Dear Pop,
I am hot and thirsty. I never seem to get enough water in me. I am always thirsty. Sarge says I will always be thirsty in nam, he knows best, he’s been ‘round in them parts of jungle and grass since Jesus walked the earth.
Our platoon got hit last week. Bernie is gone. I gotta say we was all scared, just plain scared. Sarge says it’s the first six weeks like that, then it gets easy, he says.
I miss ya all, Denise and Carl and Derrick and the kids and Mom and Paul and Aunt Bessie. I just wanna be there for Saturday mornings and eat those big FAT dogs you barbecue and drink the pitchers. God I’m thirsty.
Yesterday we was on patrol from sunup to sundown. We see nothin’ other than this shithole jungle and these shithole gooks. They just look ats you like they are dead. Yea, like dead. Empty eyes ya know. Eyeballs of glass. This shithole land is a land of living dead people and their cattle. Lots of them cattle I mean. And kids.
I dont know when I can write again soon.
I luves you all.
Your son,
Haywood