• It was July. The year was 1967. We were young back then, young and stupid. We were all geared up about having a chance to fight the next Great War, in Vietnam. When the recruiters came, we were all too eager to sign up, to fight for honor, and country. We were stupid back then, and it cost us. Oh, did it cost us.
    Basic training wasn’t too big a problem. It went by, and we struggled through it, just like everyone else. Then we managed to all get assigned to the same squad-except for Johnny, that is. He got assigned to some other two-bit squad. We were under a man named Sergeant Hayes. Let me tell you, it was hard just to cope with him. The man was a real kiss-a**; he ran everything by the book. In fact, when we went out on patrol, he carried one with him, with all the most important field rules and regulations. You couldn’t use the bathroom without obtaining permission from him first. He wouldn't let us go without having a report, spelling out precisely where you planned to do your business, how long it took you to get there, how long it took you to do it, and how long it took you to get back.
    So when we weren’t spending half an hour getting permission to do our business, we were on the lookout for Charlie, and his bag of tricks. Charlie had all sorts of little toys for us; ambushes aplenty, mines, pits, bombs. Snipers especially; if you lasted more than a few hours, you were practically considered a vet. You name it, Charlie had it, and we had to go through it. Not to mention Charlie himself. He was probably the worst. Especially for the officers; they learned quickly to stop wearing the regular uniform, and to start dressing up as regular soldiers. Even Sergeant Hayes 'laxed in his regulations here; He’d dress like every one of us, and wouldn’t allow himself to be saluted in the field, or anything that might mark himself as a target.
    So one day we were assigned to patrol a new area that some of our guys just ‘cleared out’. It was a few square miles of jungle, meaning that Charlie probably had a few tunnels there with several dozen men all ready to shoot us on sight. The Jungle was hot, but we had been trained by the Drill Sergeants of the U.S. Army, and we were here to fight for our country; Needless to say, our moral was pretty low.
    So on this patrol, we’d followed an old path through the jungle, until it came out into this clearing. Across the clearing, we just saw the tail end of Charlie running behind some trees and thick underbrush. We all knew this was the perfect spot for an ambush, but Sergeant was all for attacking. “This’ll get us our Medals, boys! All we have to do is go in there, and take out Charlie over there.” Serge made it sound as if we were just boys playing Capture the Flag, not men in war, and the other side wasn’t armed to the teeth like we knew they were.
    So, our squad lined up in the clearing, far enough apart that a mortar shell or grenade would only take out one of us, and we started walking into the field, opening up with everything in our arsenal, which was considerable. Charlie shot back at us, with at least as much firepower as we had. I felt two hot holes rip open in my Knee, and knew I’d been hit. But it didn’t hurt, and I didn’t look down. I was still walking on it, and I doubted I’d be able to keep going if I looked. Above all, we had to keep walking; If we fell behind, we’d end up shooting each other in the back. To my right, Dixon fell. Someone else screamed. It might have been me. And then it was over. We’d reached the other end of the clearing, somehow, and by some miracle had captured two VC (Viet Cong).
    Finally, I looked down at my knee, and saw two holes. One going in, and one going out. This wasn’t what we’d thought it was going to be. This wasn’t the next Great War, fighting for honor and country.
    The Sergeant and an interpreter went off behind some bushes to interrogate the two prisoners. Our squad Medic came over to me and examined my knee. We heard two shots, and everyone went on alert. Then the Serge and interpreter came back. The two VCs had been shot. They didn't try to run, they didn't try to attack. They just didn't talk. And they were shot, in cold blood, execution style.
    That was it, when we lost it; our Innocence. Our blood ran cold. It was one thing to shoot at someone, to kill someone, when they too were fighting for their life, fighting for yours, to take it. But this wasn’t fighting for honor and country. This was murder, cold-blooded murder. That’s what this War was about.
    When I got my Purple Heart, I was almost disgusted with myself. When they told me I wouldn’t be able to go back into the field, I celebrated. That was the last place I wanted to go; that hellhole. I lost much more than a chunk of my knee in that place. That Vietnam.