Yankee Papa Thirteen

it was like being inside a big machine that wants to be noisy and disrupt your senses and the blades whirred at speeds I could'nt see, over the rice fields and boots of the dead and the cartidge-case stairs thumped their tattoo down to the heart of the Viet Cong (who were they?) guys just like us... and the explosion rocked the machine and bits of brain and a pool(blood) crept past our feet... and dripped to the water and fields below and he was shouting something important but i could'nt hear, I could'nt hear...the fear had got my throat...the fear, Jesus I'm sorry but I just could'nt hear... and everything was going haywire and guys were dying and it had all gone wrong... not the way it was meant to be and who were they who had done this blunderbus work, mouths agape shooting into the sun? they were guys,they were guys... just like us