It's been over 35 years since that ultimate adrenalin rush. The excitement and fear that made
my heart pump in time to the 50 caliber machine gun going off near my ear. Trying to merge
into the metal on the rice paddy humping tank I'm clinging to, hoping... even praying that the
sniper who just blew away the Corporal next to me in mid sentence can't focus his scope on
the terror in my eyes. Cameras, lenses clanging on cold steel, a shower of hot shell casings
bouncing off my helmet. The post battle brain numbing ringing in my ears, the sweet smell of
spent cordite and gunpowder still glued to the hot moist air. Wiping the Corporal's blood off
my lens as they zip him up in a body bag, I realize that I don't even know his name. Stories of
bravery and stupid bravado, good and bad luck, the ying and yang of battle are only told by
survivors. And you were considered a survivor if all you lost in the Nam was your wallet,
virginity or high frequency hearing. Yeah, I guess two out of three wasn't so bad in those
young and easy days when my balls were bigger than my brain.
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