Chapter TwoTWO MARINE CORRESPONDENTS stood in a misty drizzle at the edge of Highway 1 on the outskirts of Hue. The narrow, muddy road was called the “Street Without Joy” from the days when so many Frenchmen died there in the 1950s. The Marines’ teeth chattered, and both men were numb. Their clothes stained with sweat and a festering mildew, they smelled of blood, a sweet, repugnant smell that breathed and incubated inside their clothes, trapped there by a cold, nudging rain.
The second week into the battle of Hue, the fighting raged house-to-house on the south side of the city. The Marines suffered a casualty for every meter taken. The grunts fought savagely to get a foothold, but everyone knew the real battle lay ahead—to the north in the Citadel, beyond the River of Perfumes. Several N
