EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER FOUR - A TASTE OF REALITY

QUADALAJARA --- The Utopia That Once Was

The alarm sounded during the middle of the night. Qui Nhon was on full Red Alert --- there was enemy activity in the area.

Our platoon fell out to its designated locals: my squad to the front bunkers and myself and another soldier to the first bunker. We were startled boys and young men, with our hearts pounding as we joined the confusion of that night. As I took my position in the first bunker, the gate to the compound and the MP post suddenly looked much closer than ever before. The sky was illuminated with flares and there was gunfire at the port's entrance, just fifteen or twenty yards in front of us. The makeshift village of scrap wood and cardboard lean-to's adjacent to the compound was on fire. Distant gunfire sporadically filled the night air. A truck approached the main gate and drew fire from the MPs. It was total chaos. It was as if nobody was in charge or knew what was happening. I could have been back in Rhode Island if I had only extended my tour. Seventeen days from leaving this mixed up war and now this.

It was only the second time in a year I had to chamber a round in my WWII vintage M14. Relief, albeit temporary, was learning that the truck was driven by South Korean civilians just trying to reach the safety of Qui Nhon's port. The MPs waved them by as the gunfire slowed and the confusion lessened.

By morning the fire was out, as villagers inspected what remained. Unofficial word filtered down to us that some GI, in a nearby compound, had opened fire at something suspicious. An errant flare shot into the night sky by another nervous soldier had apparently caused the fire. The events of the past few hours only served to heighten my appreciation of what other sacred young men lived and died with on a daily basis.

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