I am brought back to Vietnam; the platoon tells me I look good. I am wearing my old jungle fatigues and steel helmet. I have no gear, no leech straps beneath my knees, I want to tell them ordinary people think I'm strange dressed like this, but I stay silent. With Corson and Bill W. I walk to the water point. We pass through a small town, then into forest where I become lost. I walk to a highway, then pass through a circle of college students. I anticipate unkind remarks, but the students are friendly. At a busy traffic intersection a college professor smiles. "Where is the water?" I ask. He tells me. I find a dark, turbulent river. This can't be the water point, though I know it is. Frustrated, I sleep under a moonlit canopy of thick brush. I wake up under a large plastic tarp. Crawling forward I accidentally wake Steve M. I say, "It's me, Doc." He throws me a pair of bowling shoes, which are too small. A man I have never seen glares at me with contempt. He throws me a pair that fit. Then everyone leaves. I look out from beneath the tarp. Someone inside a nearby house appears in silhouette, then vanishes. I anticipate an ambush. I imagine being shot in the head. I imagine how Steve M. will comfort me. It's raining. I have no water, ammo, or weapon.