The monsoon season in South Vietnam was misery on steroids. Manning the lines at night, patrolling in the cold and wet morning or trying to stay alert in an ambush site for 3-5 hours during torrential rains with no cover (other than a poncho) was enough to try to soul of the most battle-hardened Marine.

I well remember Corporal Walker, my hillbilly platoon radio-operator who notwithstanding the mud, filth, weeks of eating nothing but C-rations, the constant danger real and imagined, soaking wet clothing, and the dreaded casualties, would greet the platoon leadership at morning first-light with the declaration, “ l love this green M_____ F_____ (Marine Corps), free clothes, free food, and all the exercise you could ever need.”

Someone would always chime in with the retort of the Nam, “There it is.”

In our misery, those Marine were magnificent!