Dongxoai was buttoning up for the night. A few hundred yards down the road from the tiny district capital, 55 miles north of Saigon, 24 U.S. seabees and soldiers were resting after a hard day's work building a Special Forces fort. Suddenly the radio in the darkened home of the district chief crackled, and a sentry on Dongxoai's unfinished airstrip blurted: "The Viet Cong are all over." In an instant, everything came unbuttoned: Communist mortar fire sent hot shrapnel up the village streets, recoilless-rifle shells slammed home, the night air buzzed with bullets....
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