Nobody goes to war because they’re uninformed. I sure didn’t. Before I volunteered I’d done my homework and I knew more about “South Vietnam” and “North Vietnam” than nearly all of the draftees I’d be serving with over the next three years. Older single guys who’d usually been working fulltime when they received their Greetings from Uncle Sam, the draftees were already used to punching in on time, following orders and keeping their mouths shut. Being professional killers was just another job and, if ever in combat they cut off enemy ears or fingers, heads or dicks (Dr. Penis is a professor at Yale), it was in the spirit of downing a few beers after a day’s work well done. They’d been selected, they had a 365 day contract and everything was cut and dried, any second thoughts or moral qualms just nuisances; fucking mosquitoes drunk on blood buzzing in their ears. The enemy had been asking for it and, besides, everybody knew these Vietnamese, and all the rest of them “-ese” they’ve got over in that godforsaken part of the world, don’t value human life the way us Judeo-Christian cutthroat capitalist Americans do.
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