We are on patrol somewhere in Nam. It is not my old unit but the feelings are the same. We are, the infantry lurking in the jungle. As usual we are spread apart, perhaps 4 to 5 meters between each man. The foliage ahead grows less and less dense.; one can see 25· to 30 meters forward, it is somewhat like the better terrain we encountered in Tay Ninh. I anticipate an ambush; things are going too easily. Beyond the stillness of our own guarded movements I sense another. With the first starting shots I drop instinctively to the ground. These are not the familiar popping sounds of the AK, though nonetheless I have anticipated correctly, we are in contact. Those up front fire back, immediately killing two. Then from my position I see two or three heads begin to rise. I yell to the others, at the same time pointing the muzzle of my 16 in the enemy's direction and attempting to fire. The gun jams. Quickly I reload another magazine and pull the trigger. Again nothing, but the others have caught on and the enemy attack seems over. From the background I hear a sharp whining recoil; it is nothing like our 105s or 155s. The number 106 flashes through my mind, though I am not sure if there is such a weapon; perhaps light weapons, but as the shells fall I realize they are undoubtedly heavy artillery. The first explosions fall outside our perimeter; they do not descend like mortars, nor do they explode like artillery. On impact there is a sharp thunder-clap, followed by earth-like clouds of swirling, thick and heavy dust; though it is curious, these manifestations are small and hug the ground. Soon the shells drop closer and' closer to us, and I hear the shrapnel whizzing over. Finally one lands almost on top of me and I imagine a large piece of steel penetrating the flesh of my back. There is no pain, but I realize this to be a death wound. The last moments of the dream are obscured by the dust clouds.