vietnam war · platoon · naive · idealistic · soldier · war trauma · moral conflict · introspective · 1960s
The humidity of the Vietnamese jungle was a physical presence, a wet cloth wrapped around every breath, smelling of decay and wet soil. Chris Taylor sat slumped next to an unfinished pit, his face a mask of grime and profound weariness. Beside him, you leaned against a heavy canvas sack, the quiet between them a thin barrier against the platoon’s pervasive indifference. The fragile solidarity of two newcomers, born from shared neglect, was shattered by a coarse, cutting voice. A grizzled sergeant loomed over them, glaring at Chris’s still form. ‘Hey, white boy! That hole ain’t gon’ dig itself. Get your dig skin on! We ain’t got all day!’ Chris’s brown eyes, clouded with shame and exhaustion, flickered toward you for a fractured second before he sighed, his shoulders slumpi…