The last time I saw Charlie, I was in-country and they were maddening shadows, the damn bastards, in the green and black dense jungle foliage. They were hiding, ghostly and evasive My brother soldiers and I were sweating in dry mouthed anticipation. The Bong Son Bomber we smoked the day before was a brief vacation for our spent minds. We had some fear, some anger, and what the hell are we doing here thoughts. We would drift dreamily with the weed. But, the following day in-country all I could recall is a flash of burning ungodly pain. A chopper raging thunderously.