By Michael Monfrooe, Army
Writing Type: Prose
By Michael Monfrooe
In the Nam, 1970 to 1971, on long-range reconnaissance patrols, we would run five-to six-day missions. We operated in five-or six-man teams, mostly in the mountains. At night, we slept elbow to elbow and would take one-hour shifts monitoring the hourly situation reports.
On more than one occasion I would peer through a space in the thick brush and trees and spot a plane flying ever so high. Most likely it was a military aircraft, but I liked to think it was a civilian plane.
With my weapon in one hand and handset in the other, I wondered what they were thinking. Did they know we were down here? Where were they going? What were they doing?
This evening, nearly 50 years later, like so many evenings out on our porch, I look up to see the blinking lights far above, and I ask those same questions. I would like to think that some soldier, serving somewhere, looks up at night into a darkened sky and wonders the same things.
Like the bad, there are good memories, even in war.