A Childs Poem: Basic Training 1967 By Ko Tha Dja There was no time to fix a wound.

I ran through the woods as the Japs charged over the ridge. I threw all I had at them to cover my mens escape. A bullet hit a tree near my head, I froze, heart pounding, anticipating, this is it I thought. I decided no to be taken alive, not this time, not in this life, Ive been training for this day since I was born. My older brother secretly gave me a gun at age seven. He taught me how to hold it, how to respect it, how to fire it and today that training will finally pay off. I might have been blinded but I didnt care, I was taught to hate the Japs, I had to win, to take them out. Behind the brush, crawling through mud and dirt, my face scratched and hands bleeding, now free from their sight I got up and ran hard and charged their position from their blind side. I was over the hump and there they were, my enemy, tucked in behind rocks firing on my men, killing Americans. I shot everyone of them more than they deserved and I danced on the rocks above them and claimed victory while they said nothing, surprised as they were. Now dead and tired of this game. We lit a couple of cigarettes and sat on the rocks and they asked me how got past them. I said nothing. War was in my blood. I was a hunter.