Like a lot of other young men who came home from Vietnam, I was angry; angry at the waste of young lives in a war that would eventually be repudiated by the majority of the country which had sent us there. I was bitter that the friends I had lost vanished in the ether, with very little to mark their time on this earth. I vowed to not let their names be lost to history, that I would find the time to write their story in the little vignettes and scraps of notes that I had kept during my time in the war.
I tried to write in the voice of the time. At times the language and the attitude more...
