Imagine yourself carrying anywhere from 80 (minimum) to whatever your personal limits of pounds on your back. It is hot -- as much as 130 Farenheit. Begin walking. Make sure you remain vigilant in surveying your surroundings as you continue to walk, for death can come from any direction. It could come for you -- or worse, your friends who march beside you. You're already well acquainted with the ghosts, because they are already with you from past months.
Keep walking, and keep watching. It's a really busy day, war-wise, so it's just too risky for helicopters to arrive with more ammunition -- or water, or rations. The enemy is shockingly unmoved by your logistical problems, so continue to maintain your vigilance. Since it is such a busy day, your buddies joke about wearing your helmet, which no one can possibly do, because it's made of metal and it's 130 out.
Man, a shower would feel good right about now, but you haven't had one of those in months. Your two uniforms are uniformly filthy, and, since they weren't manufactured to withstand months of sweat and blood and filth in a climate with as much as 100% humidity, are really more like rags. What they no longer cover the sun blisters.
Keep walking. Here's some water to cross -- time to see who wins the "most leeches" contest. There's a possibility you may get some sleep tonight -- maybe even your full two hours -- but again, maybe you won't.
Live like this in your thirst and your heat and your filth for 13 months, but keep moving, because death is watching for you around every corner.
Manage to live out your enlistment and come HOME. Hooray! No -- complete strangers will spit on you and call you a baby killer. Live with your rage for 50 or 60 years.
Thank a Vietnam veteran today. They learned more about life and death by 17 or 18 than most of us ever will -- and they did it so we wouldn't have to, because old men in air-conditioned offices decided that it was their obligation.
Let us never, ever, repeat these sins with future veterans. God bless the fallen.
