I am back in Vietnam, We are on patrol. Bob and my brother are with me, My brother wears a camouflage T shirt, We tramp through the jungle until we reach a great clearing, It is a great sloping field, much like those in the Watchung Reservation, My brother goes around the side on a small recon. Two G.I.s already at the bottom of a hill mistake him for VC and direct fire at him, I hail them off, but it is too late. I see my brother being hit. Another GI from behind is also shooting at my brother. From fifty meters I hit him with a sustained burst from my M-16. The bullets wind through the air, arcing like artillery shells. Bob grabs the fellow I have wounded while I go to the aid of my brother. We take them both to a nearby hospital, which resembles my childhood grammar school. The doctor acts quickly, taking the wounded into the operating room, we go back, as there is nothing left for us to do. A fellow who I dislike intensely, another medic, sallies up on horseback from behind us and jeeringly announces that my brother is dead. I am heartbroken and begin weeping and sobbing, Then I turn around and with the strength that comes from great anger grab the horse by its throat and half wrestle it to the ground. My lamentations grow softer, until the mourning feeling is all but gone. As Bob and I return to the hospital we must cross a street. The area resembles the neighborhood of my childhood. A policeman halts an oncoming car that I have waited to let pass. The dream ends with an intense feeling of loss.