I am sent to my old platoon without medical supplies, pack, weapon or ammo. We patrol thick jungle much like Song Be. In a clearing I carry the M-79, sling it over my shoulder, but it is awkward and does not feel right. I become angry. We pass another patrol, which has taken one POW who is larger than life. We enter a large school. I become lost. I speak with a young woman. She refers me to a man who listens to my story, which I relate with anger. He says I should not be mad at him; he is a CO, a conscientious objector. He asks if I understand the term. I tell him, "No." I tell him I am politically and morally ignorant. I tell him I'm worried about my men. Who will help if they are hit? I tell him, "Look, I have the Combat Medic Badge, the Silver Star, two Bronze Stars for Valor, the Air Medal, the Army Commendation Medal, so I know about war and all I want is the right equipment and to be with my men."