by Jennifer Fleming

Created on: September 01, 2009

Somewhere in Vietnam...

April 29, 1967 produced a hot, humid, rainy night in the rainforest of this particular place in Vietnam but the rain didn't slow the seemingly endless firefights Mike Landsburgh could see in the distance.

Mike was 19; fresh out of a Miami, Florida high school where he was a star quarterback with a Mustang convertible and an endless array of friends, many of the opposite sex. Here, he was just another soldier who should have listened to his mom, gone to college and stayed far away from this God-forsaken country. The nearest friendly girls were miles away in Saigon. Although enticing, Mike knew to stay away from them. They weren't the kind of girls you'd take home for Sunday dinner.

These were the thoughts going through his mind as he stood his two hour turn at night watch. His platoon was asleep. As he stood there with rain dripping off his helmet, his thoughts were of home, parents, girlfriends, even his pesky younger sister and brother. He thought about life, as he wiped the water off his M-16 for the twentieth time in almost as many minutes. His life, mostly: the past, present, and the future. Was there going to be a future for him, he wondered? War seemed so senseless; old men in business suits who were country leaders thought them up and started them. Then they want their sons and daughters to fight them.

Suddenly something broke his thoughts - a noise. A broken twig, maybe? He stood erect. "Who goes there?" he called out into the pitch black night. No answer came from the bushes he had his M-16 trained on. He softly gave his platoon the danger whistle, fell into a prone position, and opened fire on the bush. Two North Vietnamese soldiers fell out screaming, riddled with machine gun fire. A third stood and threw a grenade at Mike. The M-16 barked again and he joined the other two. The whole platoon was in position now and firing. Charlie had quite a force over there in the rain.

The grenade had landed between Mike and his sergeant. As Mike reached to get it, a bullet caught Sgt. Nichols in the chest. Mike threw the hand grenade back towards the bushes, but the shrapnel from it hit him in the left arm. Mike still managed to field dress his superior's wound and carry him back behind the line of fire. The platoon was able to drive the enemy back into the jungle but the cost was high. There was blood everywhere. Bodies lay scattered, some still alive, some dead, some dismembered.

Dawn was breaking - the rescue choppers were coming in

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