In the beginning things are not auspicious. The NDP is on fire. From the pick up zone we watch as the flames twist and spiral and bleed smoke into the sky. I make my way to our head medic. “Calm down,” says Roy. “Take it easy. What’s wrong? Calm down.” When I'm done sobbing I tell him I’m hearing voices that won’t stop, I can’t think straight, I’m losing it. I say, “Roy, if we get hit I’ll be no good for the platoon. I’ll be no good.” Before he can answer the sobbing starts again. “We’ll get you back,” he says. “We’ll get you to see the shrinks in Quan Loi. Just take it easy," he says, You’ll be all right. Hang in there. Just hang in there.”
 
On the horizon we see birds inbound. Someone pops yellow smoke. We clamber aboard, hang our feet over the slicks, the birds tilt forward, lift up, fly away.  

But Quan Loi is a hive of air crews attending a long line of Huey’s revving up on the shimmering tarmac. Everywhere are pinewood ammo crates, card board boxes of c-rations, enormous black rubber kegs (blivits we called them) filled with purified water. “Load up...Load up...” our officers shout. The nervous door gunners check and re-check their oiled up M-60s.

The twenty bird CA snakes thread-like across the gray morning sky. Shark mouthed Cobra guns ships circle and prowl. As we descend they peel away, dip and power dive, unleashing a fury of white tailed rockets, buzz saw mini guns, a drum beat of chain linked forty mike mike grenades. Salvos of high explosive 175s crash down, sending up sprays of debris. The air is thin and cold, we are shaking with fear but the NVA base camp is abandoned and no one is hurt.

The next day Leon will be shot through the hand by friendly fire, York will take shrap in the neck, there will be many fire fights, we will kill the K-9 scout's dog by mistake and he will not be consoled, Kit Carson’s will taunt survivors before they are dead, LZ Ranch will be over run, nearly every day we will slug and spar and give more than we get, but for now, in the fading light, encircled by empty bunkers, mock Huey’s dangling from trees, a sapper's training school using vines for concertina wire, an absence of distant tree line, the abundant scent of cordite and fresh cratered earth, for now we are safe.