You quickly glance around, the gunfire whizzing about your head. You hear the characteristic thwak of a bullet hit not two feet from you, implanting into a nearby tree, the bark splintering off. The sound draws you in temporarily, a small relief of the chaos going on around the area, the one sound a vacation from the anarchy. Soon enough the silence fades into gun shots and screaming, your fellow soldiers yelling in anger, agony, fear, or whatever emotion they happened to be feeling.

You, however, are silent. You’ve done this before, felt the emotions, felt the fear, but you have accepted it. If you die, you die, so be it. It must have been your time. But you have a good feeling it’s not today.

Hefting your M-16, you slowly begin to crawl forward, over the small grassy hill. Small flashes of red mark the landscape, the shots all blending together creating one sound. Still, Charlie is nothing but muzzle flashes and darkness. You feel lucky, so you bring up your rifle and take careful aim at one of the red dots across the field. Slowly, you depress the trigger, your rifle screaming as the bullets fly across the battlefield. After emptying the magazine, you check for your own personal red dot. Smiling grimly at the darkness you see, you snatch up another magazine and jam it into your rifle.

You look around for Jeremiah, the man with the radio. Scanning quickly, you notice him firing madly toward Charlie. Running over to him, you shake him until he realizes that it’s you, a friend.

"Jeremiah!" you yell, "What’s the deal with those choppers? Where’s our LZ?"

He looks back at you, unmoving, and utters, "The napalm is coming in ten minutes, we have to get across this field to the LZ. HQ wouldn’t even listen! We have to get across!"

With that, he put another clip into his M-16, got up, and began to run wildly across the field, shooting at everything and nothing.

"Jeremiah! Get back here!"

You’d seen it happen before, men losing their minds, all hope gone. You watch as he gets cut down in a hail of gunfire.