09/09/2026
True Story
There were words that told stories . Words that conveyed hope. Words found in prayer. Then there were these words.
Me and Bailey are burning the s**t .We're talking, rather Bailey's talking. He went out on a patrol that morning. The squad jumped by , ambushed by , annihilated by a platoon of VC. Bailey made it to a river where he hid , tucked into the reeds like an old Tarzan movie, watched them search ,give up , walked away .
Rescued , back on the hill , in front of the brass .Grilled like a piece of meat . Implying , never saying , he ran , a coward. Better he had perished . Better for whom ? Better for them . Less paper work to do . Less explaining . "We don't know what happened . There were no survivors ." Bailey was an... embarrassment . A career killer . When they were done they sent him out to burn their s**t . Not a bit of the old Esprit de Corps. No, no, none of that .
The .... embarrassment .... was sent out to burn their s**t .
Now , I imagine him , lurching out of his bed , pulse racing , heart
pounding , the smell of the river filling the room , VC staring from the shadows , transported back to a time when the VC weren't the only ones who wanted you dead .
There would be no leaving that world and no forgetting his words. .
" Those fu***rs wanted me dead . "