Bad Coffee It was a cold and damp morning, the plastered stuck to skin like flies to fly paper. The loud ? plica thud thud? of the helicopters had wide-awaken me from my trance, after two and one-half hours of sleep. I had risen incisively in time for a alert cup of coffee when all of the sudden a eggbeater touched down just outside the barracks iron flush up all the debris and dirt it could find. The night in the lead had been a hellish one, the mortar blasts and screams of my fellow soldiers had unplowed me awake nearly all night. And how, my coffee had been ruined by the goddamn helicopter. I was in the worst place on Earth, Saigon, in 1968.
Definitely the revile place at the wrong time. My order of magnitudes were simple, so I thought. Meet up with a group of unripened Berets just outside of enemy lines, and go north to a small village controlled by American troops, we would get more than information soon after we had arrived. That was it, just like king of the hill when I was kid. I met up with my partners in a joint called the...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website:
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