The heat of the jungle was sweltering, but comfortable to the young fisherman. He’d grown accustomed to the heat much as a northern person adjusts to the frigid temperatures in winter. The heat was not a factor in his behavior nor his comfort for that matter.

The patrol of Northern soldiers quietly assumed a hasty ambush position ordered by their patrol leader. The sergeant encouraged the men by reminding them of their obligation to the people; their nationalist sentiments. The Southern men were merely puppets serving the demands of their imperialist masters. Nga recalled the Japanese when he was young, very unforgiving people, believing they were superior and the French when he was a teen. They were accommodating to say the least, but nonetheless, they were not Vietnamese. They were foreigners. They have all been foreigners for centuries. This latest version of masters, the Americans were not better or worse than the previous landlords and needed to understand the Viet people could and more importantly should govern themselves. Nga honestly did not understand why it was the Japanese, then the French and now, the Americans. Apathy prevented him from understanding. He knew why and what for he was fighting. He understood he would have to kill a few of his Southern brothers in the process. They apparently did not understand their crimes against the people they were committing. Hopefully, the survivors will learn the lessons of the dead.

He found a position behind a large tree, providing him with more than adequate cover. Leaning to the right of the tree, he spied over the top of his rifle at the trail in front of him; watching for movement. The NCO in charge of the patrol indicated this would be the spot for the ambush. 

As Nga lay on the ground, he could not help experience an overwhelming sense of  fear for what was about to happen. He was very frightened about this impending battle, even though he knew he was in the right. The nagging fear was always there. For the soldier, it does not matter if the size of the two forces numbers over a hundred thousand or just under ten. It remained a frightening undertaking. Nga did not want to die. He thought about Mai; her beautiful eyes, pretty smile and smooth skin. He desperately longed to return home to his fishing village. How easy life was back then when casting nets and hauling fish were the most difficult things he had to do all day. What a life it was, spending ones days on the open water and the evenings with the woman you loved.

Nga heard the voices of the enemy and the whispers of his comrades. He believed something was about to happen. He did not want to speak in fear of alerting the enemy to their position. As the enemy patrol drew near he could see their uniforms, lighter in green than their own and their camouflaged colored helmets; mottled greens and light brown or tan in color. Their weapons were much different than his own. He knew right away that his Soviet built assault rifle was better superior than the antiquated American rifles these men carried. Nga was confident this would be a bloody massacre. Nga observed the expressions on their faces. They did not appear frightened as he was. They were determined. Is as though their foolish beliefs were just as important to them as his were to him. He scanned down the sights of his rifle deciding which person would receive his first bullet. It was both frightening and thrilling all at the same time. He could feel the endorphins coursing through his veins. He was ready.