Suddenly, without warning, we are ambushed. Streaks of light cut the night. The whoosh of rockets is deafening. I hit the throttle, turn the wheel hard over to bring weapons to bear, and bark orders at my men who have already commenced firing. With only yards between us a fierce exchange takes place.
Red or green points of light appear in the distance very small at first but growing larger, slowly picking up speed, accelerating beyond expectations, growing exponentially in size until disappearing behind me. I can hear them like angry bees whizzing past my ears, but they are not bees. In-between each tracer are 5 more bullets that cannot be seen.
Suddenly enemy action ceases. Fire continues into the area until my gunners begin to hear my shouts, "Cease Fire," and release their triggers. Soon the last echoes of our guns fade in the distance. Barrels glow red in the dark. The last ricochets fly away until they disappear into the night.
Shell cases roll clanking across the deck as the boat rocks in the turmoil it has itself created as a result of my evasive maneuvers. The after 50 cooks off a round and the boat begins a very slow spin from the recoil. A miracle... not one of us has been hit.
I am occupied on the radio in coordination with Stingray Control alternately shouting across the water to the boats that have come to our aid. I ask for an artillery strike but all of the firebases are busy providing artillery for other units that are also in contact.
We point out the location of the ambush to the other boats then recon by fire, peppering the tree line with bullets that ricochet up and at odd angles. Some streak into the clouds. There is no return fire.
Boats nest together for consultation between captains. After a time we resume patrol.
What seems like ages later I begin to make out shapes against the night. It is twilight. The sun begins its creep over the horizon and a fog settles down upon the river.
I tip the barrel of the after 50 to the sky, mount Old Glory upon the stern to catch the sunrise, and with a sense of relief order the helmsman to turn the boat into the light.
We inventory ammunition trying to calculate the time it will take to clean the guns. The Snipe cracks a joke and laughter wafts across the water. Tension begins to break.
The flag snapping and popping in the wind whipped up by the speed of the boat fascinates me. I feel the same pride swell in my breast as when a boy I watched it pass in parade.
Suddenly. we emerge from the fog with the sun rising before us. It has just a little way to travel until obscured by the clouds; but for now the light is warm and incredibly beautiful.
Promise is what we feel, at least for this morning. I am one with my crew. I am so very proud of them. It feels good... to be alive.
And then. everything begins to fade... it's all gone. I wallow in confusion struggling against a terrible loss. I am awake. That was the dream that night. They are not always the same and not always what I remember.
Only a few know of the place. It was a very small part of a very large and terrible nightmare, but it was reality. There a hot beer tasted damn good. Lima beans and ham from a can was a gourmet meal and nothing was ever taken for granted.
On the Cua Viet River I discovered the terrors of the night and of the mind and conquered them. I developed a sixth sense and the dark became my friend. I fulfilled the trust that was placed in me, gained a confidence I never thought possible, and learned to respect my enemy. I made my peace with God, and forever lost the fear of death. I found the meaning of the morning.