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thing.”
    â€œYeah, but ya never know. Some guys like to act hard-core, scare the shit out of ya.”
    â€œGuess we just wait and see.”
    â€œYeah.” He looked at his watch. “Look, there’s a movie on in a few minutes, outside by the billet… wanna go check it out?”
    â€œSure.” We got a good supply of beer and split.
    It was pitch dark on the way over, and I managed to step into a ditch. They had these three-foot-deep ditches all over the area; you’re supposed to dive into one when the shooting starts. I turned my ankle and limped the rest of the way to the movie.
    It was one of those Italian-made Westerns, about some guys blowing up a bridge. Pretty good.
    When they turned off the movie it was almost pitch-black—just a little bit of starlight—but we had pretty much figured out where the ditches were. Managed to get back to our bunks without breaking my neck.
    It had gotten right cool and I didn’t have any trouble falling asleep. But I don’t think I slept more than a few minutes when some guy pulled on my leg, nearly yanking me out of bed.
    â€œIncoming! We got incoming!” Then I could hear the faint crump — crump, just like it’d been in Cam Ranh Bay a few days before. I jumped down, scooped my steel pot off the floor, and ran for the door. It was a mess, everybody trying to get out at once. I finally got outside and ran for the nearest ditch. Cut my bare foot on a rock but hardly felt it. I jumped into the ditch and laid down lengthways.
    You could hear the rockets whistling in, but you couldn’t see them. The explosions got louder and louder. My throat got dry and I started shaking.
    Then a bright blue flash and the ground jumped, and a noise like somebody slapped your ear with a baseball bat. It must have been real close; you could smell the smoke and hear clods of dirt falling out of the sky.
    Someone down at the end of the ditch yelled, “Medic! Jesus Christ—Medic! I been hit!” The medic ran by me, out of the ditch, crouched low. Another round whistled in and the medic jumped in the ditch, but it landed pretty far away. He got back out and ran down to the wounded guy. Watching him, I decided there were worse things than being a combat engineer.
    â€œPass it down!” The guy on my left handed me an M-16. I gave it to the next guy and told him to pass it down. I passed about twenty of them and then got one for myself. It wasn’t loaded. I remembered the sergeant saying he’d bring ammo if there was going to be trouble. But I wondered whether he’d actually come from wherever he was, with rockets dropping all around. I knew I wouldn’t.
    The attack lasted about fifteen minutes. None of the other rounds came as close as that one. They told us to stay in the ditch—there could be another attack any time. That was all right with me at first—I felt pretty safe where I was—but after a while I was ready to get out and take my chances. I was just wearing the shorts I slept in, and it was cold. I was also grimy from lying in the ditch and my foot throbbed where I’d cut it on the rock.
    We must have laid there for hours. Finally they told us to get out and turn in the guns. I went and washed off my foot. It didn’t look bad, but it sure hurt like the dickens. I found the medic and he bandaged it for me.
    About dawn they said we could turn in. They said we could have two extra hours of sack time—get up at 0800—and acted like they were doing us a favor. I could have used two extra days, but I was too tired to complain. My head hit the pillow and I was out.

THREE
    I thought I’d been dirty before, but the next morning when they rolled us out of bed, I was caked and crawly-feeling with red grime. Sleeping on it kind of grinds it in.
    Decided to skip breakfast and take a shower, but the water was all gone by the time I got there. So I got dressed and headed for the chow hall.