The men of D company were discussing the question of why in hell they had had no beer, or at least soda, for a whole month when I arrived on their hill. They wanted to tell me about those in the rear who were stealing the beer and soda from them, but I wanted to talk about Òthe action.Ó That is Òthe actionÓ in which their second platoon lost six killed and eight wounded not so many days ago on another hill, about a mile from where D company is now.
 
D companyÕs present hill, which is a few miles from the Laos border, and inaccessible except by helicopter, is really two knobs with a dip in between. The tall grass has been burnt off, holes dug in the sandy soil, claymore mines laid out down the steep slopes, and a mechanical ambush is set every night on the one trail up the hill. That was the dayÕs big news when I got there: the mechanical ambush had been tripped by a mongoose. Only two of D companyÕs four platoons are now on the hill, but one of them is the second platoon, and eventually I found Private Raymond C. Workman, Jun., from Ohio, a short, blond, slightly spotty boy. He told me about Òthe action.Ó 
Second platoon, working from another hill, had found a bunker complex. One man was killed when they first found it, but then gunships and artillery worked the area and when the platoon went back the next day they 
didnÕt expect any opposition. There was none. They spent an enjoyable afternoon blowing up the bunkers with fragmentation grenades and anti-tank missiles, and they found various weapons, including a North Vietnamese Army (NVA) rocket launcher. ÒWe was really happy,Ó Ray Workman said, Òand we was going back to camp carrying all this and they must have got in ambush on us and they were all over the fucking place.Ó
In the first burst of North Vietnamese fire five men died and the radio handset was smashed to pieces. Ray Workman ticks them off on his fingers: ÒÉthe dog handler, the ARVN scout, the pointman, the first squad leader, and a rifleman. I ainÕt going to give you their names because maybe their folks donÕt know yet.Ó The second squad leader, running towards the front of the column, was also killed. The rest of the men, wounded and unwounded, hit the ground and started pouring out fire from their M-16s and from the one M-60 machine-gun with them. Workman himself fired more than 25 magazines and threw 13 fragmentation grenades. Then they heard the North Vietnamese shout: ÒItÕs something like la-ri, la-ri, it means letÕs get the hell out of here.Ó Because the radio was out, gunships could not ÒworkÓ the area effectively. 
D company is still bitter about what happened next. There were eight wounded men crying and sobbing on the ground. For reasons still not clear, illumination flares were not at once fired to allow a Medivac chopper to get in. The pilot eventually did manage it, setting his helicopter down in the fog and dark, and D company would like to see that pilot get a medal. The five unwounded men and some of the less seriously wounded then retreated to a B-52 bomb crater where they spent the rest of the night. 
Private Workman says: ÒMy best buddies were killed in there. I wish I could tell you my feelings, shit, I wish I could tell you.Ó His voice begins to break and I suddenly realise he is almost crying. ÒYouÕre all together here, you shit together, you sleep together, in that hole, we was all huddled together, trying to keep warm and we was all shivering, we were so scared, we figured if they came back, that was it. I dunno, some of the wounded guys I helped to carry down to the Medivac IÕd rather be dead than like that. The shotgun man, oh shit, he was a mess. There ainÕt no fucking sense in it.Ó 
Private Workman then picks up a piece of newspaper, several weeks old, and begins looking at an ad which says: ÒThese cold evenings what could be nicer than a beautiful gas log fire in the fireplace.Ó