I am on a rear base in Vietnam. There is a rumor it will be attacked in the evening. Outside where I am sleeping there is a small fortification. It is made of loose sand shored up on all sides. There is no barbwire; there are no mines or trip flares. I go from one man to the next, asking each one where I can get an M-16, ammo and magazines, because I have none. A doctor reaches behind a wall and brings back a handful of plastic magazines that are made for toy guns. They are worthless. The dream changes. I am with a group of emotionally disturbed people. I am lying on the cold floor. There is a woman the others want me to be interested in, but I have no desire for her. I am aware of giving way, to regressing, to curling up like an animal. Recollection ends here.