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sir, that’s not it at all. I just think some of the things we do are dangerous and should be done differently.”
    “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he said rigidly. “We’re in the middle of a fuckin’ war here, and war is dangerous. We cannot be expected to win this thing if we sit back playing it safe. However, I’m not an unreasonable man, Sergeant Krol and I will consider your suggestions. But you may want more field experience before you get too many bright ideas. Most old-timers don’t like it when Cherries try to change things overnight. You better think about that.”
    I didn’t know if I had done the right thing or not. They looked at me as if I was a malcontent who had just insulted them. Like typical Lifers, they either doubted my ability and training, or felt threatened by it.
    Several hours later, Bruckner told me I was correct about the crushing of C-ration cans and also about the way we walked on our patrols, but he sure didn’t like admitting it. There was also a price to pay for my speaking out, we still went out on mid-afternoon patrols, and my squad was selected for the honor more than any other.
    The everyday RIFs got old real fast, especially when it got so hot that Krol stayed back, sending us out by ourselves. His attitude made me more determined that no one from my squad would get hurt or sick while I was in charge. On my next patrol, we traveled far enough to get out of sight of the platoon then hid in the bushes. I kept calling in different locations on the radio to make it appear as if we were moving.
    No one in the squad said a word. In fact, the guys were obviously relieved, not just because we were avoiding booby traps, but also because it was too hot to be humping around. I knew it was no way to fight a war, but because of the extreme heat and no enemy activity, I felt it was the safest way to operate. Besides, there was always a chance that a stupid Gook might stumble onto us, instead of us onto him.
    Occasionally we sat watching a squad from one of the other platoons pass in the distance while conducting their RIF. One of those times, a squad from the 3rd Platoon discovered us tucked away. Their leader was Sergeant James Burke who, like myself, was an Instant NCO, but that was all we had in common. Burke had been in Vietnam only two weeks longer than me, but had quickly given in to the Lifer mentality. To him, being a squad leader meant total control over subordinates. As his men approached, they were tired, sweaty, and hot.
    “Hi guys,” I cheerfully called to them, “come over and sit in the shade for a while.”
    “You people stay put!” ordered Burke, not allowing his men to get out of the sun.
    “Come on Burke,” I said sympathetically. “It’s too fuckin’ hot to be pushing your guys like that.”
    “Don’t worry about my men; at least we’re doing our job, not like you hiding in the bushes. I heard you on the radio, this isn’t the position you called in, unless you can’t read a map.”
    “We’re conserving our energy,” I retorted. “You never know when a boom-boom girl will come around and we want to be well rested.”
    Everybody laughed, even his men. But they abruptly stopped when Burke glared at them.
    “You’re a real comedian Wiknik. You would be of more use in a USO (United Services Organization) show because it’s obvious you’re not doing any good out here.”
    “I’d rather be in a USO show than out here!” I shot back.
    “You’re setting a poor example for your men. If I were you, I would get back to the job you are being paid for and keep this area clear of VC.”
    “That is so stupid. The VC knows we’ve got patrols out and they won’t approach the village in broad daylight. The only time they move is after dark.”
    “Yes,” he said with a sly grin, “and their strategy can be rewarding. After all, you did kill a VC girl the other night.”
    So, he had heard about it. “Yeah, but we don’t get off on killing