm glad you mentioned the word "broad" when you said that. I wouldn't want to be disappointed about you. (Some of the men laughed but others didn't catch it.)

MANGINI Fuck you, Mendez. I ain't no goddamn queer.

KELLY. Hey, Mangini, when she sucks you, do you make her eat the fucking come or do you let her take her mouth away?

MANGINI Shit, I leave it up to them, but just about all of them want to eat it anyway. Fuck, I've got some of the sweetest tastin' come around, man. (Everyone laughs and derides him.)

SHUKITT Fuck, you're full of shit.

OWENS. Shit, what's it taste like, Ron, Southern Comfort or Chivas Regal?

MANGINI Fuck, you guys are just jealous.

PERRY Hell, I think fucking in the ass is really boss. You ever tried it? (Cries of disapproval are heard.)

95

OWENS Sheeeit, man, you're crazier than a motherfucker. What the fuck you wanna do that shit for?

PERRY Hey, man, don't knock it if you ain't tried it. (Smiling.) It's out o' sight.

KELLY You shittin' me? Good ole pussy is good enough for me.

COOPER. Fuck, Perry, it's no wonder you talk that shit. You're from California; ain't you? Yeah, California--land of fruits and nuts.

OWENS Well, I'll tell you, not to put you gray dudes down, but as far as I'm concerned there ain't no better piece of ass than a sister, man. Ain't that right, K.C.

COOPER Yeah, man. You ain't lyin', man.

OWENS Like, man, did you guys see that cover of the Sweet Inspirations album. I bet one of those broads would be so nice to screw, man.

MANGINI Yeah, those broads are tough.

SHUKITT Shit, you just might be right, O. I screwed this black chick once in Little Rock and man she wore me out. Boy.

ROBINETTE Hell, I hear these slant-eyed broads around here ain't damn bad either.

MANGINI Yeah, and they say their fucking pussies are slanted, too. That's probably what makes it feel better. (Everyone laughingly agrees.)

KELLY All I know is that I'm gonna get me a lot of ass before I finally settle down and get fucking married. I'm gonna have me my fun.

MARCHETTI Hell, yeah, and when I get married, it's going to have to be to a beautiful woman. Otherwise, it'll be more tempting to want to go out and fucking look for other women.

MENDEZ Yeah, you're right.

SHUKITT Shit, I'm married, and I don't see nothing wrong with a little outside action once in a while and shit. I mean, you know, nothing serious. Just some stray pussy once in a while don't hurt nothin'.

OWENS Hell, no, man, there's nothing wrong. An outside woman once in a while I figure is like cleaning out your engine, you know. You get out all the old crap and start out clean and fresh and shit.

SHUKITT Yeah and getting married to a beautiful woman is no guarantee, goddamn it. My wife's pretty good looking, but it's still nice to get something different.

KELLY Well, another thing I know is that the girl I marry is going to have to be a fucking virgin. I couldn't take it any other way.

ROBINETTE Yeah, me, too.

OWENS (laughing) Yeah, well your fucking problem's going to be making sure she really is a virgin 'cause she'll probably try to bullshit you and shit.

KELLY Don't worry, I'll know, goddamn it.

PERRY Hey, Sgt. Shukitt, what would you think if you found out you're wife got it on with some other guy?

SHUKITT(excitedly) Fuck, she better not. I'll kick her fucking butt to kingdom come. I mean, with a woman it's different. I can go out with a woman, and it won't mean anything. I'll still love my wife just the same. But, you know, with a woman sex means more than just a little fun.

OWENS Yeah, if I was married and heard my wife was fooling around, I'd kick her right out of the fucking house, boy, and I'd probably go get her lover and shoot his motherfucking ass. I mean it, man. I'd blow the dude away--better not catch any motherfucker messin' around with my woman.

With the exception of Shukitt and Mendez, all of the men were virgin.

13

It was another damp, cloudy day. It was foggy and had been raining for several days, and although it was not raining at the moment, it was no guarantee that it would not begin to rain in the next few minutes. The thick rain clouds covering the sky looked dark and ominous. The ground was very muddy. The men walked slowly, gently, and reluctantly. The Company was going into a village again. Viet Cong fire had peen reported coming from the hamlet, so an operation was ordered by the battalion commander, Lt. Colonel Charles A. Reid. B Company, the sister company, was set up in a blocking position on the other side of the village to catch any fleeing VC. The two companies had gone on a similar operation the two weeks before with B Company sweeping through a hamlet while A Company had set up in blocking position. They had found no VC that time, but it was reported that the village to which they were going today was more hostile.

The men were walking along a river bank. It was very slushy and uncomfortable. All of them were quiet. There was no joking at all to be heard. There was a feeling of great apprehension in all of them, and their faces showed it very clearly. The seconds dragged by and seemed like hours with each carefully measured step. Werner could actually hear his heart pounding, while every other G.I. noticed that he was sweating more profusely than usual. There was an eerie feeling that seemed to fill the air, and it did not seem to bode well for what was about to happen. The men hesitated and almost stopped completely in their tracks. The men were particularly apprehensive because one of Bravo Company's platoons had taken some casualties in an ambush while on patrol a few days before. Mangini could feel the tenseness in his legs as he took each step. It felt as if each leg was weighed down by a large ball and chain. Each and every muscle in his body was as tight as it could possibly be.

Mangini was breathing heavily but hardly noticed it. He was too concerned with looking at what might be ahead. Somewhere ahead, he knew there could very well be a Vietnamese soldier zeroing in on him through his machine gun sight, making a target out of his chest or maybe even his heart--the very fountain of his body and soul. Yeeeow, he thought, this is a strange way to spend one's time. Why couldn't he be back in some nice, warm place back home, maybe, or any place as long as it made more sense than being here doing this. Any moment now, the VC machine gunner would be pulling the trigger and that would be it.

Owens felt a deep, empty feeling in his stomach that went up through his esophagus and ended in his throat. His mouth also felt sour and he felt some nausea. The thought of the food he had eaten earlier was repulsive to him now. He felt hollow inside and noticed that his stomach muscles were especially tight. He hadn't felt this way in years. The last time he could remember feeling this way was the very first day he had gone to school in first grade. He had felt terrified. He was paralyzed with fear as he almost was now. He had continued to feel very much afraid of school for several weeks. For some reason, he had felt it as a very strange and alien environment. Owens wondered how this day would end. Where would he be by midnight? He started to gnash his teeth unknowingly.

The jungle ahead looked dark and mysterious. The birds and animals were making their customary variety of sounds and calls most of which did not sound particularly warm or soothing. To the soldiers, it seemed as if some of the birds were screaming with deep terror in their voices. Behind them and across the valley, the mountains seemed to be very quiet and paying close attention to what was about to happen. The morning fog was still lingering. In the valleys below, it was creeping along stealthily and knowingly. The elephant grass fluttered in the breeze imperviously. Everything was quiet except for the animals in the jungle whose noise sounded amplified and very crisp against the backdrop of cold silence.

The agonizing spell was broken by rifle fire that appeared to be coming from the village. The sound of the raging rifles echoed through the valleys. It wasn't clear where the shots were being aimed. The men froze immediately and hit the muddy ground. No one said a word. Some of them lay in their places completely paralyzed not knowing what to do. They just knew they preferred to lie there for the moment even if it meant staying in the damp muck they were buried in.

Sadowski was annoyed by the vexatious mud although he was not particularly aware of it. He had fallen into an especially mushy spot, but he was really bothered by all of the many harassing discomforts that were piercing at his nerves. The irritating quagmire he was in now was simply the last in a long line of unending indignities that he had been forced to suffer through. It seemed that it should be enough just to be out here under the constant, bone-chilling threat of being riddled with a shower of bullets at any moment. He still hadn't forgotten all his old buddies in A squad who had been killed in the ambush a couple of months before. The incident had shocked him for some time. He had nightmares for many nights after that. He was still a very scared soldier, but now he was eager to get a few slopes for his buddies. He had gotten to "hate the bastards with a purple passion" and he wanted to "blow some of them away." He didn't care that much anymore if he got killed, "bought the ranch," as that was sometimes termed by the soldiers.

It seemed as if hours were going by, but all this took place in only a few seconds. No one wanted to get up and face a spray of savage bullets. The guns were silent but it didn't mean anything. The Cong always played these cat and mouse games. Owens wondered whether at any moment a mortar round might come crashing right into the middle of them and maybe even land right on top of his head. He felt a chill go down his back. He had always been brave as he was growing up. He remembered getting in fights with guys bigger than he was and never being scared. He just fought his very best and often came out victorious. Right now, however, he felt his arms and his hands holding his rifle numb with fear. He just wanted to lie where he was.

Some of the men were praying with an intense fervor that had not been shown by them in years or even in their lifetimes. Pvt. Tom Jones from 2nd platoon started to shake uncontrollably. He couldn't avoid his shattering fright. He murmured lowly, "Oh, shit." Richard saw Jones. He knew he didn't feel much more courageous, but at least he hadn't gotten to that point yet. He saw Werner move slowly over to Jones. Werner put his hand gently on Jones's shoulder and soothingly talked to him, "It's all right, old buddy. Every thing's going to be fine. Just wait." Jones stopped shaking. He smiled at Werner slightly. Werner's assurances had been effective. Richard smiled as he looked on and forgot about his danger for the moment. He felt warmly toward Werner and thought about how good a kid he really was. He was acting very maturely for an 18 year old as he helped out an older man.

Richard stared at the elephant grass right in front of his face. It didn't care. He looked at the slowly billowing, gray clouds above. They seemed to be angry, although their ire was directed at no one in particular. Richard didn't get the feeling that there was any moral indignation in the anger. It was simply a surging implacable force that was taking its course, and he deeply feared that the force meant death for him. Death seemed very close to him now, and for that reason, he also felt the intensity of life as he had never felt it before.

It actually felt as if life were something very palpable--something that could actually be weighed and measured. He could taste it like a draft of cool, mountain spring water. He deeply savored the exquisite sensation. He didn't ever want the irreplaceable sensation to go away. It never felt this way before to be alive. He realized that he had always taken it for granted up to now. He had been a fool. He had always just gone from day to day with little variation in his routine. Even more importantly, he had shown little perception of the many intricate facets and fine delicacies in life. He had gotten up every morning in the same way, performed the acts that had to be done, and proceeded half-blindly as he went through these motions.

He longed for a chance now to be able to go back and go through it again. Even if he did the same things, he would do them much differently. He knew he would have a much greater appreciation for flowers and trees, sunsets, lakes, the feeling of waking up in the morning, and many other common experiences. He would savor and enjoy everything on a much deeper level; he knew he would. He would value life itself much more than before. He could understand now why the poets and sages regarded life as so sacred and precious. Sacred. Yes, that's right, sacred. It was sacred. All of life was sacred. The birds, the fish, the grass, the amoebae--the cool air even was alive in its own way--EVERYTHING.

He was suddenly struck with how ironic it was that his realization of the sacredness of life was being made at a time when he and others were under extreme danger of losing their very lives. Yet, it wasn't so hard to understand. It was this very closeness to death that made his senses more acutely aware. It was unfortunate that it took this to awaken those senses. He wondered whether this feeling of proximity to death was the only way that one could find the kind of mystical revelation about life that he was now experiencing. Surely, he thought, there must be other ways in which one could discover significant spiritual truths. It just didn't seem fair that one had to come to this point to see a new dimension in life.

He thought of how much he wanted to live. He didn't want to lose his life. He thought now about what it meant to lose one's life. The word lose was used in this context, but it certainly didn't mean that the person who lost it could go to claim it at some place like a "lost and found" department. Once it was lost, it was gone for good. At least, as far as this world was concerned.

This made Richard realize that he wasn't so sure about any other world, or in other words, an afterlife. He had been told about an afterlife since he was a child, but he saw now that he wasn't sure at all. Nobody really was anymore, he figured. If people were really that sure that there was a life beyond, they wouldn't be so worried about dying. They would face death with much more equanimity, perhaps even joy. He knew that he certainly didn't feel any eagerness about leaving this world. He felt guilty to a certain extent about not having so much faith in a life beyond or a heaven. After all, he still very much considered himself a Christian. He knew he should have more faith, but in all honesty, it wasn't there. It wasn't that he didn't feel he had a good chance of going there. It was basically that there was no burning certainty in his mind about the matter. It was all somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind. It seemed like certain things he had been taught a long time ago like, for instance, calculating the square root of a number. It was something that was vaguely remembered and which furthermore no longer had any great personal significance.

He knew that this lack of faith helped to make his desire to live especially intense. After all, if all there was to life was the time spent on this planet, it was particularly important to hang on to every possible minute. It just couldn't end right here with so much living left to be done.

The men were moving forward again. Apart from the fear that had seized them, they were being very careful in walking because of reports that there were mines in the vicinity. One of the soldiers was in front with a minesweeper, but they still could not be absolutely certain that they wouldn't be blown up in the air at any second. It had happened before. They measured every step carefully.

Richard thought again, longing for another chance. If he could have another chance and leave this place alive and (just as importantly) in one piece, he would deeply enjoy so many things--the fresh, clean smell of the trees in a forest, the scenery along Highway One on the coast north of San Francisco, the sensuous delight from the touch of a girl's cheek against his, the rhythmic roar of ocean waves moving to a beach.

Shots were heard from the village. Everyone hit the ground immediately and automatically. This didn't help their already frattered nerves. How many VC were in there? How bad was the fight going to be? There could be many more of them than Americans. Would it be the NVA, which was usually tougher and better organized? The enemy was probably looking at them and snickering as they set up their deadly trap. Mortar shells could start to hit at any moment. Yet, they now realized that no one had heard any bullets hit in their vicinity. Perhaps, the VC had run into B Company on the other side of the village as they were trying to escape. Maybe, there were very few of the enemy.

The captain yelled, "O.K., men, move on again." The men inched forward slowly. They were as tense and nervous as ever. Some of them wondered in amazement how they could keep going forward with the knowledge that it could mean their death. It would have been all so logical to just run back to the base camp and just say to hell with it all.

Who could blame anyone for not desiring to go forward. However, there was the matter of pride and the need to show courage. No one relished the prospect of being thought a coward. The concept of personal pride was the only thing that ultimately kept them there. They moved forward. They were men.

The soldiers came to the edge of the village without being fired upon. A soldier from 3rd platoon spotted a man out in a field beside the village. The man was standing in high grass, but most of his body could be seen clearly. He did not seem to see the soldiers, and he started walking away from them. He was about 600 feet away. The soldier yelled, "Dong lai(stop)." The man did not react but kept on walking. The soldier raised his rifle, sighted in the man and fired several rounds on automatic fire. Parts of the man's body could be seen flying in different directions as the bullets made impact. His body looked like a large board being broken into splinters. Several of the soldiers ran to the corpse and found that it was an old man who had apparently been looking at something he had planted in the field.

The Company moved slowly into the hamlet. Many of the hooches were deserted, but there were civilians in the village scurrying about as usual. They were trying to stay out of the way of the soldiers. Some of them stood at their doors and watched the soldiers as they walked by. The G.I.'s went into the houses to search, and asked about the VC. Many of the villagers wore the pronounced, but empty, smiles with which the soldiers had now become familiar and which they had learned to distrust. They knew that just because the villagers were smiling it didn't mean that the Viet Cong might not still be waiting in ambush at the other end of the village. The soldiers were still very much afraid, but their fear was not as great as it had been before entering the hamlet. They were engaging in a little conversation now.

"It looks like Charlie's already left," said Sadowski.

"Yeah, I think we would have been fired on by now if they were still here," replied Kelly.

"I wouldn't be so sure. We better be careful. They might just be waiting 'til the last possible minute," said Richard.

"You're right," said Mason, "we better stay on our guard."

"Look at these fucking slopeheads with their phony smiles, but they won't tell you anything," remarked Kelly with a sneer. At that moment, Sadowski spotted a woman running from the houses and toward the fields behind them. He aimed his rifle and without a word of warning fired several rounds. She splintered in the way the old man had done. It was amazing to see the damage the M-16 could do.

"Hey, that was a woman, Dan," Kelly, blurted out with surprise. "Oh, yeah," said Sadowski laughingly. "Fuck, I thought it was a VC. Well, tough shit, I guess."

14

Mendez had trouble falling asleep that night. It had been a trying day, and his mind was still unsettled from trying to deal with the events. Richard could still very clearly recall in his mind the fear he felt as they crept up to the village that morning. He had never felt as much fear before in his life. At least, it hadn't ever seemed to linger as long as it had this morning. Before, it had always been sudden, surprising frights, but this time it was prolonged and constantly uniform. It also felt especially unusual because it was connected with thoughts of imminent death. Mendez now realized that he had really felt that he was very close to death. He had been almost totally convinced that he was destined to die. He hadn't been aware of this feeling at the time, but now he realized that this is what he seemed to be thinking unconsciously at the time.

Richard then thought about the old man and the woman that he saw shot--unnecessarily. By the time he saw those two Vietnamese shot, he no longer had the feelings of fear anymore. He wasn't sure what he was feeling then. He was just sort of numb by then. It was like a dream, or perhaps more like two very different sequential dreams. In the first, he was very intensely involved, and in the second, he was a passive, distant observer.

Richard finally fell asleep but awoke yelling from a nightmare at 4 A.M. His yells hadn't been too loud. They had been more like loud moans. No one else had been awakened by the screams. ln the nightmare, Richard had been in a tank that was going through the streets of a city along with several other tanks. It was a European city it seemed like but was completely inhabited by Vietnamese. There was little opposition to the tanks except for some very sporadic sniper fire and an occasional Molotov cocktail. The Vietnamese were running around confused and very frightened.

The thing that most perplexed him now that he was awake was that all the tanks, including the one he was in, were not American. Rather, they all had stars on them. He couldn't understand that, but then, he realized, that's the funny nature of dreams. As he thought about it more, he realized that he had pictured that same scene before or at least certain parts or aspects of it. It seemed that he had experienced a similar dream before. Perhaps it was a few nights before. He had at other times been certain that he had dreamed the same or almost the same dream on successive nights. He wasn't sure that this happened, but it seemed very much that it did. He realized that it could have been that the intensity of certain dreams only made it seem as if he had experienced the same dream before. At other times, it felt that in a dream he was reliving an experience or perception that he had gone through before, and it seemed that maybe this was the case with this dream.

At that point, it clicked in his mind where he had seen a similar scene of tanks invading a city. It was a scene from a TV news program that he had seen long ago and again several times through the years on TV programs reviewing the same event. The scene was from Budapest, Hungary in November, 1956, when the Soviet Army put down a Hungarian revolt against the country's Russian-controlled regime. The Russian tanks were just like the ones in the dream with a star on each side. Richard remembered there was concern in the United States over the possibility of another war being started as a result of the incident. He remembered that everybody seemed to think (or they had heard their parents say) that it was safest to reelect President Eisenhower that November.

One kid told Richard, "My father said that Ike was a real good general in the Army, and then he came in as President and got us out of Korea. So it's a better idea to stick with him with all the trouble going on and the atomic bomb and all." Everybody seemed to think that with old, grandfatherly Ike at the head nothing could go wrong.

One memory that Richard still held very clearly was from one morning during that time in social studies class. The teacher was Mr. Goedert who often discussed current events in class although they might not have had any direct connection to the topic being studied in class at the time. He seemed to think that he had a duty to insure that students were informed on any threats to the country. That morning Mr. Goedert was especially serious and dramatic as he began the 7th grade class period.

"I suppose you've all heard about the Russian Army going into Hungary a few days ago. I think it's really disgusting, and I wish the United States could do something about it. Today the United States has a choice whether to let Russia run all over Hungary and do whatever they want with that country or to become involved and help the Hungarians in their fight for freedom. If we help, there's the risk that it could cause World War III. If we let the Russians do what they want, they might very well get the idea that they can go as far as they want. It'll be just the way it was with the Nazis in World War II, who just kept right on going, trying to conquer every nation in Europe.

"The thing is we're going to have to make a stand sometime. If we wait too long, it could be too late later on. Personally, I think this is just as good a time as any to stand up to the Russians, but then I don't know everything the President does. It's for President Eisenhower to decide what we should do and whatever he does, I'm sure he'll make the right decision." Mr. Goedert went on to talk about several alarming matters including how our Korean War prisoners had been tortured and brainwashed.

Richard and the other students felt horrified at the prospects. They asked questions and discussed the problems. All of them agreed with Mr. Goedert. They had heard the same opinions expressed before by other adults.

In July, 1956, Ngo Dinh Diem, premier of the southern half of Vietnam, refused to hold the elections stipulated in the Geneva agreements for the reunification of Vietnam. The general lack of cooperation of the Diem regime was attested by the international commission assigned to supervise Vietnamese compliance with the Geneva accords:

While the Commission has experienced difficulties in North Vietnam, the major part of its difficulties has arisen in South Vietnam.

The U.S. went along with Diem's refusal to hold elections. Probably the reason that the U.S. and Diem were afraid of elections was that it was clear that Ho Chi Minh would have easily won in any election. President Eisenhower later stated in his memoirs:

I have never talked or corresponded with a person knowledgeable in Indochina affairs who did not agree that had elections been held as of the time of the fighting possibly 80 percent of the population would have voted for Communist Ho Chi Minh as their leader rather than chief of state Bao Dai.

Diem replaced Bao Dai in 1955.

By 1956, Lyndon B. Johnson was solidly entrenched in his position as Senate Majority Leader. Johnson was a practical, hard-driving man who worked long days and was conscious of little other than politics during his waking hours. One probable consequence of this was the heart attack he had suffered in 1955. Johnson was able to effectively guide the Senate into passing the bills that he approved through what came to be known as the Johnson System. He maintained the goodwill of a number of Senators through close personal contact and small favors and developed clandestine ways to appoint cooperative Senators to committee assignments. He made the Senate run more efficiently by discouraging debate through such devices as unanimous consent agreements to limit debate and late night sessions that wore down Senators.

In 1956, while Lyndon Johnson was being considered by some as a possible Presidential candidate, there was one important observer who did not think very much of Vice President Nixon's eventual possibilities as President. President Eisenhower was reported to have told his speech writer Emmet John Hughes:

I've been watching Dick for a long time, and he just hasn't grown. So I just haven't honestly been able to believe that he is Presidential timber.

Eisenhower also pointed out that Nixon could be "too political" without holding a genuine point of view.

Richard Mendez tried to remember other events and personalities of 1956. For some reason or other, 1956 stuck in his mind as one of the more exciting years of his young life. For one thing, Richard remembered that it was about 7th grade that he found a special interest in girls. He had never disliked girls like some of this friends claimed they did. As a matter of fact, he had actually fallen in love twice before that time. It had seemed one of the delightful mysteries of life. Yet, the particular attraction he found for girls sometime in the fall of '56 took on a new flavor. He wasn't in love with anyone in particular at that time, but he was definitely attracted to a couple of the girls in school. These girls were the ones that were further along in physical development than the rest of them, and, boy, did Richard and some of his friends like to look at them. Their legs were shapely like those of many attractive women and older girls, and their hips were filling out in a very alluring fashion.

Coupled with this new attraction found in girls was a new discovery that Richard made about himself. It was a sensually intriguing new finding. Richard found he could sustain erections for long periods of time. These erections often came when he saw or thought of something that was sexually appealing. Sneaking a look at the pictures in the nudie girl magazines sold at the neighborhood grocery store seemed to do the trick every time. At school it would happen whenever Nancy Jamison would cross her right leg over her left one and the edge of her skirt would sneak up well over her knee. What caught him by surprise one day was the time he was playing with himself in the bathroom and this crystalline fluid spurted out all over his pants. Luckily, no one found out.

There were other metamorphoses that took place that year, although thinking back on it now, Richard thought that probably none of them were as exciting as his sexual awakening. In March, 1956, Richard's parents bought a television set. They had waited until then to buy a TV because they couldn't afford a set before that. Perhaps, he thought now, getting the new television set in 1956 is what made him look back upon that year as one in which he experienced sort of an awakening.

Television allowed him to take a regular look at sports events and athletic heroes. He had liked and played sports before then, but he got very involved that year. Mickey Mantle won the Triple Crown in 1956. There was much publicity about Mantle that summer as it looked at one point like he could possibly break Babe Ruth's home run record. It seemed to Richard that he remembered that Mantle was ahead of Ruth's pace through sometime in July. It was a real thrill to listen to the radio or TV baseball scores late at night to find out if Mickey had hit another home run. Of course, the Yankees were Richard's favorite team, and they won the World Series that year. He liked all the Yankee players, but he realized that Yogi Berra had probably been the most likeable. In football, he liked Alan Ameche and the Baltimore Colts. They were not one of the top teams that year, but there was something about them that he liked. It might have been only that he liked the horseshoe designs on their helmets or that he was influenced from seeing Alan Ameche in magazine advertisements for some brand or football equipment.

Richard played centerfield--Mickey Mantle's position--on his Pony League team. He wasn't a power hitter, but he had a good batting average and could occasionally hit a home run. His biggest athletic triumph that year was playing second-string quarterback on his junior high school football team. He got to fill in during some games. The team didn't do bad that year. It came in third place in the league.

There were some serious TV dramas that were apparently intended for adults, but he remembered enjoying them. A favorite of these was "Playhouse 90," and there was also "The U.S. Steel Hour." After the purchase of the television set, his family hardly went to movie theaters, but he did remember going to see Marty because it had received the Best Picture of the Year Academy Award. The plot was something about a man and a woman who were past the prime time for finding a marriage partner. They were plain and common and unattractive people, but they found each other and married. This reminded Richard that the fifties were very marriage and family oriented. He also remembered his parents talking pityingly about older bachelors and spinsters as unfortunate outcasts. Perhaps the 1950's were considered the Age of Conformity only because they were even more fundamentally the Age of Domesticity.

Richard liked several shows on TV. He liked comedies like "The Honeymooners" and "I Love Lucy," but his favorite was the western drama "Gunsmoke." One of the main characters was Kitty an attractive saloon owner who was serious and never fooled around. Neither did any of the other main characters ever get romantically involved. Those people who tamed the Wild West were sober and hard working individuals. Then there were the quiz shows like the "$64,000 Question" where contestants could win large sums of money if they were successful at answering factual questions. Richard's mother's favorite daytime show was "Queen for a Day' with host Jack Bailey. On this show, women competed by recounting their tragical experiences, and the one who told the saddest story won a host of prizes given by big national companies. He remembered a regular drama with different stories every week. It was a fantasy entitled "The Millionaire." The main character in the show was the representative of a generous multimillionaire who gave a million dollars to unfortunate persons or families. The recipients did not have to be in the lowest income brackets. They could be middle class people who had simply gotten into serious financial trouble. The gift was unconditional and tax-free.

Another exciting development for Richard in 1956 was his awakening to music, particularly the music that was starting to be played on radio that year. The music was new, exotic and very stimulating. He had actually started hearing that music in late 1955. He remembered somebody saying, at first, that it was called bop. Later he started hearing it referred to as rock and roll. His mother said it got on her nerves and that it sounded like musica de negros (Negro music). Richard knew clearly that she didn't intend to show any racial prejudice by the remark. What she meant was that, to her, music that had a strong energy was usually black in origin. Rhythm and blues was sung by the blacks and was called "race music" in the 1940's and early 1950's.

Regardless of what his mother thought, Richard found the rock and roll very enjoyable. Little Richard was his favorite, but he also was very fond of Fats Domino and the Platters. Some of the songs that he especially liked were "Speedo" by the Cadillacs, "Earth Angel" by the Penguins, "Crazy Little Mama" by the Eldoradoes. He didn't know why he had come to enjoy that music so much. At the time he didn't care why; he just liked it. He now realized that it was simple, crude, often monotonous, repetitive, and the lyrics were meaningless and irrelevant to the enjoyment of the songs. Nobody paid much attention to the lyrics. Yet it was the simplicity and coarseness that he liked about it. It sounded earthy, free, and full of vitalizing energy. It sounded genuine, even if at the same time crude and immature. The recordings often sounded like they had been made in someone's garage with the minimum of equipment, but that was one of the biggest attractions. Elvis Presley came out in March and helped catapult rock and roll to international popularity. Today only the big songs by the big artists like Elvis were usually replayed on the radio as "oldies" these days. Yet, there had been many songs that had been at least as good, if not better, than the songs that made it to the very top. Somehow they had been lost. There must have been record copies somewhere, he thought.

Another song came out in the summer of '56 which was not a favorite but which made him reflect at the time upon the lyrics. The song was "Que Sera, Sera" by Doris Day. It was about a child who asks its mother what its fate will be upon growing up. The child wants to know if there will be happiness or riches. The mother answers philosophically in Spanish, "Que sera, sera ( what will be, will be)." Richard remembered that the song made him wonder about his adult future, and he asked his mother what she thought of the song. His mother said she liked it and that it was unfortunately true that a mother couldn't give her children much more assurance than that. Richard wondered what he and his mother would have felt if they had been able to look into the future and see that he would be where he was now--maybe never to return again.

Richard broke out of his long reverie and realized he had been awake a long time. It was getting to be daylight. Still, he kept on thinking about how happy he had been. There was so much sensual stimulation of different sorts. It seemed like an adventurous paradise now. Well, he thought,"I know I'm exaggerating." He knew there had been disappointments and frustrations. He was just focusing on the good parts now, but he had a good excuse. It just didn't seem fair, he thought. He didn't know what he meant by "fair." He didn't mean that his country was treating him unfairly by sending him to fight in a war that he still believed had to be fought. Somehow he just felt that it wasn't fair for anyone who had recently been allowed to savor such joys to have to go out and risk his life. It was more of a matter of justice in the general scheme of human existence.

15

She knew the house needed cleaning. It hadn't been cleaned for several weeks now, but Nora Shukitt didn't feel like doing it today. Tomorrow she would get down to it. Right now she just wanted to watch television. Her favorite soap opera, As The World Turns, was on. If it weren't for television, she didn't know what she would do. There was nothing to do. She was so bored most of the time. Her eight year old son Mike had been gone since early in the morning. She didn't know where he was, but she figured he was probably out somewhere playing with his friends. He had many friends--too many for her to keep up with. During spring vacation, her son would stay away from the house most of the time. It was all right with her since he was often just a nuisance when he stayed at home.

Nora had last seen her husband Jim in January in Hawaii just before he left for Vietnam. Nora lived in Hawaii while Jim was in AIT at Schofield Barracks. During that time, they had gotten to know Oahu and Maui. They spent much time lying on the beaches on his days off, and at night they went to different bars.

The phone rang. She answered and after the usual greetings, the voice of the man on the other end said, "I've got the whole weekend free after all. I told you I thought I was going to have weekend duty, but I don't. So meet you tonight about seven at the usual place." The man sounded excited and jubilant.

"O.K.," she answered, "I'll see you then."

The voice belonged to Floyd. Nora had been seeing him for over a month now. She had known Floyd for about 10 years. She met him before she met Jim. He was a soldier stationed at Fort Polk. She also met Jim while he was at Ft. Polk. She wasn't in love with Floyd and he knew it. He too was not in love with her and was aware that she was married to Shukitt. They were fond of each other as friends, and they were good sex partners. Nora didn't see too much of a point in being without a man if she didn't have to. She had run into Floyd a few months before. They had quickly and easily become reacquainted, and they started seeing each other regularly. It was nice to be able to sleep with a man at least once in a while. Floyd wasn't always able to come down from Ft. Polk, but he usually managed to do it a couple of times a week.

Nora tried to be discreet enough in order not to let her son Mike know that she was seeing Floyd. She usually told Mike that she was going to see friends, just as she would tell him tonight. She would often stay late, but Mike never asked anything. He would go on to bed by himself. Nora wasn't sure Mike didn't suspect something, but if he did, he never mentioned anything. She ultimately didn't care that much if Mike did suspect something. She took precautions, but she wasn't the kind that would worry about it unnecessarily.

Nora considered herself happily married to Jim. He was easy going and kind. She knew that he had married her partly out of a feeling of compassion. When he met her, she was just barely making it financially. She had just had Mike, and the father--or the one she was fairly sure was the father--had refused to acknowledge Mike. When Jim came along, he was very kind and loving to her and married her without asking very many questions.

Nora saw Floyd because she didn't think it would interfere with her feelings for Jim. When Jim came back, it would be all over and Floyd knew it. She wasn't so sure that Jim would understand if he found out about the affair. Jim wasn't the jealous type, but it would be hard for him to accept that his wife had gone to bed with another man. Yet, Nora suspected that Jim was not reluctant to go to bed with other women. She suspected that it might have happened once or twice since they had been married. She wasn't positive about that. However, she was sure that he was having a great time every chance he had with all those whores in Vietnam.

She and Jim had talked briefly but frankly on a few occasions on the subject of sex outside the marriage. Jim had told her outright that if he ever had sexual intercourse with another woman, it wouldn't mean anything.

"It would just be a passing fancy," he said. "It would just be for the pure fun of it. It wouldn't mean I was in love with her or anything, and it wouldn't mean I didn't love you anymore. It would just be something different, you know. Now, I'm not saying that I'm ever gonna go out and find a woman to go to bed with. I'm just saying how I look at it and that's how a lot of other guys look at it, too. I know 'cause I've talked to them, you know. They still always want to stay with their own wives and family."

When Nora asked how he would feel if she did the same thing, he replied, "Now, with a woman it's different. If a woman goes to bed with another man, it probably means she really likes him, you know, and is probably going to leave her husband, and go with the new guy. Sex means a lot more to a woman, you know. That's why a woman really shouldn't fool around because it's like playing with fire."

Nora didn't argue with Jim on the point, but she didn't really believe what he said about sex being very casual for men. She didn't think or try to figure it all out. She never was one to try to intellectually analyze problems or ideas, but Jim's claims just didn't sound right to her.

While she was living in Hawaii, Nora knew she felt attracted to other men. She had, of course, always noticed other handsome or charming men, but now she was noticing in herself a more definite attraction for them. After Jim went to Vietnam and she went back to New Orleans, this interest in other men continued. Then Floyd called, and it seemed perfectly natural to have an affair with him. Soon after the beginning of the affair, she realized that there wasn't that much affection between Floyd and her. There was a certain fondness and respect, but there wasn't anything like the much deeper attachment she felt to Jim. It was then that Nora understood what Jim had tried to tell her. It all sounded very correct and logical. Of course, she still disagreed with his claim that women couldn't enter into a casual relationship the way men did. As far as she was concerned, she was living proof that Jim's claim was wrong.

Nora figured that Jim would be very angry if he found out about the affair; he might even leave her. Still, she didn't give it very much thought. If he found out about it, she would deal with it then. She rarely thought about possible consequences of her actions. She knew this had often gotten her in trouble before, like when she got pregnant with Mike. That was the way it was. It was too much pain and trouble to try to figure out how things might happen.

16

On a sandbag filling detail on a hot, oppressive afternoon.

MAJSZAK Man, this filling sandbags is a real drag. I hope we don't have to do this all fucking year. Man, this whole place is getting to me. (Yells a common exclamation.) I hate this fucking place!

SUTTON Look at it this way, bud. It's probably better than going out and getting your ass shot off. ·

KELLY Fuck, I don't know. At least it's something to do. I mean, I don't fucking like fighting a war anymore than the next guy, but at least it's something to do.

DANIELS Yeah, at least they ought to let us get out there and kick Charlie's ass for good and get out of this motherfucking place.

Pvt. Walter Daniels was a black who had his home in Detroit, Michigan. He was not originally from there. He had gone to Detroit at the age of 12 when his father had decided to go look for work there. Some friends of his father had found employment in the city with the automobile factories and had written back to the Daniels to do the same. Daniels was born and until the departure had been raised in the rural town of Andalusia, Alabama. His family had been very poor. There were four children in all and Walter remembered that all during his childhood the family had lived on a very tight budget. They were rarely able to buy new clothes. They were often having problems that couldn't be remedied promptly because of lack of funds. For example, home repairs were often put off for a long time, and the car was an old model that was often breaking down.

Daniels was medium in height and thin. He was gentle and quiet. He hardly ever raised his voice for anything, and didn't get excited very easily. He made friends quickly with whites as well as blacks. He often talked with Richard. Daniels talked very slowly most of the time. It looked as if it took him plenty of time to think. It wasn't that he talked slowly because he was always trying to express a profound idea. It just seemed that he was always tired or out of energy. He walked the same way, too. Daniels reminded Richard of Step 'n' Fetch It whom he had seen in old '30's movies and who was now being ridiculed by young black militants for having played that role in the movies.

Part of the reason that Daniels didn't always walk very energetically was that he had trouble with his feet. He had flat feet as the result of a defect in the bone structure. He told Richard about this along with other facts about his early childhood in Alabama. Richard had heard recently that there were many places in the United States, many of them in the South, in which people were suffering from malnutrition. He wondered whether some of Daniels' problems might not have been the result of nutritional deprivation in early childhood.

MAJSZAK Another thing I hate is that we have to do these details while the fucking officers get to sit around and not have to do shit.

PERRY Ah, what are you talking about? They've got to make big plans for the next operation. (Sarcastically) That takes a lot of time and shit.

Perry was a white who had grown up in Oakland, California. He had come across many diverse influences and ideas while growing up. That often happened in California, especially in the San Francisco area. Perry's close friend Chris Marchetti was from Sacramento and had similar attitudes and a similar outlook on life. In Oakland, Perry had, while growing up, met many kids with different racial, ethnic, and religious backgrounds. He had gotten along well with most of them and had made close friends with some. In many ways, he liked the carefree and cool attitudes of many of the kids he knew. He found a certain detachment and calm in them in relating to teachers and other adults. They kept a distant, critical perspective on things. They could sense a hypocrisy behind the actions and words of many adults. They couldn't articulate the antagonistic feelings they often felt, but they rebelled instinctively. They weren't anxious about pleasing teachers and other authority figures in the way that Perry had heard other kids behaved in other places in the country. Yet, most of them were not destructive or violent. They were rebellious and even outright disdainful, but they were generally law abiding. This was less true of the blacks and the Mexican-Americans. They were more prone to use violence. He had several close black and Mexican friends, but he had a certain caution about their more ready attitude to resort to violence.

Perry found that a more open and imaginative attitude was found not only in Oakland, but also in San Francisco and other surrounding towns like Berkeley. He remembered how as a kid he found that the Beatniks he saw there appeared to be interesting.

Perry's basic philosophy on getting along with people and in society was that people should keep a tolerant view of the customs and habits of others. He believed that individuals should be allowed to think and develop in exactly the way they chose so long as their actions didn't interfere with the lives of other people. He liked the idea of allowing everyone the maximum freedom possible. It was for this reason that Perry disliked the military very much. There seemed to be so much rigidity and unimaginative authoritarianism. It was true of the military as an institution and of most of the men who decided to make careers in it. The army seemed to attract men with a rigid conservative mentality.

MAJSZAK Plans, my ass. What the fuck is there to plan? We go out to see if we can find any VC--which we usually fuckin' don't--and if we do, we pound them with artillery and maybe even napalm from planes, and then we go in and pick up the dead bodies if there are any.

MASON And some of these dumb lieuees can't plan shit. They're too green or too dumb.

SUTTON Yeah, like that guy Burns in 3rd platoon. They say he doesn't know shit from Shinola.

MAJSZAK Fuck, it's a real bag o' shit.

MARCHETTI And not only do those fuckers get to sit around while we do this shit work, they get to order us around, and we got to show them all the respect or our ass is grass.

KELLY Yeah, and you gotta salute them and say "sir" all the time and shit like that.

MASON And they tell you you're not saluting the man, you're saluting his fucking rank.

MAJSZAK It's a real bag o' shit.

WOOD Well, the reason they don't come out and help us isn't that they don't want to, but, you know, they figure they have to keep a certain distance or they'll lose the respect of the men. (Immediately, groans of disapproval and derision are heard.)

PERRY Shit, how can you lose what you never had?

WOOD By the way, the Captain wants us to be careful on the body counts from now on. He doesn't want us to miss any dead gooks. The big cheeses want to hear about body counts that are as big as possible.

MAJSZAK Well, fuck, I'll tell you what I'm going to fucking do. Every dink I find I'm gonna fucking count as two. That way we can make sure that they'll be happy up there.

MARCHETTI I bet they didn't say anything about counting more than we really find. They're just worried about not enough.

KELLY Hell, us peons do all the dirty work like picking up dirty, stinking dead gooks and getting our asses shot, but you hardly ever hear of the big wigs getting zapped.

PERRY Yeah, and they get a lot better pay, and always get better quarters to live in and shit.

SUTTON Hell, those guys in Saigon and some of the other big bases get all the luxuries. I hear they got air-conditioning and fancy quarters and tennis courts and all kinds o' shit.

MASON Yeah, I bet they do.

PERRY And some of those fuckers are really gung-ho. All they want is glory, and they don't care how they get it. My old man fought in World War II, and he said there were some generals that worried about keeping down American casualties, but there were others that didn't care as long as they could keep pushing ahead and make themselves look good.

SUTTON Yeah, just a bunch of glory hounds.

WOOD (in a subdued but angry tone) Well, I'll tell you what. The military ain't much different than anywhere else. There's fucking glory hounds everywhere, and anywhere you go you're going to find it pretty much the fucking same. There's all the peons like us that get shit on, and then there's a few chiefs that get to give all the orders and get all the money and the big houses and the fine cars and the pretty women.

17

The Viet Cong were supposed to be in the jungle area just ahead. Phantom F-4 jets had very thoroughly bombed the area where they had been spotted. They had finished a few minutes before, and now the Company was supposed to mop up. With all the explosives that had been dropped by the jets, it was hard to believe that there could be any trace of life remaining in the place. The VC often had elaborate, underground tunnel systems that could save them from destruction. For this reason, the men had to be careful as they approached, although they all felt confident that any Viet Cong in the area had been wiped out.

It was March 20, 1968. There was not the intense fear that was felt by all the men the last time they had gone into a village, the one in which Sadowski killed the woman. In the meantime, Alpha Company had gone on two sweep operations like the one they were on today but had not faced any combat action and had not found any dead VC. First platoon was supposed to be the leading platoon, but many of the men from 2nd platoon had intermingled with the First. The soldiers proceeded slowly but deliberately. There were some words exchanged among the men, but for the most part the soldiers were silent and relatively relaxed.

Owens and Mangini were in front of the group. They had a chance to exchange some words in a low tone. "Hey, Ron," said Owens, "I was just thinking wouldn't it be nice if we went into those trees and found this big old whorehouse with some beautiful holes like they say they got back in a place like Las Vegas. And this place would be a big and fancy old castle. Then they would tell us we could just lay up in there as long as we wanted because we been such good troops and shit." He and Mangini laughed.

"Yeah, O," said Mangini, "now you're talkin'. I'd never leave that place. I'd stay in there and knock that pussy to kingdom come."

A sharp burst of machine gun fire abruptly interrupted the calm, sunny morning. The soldiers started running in different confused directions. Several of them were yelling, and others were giving an array of orders and entreaties that no one else followed. Pvt. John Hlavacek from 2nd platoon fell over screaming and holding his crotch. He had been struck squarely in the genitals by the machine gun fire. The pain was burning intensely, and he was bleeding profusely since he had also been hit in other places. One bullet had pierced an artery in his left leg and most of the bleeding originated from there. He rolled on the ground yelling, hut hardly anyone noticed in the panic and frantic search for cover. The pain was greatly aggravated by Hlavacek's shock at being hit in the genitals. He had thought about being hit there before, and it had been dreadful just to imagine it. He had talked about it with other G. I.'s, and everyone had agreed that it would be excruciating. Hlavacek passed out.

Other men were also hit and were crawling on the ground for cover. The only cover to be found was in the places where the grass was especially high. Even that was not good protection. It hid the men from sight, but if a Viet Cong decided to fire into the grass, it did not provide a shield against the bullets.

The men scurried about yelling suggestions all at the same time. "Get, back, get back," said one.

"It's just a few feet ahead to that brush up there. It's better to run for that," hollered another.

"Just hit the ground where you are," screamed a third G.I.

"Stop running around like chickens with your heads chopped off," said a fourth man who had dived to the ground immediately although the spot was clearly open to enemy sight. He now started crawling for better cover. "Get down, get down, goddamn it," yelled Lt. Corley. "We better retreat," yelled another soldier.

The Captain came over the radio, "Get those men down and under cover. Get them down." All of this activity took place in a matter of a few seconds.

Almost as soon as the first volley of fire ended, a second burst began. It was hard to believe that the invitingly lush green trees that formed the timberline ahead could conceal the treacherous, death-dealing weapon that was mowing the two platoons like Kansas wheat.

One of the men hit by the second volley was Owens. Richard had a clear view of him as he went down. Owens fell over backward. His back arched tremendously as his feet remained planted firmly in place up to the last instant of his fall. He had been hit in the upper face and chest. He did not make any motion at throwing his arms to maintain his balance. Instead, he clutched his rifle firmly through the entire fall. Richard saw Owens's face as it bled profusely on the left side. His left eye was completely covered with blood, and the crimson colored fluid made a sharp contrast on his black skin. Richard saw his face go into a pain-filled grimace at the beginning of his fall. Owens' s expression immediately turned into an empty stare. What little expression was left on his face was one of quiet resignation. His right eye was wide open and fixed as he waited for his body to hit the earth. It seemed that he knew that it was the end of the line for him, and Richard had a strong intuition that Owens was already dead when he hit the ground.

There were other men sprawled on the ground who had been hit by the second volley. One of them was crawling slowly toward an unclear destination. He was not heading toward any place that provided good cover. Instead, he was crawling toward an open spot that would clearly expose him to the Viet Cong machine gun. One soldier was crawling slowly in a daze. His right side was bloody, particularly in the rib area. Richard noticed it was Arnold. He slowly fell flat as his strength went out of his arms. He lay completely still.

Two medics came up to help the wounded men. Richard wondered how medics could do it. They obviously had to feel very dedicated. Also it was probably easier to risk one's life when one felt the duty to help someone else. Some time passed and then jets could be heard approaching. They had been called in. They swept low over the area, but the first two jets dropped their bombs far inside the wooded area beyond the Viet Cong machine gun. Richard heard low, painful moans to his right. It was someone who had probably been hit pretty badly, he thought. The Viet Cong machine gun roared forth with another shower of bullets. All of the soldiers were down behind cover by now. The only one that was immediately seen to be hit was one of the medics who had not been low enough because he was crouching over to help a fallen soldier. Medics were not supposed to be shot at under modern rules of warfare, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be caught in the fire. There was ultimately no guarantee that the rules could or even would willingly be followed. The stricken medic lay on his back writhing. The other medic was busily taking care of previously wounded soldiers.

Richard heard the moans to his right again. He wondered whether he should move toward the groaning soldier and help him in some way. He didn't want to expose himself to enemy fire, and he wasn't sure that the machine gun had been finally silenced by the attacking jets, which were now accurately hitting the proper target. The groans were heard again. The man was wailing more often although it was still in a hushed tone. Richard edged over on his elbows a few feet to get a better look. He saw the suffering soldier's body from the chest down. The G.I. had been hit by several bullets across the chest and on the right side. He was bleeding profusely as his fatigues became progressively redder. Richard wanted to run to the wounded man, but he was partially paralyzed by fear. He didn't feel like making himself a moving target for the machine gun. He moved forward slightly to get a look at the man's face to see if he might know him. It was Mangini! He dashed to him instinctively. He forgot all about his concern for safety. He could only think of helping Mangini. When he got there, he realized there wasn't much he could do. He first tried to drag him back toward the American troops, but that meant taking him across a large open space. He realized that the spot where they were situated was as safe as any other nearby. Mangini didn't seem to be very aware of Richard's presence. He stared at the sky with a pained, distant look.

The jets had by now heavily bombed the machine gun emplacement and surrounding area. The machine gun had not been heard from for a while, and some of the American soldiers were shooting at any of the retreating VC they could see. A soldier from the 3rd platoon passed by Richard and Mangini, trotting toward the company's back lines. He had a wound in his left arm, which he held with his right hand. The wound was not serious, but the G.I. would have the opportunity to get out of the field for a while. He could have even been hoping to get out of the war altogether, but that wasn't very likely because it was a minor wound. Richard thought he might have felt the same way in the same situation and didn't blame anyone for the attitude.

Richard noticed that his own hands were thoroughly smudged with blood on account of his attempt to drag Mangini. For a second, he thought he had just been hit, but he immediately realized it was just panic. He didn't have time to contemplate the eeriness of the situation. The blood felt warm. He talked to Mangini, "Every thing's going to be all right, Ron. Don't worry. The gooks are retreating now." Ron stared at him emptily and did not respond. He had stopped moaning. Richard had forgotten all about getting hit and was openly exposed to enemy fire. He wasn't thinking about very much except getting Mangini out of this situation. He was worrying about him like if he were a brother or lifetime friend. He was trying to think of what he could do next, and then he spotted a medic. "Hey, medic, over here, over here," he yelled frantically. The medic saw him and started moving toward Mangini and him. Ron gave a sudden howl and started moaning loudly again. At times his moans reached the level of low screams.

Richard could see that Ron was suffering tormenting pain. He wished he could do something about it, but he felt helpless. He began to feel angry and resentful of the whole situation. The whole thing seemed so ridiculous, and he wished he could somehow end it all in some way. He would have liked-to just get everyone out of the whole scene, out of the country, and back home where they really belonged. He wondered why the U.S. wasn't using all its power to smash North Vietnam and end the war all at once. He looked up into the jungle area to check if he could see one of the enemy. He was angry now and felt he wanted to kill one of those "goddamned gooks who had shot up Mangini and the other guys."

He didn't see any enemy, but he brought his rifle up to firing position just in case he suddenly saw one. After a few seconds, he spotted a Viet Cong running into the jungle. He knew he had to fire right away before the enemy soldier disappeared. He pulled the trigger. The sound from the rifle came through crisp and solid. Several bullets hit the man, and Richard saw him freeze in his tracks. He threw his arms and head slightly upwards as his rifle dropped from his hands. His legs bent slowly as he gradually dropped to his knees. After landing on his knees, he slowly fell forward to the ground. His entire back was almost perfectly straight the whole time. Richard could see the holes made by the bullets in the man's back. It seemed to take a long time. It seemed like he was looking at a film in slow motion and everything was very vivid. His mind's eye and ear would keep recalling the entire scene for the next several hours. It made a very keen impression on his senses. It was his first man. He had killed his first man.

The medic reached them at that moment and gave Ron a shot of morphine. The Med Evac helicopters were now coming in to take away the wounded. Ron was again quiet by the time he was put on the stretcher to go into the chopper. Richard helped to put him on the stretcher, and as he let go of him after putting him on the stretcher, Ron reached with his right hand and gently grasped Richard's forearm for a brief moment. He didn't say anything. He just stared at him with glassy eyes. Within a minute, Ron was flying away in the helicopter.

Richard walked back to regroup with the Company. It would soon make a sweep into the jungle in order to flush out any remaining VC. A good number of them had been wiped out by the airplanes and by the men who had fired at them as they retreated. Richard kept thinking about killing the man he had shot a few minutes before, He realized that the man had actually been a boy like so many of the Viet Cong. Richard wondered what his background and home life had been like. He realized that the Viet Cong infantryman had also had a home, loved ones, feelings, emotions, and past experiences--both good and bad. Ultimately, the VC was just as human as he and his American buddies. Still, Richard did not feel any great sadness, and he could not muster up the same sympathy he felt for an American. He simply felt that they were basically savages, at least in comparison with Americans.

Another interesting thing was that Richard had never placed much value in exacting revenge against others. He had become convinced long ago that retribution accomplished nothing and actually brought greater harm and suffering in the long run. He believed that the desire for vengeance was a common emotional reaction to offensive acts, but it was an emotion that could be understood and consequently tempered. Yet, he remembered now that it was the desire for revenge for Mangini's wounds that had prompted him to look for Viet Cong to kill. After finding a victim and killing him, he knew he had felt a warm satisfaction in evening the score.

Still, Richard knew the Viet Cong was a human being, and he expected to feel great shock in killing his first human--but he didn't. It had been an impressionable and unpleasant experience, but it had not been either shocking or traumatic. It had been a novel feeling to observe the power to take away a person's life, and what's more it was all perfectly legal--legalized killing. He would have to respond to no one, to no court, to no tribunal. Killing was the most abominable crime in civilized society, but if it was done in war, it was completely permissible. No one would cast moral judgment upon each individual killing, even if they might condemn the war as a whole.

18

Nothing had been heard about Mangini. For all anybody knew, he died. It was strange, but that was the way it often happened. You just never heard about a guy again. Richard was coming back from mail call. It was March 31st. He had received a letter from a friend. He had gotten one or two letters from friends, but most of the letters he received were from his family. There were no great changes or events taking place at home. His sister Laura had gotten a good job as a receptionist-typist. She was 19 now and dating regularly. Richard just hoped that she had the sense to use birth control pills. His younger brother Mike was now 16 years old and a junior in high school. He wasn't very interested in sports as Richard had been. Instead, he was on the school newspaper and was becoming more and more active in political and antiwar causes. His activism had gotten him into several scrapes with the school administration. He had particularly gotten in trouble in protesting school regulations against long hair. The family told Richard in their letters that they missed him and that they were hoping very much that he would be home soon. Apart from his not being there, it was clear to Richard that life for them was proceeding very much as usual while he was out here on this battleground.

The letter he had received was from an old friend from high school with whom he had kept in contact off and on. His name was George Sokoloff. He was an officer in the Air Force and was stationed in Germany. George graduated from the University of California at Riverside, and then rather than go into the Army, he had joined the Air Force. As a college graduate, he was able to become an officer. The Air Force and Navy did not allow anyone to become an officer unless they had a college degree. George admitted it was a silly rule because he had met several officers whom he could not believe were college graduates. George had been in Germany for almost two years now and wrote that he was enjoying himself very much. He had become an avid skier, had learned to speak German fairly well, and had gotten to make some friends with German people. Sokoloff had gotten to travel to a number of places. On leave and weekends, he had travelled to Sweden, England, Denmark, France, Spain, and Italy and was planning to go to Greece and Israel later on.

Richard had other friends in the military who seemed to be having just as good a time, or at least the duties they had were easy. Then there were the guys who had gotten out of military service altogether. Most of them had legitimate physical ailments that made them unfit, otherwise known as 4F. There were some that made Richard wonder how they ever got out of serving. 'There were one or two that Richard suspected had simply been able to find kind, cooperative doctors to write letters to the draft board exaggerating their poor physical condition or even making false claims about physical defects. The doctors were probably friends of the families. Richard didn't think that kind of thing happened to a great extent, but he figured it happened much more than most people knew or cared to admit. He had heard a number of credible stories about men who had gotten out of military induction through the use of false medical reports.

On March 31st, 1968, Lyndon Johnson announced that he would not seek reelection as President after doing poorly in the New Hampshire Democratic primary. Johnson and his critics assumed that the poor showing was an indication that the American people were now against the war. What they and Johnson did not know--but was later discovered in a poll--was that most of the people in New Hampshire who had been dissatisfied with Johnson's conduct of the war had been displeased because he was not using enough force rather than too much.

19

The people in the village were keeping to themselves. The adults didn't show much interest in the American soldiers. They just tried to go about their business as usual. The children, especially the young boys, seemed more impressed, but, even they did not pay much attention. The Americans could detect some resentment in even the kids.

The soldiers went through the usual attempts at getting information on the Viet Cong from the villagers, but nobody knew anything. Captain Look interrogated several people, but all they could do was show that they didn't understand what he was asking. Lt. Paulsen and Sgt. Wood were together and also trying to find out information on the Viet Cong.

"Hell, Lieutenant," said an irritated Sgt. Wood, "you think these goddamn gooks don't know what we're asking them. They know. It's not that hard to figure what we would want to know anyway. They're just playin' possum, Lieutenant, and you know, it's not that hard for them to at least know in which direction the VC are located."

"Yeah, I think you're right, Sergeant," answered Paulsen. "It's not that complicated."

Wood came up to an old man of about 60 and grabbed him by the shoulder, "Where are the VC? VC?" The old man shook his head as his face took on a frightened look. "I said where are VC, old man? VC?" repeated Wood in an angrier tone.

"Toi khoung hieu, toi khoung hieu. (I don't understand)," answered the man nervously.

"Come on, old man, tell me the truth," yelled Wood as he shook him hard.

"Toi khoung hieu," insisted the old Vietnamese. "Toi khoung biet (I don't know)."

In a flash, Wood took his rifle which he had been holding in his left hand and hit the man across the face with the rifle butt. Two teeth flew out of the old man's mouth after the impact. Wood was furious at the man whose mouth started gushing blood. Wood had been irritable and temperamental since the death of Owens. He had not been especially close to Owens, but he had liked him. The Sergeant pushed the old Vietnamese toward a well a few feet away. Lt. Paulsen looked on but did not say anything. Wood easily picked up the man who was 5 feet tall and held him over the opening of the well, threatening to throw him in if he didn't talk. The old man struggled, but he was no match for the strength of Wood. There was blood over his face. Wood yelled at him,"VC, where are VC?" The old man started howling and crying in desperate fear. Wood ducked him down as if he were going to let him fall. The man continued howling and blabbering incoherently, but he gave no information. Wood pulled him up and out of the well and threw him on the ground. He started walking away, "Fucking gook doesn't understand a thing or doesn't want to, I don't know."

20

As Richard lay in his bed thinking, he realized that in his thoughts he had been unconsciously reviewing the events of his life from childhood. He had always liked to daydream and had often recalled past events in his musings, but it had never been as chronologically organized as it was now. Nor had his recollections of the past appeared as vividly as they came through now. Incidents, people, names, and dates were recalled effortlessly and in great detail, and he found a great thrill in doing this. Yet, at the same time, there was a certain sadness in seeing time gone by and moments that could never be relived although he often felt the deep desire to go back and savor anew many memorable incidents. He was trying to find a common thread in his past. So far it just seemed that he had gone through the customary motions and rituals of growing up. It seemed as if he'd had no choice. At least adults had a little more choice. Richard had doubts about "free will" but he did believe people had at least some control over their lives. This was true because humans were rational beings who through careful thinking and consideration could come to the right decisions. For example, it was possible for Americans to come to the correct conclusion on how to clean up the cities.

He had by now decided to consciously and carefully continue with a chronological inventory of his past. He was now up to the year of 1958. A big event of 1958 was the move by his family to another home in Santa Monica from Pico Rivera. Both towns were in the Los Angeles area so it wasn't as drastic a change as if they had moved to a completely new city like San Francisco, for instance. The home in Pico Rivera wasn't bad. It was large enough for the family of five. The house in Pico Rivera was in good condition, and the neighborhood was neat and peaceful. Yet, Richard's parents had decided to move to Santa Monica because they claimed it was a better, more respectable neighborhood. Richard didn't very much like the idea of having to leave his old friends in Pico Rivera, but he didn't have much to say about it. He was supposed to start going to high school in September. This meant that, whether he stayed in Pico Rivera or not, he was going to have to adjust to a new environment.

The home in Santa Monica was a much bigger house. It was old but it was elegant with a large, well-designed landscape. His parents were very thrilled with it. They said the schools were better than in Pico Rivera, and so were the streets, parks, and stores to shop in. They couldn't wait to invite their friends to come see the house. Richard's parents pointed out that they would all have to work harder to keep up the yard and the outside of the house in good condition because the neighbors wouldn't like it if they allowed the house to deteriorate. They explained that people justifiably worried about that kind of thing because property values in an entire neighborhood went down even if only a few of the houses deteriorated. Richard didn't relish working in the yard so he remembered that he hadn't liked hearing what his parents had said. He thought, at the time, that his parents and the neighbors were too picky about how they thought a yard should look. He didn't mind keeping up a yard so that it looked nice, but he thought, most adults went overboard and worried too much about what the neighbors would say. He also couldn't understand all the fuss about property values. To him it seemed that people should simply pick a house that they liked and keep it in the condition that made it attractive and pleasant to them.

He realized now that he himself had been very much controlled at that age by peer pressures. He remembered how disastrous it was to be very different from the rest of the crowd. You could show some different traits, but they had to be minor ones or the right type. You could be rebellious but within certain well-defined limits. You could rebel against parents or teachers, but you still were supposed to remain the same in relation to your contemporaries. If you deviated very much from the norm, there were all kinds of names you subjected yourself to being called. "Square" was the best known, but there were also "oddball," "weirdo," "drip," "dip," "dip shit," "goon," "dork," and others.

The Mendez family had to acquire new furniture that would look good in the house. Richard and the other children had to be careful that they took good care of it. Over the next several years, they would acquire a color TV and later an automatic dishwasher. In late 1958, Richard also remembered that his father bought a car. It was a brand new 1959 Buick. It had power brakes, power steering, and air conditioning. It seemed luxurious inside, although, of course, it wasn't as good as a Cadillac with all its luxury items such as electric windows. Mr. Mendez was very pleased with the new Buick, but he said, "If I can do it, we'll only keep this car 2 years."

Richard's mother was surprised. "Why?" she asked, "why did you want to buy it in the first place if you want to get rid of it so soon?"

"That's the best way," replied his father. "That's the advice the auto companies give and it sounds good to me. See, what they're saying is that a car usually runs without any problems for the first couple of years or so. After that, things start wearing out, so you're better off if you get rid of it. You trade it in on a new one, keep that for 2 years, and then trade that one in. You keep doing that and you're always ahead of the game. Not only that, you'll always be driving a late model car instead of some out of date old thing."

While Richard's family was happily moving into its new home, Daniel Wine was sitting depressed in Philadelphia trying to comprehend his recent divorce. It had taken place only six months before. After his appearance before HUAC, events had gone very much as predicted. He had been cited for contempt of Congress for which he was assessed a suspended sentence and a $200 fine. Fine knew that the punishment was partly motivated by his bold statements. The Committee never asked a single question to find out whether he had ever tried to indoctrinate or in any way influence his pupils or fellow teachers with Communist ideology. If they had asked, they would have found that he had always been very scrupulous to keep his political beliefs to himself while at his job. Very soon after the hearing, Wine was discharged from the Philadelphia schools based on a charge of "incompetence." The same fate was met by several other Philadelphia teachers. Before this, however, Wine had always received very good ratings as a teacher. He was never given a satisfactory explanation as to why he was assessed incompetent to teach.

It had been impossible to find a teaching job or almost any job for that matter. He applied personally at school systems in many different cities in the Northeast. He sent applications and resumes all over the country. It eventually became clear that they were very suspicious of his dismissal by the Philadelphia school system. They were aware of what had happened to hundreds of teachers, and they asked pointed questions. It was also hard to come up with a phony story if he decided to exclude his teaching experience. As a physicist, he could qualify to do many scientific jobs in industry, but he was always turned down. It was often for security reasons like on government related work, but at other times, Wine felt that the security question was simply a convenient excuse. There was nothing involving security matters on those jobs. In the meantime, his family was going through considerable trauma, financial and otherwise. They were able to afford very little and it was a struggle to pay the rent for an old, run-down apartment. There were sometimes angry, threatening anonymous phone calls from those who had heard, of his defiance of HUAC.

He finally got a job as a clothing salesman in a department store, which lasted almost a year until the FBI notified his employer about his past. After that, it was self-employment doing odd jobs of any sort he could find in homes and gardens. He became reasonably competent, but it was never steady work.

His wife had never forgiven him for what he had done at the HUAC hearing. He had tried to explain to her many times why he had felt that he had to do what he did. He tried to convince her that it wasn't a matter of immaturity or selfish rebelliousness. She seemed to try to understand at first, but it became clear that she didn't. She was very resentful and became progressively more so. After the hearing, their relationship was terrible, and it never improved. She would often mention that it was all "unnecessary suffering." She finally asked for a divorce. He hated to be torn apart from his children. His girl was now 10 and his son was 7. He had always loved them very much, and it was obvious that they were also very grieved by the breaking of the family. Daniel Wine felt paralyzed now and wondered what was to become of him.

Richard remembered that within the first few days of moving into the home in Santa Monica in July, the news came that the United States had landed a force of Marines in Lebanon. He thought it was on the 6 o'clock news that the family had heard it. His parents hardly ever watched the news on television. They said they found it boring. It was also difficult to keep up with the complexities behind the news stories. Richard agreed and would usually turn off the set whenever news came on. Any awareness that Richard had of public events came from the hourly news summaries that were broadcast on the rock station that he always turned on. The landing of the Marines on Lebanon's shores wasn't taken as a very serious matter, certainly not as the Hungarian revolt or the Suez Canal crisis of two years before. It wasn't clear why the Marines had been sent. One reason apparently was that it was necessary to evacuate American civilians. Beyond that, Lebanon was not being invaded by another country.

Richard remembered that 1958 saw the beginning of an intense "space race" between the U.S. and Russia that would last for several years. It all started with the Russian launching of the first satellite, Sputnik, in October, 1957. The space race gave added impetus for growth in technical industries such as defense and electronics.

Richard remembered that much excitement and interest was generated by new cars, new products, new foods, and new songs that were always coming up. 1958 was the year of the widespread hula hoop craze. David Seville came out with a big gimmick hit song "The Witchdoctor" sung by a gimmick group The Chipmunks, which were a pure creation on a tape recorder. Another specialty hit was "The Purple People Eater." Kids were often rebelling against their parents over such things as boys growing duck-tail hairdos, girls wearing "short shorts," and necking at drive-in movies. Brigitte Bardot had become an international sex symbol by taking off more clothes than anyone had ever done before. There were always new movie stars and sports heroes coming out whose lives were closely watched.

Richard was sure now that if he had been asked by someone in 1958 what place and time in history he would most prefer to live in, he--like everyone else--would have emphatically replied that the United States in 1958 was the best ever. He knew that any person in the world would have readily left his own country and culture to come to this supreme wonderland of fantasy.

21

GATES Jesus Fucking Christ, have you heard about how those South Vietnamese interrogators sometimes get information out of the VC prisoners? They use fucking knives or bamboo reeds and stick them under their fingernails and toenails. Some of those VC still don't talk, though. They're tough as shit.

MASON I heard they got some barbed wire cage that they put them in when they can't get them to fucking talk and shit. It's a cage in which they can barely fit, and whenever they move, they get pricked like a son of a bitch. Sometimes, they keep them in there for a day or more.

DANIELS Yeah, I heard those ARVN hardly ever take any motherfucking prisoners, boy. They just shoot their asses on the spot. They're just like the Cong. (The South Vietnamese army was officially known as the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN).)

PERRY Man, I heard those Korean marines are the mean ones. You don't want to fuck around with them.

GATES Yeah, I heard they can really use some vicious torture and shit. I've heard they even fucking cut prisoners balls off sometimes.

MASON I sometimes wonder whether stories like that might not be a little exaggerated, but then I gotta admit it don't surprise me at all.

KOTAKIS Of course, you guys know a favorite way of getting information out of VC suspects is to threaten to throw them out of a helicopter.

GATES Yeah, the best thing is when they fucking got two prisoners. Then they can actually throw one out if they have to and usually the second one will start goddamn talking real fast, boy. (Everyone laughs.)

PERRY Yeah and it isn't just the ARVN doing that. Our guys will do that shit, too.

22

Richard was walking by himself to the mess hall. Roy ran to catch up and talk to him. Roy had become increasingly close to Richard. He was generally friendly and talkative. He was very open about himself, about his past, and about his wife and family back home. Roy was garrulous, but he could sometimes be quietly contemplative. There were also times he showed great sensitivity toward others in his actions and in his observations such as the day that the Company went on the village relocation.

ROY Hey, Rich, wait up. I'm going to get some chow, too.

MENDEZ. Hi, Jim. How's it going?

ROY Oh, so so, I guess. I just had a big argument with that fucking Washington. Goddamn it, he's a pain in the ass.

MENDEZ What happened?

ROY Hell, he came into our hut with Page, and they were talking, and he sat down on my bunk while he was talking to Page. Page has his bed next to mine. I came into the hut and caught him sitting on my bed. You see, he's done that before, and I told him before I didn't want to see him on my bed or even near my things, goddamn it. I told him that right out--at least a couple of times before. I just don't want him near any of my things. Fuck him if he doesn't like it. I've got a right to say who can come in my area.

MENDEZ Has he stolen anything from you before, or are you afraid he will?

ROY He hasn't taken anything so far, but it wouldn't surprise me if he did. The main thing that bothers me is that I just plainly don't like niggers. I mean I can't stand them, I want them to stay away from me and my stuff--especially smart asses like Washington. But the thing is I just don't like any of them, and I want to have as little to do with them as possible. Well, at least, there's one good thing. Page and Cooper are moving out of the hut tomorrow, so we won't have anymore niggers in the hut. I think they're gonna try to have a hut full of fucking coons, but I don't know if the Captain is gonna let 'em go that far.

MENDEZ I know you Southerners don't like blacks much, but you really sound pissed off. I guess you've probably had some bad experiences in dealing with them.

Richard was baffled as to why Roy bore such animosity toward blacks. Roy had told him before that he hated blacks so it wasn't that he was surprised to hear Roy ranting about blacks or about Washington. What bewildered Richard was that Roy was otherwise a very warm and sensitive guy. He would talk fondly and warmly about his family and friends back home. You could really see that he loved everyone in his family deeply. He wasn't afraid to open up and say something like, "Boy, I really love my wife" or "my brother Jeff" or "my sister Brenda." He had gotten married just before coming out to Vietnam. He was kind, helpful and friendly. He had always treated Richard well. Richard was aware that Roy often sought him out for company and conversation. On several occasions, he had kept Richard up late talking even though Richard would have preferred to go to sleep. Ultimately, this was what puzzled Richard the most--that Roy hated blacks as much as he did, and yet seemed very fond of him. Richard had a dark complexion, but it didn't seem to bother Roy. Roy also got along well with the other dark-complexioned Mexican or Asian Americans in the company and didn't show any special dislike for the Vietnamese. In fact, he seemed more sensitive to them than most soldiers. He seemed anything but a hateful person but whatever hatred was in him was directed dead center at the black man.

ROY Naw, it's not that. I've never had any especially bad experience, but I just don't like them. They're bad people. I mean, I guess you can't understand, Rich, but, I don't know, they're dirty, they're lazy. You ought to see the goddamn places they live in--dirty old shacks. They're stupid.

MENDEZ Oh, I don't know. I've met some that seem pretty smart. And how about the Vietnamese? A lot of them are stupid and dirty.

ROY Yeah, but, I don't know, you just don't understand, Rich. Fucking niggers are just bad people.

23

The troops of South Vietnam did not look very eager to get into a fight. There were all kinds of stories and jokes about their reluctance to fight. It was also claimed that many of them couldn't be trusted. This was the reason the ARVN troops in this day's operation were being kept ahead of A Company. There were too many stories of previous occasions in which American soldiers moving ahead of South Vietnamese forces in an operation had mysteriously been shot from behind. The ARVN soldiers were moving forward very slowly. Their officers had to keep yelling to get them to move ahead and to maintain good order. It was a sweep through a jungle area where Viet Cong were reported to be hiding. There were rumors that the enemy could be the North Vietnamese Army (NVA). The area contained several abandoned villages. It was considered to be a large Viet Cong force so there was a good likelihood that there would be a firefight, although it was hard to predict exactly. It was never clear when the Viet Cong were going to decide to run and when they might put up a fight even if it was only a brief one. The sweeping force consisted of A Company and one ARVN company. The members of Alpha Company had heard rumors that they were going against a large Viet Cong group, but Captain Look had not given them any official information.

Company A had gone through tense and trying times in the last few weeks following the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. on April 4th. The night of the murder several groups of blacks roamed the camp disgusted and morose. They didn't talk very much--especially to whites. Richard was walking along and ran into one group. "I sure hope they catch the son of a bitch," he said. He had gotten to know some of the blacks well and trusted that they wouldn't be hostile toward him.

"Yeah, Rich," said Galbraith, "but that won't bring back to life a great man." The men went into Daniels' s hut. Richard went in with them. He had several times before come into the hut and felt welcome. He felt a certain rapport with blacks--wasn't sure why. He had not met very many before going to college, but at UCLA he had made a couple of black friends he had liked. He also realized that as a kid he had admired many black athletes like Roy Campanella, Willie Mays, Gene "Big Daddy" Lipscomb and singers like Fats Domino, Chuck Berry, and Harry Belafonte who all seemed so jovial and warm. He couldn't understand why whites, especially ones like Roy, hated blacks so much. Within the last few years, he had found it hard to understand that many American blacks were in fact very unhappy and dissatisfied, but he was beginning to see the reasons for it.

"You know, this kind o' shit makes me think I'd rather not even go back to the States," continued Galbraith.

"Yeah, I hear you," said Page.

"I mean, you know," continued Galbraith, "it's sad to say, you know, after all, it's home and all. But hell, you just can't help but think about it. You know, this place, this Nam, ain't so bad except for the fucking war."

"Yeah, it's a pretty country," said Davis.

"It's a nice place," Galbraith went on, "and the people aren't so bad. They been pretty friendly to me, probably 'cause I've treated them O.K. And it's not just us that feel this way about going back. I was talking to some gray dudes the other day, and they said they were thinking the same thing. I mean who wants to go back to riots and dirty streets and air pollution and everything else. Man, there's got to be something better."

On the day after the assassination of King, matters had been aggravated when several small Confederate flags were hung outside of Roy's hut. The blacks fumed over this and on several occasions exchanged angry words with the whites who lived in the hut. It soon became clear that it wasn't just Roy who had been involved in putting up the flags. The blacks asked the C.O. to make the men in Roy's hut take down the flags, especially since they had been flown only after King's murder. The C.O. had refused on the grounds that it was the men's right to fly the flags. Someone threw a firebomb into the hut. No one was hurt, and it was never found out who did it. After several weeks, the flags were taken down and the anger subsided--at least on the surface of things.

Everyone in the company was now in a quiet, somber mood. They were well aware of the dangers, and they were all wondering about who would come back alive and who wouldn't. They were readily listening for the first sounds of gunfire. They were tense and apprehensive, but they weren't as paralyzed with fear as they had been on previous occasions. The 18 weeks they had now spent in Vietnam made them ever more fatalistic about their individual existences and made them move a little more readily even if with a general reluctance.

They were coming close to the timber line when machine gun fire was suddenly heard from the jungle. The ARVN could be heard yelling and talking excitedly. Everyone hit the ground immediately. It wasn't apparent that anyone had been hit. The VC had probably fired too soon and would have had better success at hitting somebody if they had waited until the ARVN and Americans were closer. The elephant grass was high and abundant enough to give fairly good cover from enemy sight. The ARVN soldiers didn't try to move forward. They just stayed down in their positions on the ground. The machine gun fired another volley but again apparently failed to find a human target. Some ARVN soldiers in the front lines threw grenades into the jungle, but they were useless as they barely reached the edge of the jungle. They had to get closer if they were going to have any success. The Viet Cong machine gun let loose with another flurry of bullets. This time a loud, piercing scream could be heard from an ill-fated South Vietnamese soldier. The scream was sonorously clear and disturbingly haunting as it seemed to echo for miles around. It was followed by a dreadful silence everywhere that seemed to linger for a long time. The silence was shattered when the ARVN victim screamed again loudly, and he kept on giving distressful screams intermittently. The screams had a quality that made them seem motivated by half acute pain and half traumatized fear.

Alpha Company's weapons platoon started a mortar barrage into the jungle. Two of the men from weapons platoon moved up with M-79 grenade launchers and started firing in the direction of the enemy machine gun. Lt. Paulsen started moving forward and yelling orders to his men, "Move on, men. We've got to wipe out that machine gun. Move on up, come on. He was crouching forward, but he was still too high to completely escape being seen by the enemy. His men wondered what was motivating him to act so daringly. He was usually cautious, perhaps even a little too hesitant. That's one reason his men liked him. They knew he wouldn't lead them foolishly into a hopeless and unnecessarily dangerous situation. They saw that it would be good to move up to try to get into better range of the machine gun in order to incapacitate it. Yet, they still thought Lt. Paulsen was acting a little too gung-ho for his own good and everyone else's. After all, it was very possible that the mortar fire from weapons platoon would drive back the Viet Cong.

At that moment, a whistling sound could be heard in the air as if from an artillery shell. VROOM! a loud explosion was heard amidst the American ranks. It was a mortar shell! The enemy also had mortars, or deuces as the G.I.'s called mortars. This made it more probable that the enemy consisted of the NVA which were generally better armed and trained than the Viet Cong. No one was hit as the shell landed on open ground, although it did land close to Kotakis and Washington. Lt. Paulsen crouched down much lower but continued to urge the men to advance.

"Come on, men, we've got to get to them, or they'll just wipe us out here in the open like sitting ducks. Move on." Paulsen had been crawling forward slowly. Some of the men began to inch forward very carefully. They realized that the Lieutenant was correct in pointing out that they were not much better off in staying in their present positions under the mortar attack. Cpl. Gore moved slowly forward, but he wished he didn't have to, and he didn't know what he was going to do when he got close. He couldn't see how the men could make any kind of a concentrated charge into the jungle. They wouldn't know where to look. He wondered what had come over Lt. Paulsen and whether he knew what he was talking about. He noticed that the ARVN soldiers weren't going anywhere. They just seemed to lie in their places petrified, except for the man who had been hit by the machine gun fire and who was still letting out loud, disturbing howls periodically. Gore knew that he should act more aggressively and help lead the men forward since he was a corporal, but he just didn't care to prove anything for the moment. All he knew was that he wanted to be somewhere far away from this place. It didn't matter where. He wouldn't even mind doing hard labor in some prison camp or being in some hospital bed in pain. At least, he would know there that he was safe.

Another whistling sound could be heard moving through the air toward them. The men all pressed themselves to the ground as close as they could, waiting anxiously to hear and feel the jarring impact of the shell as it hit its destination whatever that might be. Each one wondered, as he went through the long period of waiting for the dreaded explosive to land, whether his lungs were now breathing their final inhalations, his heart performing its last contractions, his brain appreciating the final moments of precious human consciousness. BOOM! went the penetrating sound of the small missile as it exploded in the American ranks. It landed twenty feet from Gore and moved him slightly to his left. Gore waited to feel if there was any pain in his body. It took a while for his brain to recover from the shock of the impact. He still felt no pain. He looked at his right side, the side near the impact, and saw no signs of a wound. He sighed as he saw that the narrowly missing shell had not done him any damage.

Another whistling mortar shell was hurtling through the air almost as soon as the sound from the previous one had subsided. Lt. Paulsen had just gotten on one knee momentarily to check his position and to see if he could spot any VC. His men still couldn't decide whether to consider him a courageous hero or a distraught fool. Paulsen intended to get back down right away intending to get only a quick look, but before he had a chance, the shell arrived sooner than he expected and hit him squarely on the head. It was as if the North Vietnamese artilleryman had taken dead aim upon Paulsen, but it was certain that the shells were not being aimed carefully. The men saw Paulsen after the sound of the explosion had subsided and were shocked by the sight. His body had been thrown back several feet. The radio he had been using to communicate with Capt. Look was clutched in his right hand where he grasped it until his body hit the ground. Most of his body was intact as the shell produced damage only from the shoulders up. In contrast to his untouched legs and torso, his head was completely missing and nowhere to be seen in the immediate vicinity. His shoulders were marked red with blood and small bits of flesh were scattered on his shirt. Where his head had been attached to his body, blood was still spurting out from his upper arteries and there were dangling shreds of muscle, connective tissue, veins, fat, and epithelium. The Captain was trying to communicate, "One, this is Six. Come in, one, come in, one. I said come in, one." The Captain had obviously not seen what had happened. The Lieutenant would probably receive a medal for his valor--posthumously. The men of the 1st platoon were stunned by what they saw had happened to Lt. Paulsen. He looked like some kind of grotesque, distorted creature from an old horror movie.

2nd platoon to the left then started to charge the enemy more aggressively. They were in a better position to do so because they weren't as open to the enemy machine gun as were the men of 1st platoon. The men in 2nd platoon were yelling and howling almost like Indians in western movies. They were clearly aroused and eager for a fight with the enemy even if it meant facing ghastly danger. They were not yet aware that Lt. Paulsen had been hit by the mortar fire, but they were spontaneously charging forward to destroy the enemy. The offensive charge snapped the reverie into which some of the men in 1st platoon had fallen and aroused them to action. The savage sounding yells of the 2nd platoon along with the now rhythmic explosions of the mortar fire stirred them into taking the risk of moving forward toward the machine gun. The explosions of the shells provided the emotionally instigating force that had been provided by war drums for centuries. It aroused in the same way as sometimes did the sound of helicopter engines. Pressure had built up in all of the men since their arrival in Vietnam, and there had been little opportunity to completely release it. The sweeps into the villages and the brief firefight they had engaged in two months earlier had offered some outlet for violence, but it had hardly been enough. They had not yet had the opportunity to completely release all the frustration, anger, and fear that they felt.

One of the men in 1st platoon who was in the forefront of the attack was Kermit Cooper. He started running low along the grass hoping it would shelter him from the view of the machine gun. Most of the other men also got up and started jogging toward the jungle. Some of them were letting out loud war whoops like the men in 2nd platoon. Cooper was crouching over but the machine gun found him anyway. A short burst of bullets tore into his chest and stomach as bits of flesh and cloth flew off him. He let out an anguished cry and fell backward to the ground. Large holes were made in his back by the powerful bullets as they made their exit. He let out another tormented cry as he squirmed momentarily on the ground. He then stopped moving completely. His heart had stopped moving. His eyes were left transfixed on the clear blue sky above. The attack moved on. Cooper would not have the chance to become a hero today.

Just as Cooper was falling, one of the soldiers from 2nd platoon connected with a grenade that threw the machine gun out of commission. It was too late to be of any help in saving Cooper. The rest of the men went into the ominous jungle with little time to ponder on its lurking dangers. They were too caught up in the exhilarating rush of adrenalin that they were feeling at the moment to pay very much attention to fear. It was as if they had reached a point at which the only appropriate response to the natural fear of danger and death was to stand and fight fiercely against the source of that danger, no matter what the cost. There weren't any enemy forces to encounter except for a few snipers left behind to lurk in the trees. Boyd heard bullets pass near him and hit the ground behind him. He instinctively ducked behind a tree and at the same time saw the tree from which the rifle fire had come. He immediately took aim and fired into the tree. His aim was true as the VC fell out of the tree. He kept firing at the man as he lay on the ground. "Die, you fucking gook, die. Die, you fucking gook, die," he yelled angrily. Boyd had seen his friend Cooper lying on the ground, but like the others who also saw him, he kept on going, too anxious about what was to happen ahead. They all sensed that there was no hope for Cooper.

The men were now running as fast as they could, trying to catch up with their foe and destroy them. Occasionally, rifle fire could be heard in the distance. It was from men in the other platoons exchanging fire with snipers. The soldiers kept running, hoping that a mine or booby trap wouldn't stop them in their tracks. Richard, Kelly, and Werner were in a group with a few others. Mangini would have surely been with them if he were still with the Company. They saw some traces of blood along the way. The blood was probably from enemy who had been hit by American mortars and bullets. All of the men from the other A Company platoons were far away to both sides. There were very few ARVN soldiers who were actually taking part in the chase. Most of them had simply gone into the jungle and hid. Some of the others were going after the enemy but were not participating very heartily. Some of the enemy who were leaving trails of blood were strong enough to run, but others had probably been seriously wounded and had crawled off into the bushes to die. The Americans were in too much of a hurry to stop to follow the trails of blood. They knew they would come back to look for wounded enemy later. At the moment, they just hoped that none of the wounded were waiting in their path ready to ambush them. The chase was unbearably exciting. For many, it was the most exciting moment in their lives.

Richard and the others suddenly came upon a small clearing. It was hard for them to believe what they saw. There were approximately 10 enemy soldiers running across the clearing. They had probably stayed behind setting up an ambush and then changed their minds and decided to flee at the last minute. They had decided to run too late. The Americans were surprised but nevertheless automatically brought their rifles to their shoulders and zeroed in the fleeing enemy. The familiar sounds of the jungle were completely obliterated by the ominous, staccato sound of automatic rifle fire. Most of the enemy were each shot by the bullets from more than one rifle. Richard shot one of them down immediately. Later on when he recalled the details of the incident, he would be sure that he had killed that first man by himself without the help from the bullets of any other rifle. He had shot the first man automatically without giving it much thought one way or the other. Richard's M-16 bullets made the body of his first victim shake violently in the air. The bullets made small holes as they entered his backside but carved out much bigger craters from the flesh as they came out the other side. The jerky trembling of the soldier's body made it look as if he were doing an abbreviated dance of death before he made his final fall to the earth.

Richard took aim at a second man and drilled several bullets into him. In this case, the man was also hit by bullets from other rifles. Richard was now less indifferent to what he was doing. He was now definitely experiencing the emotion of joy. It wasn't very strong, but it was a clear feeling of pleasure. Richard's second victim was caught in a crouching position as he ran and his forward momentum made him fall by landing right on his head. By the time Richard zeroed in his third man, he was getting into a spirit of actual elation. He was completely lost in the excitement of seeing this third victim through his rifle sights gliding to the ground after being halted by the flesh rending bullets from his-M-16. The fall of the foe looked so smooth and clean and natural. He had completely forgotten where he was and exactly what this all really meant during the passing seconds. He was also caught up in the feeling of power that came from witnessing the effect that the lightning fast, invisible bullets from his rifle had on a living, moving, actual human being. It was an awesome, bewildering power that few people experienced in their lifetimes. There was also a trace of the kind of unreflective frenzy that makes great war heroes out of ordinary men.

None of the fleeing Vietnamese escaped. The Americans ran to the fallen bodies. They started shooting into the bodies again to make sure they were dead. Everyone became gleefully involved in the action. There was a roar from the automatic fire of the rifles. The bodies bounced and quivered like bean bags. None of them could possibly be alive. They were thoroughly riddled with bullets. The firing of the rifles stopped simultaneously. There was a dead silence; then one of the men let out a loud holler,"Yeeeeow-wow-wow." There was a definite feeling of frenzy in the air. The men didn't continue their search further into the jungle. They figured they wouldn't be able to catch up to any more Vietnamese. Besides, they were thoroughly thrilled with what they had just managed to accomplish.

They were talking gleefully. "Hey, dad gum it," said Kelly, "looks like we got us a good catch this time."

"Yeah, for once, goddamn it," added Werner.

"It was about time we got us some fucking slopes," said Sutton. The victorious men started to search the fallen foe for guns, ammunition, identification, and valuables. They found wallets with personal items such as photos of wives, girl friends, and families. In some there were papers with handwriting that made them appear to be letters from home. The G.I.'s inspected these items carefully and with unusual curiosity.

Pvt. Jim Graham, one of the new replacements from Indianapolis, Indiana, looked at one of the photos and remarked, "Looks like this gook had a nice looking chick."

Fred Miner, another newby from Detroit, looked over Graham's shoulder and pointed out, "She looks awful young, too, huh." Miner was a little chubby from overindulgence in food and Southern Comfort. He was 22 years old and one of the older men in the company. He looked even older. His face showed an unusual amount of wrinkles for his age. He was losing some of his blond hair in forming a quickly receding hairline. He claimed that he looked worn out because growing up and living in Detroit was tough.

Graham, like Miner, was an open, friendly, talkative guy of 20. He liked to kid around a lot. He was as proud of his Polish origins as Miner was of his Welsh ancestry. Graham claimed his grandfather had adopted the name of Graham when he had come to the United States because everyone had advised him it would be much easier to get along with a more "acceptable" name.

The bodies of the dead men were much bloodier now and more unpleasant to handle. The grass around them was becoming stained with red. Kelly noted, "These guys are really young, aren't they. Like maybe some of them are 16 or so." He had a bewildered, unbelieving look on his face. The soldiers dragged the bodies to put them together in a close pile. They would have to be taken back and would be part of the body count. There was a strangely festive atmosphere in the performance of these tasks. Most of the men were cheerful and kidded around.

"Hell, this ain't bad for a day's work," remarked Graham cheerfully.

"Shit, you mean half a day's work," Werner added gleefully as he dragged a dead body by the feet. His hands were now full of blood.

"Maybe they'll give us some raggedy-assed medals for this," mentioned Richard.

"Don't count on it, bud," remarked Sutton. "They give medals for the stupidest fucking things, but you can't count on it. You never know." All of the men swaggered a little and exuded a confident air. They knew they had done a good job. The Captain would be glad to hear of it, but the battalion commander Lt. Colonel Reid would be especially proud.

The men went back into the jungle to comb the area for any dead or wounded enemy. They had to be careful not to come near any wounded who might still have enough strength to fire a gun or toss a grenade. They had to be more quiet now and this gave them a little more chance to think. They realized now that the enemy seemed somehow more human in a way. This feeling was the result of having found the photographs and intimate personal items that made these Vietnamese more like they were, with people who cared for them and for whom they cared in return.

Richard thought back on what he had felt when he was shooting those three men. It came to him that he had thoroughly enjoyed the experience, even if only for a few seconds. He felt guilty now, not about the killings but about having enjoyed the experience. It had felt like being in a shooting gallery and doing well. It had just seemed like an exciting game and nothing more. He was surprised that he had reacted the way he had. What was happening to him, he wondered. It was one thing to get used to killing. They said that the first time it was a strange, sometimes shocking experience. He hadn't experienced any shock the first time, he remembered. Still, it was another thing to enjoy killing, and that's what had happened to him a few moments before. He wondered what the others were feeling. It had looked as if most of them had also enjoyed the slaughter, but maybe they were feeling guilty like he was now. He knew at least some of them were thinking twice about the experience. Sutton was very likely thinking about it seriously. Richard considered Sutton to be one of the most reflective men in the platoon. He was also one of the oldest at 24. Yet, as far as some of the others were concerned, Richard was almost sure that they would feel no great remorse. They would just consider it another new found pleasure and not think very much about the implications.

The men in the company searched extensively for enemy, but they were only able to turn up 8 in addition to the 10 that had been slaughtered in the clearing. After the enemy bodies had been piled up and properly counted, the Company went back to the base camp. On the way, Richard had time to think about Lt. Paulsen and the way he had died. He knew that most people would say that Paulsen could hot have possibly felt any pain because his death was instantaneous, but Richard was not entirely convinced of this. Paulsen could have felt extremely intense pain in the seconds between the time the mortar shell actually hit him and the time he finally died. It could have been so acute that to Paulsen it would have seemed like long hours. More importantly, Richard was afraid that a head continued to experience sensation for several seconds after being severed from its body. With all those nerves cut leading from the whole body to the brain, it could have been unimaginably agonizing. Richard had heard of accounts of observers at executions by guillotine in France. One story involved the head of a man that had fallen upright after removal by the guillotine blade. Someone walked to the sides of the fallen head, and the eyes followed the person.

Richard knew that he had always been concerned with the question of pain and its avoidance. He knew it was a natural concern since most people seemed to worry about it to one degree or another. Richard had noticed that some people seemed to have a greater tolerance for it than others. He knew that he was one of those people who had a low tolerance for it, and that was probably why he thought about it more than others. Apart from his own close concern for avoiding pain, it was clear that all living beings struggled mightily to avoid pain and suffering. Underneath all the perennial problems of mankind--famine, death, war, natural disaster, social injustice, personal grief--was the presence of pain.

When they arrived at the base camp, Sutton came up with one of those observations that he sometimes made that made others feel uncomfortable, "You know, we shot all those guys in the back, huh."

24

Richard thought back on the political conversation in which he had been involved earlier that day. He had heard similar political discussions in the Army before, and they were all on about the same level. It wasn't that he had any answers or that he had thought up any possible new ones that had not been mentioned in the discussion. What really bothered him was the air of frivolity that very soon took over the discussions. The week before there had been a similar conversation on on how the U.S. could win the war, Of course, everyone agreed that the U.S. had to win it if only because it couldn't back down. There were a few good points made and then it turned into a farce. Maybe, this was the best way to deal with the whole absurd situation, the best way to survive psychologically.

The subject of winning and losing brought unpleasant memories to Richard. It reminded him of the fall of 1961, when he was quarterback of his Cameron High School football team. He became very aware of the importance of winning that year because the coaches stressed it very much. The head coach and one of the assistant coaches were new to the school. They had both come in the year before after the previous head coach was promoted to an administrative position in the school system and another coach got a coaching job at San Jose State College. The previous head coach had been popular with the players, and he had produced several good teams at Cameron. Some teams had won the district championship. The old coaches were tough and they drove everyone hard, especially at the beginning of the season when most of the players were not in very good condition. The new head coach, Burton Barnes, and the new assistant coach, John Wietecha, were much tougher and serious. The previous coaches had taken their jobs seriously, but they had seemed much more relaxed. Perhaps, the difference was that these new coaches were younger and new to coaching. Richard remembered hearing a big, husky friend of his parents say that he had not played football because "the coaches forgot what it was all about." Richard thought that was a very apt description of how all of his coaches had trained him, but it was especially true about coaches Barnes and Wietecha. They never told anyone to play dirty or even hinted that it should be done, but you were supposed to be as rough as necessary and smash your opponent. "Your object is to get to the goal line," Coach Barnes would yell in practice scrimmages, "and they're standing there trying to stop you. It's no time to make friends or be polite or anything like that. You've gotta knock 'em the hell out of the way, even if it means smashing them right into the ground."

The coaches wanted to see hard, determined running by the backs and aggressive tackling by the defense. In tackling a runner, you were supposed to come right into him with your shoulder lowered and hit him hard and low. They didn't like to see any tackling done by hitting a man high. They called that "titty tackling." On offense, players were taught to make liberal use of their forearms. You were supposed to start low and come upward on the opponent bringing your forearm up to his chest or face if necessary, Most men had face masks, and in any case, Coach Barnes said, "It's his problem if you hit 'im in the face. He should know to protect himself." The coaches would get on the players whenever they figured that the contact wasn't aggressive enough. "Come on, you look like a bunch o' girls," one of them would say, "you look like a bunch of pussies. Get with it. I wanna hear that leather pop. I don't want any pussyfootin' around. I wanna hear the sound of that leather pop."

The coaches also wanted to hear the loud sounds of contact during drills such as head-ons and bull ring. These drills were designed to furnish practice in blocking and tackling. They provided the coaches a very good opportunity to require direct, aggressive contact. Head-ons consisted of one runner carrying the football facing two lineman at a distance ten yards apart. The players would get in their stance. Upon the sound of the coach's whistle, the runner was supposed to run between and through the two lineman, while they in turn were supposed to tackle him.

Bull ring involved several players getting in a circle. One player was called to the center by the coach. The player then called another player to challenge him in the center. The players in the center were supposed to go at each other as if they were trying to block each other. After a while, another challenger would be called in by the coach to replace the first one. After several challengers had been called, the man in the center would be replaced by another one. The two players were not supposed to treat each other gently. If possible, a player was to knock the other one to the ground, "Come on, get 'im, get 'im," Coach Wietecha would yell, "get that forearm in there. Let me hear you hit him hard. He's just a sissy. He's not going to hit you back. He's scared. You got him now. Keep hitting him, that's it. Let me hear that leather pop. Come on, Miller," he yelled at the other player who was in the center, "get tough, goddamn it. Hit him back. You gonna let him do that to you? You're not hitting him hard enough. You look like a pussy. You look like my grandmother. You better get tough 'cause I'm gonna let you stay in the center until you get tough and start showing me something. Big boy like you ought ta be ashamed not to hit any harder than you are."

If you got hurt or felt pain, you were supposed to hang tough. Richard recalled one particular practice session early in the 1960 season in which a kid named Eddie Royer was playing defensive line with a helmet that didn't have a face mask installed yet. He somehow got a bloody nose, either from someone's helmet or very possibly from someone's forearm. His nose bled slowly, but continually. There was blood between his nose and lips and even some below his lower lip. After a while, the right sleeve of his jersey got spotty red from Eddie's wiping his nose. The coaches let him stay in the scrimmage. "Hang tough there, Royer," said Coach Barnes, "it's nothing. Let me see you learn to be tough and take it." Royer wanted to be tough and take it. Royer wanted to impress the coach so he played even harder than before. He made several powerful tackles, giving it all he had. By now the blood was flowing more noticeably. The coach liked it. "That's it, Royer,'' he yelled, "that's what I like to see, son. You can't let a little nose bleed stop you." The coach kept on heaping the praise with every tackle Eddie made. "That's my man, Royer, atta boy. I knew you wouldn't let me down. And I want all the rest of you guys to see this. This is what I've been telling you all along about desire. You gotta have desire. This man wants to play and he's not gonna let a little blood scare 'im off. You've gotta have desire."

Looking back on it all now, Richard understood many things that he hadn't been able to figure out at the time. He remembered feeling that he didn't enjoy playing football under Coach Barnes as much as before. He recollected being puzzled by this at the time. This was true in spite of the fact that, in his last year, he was the undisputed starting quarterback and was a pretty good one. There was one other quarterback in the district who was clearly better than he was, but after him, Richard was probably the best.

What he figured now was that it was the pressure that the new coaches used to put on everyone. In practice, it was mostly the pressure to be tough, and in relation to the games, it was the pressure to win. Coach Barnes would talk about it all week and during the games. He would say, "There's only one thing that we're going to care about in that game and that is winning. Nothing else matters. You must win, there's no other thing but winning." Richard now realized that the intense pressure took away much of the fun of playing. It was not that Richard calculated that there shouldn't be pressure. He knew that pressure was inevitable and that it actually helped build much of the excitement of playing. It was just that the pressure seemed to overwhelm the real reason for playing. In fact, it seemed to hardly resemble "play" anymore.

The practice sessions were the worse. It seemed like such an ordeal to suit up and go out on the field each day. Richard had never liked drills like head-ons and bull ring. He didn't see much of a point in doing them day after day. He didn't mind a little of it, especially at the beginning of the season to get back the feel of blocking and tackling. He just couldn't see much benefit from doing it very often. As a matter of fact, he felt fear and displeasure in having to go through those drills. He remembered wondering seriously at the time whether that meant that he just wasn't very tough--perhaps an outright coward. No, he realized that he couldn't be called a coward because in a real game or even during scrimmage, he ran, tackled, and blocked just as hard as anyone. It seemed that, when it counted, he was just as brave and determined as the next guy. He had to have a real reason for getting aggressive. Moving toward the goal line was a very real reason. Banging his head against other players whom he knew just to toughen himself up was another matter.

Richard felt now that his teammates had also had similar reactions to the approach of the new coaches. They also seemed to have become less enthusiastic in playing after the new coaches came in. There was less genuine spirit and morale. Again it wasn't that practice had not been strenuous and unpleasant with the previous coaches. It had been unpleasant on many occasions, but it was not so bad that it wasn't still fun to play for the most part. Richard wondered why they had all continued playing when there was so much unpleasantness involved. He remembered how tired he used to come home from practice and games. He doubted now how much the love of the actual game of football had to do with all the player's decisions to continue to play.

He did remember now that there had been guys who had played for a while and then quit for no apparent reason. He never talked to any one of those who quit to find out why they had done it. Everyone who stayed on would just say that those who left, "Just couldn't take it." Now, Richard thought, maybe they could take it, but they just didn't choose to. Maybe, they couldn't see the point in continuing to participate in something that they had simply ceased to enjoy. Maybe those, like himself, who stayed on wouldn't or couldn't admit that they were really doing it to prove that they were courageous and strong, or to please the coaches, or to show their teammates and friends that they weren't going to give up or to hold on to the glory and attention one got as a football player. "Quitters never win, and winners never quit" was one of Coach Barnes's favorite phrases.

The Cameron Eagles did well enough in the 1961 season to wind up with a 7-3 record, but it was not as good a record as was expected. Before the season, some people had been predicting that the Eagles would get first place. That was how good they were. Yet, they lost those three games not because they had let up or were complacent about their opponents but more probably as a result of being too tense and nervous. It seemed that they were too tight to ever get really going in those games. When they lost, they usually made mistakes in the first half and were never able to regain their composure enough to get back and win the game.

Yet, the game that had been the most important to Richard was the game that everyone thought would determine the league champion. The first half was very disappointing. He just couldn't get the plays that he called to work, and his passes just wouldn't hit their targets. He didn't complete very many passes. He actually threw two interceptions in the first half. At half-time, the other team led 13-0. Coach Barnes was mad in the locker room at half-time. He said the team wasn't trying. Richard felt bad at the time about that because he thought the offense, at least, was trying its best. He felt that it was basically his fault that the offense hadn't scored any points. He figured now that the coach had just felt that he had needed to say something dramatic and get mad to show how serious the situation was.

Coach Barnes pointed out mistakes that the defense had made and continued reviewing the offensive play.

"Now remember, the only reason we came here was to win. You gotta keep that in your mind every minute, every second you're out there. You got to keep telling yourself you're going to win no matter what, and nobody's going to get in your way. You're going to knock the hell out of whoever gets in your way. Now there's no reason we can't come back and win this game. We've got to come from behind, but I know and you know you can do it. If you lose nobody's going to remember you. They'll all be too busy going wild over the winners, telling them how great and wonderful they are. So, if you want people to look up to you, you've got to be the ones to win. Nobody cares for losers. Just remember what I'm telling you now. If you lose, people won't treat you the same in school next Monday. Oh, they'll say "hi" to you and everything, and they'll still be your friends. I'm not going to tell you different. But it just won't be the same. They're not going to be thrilled. Everybody's gonna feel down, but it'll be much different if you win, and you know it. And don't forget, the ones that are going to feel the worse are you. You're not going to like yourselves. You're not going to feel good at all. So you know what you gotta do. You must win, there's no other thing but winning; nothing else matters."

The team went out and played better in the second half. Richard completed more passes than in the first half. They actually outscored the other team in the second half, but it wasn't enough. They lost 20-14. Richard was down on himself for a long time, putting much blame on himself for the loss, even though he knew the defense could have done much better.

On Monday, he found that it was true what the coach had said about the kids at school. They were nice, but everybody was clearly disappointed. It would have been much better if the Eagles had won. Before long, Richard and his girl friend Eve Cummings broke up. For a long time after that, Richard felt that Eve had rejected him because the team had lost. He figured that he could very well have been jumping to conclusions, but he couldn't get it off his mind that it had something to do with losing the championship.

Richard now knew that he had been overly paranoid about what others had felt about the loss. Of course, Coach Barnes's speech hadn't helped to prepare him to deal with the period of time following the loss. Neither had the coach said much to console everyone on the team afterward about losing the game. Richard now realized that it would have helped if the coach had made at least some effort to make the players feel better. Coach Barnes, however, was the type of guy who wasn't very good at being gentle in emotional situations. He said a few words to some of the players in an attempt to make them feel better, but it wasn't much. Besides, he had to worry about things coming up in the future. He wasn't the type that worried very much over what could no longer be helped.

As for the breakup with Eve, Richard now realized that it could have been his tenseness and irritability that precipitated the split. He remembered that there were at least a couple of incidents soon after the game in which he had snapped at her. It was evident now that he probably had not been very pleasant to be with at the time. At any rate, they were probably destined to break up before very long, regardless of the game. It was never a very fiery relationship. It was more one of those socially symbiotic relationships that can often be seen in high school. Eve was one of the most popular as well as attractive girls in school. Richard was a football player, and somehow they got thrown together and found it convenient to keep up the relationship. Each one could always count on the other as a companion to school functions and parties. Of course, he definitely liked her, There was a definite fondness between them, but looking back on it now, it wasn't solid enough. Once the basic reason for the relationship--social convenience--was gone, the relationship was dead. It was bound to happen at some point; no matter what. For sure, the romance wouldn't have survived much past graduation.

That reminded Richard of another girl he had gone with two years earlier, when he was a sophomore. He was really in love with her and was sure she felt the same. Her name was Jane Erdahl; everyone called her Janie. He liked the name Janie better than just plain Jane. She was cute, but she wasn't one of the most beautiful girls around, She wasn't in the crowd of popular, active people in school, She kept a lot to herself. He met her because she lived down the block from his house, and they got along very well together. The romance only lasted six months, however. It ended when she moved away, Her family moved away to Redlands. Richard was very disappointed for some time. He remembered that things were going so well, and then it had to end. It just didn't seem fair, but he eventually saw that he couldn't do anything about it.

1961 was the year that John Kennedy started his term as President. He was a bold, young man who went on to inspire many, including his Vice-President Lyndon Johnson, with regard to the limitless capacities of America with statements such as "pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship." Kennedy made his first big mistake in April when he authorized U.S. support of an invasion of Cuba by Cuban exiles. The invaders had different motives for wanting to topple the Fidel Castro regime. Some of them to regain the vast amounts of wealth they held before Castro came to power. The United States government distrusted Castro because his radical program of reforms made it look very much like a plan for a Communist state. In 1960 Eisenhower announced a complete ban on all U.S. exports to Cuba, except medicine and some food and then broke diplomatic relations. Faced with these circumstances, Cuba was forced to depend very extensively upon the Soviet Union. After the abortive invasion, the new Castro government developed greater distrust and resentment toward the U.S. One reason for this previous resentment was that the United States had landed troops in Cuba in 1912 and 1917. Another sore point for many years had been the large proportion of property and industry owned by U.S. business interests.

In thinking back on 1960 and the 1950's, the idea came to Richard that the late '50's could definitely be set off as a distinct period within recent history. The period from 1955 to 1960 was different in many ways from what preceded and from what followed. It could be generally characterized as an era of unprecedented affluence unburdened by major political crises. The period of adjustment after World War II and before 1955 had also been marked by an increasing national wealth, but there had been many problems to go along with it. In the few years after the war, there were strikes, rising prices, product shortages, and acidic distrust of the Soviet Union and its Communist ideology. By 1955 most of the forces that helped to create this social insecurity had dissipated. Two years earlier the Korean War had ended, and Joseph Stalin and Joseph McCarthy were out of the picture. In 1955, there were several events and births of trends that marked a turning point. In July, the Geneva Conference involving the U.S., the Soviet Union, Great Britain, and France was conducted to discuss international problems, primarily disarmament. Little substantive achievement came out of this meeting "at the summit," but it marked the beginning of more open communication between the West and the Soviet Union. In December, the Montgomery bus boycott by blacks protested segregation and marked the beginning of a nonviolent minority rights movement.

The Davy Crockett fad, which was popular with small boys, was the first of a series of consumption-oriented fads. 1955 was a watershed year that was a welcome and long-awaited sigh of relief and that also marked the beginning of a short era of relative tranquillity. An extensive interstate highway system was begun that would accommodate the many cars that would appear in a society with a growing population and an expanding economy. Jet airline passenger service was also begun in that period. Rock and roll was launched in 1955. New inventions and other technological advances were coming out constantly from space satellites to color T.V. to Fizzies, and there seemed to be no end in sight. It was plausible to think that eventually all major human problems could be solved through the development of technology. There were tension-filled events in that period of time, but they were essentially free of trauma and violence, especially when measured against comparable situations that preceded and followed.

The epoch, Richard figured, came to an end in early 1961 when events occurred in rapid succession that marked the beginning of a tumultuous era. The Freedom Riders, a group of young activists--both black and white--who were protesting segregation in public transportation, were confronted with violence in Alabama. In April the Soviet Union put the first man into space and declared that it was launching a program to send a man to the moon. The space race was important from a standpoint of prestige and because it would mean that the winner of the race would have the best missile launching capability. In the summer, East Germany and Russia threatened to blockade Western access to West Berlin and then erected a wall on the boundary between East and West Berlin to stop East Germans, who had peen defecting in large numbers, from escaping to the West. Americans saw pictures of the wall being built at the time and felt it was repugnant and depressing. Then in October, the Soviets set off the largest nuclear explosions that had been fired up to that time. Some of the test blasts were as high as 50 megatons. The Soviets had always flexed their muscles periodically, but it had not been done as threateningly for some time. The Soviet tests rekindled an interest in building bomb shelters in the back yard. Then there were those who were angered and, refusing to be daunted by the Soviet tests, popularized the slogan "better dead than Red." This was followed in 1962 by the dreadful Cuban missile crisis.

Richard felt that it was very probable that there would never be another time like this period between 1955 and 1961 either in American history or even in human history. For one thing, there was still the threat of nuclear war or of a world-wide totalitarian regime either of which could cause a drastic reversion of human culture. The 1955-61 era of placid affluence could eventually come to be seen as a unique time in which there was great technological prosperity unhampered by national crises, social upheavals, or great concern over obstructing limitations such as pollution and the depletion of natural resources.

25

The effect of several months of combat duty was beginning to take its toll. Tempers were short, tensions high, and morale low. The customary maladies were also very much present. There had been two recent heat stroke cases and several malaria victims. There was the widespread immersion foot among the troops, and there was the relentless heat along with the constantly oppressive humidity that kept the soldiers' clothes continually weighted down with an annoying dankness.

It was early in the morning of June 6th. Most of the men were eating breakfast, some were in their huts, and a few were walking outside. Pvt. Frank Dewees came out of his hut. He looked nervous and tense. He was perspiring more than usual. Dewees was from Trenton, New Jersey. He was essentially very similar to his fellow soldiers. He had worked briefly after high school before being drafted at age 19. He had worked in a factory for several months and then had gotten a job driving a delivery truck. He had been a quiet but mediocre student in high school. He had participated in common youthful pranks, but he had never been in trouble with the police. He had not stood out in any way academically, athletically, or socially. He was often shy but was receptive and friendly whenever approached by others. He was well liked within his group of friends, but it was not because he was looked upon as any kind of a leader. Rather, it was because he was usually cooperative and went along with what the rest of the crowd decided to do.

This morning Dewees walked around numbly, without any apparent aim in mind. He appeared to be vaguely looking for something. He had an empty stare. There was no one immediately in sight. Then his squad leader, Staff Sergeant Odell Boyd, a white from Demopolis, Alabama came out of his hut and started walking in the direction away from Dewees. Boyd did not notice Dewees who had now stopped in the middle of the path in which he had been walking. Boyd was walking along nonchalantly and was even in something of a cheery mood. Boyd got along well with Dewees who was also white. Boyd considered Dewees a good soldier, and Dewees had no animosity toward Boyd or any of his other superiors.

Dewees now brought up the .38 caliber pistol he was carrying in his right hand and carefully took aim at Boyd. "Sergeant," he yelled out loudly. Before Boyd had a chance to turn around to see who was calling, he was hit by a bullet in the middle of the back of the neck. "Sergeant, I've had it with this fucking place," continued Dewees, "I've had it." Boyd started to fall forward with his back arching slowly to the front, Dewees fired again and hit him in the middle of the back. Boyd gave out a muffled scream of pain as he continued to fall forward.

"Eeee eeaaaah," Dewees screamed out at the top of his voice as he fired another shot at Boyd and hit him in the small of the back this time. "I hate it."

Pvt. Curtis Lattin and Pvt. Gabe Kasulka had come out of their huts after hearing the shots and the yelling. They were both running toward Dewees. Dewees still had his gun high in firing position as he turned around wildly to his right to take down another soldier in the distance. Luckily, Lattin was running from Dewees's left and Dewees did not notice him. Lattin and then Kasulka jumped on Dewees and brought him to the ground. Dewees fired two more shots, but they went straight up in the air as Lattin and Kasulka both held his right arm straight up as they struggled with him. Some other soldiers came up to help take the gun away from Dewees who was struggling wildly. He kept yelling, "I hate this fucking place, I hate it, I hate it," and struggling frantically against now several men at once. Finally, the men were able to wrestle the gun away from Dewees who then started crying openly. Everyone was shocked by what had happened, especially at seeing Dewees, usually so quiet and seemingly calm, go completely out of control. Dewees had not been mad at Boyd. Boyd had simply been the first person Dewees had seen after he had come out of his hut with the gun in his hand.

Boyd was lying on the ground with streaks of his blood on the ground around him. He had died only a few seconds after he had hit the ground. At this very moment, in a Los Angeles hospital, Senator Robert F. Kennedy was lying in a coma after being shot the night before during a Presidential primary victory celebration. Within the next few hours, Kennedy would also die.

26

The village was supposed to be deserted. There had been reports that the VC were using it as a hideout, so A Company had been ordered to come in to burn all the houses down. The soldiers found Vietnamese people living in a few of the huts. The civilians had come back after being evacuated from the village. The soldiers were lighting some of the huts with cigarette lighters, but they were throwing white phosphorous grenades into others because it was faster. They had to move fast to search for VC who might have recently left.

Gore came up to one of the huts. He took a grenade in his right hand and yelled out, "La dai ( Come here)." An old Vietnamese man who looked in his 70's ran up to him quickly and started talking in Vietnamese frantically. He motioned and pointed to the hut excitedly and pleaded with a disturbed and worried look on his face. Gore looked at him in annoyance and pushed the old man away. He pulled the grenade pin as another soldier came and pulled the exasperated man away who struggled wildly against him. He tried desperately to break loose from the soldier but couldn't. Gore threw the grenade into the door as he and all of those around dove for the ground. The soldier pulled the struggling old man to the ground with him. As they waited for the explosion, the loud cry of a baby was heard coming from inside the hooch. Right after the cry a thunderous explosion was heard. The grenade did its job of bringing down the hut immediately. It was totally reduced to rubble. The old man and the soldiers ran to the demolished remains of the house. The old man was whimpering and jabbering loudly to himself. The soldiers were quiet, and all had a look of surprise on their faces. They cleared away some of the rubble to look for the source of the cry they had heard just before the explosion of the grenade. After the completion of their search, they had found half a baby's body from the abdomen down. Both of its legs were still intact. The baby was only a few months old. The body of a young woman with the arms and left leg missing was discovered. They also found an old woman whose body was for the most part intact, but her face was badly mutilated. "Dumb bastards," remarked Gore,"I yelled for them to get the hell out." The men quickly went on to search for VC after they burned down the village but were able to find no VC.

The Company headed back to the base camp in trucks. They had not been brought in helicopters this time. Along Highway One, they passed by ARVN troops stopped alongside the road. A large group of them was gathered around and was looking at something on the ground. As the Americans passed by, the ARVN soldiers pointed at what was on the ground and stepped back so that the Americans could get a better look. The ARVN soldiers were laughing and talking loudly. The American convoy finished passing through and Graham turned in disbelief. The other soldiers also took on expressions of dismay.

"Boy, did you see what I saw, Rick?" exclaimed Graham to Richard Froehlich, a fellow newby from Wausau, Wisconsin. Froehlich was generally very quiet and unemotional, but even he had a tortured look of amazement on his face.

"Yeah, goddamn, man," he replied. "I guess they got ahold of some VC." The ARVN troops had pointed at seven bloody heads that were freshly severed by them from enemy they had encountered a few hours before.

27

Richard and Daniels were walking back from dinner.

DANIELS Man, I'm telling you, Rich, it's the truth what they say about Kansas City. There's some fine looking holes there, I ain't lyin.' (Many of the men referred to women as "broads," others talked of them as "pussy," others referred to them as "cunts" but Daniels and some of the other blacks simply referred to them as "holes.")

RICHARD Is that so?

DANIELS Yeah, just like the song says, man, and that means everybody--sisters, too. Shit, there's plenty of 'em. No trouble finding any holes in that place. Hell, me and my buddies was always able to pick up something there and get a shot o' leg. Man, shit, Rich, wish I was there now.

RICHARD Yeah, sounds all right, sounds all right.

DANIELS I tell you we all used to pick us up a piece o' pussy pretty easy, but there was this one brother who had all kinds of shit going at one time. The dude, I guess, was one of those guys that has a way with women and shit.

Well, at the end, the dude was real happy to leave 'cause he must have knocked up at least one hole, maybe more. I mean he was afraid they were going to catch his ass. (Richard had heard other stories about G.I.'s who had gotten girls pregnant so he wasn't at all surprised to hear another story on that. He concluded that it was not an unheard occurrence wherever soldiers were to be found.

Richard remembered that Miner had told him about how he had gotten a girl pregnant, and for that reason he had also been very happy to leave the base at which he had been stationed. Miner was an interesting guy who had joined the company a few weeks before. He was 5'6" with a round, smiling face. He had a ruddy complexion and big blue eyes. He could get into moods of depression, or he could be very happy and exuberant. He had been raised near the center of Detroit and so had known many blacks. He felt quite comfortable with them. He had gone through as many experiences as many men 10 years older than he was. The lines on his face certainly made him look as much as 10 years older. Miner was hardened and tough in an emotional sense. He had learned long ago that emotions--particularly sympathetic ones--got in the way too many times. They really got in the way when you wanted something and somebody was in the way. It was like he told Richard one time. "Now listen, Rich, I like you, and I definitely consider you my friend. But if it ever comes down to it, and like we're back in the States, and I really want something and you're the only thing between me and what I want, well, I'm sorry, but I'm going to get what I want. I mean, I'm going to get you out of the way, even if I have to blow you away, man. I mean that's just the way it is--nothing personal. You know, it's just a tough world."

RlCHARD I guess he wasn't ready to get hitched up to anyone yet.

DANlELS Shit, no. You cain't blame the motherfucker for not wanting to see his running days be over. Man, he had all kinds of holes after him, and it wasn't that he was all that good looking and shit. The dude just had the luck, I guess. Some guys have all the luck, Rich. Now look at me. I got all the bad luck, man. Shit, I shouldn't be in this motherfucking war, boy. I got flat feet and boy, sometimes they really hurt. I told them, but they said I was still good enough to come in the Army. Pisses me off. I swear sometimes they really hurt, especially when we have to do a lot of marching and shit.

RICHARD Shit, I don't think they should have drafted me, either. Or at least they shouldn't have put me in the damn infantry. I've had a damn heart problem since I was a kid. I don't see how they ever took my ass in. I've heard of guys with smaller things who were 4F.

DANIELS Yeah, boy, it's just a matter of fucking luck. I guess it depends on who you get to inspect you on the day of your physical.

FOREMAN (comes running up to Richard and Daniels. He is excited and out of breath.) Hey, did you guys hear about Lt. Corley?

RICHARD No, what happened?

Herman Foreman was a full-blooded Cherokee from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. He was stocky and round-faced. He was a little reserved, but he had a ready smile. Once he felt a little comfortable, he could be very friendly, warm, and trusting. He liked to ask many questions. He showed intelligence and an intense curiosity by the questions he asked. He had a gentle air although he was a tough soldier who could bear up under a heavy load. Herman was aware that the Cherokee had not always lived in Oklahoma. They had originally come from Georgia but that state passed a law taking away their lands--held for many generations and guaranteed by a previous treaty. He was curious and wanted to know more about these kinds of things.

FOREMAN Somebody fragged him. They got him, too. He's dead. He was in his tent by himself when somebody slipped the grenade in.

DANIELS Who did it?

FOREMAN Nobody knows yet. It just happened a while ago--maybe 20 minutes. Didn't you hear the blast?

DANIELS No, we didn't hear shit?

FOREMAN Yeah, I feel sorry for the guy, but he was getting real gung-ho. You know, the last couple of times out he had us do some pretty goddamn risky things. I guess it was coming to a point where it was either him or us. There was a collection taken up the other day as a reward. Just about everybody in the platoon gave. Don't tell anybody, but I did, too.

28

The 1968 National Democratic Party Convention was now being held in Chicago to decide the Democratic candidate for President in the November election. The convention promised to be a showdown between those who favored peace through a swift and definite U.S. disengagement from Vietnam and those who also professed to favor peace but wanted to do this in a gradual manner. The latter group was given a greater justification for its fear of yielding too much to Communism a few days earlier, on August 20th, when the Soviet Union and other East European countries sent their armies into Czechoslovakia.

One of the Russian soldiers participating in the invasion was Mikhail Litvinov. He was 20 years old and came from the city of Kazan. He was thin, medium in height, and had blond hair. Mikhail had trained to be a printer in school and planned to take up the trade two years later when he got out of the army. He had enjoyed the brief time he had spent as a printer's apprentice after he got out of school. He knew he had much more to learn but was confident that he had the ability to eventually become a very good printer. He looked forward to doing that kind of work for the rest of his life. He thought he would continue to enjoy it, but even if he didn't, he would stay with it because it would be a reliable means of security. He wouldn't have much choice in looking around for another trade. It just wasn't usually possible to change one's mind once a choice was made. Nobody looked upon that kind of dalliance very approvingly. It was a waste of the state's money not to follow the vocation for which one was trained. Another reason that Mikhail would want to keep working continuously as a printer was that he had already made plans to get married right after he left the army. Mikhail was well aware that his salary would be taken up by the normal expenses that he and his wife would have.

Mikhail was glad to have had the opportunity to come to Czechoslovakia because otherwise he would not have ever been able to see any country outside of Russia, but he didn't find Czechoslovakia and its people that unusual or exciting. He certainly didn't see a reason for any Russian to want to leave the U.S.S.R. permanently. It was just as good as any other place as far as he could see, and he was looking forward to returning home after they finished the military mission. He agreed with his government that it was necessary to intervene in Czechoslovakia because the Czech government was acting very foolishly in allowing too many freedoms like the right to criticize socialist ideas and the government. This made the U.S.S.R vulnerable to infiltration and attack from the United States and other capitalist countries. Those countries were always looking for an opportunity to discredit and undermine socialist republics. The newspapers and the radio back home also pointed out that instability in the Eastern European countries was a clear threat to the security of the U.S.S.R. itself. They said that this danger was especially pronounced because of the aggressive direction the United States had been taking for many years.

In Chicago during the Democratic Convention, hundreds of young people--mostly students--came to participate in demonstrations against U.S. military involvement in Vietnam. Mayor Richard Daley and the Chicago police were very apprehensive about the demonstrations and any violence that could result from them. The demonstrators were defiant and fervent in their participation and had come from various parts of the country, although most of them were from the Midwest.

One of the demonstrators was Rebecca Friedman, who was going to be a junior at the University of California at Los Angeles. Her home was in Santa Barbara. She was a sociology major and had always taken a special interest in political and social problems, at least to a certain extent. This helped to explain her enjoyment of sociology, although she was often annoyed at having to be in school and wanted to finish soon and get out and do something in the real world. She wanted to work with people the rest of her life. She was aware that she got her concern for social problems from her parents who had always kept abreast of and discussed contemporary social problems at home. Her parents had always shown an optimism with regard to the improvement of social conditions. They were Democrats and supported Johnson in his handling of the Presidency. They did have reservations about some of his decisions, but for the most part, they approved of him. They were not pleased to see the United States involved in Vietnam, but they felt it was an inevitable undertaking. Becky saw their approving attitude as apathetic and complacent. It made her angry and had caused several arguments with her parents. She was against the war because, first of all, it involved the taking of human life without a very strong justification.

In addition, she was opposed to the war because she had become convinced that the United States was in reality the most imperialistic nation on earth. She knew that most Americans wouldn't believe or admit it. For instance, she had learned that in the early part of the 20th century the United States had often landed Marines to keep order in such countries as the Dominican Republic and Nicaragua. The American brand of imperialism was most often of a financial nature and was thus properly labelled "economic imperialism." She had been shocked to find out that in 1954 the CIA helped overthrow the government of Guatemala. This was done with the approval of Eisenhower, John Foster Dulles, and his brother Allen Dulles, head of the CIA. The concern was that the Guatemalan government was supposedly under imminent danger of a Communist takeover. Part of the evidence for this was that the government was expropriating land from big owners and giving it to small farmers. Two per cent of the people owned 70% of the real estate with the biggest landowner being the United Fruit Company--an American corporation. The CIA trained the small army that invaded Guatemala with the support of four U.S. planes flown by U.S. pilots. The Eisenhower administration denied any involvement. Becky had learned much of this from college courses but also from alternative magazines and newspapers.

In high school, Becky had participated in various clubs and activities and had been one of the most popular students. Her most important and time-consuming activity had been as a cheerleader. It had been very exciting to be a cheerleader. It was thrilling to be involved in sports events that were popular with everyone in the school. It had also been a great feeling to have the attention and notoriety that one gets as a cheerleader. The other girls who were not cheerleaders were in many cases jealous of that attention. Becky had felt that many times and had also overheard conversations where there was some expression of animosity. There has no doubt that most of the boys paid much attention to the cheerleaders. At the games, Becky sometimes saw one of the boys gazing fixedly at her. It had felt strange at first, but she had gotten used to it.

She had also been popular with the teachers. She made good grades and had been a cooperative and likeable student. She had enjoyed high school very much. She knew many people and there was much to do between classes, club functions, and social life. Becky had several boy friends through her high school years. There had always been boys who had been interested in her. She had been very fond of a couple of her boyfriends but the others weren't so special. In their cases, it had simply been nice to have somebody to call on whenever there were activities that required dates. Her boyfriend in her senior year was one of the football stars. He went to another college to play football.

Becky had figured back then that college would not be very much different from high school. She was certainly aware that there would be many more students at a college and that therefore she would not be as popular with as great a percentage of people as before. She still knew that there would be numerous exciting social activities. She was determined to join a sorority. She had heard that joining a sorority was the best way to go if a girl wanted to have the best possible social life.

During her freshman year in college, she forgot about all those plans. It had very much to do with the roommate that Becky got in freshman year. At first, the two didn't get along very well. Becky's roommate was very untidy and careless in many ways. She was also very talkative and uninhibited. She didn't care too much for her appearance, although she was to a certain extent naturally attractive. It was strange to Becky that a girl who was naturally pretty wouldn't do the most to bring out the very best in her looks. That was what Becky had always done. Becky had much natural beauty. She had medium-length light brown hair that went to the bottom of her neck, brown eyes, a smile that reflected a pleasing disposition, a perfect complexion, and an alluring figure. To make sure that she had a pleasing appearance, she always made sure her hair was well-combed, her clothes clean and tidy, and her face fresh and sometimes adorned with a little makeup.

Her roommate had some friends who often came to the room to visit. They were even more unconventional than her roommate. They were now in their second or third years at UCLA. They had thus had more time to live and think on their own, away from home influences. They were all from Northern California. At first, Becky shied away from them and kept to herself. They often had long conversations in Becky's room, into which she eventually began to get drawn. Many of their ideas and attitudes began to seem less farfetched than before. They talked a little about school issues and about national politics, but they mostly talked about personal behavior. Some of the points that they talked about were ideas that Becky had thought about but had not considered very seriously because she knew they were unpopular or plain kooky.

They talked about going into jobs that were customarily only chosen by men. One of them, for instance, was planning to be a doctor. She was contemplating going overseas to work with poor people for a while after finishing medical school. She thought it would be a long time before she got married. "In fact," she claimed,"i may not ever get married. It could take me away from my work more than I would like. And if I have kids, I bet my husband would want me to stay home with the kids. Anyway, I truthfully have never been that crazy about having kids. I like kids but I don't feel I have to have them myself."

Someone else added casually, "Besides even if you don't get married these days, with the pill you can still have a good time."

At first, all of this sounded shocking to Becky. She had always assumed that it was just normal and expected to get married, unless you were ugly and undesirable and had no choice but to become an old maid. And to hear a healthy female say that she didn't want children was unimaginable. Some of the girls had boyfriends, and it was well known that they had sex with them. There was one particular girl who was very outspoken and slightly promiscuous. She liked to sprinkle her conversation with curses.

"Hell, I balled this guy the other night and, man, was he fast. Talk about premature. It was over before it began. He probably hadn't gotten laid in ages, might have even been virgin. I was nice to him and told him it didn't matter, but it was still frustrating. I was all ready and eager."

Becky began to see that these girls were much more open and honest than most people. She also saw that they were more socially concerned and sensitive than many others including her old friends. She came to appreciate their honesty and independent thinking more as the year went by. When she went home for the summer, she looked up some of her old high school friends. Some of them had also changed like Becky, especially the ones who had left home. Most of them had changed very little, and Becky found it hard to relate to them, although she tried hard. She saw her old boy friend, but they felt far apart.

David Gaucin was another antiwar protestor who was a junior at Loyola of Chicago. He was from Decatur, Illinois. David didn't like war. As long as he could remember, he had been disgusted by the thought that men had so often resorted to war to resolve disputes and gain territory. He realized that nations sometimes had to engage in warfare if only to defend themselves from attack. The United States had no choice but to enter World War II after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

David considered himself very patriotic and believed that the United States had usually been right in its relations with other nations. It helped many people around the world through generous gifts of foreign aid and general good will and understanding. Vietnam was probably a mistake. Even in this case, David wasn't so sure that the United States was wrong in being in the war. He honestly was not very clear or very sure on what all the issues and the history behind the conflict were about. It did seem that North Vietnam was illegally attacking South Vietnam just like North Korea had invaded the South in 1950.

Still, it seemed that it was not very sensible for the United States to have become involved because there seemed to be little to gain and much money was being lost in financing the war. David was not that strongly opposed to the war, but it seemed to be controversial enough that there should be marches and protests against it. David also was concerned with the fact he would be graduating from college before long and would probably soon afterward be drafted.

Jeanne Wells was from Newark, Ohio. and a junior at Miami University of Ohio where she was majoring in education. Like David Gaucin, she wasn't very clear on the background on Vietnam or the complete reasons behind the opposition to the war. One thing that did definitely disturb her was that her brother had graduated from high school the preceding May. He had never liked school, and he now claimed that he definitely did not want to go to college. It was a simple matter of time before he would be drafted.

Jeanne mainly liked to go to demonstrations for the simple reason that they were so exciting. It was a real thrill for her to see all those people marching. It was something like a parade, except that it was formed for a more serious purpose. It offered an opportunity to meet people. She was always elated by the great feeling of unity that seemed to be felt by all. It was a wonderful feeling brought on by a spirit of common purpose. It all seemed very colorful and happy. One could hear many different pitches and tones of sound made by all kinds of voices filled with varying levels of excitement. The signs that were carried were interesting and could sometimes be very funny. Some people were trying all types of innovation in dress, although most of the demonstrators actually wore very ordinary clothing. All told, it presented to Jeanne the wonderful atmosphere of a carnival.

The march outside the Democratic Convention ended in a violent, bloody riot. A large number of demonstrators were clubbed and beaten. Mayor Daley and the Chicago police blamed the protesters for starting the riot. However, most observers claimed that the police overreacted and used much more force than was necessary.

29

The memory of the sight of Lt. Paulsen lying on the ground, decapitated by the mortar shell, kept returning to Richard's mind. The incident had been relived in two of Richard's nightmares. Some of the others who had witnessed the incident occasionally talked about it in somber and horrified tones, even several weeks after it happened. A group of men was filling sandbags and considering the incident.

PERRY Well, I just hope I don't get my fucking block knocked off like Lt. Paulsen. It would be a hell of a way to go.

GORE I don't know. I still think getting your balls shot off is the worst way.

MARCHETTI (in a sincere but jesting tone) Well look at it this way. Whichever way you go, just remember you're doing it for your country.

WERNER Well, Marchetti, I think I'd just as soon shoot a lot off fucking gooks for my country and go back home in one piece.

PVT. TERRY HENDERSON (from Miles City, Montana) Did you read in the Stars and Stripes where all those goddamn fucking students are at it again--demonstrating and shit?

KELLY Yeah, dumb cocksuckers don't have anything better to do.

PVT. ROBERT LOOMIS (from Moscow, Idaho. He is a generally quiet and calm new soldier, but at the moment he sounds very angry.) Those stupid shit asses.

PVT. NELSON YAMASHITA (from Santa Cruz, California. He is an aggressive, patriotic Japanese-American.) I'd like to get ahold of those fuckers and bring them over here and put them up against the Commies. I'd like to see how long they'd last.

GRAHAM Fuck, all those jerk-offs are doing is encouraging the gooks to keep on fighting. They figure we're all divided on the war and that we're gonna give up soon.

KELLY Jesus Fucking Christ, they're all a bunch of fucking Communists--those dingbat cowards.

PERRY Well, they're not exactly Communists, but they're radicals.

HENDERSON The hell they aren't Communists. What else are they? As far as I'm concerned, a Communist is any son of a bitch that doesn't go along with what the United States tries to do for freedom around the world.

KELLY Yeah, an asshole.

MARCHETTI Well, not really. A person could criticize the U.S. and still not be a Communist. A Communist is against democratic governments and wants to overthrow them by violence.

HENDERSON Well, I don't see that's much different from what I said.

PVT. ANTHONY MORREALE (from Frederick, Maryland) Hell, what the fuck is a Communist. They're against democracy, and they don't want anybody to get rich.

210

RICHARD Communists usually don't allow democratic elections, and the fucking government owns and controls all the important industries. (Richard didn't want to give a more extensive definition because he knew they would all only make fun of him for being a college fuddy-duddy.)

GRAHAM Shit, I just think they want to take over the world and shit. They don't give a fuck about anything else.

KELLY Well, at least in the United States a man can get as rich as he fucking wants to. Nobody can stop him. As long as he works fucking hard enough, he can go as far as he wants to. It all depends on how hard he wants to work and shit. (There's a period of silence in the conversation.)

YAMASHITA Fuck, I still say I'd like to get ahold of those goddamn stupid protesters and make them come out here and fight these fucking gooks.

GRAHAM Hey, Yamashita, what are you doing talking about fucking gooks? You're a gook yourself. (He laughs.)

YAMASHITA (sternly) I'm no gook. I'm a Jap.

KELLY It pisses me off that those fucking students get to run around and play games while they have their big shit college deferments, and we have to sit around this fucking, God-forsaken hell hole and get our asses shot off.

LOOMIS Yeah and then when they graduate and finally get put in the Army, they get some candy-assed, sissy-assed office job.

GRAHAM Yeah, well, they're probably right when they say that those protesters are all just being riled up by a bunch of agitators.

MORREALE Yeah, it's like with the niggers and their riots. There's a bunch of agitators behind all that shit.

HENDERSON What really pisses me off is that those goddamn, yellow bellied college boys get to run around and start shit and fuck all those hot college coeds while we have to stay out here, and the most we can do is play with our weenies.

MENEFEE Communism is just a shitty system. No matter how you look at it. And I guess we gotta help countries that start to get taken over by Communism. Shit, we gotta do it in the name of freedom if nothing else.

GRAHAM Yeah, people have the right to be free and shit. Communism is just a dictatorship with no freedoms.

PERRY Well, Communism is pretty bad, but I don't know that the United States is as perfect as everybody says it is when it comes to freedom.

KELLY (in a startled tone) What do you mean?

PERRY I mean look at all the dumb laws against things like smoking marijuana. I mean you have to go to jail for doing something like that, and it's even worse for something like LSD.

GRAHAM Well, fuck, smoking pot is bad for you.

PERRY Yeah, but so is booze and cigarettes.

GRAHAM Yeah, but that's different.

MARCHETTI Then there's laws that say that people who aren't married can't fucking fuck or they'll get put in jail for adultery. Or there's laws that say you can't eat pussy or you go to jail. (He laughs.)

KELLY Shit, I still think it's stupid to become a Communist. I don't see any reason why they want to fucking do it. They say they think it's a better way, but they're full o' shit. I think they all ought to be shot for fucking stupidity and shit.

GORE Fuck, I don't think much about politics and shit, and I'll probably never bother to vote when I get back, but I do know that I love my country. I mean, fuck, you gotta be proud of your country. If they tell me I gotta come fight for it and shit, I'll do it--no questions asked.

MENEFEE (sternly and forcefully) Yeah, you gotta have faith in the country. The President and the leaders must know what's fucking right. My duty is just to do my best in doing whatever my job is.

WERNER Yeah, that's it, man.

KELLY "America--love it or leave it." -

SEVERAL VOICES Yeah. That's right. Yeah.

GRAHAM And you still got to remember: "Ask not what your country can do for you, but ask what you can do for your country."

30

Helicopter gunships were shooting at several individuals who were running on the ground trying to find cover from the rain of bullets. The soldiers of A and B Companies looked on figuring that the escaping Vietnamese were VC. Then they saw that two of the fleeting figures were children. The soldiers moved on numbly. They didn't have time to ponder on the matter. It was a thing they had seen a few times before--so it wasn't particularly shocking. At the moment, they were more concerned with what they would find in the village they would be entering shortly. It had been some time since they had engaged in a fight with the Viet Cong. They still hardly ever saw the enemy. The last major firefight was when Lt. Paulsen had been killed. The captain had been careful to tell the men that this was not to be called a "search and destroy" mission. The term "search and destroy" would no longer be used. From now on that type of operation would be known as a "search and clear" operation. The captain did not mention any other differences in the means of operating.

It was early in the morning, but it was already very hot, and it had been extra humid for days. One of the men in weapons platoon had suffered a heat stroke a few days before and had been evacuated to a hospital in the rear to recover. The oppressive heat aggravated problems. It brought on rashes, foot problems, dehydration problems for which salt tablets had to be taken. Then there was the continual threat of malaria for which pills had to be taken without fail. At night the mosquitos were savagely ravenous. The continual discomfort made tempers flare easily. The men in A Company had not had an opportunity to go on Rest and Recreation (R&R) for some time. The original members had been in Vietnam for six months and were very weary of the war. It was hard for them to believe that they had to remain for six more months.

They went into the village more calmly than ever before. They were quiet and alert. Each one was aware that at any moment he could be the unfortunate recipient of a sniper's bullet. Nevertheless, they walked through the main road of the village with a seemingly indifferent resignation to the next misfortune that might befall them. It was as if they had reached a psychological point beyond which they could not afford to worry, and if they did, it would mean ultimate mental breakdown. Something could happen similar to what had happened to Dewees. It was a mental defense mechanism that was necessary to adopt for survival.

The men in both companies went through the usual house searches, and some of the platoon leaders and NCO's went through the customary attempts to find out if any VC were being hidden or if the villagers had seen any going through the village. It was a very familiar routine by now. The village people made their usual gestures to express that they did not know anything. SSgt. Shukitt shook an old man sidewards and yelled at him, "Where VC, where VC?"

"Toi khoung hieu, toi khoung hieu (I don't understand, I don't understand)," answered the old man in a shrill voice. Shukitt pushed him away muttering, "Fucking bastard." The soldiers had never yet experienced an open and warm welcome. The young soldiers were exasperated in the apathy they saw in the Vietnamese.

Jerry Gates remarked annoyedly, "Here it is, there's a fucking war going on and they just go around like in a daze. They never get excited about anything. They don't tell us where the goddamn VC are. They just don't seem to give much of a damn." Gates didn't know about the many years that the country had been under an almost continual siege of war in some form or another. Before the French colonialists came in the 19th century, the Vietnamese had engaged in clashes with neighboring Laos, Cambodia and China in disputes over territory.

Pvt. Menefee came upon a young girl in a doorway of a hut. She looked to be about 16 years old. He grasped her arm gently and turned to Pvt. Tyrone Russell, a black from St. Louis, Missouri, "Hey, not a bad looking young broad, huh."

"No, not bad at all," answered Russell. The young girl started to look confused and started to slowly try to get free of Menefee's hold.

"Hey, where you going, baby?" said Menefee with a slight smirk, "I'm not going to do anything."

Kelly and Gates came up. "What you trying to do to the young lady here, Menefee? I hope you don't have any dishonorable intentions now," said Gates. The girl was struggling much more fiercely against Menefee, using both hands to try to break loose.

"Now, now," said Kelly soothingly, "don't be so distrustful. We just want to be friends." He caressed her free arm gently. The girl's mother was in the hut. She was becoming alarmed, but she did not yet dare to interfere for fear of antagonizing the G.I.'s. She was just hoping they would soon go away. The girl kept struggling, but Menefee grasped all the harder.

"She's going to give you a judo chop in a minute if you don't watch out, Gary," quipped Russell. Menefee turned to answer him but before he said anything, the girl bit him hard on the hand.

"Ouch," yelled Menefee. "What the fuck you trying to do, goddamn it." He lifted her up and started to carry her to the back of the hut. "Hell, I'm gonna teach you a lesson, goddamn it."

The others were laughing. "You're not going to take that shit from her now, are you?" exclaimed Miner as he and the others followed the pair. The pair continued to struggle hard, but Menefee made sure she didn't bite him again. The girl was screaming, but they were low screams filled with anger rather than frightened ones.

"Damn broad has to get all hostile and shit," said Russell as he laughed.

"Yeah, she just don't know how to have fun," added Gates in his usual gruff manner. "We ought to put it to her just to show her what she's been missing."

Kelly turned to look at Gates with a look of surprise on his face, which then cleared into a smile, "Hey, that's not a bad idea. I need to get my horns trimmed so bad it's pathetic."

"Yeah, boy," commented Miner, "I need a piece o' ass so bad my balls are getting ready to explode." His eyes were wide open and fiery, filled with a sense of eager anticipation. Menefee took the girl into some bushes. She had been able to bite him again, which made him more angry. Her mother had decided that things were serious enough to come out of the house and follow the soldiers. Menefee ripped the girl's dress off as Gates ran up to help with the struggling girl. Several soldiers stopped to see what the commotion was about, but they stayed at a distance of about a hundred feet. The girl's mother, after hearing the ripping sound of the dress, went into a panic and started screaming and running to the bushes where her daughter was struggling. Kelly stopped her and held her back. The woman struggled wildly trying to get loose until Kelly held his M-16 to her head. She looked at the barrel of the rifle with tears now rolling down her face and stopped her struggle. She stood there crying incessantly with intermittent shrieks.

Menefee hurriedly took his pants off as Russell and Gates had stepped in to help hold down the girl. Kelly continued to hold the mother at gunpoint who could not see her daughter but could hear everything including her screams. Miner watched gleefully as Menefee began.

"I'm next," he yelled with a big smile on his round face.

"The fuck you are," retorted Gates, "we're doing all the work and you're just standing there. Tyrone, my man here, ought to go next."

After Menefee finished, Russell took his turn while the others held the girl down. After him, Gates, Kelly, and Miner took their respective turns. It was over quickly. The girl had continued to struggle and scream almost throughout her harrowing experience. She had given up her battle only at the very end after which it appeared that she was physically and emotionally exhausted. Her mother had not stopped crying.

No other soldiers had approached to participate. SSgt. Luther Bryant had exclaimed in an annoyed manner, "Goddamn it, those guys shouldn't do that shit," but he did not do anything about it. Neither did any of the others do anything, among them Richard, Sutton, Roy, and Perry. The Vietnamese who were aware of what was happening did not try to stop the soldiers. Everyone stood anesthetized.

31

Richard had guard duty that night. It was very quiet. No VC attacks were expected, so he would have plenty of time to think. In four months, he hoped with all his might that he would be back there enjoying himself and having a good time--back in "the world." He was going to have a good time, like the times he had enjoyed in college. He was glad he joined a fraternity while in college. He was in Beta Theta Pi. Being in a fraternity gave one a much better social life. There were a lot of parties, He remembered that 1964 seemed to be a good year, but actually they were all good years. Perhaps he remembered 1964 because that was the year the Beatles came out, and Vietnam was hardly on anybody's mind yet. He remembered it as a real happy time. The Beatles, along with most of the other English groups, conveyed a definite feeling of exuberance and vibrancy. Still, he didn't think the Beatles were all that original in the beginning. They sounded similar to the Everly Brothers and Buddy Holly. Their lyrics were the same old, well-worn rhymes of love and romance.

Richard remembered liking the Beach Boys very much. Maybe, it was because they were from southern California where he had grown up. The Beach Boys also had an exuberant sound, and not all of their lyrics were about romance. They also wrote about hot cars and surfing.

Richard remembered that James Bond became popular in 1964, both in paperback books and films based on those books. It was interesting to see the numerous sophisticated weapons and slick electronic gadgets that he had at his disposal to help fight the Russians. Bond was cold and efficient as a British spy and as a lover. The movies showed Bond as capable of seducing virtually any woman he wanted. The sex was very cool and subdued. Bond hardly ever cracked the slightest smile. He was just as skillful at play as he was at work. In fact, it was hard to discern much of a difference in his mood. To Richard and his friends, the sex scenes in the movies were usually more interesting than any other part of the movie. They could later fantasize about being as sexually proficient as Bond in chance, brief encounters with stunningly voluptuous women. Perhaps, they could even turn fantasy into reality by picking up the correct techniques and by adopting the proper aura of irresistible male magnetism, which would make women yield helplessly in doing the things they were otherwise reluctant to do.

As for the courses he took in college, Richard didn't remember very much. He very soon forgot what he had read and learned in most courses he took in school. It was very clear that one reason was that some of the courses were simply dull because the subject matter was intrinsically lifeless. At other times, the material to be covered was interesting, and Richard looked forward to doing all the reading for the course at the beginning of the semester. Then, almost always, it became boring. For a long time, Richard remembered he couldn't understand why that would always seem to happen but it did. Now, he thought he knew why. It wasn't that the subject matter became less interesting than before or that the books that had to be read for the course turned out to be of lower quality than he had expected.

What he thought now caused the problem was the monotony that soon set in because of the required regular class preparation, regular lectures, the regular progression of reading assignments. Finally, there was the worry over exams and grades. There was little room for variance in the schedule. Everything had to proceed by the syllabus. There was in effect a timetable that had to be followed in order to have the final exam, finish the semester, and then go on to the next semester and more of the same. There was no elbow room for stopping to concentrate upon a particular area in depth. You couldn't just skip or at least skim over a particular topic that didn't interest you because you knew you would have to know it for the exam. In fact, rather than go along your own natural lines of interest, it was to your advantage to discern what might interest the professor the most because it was probable that he would ask more questions on his favorite topics. Even if that didn't happen, "psyching out" of the professor was advisable because it was important to be able to give very good answers on those questions about which he knew the most.

Richard tried to remember the courses that he had liked the most. There weren't any that came to mind as exceptional. He did remember liking the courses that dealt with the most recent events like "American History in the Twentieth Century." The more recent the events, the more he enjoyed reading about them. Unfortunately, the history courses often didn't get to the most recent events. This was often because the professor would get behind in the lectures and not have time at the end of the semester to deal with the latest events. Many other times, there was the problem that both books and professors seemed reluctant to deal with recent events because they claimed that a certain amount of time had to elapse before a proper historical analysis and evaluation could be made. Richard could see the point, but it still troubled him because he thought the study of history should seek to closely relate the past and present in order to better understand the latter. To him, there was a very practical point in studying history. This purpose was not served when the study of history was ended at some point in the relatively distant past--say 20 years back--and there was a large gap left up to the immediate present. He realized that much could be learned through analogy between the present and the distant past. Even then, the books and the professors rarely delved very far into pointing out these analogies. Too often, Richard felt now, the study of history seemed to be merely an intellectual game, even at its best. He wanted someday to see a style of historiography that sought to relate closely the analysis of events in the past with the attempt to understand the events of the present.

Richard remembered a book that he had liked that had been assigned in a history course. It was Anti-intellectualism in American Life by Richard Hofstadter, which the professor pointed out had won the Pulitzer Prize that year. As usual, the entire book had not been assigned, only excerpts. Richard had intended to read the whole book on his own, but he had not done it yet. He still hoped that maybe someday he would do it. He remembered being turned off by the book at first because he had believed that it presented the idea that Americans were anti-intellectual in contrast to other people of the world. That was the impression that he had gotten before even reading the book. Richard believed that Americans were no worse than residents of other countries in failing to appreciate the benefits of rationality. He later realized that the author was not contrasting Americans to others as much as he was trying to uncover the specific roots of American anti-intellectualism. He remembered being impressed by the idea that much anti-intellectualism stemmed from the American ideal of practical success.

Outside of class, Richard had some very clear memories of specific incidents at parties and other social activities at his fraternity and at school. He could remember people that were present, the things they had done, the peaceful conversations as well as the arguments, how much booze was available, and many other details. He remembered one fraternity party in the fall of '64 that had come to an unanticipated ending. He had been reminded of it by what had happened to the Vietnamese girl. It was a big Saturday night bash at the beginning of the year, and there was plenty of beer and liquor because there was never a problem with house funds at the beginning of the school year. Many people showed up including a number of attractive freshman girls. Some only stayed a short time while others stayed the whole night. There were parties going at other fraternities and other places on campus. Richard got to talk and dance with several girls. They were friendly. He even remembered setting up a couple of dates at the party.

The party lasted late--until about 4 A.M. At the end, the visitors were gone and only the fraternity brothers were left sitting around drunk and getting drunker. A few had already gone to bed, too drunk to stay awake any longer. One of the guys had gotten a girl to go up with him to his room. She looked like she could have been a freshman like many of the others who had been there that night. She was actually very attractive with long auburn hair, large, innocent looking eyes, and a beautiful set of white teeth behind a very sweet and sincere smile. Both the girl and the guy were very drunk. In fact, his roommate had found them asleep when he went up to the room. Richard remembered the guy's name was Mike Royden and the girl's was Laurie, They had both passed out in drunken stupor, but everybody wondered what might have happened before. During the next few days, everyone kept teasing Mike and asking him questions about what had happened. "Hey, did you get any last night, Mike?" they would ask. "Did you get laid, my boy?" asked fat Jack Gustafson. "Hell, he doesn't know. He was too fucking drunk to know what happened," said somebody else as everyone laughed. "Shit, Mike wouldn't know he was getting a piece of ass if he was cold sober," commented Ron Wales as the laughter grew louder.

Mike took it all in stride with a big grin on his face. For the most part, he didn't say much. He didn't admit or deny anything. He was generally quiet and shy, not given to boasting very much at all, but he knew he would really get razzed if he said that nothing had happened. So he would just give answers like, "I'll never tell" and smile. Or say, "Wouldn't you like to know."

The night of the party, Mike and Laurie had awakened when Mike's roommate came up. Laurie decided to go home and came down to leave through the living room. Everyone noticed that she had her blouse partially unbuttoned. She was barely conscious enough to see the door. She was smiling at everybody. Mike was back in his room. He had gone back to sleep almost immediately after he was awakened by his roommate.

"Hi, guys," said Laurie in a low and warm manner.

Dave Holt put his arm around her and said, "Hey, you're not going home now, are you? The party's just beginning. You'll miss a lot of fun."

"Oh, yeah," Laurie said. "When's it start?"

"Right now," answered Dave. "Hey, put on some music on the stereo, George. Let's have some more life here. Hey, what's your name?"

"Laurie."

"Hey, Laurie," said Nick Kavanaugh, "you know you're always welcome here with the Betas. Just consider this your home away from home. Just drop by anytime."

"Yeah, that's right," said somebody else.

"Yeah," said another, "don 't bother to call ahead of time. Just drop right in."

"Gee, thanks, guys," answered Laurie. She had not taken the warm, contented smile off her face the whole time.

"Hey, let's dance, Laurie," exclaimed Dave as he grabbed her hand.

"That's a good record," she claimed. They were playing "Wipe Out" by the Surfaris. Neither Laurie nor Dave were able to keep up with the beat very well. After Laurie danced another song with someone else, somebody put on "The Stripper" on the record changer. It was an immediate occasion for everyone to start cheering and encouraging Laurie to follow along with the idea suggested by the title of the song. Laurie just smiled and continued dancing.

"Give us a show, Laurie. We wanna show," yelled one of the guys. Everyone else joined in to make similar suggestions.

"You're the main attraction," shouted somebody else. Nobody really expected anything to come off, although Laurie still had her blouse partly unbuttoned. George Sims with whom she was now dancing slowly reached over and unbuttoned the next button in line. Laurie gently pushed him away, but not before George succeeded in undoing the button.

"All right, George," somebody yelled as others cheered George's successful move. Laurie kept on smiling and dancing. Before very long, however, she reached down herself and undid the following button. Loud cheers and howls went up from the avid spectators. They started to chant like a football cheering section, "Go, go, go, go. ''Laurie's brassiere was now clearly visible.

Richard remembered Dave Holt telling him, "Hey, it looks like this chick is hot to trot. Maybe we can all get her to pull a train tonight."

"Yeah, who knows," answered Richard. "Not a bad looking chest on her, huh."

"Hell, no," replied Dave.

At that moment, Laurie undid the last button on the blouse. Everyone continued to cheer madly. "The Stripper" was being replayed for the third time. In a little while, she started to work on her skirt much to everyone's delight. She got better at keeping in time with the beat as her performance continued. She was definitely becoming more and more adept at the art of dancing as well as the art of stripping. She slowly pulled off her pants. The fraternity boys were enjoying every minute of it and at the same time wondering how it was all going to end. Laurie danced for a while in her bra and panties. Everyone was yelling different instructions, but all the entreaties had the common theme that Laurie should expose additional parts of her body. Finally, everyone got together on the common chant, "Take it off, take it off, take it off." Laurie pranced slowly around on her long attractively sculptured legs. She then proceeded to slowly and meticulously take off her brassiere. A deafening cheer of approval was immediately heard. There was no one who was not enjoying the performance immensely, and Laurie was savoring all the attention she was getting. The chant being given now was, "Train, train, train." Then, "Choo, choo, choo, choo."

Laurie kept dancing and smiling without her top on. Different people started yelling, "Take it all off, take it all off, take it all off." Laurie failed to comply with the request and and simply kept on dancing. The loud cheering continued as everyone waited with eager anticipation for the next move. Laurie danced on for several minutes without doing anything else in taking off her panties. Suddenly she stopped dancing and sat down. A groan of disappointment was immediately heard. Dave Holt went over right away, sat down beside her, put his arm around her, and asked, "Gee, what happened? You were doing so great." She didn't answer. It looked as if she were just a little more sober than before.

"ls there anything else you'd like to do?" somebody asked in a sly, lascivious tone. Other comments along the same vein were immediately heard. Most of the guys were just as drunk as before, if not more so since they had continued drinking during the show.

"Hey, Dave," somebody yelled, "we'll be nice and let you go first."

"Yeah, Dave," someone else commented, "all you have to do is get through the last barrier of opposition." Everybody laughed. Many of the boys had moved in close to where Laurie was sitting.

Jack Gustafson talked in a low tone to Richard, "Hey, maybe we'll be able to get a train going after all."

Richard smiled and answered, "I don't know." After a pause, he added,"Yeah, who knows maybe we'll all be able to get us a little nooky tonight after all."

Dave started gently and playfully snapping the elastic on Laurie's panties. She did not object. She just sat there in a stupor and smiled periodically. Dave then went to work more seriously by pulling harder on her panties. She didn't comply and after a while started to resist.

Somebody yelled, "Hey, Dave, what are you going to do if she doesn't let you? I bet you chicken out." Dave smiled and didn't say anything. He continued to tug eagerly at the panties. Richard remembered wondering at the time if everyone would really go through with it if she resisted. Everybody had seemed to take on a more serious attitude. There was not as much of a purely playful atmosphere as there was before. Richard wondered if he would go through with it. At the moment, it seemed like great fun, and Laurie looked more delicious every minute.

"Come on," somebody said, "you don't have to play so hard to get." The tug of war continued between Laurie and Dave as another guy joined in to help. Laurie seemed a little more in control of her senses. <[>Just then the phone rang. It was startling, and Laurie seemed the most startled. The struggle stopped. The call was for Laurie. She went to the phone. It was one of her roommates. She had gone with Laurie to the party along with some of their friends.

"Laurie," her roommate exclaimed, "are you all right? I got worried about you. I thought you were coming soon after we did. Is everything all right?"

"Yes," answered Laurie. "I just carried away and lost track of the time. I guess I got pretty drunk."

"Oh, Laurie, I'll be over right away to help you home. I'll get Sandra to come along, too. See you in just a minute."

In 1964 Weldon Meriwether and his family were living in Palos Verdes Estates. They had moved to the Los, Angeles area from Long Island in 1952. He had been offered a much better job with an airplane and weapons manufacturer, the McDonald Aircraft Corporation. He had progressed very rapidly since coming to the company. The company itself had also grown by leaps and bounds in the last ten years. Although Meriwether was relatively young, it was very likely that he would be moving up to a position as vice-president of the company very soon. The Meriwethers had two daughters, ages 18 and 16, and a son of l4. The eldest daughter had gone away to college that year. That had left Claire and Paul at home.

Claire was the best behaved and most obedient of the three children, That had not always been true, but it had now been the case for almost 10 years. Claire had learned the best way to get along with her parents, and she had found that following that method wasn't a problem for her. Claire had figured out that her parents, especially her father, hardly ever forced their children to do things that they wanted them to do. The parents always left it up to the children to decide whether they wanted to undertake a certain action, such as going to the house of their aunt whom they could not stand or making good grades in school. The problem was in the consequences that followed when a child went against the wishes of the parents. There was never any physical punishment. The parents didn't believe in that. Instead they simply withheld certain benefits that they might otherwise have doled out. They were generally very generous in bestowing gifts and material favors upon their children, but when a child didn't behave as they expected they withheld benefits such as allowances, toys, nice clothes, snacks. The child who misbehaved would often be denied a desirable item while the others openly received it with a show of praise made for those who had behaved well.

When she was 7 years old, Claire had come to the realization that it was better to go along with this system in the long run. She had wanted a pretty dress she had seen at a department shore. She talked about how beautiful it was and let her parents know that she wanted it. One Sunday morning, she had gotten up in a bad mood and announced that she was not going to go church. Her parents insisted that she should go but she refused. She was set on staying home. Her father then said, "O.K., that's fine, you can stay here. But remember that dress you've been saying you want so much?" Claire nodded. "Well, you are not going to get it."

Claire knew that her father meant what he had said. She wanted the dress very much. She decided that it was much more profitable to comply with her parents' wishes. Within a few minutes, her mood had changed drastically, and she announced that she felt like going to church. After that one incident, she saw it proven time and again that it was better to go along with her parents' wishes. Her sister and brother never learned that lesson. They continued to rebel on occasion. Claire tried to explain to them that it was much better to obey, but although they understood her reasoning, she saw that they didn't seem to want to accept the simple reality of the situation.

Richard remembered that, in August, 1964, the Gulf of Tonkin incident occurred in which two U.S. destroyers were attacked by North Vietnamese PT boats. As a result, President Johnson ordered retaliatory air strikes by U.S. planes against North Vietnam and then obtained the joint Congressional resolution that was to be the basis for all subsequent U.S. military action against Vietnam. Richard had read recently in a leftist magazine that the reason for North Vietnam's attack on the two destroyers was that clandestine attacks had been made against targets in North Vietnam by South Vietnamese naval commandos under the command of General William Westmoreland. The attacks were part of Operation 34A and had been going on all summer. The program involved trained sabotage teams, electronic intelligence gathering equipment, and fast PT boats for coastal raids. Richard didn't know how credible such stories were. They often sounded too ridiculous to be true, but then he had sometimes found that articles like that in magazines and underground newspapers had turned out to be correct.

There were other things that Richard didn't know about. One morning in October, 1964, President Johnson was given a briefing by an Assistant Secretary of State in the Oval Office on various matters related to the situation in Vietnam, including plans to begin sustained aerial bombing of North Vietnam in early 1965. Barry Goldwater, Johnson's opponent in the current Presidential race, was advocating full-scale air attacks on North Vietnam and had supported the idea of making war on Red China if necessary. He had also said, "Extremism in defense of liberty is no vice."

The Assistant Secretary was nearing the end of his briefing for the President, " . . . and considerations must be made during the next few months with regard to the relevant audiences of U.S. actions and the impressions intended for each. Strong pressures must be felt in NVN, in particular by leaders of the DRV as well as VC/PL and Chicoms/USSR. The results must also be noticed in SVN especially by GVN. We also have to remember the possible reactions of our allies and the U.S. public. In any case, it seems that some increase will be necessary in GVN-US overt military pressures' against the DRV/VC/PL especially to counteract DRV/VC action against SVN. In this connection, there are three options, all previously proposed and discussed in various NSC and JCS memoranda. All the options envision reprisals in the DRV for DRV/VC "spectaculars" against GVN and against US assets. OPTION A and OPTION B I have already reported on. OPTION C will involve (1) 34A Airops and Marops, (2) deSoto patrols, (3) SVN ground actions in Laos and (4) T28 strikes there. This has been farther broken down into PHASE ONE, PHASE TWO, and PHASE THREE and . . . "

Johnson interrupted,"I don't think you have to go into any more detail on that at this time."

"Yes, sir. One final thing. I want to tell you that we have been considering further methods of provocation strategy in the event we decide to begin the bombing next year. I would definitely recommend that we provoke some hostile action on their part as in the Gulf of Tonkin incident to make it look as if the bombing was made as a response to their aggressive action."

"We better wait to talk about that after the election. In fact, I think it would be better if there was as little discussion as possible about any bombing until after the election just in case anything on it should leak to the press. If it got to the press, the information would probably be distorted and misunderstood by the American people. It would definitely hurt my image as the candidate of reason and restraint."

"Yes, you're absolutely right."

"There is just one more thing I do want to know, and that is whether the CIA and the other intelligence groups still maintain that bombing the North would not stop Hanoi's military efforts."

"I'm afraid the consensus of the intelligence panel is that the chances are not very good. Bombing would cripple industry and transportation considerably; however, North Vietnam's economy is extremely agricultural and decentralized into numerous self-sufficient villages. The overwhelming majority of Vietnamese live in these villages and would not be greatly affected. They would probably persist in their willingness to aid the guerrilla war which of course would not be that difficult since guerrilla fighters travel on foot and carry most of their own supplies."

"I don't know what to think of that. Sometimes it seems the intelligence people are too pessimistic, too negative." Johnson got up from his chair,"I need to use the restroom."

Johnson had inherited several very knowledgeable and highly trained advisers from the Kennedy administration like the Assistant Secretary. They reminded Johnson of many of the men in F .D.R. 's "brain trust" whom he had seen while he was in Washington in the 1930's. He needed them for advice, but he could not let them make all the decisions on Vietnam. One thing he had to watch out for was that these over-educated, highly refined, overly meticulous, and highly mannered Kennedy men might gradually influence him too much. It had therefore been necessary to keep them in line by showing them who was boss and by toughening up their sensibilities. With this in mind, he would often strip down completely after a meeting with them next to the White House pool and insist that they do the same in order to take a swim. He wanted them to get away from their domesticated notions of propriety. There was another method that Johnson had for bringing his advisers down to earth.

"Come on in here so we can keep on talking," Johnson summoned. The Assistant Secretary looked up startled, not believing he had heard right. "Come on, it's all right," Johnson waved him over. "That way we won't have to waste time."

"Well, if it's O.K. with you," responded the Assistant Secretary.

"Of course, it's all right. Do it all the time." Johnson sat down as the Assistant Secretary closed the door. He looked a little fidgety and uncomfortable as he stood in front of the President. He tried to act naturally as he shuffled through the papers in his hand apparently looking for something. Johnson continued on the subject that had just come up before, "The CIA intelligence people always seem to be giving pessimistic estimates. They're a lot more cautious than the counterinsurgency people. I gotta admit they've been right sometimes. I remember three years ago they said that Diem was a weak administrator, unpopular, authoritarian, and too tolerant of corruption, and it turned out to be all true."

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"That reminds me that about the same time--it was May of '61--Kennedy sent me on a good-will tour to South Vietnam, and when I came back, some of the people in this very administration were criticizing me because I had gotten carried away when I called Diem the 'Winston Churchill of Asia' and said he had 'the qualities of George Washington.' Well, hell, I knew I was exaggeratin,' but when you have an ally like that you have to show him and all the other allies that you support them wholeheartedly. Besides, I figured maybe it would give Diem a necessary pickup in morale and get him to start straightening out.

The President continued, "Anyway, there was also the C.I.A. analysis that said that the real source of Viet Cong strength was in South Vietnam, and last June they challenged the domino theory. I don't know. I just cain't agree with them on that. Not completely at least. It would be too much to abandon South Vietnam."

"I think you're right." The Assistant Secretary appeared more relaxed now, but he never looked directly at the President. He looked mainly at the wall on the right.

The President continued, "The C. I.A. said that if South Vietnam and Laos fell to Communism, no other nation would quickly turn to Communism with the possible exception of Cambodia. There would be many stumbling blocks for the Communists, and the U.S. could wield enough power to prevent further aggression so long as it could retain its bases in places like Okinawa, the Phillipines, and Japan.

"I don' t know. It 's not going to be easy if we have to get more involved in this thing. There could be a lot of criticism, but I think the vast majority of Americans would not like it at all if we backed out. I think that's the mood right now, or else a guy like Goldwater wouldn't have gotten this far. Still, a lot of people think funny sometimes. Just take, for instance, what I saw not too long ago when I went into this people's little shack in West Virginia. Here I'm the one that has quickly brought unity to the Democratic party and to the nation after the assassination of Kennedy. I'm the one who has brought differing factions together to work on necessary compromises in order to start the War on Poverty and other programs and pass all kinds of social reform legislation to help poor people like them, and what do I see in that house? A picture of Kennedy. That's right, a picture of Kennedy."

"Unfortunately, glamor plays a big part in such a thing," the Assistant Secretary answered. He appeared a little uncomfortable once again. It had started to smell.

The President agreed. "I know. I'm just afraid that if and when we start any bombing, they'll blame it all on this administration and forget that this involvement started a long time ago. They won't know that back in April of '54 I was one of the Senators that prevented Secretary Dulles from plunging the United States into war in Indochina by suggesting that he get the cooperation of our allies before deploying any forces to help the French. The Eisenhower administration seemed very eager to get into the fray. I remember Vice-President Nixon was rarin' to send troops because of our position as leader of the free world. A few months later, Dulles sent Colonel Lansdale and other C.I.A. agents to conduct sabotage and psychological warfare against the North. For the next few years, Dulles also sent arms to South Vietnam in violation of the Geneva agreement and propped up Diem all that time, which made it hard to replace him later on. You just can't get that attached to one man. We can't even afford to get too involved in trying to improve the lot of the South Vietnamese. It's too difficult a task. I think we decided to only give 10% of our rationale for being in Vietnam to 'permitting the people of South Vietnam to enjoy a better, freer way of life,' isn't that right?"

The Assistant Secretary agreed. "That's right, and 20% was 'to keep South Vietnam and adjacent territory from Chinese hands.' 70% was 'to,avoid a humiliating U.S. defeat to our reputation as a protector of freedom.'"

In December, 1964, students at the University of California at Berkeley staged a mass sit-in protesting various conditions at the school. Richard remembered that he hadn't taken the incident very seriously. It seemed like just a huge school prank, and it was sort of funny. After several days, Richard did not take a very sympathetic view. He thought the students' business was to work hard on their studies and not to go around staging days-long demonstrations. He remembered that almost all of his fraternity brothers took the same view. Some were downright hostile. He remembered George Sims saying, "They ought to put all those goddamn jerkoffs in jail. They don't know what the hell they're doing. They're just a bunch o' fucking showoffs."

The protest continued for several months and became known as the Free Speech Movement. Later on, one heard much profanity there so the press labelled it the Filthy Speech Movement. There were many issues brought up by the movement, but Richard was still not very clear on what it was all about. He was more tolerant now than he was before because he figured that there must have been some genuine reasons behind the students' action. At the time, however, he had figured that he couldn't bother with questioning the way the schools were run. He just wanted to finish and get out as soon as possible.

Richard tried to figure out what had been his motivation for being in school at the time. Richard admitted that a big reason for his going to college was to have fun. He remembered that in high school most of his friends said they were going to college. It was the thing to do. Besides, he didn't really want to go work yet. He wouldn't have known what to work in anyway. There were many things to do in college, he had heard, on a social level. They said there were a lot of nice-looking coeds. There were football games and parties. He didn't go out for football at UCLA because he knew he wasn't good enough to become a star.

His parents had often told him that college led to financial success. His teachers and other adults also talked about the benefits of going to college. He remembered reading and hearing repeatedly about how much more money college graduates earned than high school graduates. He realized that was probably the reason that he had not been too interested in school subjects. He had just wanted to get through the four years of college and get a degree. It was really a matter of getting over this large hurdle. Nobody was going through the agony of long reading assignments, term papers, and final exams for the sheer intellectual joy.

32

They were having a good time. Everyone was in a good mood telling stories and trading new jokes they had heard. B and D squads were smoking marijuana, many of them for the first time. Someone in the company had gotten some of the substance into the base camp, and most of the soldiers were eager to experience its effects. It was 9 P.M., October 11, 1968. B and D squads were supposed to have gone on trail patrol, but instead they had stayed in the base camp. Trail patrol consisted of staying overnight along a trail that led to the camp and guarding against any approaching VC. The VC were well aware of such traps so they never came on the trail. The Americans usually just sat by the trail and talked all night. Nothing ever happened. B and D squads knew this so they decided to try to get away with remaining in the base camp. Most of them were nearing the end of their tour in Vietnam and had developed that careless attitude that was developed by all G.I.'s who were "short" on their tour time. Staff Sergeant Shukitt, D squad's leader, was in charge. B squad's leader, Sfc. Cox, was in Japan on R&R. Shukitt communicated on the walkie-talkie with Lt. Robert Mizell, of Florence, South Carolina, the new platoon leader. Shukitt pretended that he and the men were out on the trail. The new lieutenant did not suspect anything.

There were plenty of marijuana "joints" to go around for everyone. The radio was playing loudly. The Steppenwolf song "Born To Be Wild" was on at the moment. "This grass isn't bad stuff," commented Perry who had tried it several times before back in the States.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to get high already," said Marchetti, another veteran of marijuana smoking. Graham puffed on a marijuana cigarette. Marchetti noticed and decided to give him some instruction, "Hey, Jim, you'll probably never get a good high that way. Shit, you gotta take a deep drag and hold it in as long as you can. That stuff costs money and shit. You gotta get all you can out of it."

Graham tried Marchetti's suggestion the next time it was his turn to take a drag on the cigarette. He started coughing. "Hell, I better get a good high with this raggedy assed shit if I'm going to go through all this trouble. I still don't think this stuff is as good as good ole booze."

"Yeh, you can give me booze anytime," chimed in Davis who had reluctantly agreed to try smoking the green weed only after prodding from the others.

"Oh, come on, Davis," interjected Marchetti, "this green stuff is great. You'll really get to like it after a while, and it can't do you any harm." He paused and then added mischievously, "Well, there is one slight problem I've heard of, but it happens very rarely. I mean very rarely."

"What's that?" queried Gates attentively.

Marchetti answered, "Well, they say this stuff has been known to make a guy sterile."

"Sheeeit," yelled Davis. "Don't give me none of that crap. I ain't never gonna touch it again in my life. Are you shittin' me? Ain't nothing worth enough to make me lose my shootin' power." Everybody was laughing. "Boy, you must be crazy."

"Nah, I'm just kidding, Bob," yelled Marchetti laughing. "I'm just kidding, goddamn it."

"Boy, get that shit out of here. I don't even want to smell it," said Davis while trying to clear the smoke directly in front of him with his hands.

"Ah, come on, Davis, don't get discouraged," said Perry smiling and putting his hand on Davis's shoulder. Perry always had a warm, gentle manner that put people at ease and made them like him, "Just give that dope a good chance and believe me, you'll really get to fucking like it."

"Yeah, Davis, then they'll start telling you to try heroin and all that other shit," jumped in Gates in his gruff tone.

"Ah, now, Gates," said Richard, "all that shit they say about how marijuana always leads to more dangerous drugs is a bunch of bull. Plain old cigarettes and booze can lead you there just as easily if you let it happen and shit."

"The people who say that about grass are just afraid to try anything new and different, and they' re afraid to let anybody else try it, either," claimed Sutton. He hadn't tried marijuana before, but he was usually open and willing to try anything new. "I've heard that marijuana can really help to make you learn new things, or at least see things in a different way than before. I mean things like God or life, you know."

"Hell, I don't know about that," interjected Marchetti jovially. "As long as it makes you feel fucking good, it's all right with me."

"Talking about heroin, did you guys hear that there's supposed to be a couple of guys in B Company that are hooked on fucking heroin," mentioned Miner. "One of their men told me the other fucking day."

"Yeah, I was talking to this fucker I met in Saigon when I went down there last August, and shit, man, he said there were guys in different fucking units that he he'd heard of were really into heroin," said Pvt. John Liebrich from Colorado Springs, Colorado. Liebrich resembled Miner in physical appearance. He was stocky, talkative, and jovial.

"Man, sheeeit, what those stupid-assed motherfuckers want to do that shit for?" commented Davis. "I'd never take that fucking shit."

"Shit, Davis," remarked Washington, "that heroine'll help you get through this raggedy-assed war and the Army and shit. I ain't lyin'."

"Yeah, Davis," agreed Miner, "that shit'll make you feel so good you'll hardly believe you're in a fucking war and shit. It'll make you think you're the biggest, meanest motherfucker in the valley, in Happy Valley." They all laughed as he continued, "Hell, man, you'll be so cool nobody will fuck with your ass. Shit, you might not even wanna go home, man."

Everyone cried out in protest at that comment. "Man, there ain't nothin' gonna be that good, Fred, no way," yelled out Washington.

"You shittin' me, Fred?" said Kelly. "You're getting carried away now." Fred had a big smile.

"Your full o' shit, Miner, with all that crap about being so tough and shit," Gates interjected. "Fuck, you'll go out there thinking you're so bad and shit, and you'll be out there floating around like a stupid motherfucker, and they'll shoot your ass right off."

SSgt. Shukitt had a call on the radio telephone. It was Lt. Mizell. They discussed something for a while. All the men were fond of Sergeant Shukitt. They thought he was different from other NCO's; he was like one of them. He was anything but a stickler for rules. On the other hand, they were aware that he wasn't the kind of leader upon whom one could fully rely in a combat situation. He just didn't have that much knowledge and experience. He also lacked the necessary discipline both for himself and for others. Shukitt was great to pal around with, but he was not a reliable soldier. Shukitt had decided not to reenlist after his present term in the Army. Before, he had reenlisted because the Army had offered security and familiarity, while civilian life appeared enigmatic and uncertain.

Lt. Mizell told Shukitt, "I want to come out there and see how you're set up. It's not that I doubt that you are doing it right. It's just that I want to see for myself first hand how it's coming off." Mizell had no previous combat experience. He was a novice who had not been in the Army very long, but he was conscientious and wanted to learn his job well. He was the type of officer who was well aware that he could learn much from his NCO's and men. His conscientiousness in this particular instance, however, got in the way of the men who were supposed to be on patrol.

As soon as Shukitt got off the phone, he exclaimed, "Goddamn, that gung ho son of a bitch wants to go out on the trail," Everyone got up immediately without any urging. "We better get our asses in gear mighty fast. We gotta beat him to the spot, or our ass is grass."

"Shit, why's that second lieuee got to be so fucking gung ho?" complained Werner. "What's he think this is, a fucking war or something?"

"I don't know," said Miner as he hurriedly picked up his gun. "All I know is we've got to get our asses out there fast."

The patrol ran worriedly to the place on the trail where they were supposed to be stationed for the night. A trip wire was supposed to be installed across the trail. This trip wire was meant to be stepped on by any approaching VC, and this would set off a flare that would openly expose the intruders to the Americans who could then easily mow them down in their tracks.

Sutton was the point man on the way to the trail location. They knew that the VC could be out there at this very moment and could open fire on them as they ran down to the trail. They nervously hoped that this wouldn't be the case, but they couldn't know what would happen in the next second. They actually didn't have much time to ponder on the matter, since they were in too much of a hurry to get to their appointed position. The patrol arrived at the correct spot and quickly started setting up, trying to make it look like if they had been there all night. They hadn't been shot upon yet, but the VC could very well be looking at them at this very moment, waiting to pull the trigger on their guns at any second.

Sutton went down the trail a few feet to look for a place to set up a trip wire later. As corporal and next in rank to Shukitt in D squad, Sutton was more often looked upon by the men for ideas and leadership than was Shukitt. Sutton went a few feet off the trail. Suddenly, BOOM!--a loud explosion pierced the silence of the night and a bright flash of light penetrated its heavy darkness. As the men looked up startled, they saw an object fly several feet into the air. Small objects could be felt falling from the air. The soldiers instinctively dove for cover and looked out for VC. They were waiting to be fired upon by the enemy, but no sound of bullets was heard. A few of them fired into the bushes reflexively, but most of them were experienced enough by now to wait to see the enemy before firing. The area was still brightly lit. The source of the light was a flare that hovered above in the air.

"Where are those fucking gooks?" yelled Shukitt. "Where are they?"

"Goddamn, motherfucking gooks, come on out and fight, you motherfuckers," screamed Washington.

"What the fuck is going on?" asked Werner in a daze.

Still no VC fire came from the darkness of the jungle. The men started to look around to try to figure out what had happened. Kotakis saw part of a human torso lying near the place where Sutton had gone to inspect--an arm appeared to be missing. Sutton had stepped on a mine! The flare that was now shining brightly above had been in Sutton's pocket and was to be used with the trip wire. It had been ignited by the exploding mine. The large object that had been seen flying through the air was one of Sutton's legs--both of them were severed by the explosion. The small bits raining from the air were pieces of cloth and Sutton.

The men became very angry when they fully realized what had happened. They started cursing and firing wildly into the jungle. "You fucking slant-eyed bastards. Come out and fight, you motherfuckers," cried out Washington stridently.

"We're gonna blast the living shit out of you gooks. Come on out," yelled Kelly in a raging tone.

Lt. Mizell arrived and helped the men to calm down. Shukitt told him that Sutton had gone to check the trip wire because he had thought that perhaps he had not set it right. If Mizell had gone to check on the wire himself at that point, he would have found that it had never been put in place at all.

"Why did he step on the mine?" asked Mizell. "Didn't someone pass a minesweeper through the area when you men got here?"

"Yes, sir,'' answered Shukitt, "but I guess he stepped off too far away from the area." Shukitt was visibly nervous and stammered a little, but Lt. Mizell did not suspect anything. The Lieutenant paced around a little bit, but he did not wander far.

"Well, I guess that was just a bad break for poor old Sutton," the Lieutenant commented resignedly. He addressed all the men. "I know it's not very pleasant to have to stay out here all night, but it's something that has to be done. I know you men understand it all too well, and I know you're doing a good job."

"Thank you, sir," answered Shukitt.

Mizell turned and walked back to the base camp as the men started picking up the remains of what had once been Edward H. Sutton. The task of picking up the remnants of human flesh and bone was on this night particularly disgusting to the men, even to those who had done it several times before. For one thing, it was incredible that only a few minutes before these mutilated shreds of tissue had been a complete, breathing, smiling, laughing, thinking, feeling, living human being. The men did the job quietly--each one feeling a rending frustration at knowing that they would never be able to see Sutton again and knowing that there was nothing any one of them could do about it no matter how hard he tried. They knew they could try to exact some sort of revenge against the Viet Cong the next time they had an opportunity. They knew that was exactly what they would do without hesitation. That kind of fiery, angry act would be automatically performed like a conditioned reflex. Still, at this moment, they knew that no amount of violence directed at the Viet Cong could bring Sutton back to life. That was part of the pain they were feeling now in addition to the pain of sorrow and bewilderment--it was the pain of impotence.

Picking up the scattered remains was especially gruesome in this particular setting. The dim reddish-yellow light from the flare accentuated the macabre scene as it danced against the black inscrutable night sky and cast eerie, flickering shadows on the trail, the rocks, the bushes, the grass, the parts of arms, the sections of legs, the grotesque torso, the many shreds of flesh and veins and entrails, and even what appeared to be feces.

Soon after the task was completed and the remains taken back in a plastic bag to the base camp, the flare died out, and the men settled in for the long night. The dismal darkness of the night engulfed everything. No one dared to interrupt the somber silence that prevailed. No one was able to fall asleep. Many of them didn't even try. They just sat preoccupied with their own mental attempts to comprehend what had happened. Some tried to understand once again why all of this had to be happening. Most of them tried to forget it as another hideous but now commonplace death. Each one was mostly glad it hadn't been him. It was a long time before Davis finally broke the silence. He sounded like he was about to break out tears. He sounded very distraught.

"Man, I don't know why that had to happen. I just cain't see it, man. That Sutton was a good cat. He got along well with everybody."

"Yeah, that's true," a sympathetic voice came out of the dark.

"He never did nobody no harm," continued Davis, who was directing his comments to no one in particular. It was more of a lamentation. "He was always tryin' to keep things cool. He was a smart dude, too. He would have gone places, I knew he would. He had plans, lots of plans for when he was going to be back in the world. Now look, there's nothing, just nothing."

"Yeah," Miner added slowly, "I hate this raggedy-assed fucking place." Some of the others said a few words, remembering how Sutton had been, and then it was silent again.

As each one was left to the solitude of his own thoughts, Richard tried to cope with some very uneasy feelings that he was going through. He knew that these emotions had been building inside him for some time. It was related to seeing what had remained of Sutton after the mine explosion. He had seen such grisly mutilation before--Lt. Paulsen, Sgt. Schermer, and others. It was no doubt unpleasant and that simple fact he knew was enough to make him feel uncomfortable and nauseated. That was to be expected. What bothered him was that he now realized that his experience in seeing mutilated bodies had apparently diminished the significance of human life for him. It was hard to see human life could be worth very much when you saw in what a gruesome and abominable state a body could conclude. The torn shreds of tissue, the dangling, stringy organs, the mangled glands, the splintered bones, the oozing fluids, and the hideously disfigured faces did not make one think of homo sapiens as very grand or noble. It was hard to accept that anything like an immortal soul could come out of that now pathetically incongruous mass of rapidly decaying protoplasm. Richard remembered hearing that "man was created in the image of God." It was from the Bible, but he wasn't sure because he had never become very familiar with the Bible. The claim seemed ludicrous now in retrospect. It was difficult to accept it very seriously.

Richard was aware that the idea that so many people had held for centuries about God and the special place of man in creation were closely related to the desire for immortality. It was so common and so understandable for people to want to believe in life after death in one form or another. It was on the one hand motivated by the simple desire to continue living and to perpetuate the joys associated with being alive. At the same time, the idea of immortality was spurned by the wish to extract some meaning out of the state of human existence on earth. It was an attempt to compensate for so much of the pointless suffering seen in this world and an attempt to deny the possibility that people simply died, dissolved back into the dust, and never saw anything again including their loved ones.

It was a beautiful and transcendent impulse to believe in immortality, and Richard had felt it many times before. He still felt the emotional longing now. Yet when he looked at the devastated remains of a human body, there was the corresponding feeling that negated the immortality wish and seemed to make a mockery of that desire. It made the wish seem childishly self-centered and unrealistic. Richard felt this way even after he considered that life without later immortality seemed so meaningless, even more so in the case of young men like Sutton who were really only in the springtime of their lives.

Richard felt bad about having such thoughts, but he couldn't help it. He knew he would reveal his thoughts only to someone he was sure would agree with him or at least understand. Finally, he realized that his estimation of human worth was made even lower by the knowledge that the mutilation of humans he had observed had been caused and would continue to be caused by other human beings.

On October 11, 1968, the Apollo Saturn 7 space mission was launched.

33

Nothing much had happened since Sutton had gotten blown up except that for two successive nights there had been VC mortar attacks. The S-2 (the man in charge of intelligence statistics) had claimed a body count of 10 VC, but Richard doubted if even one had been killed. The VC were just too elusive. With the aid of their elaborate underground tunnel systems, they were just never there when you went to look for them. The Army also tried to play down American casualties in various ways. The S-2 had told him that the term "light casualties" was applied to situations in which up to 40% of a unit was killed or injured, "medium casualties" when it was 40% to 70%, and "heavy casualties" when it was more than 70%.

This afternoon, Richard was taking a walk around the camp. There wasn't much else to do. This morning the Company had been told to "police" the area, which was a make-work detail to make soldiers clean up the ground. It was really intended to take up time. His thoughts went back to three years before--to 1965 when Johnson and his advisers decided to escalate the "Vietnam conflict," as it was referred to for several years. Johnson kept making assurances that it would not last long. In February, sustained aerial bombing of the North began, and later thousands of troops were sent.

Now that Richard had seen so many things first hand and in addition had heard stories from other G.I.'s--some of which were perhaps false but others that were surely genuine about what was really happening--his doubts became greater everyday. For example, in Dogpatch, the strip just outside outside Chu Lai, a soldier from one of the other platoons had disappeared and was never heard from again--Missing in Action (MIA). He had gone to one of the whorehouses there. His buddy had stayed in a bar in the meantime, and after more than an hour, he called the M.P.'s. They searched the house and found only an old woman who said she knew nothing about a G.I. Also, everyone knew that most Vietnamese civilians had VC in their houses. Richard tried not to feel too much animosity toward the Vietnamese like so many of the other G.I.'s did, but he couldn't help it. He knew he was scared of them and couldn't trust them.

President Johnson began the year of 1965 with a very confident air regarding American strength and purpose. He declared in the State of the Union Message to Congress on January 4th:

Our own freedom and growth have never been the final goal of the American dream.

We were never meant to be an oasis of liberty and abundance in a worldwide desert of disappointed dreams. Our Nation was created to help strike away the chains of ignorance and misery and tyranny wherever they keep man less than God means him to be.

We are moving rapidly toward that destiny, never more rapidly than we have moved in the last 4 years.

In this period we have built a military power strong enough to meet any threat and destroy any adversary. And that superiority will continue to grow so long as this office is mine--and you sit on Capitol Hill.

Later in the same speech, Johnson made a statement that had more significance than probably even he realized.

A President's hardest task is not to do what is right, but to know what is right.

In a commencement address at Catholic University in June, Johnson stated:

The truth of America's purposes cannot be veiled.

Sure of its moral purposes--surer of its own moral performance--America shall not be deterred from doing what must be done to preserve this last peace man shall ever have to win or lose.

Johnson's belief in forthright action was reflected in a book he published in 1965 entitled A Time for Action. He was putting his activist philosophy into effect in various ways such as in pushing for legislation to end racial discrimination and to help the poor. He labeled his programs of domestic reform as a quest for The Great Society. Multimillionaires and gigantic corporations would continue to wield vast power. Richard thought it was ironic to see a Southerner pushing for legislation that would end discrimination against blacks. Part of the reason was that Johnson had always wanted to be a strong national leader, not a regional one. He wanted to be remembered as a great leader who rose to the occasion in time of great national crisis, both domestic and foreign. At the same time, he had a genuine disregard for any type of discrimination that was based on unfounded justification. He sharply attacked all forms of discrimination in one of the selections in A Time for Action.

Johnson's own sensitivity to discrimination was no doubt partly related to the snickering derision he had often faced--and would continue to face--simply because of his heavy Texas drawl. A Southern accent was often associated with close minded racism, narrow provinciality, and a general lack of erudition. Consequently, Johnson saw many occasions in which he was not taken seriously merely because of his manner of speech. It was interesting that many of those who looked down on Johnson on account of his accent and speech were themselves liberals who professed hatred of all forms of discrimination.

Johnson's problem in foreign policy was certainly not that he didn't have a set of working historical assumptions. He had a very definite historical view of the previous thirty or more years. Johnson had seen weakness and lack of resolution produce undesirable, often disastrous results. Richard was sure that Johnson clearly remembered the Munich agreement of 1938 in which Great Britain and France allowed Germany to annex part of Czechoslovakia with the hope that Hitler was telling the truth when he said that he had no further territorial ambitions in Europe. Johnson probably thought that if the United States had been better prepared militarily in the late '30's, Germany and Japan would not have been as ambitious and aggressive. More recently, President Kennedy in 1962 had found it necessary to stand up to the Soviets and make them move their missiles from Cuba.

Lyndon Johnson knew it might not be very popular to send young boys into armed combat, but the line against the Communists had to be drawn in Vietnam. History would show that Lyndon Johnson had not been afraid to draw it. He agreed with what Santayana had said, "He who does not learn from the mistakes of history is condemned to repeat them." He might have profited more by being aware that he who relies too heavily on the lessons of history risks defeat by the changes of time.

After criticism of the war mounted throughout the nation and doubts were expressed by some of his closest advisers, Johnson refused to pay much attention to any discouraging dissent and persisted in adhering to the ongoing policies. He felt that to soften the policies that had been pursued for the previous two years would be tantamount to an admission of error on the part of the United States and ultimately, on his part. He was not fully conscious of his motivations, but he knew he had to remain steadfast--he would not yield to criticism and pessimism. Johnson found that it helped to ridicule the obstructionists. To him, Senator J. William Fulbright, Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and critic of the war, was frustrated because he had no chance to become President. Under Secretary of State George W. Ball, Johnson said, always had to squat whenever he went to the toilet. At staff meetings, Johnson would often break into extended monologues full of complaints about different matters, including the lack of sympathy and understanding of his critics as well as lack of appreciation from many individuals and groups for whom he had done much. The long, lamenting speeches would ramble on. They were unrelated to the business at hand, but hardly anyone would interrupt for fear of precipitating one of those temper tantrums that he could easily have. For Lyndon Johnson, as for many other people, there was no place for failure.

The Presidents who preceded Johnson had committed the United States to greater military and economic involvement without defining clear overall strategy or an ultimate limit to U.S. participation in South Vietnamese affairs. Yet, in spite of his predecessors' policies, it could not be said that their policies had forced Johnson into an inevitable course of action. Richard remembered that in 1965 many people were speculating on whether John Kennedy would have taken the same actions in extending the Vietnam War as had Johnson. There were many arguments on both sides of the debate, but it was generally agreed that the issue could not be conclusively resolved one way or another. Yet, there was a totally plausible argument that could be made that Kennedy would have drawn the line and refused to bomb North Vietnam or send in ground troops. This decision would have been based partly on the sobering experience he went through in the Cuban invasion, after which he expressed serious misgivings over the advice of the "experts." It could have also been plausibly argued that Eisenhower would not have escalated the war to the extent that Johnson had because of his familiarity and distrust of the military establishment. Still others could be compared to Johnson such as Adlai Stevenson. In any case, there were other men, with different perspectives and personalities, who could have been President in 1965 and who may have taken a different direction in Vietnam. In the short term, a different man as President might well have meant less suffering in Vietnam. In the long term, a much different set of events would have been set in motion that would have meant a big difference in the future affairs of the nation. The difference could have meant that different men would have later acceded to the Presidency, which would have meant, among other things, a different makeup of the Supreme Court and a different tenor in the administration of government. Individuals did make a difference.

Richard wondered what other considerations had been made in escalating the war by Johnson and the administration's officials, men like Special Advisors McGeorge Bundy and Walter W. Rostow, Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara, and Secretary of State Dean Rusk. He could see why the war had been escalated if the civilian officials had paid too much attention to the military leaders.

Since being out here, he had gotten a much better idea how military officers, especially career men--thought and worked. The worst ones were the "ring knockers" which is what they called the West Pointers because supposedly they would often tap their West Point rings on their desks. The ring knockers were the ultimate, super-dedicated career men who dressed impeccably, always went by the book, willingly did more than their share of work, and thought everyone else should have the same attitude. The views of such men had been molded by the Cold War and before that by the aggression of Nazism and Fascism, so it was understandable to a certain extent that they saw the world in the terms that they did. Yet, Richard thought, they could still show a little more flexibility and openness--a little more consideration for the needs and aspirations of other nations. They could also learn to think more of those soldiers that they commanded as individuals. Of course, that was hard because one doesn't want to think too much about those whom one is often sending forward to death. Perhaps, it was inevitable that those who made the military a career had to be head-strong, fervently patriotic, and rigidly conservative. Yet, there were numerous exceptions. Naturally, the more moderate ones often didn't get very high up in the ranks. They could go as far as lieutenant colonel and then that was the dividing line. Richard knew you had to be pretty intense to go beyond that. Yet, even generals could be imaginative and open to changing situations. An example was General James Gavin who, Richard had heard, opposed the war.

Of course, it was also true that many of the noncareer officers could be just as gung ho and rigid. Richard particularly resented them. He realized that his resentment was sometimes unreasonable and based to a great extent on the fact that he--the graduate of a good college--had to take orders from guys who were so much more ignorant than he. There were many officers (ROTC 90-day wonders) who had only attended college for a couple of years. There were some who had graduated from college, but they were often rinky-dink schools like Baptist Bible College and Oakwood College. Worst of all, they treated him like any other enlisted man without knowing that he had graduated from UCLA, a university with an international reputation in many fields.

Given that those in the military often showed a skewed vision of things, Richard thought, it was good that in the U.S. there was the tradition that civilians made the ultimate military decisions. Yet, that didn't seem to be enough. People had to learn to be more skeptical of the competence of military men in making political judgments, even after they had become civilians. Voters also had to learn to be more reluctant of becoming hero worshippers and not to elect men to political office primarily on the basis of past military exploits. This had happened several times in the election of Presidents who had not turned out to be very good ones. U.S. Grant was considered one of the worst Presidents of all. Eisenhower was given credit for ending the Korean War, but a truce would have probably been signed before long anyway. There were no other major wars or crises during his administration, but that was more a matter of circumstance and not a matter of any dynamic or imaginative leadership on his part. Richard thought Theodore Roosevelt was overrated.

Civilian leaders also had to be more wary of any purely military advice that touched on political affairs, no matter how indirectly. It wouldn't be surprising if the Johnson administration had gotten deeply into the war because of undue reliance on military reports and judgments of the political situation. In fact, a lack of accurate information on the immediate situation here in Vietnam could very well be creating a cloudy picture for both the civilian officials as well as the members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Richard could very easily see how this could happen. For one thing, it was surely hard for Westmoreland and other generals in Vietnam to accurately assess U.S. capabilities in view of the artificial constraints that they were being forced to work under. They were primarily trained and experienced in conventional warfare and were less familiar with the exasperating defense against guerrilla warfare. Another factor that added to confusion in properly gauging the military situation was the fact that in the back of their minds the generals knew that ultimately the U.S. had the capacity to wipe out the entire country of North Vietnam if it really decided to do so. The unrestricted use of well-armed ground troops, full-scale air attacks, and even nuclear weapons could bring the North down in a matter of months. With this in mind, it was hard for the generals to draw the line on American ability.

More important than these considerations, however, was the way that information was passed and false impressions were manufactured in the military. It was the widespread idea that a good impression had to be given even if it was a false one. It was a military custom that had probably been established centuries ago. Richard had seen this phenomenon many times in inspections and other rituals. An inspection would be announced; the officers and NCO's would scurry around worried that everything should be put in top shape. They would give orders to all the men that everything should be put in perfect condition and be made sparkling clean. No detail was to be left unattended. Living quarters were to be spotlessly clean with every inch of floor waxed and brightly shined. All personal items and equipment had to be immaculately clean and in perfect order according to strict rules first learned in basic training. Boots and shoes had to be set in the correct order, and they had to be beautifully spit-shined. The dirt that collected in between the soles and the uppers had to be literally cleaned out with a toothbrush. Clothing and uniforms also had a prescribed order of placement with all metal buttons and medals brightly polished. Beds had to be made perfectly with the sheets in hospital corners. Even nonmilitary items had a prescribed order, and they were closely examined like everything else. Richard remembered once in basic training that his D.I. had gotten after him for not having completely cleaned the entire inside of the cap of his toothpaste tube. Great emphasis was placed on presenting the proper veneer of good order and discipline. Afterwards, if the inspection went well, the officers and NCO's could be assured that it would be another good mark on their record, which would help in gaining that coveted promotion. In peacetime, such achievement was an important measure of accomplishment and leadership ability. This emphasis on cleanliness and order wasn't as strong out here in the field. With the fighting going on, these matters were seen in their truly trivial proportions. Out here in the bush, however, the desire to give a good impression was just as prevalent in more important matters.

It was unfortunate that Johnson and his advisers couldn't get out here and really get a first hand look at this situation. Richard wondered whether it had always been that top military leaders didn't get out in the front to have a good look at things, or whether this was a more recent phenomenon, which was the result of modern mass warfare. Somehow he had always had the impression that great military leaders in history like Alexander the Greek, Caesar, or Napoleon, had at least sometimes gotten a first hand look for themselves at exactly what was happening on the front lines. Richard felt angry that Johnson and his men weren't out here more often and didn't insist on getting a true picture of everything. Perhaps, he shouldn't feel so hostile and bitter, but here he and all these other guys were getting shot at while those fuddy-duddies in Washington played their little war games on their cute little strategy boards. He wondered how dirty they had ever gotten in fighting a war or in anything for that matter. How willing would they be to continue this war if they also had to come out here and do the actual fighting? Had they really tried to imagine what it would feel like to be out here before they escalated the war? Richard thought they probably thought about the loss of American lives and maybe even the gooks. But had it been only in a detached sense of looking at statistics or making a cost-benefit analysis? Had they really tried to imagine on an emotional basis what would be felt? He had heard that Johnson had been in the Navy in World War II but had not seen much combat. At least Kennedy had seen some action, although it was not in the infantry. He couldn't imagine too many of the other big men being in very hot action. They had mostly been professors and intellectuals from Harvard and other big-name Ivy League-type schools.

This was another irony that these men of such high caliber should seem so eager to get the country involved in a violent and brutal war. It would seem that they would have shown more reluctance and sensitivity. It would seem that they could keep the situation very well under control by exercising good judgment at all times. Then again, it was very understandable in certain ways. For one thing, they were afraid as academics (or at least highly educated men) to be called too soft and fearful. They had to show they were tough, too, especially since they wanted to please their boss Johnson who--Richard was sure--influenced their thinking.

Perhaps most important was their eagerness to please and accomplish goals that had been established long before in their lives. After all, they had gotten into the posts they occupied through incessant dedication to hard work on difficult tasks. These men weren't really intellectuals. They were administrators or even administrative technicians. They had worked hard to get their Ph.D.'s or other degrees, and then they had become very capable administrators. McNamara had been a big success at Ford Motor Company and McGeorge Bundy had been a dean at Harvard, for instance. In all their lives since grade school, these men had probably never really known failure, and perhaps that was their Achilles heel. They had never had to get down to reassess things from the ground up in order to examine basic assumptions. Ultimate purposes had always been taken for granted. Their tasks had been to find the best way to get to the end of the line, and they had done this very well. There was an anecdote concerning Secretary of State Rusk. It was said that if someone were to come up to Rusk to tell him that they had a foolproof and simple plan for quickly ending the war, Rusk would have dismissed the person, telling him that he was too busy to listen at the moment because he had to plan the following week's bombing missions.

Richard had to admit that McNamara had shown some guts when he had stepped down as Secretary of Defense on March 1, 1968. He had then been appointed by Johnson to the position of president of the World Bank. McNamara apparently no longer wanted to be Secretary because he no longer believed that the U.S. should continue the war effort and because he could not convince Johnson that deescalation was the course to follow. Richard respected McNamara for having enough insight and courage to recommend a retreat from previous policies that he had helped establish.

This was no doubt hard to do for a man who had been trained under the traditions and realities of corporate management. One of the prime rules of corporate management was cooperation and compromise with fellow managers. It had been pointed out by sociological writers that the modern corporation did not really encourage old-fashioned individualism. Instead, it encouraged the development of the administrator who could be a solid, loyal member of a good team. Sound thinking was still valued, but it had to be done within the context of the smoothly functioning organization. It was like football and other team sports. It was, therefore, quite a bold step for McNamara to start clearly disagreeing with other officials, although there were some officials who were also on his side. It was also difficult for someone like McNamara who had enjoyed a successful career to admit mistakes. Richard figured that for those thoroughly imbued with the fervor of careerism, it was very tempting to cover up mistakes, to hope somehow for a favorable outcome, and then to emerge blameless in the end. Apart from career considerations, there was also the matter of ego, which made even the most moral of men perceive reality from a distorted angle.

Richard thought again, however, and wondered whether he was being overly sympathetic toward McNamara. The man had shown a certain amount of courage, but had he gone as far as he should have? He had given up his position as Secretary of Defense rather quietly. He made no bold statements about the war and the way it was being conducted. He made no clear comment about any doubts he might have on the future possibilities of U.S. success or about any regrets as to past actions. What bothered Richard was whether McNamara was in a sense morally obligated to speak out more openly and even actively oppose further United States involvement. After all, he did have a certain amount of blood on his hands, and if he had doubts about the war afterward, he should have perhaps been expected to speak out to the American people and inform them of the great folly that was being committed in their name. But no, he still wanted a secure, respectable position like the one at the World Bank, Richard thought angrily.

Richard wondered what some of the other officials were like. He didn't know that much about them but had developed an idea of what McGeorge Bundy was like. He could have been wrong, but he couldn't help but form the impression. He had gotten the idea from a few pictures he had seen of Bundy in magazines and a few facts he had picked up about him. Richard mainly had a clear image of what Bundy must have been like as a kid, and he figured he probably hadn't changed much since then. Bundy was probably one of those studious types who was intensely serious and well behaved. He wouldn't be surprised if he were to find out that Bundy had started using a brief case in the fourth grade. He probably had not had very much of a sense of humor and probably couldn't stand those who disrupted the class with wisecracks. Richard had known several serious, hard-working, respectable boys like McGeorge Bundy and couldn't help but wish that they could be out here now--with mud on their faces.

In September, 1965, in Dodge City, Kansas, Kathy Brown was starting her first year of high school. It was exciting and, at the same time, frightening. She was nervous over what it would be like for the next four years. She looked at the older students like the seniors and felt intimidated. They seemed so much more mature and confident of themselves. Kathy realized that she had a lot of growing up to do. Four years from now, she would be very different if only in a physical sense, but it was more likely that it would be a more far-reaching change. There were over 2000 students in the high school. This made it much larger than any school she had ever attended. She felt lost with all those students around, and at the same time, it was fun to be able to see so many different people at all times. She was fascinated by the many cute boys there were to be seen. She was very hopeful that the next four years would be filled with interesting friends, joyous adventure, and enchanting romance. It could turn out to be a wonderful experience.

Still, doubts would set in as soon as she began feeling optimistic. She hadn't been feeling very hopeful about very much lately. She didn't know exactly why, but she just didn't feel very happy. Actually, she realized that she had felt a certain dissatisfaction for many years now. In the last year, however, it had become especially perplexing. For one thing, Kathy had noticed that boys just didn't pay that much attention to her. Many were friendly, but they were indifferent to her sexually. Yet, it was different for some of her friends. They got plenty of stares and remarks about their physical attractiveness. Sometimes they received more attention than they could handle. Kathy didn't want to be the most attractive girl around, but she did dream of being sexy enough to get at least some attention. She knew that her face was pretty; she had no doubt about that. Her problem was that she was very skinny. She tried to eat as much as she could, but it didn't help at all. She just couldn't gain weight, no matter how much she ate. Her breasts had hardly grown at all. Some of the other girls like her friend Nancy had developed quickly. Nancy received stares from boys all the time. Recently, there was one incident that hurt Kathy deeply. It happened when she overheard some boys talking about Nancy and other girls. The boys weren't aware that Kathy could overhear what they were saying, although if they had been, it probably would not have made any difference in what they said. Kathy heard one of the boys ask snickeringly, "Hey, how about old Kathy?"

"Oh," answered another one in a tone of disgust, "she's flat as a board."

"Yeah," added another one, "and she'll probably never get any better. She's hopeless." They all laughed.

Kathy knew that the most important consideration in being desired by boys was physical attractiveness. If you didn't have that, it was rough going. After all, men always gloated over voluptuous movie stars. You never saw them get very excited over either skinny or fat girls. Kathy dreaded the thought of not ever being attractive enough. She felt she wouldn't be able to stand herself otherwise, and her doubts made her feel very uncomfortable with herself. She wanted very much to someday meet some wonderful boy and have a beautiful love affair. She feared this may not ever happen.

The other unpleasant dilemma that Kathy faced was her relationship with her parents. She was now starting to realize that the relationship had been unsatisfactory and turbulent for a long time. She was always arguing with her mother, and her father seemed very cold and distant. He had a good job as a plumber, but he often came home tired and didn't seem to want to talk very much. She felt as if she hardly knew him. He didn't seem to care very much about her or anyone else in the family. He was dutiful and dependable, but it didn't seem as if there were much else to him. Her mother and father hardly ever talked for very long, and when they did, it was usually an argument. She was sure that her marriage would not be like their dull one. She knew that she could pick the right boy, and they would live happily.

Kathy was always arguing with her mother over rules that her mother was always laying down. To Kathy, it seemed that her mother was full of rules, prohibitions, and warnings that were simply oppressive and unreasonable. The rules related to every aspect of living. For instance, Kathy could only wear certain kinds of clothes. The clothes couldn't be too gaudy or expensive according to her mother's judgment. She had to have her room arranged in a way that would meet her mother's approval. She could only leave the house to go to her friends' houses or to shop downtown at certain times and days. She couldn't even try wearing a little makeup once in a while. She couldn't smoke but both her parents did. There were many other prohibitions, some of which Kathy could understand. She could see no justification for most of them. What bothered her the most was that her mother would offer no explanation, and if she did, it rarely made sense. This was what precipitated the arguments. Kathy would insist upon receiving a good explanation, but mostly Mrs. Brown would become nervous and impatient, get mad, and yell, "I'm your mother, and I know what I'm talking about. I've lived a lot longer than you have, and I've been through a lot more. It's for your own good."

Kathy wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe that her mother really cared and loved for her like she said, but the rules that she was always setting seemed meant to merely obstruct and not to aid in any way. She would have just liked for her mother to sit down to give some reasons behind all the rules.

Her mother had recently warned her to be careful about becoming pregnant. The admonitions were veiled and indirect, but they were clearly intended. Mrs. Brown had mentioned that Kathy was now at "that age" and that she would have to be careful about boys. If Kathy got in trouble, her father would be very sad, and it would be a disgrace for the entire family. Her mother didn't say much beyond that. She didn't mention any dire consequences to Kathy or to a possible unwanted baby. Kathy mentioned, ''What about birth control pills or things like that? They help, don't they?"

Her mother glared at her momentarily and then answered curtly,"Yes, I think they' re supposed to, but I don't know how well." She then went on to quickly change the subject. She was clearly nervous and reluctant to discuss sex and birth control in great detail. It was typical, Kathy thought. Her mother had always been uncomfortable when the subject of sex was brought up. She would usually make a few superficial remarks and then quickly change the subject. Kathy's mother never discussed sexual love or sexual reproduction with her. At some point, it was just assumed that Kathy knew all about it, and any remarks on the subject started with that assumption. Kathy knew that she had to be careful about pregnancy, but she resented her mother's attitude. It seemed that her mother was just interested in Kathy's avoiding pregnancy by avoiding sex completely. It was not realistic, Kathy thought. Surely her mother knew that sex was a pleasurable experience, if not to her then to most other people. It was just a rigidly puritanical attitude that made her find abstinence as the only solution. Again, Kathy saw it as a case of her mother not getting down to level with her, and she couldn't respect her for that.

Kathy also strongly disliked the fact that her two older brothers weren't given as many rules to follow as she was. It was true that they were also given a large number of irrational orders to follow and that they also complained--sometimes violently. Still, it didn't seem as bad as it was for her. Her father always stayed out of the arguments. He would tacitly back the mother. If anyone of the kids appealed to him for mediation, he would Just restrainedly say, "Listen to what your mother says." It seemed to Kathy that by the way he looked at them at times, when there was an argument going on, he didn't agree or at least didn't understand what their mother was trying to do. Yet, he didn't interfere. Kathy did remember hearing them argue when she was very young over what the children should do, but it never happened after that.

If only, Kathy thought, there weren't so many confusing rules. She believed there had to be some rules to live by. It was just that all the confusing rules made her want to rebel against everything and fantasize about living a completely wild and carefree existence.

Then there were times when she felt deeply depressed. She didn't understand why that happened. It didn't always happen when there was a definite event, like a family argument, that could be explained as the cause of the dejected feelings. There was a fantasy of Kathy's that often came to her when she felt depressed. It seemed to offer her emotional release, and she enjoyed indulging her thoughts in its implications. Sometimes, the thought lingered in her mind for more than a moment that the fantasy would solve her problems. It would solve the turmoil and end the sharp emotional pain that she often felt. More importantly, the part of the fantasy that she most liked to explore was that in which all her family and friends were seen standing around her body at the burial services in a cemetery. They would all be crying, distraught. They would be thinking and saying that they should have appreciated Kathy much more when she was alive, that she was a truly wonderful, likeable person who shouldn't have taken her life.

Richard went back to thinking about what he had been doing in 1965. He thought it was in the spring that he had taken a course in political science with a particularly argumentative student who used to get into frequent and extended discussions with the professor. Many of the students, including Richard, used to think the student was a nuisance, mainly because he would come up with ideas and theories that seemed outlandish. He was well informed, serious, and very articulate, but he appeared to have a strange perspective on matters in comparison with the views of most of the other students. Some of the students strongly disliked him because he sounded overly rebellious. Richard used to sit next to a student who would often comment when the argumentative student used to begin speaking, "There's that pain-in-the-ass traitor again."

Richard couldn't remember very well what the discussions were about, but he thought now that if he had known as much as he did today, he would have been much more interested in the discussions. Most of the discussions were particularly relevant because the Vietnam War was being escalated and, in April, President Johnson had sent Marines to the Dominican Republic. Richard was still not clear on what the situation had been in Santo Domingo, except that it was claimed that Communists were trying to take over the government. He remembered one particularly intense discussion that centered on the Truman Doctrine and the 1947 Greek civil war from which it originated. The talkative student claimed that the United States should not have given such broad support to the Greek government and that it set a bad precedent in U.S. foreign policy for dealing with justifiable revolutions. "It was a repressive, undemocratic regime. The U.S. should have insisted on democratic reforms. Even better, it could have shown greater willingness to deal with the rebels even if they were Communists. By listening to them, the Truman administration could have very possibly won their loyalty and diverted them from siding with Russia."

The professor answered, "l personally am sympathetic to those views, but I'm not sure that the United States had much choice. There was great pressure from the Soviet Union . . . " The student and the professor went back and forth in their discussion for several minutes.

One night, one of Richard's fraternity brothers who had that same class came into the house from studying in the library. He was laughing uncontrollably and announced that he and some friends had "depantsed" the talkative student. "You know, the traitor," he said. "He resisted as hard as he could, but there were four of us. Some girls passed by, and we could hear them giggling. We threw his pants up in a tree and took off. There's no way he could climb up that tree without tearing his shorts." The frat brother went on guffawing madly.

Richard thought back on the various events of 1965 and wondered whether it couldn't be considered a pivotal year in United States social history, much like 1955 had been. There was, of course, the emergence of the Vietnam War as the predominant national problem. Draft cards were burned and young draft eligible boys started to flee to Canada rather than be inducted. One man protested by doing what various Buddhist monks had done in South Vietnam in repudiation of the Saigon government. He died in Washington, D.C. by setting himself on fire. The government and universities both came under scrutiny, along with almost every other institution in American life. Ralph Nader emerged as a consumer advocate with his book Unsafe At Any Speed which pointed out the safety hazards of the General Motors automobile, the Corvair. Starting in 1965, the black movement would be more clearly marked by violence and militancy. In Selma, Alabama, marchers had to be protected by 4,000 Federal troops sent by President Johnson because of the threat of white violence. In Watts, 35 people were killed and millions of dollars in property destroyed. There had been race riots before, but none received the attention that Watts did.

The miniskirt became widely popular. Jefferson Poland and others went nude bathing in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco to show that there was a need for people to overcome their sexual inhibitions. The Sexual Freedom League grew out of this. Andy Warhol made long, outrageous films. In popular music. There was the Folk Rock movement with lyrics that were more serious and meaningful than before. Perhaps, a folk song in 1965 was "Eve of Destruction" by Barry McGuire. Some groups made hits of Bob Dylan songs. Sonny and Cher came out on the TV show "Shindig" in tattered clothes and sang "I've Got You, Babe," which pointed out that it didn't matter to them that they were poor and downtrodden. Then there were the Rolling Stones. They were not in the folk rock genre, but their lyrics and style had a challenging tone which came through in songs like "Heart of Stone," "Play with Fire," "The Last Time," "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction," "Get Off My Cloud." Richard remembered reading an article in Time magazine that compared them to the Angry Young Men, some young British writers of the '50' s.

Richard remembered seeing the Stones perform live at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium in early '65. The concert presented various stars and was later turned into a movie called The T.A.M.I. Show. He went with an old friend Ralph Pettibon who had become a Rolling Stones fan. Richard wasn't very fond of the Stones at the time and couldn't very well see what people saw in them. Now, he could appreciate much better what attracted people to them. They appeared in sloppy clothes. They were not neat and clean or dressed in uniform suits like other groups. Brian Jones had on a striped rugby shirt, Mick Jagger had an old sport jacket over a tieless shirt. The others wore a variety of other items. They had dressed much the same way when they came out on the respectable "Ed Sullivan Show." Mick Jagger had a worn sweat shirt. On TV, they would not smile when the cameras closed in on them. Instead, they looked sullen and defiant. It didn't seem that they cared whether they were popular and well accepted. They were just there to do their thing, and if people happened to like them, it was fine. Their hair was extra long, and their critics liked to point out that they were ugly.

All these factors made them a real contrast to the Beatles and other groups--both contemporary ones and all those that had preceded. The Beatles had always dressed neatly and worn matching outfits. They wore inviting smiles and looked innocent and wholesome. Their songs and lyrics were usually cheerful and optimistic. This was what made them acceptable to parents. However, by the middle of 1965, the Beatles themselves (or at least John Lennon) were also becoming slightly more iconoclastic. Lennon made the comment that it seemed, from the way people behaved, that the Beatles were more important than God. Some people protested and publicly burned Beatle records and souvenirs, especially in the southern United States. Lennon retracted the statement.

34

"Hell, I don't know why we have to go back to Danang just for some damn Senator," griped Gore.

"It's just a bunch of bullshit," added Mason.

"It's just like the fucking Army," said Majszak, "always making a mountain out of a mole hill. Just trying to impress some goddamn big cheese by giving him a bunch of bull."

"Shit, I don't know why the hell the whole company has to go back there and go through this phony inspection," complained Roy, "when the Senator is the one who should come out here and spend a few days with us to see what's really happening."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, he just wants to get his name in the papers," commented Henry, "and make sure the folks back home read them and then go out and fucking vote for him the next election. I don't think he really wants to know what's happening out here."

"For one thing," said Gore, "he's too chicken shit." Everybody laughed.

The Company was transported to Danang where it and companies from the other battalions from the I Corps--the northernmost military sector of South Vietnam--were to participate in a parade inspection. The inspection was to be held for Senator Winston Gaines, a Democrat from Wisconsin. Gaines was not an outspoken supporter of the Vietnam War by any means but neither was he opposed to it. Rather, he went along with it for several reasons. For one, he was a Democrat and felt he had to be loyal to the President of his own party even though he might not agree totally with his policies. He felt he had to support what were in essence the policies of his own party for the sake of party solidarity. He also had to admit that he was afraid to lose the support of his constituents if he were to take a strong stand against the war. He just didn't feel that the people of his state were ready to call for United States withdrawal from Vietnam at this time. Perhaps, later on they would be, but for the time being, Gaines thought it would be politically suicidal to announce opposition to U.S. military participation.

This fear of defeat if he took an antiwar stand was not merely based on political cynicism and personal self-interest. He sincerely felt that in a few years there would have to be a drastic change in events--one way or the other. Either, the United States would emerge with what could be considered a military victory, or the American people would begin clamoring for an end to United States involvement. When that time came, Gaines was sure he would speak out fervently against the war. In the meantime, if he kept quiet, he would be better able to ride out the storm and remain in office in order to propose and support governmental policies and domestic programs that he deeply believed in and that were necessary for the good of the country. The few years necessary for the tide to turn would pass quickly, and although he realized that there would be some additional cost in terms of lives and money, he still thought it was the best course of action to take.

The G.I.'s that were to participate in the formation were told that the Senator could very well pick some of them at random in the formation and ask them questions on what conditions and attitudes were like in Vietnam. Captain Look talked to the company on the subject.

"As you know, the Army does believe that a soldier should be able to express his opinion and present any grievances he may have. But as you have been told many times before, any complaints should be sent up the chain of command. If you have any gripes, you present them to your NCO, who will present them to your platoon leader, who will pass it on to me. After that if none of us can resolve the problem, or at least set your mind at ease on the matter, then I'll forward the complaint up the ladder to the battalion commander and on up the chain of command.

"Of course, the Army can't stop a soldier if he wants to write or talk to a Congressman or Senator. But the Army does very much prefer that the soldier go through the chain of command. At the inspection today, although the Army can't say that you can't tell the Senator what you think, the Army would prefer that you focus on the more positive aspects of what is going on out here and that you realize that there is a lot of good being done. And finally, while the Army can't punish you directly for what you tell the Senator, you know that it can make life hard for you."

All the soldiers arrived in Danang without any problem, and the inspection began on time. Only a few selected units participated in the formation since an adequate number of soldiers had to be left at the base camps. The Senator went through the ranks with his customary wide smile. He shook the hands of some of the troops and asked a few questions. The questions he asked were not intended to draw very long discussion, but they were more probing than those asked by most visiting VIP's.

"How is the Army treating you out here, all right?"

"Fine, sir," answered a soldier.

"Are you getting all the necessary items you need?"

"Yes, sir."

The Senator moved on and asked another soldier. "Have you had any problems in getting your mail, soldier?"

"No, sir."

He asked a third soldier further down the line. "How do the Vietnamese people like us out here? All right?"

"Just fine, sir. They like us."

He went to a fourth soldier. "Does it look like we're making progress out here in keeping the country free?"

"Yes, sir. We sure are. The VC are definitely weakening."

The Senator went on to ask a few more soldiers similar questions and received similar answers. His walk through the ranks did not take very long--not more than 10 minutes. He walked back to a small platform that had been set up with a microphone so that he could talk and be heard by all the troops. He had a beaming, satisfied smile. He quickly stepped to the microphone to give a speech.

"It really makes me happy to be here and to see all of you in such great shape. You guys look just great. It really makes me proud of you, and believe me the American people feel just as proud of you. You're all doing a magnificent job out here, and we want you to keep up the good work. You can be assured that your time and torture--and I know that it has been torture--here in Vietnam will not be in vain. I know that peace is at hand and that it won't be long before we win this mighty struggle."

Applause and cheers were heard from the men. Richard, like a few others, was starting to squirm uncomfortably and to a certain extent angrily at what had gone on. Richard knew that the soldiers weren't answering the questions they had been asked by the Senator either truthfully or sincerely. Even if those particular soldiers who had been asked the questions had answered sincerely, there were many others who were itching to tell their full, honest impressions. But even if they had been asked, they would have been too afraid or confused to answer differently from those G.I.'s who had actually been asked. He knew that he probably would have answered no differently in spite of a strong urge to spill out his full impressions. The Senator continued. It sounded so familiarly optimistic and similar to other speeches he had often heard back in the States.

"When we do win, it will be a great victory by the forces of freedom against those who are intent upon tearing down that precious freedom and imposing their way of life upon others through violence and death. Historically, it will be an important victory in which people will later say that the United States took a brave stand against those who through totalitarianism and brutal control would suppress the grandeur and spirit of man. They will say that we took this bold defense of freedom at a time which--if we had not done so--would have meant the eventual decline of democracy throughout Asia and would have had drastic repercussions throughout the world.

"Now, you know that there have been demonstrations against our involvement in Vietnam but always remember that this is but a small minority taking part. The vast majority of Americans are 100% behind you and don't forget it. They appreciate what you are doing for the country and for the Vietnamese. I know you get angry to hear about these demonstrations and protests but remember that although it is disagreeable, it is all part of the very freedom you are fighting for here. We have to put up with it because its the practice of that very freedom that we must defend throughout the world.

"Finally, let me repeat once again that we love you and are very proud of you and what you are doing. But remember that you too must be proud as soldiers--and all the rest of us must be proud as citizens--to be serving the greatest country in the world."

35

Richard was going to Saigon. He was going on a three day pass. It wasn't an official leave. Soldiers were allowed to travel for a day or two within the country whenever they could be spared, without having the time count as official leave time. He was going to Saigon because he had for a long time been curious about what that city was like. He had heard many things about it--both interesting and frightening stories. He had already gone on an R&R tour the previous August in Bangkok. He had been impressed by the city--its beautiful architecture, its beautiful gardens, its beautiful, petite women. Thailand was a much more quiet country than Vietnam since it was not in a state of war. Richard met and talked to several American servicemen stationed in Thailand who said they were enjoying themselves thoroughly. For the most part, they had very simple and easy duties, there was plenty of recreation, and they didn't have the psychological pressures that automatically come from being stationed in a war zone. The best part was that for very little money they could get Thai girls to clean their living places, wash their clothes, and give them all the sexual pleasure they wanted.

Richard had enjoyed himself in Bangkok. He had mostly taken advantage of the week that he spent there just to relax and pass some time away from the field. He had spent one night with a nice looking prostitute, but he had not felt any more need for sexual satisfaction for several days. He even surprised himself to see that he was very content just to be in an urban atmosphere away from the steaming, malaria-ridden jungles of Vietnam. Now he wanted to see what Saigon was like. He craved sex much more now than before when he had gone to Bangkok.

Richard left with four other men from Company A. They first went to Chu Lai, then to Danang in order to catch a military plane to Saigon. On their way to Chu Lai, they passed near Dogpatch the small village now dedicated mainly for the purpose of making money off American G.I.'s. Most of the houses were made of straw and leaves and looked identical to the huts that were to be found in villages throughout Vietnam. There were a few houses that had been more recently constructed and stood out in contrast to the traditional huts. These "modern" shacks were made entirely of flat beer cans. They presented a turbulent array of the various colors used by American beer manufacturers. There was filth throughout. Green sewage could be seen in the culverts, and there were flies everywhere. Emaciated dogs roamed the dirt streets looking for food, along with children who were continually on the look out for G.I.'s from whom to beg.

On a road, an old man had a small stand where he sold as souvenirs Viet Cong flags smattered with chicken blood. Young G.l.'s could buy these and tell people back home that they had taken the flags off dead Viet Cong soldiers. There were several whorehouses in Dogpatch, just as there were in any other village situated near an American military base, Whores stood in front of the doors in American style clothes and with faces caked with cosmetics. They made obscene gestures to entice the passing soldiers and yelled out the prices of the human merchandise. All the while, permeating the entire village was a foul, vexatious stench that lingered in the air continually.

Richard talked for most of the trip with Jerry Galbraith. Richard had talked with Galbraith briefly a few times before and had found him interesting and very articulate. Galbraith told Richard that he had attended Morehouse College in Atlanta--the same college from which Martin Luther King, Jr. had graduated. Galbraith had only attended two years. He had gotten married in his second year and then had run into financial difficulties that had made him drop out. Apart from money problems, Galbraith had also become tired and bored with school. He had reached a point where he could not see how the subjects he was studying related to the kind of employment and pursuits most people followed after graduation. Neither were his studies very related to his present personal and social interests. He had dropped out of college in order to get his mind clear and with the intention of returning soon to finish. He knew that it was an advantage to have a college degree and was determined to get one. He figured he was only going to drop out for a semester--too short a period of time for the draft board to catch him. He figured wrong, He was determined to go back to finish, and Richard believed he would do it. Galbraith was intense and strong of will.

Galbraith was quiet, independent, and kept to himself to a great extent, although he was often sociable and friendly. He was well informed on various contemporary political and social issues, but he was especially interested in racial problems. "You know," he told Richard, "I don't hate white people, I mean I can't, man. I can't because I'm aware of the fact that, this whole thing of hatred of black people is mainly a matter of white insecurity. I mean I sort of feel sorry for all those psychologically insecure whites who have to resort to prejudice, and the biggest hangup for them is what is called the Miss Anne problem.

"Now, 'Miss Anne' refers to the white man's fear that goes way back. It's a fear that the white man has of allowing white women to have any social contact with black dudes. They can't stand the idea that if integration is allowed, a number of white women and black men might actually start falling in love and getting married. Then white men would be left out, or at least the field of desirable white women would be more restricted for them. This fear is partly based on blind irrationality and partly on the myth perpetrated by white men themselves that black men have superior, mysterious sexual powers. I'm sure, for instance, you've heard all the gossip and jokes about black men having bigger dicks. All this makes white men look with horror upon interracial marriage, except that for years--back to the days of slavery--they've been sexually exploiting black women every time they had a chance."

Richard was surprised to hear someone talk directly about what he had before decided was an important cause of racism. On the other hand, he didn't completely agree with Galbraith's analysis. He offered his opinion, "I've thought about it all along the same lines. I don't think that the explanation lies in what so many people argue--that differences in poverty, education, and segregated living alone are what create race hatred and that wiping out these differences will by itself eliminate racism. That's only a partial explanation. I don't think you can say that white males were alone responsible for inventing race prejudice, especially that directed against black people. I think there were and are plenty of white women who had hate feelings that arose on their own and weren't necessarily related to sex.

"I think it's definitely got to do with physical attractiveness in general. It's a matter of whites thinking that people with a dark complexion or different facial features are somehow undesirable or inferior. It's an attitude that is formed and passed on without much thought for the reason behind it. So it goes on without being questioned. Of course, the fact that those "inferior" people are for the most part relatively poor and lacking in education adds to the feeling of prejudice. The whole thing behind it is that these prejudiced people are making judgments on the basis of superficial traits and appearances. Even though most of them would agree that it's the inner person that counts and that you can't judge a book by its cover, they don't realize that that is exactly what they're doing."

Galbraith and Richard went on discussing the underlying feelings and thoughts behind purely racial prejudice. Before they realized it, they were coming into Saigon. Here they would--in the next few days--try to forget everything and enjoy themselves as fully as possible. Before long, they realized that it would be difficult to relax here. The atmosphere was not at all a tranquil one. Any enjoyment would have to be of a more active nature.

The downtown streets were dirty, noisy, and congested with traffic of different kinds. There were cars, mainly French and American. United States military automobiles could often be seen. Buses also traveled the streets along with a large number of motorbikes and pedicabs, which consisted of small coaches that were propelled by a driver on a bicycle-like mechanical arrangement. It quickly became obvious that the economy was mainly centered around Americans, especially young G.I.'s. For many Vietnamese, making a living by trying to sell something to the G.I.'s was the only means of survival now left them. Before, they had lived in small villages far away, but these villes had been evacuated and destroyed by U.S. Army and ARVN troops in the widespread effort to "pacify" the countryside. The resettlement camps in which they were then placed were usually overcrowded and squalid, so they escaped to seek a better life in the cities.

There were all types of businesses that catered to the Americans. There were restaurants, game rooms, souvenir and curio shops, and vastly numerous bars and whorehouses everywhere. The prostitutes were as gaudy and hardened as they were back in Dogpatch or any other area in Vietnam. They were all over, as were the many young boys who roamed the streets looking for soldiers to beg from. The kids asked for the same things they always asked for like cigarettes and candy. They, like everyone else, were friendly, at least up until the time they saw the soldiers were not going to go along with their requests. At that point, they would become angry and often cuss at the G.I.'s. Sometimes, the young boys wouldn't even ask for cigarettes or money; they would just try to get what they wanted. The soldiers were forewarned about this in Danang and again in Saigon, "It's better if you travel in groups, or at least in pairs. Stay on the main streets where there's plenty of people. On an empty side street, a pack of boys are likely to fucking roll you and take everything you got. They won't leave you feeling very good, either. It happens all the time."

In contrast to the pathetic prostitutes, there were reserved, refined girls, usually dressed in white au dais, who kept to themselves and avoided the soldiers and everyone else. They were often very attractive, and the soldiers would see them and long to meet and talk to them. The girls made themselves inaccessible. They were always on motorbikes or pedicabs speedily hurrying to definite destinations. The soldiers often felt resentful of this implicit barrier between these higher class girls and themselves.

It was a barrier very similar to the one that existed between them and the various VIP's of whom they often caught glimpses in Saigon. The soldiers could see all kinds of "big cheeses"--so many, it seemed, that they couldn't understand what they were involved in. There were the numerous military officers--both American and South Vietnamese--who could often be seen going to constantly recurring high level meetings in their expensive staff cars and immaculately arranged dress uniforms with their long strings of assorted medals and decorations. At times, they could be seen going to fancy restaurants and luxurious hotels. Civilians of all kinds would also be seen going to elaborate dinners and sumptuous banquets. Many of the affairs were receptions and parties given by ambassadors for visiting dignitaries such as politicians and government officials from Washington. Then there were the people from the press looking for new and important stories and information. They worked hard at this by attending governmental news conferences or pumping ambassadors and senior military officers for whatever information they could get.

Richard and Galbraith went out together the first night and visited a number of bars. There was nothing particularly unusual in the rounds they made. They saw many drunken, rowdy soldiers. They witnessed a violent, bruising fight in one bar between six American paratroopers and six Marines. The Marines had come into the bar and sat down quietly. Soon everyone started to feel uncomfortable as both the paratroopers and Marines started to trade insults. At first, the insults were expressed at a normal tone of voice then they began to be yelled out. "You pansies couldn't fight yourselves out of a wet paper bag," yelled one of the Marines to the paratroopers in a gruff voice.

"At least, we don't have our heads up our fucking asses like you shit asses," answered a paratrooper.

"You candy-asses always get flown around everywhere in planes and then you never do anything," remarked another Marine as some of his buddies laughed loudly and forcibly.

All of the men were drunk. After a while, two men--one Marine and one paratrooper--jumped up and began fighting. They began by wrestling and then went on to fight with fists. The other men soon jumped into the fray. One of the paratroopers took a chair and tried to hit the Marine who had been in the first pair that began fighting. He missed with the chair as one of the other Marines pushed him and prevented the blow from landing. The combatants fought mainly with fists but chairs were also used. A few chairs were thrown and broke glasses on top of and behind the bar. A Marine hit a paratrooper squarely in the face with a chair and broke his nose causing blood to quickly gush out from it. One of the Marines was about 6'5." He met up with a paratrooper who was 5'8." He lifted the paratrooper and threw him up on the bar. Another paratrooper hit the big unsuspecting Marine on the head with a chair and dazed him for several minutes. The other G.I.'s in the bar stayed out of the fight. They backed away from the rowdy crowd of brawlers and watched intently. There was considerable damage done to the bar and several very bloody faces appeared before the MP's came to break it up.

Men from different units and branches of the service would get into fights, especially the Marines and the Airborne units. Fights like these were not unusual in different cities in the Far East and even back in the States.

On the second night, Galbraith went off with some black friends he made during the day. Blacks were mostly associating only with each other in those days. Richard decided to go with some soldiers he had met during the day. Acquaintances were rapidly made in the service, but they were also interrupted just as quickly. They went into one brothel where they saw four G.I.'s having intercourse with the same prostitute. Most of the hookers used condoms. She was sitting in a large basket that was hanging from the ceiling and that could be pushed around to different parts of the room. Each of the four men took his turn and then pushed the basket on to the next man.

Richard met a bar girl in one place and found that he liked her. She kept asking him to order drinks, and he would quickly comply. This went on for well over an hour, and he couldn't understand how he kept feeling so drunk and she seemed to hardly be affected. She was attractive and tastefully dressed. She didn't at all look like most prostitutes. His companions had gone on to other places by now, but it didn't matter to him. He was now sure in his mind that she would come along with him after a while to a room, and they would have a great time. Surely, she liked him if she had stayed just with him for that long.

He decided it was time to broach the subject of where they could go spend time alone. When he asked, she acted coy and claimed that she didn't understand what he was trying to tell her. He kept on trying to explain, but she only giggled and insisted that she didn't know what he was talking about. All of a sudden, three tough, hard-looking Vietnamese men appeared next to them. She got up and started to go with them. She was no longer giggling. The men looked at Richard sternly. He got up and exclaimed,"Hey, wait a minute. What do you think you're doing?" He looked at her, but she didn't look back at all. He went after her with the intention of holding her by the arm and asking for an explanation. Just then, the Vietnamese closest to him took out a knife and held it only a few feet from his ribs. Richard was very angry and came very close to grabbing the man's arm and trying to take the knife away. He thought again and decided against it, since all of his own companions were gone, and there weren't many Americans in the bar. Even with help, he could have gotten stabbed. All he could do was watch them walk out the door.

He sat back down to try to recollect his thoughts. He was trying to figure out what had happened and what he could do now, but he knew that there was probably nothing he could do. A friendly Army master sergeant came over to Richard. He sat down in the chair next to him. "You're probably trying to figure out what the fuck happened, but they do it all the time. That goddamn whiskey you thought she was drinking was probably just tea, but of course, you were paying the full price of a regular drink each time. The way they work is that the bar pays the girls to pump guys for drinks for as long as possible. When the G.I. starts to talk to a girl about leaving and going someplace, they have a way to signal some thugs to come in and rescue her from the guy, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Can't the MP' s do something to try to stop that sort of thing?" queried Richard.

"Naw, all Uncle Sam can do is to tell the men to be on the lookout for that kind of thing. Hell, these gooks have all kinds of schemes going on to get that American dollar. Shit, I heard some of those high Vietnamese generals and politicians are making all kinds of money from all kinds of schemes. One thing I heard they're into is smuggling drugs like heroin into the United States and Europe."

"You know, Sarge, one thing that happened was that I really got fucking built up. I mean I was really thinking I was gonna get laid for sure."

"Shit, there's a couple of good places where they've got some nice looking whores. You'll find a good piece there, I'm sure. Come outside and I'll point them out."

Richard went to the first place the sergeant had pointed out. He was still feeling angry and frustrated. He found the place was pleasant and tastefully decorated. There were several soldiers there, and most of the girls were busy with them. Richard saw one who was alone and went over to her. He bought her a drink, but this time he was determined not to keep buying a long string of drinks. The girl was relatively quiet. She smiled coyly at most of what Richard said and spoke very little herself. After a while, Richard communicated what he wanted to the girl, and she led him to a room in the back. He was a little surprised there had been no trouble and that she did not seem reluctant. She seemed nervous, and her movements were unnatural. He was feeling very free and uninhibited from having had a large number of drinks through the evening. The intense anger he had felt earlier had for the most part subsided, but he still felt very resentful.

Her name was Luong. She was an orphan. It had been two years now since she had lost her parents. That was when she was 12 years old. First, her father had been killed. He had been appointed a village chieftain. Her village was outside of Tay Ninh, which was north of Saigon and on the Cambodian border. Her father had been reluctant to become a village chief, but Saigon officials pressured him, and he didn't want to incur their displeasure. There was no telling what they might later to do to him and his family because of his lack of cooperation. They probably wouldn't kill him, but they could create an unbearable situation.

He didn't like the Saigon leaders. They weren't well liked by most people, although everyone kept their disapproval to themselves. Everyone knew that those few who had spoken out had been promptly imprisoned. Aside from being unpopular, the leaders in Saigon were mainly interested in filling their own pockets with mostly American money. Luong's father concluded that if the Americans couldn't realize what the Saigon leaders were doing, they weren't very smart after all.

On the other hand, Luong's father knew that the Viet Cong were not very friendly either. They didn't massacre entire villages, but they did murder village chiefs sympathetic to Saigon. Her father's fears were confirmed when he was murdered by the Viet Cong and parts of his mutilated body were strewn on a road leading from the village.

A few months later, Luong's mother and her younger brother, the only other child in the family, were out working in the rice fields. They were working next to some tall grass that was on the bank of a small river. There were several other villagers working in the fields at the same time. They were talking and laughing in a gay mood. A boat with American soldiers was passing by in the river on the other side. They were patrolling the area and had received reports that there were VC in the area. They heard voices. They immediately employed the powerful flamethrower they had on the boat. None of the Vietnamese had time to escape.

Soon afterward, Luong came to Saigon to live with her aunt who was married to a disabled former ARVN soldier. Her aunt was kind to her, but Luong knew that she was an additional burden that her aunt could hardly maintain. Her aunt had barely been making it before Luong came along. Luong decided she had to try to earn a little money on her own.

There were many Americans with plenty of money in Saigon. She wasn't very fond of Americans, but she knew she had to swallow her pride. She didn't understand why the Americans had to be here. Perhaps, they had to be here to defend the Vietnamese, but she still resented them. To her it seemed that the problems had really begun when the Americans came. She longed for a time when things could be peaceful and happy, no matter who the government was. She also didn't like the way the Americans treated her people. They always gave off a feeling of superiority. Sometimes it was open and evident in their speech and clear actions. Even when it was subtle, an observant Vietnamese could soon learn to detect it. Then there was the antagonistic feeling in her that stemmed from pure jealousy. She wondered bitterly why the Americans had so much money while she had to worry if she would even have enough to eat tomorrow. Luong was determined to earn some money on her own, but she was not going to tell her aunt. She had started this type of work a few days before.

After she and Richard got in the room, the girl started to take off her clothes. She moved too slowly for Richard so he decided to help her. He wasn't in a mood for patience or finesse. As he undressed her, he realized that she was very young. She was about 16, he estimated. He felt sorry for her. She was probably was doing this out of dire necessity to help the family--younger brothers and sisters, maybe. Probably all prostitutes in Saigon had deep financial necessity, Richard realized, but this seemed to be particularly dramatized in the case of this girl. She was nervous and reluctant. For all Richard knew, he could be her first customer. It wouldn't surprise him to find this out, but his feelings of pity didn't last long. He simply was not in a very sympathetic mood. He felt tired of playing nice guy. He had decided he was going to be selfish and get exactly what he wanted. It was true what everybody said--these gooks weren't worth worrying about--not tonight at least. Tomorrow he knew he might feel differently and feel guilt and regret about his antagonistic and selfish actions. He remembered similar situations in which feelings of regret had cropped up several days after he had done something distasteful. He wasn't going to worry about that now, however. He knew what he really wanted at the moment, and he was the boss. If this girl had problems, they weren't his and he saw no reason why he had to worry about them. Those were just the realities. He was an American soldier in Vietnam with enough money to get what he wanted and she wanted that money. Those were the realities.

He caressed her skin all over and kissed her in different places, but he really wasn't in the mood for too many preliminaries. She still was very nervous and distant. He thought he could feel her trembling. He then moved on top of her as she lay flat on her back on the bed. He straddled her head. She started to squirm and resist when she realized what he intended to do. He had suspected that she might not be willing to do that, but he persisted and held her head still with both hands. His penis dangled in front of her face. Richard held her mouth open with his thumbs and fingers. She was now struggling less vigorously, apparently resigned to what had to happen.

36

PVT. KENNETH JAMISON. Son of a bitch, I don't know what we're going to do now. This is terrible. I never did like Nixon. You just cain't trust the guy, and now we've got him as President for the next four years. I've never been too much up on politics, but one thing I do know is that Nixon is an asshole. Hell, you just cain't trust those shifty eyes.

Jamison was from Glasgow, Kentucky. He was 23 years old. He had lived all of his life in Glasgow, but he didn't think he would live there the rest of his life. It wasn't that he didn't like his hometown. He loved it and had very fond memories of it. He had many dependable friends there that he knew he would always appreciate. Still, there weren't many jobs in Glasgow. Most young people had to move out of town to look for work. They would usually go to Louisville or Nashville or Indianapolis. He didn't know where he wanted to go, but he was almost sure he would have to move somewhere to look for a job.

He was seriously thinking about staying in the Army. He had not been especially fond of the Army when he had come in and wasn't especially thrilled with it now, but there were several attractions to making a career of it. He had known several boys from Glasgow who had made careers in the military service, and they seemed to have been reasonably happy. The main advantage was that there was always financial security in the service. There might be all kinds of things lacking in the military, but there was always financial security. That was much more than could be said for Glasgow. Jamison didn't like the idea of having to take orders from superiors that sometimes didn't make too much sense. He didn't like the idea of having to be told by the Army to move to a different base every few years. He didn't like the fact that many people--including the men who planned to leave the Army after their term was up--thought that career soldiers stayed in the Army because they were too dumb or lazy to go back into civilian life. "Lifers are losers'' was the phrase often used. Maybe he was a loser, Jamison thought.

He knew he probably would never have a big, important job or make a lot of money. He wished he could go to college because he knew one usually got better jobs if one went to college, but he wasn't truly serious about college. He had never liked or been very good at school and knew it would most likely be the same again in college. He was aware to a certain extent that school had always made him feel uncomfortable. It had always seemed hard, and he had always felt inept and inferior in comparison with so many other students. It seemed that if you made good grades and were charming and polite toward the teacher, you would receive attention. Otherwise, you weren't praised or admired very much. In fact, even though young Ken had been quiet and well behaved, he had still felt ignored and somehow in the way.

Still, he didn't think he was a loser. He might not ever be a big shot, but he figured that as long as he kept trying to do the best he could, he would never think of himself as a loser. Another thing he didn't like about the Army was the ever present possibility of having to go to war to kill or be killed. Yet, it was another one of those compromises one has to make in life. If he later wanted to raise a family, he would have to be willing to make unpalatable decisions such as that.

GOFF I wonder if he'll really be able to end the fucking war soon, like he said he would.

PERRY Well, he never said when or how he was going to end the damn war. As a matter of fact, he didn't say very much through the whole campaign. He's mainly let that guy Agnew do the talking. He did attack Humphrey by saying that "anyone who can't end the war in 4 years shouldn't be elected President."

MENDEZ He went around saying, "I have a plan" as he patted his coat pocket as if he had the plan in that pocket, but he's never said what the plan is. I don't believe he's really got anything on his mind. He just wanted to get elected, and he figured he'd bullshit as much as he fucking needed to.

PVT. ROGER PHILLIPS I guess a lot of other people must have thought the same, too, Rich. He just barely won the goddamn election.

MENDEZ He just squeaked by.

PHILLIPS He only got 43% of the vote, they said. That means he didn't even get a majority of the votes.

Phillips was a 20 year old from Bridgeport, Pennsylvania, a suburb of Philadelphia. His father was vice-president of a medium-sized electrical parts manufacturing company. He had two sisters and couldn't remember when his family hadn't been financially well off. His parents had always expected that he would go to college and eventually get into an important, high-paying job like his father had. Roger's parents wanted all of their children to go to college, but they had higher expectations for Roger. They knew he could do well because he was healthy, alert, and intelligent. Roger also felt confident about his abilities but was never interested in a boring office job where one had to dress up nicely in a coat and tie. In high school, Roger had always spent plenty of time with his friends just passing the time or playing a little football or basketball or riding around in cars. Roger always had his car in good shape. It wasn't as fast as those owned by several of his friends, but the body and interior looked very nice. He had owned a 1957 Chevy with a red body and a black top. All the chrome was in great condition. He always had all the metal brightly waxed and seats and carpet freshly cleaned. It was important to have the car in good condition--girls noticed much more quickly that way.

Roger still didn't think he would go back to college when he got out of the Army. He wasn't sure what he was going to do afterward. All he knew was that he was definitely going to get out of the Army. He still felt that having any kind of management or white collar type work would not only bore him but actually exasperate him. He had the impression mainly from what he had seen and heard from his father--that in that kind of work keeping in the boss's good graces through playing along and being phony was the most important consideration in keeping your job and getting promoted. He didn't want anything to do with that. He knew that in all jobs you had to endure many unpleasant experiences and put up with fellow workers that you didn't get along with, but he believed that it was worst in office jobs. He wasn't worried about what he would do afterward. Roger wasn't the kind that planned very far ahead. He never gave much thought to the future.

JAMISON(testily) Shit, I just don't believe all that bullshit you hear about how it's a "new" Nixon. I don't see how so many people have fallen for that line. All that's happened is that he's kept his fucking mouth shut, hasn't said much, and smiled a lot more and shit. Bet you he's still the same guy inside.

PHILLIPS (calmly) Shit, Ken, maybe he has changed. Maybe you ought to give him more of a chance, damn it.

JAMISON Goddamn it, Roger, have you ever been much up on politics? Do you remember the 1960 election?

PHILLIPS No.

JAMISON Well, I do. He was tricky. He'd never come out and say something outright and definite. He'd change what he would have to say depending on who was listening. I guess I just don't like Republicans and least of all that bastard.

PVT. RAY MANNING Yeah, that's the way I feel. Those fucking Republicans are always just looking out for the rich. Shit, I hear they spent all kinds of money in this campaign, much more than the Democrats, and they're not in debt for it, either.

Manning lived east of Temple, Texas where his father ran a small farm. Ray remembered that his father had worked long, hard hours. Ray had also worked many hours on the farm since the time he was about 12 years old. They grew mainly corn on the !arm. The family didn't make much money from the enterprise, but it was enough to make a modest living.

Ray picked up his dislike for Republicans from his father and grandfather who would sometimes sit around and talk about how bad it had been during the Depression and how during that time the wealthy--through the means of the Republican party--had tried to maintain their financial position and shown little sensitivity to the plight of the "common folk." They remembered how several farmers in the area had gone broke and had been forced to give up their farms. The Mannings were lucky and had been able to squeak by.

Ray's father now spoke resentfully of the big farms and ranches that were being formed by companies that were always looking for opportunities to buy out small farms. It was getting harder every year to compete with these big farming operations. His father also spoke resentfully of a few people he had known long ago and whom he had once considered as friends. They had started out as small farmers, but then oil had been discovered on their lands. They had made enough money to be able to live off their oil profits and forget about farming. What disturbed Ray's dad was that after they made it big, they apparently forgot all their old friends.

In the last few years, Ray's father had grown resigned to the fact that the oil and ranching businesses had gained so much power and influence. He had more time now to ponder these things while sitting on the front porch smoking his pipe. Ray's older brother had taken over most of the management of the farm. He figured these big businesses were probably a necessary evil that helped to make and maintain Texas a prosperous state. It was hard to argue with economic prosperity because they said it benefited everybody. Ray's father still suspected that it benefited the big guys at the top a lot more than it did the little ones.

GOFF Well, you gotta give Nixon credit. He's got that fighting spirit. He didn't fucking give up after all these years and came back to make it as goddamn President.

JAMISON Yeah, that's just because he's so damn desperate to be President, so desperate to be No. 1.

37

"Washington, what the hell are you doin' in front of our hut?" demanded Roy as he came up to his hut, which had no one in it at the moment.

I"m standing here waitin' for Page," answered Washington sarcastically. "What's it to you, you dumb cracker?"

"I just don't want you standing around my hut, and you know it," answered Roy harshly.

"Fuck you, honky," yelled Washington heatedly. There was no one else around to see the two soldiers arguing. "I can stand where I motherfuckin' want, and you cain't do a goddamn thing."

"The hell I cain't," declared Roy.

''What chou gonna do, chump, uh? What you gonna do?" demanded Washington tauntingly.

''Washington, one of the guys in my hut had $10 stolen from here last Tuesday. Goddamn, I just hope you weren't the one that lifted it. We figgered it was you or some other nigger."

"Sheeeit," exclaimed Washington in exasperation, "I wouldn't come into your stinking-assed hut if there was a million dollars to take, and I don't think any other blood would either, man. Besides, how do you know anybody stole that fucking money. The dude probably lost it, and you gotta talk shit that somebody stole it and shit. I swear, every motherfuckin' time somebody loses some raggedy-assed thing, they gotta accuse somebody of stealin' and shit, and then they always say it's a brother that done it. Man, that's some sorry-assed shit and it pisses me off like a motherfucker."

"Well, I'm just sayin' it better not be you damn it, and we better not catch any of you fucking around our things."

Washington became furious. He grabbed Roy by the collar who immediately started struggling and yelling, "Let me go, goddamn it. Let me go, Washington, goddamn you."

Washington declared emphatically, "Roy, I'm gettin' tired of your shit. I'm gonna kick your ass, I don't care what happens. I'm tired of your white ass, motherfucker." He released Roy after holding onto him for several seconds. "Let's see if you're man enough to meet me out in the bush, and we'll have this out once and for all." He was speaking in a low, definite tone now.

"Don't you ever put your hands on me again like that, you fucking spook," Roy was trembling with rage. "Goddamn you, you bet I'm man enough. Let's see if you are."

"Fuck, you ain't shittin' I'm man enough," said Washington as they glared into each other's eyes. "I'll meet you right over there," he said as he pointed and started walking toward his hut, "but first I'm gonna go get my blade, man. You better have one, too." Roy said nothing as he walked into his quonset hut.

Roy arrived at the small clearing where they had agreed to meet. The confrontation between the two was not the result of one or two previous arguments. It was in reality the end product of numerous repeated insults and indignities the two soldiers had traded over the last several months. Washington arrived only a half minute later. "I'm surprised you made it," commented Washington with a wry smile,"I was sure you'd chicken out."

"Not me," said Roy. "I thought you'd bring some of your coon friends to help you out."

"Shit, you know I don't need no help, white boy." They both brandished the bayonets they had taken off their rifles and approached each other, crouched over slightly and ready for the duel. Neither one showed any fear. Both were too angry to worry about consequences. The hate and anger had been building up for a long time.

"Don't expect me to show any mercy," said Roy somberly. Both of them were just pacing around in an imaginary circle, getting a feel for what they were going to do. No one had made a thrust yet.

"Don't expect any mercy from me either," responded Washington.

Both of them were completely serious. No one else was apparently around to witness the duel. They moved around looking for the first chance to take a stab. Washington kept moving his hand around quickly in circles and arcs. He twice took a quick step toward Roy but did not go forward. He was bluffing and testing Roy. Roy didn't flinch. Washington suddenly took two quick swipes at Roy's arm, but Roy backed away in time. The contest had formally begun. Roy took a step and a sweeping thrust toward Washington but missed. They danced around for a while and then Washington took another couple of quick cuts at Roy--one going from right to left and then quickly reversing in the other direction. After a few seconds, Roy came back with two quick swipes, which were promptly returned by Washington. Washington went on to make several attempts to cut Roy. None of the swishes connected. Both men were quiet now, but their breathing was heavy. Roy's psychological tactic seemed to be to steadfastly rivet an intense, icy stare at Washington. His nerves and muscles were as tight as a compressed spring ready to launch into split second action.

The pair went on for ten minutes trying to inflict damage on each other, but they were totally unsuccessful. Both were perspiring heavily. Each one was trying to inflict minor cuts on the other; there were no attempts to make any decisive strikes. Roy was able to make a cut in Washington's fatigue shirt sleeve, but the sleeve was loose and Roy's bayonet did not touch any flesh. After several more fruitless attempts, both began to show definite signs of fatigue. The site of the battle was well away from the camp, and no one else had come near the battleground. In fact, no one at the camp had any suspicion of what was going on at this very moment.

Roy stumbled to his left as he tried to evade one of Washington's cuts through the air. Washington saw the opening, reacted quickly, and brought his cutting weapon into Roy's side next to the stomach. Roy swung back too late to avoid the wound but was able to cut Washington deeply on the right shoulder. Both men were startled after several minutes of uneventful struggle. Washington quickly took a swipe at Roy's face and was able to cut him across the right cheek as a long red line appeared. The two took several thrusts at each other, but they did not connect. Roy was able to land his bayonet on Washington's left forearm, but before he could completely withdraw his knife hand, Washington was able to grab it and throw Roy off balance. This left Roy's left side open, and Washington drove his bayonet into the left side of his stomach. Roy was now bleeding heavily from the first stab. His weakness, his lack of balance, and the second stab sent him straight to the ground on his back. He did not try to get up but instead rolled in pain on the ground as he let out a low moan. Washington was now bleeding heavily from the shoulder wound. His head felt funny. He started to go for Roy to finish him off. His weapon arm was extended, ready to drive the bayonet into Roy again and then again if necessary. He was starting to bend over when something stopped him. He didn't want to go on with it now. He didn't know why he had halted. Perhaps he just felt too weak and exhausted or maybe he thought of consequent punishment. Or it could have been that he had simply cooled off and no longer felt the anger he had felt earlier.

He quickly turned around and ran back to the base camp in a haze of confusion. He was in enough control of his senses to throw his bayonet away in the bushes. He got to the base camp and was seen bloody and exhausted by several men before he ran into his hut.

"What happened, man? Who got you?" yelled Page as he got up to see Washington who quickly dove into his cot. "What the fuck happened, man? Tell me," demanded Page. Boyd and Powell were also in the hut. Washington didn't answer anything. He just held a handkerchief up to his neck. The handkerchief was becoming more red by the minute.

"You better get your ass down to the dispensary. That looks like a mean-assed wound," exclaimed Powell in a pain-filled tone. Washington still said nothing but to lowly groan, "Oooh, oooh." Several men came in from outside to find out what had happened.

"Looks like somebody stabbed the shit out of you, man," said Majszak.

"Hey, it wasn't Roy, was it?" asked Menefee excitedly. I saw him going somewhere with his bayonet not too long ago. Where's Roy?" Washington didn't say anything.

"I know these guys have been pissed off at each other for a long time," said Gore. "Was it Roy?" he asked Washington directly. Washington nodded weakly.

"Where is he, man, where is he?" Menefee screamed.

"Out there in that clearing back there," Washington said hoarsely as he pointed in the appropriate direction. Menefee, Gore, and Majszak ran out to find Roy. In the meantime, Washington was helped down to the dispensary. His wounds did not prove to be very serious, but Roy was in serious condition for several days before he made a turn for the better. The doctor said that if he had stayed out in the jungle much longer, he would not have survived. The Army officially listed the wounds as combat inflicted.

38

It was Christmas Eve. The men would have a Christmas party, but it would have to be over early. It was supposed to be over at 10 so that everyone would get enough sleep for the operation they would go on the next morning, The party consisted of everyone gathering at the recreation area, playing records, and singing Christmas carols and songs.

KELLY Fuck it, there's just one definite fucking thing missing from this party and that's . . .

GRAHAM Broads.

KELLY You got it. (It was now noticeable that everyone had consumed a good number of alcoholic drinks.)

LOOMIS Shit, it sure will be nice to get back to the world and get laid by something decent. Fuck, there's nothing like a steady piece o' ass.

WERNER. What the fuck are you talking about, Loomis? You still got several months left out here in the Nam, you poor fucker. (He laughs lowly.) We're the guys that are going back in a few days.

LOOMIS Well, it won't be long before I'll be gone from this motherfucker myself. It won't be long. I've got 134 days and a wakeup. (Some of the men laugh.)

WERNER Fucking A, are you shittin' me? I got 13 days and a wakeup. Shit, compared to you, I'm so short I don't even have to open a door to walk out of the room. (Everybody laughs.)

DAVIS Shit, Loomis, by the time you go home you won't even remember how to screw. (Everybody laughs.)

LOOMIS Fuck you guys. (Jokingly with a smile.)

GRAHAM Hell, I'm gonna go back and stay drunk for a long time and get some nooky every night. Then, after a while, I'll get me a fucking goddamn job. Hell, I haven't got any worry about getting a job. I know I've always got one at the factory where I worked at before and where my old man has been working for years. They make airplane engines. Where you gonna work, Kelly?

KELLY l'd like to get some kind of job driving a truck. I think I'd like driving around in a truck a lot, going to different places, meeting different people. I'd rather work just driving a small truck around Boston so I can come home at night, but I know there's a lot more money in driving long distances. I wanna be able to buy a nice car and a big house later on.

GRAHAM I've thought about driving one of those son of a bitching big trucks, but shit, I guess I'll be all right at the factory. It's good money, too.

DAVIS I guess I'll go back to work at this factory I used to work at for a while before I came in. They make shirts. Hell, they make some nice ones, too. I got a whole bunch o' shirts that I bought from there because we could get 'em at a discount. Some of them are prettier than a motherfucker. Working in that factory is boring, but it's a lot better than going out in the fields and picking raggedy-assed tobacco. That's the biggest thing in North Carolina.

LOOMIS When I get back, the one thing I'm gonna do is to my motherfucking best to forget this goddamn war and all this shit. (Everyone agreed by nodding or saying something in approval.) I've done my fucking part for my country and when I go home, I don't want to think anymore about it and shit. I want to keep it as far away from my mind as fucking possible.

WERNER I guess that's the way I feel except that I do feel like maybe I'd like to come back just to help out the poor guys that have to stay here and fight. I mean it would just be to help them, you know.

LOOMIS Yeah, I guess maybe that's a good reason, man. I think I'd rather stay home myself, though. If I don't get a job as a ranger, probably try being a logger or something. I guess I want something that will let me work outside, you know. I guess it doesn't matter so much what it is, as long as it's outside and shit.

BOYD That's the way I see it. I worked for a while back picking garbage for the city. I didn't think much of it at first, but it's all right, I guess. You know, you got a chance to be outside all the time. The fucking pay ain't bad at all, and if you finish early, you can go home and still be paid the rest of the motherfuckin' day. Shit, sometimes we'd finish picking up that raggedy-assed garbage as much as two hours early.

GRAHAM Son of a bitch, that doesn't sound bad at all. I didn't know you fuckin' guys had it that knocked. How about you, Werner? What do you think you'll be doing?

WERNER Shit, man, one thing for sure is I'm gonna get drunker than a son of a bitch and screw a lot broads. I'm gonna have me a great time. I tell you I think I'm gonna go down to New York City and just fucking live there for a while. I mean just to hang out and party a lot and go to fucking concerts that come to town and get stoned and meet fucking chicks and all kinds of shit. I guess I'll have to get me a job of some kind if I'm gonna stay there for very long, but I don't care what it is as long it's something. Shit, I guess I could go back to work in my old man's farm eventually, but i don't think i really would like that shit. It's a lot of fucking work for nothing. My father's really having a tough time just making enough money. It gets worse every year, man.

DAVIS Hey, you guys, I think I'm going to shove off now. It's getting sort of late, man.

KELLY Goddamn, man, you don't have to be a killjoy. It's still early as shit.

BOYD Nah, I'm gonna take off. It's sort of dying out and shit.

GRAHAM O.K., man. We'll see you guys tomorrow.

LOOMIS Sleep tight, guys.

DAVIS Catch you later, man.

Some of the men were singing along loudly several tables away. Many of the others had now left, and this group was now the center of the action and joviality. The most prominent singer was Pvt. Charles Robbins, a black from Houston, Texas, who liked to sing and get along well with most of his fellow soldiers. He was moderately drunk as were the rest of the soldiers who were singing. They were singing a wide variety of songs from Christmas carols to soul music to country and western. Robbins went right along since he knew the lyrics to a wide variety of songs.

KELLY Liebriech, you got about as long to go here as old Loomis, but shit, we'll let you tell us what you plan to do when you get out.

WERNER Shit, that's right. I forgot. Fucking Liebriech's got a million years to go, too.

LlEBRIECH Ah, hell, it won't be long, it won't be long. Shit, I guess I'll just go back to college. Southern Colorado State College isn't too far from my house. I guess I'll give it another try. I went there for a semester, but I flunked out. Hell, I don't think it was that goddamn hard. It was mainly that I didn't do much studying and shit. Hell, I made some great friends at this dorm I lived in and we did a lot of drinking. Then, I was lucky to meet some pretty good looking girls. I wasted a lot of time with them, but I didn't mind it at all.

Shit, now I guess I'm ready to take it a little more serious and at least do enough studying to fucking stay in school. I figure I can do some studying and still have plenty of time to party. Goddamn it, school is about the best thing to do around. Hell, it beats working for now. I don't know what kind of work I would look for if I went to look for a job. With the G.I. Bill, school isn't a bad deal. I think it's a good idea to go for me because where I'm going the tuition is pretty low. It's a state school. I should have plenty of money left over so I can have a good time. I'd like to get me a real sharp car like a Sting Ray, man. It wouldn't be any problem catching fucking broads with a Corvette.

WERNER Yeah, you're not a kiddin.' I'd like me a Corvette, too, or even a real nice Camaro SS or something like that.

The party was being broken up now by Sgt. Wood and Sgt. Bryant. They were telling the men they had to turn in and get some rest. The men were complaining but slowly complying. Robbins was finishing his rendition of "Silent Night." He had a big, happy smile on his face. After he finished singing the song, he started waving good night to everyone and yelling, "Merry Christmas, motherfucker. Merry Christmas, motherfucker." Kelly and the others in the group were walking away.

KELLY (annoyed) Jesus Fucking Christ, did you hear what that dumb nigger was saying?

LIEBRIECH Yeah, stupid jungle bunnies just don't have any goddamn respect, not even for God.

39

Richard was definitely short now. He only had 12 days to go, or 11 days and a "wake-up" as it was customarily counted by G.I.'s. He was just hoping he could make it through those last 12 days. The Company hadn't run into the VC for quite a while, but that didn't mean anything. The Viet Cong had observed a ceasefire during the Christmas holidays in past years, but it was no guarantee that there wouldn't be at least some minor action. The Company was supposed to go on an operation tomorrow just to make sure the area was secure. You never knew that Charlie wasn't taking advantage of the quiet holidays to move in equipment.

Mendez tried to figure out how useful the training had been that he had received back in the States. Most of it had been useful, especially what he had learned in AIT in Hawaii, but there were many other things that he had found necessary to learn in Vietnam. As he struggled to fall asleep, he remembered his basic training from January to March, 1967. He had learned some important fundamentals such as how to clean and properly fire the M-16 rifle, hand grenades, first aid, and hand-to-hand combat.

Richard took basic training at Fort Ord, California, which was near Monterrey on the enchanting California coast. It was a refreshing and romantic setting with pleasant weather. It was probably the best place for a recruit to take his basic training in the United States, but that didn't mean much. You had no time to enjoy it. Most of the time in basic, you were restricted to the barracks or the immediate vicinity. Richard's training company got a weekend pass once while they were in basic, and even then it was not so enjoyable because without a car you couldn't do very much. In 1967, there were all sorts of exciting happenings taking place. It was a continuation of what had occurred in 1965. Ironically, the American capital of this revolution in consciousness was San Francisco, which was about 70 miles north of Fort Ord. (London had some claim to being the world capital.) The hippie, flower-power cult was centered in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco.

Changes could be seen everywhere. There were new clothing styles with a wide variety to choose from. There were shirts with paisley print, flower print, and silkscreen designs. There were Nehru jackets, Oriental rugs, Indian bedspreads, high riding boots, claw necklaces, Spanish-style hats, and other varied items. Apart from these innovations, there was simply a greater informality in dress. There was greater use of T-shirts, used military shirts and jackets, faded jeans, sandals, headbands for male hair that was longer than ever, and just plain dirty clothes. Everyone didn't adopt these new styles immediately. Some held back because they were reflexively conservative, or "straight," while others simply couldn't afford to go out to buy the new items that could sometimes be expensive. Marijuana, LSD, and other drugs were major instruments in the psychedelic movement. There were cartoons by artists such as R. Crumb and a blossoming of underground newspapers such as the Berkeley Barb and the Los Angeles Free Press.

There were many music groups with strange names such as Electric Prunes, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Strawberry Alarm Clock, and just plain Who. There were new sounds made with electric guitars and complex sound systems by virtuosos such as Jerry Garcia and Jimi Hendrix. Hendrix and Janis Joplin made a big hit at the 1967 Monterrey Pop Festival. There was a variety of styles such as that of India's Ravi Shankar who played sitar and jazz saxophonist Charles Lloyd. The Fillmore Auditorium was the most popular place in San Francisco for concerts, although there were other places such as Golden Gate Park where many outdoor concerts were held. Concert halls like the Fillmore also became known for elaborate light shows displayed above the bands. In spite of all this, it was in 1967 that several hippies in Haight-Ashbury decided to conduct a funeral for the hippie-love movement almost as soon as it was born. They claimed the true movement was dead because it had been perverted by commercial, exploitative elements.

Richard remembered how during basic training he thought of going to San Francisco with "flowers in his hair" like some people were doing and like Scott McKenzie later advised everyone in his song, "If You're Going to San Francisco." The only problem was that every recruit got his head shaved at the beginning of basic training so it would have been very difficult to pull off the trick. No, instead of going to San Francisco or some other big city where young people gathered in what were called "be-ins or "love-ins," Richard was participating in such activities as bayonet training, where with every thrust you made you were supposed to yell, "Kill, kill, kill."

Richard remembered how much he had disliked basic training along with almost everyone else. There were few who had come into the Army eagerly. Most had either been drafted, or they had enlisted because they were going to be drafted. If you enlisted, you had to stay in three years instead of two; but you also got a better choice as to the job specialty you would be given. Many had a "bad attitude" as it was commonly called. Still, most believed it was necessary to fight the war and considered themselves patriotic. They did their duty, but if they could have gotten out of it, they would have done it without hesitation.

Richard remembered one young kid from Montana by the name of Griffith who was really gung ho. He said he had wanted to be in the Army for as long as he could remember. He wanted to be a member of the color guard, and he wanted to go to Vietnam and get into fierce combat. Griffith was a nice kid. He wasn't any stereotype of the vicious, blood-hungry fighter who is eager to kill, but he surely was impressed with the Army. He thought it was a great organization. Richard and the others put up with him, but they found it very hard to understand him. There were others like him who had a very unrealistic view of what war was like, but he was one of a kind.

In basic training there was often great apprehension of what was to come. Everyone would start speculating about what an upcoming event, for example the obstacle course, was going to be like. No one, of course, knew first hand what it was going to be like but almost everyone had an opinion. Such opinions were founded on what someone who had been in the Army previously had told them or more commonly upon free flights of the imagination. The drill instructors (D.I.'s) did nothing to keep them out of the dark, and least of all, did they try to reassure them in any way. They didn't warn them that it would be particularly hard, either. They just didn't mention anything at all. The insidiousness of rumor just naturally took its course. The D.I.'s seemed to think that this was useful in strengthening the recruits mentally. They also believed that most of the soldiers were in bad need of toughening up physically. Modern conveniences made young kids soft and overly indulgent, and Richard agreed to a certain extent. There was a considerable number of guys who were in very bad physical condition, especially considering how young they were. He had heard how the generals praised American fighting men to the people back home for being as tough as any group of American soldiers had been in any previous war. Richard had no way of comparing today's soldiers with those in other wars, but he wondered whether the generals themselves had a sound basis for such a statement. But then, what else could they say?

Americans had been able to hold their own out here in Vietnam, but this was largely due to vastly superior firepower, which was always a crucial factor in any war. They were also well supplied and well cared for whenever anyone was wounded. Richard wondered how well American troops would be able to fight against the Viet Cong if they were limited to the same means that the VC had. Americans came out here only for a one year tour as a general rule. Many of the Viet Cong had been fighting under adverse conditions for years, even back to the time of the French. They were used to living and fighting in harsh circumstances. Besides, they really had little to lose and everything to gain, while Americans had everything to lose and basically nothing to gain. Richard wondered what would happen if the United States were to become involved in an intense and prolonged conventional war.

Richard remembered the harassment started right at the beginning of basic. The sergeant who gave them a briefing at the reception center said, "The Army can turn girls into men if it wants to, so you better get ready for some rough going." Right away the D.I.'s started not only giving orders but yelling at them all the time. When they issued the military clothes and equipment to the "rainbows" (newly inducted recruits were called that because of their multi-colored civilian clothes), they mostly threw them at the men.

He remembered the D.I. kept giving orders, and whenever the new recruits stopped for even a few seconds to try to figure out what the order meant, the D.I. would yell, "Don't think. Stop trying to think; you'll fuck up every time. You just do what I say. I'll do the thinking around here." No doubt some of the most sadistic men in the Army were picked or volunteered to be D.I.'s. One of the two D.I.'s over Richard's group wasn't so bad although he was physically impressive. He stood about 6'4," weighed about 240, and had a stern look. He had reddish-blond hair and a bit of a paunch from drinking a little too much beer, but for the most part he was solid. He wasn't any more sadistic than most D. I.'s. He loved to scold a man by standing right in front of him, staring intensely at the top of the soldier's head, and often using the phrase, "I'm gonna kick the livin' shit out of ya if you don't . . . " At the end of the day, he would sometimes tell the men that they better hurry up and finish the task being done at the moment because "I wanna get home soon. My wife comes in heat in 15 minutes, and I want to be there."

The other D.I. was more arrogant and sadistic. He was also about 6'4" tall and solidly built. He was younger than the first D.I., and was black. He showed no prejudice toward whites nor preference toward blacks. He was equally hard on everyone. He liked to think up derogatory nicknames for anyone he could. Overweight recruits were called "Fatso" or "Fatboy" or "Lardass." He called skinny soldiers "Toothpick" or "Beanpole." Guys with glasses he called "Googoo Eyes" or "Barney Google" or "Coke-Bottle Boy." There was a wide assortment of other names like "Zitface," "Dippy," "Shithead," and "Dingaling." He was demanding and perfectionistic of the troops as well as of himself. He was always dressed impeccably with a very clean and freshly pressed uniform. His boots always had a brilliant, glass-like luster, and he expected every recruit's boots to look like his. He liked to make the company march and expected them to do it without any mistakes. He drilled them over and over on the marching ground trying to get the troops to do it just right. He would yell loudly at anyone he caught getting out of step or turning the wrong way. His favorite phrase of admonishment was, "You better get the lead out of your ass, boy."

Richard wondered what need there was for them to be trained to march so well. They were not going to be a marching band or precision marching unit. It seemed that all that was necessary was that the recruits learn to march efficiently so that they could travel in combat from one place to another. Of course, he knew now that, even in combat, marching was not the way the troops traveled. They were usually transported in helicopters or trucks. Even when they walked, everyone just trudged along in scattered fashion. The entire emphasis on marching was no doubt just another one of those Army traditions that went way back for centuries. It was also a good method for demonstrating to the soldiers that they were really no more than puppets.

The stricter D.I. was also very hard on inspections. He was a stickler on the arrangement of personal items. On inspections, he looked at all items very closely. He wanted belt buckles and metal buttons to be shined perfectly, towels folded precisely, and all other items arranged exactly according to the rules. On one inspection, the D.I. found some imperfections and gave the unit a total of 20 gigs. He was very angry because he said he had expected to find at most 12 gigs.

He announced his intentions, "You girls are going to learn how to come through with a good inspection, and I don't give a shit how long it takes. You're gonna learn how to do things right. I been told of a way that's been used to show recruits how to properly prepare for inspection, and I think that's what you guys need. You're gonna do it, and if you don't do it right, you're gonna do it again and again until you do it right. What you're gonna do is take out all your equipment, your footlockers, all your clothes, your shoes and boots, and your entire bunks out of the barracks. You'll take all your things out here to the side of the barracks and assemble it in inspection order. I'll come and inspect, and I better not find any gigs. Then you'll bring everything back into the barracks and stand another inspection. If either one of those two inspections comes out bad, you'll do the same thing all over again, bringing out all your gear for an inspection outside. Now when I say all your bunks I mean everything--metal frames and all. I'll show you how to take them apart. It should be no trouble. Now you'll take out all the stuff first before you start arranging anything. You'll start going out one squad at a time so you won't get in each other's way. You better help each other out. In exactly one hour, I expect you to be ready for inspection, so you better get the lead out."

Everyone rushed frantically to get everything out and ready for inspection. The operation took almost the full hour. The D.I. didn't find many gigs in either of the two inspections. The men were greatly relieved because they knew the D.I. would have made them do it all over again.

Richard remembered the D.I. taught the group various chants to help them keep the cadence while marching. A chant the group would all repeat was:

G.I. bread and G.I. gravy, Gee, I wish l'd joined the Navy, One, two (pause), Three, four (pause), One, two, three, four, One, two (pause then quickly), three, four.

There were other chants that were especially made up for Vietnam. One was

I wanna go to Vietnam, Just to kill ol' Charlie Cong, One, two (pause), Three, four (pause), One, two, three, four, One, two (pause then quickly), three, four.

One day, near the end of the 8-week training cycle, a D.I. gave Richard's Company and its sister company a long talk about what to expect in the future. He talked about the need to keep their noses clean and to know their jobs well, whatever that job might be. At the end of the talk, he said, "In the armed services, you got to remember this at all times. You are expendable. Remember that. You are expendable. Now, that means that if the Army is faced with the choice between saving you or your unit in accomplishing an important mission, the Army can sacrifice you. Remember, the reason that the Army exists is to win a war. That war has to be fought by accomplishing different missions. Sometimes, these missions have to be accomplished as quickly as possible. Stopping to rescue somebody may get in the way of accomplishing that mission. If that happens, then those men have to be sacrificed. There's no way to avoid it. The mission comes first. Winning wars is what the Army is all about. It doesn't exist for your sake.

"Now, that doesn't mean that the Army doesn't go out of its way to rescue men whenever possible. All kinds of lives are saved in Vietnam through the use of helicopters and the best emergency medical care available. The Army does all it can to take care of its troops. What I'm talking about is the case where an important mission has to be done and stopping to save you will mean that the mission will probably fail. That's when men and equipment are expendable. That's why you are called a G.I. Remember that G.I. means "government issue." The government issues you out just like any other piece of equipment. It does this in order to accomplish its mission and not for your pleasure. If you later stop being useful or get in the way, the Army has the right to leave you behind.

"As you all know, the Army is today fighting in Vietnam. This fight is as important as any war we've ever fought in." (At this point, he started to gradually become more excited.) "We're in it, and we're in it to win. We've never lost a war, and we're not about to lose one now, not if I can help it and not if a lot of good, patriotic Americans can help it. I been to Nam, and I saw some of my best buddies die there. I don't want to see them die in vain. Even if it's just for them, we got to win this war--I mean, this conflict. We've got to do it in their memory.

"Now, you know there's a lotta beatniks and bums and cowards and draft dodgers and candy-assed professors and all other kinds of yellow bellied, cock sucking traitors who say we shouldn't be in Vietnam. But you know, and I know, that they're all full o' the shit they're made of. We've got to stop those fuckin' Commies in their tracks. They wanna take over the world. Just remember. If we don't stop 'em now, they'll just keep right on coming, and I know you don't want those goddamn gooks over here raping your mothers and sisters."

Richard remembered the night before the last day of basic training. The Company was marched someplace. He didn't remember where it was, but it wasn't important. What had impressed him about that night was the sharp feeling of desolation and fear that swept through him. It was a feeling accentuated by the march through a densely dark, moonless night. It was completely dark all around, except for the light from the mens' flashlights. The D.I. didn't call out the cadence or say anything. The only sound that could be heard was the mens' boots crunching against the ground in unison.

He remembered reflecting on it while looking into the hovering black sky with its indifferent, pinpointey stars. Here were these young boys diligently training and preparing to do serious battle, and it was all so extensively and logically organized. It had been done many times before.

It was all so grotesquely frightening and unbelievable, and the vast darkness that surrounded them made it that much more so.

40

There was supposed to be a cease-fire period for the holidays. The North Vietnamese and Viet Cong had decided to suspend military operations for several weeks in order to observe their holiday period in the lunar new year. The Battalion Commander, however, was suspicious. He always was extra cautious so he ordered Company A to make a sweep through an area that had before often been occupied by Viet Cong in order to make sure that they weren't using the cease-fire period to build up for a later attack.

The soldiers weren't too happy about having to go on the operation. There were many other things they would have preferred to do on Christmas Day, and it had definitely dampened their Christmas party of the previous night. Nobody thought much of a Christmas party that had to end at 10 P.M. so that everyone could get a good night's sleep for the next day's operation. Some of the men thought it was silly for Lt. Col. Reid to be so cautious.

"Hell, I don't know why this raggedy-assed operation can't at least wait 'til tomorrow. The Colonel should have given us a fucking break for Christmas," commented Graham.

"Shit, Charlie ain't gonna get much done between now and tomorrow," said Daniels. "Besides, it don't seem right to go out and kill fucking VC on the day the Lord was born." The men trudged along into the valley where it was suspected that Viet Cong could be operating. They did not show much fear or concern for what might happen. It seemed all too routine by now, and they hadn't run into a good firefight with the VC for several months. There had been a few brief skirmishes and some mines and booby traps had been disabled, but it seemed that things had become relatively quiet in the last 5 months. The Viet Cong just weren't as active as they had been previously.

"Fuck, we probably won't find a goddamn thing," griped Marchetti. "It'll all just be for nothing."

"Well," said Perry, "l 'd rather have it that way than get my ass shot off when I'm this short. I just want to get through these few days and get back to the world. "

"Yeah," said Marchetti slowly, "you got a good point there, Ted. You got a good point. "

"Man, when I get back I'm gonna get drunker than a motherfucker, boy," said Davis with a big grin on his face.

"I'm gonna get me all the pussy I can, man," joined in Gates with his big smile. "Boy, I'm telling you I'm gonna fuck like a bastard."

BOOM! a loud explosion surprised everyone as the ground shook.

"lncoming," someone yelled. The explosion was followed by another one very soon afterward. A blood curdling scream was heard after the second explosion. The men were totally stunned, and it took awhile for them to realize what had happened. It was difficult for them to remember the fact that they were still in a war zone. It was clear to them now that they were under a VC mortar attack as mortar shells continued to land. All of them had hit the ground when the first shell hit, but some of them were scrambling for better cover. It was almost impossible to find adequate protection from mortar shells, but VC rifle fire was now being directed against them so it was better to make sure one could not be seen by the enemy. Daniels was one of those who wanted to find a better place. He saw a good spot and decided to scurry over there in a low crouch. BOOM! Daniels stepped on a mine with both feet at the same time. He lay on the ground moaning.

The shells kept falling. A few men threw grenades in the place they thought the mortar shells were coming from, but they were unable to stop the bombardment. The company did not have any air support because it had not been expected that there would be any need for it. Even the commanders had not planned on any intense firefights. They had figured that the most that would happen was that the Company would encounter a few snipers. They thought that if any large VG force was engaged, the Viet Cong would run away without offering much resistance. On Christmas morning, it would take a while to get the jet pilots to get underway in launching an air attack against the enemy. The Company would have to depend on its own artillery support and hope that the siege would not last long.

Some of the men crawled slowly toward the enemy hoping that they wouldn't be seen but waiting for an opportunity to charge or do something that would end the attack. The weapons platoon had now set up its equipment and was returning the mortar fire. They had recently acquired a flamethrower, which was now moving forward to find the enemy. It would probably be effective in driving out the VC.

BOOM! Another explosion landed amidst the men. Someone started screaming wildly and in uncontrolled distraction--it was Werner.

"I can't see, I can't see," he cried out, "I can't see a fucking thing." He got up and started moving about in a frenzy. He stumbled into the arms of the nearest man to him--Richard. "My eyes," he cried, "I can't see a fucking thing. I'm blind."

Richard had been on his knees when Werner fell on him. He now sat down holding Werner who was now mostly sprawled on the ground. Richard could see why Werner was complaining about his failure to see. It looked as if shrapnel had hit him squarely across the eyes. The area around his eyes was bleeding, and it was badly disfigured. Nothing could still be discerned that resembled an eyeball. Richard was simultaneously confused, shocked, and grieved. He was sadly certain that Carl's loss of vision was not a temporary one. It came to him they had known each other now for about a year and half. He was basically a kind and gentle kid even though his youthful immaturity made him sometimes act with a lack of sensitivity. He still had a couple of months to go until his 20th birthday.

Richard didn't know what to do for the moment, except to say, "It's all right, Carl. Everything Is going to be all right, don't worry." He felt totally helpless. He wanted very much to be able to do something--to be able to turn the clock back and prevent what had happened to Carl.

In his mind, there flashed momentarily a recollection of pictures he had seen of the assassination of President Kennedy, in his last dying moments. There he was crouching over, dazed, barely comprehending--if at all--what was happening. His wife Jacqueline was also stunned, yet helpless to stop what had already been set in motion. There was John Kennedy, President of the United States, the most powerful person on earth, admired by millions, crushed defenselessly--blood and brains all over the back seat.

Carl continued his repetitive and frantic complaints, "I can't see, I can't see a thing. I'm blind." There was a note of questioning in his lamentations as if he were wondering why this had needed to happen and trying to convince himself that it really had not happened at all.

The firefight was now over, finished almost as quickly as it had begun. The flamethrower had proved very effective in driving out the enemy. The soldiers did not have a chance to catch up to any VC. They picked up the badly mangled bodies of Wood, Perry, and Foreman. The three deaths were balanced by the finding of the badly charred remains of three Viet Cong who had not been able to escape the implacable fury of the flamethrower. Froehlich and Goff were badly wounded. Daniels suffered the loss of both his feet. When Richard found out about Daniels' misfortune, the involuntary thought came to him and saddened him that Daniels would no longer have the foot problems that he used to have.

41

It was over now. The year in Vietnam was over for those who had survived. They were all wearing smiling faces as they prepared to board the airplane that would take them back to the United States. It was January 7, 1969. Tomorrow, it would be exactly one year since the original members of Company A had arrived in Vietnam. The men who had come into Company A--such as Graham, Miner, and Jamison--as replacements during the year for those who had been killed or seriously wounded were reassigned to other companies and stayed until their year was up.

"Hell, I just feel sorry for the guys who couldn't come with us," commented Kelly to Richard.

"I was just thinking about that," replied Richard. "I just hope Daniels and Werner make it through all right."

"Yeah," replied Kelly, "I-guess I don't envy those guys a bit."

The men started to walk up the ramp into the airplane. They were chatting and laughing. A silence fell over them as they noticed a group to the left. The men of Company A thought about how small a difference there was between them and the other group. The one important difference was that the other soldiers were in pine boxes. The pine boxes were being moved onto the landing field in order to be loaded onto another plane. A painful sadness fell over the men as they thought of those who were going home under less favorable circumstances. No one said a thing.

Before very long, Company A's airplane was in the air. All the soldiers were talking and laughing once again. They looked out the window and waved goodbye to Vietnam. Some of them made sarcastic and deprecating remarks. Others waved with a happiness tinged with an air of melancholy and an array of regretful memories. The beaches and forests were as beautiful as when the men had arrived a full year before, but they now made a much different impact on the sight and senses of the soldiers.

After an hour, everything inside the airplane was very quiet. Some of the young men--exhausted and tense--dozed off for long naps. Richard was still too tense to fall asleep. He noticed how tense he actually was. He knew it would be a while before he would feel fully rested and relaxed. He was sure that he had seen more terrifying sights than the average soldier that went to Vietnam. He knew every grunt went through horrible experiences, but he believed he had been through more than the average number. The past year in Vietnam had no doubt had a strong effect on him physically as well as in other ways. He figured that he must have aged several years in one year that he was in Vietnam. (He recalled the many crying children he had seen. They were confused and frightened.) The many strains and fears couldn't have had but a detrimental effect on him physically as well as mentally, and he wondered how much, if any, personal benefit all that torrent and sacrifice had brought. (He remembered briefly the sight of the headless Lt. Paulsen lying on the ground.) Before coming to war, he had heard and believed that men who lived through armed combat, in spite of all the unpleasant memories and the brutalizing effect of blood and death on their souls, derived a certain edifying spiritual wisdom and insight from their experiences. Perhaps for him, this would come later, but for now he felt no such effect. He found it hard to feel that his experience had raised him to any new heights of spiritual wisdom and understanding. He simply felt weighed down and deadened by the vast, confusing array of incidents that he had somehow passed through. He did not feel any more noble or gracious than before. Instead, he felt a sour taste in his mouth that originated from a discomforting dissatisfaction with himself and a newly born distrust and disillusionment with his fellow man.

He had been shocked by what he had seen some of his young fellow Americans do, and he was also surprised that he had stood by and done nothing. (He reheard in his mind the screams of the girl who had been raped.) Even now, he clearly did not intend to go back to the States and accuse anyone. Besides, he had never believed in telling on anyone. Also, he estimated that atrocious acts were part of every war. They were nothing new. It was just that veterans never went home and talked very much about those aspects of war. In addition, he knew that if he said anything, everyone would just say that he had a young, impressionable mind. Some might even go so far, as to say he was a coward to react so strongly to unpleasant events. Most of all, few people would believe him anyway. He knew that he would never before have believed it.

Perhaps, all this blood, turmoil and anguish would be worth it if one could see that at least some--however modest--concrete accomplishments had been made in the last year. (He remembered the bloody remains of what had been Sutton as seen under the light of the flare.) Yet, the United States did not seem to have moved forward in any degree in winning the war or accomplishing its objectives. In fact, it seemed that there was less optimism than there was at the beginning of 1968.

(Richard thought of the young girl whom he had met as a prostitute in Saigon. He still felt guilty to a certain extent of having forced her to do what she had been unwilling to do. He had rationalized it for a long time as something that a prostitute had to accept since she was being paid for sexual favors. He still believed that to some extent, but he felt increasingly uncomfortable in trying to justify it. Still, he tried not to think about it too much. He figured he couldn't worry about everything.)

The one encouraging development that Richard had observed in both himself and others during the tour in Vietnam was the strong capacity to feel close to his fellow soldiers. He had definitely noticed the strong feelings whenever someone was killed or seriously wounded. He remembered how badly he had felt for days after any of the guys had been hit, but he was especially affected when it happened to Mangini, Sutton, and Werner. He was realizing now how close he felt to all of the men in the Company--both dead and alive. There had been a great feeling of intimacy and familiarity among the men, although there were certain more closed groups such as the ones that emerged upon the assassination of Martin Luther King. He knew he would miss all of them, and he wished there was some way to keep in touch with them.

He wondered what had happened to Mangini. Was he dead or alive now? No one had ever heard what had happened. Richard figured he would never find out. Werner would surely live through his ordeal, and Richard felt an urge to try to get in touch with him at his home someday. Perhaps, he would go to New York City someday and stop by on the way to look up Werner near Binghampton. It was useless to speculate upon it very extensively because he knew it would probably never happen. He would probably just never get around to it. Besides, with Werner being blind, Richard felt he might not be able to act naturally toward him. It would be an awkward situation, and Werner would probably feel uncomfortable and worse than if he just didn't visit him at all. Still, he felt bad about passing it off so lightly and not at least thinking that he would try to make an effort. Maybe he would visit him. Who knew?

He would try but still couldn't help but suspect that he would never see any of the guys again. Each one would just go on his own way, lead his own separate life, and never see each other again. That was just the way it was. It seemed strange and illogical somehow, but there seemed to be nothing that could be done about it. It actually happened all the time, Richard thought. It had happened in grade school and high school. It happened again in college, and it would happen again now. It was true that he had run into old high school friends but only a few of them. He would no doubt see others later on, but there would be others to whom he had been close that he would never see again. It happened that way to most people in the United States, especially to the ones who lived in cities. Everything was too big, and everybody was always on the move. Sometimes it hardly seemed worth the effort to make friends in a new place since everyone would probably be moving away before long.

It was night now, and outside it was pitch black. Absolutely nothing could be seen. The pilot announced that they would be flying over San Francisco in 45 minutes. The airplane soon started its descent and hit some turbulence as it passed through thick, white clouds. They weren't rain clouds, but they nevertheless appeared as unfathomable and mysterious as ever to Richard--just like so many other things.

Richard thought of himself as a brave and weary warrior finally coming home from the wars. He fancied himself as a great hero like Ulysses or Aeneas who was glorified as the founder of Rome. How satisfying it must have been to come home to a hero's welcome. This was a different time, however. There would be no fanfare and acclamation. He would just come back and quietly blend back into society.

The lights of the San Francisco Bay area could now be seen ahead. It had been a long flight. The airplane was still well above the ground. It was coming back down--down to a spinning mudball floating in a dark, deep universe. After a while, they were flying over San Francisco. The many lights below seemed alien and abstract. There were many variations in the arrays and configurations of the lights. There were lines, curves, triangles, squares, circles. There were whites, ambers, neon blues, reds, plain blues. The brightness of the thousands of bulbs stood out against the dark ground on which they lay and in sharp contrast to the black expanse above. There was something in the whole scene that made it seem very awesome and superhumanly incomprehensible. At the same time, it was exciting and totally exhilarating, and as the airplane continued to descend, all these qualities became more pronounced. The bright lights came closer and closer, and for a moment, one wondered whether the airplane might not be able to enter a new dimension and permanently and miraculously merge with the extraordinary blanket of lights. The eerie, high pitched wail of the airplane engines added to the spiritually engulfing sensation. The sound of the engines had the alluring and unique quality that the singing of the Sirens must have had in ancient mythology. In his mind, Richard could hear an enormous choir singing majestically. As the airplane came closer to the ground, the pattern of lights resembled the many reflections from an ornately cut crystal goblet. It was a monumental cloud of radiance that appeared to be from another world and which could totally consume the mind and vision of the attentive observer. The fortuitous combination of the varying qualities in the scene made the experience all the more breathtakingly overpowering. The experience soothed the immediate longings of the soul and at the same time elevated it to greater, ineffable aspirations.

Richard's mind turned to thoughts of the lives of the millions below. It was 2 A.M., but some people were still awake. There was the prisoner at San Quentin who was serving a 20-year sentence for armed robbery. He was lying there in his bunk unable to go to sleep. He had always thought that he had been justified in committing the many crimes he had in the past. After all, many said he was a victim of society Tonight, he was beginning to wonder if it might not be possible to escape from this place. There was a graduate student at Stanford working late, trying to complete his doctoral dissertation in high energy physics. He had lost interest in the subject and was not so excited anymore about being employed for the rest of his life as a physicist. Still, he had invested so much time and effort thus far in this endeavor that he couldn't see giving it up now. There was the old black janitor sweeping out the floor of the Greyhound bus terminal in downtown San Francisco. He had been working there for twenty years. He was singing cheerfully.

There were the young doctors and interns in the emergency ward of an Oakland hospital working hard to save a man shot in a fight in an area directly below the heart. The fight was over a disagreement in a card game. There was a president of a small electronics company tossing and turning in bed in Tiburon worrying about what he had to do tomorrow. Business hadn't been very good lately. He often spent nights with few hours of sleep because he couldn't stop thinking of the problems and pressures at work. There were all the people in the bars downing their last drinks before closing time not wanting--for a variety of reasons--to go home.

Most people, however, were in their homes already asleep. They had been asleep for a while. They had their own chores and burdens to perform tomorrow upon arising. Most had to be to work on time. The kids had another day of school. Most of their mothers would be up early to see that the children and the husbands got off all right.

Most of the houses were quiet and dark, and Richard was struck with a feeling of desolation. He knew it wasn't sensible to think it, but he felt that something more, something different should be happening with a war going on in which people were being killed and mutilated--many of them Americans--at this very moment. Why couldn't, why shouldn't, there be people lining the streets wondering, asking when the war would end and what was happening. They should have been waiting at Travis Air Base, where soldiers landed from Vietnam, to get the latest direct news and impressions from soldiers who had just spent a whole year in fighting in the fields of Vietnam. But no one would be there at the air terminal. It seemed that it would be logical and expected behavior to see at least a few people walking the streets, distraught, angry, sad, pulling their hair, groaning, wondering about those--sometimes their own relatives--who were being killed, asking why it had to be. If the people below didn't exactly act in this manner, then at least it would seem there should have been a greater show of concern and sympathy. Instead, everyone went ahead with their business as usual. They probably gave the war some thought sometimes, but for the most part it affected their lives very little.

Richard snapped out of his resentful reverie. He knew it wasn't really sensible to expect people to act very differently. They would probably answer that it wouldn't accomplish anything if they ran out in the streets and emoted their anguish and concern. The government wouldn't listen anyway. Yet, if a large number of people did it, there perhaps could be an effect. In any case, this had happened many times before. It surely happened in France in Napoleon's time, in Greece in Alexander's time. Some people slept, while others got killed.

Richard spent most of the next day processing out and getting his separation from the Army. It was a very happy day for him. Almost all of the other G.I.'s, from all branches of the service, who were being separated were just as jubilant as he was to be getting out of the service. Richard went through his separation physical examination. It was routine for everyone. After the doctor had looked him over, a medic asked him a few questions. The medic looked over Richard's medical history. "Wow," he exclaimed, "I don't know how you were accepted into the Army."

"How's that?" asked Richard wondering what the medic was seeing.

"It just seems to me you had enough of a history of heart problems that you should have been declared unfit. I've heard of guys with lesser problems being rejected."

"Have you really?" Richard became more curious.

"Sure have," the medic answered confidently. "They probably made a mistake. It happens that way sometimes." He got up and put all the papers back into the file folder. "That's it for the physical. Well, look at it this way," he finished with a mirthful smile on his face, "at least you got through it all in one piece."

"Yeah," replied Richard with a dazed smile, "I guess so. I think I'm in one piece."

Richard had gotten delayed through the out processing procedure. Consequently, almost all of the men in his company had left. He was invited by a group of guys he had met while processing out to go to San Francisco that night to celebrate, perhaps by going to a topless joint to see somebody like Carol Doda. Richard declined. He just wanted to get home as soon as possible. He would be arriving home after midnight and probably awake everyone in the family, but he still had getting home uppermost in his mind. On his way out of Travis AFB and again at the San Francisco Airport, he saw all the blank, doubting stares of all the G.I.'s waiting for flights. Some were going, some coming. They, were headed for many different destinations, but they all seemed to have those lonely, restless looks on their faces so common in young servicemen. They were hardly cognizant of the many forces converging on them.