At night we took two-hour watches, Hiers my radio man and the others in our command foxhole . On my watch a call came in from battalion headquarters. Da Nang had been hit by 122-mm rockets. We were ordered to cross the river to find and kill the rocket team. I had just arrived, so to me the attack on Da Nang was like the bombing of Pearl Harbor. I summoned my squad leaders and gave them the order. They laughed. No. Way. Not for a few relatively harmless rockets disturbing the comfortable sleep of the Americans in the rear . Besides, the enemy owned the night. Even during the day, a river crossing was one of the most dangerous maneuvers we could do. In the dark, we stood zero chance of finding the men who had fired the rockets but a serious chance of men being killed, wounded, lost or drowned. Solution: We would do the mission only on the radio , but no one would move a muscle. As far as battalion headquarters knew, we withdrew from our position, crossed the river and discovered no rocketeers on the other side. It was a virtual mission. At first light, we did it for real.

This was the Marines. These kids weren’t afraid of a fight. They would have stormed the beaches at Iwo Jima. They would have given their buddies the last drop of water and their last C-ration. They would go out under fire to bring a buddy back to safety. They would give their lives for one another. No hesitation. But would they give their lives for the diplomatic benefit of Nixon and Henry Kissinger? At the order of some hard-charging major safely back at base, who was making the most of a six-month combat posting to feather his résumé? We would die for one another, but we didn’t want to die for nothing.