“Freedom is never free.” That was the quote that kept me going strong in my years at Vietnam. I was a young man at the time, forced to leave my depressed family for southeastern Asia. The only comfort E felt was with homesick kids like me. Though nervous, the farm boy in me knew there was a job to be done. Although Mr. Kenndy was persistent on his strategy, we didn’t have much support from home.

The deep jungles provided excellent cover for the enemy. We quickly learned to be alert to our surroundings, knowing our lives depended on it. Anxiety ran high. We rarely ate hot meal, and this combined with monstrous mosquitoes seemed to suck the life out of us. Dry day were unheard of. The thick mud made every day hikes that much more backbreaking.

The battle field was disorganized with random lead flying over ore heads. Friendly fire was a real possibility, which tended to happen more than expected. The Vietnamese were fighting form makeshift tunnels which enabled them to appear without notice.

The worst part of this mess was seeing the women and children of bombarded villages. We did our best to provide aid, but resources were limited. Although the memories were awful, the pain and sorrow would be in vain if not remembered.