We are on an LZ; I am saying good bye to an American girl. We are embracing. Her father, dressed like, a Navy admiral, appears quite suddenly; for a moment. I address myself to him. He brings up the subject of security and somehow mentions the name of Crazy Frank (used to play with the dead bodies). Suddenly everyone drops, we wait expecting the inevitable machine gun chatter etc., but it is only a false alarm. There are many soldiers spread about in not typical fashion, it appears more like a WWII beach scene than one of an LZ in Vietnam. A colored soldier rises up and makes an unclear remark. Apparently someone inadvertently set off a chain reaction, all of us obeying the instinct acquired from contact. The commander and I resume talk, we parley for a few more minutes; this time there is no mistake. I hear the sounds of mortars popping from tubes. I look at the commander and say, "Mortars, run for the bunkers." A mad rush for cover follows. In my mind I am counting off 8 seconds even as I am running; this is how much time I anticipate we have. There seems to be an air of complete disregard for everyone but one's self. The commander pulls and tries to get past me; I myself have completely forgotten the girl. The bunker seems familiar, as from another dream. It is too large to be representative of the ones I sought refuge in while in Nam. When I am just inside, mortars begin to drop, I make for a sturdy wall; the sounds, of explosions seem to be coming right over us. I seem to sense that this bunker is more like the basement of a large house, and that the mortars are hitting the building structure above us. The explosions have become deafening. In the last moments of the dream" I am near an opening, I vaguely see the outside ground, for I am lower and must look up. A terrific whining descends overhead; a shell is going to drop very near to us. The blast takes place right outside the opening. I am knocked a few feet by the concussion, but not seriously injured. Very close, a machine gun opens up; it is a light 30 cal. We are under a ground attack. I wake up, bathed in the sweat of nocturnal madness.