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When it finally happens and it's over, As you stand there and think— Something so mutilated can't be human So it was dead enough without this But even here there is beauty A small flowered patch of ground, a bird's call And the grace of a butterfly Frustration and disappointment Become a laughable thing But always the conflicting emotions to smile Or say the hell with it and cry —SP4 Bob Jackson. The Hell with It. (1970)   In early December, we left Firebase Jamie with orders for a combat air assault.  A Huey is the greatest invention since the wheel. It gets you to ground where there are no roads or rails, which is most everywhere.  The next morning, five Hueys landed thirty feet apart on Jamie's dirt strip.   I said to Bob,  “ I don't want to be killed on my first air assault. ” “ Artillery already cleared the LZ (landing zone). T he choppers touchdown 3-4 feet in the  LZ  for only a few seconds. Jump out and run kinda bent over for the wood line, ...

12:00 Noon. Fasting since last night. Swallowed two laxative tabs with eight ounces of water.  People always mean well. They wag their fingers and shake their heads, “Don't go skating." Toss my skates into the trunk. Strange gurgling from my abdominal region. 4:34 PM. The fast-lax was negatory. Toss back two more. Pick up the phone and call Richard. “What’s the big deal?” Richard laughs, "Just you wait!" Doc Klucka has to catch a mid-morning flight. I’ll have to report to hospital at 5:30 AM. I get to eat three hours sooner! Ten ounces ice cold Gatorade & forty grams of powdered antifreeze down the hatch. Ten more ounces. Forty more grams. 6:55 PM. And another one gone and another one gone and another one down the hatch. A call to the expert. Richard laughs manically, "No one escapes! Resistance is futile!" More bubbling. Pressure at both ends. Burps and hiccups. Running behind. No number two yet. Time to chug-a-lug number four, the yucky-tasty one. The...