The earth around the pad is red and cracked. Out on the edge of the clearing is a detail of guys shoveling and raking gravel into the cracks. They're all in tee shirts or bare above the waist, and some of them have shorts on. Beyond them is the jungle, and though I can't see it very well I can tell there are trees cut down and that it's been on fire. In the distance are the mountains covered with jungle, and one range after another steps up higher and higher into a layer of chocolate clouds of dust.
A guy with hair longer than anybody's I've seen in Nam comes over to us. His eyes look too small for the rest of his face.
“Anybody going to Bravo Company?” Three guys are.
“Well, hey,” he says, “take some beer out. Give me your ration cards and I'll go to the PX and get beer on your card. W
