Hill 86 sat above a village, which surrounded a large set of rice fields. Bill and I walked around this curving expanse…young boys eager to learn about the people there. We each took the hammocks I’d paid for and returned to our assigned sites: Bill to his crew on the Hill, and I to my machine gun crew perhaps a quarter mile up the road…two young boys, friends, laughing about the adventures of the day. When the assault on the Hill came in that dark night I was told to hold my position, and then at first light moved to the base of the Hill to form the security perimeter.

I was told Bill’s body was carried down in the hammock I’d bought for him. He was a fine, honorable young man, committed to the ideals of being a good soldier, a good man and a good American. He was my friend. To this day I regret not being on that Hill, to be with him even unto the end.