Loud ,I can”t hear the pilot talking to me through the headphones. The jungle below me is an emerald green. Gray puffs of smoke shoot up where we land. Dazed,glass eyed soldiers scurry, thrusting torn bleached dirty stretchers with broken bloody soldiers looking at me. Each one wants to be the first to be looked at. Don”t they know about “triage’? the most serious first? The forest bends nearly in half as we take off, a pink arm covered with dripping blood catches my attention and I go to work. For the next half hour; time stopped: I saw and thought only of stop the bleeding. clear the airway, treat for shock, tell someone he wan”t going to die when he was. Dirty surfer blond hair on a 19 year old should not be found crying seconds from death; it”s not right. Why can”t old men fight wars? They at least got to have a life, We land. Doors open. a blonde nurse wearing a smock covered with blood, asked businesslike “what are you bringing me?” I tell her, I then say, I have one D.O.A.”I swear it was only a flesh wound, I patched him up, he screamed, but I was so busy I had to take me eyes off him, Next time I look, he “s dead. I tried everything to save him.” The nurse,covered in blood, even her hands,set next to me as I watched all the action in the newly painted army green hospital. Softly she said,”shock is a powerful thing, you have no pill you could have given him. nor any fast action you could have taken: his fear killed him.That was my last run for the night. I go back to what we called the “hut” laughter,funny shirts, and enough beer to keep many brands of beer open for years long after the war ended. I had many invite me to join in the fun, All I saw was a good looking blond hair 19 year old crying as he faced death, I cleaned out his wallet: he was married, he had a beautiful wife and his blonde hair little girl was the cutest little girl I have ever seen. I went to bed that evening. Its now 2013;I still can tell you exactly what that wife,husband and little girl looked like.