My boots were filled with water as I trodged through the murky swamp water, rifle in hand. We were to disassemble a P.O.W. camp a few miles away, and I was one of the six men assigned to do so. I mean, we started with 12, but soon enough, three were shot by the Vietnamese partisan soldiers, two died of disease, and one had… shot himself in the foot. I turned on my nightvision display. The swamp smelled positively dreadful, and the tension was enough to snap a guitar string in twain. I could only pray I did not die, for then my wife would be driven to killing herself.

I clutched my gun tighter, and made sure it had a full clip in it. If I didn’t have any ammunition, I’d be screwed in a gunfight. Just stay focused, I kept telling myself. I diagnostically checked all of my equipment again. Watching the others in my squad, I could tell they were nervous as I. One heard a rustle in a nearby bush, and shot the offending leopard. Not much later, twenty partisans began to shoot wildly at us! Damn…