Twenty-three years after the fact, Denny McClellan's recurring dream is still vivid. Once again he is 18, back on patrol ten miles northwest of Danang in the company of equally wary, heavily armed grunts of the 2nd Battalion, 7th Marines. His M-16 is loaded for Charlie, and a couple of grenades are within easy reach in his flak jacket. His field pack weighs 40 lbs., and the day is surpassingly hot. The lance corporal his buddies call "Red" is sweating heavily. His squad leader, not much older than McClellan, gives a hand signal, and the patrol moves off the road and...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
