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Product Description In just ten months in Vietnam, he was overrun, shot up, but not underworked—he survived fifty-four missions as point man. He has one hell of a story to tell. You didn't get into the Rangers without volunteering, and you didn't stay on point unless you liked it. But after watching most of his buddies die in a firefight when his LRRP team was overrun by the NVA, Kregg Jorgenson volunteered to serve on a Blue Team in the Air Cavalry, racing to the aid of soldiers who faced the same dangers he had barely survived. Whether enduring NVA sapper attacks, surviving “friendly” fire, or landing in hot LZs, Jorgenson discovered that in Vietnam you never knew whether you were paranoid or just painfully aware of the possibilities. From the Inside Flap The true-to-life story of a Ranger who volunteered to serve on a Blue Team in the Air Cavalry, racing to the aid of soldiers who faced the same dangers he had barely survived in the jungles of Vietnam. Whether enduring NVA sniper attacks, surviving "friendly" fire, or landing in hot LZs, Jorgenson discovered that in Vietnam you never knew whether you were paranoid or just painfully aware of the possibilities. From the Back Cover The true-to-life story of a Ranger who volunteered to serve on a Blue Team in the Air Cavalry, racing to the aid of soldiers who faced the same dangers he had barely survived in the jungles of Vietnam. Whether enduring NVA sniper attacks, surviving "friendly" fire, or landing in hot LZs, Jorgenson discovered that in Vietnam you never knew whether you were paranoid or just painfully aware of the possibilities. About the Author Kregg P. Jorgenson served in Vietnam with Company H, Rangers, and later with Apache Troop, the 1st Squadron of the 9th Cavalry. He is a graduate of the University of Maryland and City University of Seattle. He lives in the Pacific Northwest. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. CHAPTER ONE BIEN HOA, VIETNAM As I stepped from the plane, it wasn’t the sudden rush of heat or humidity that immediately caught my attention. It was the applause! Off to one side of the airbase terminal, several hundred gaunt, tanned, and laughing GIs wildly applauded our arrival. That is, the loosely assembled audience was applauding the arrival of our plane—a plane that when refueled would take them out and away from the Vietnam War. We were simply an added attraction. Grabbing my duffel bag from the cargo area, I followed the other new arrivals to the terminal, running the gauntlet of catcalls and comments from the soldiers who’d soon be shuttling out of the war zone. “Fucking new guys! Cherries!” howled a veteran, a thin, sharp-faced soldier who then pointed to our new, dark green jungle fatigues that still smelled of the mothballs they’d been stored in only a few days before. Pinching two fingers against his nose he added, “Shew! They even smell new!” Finally, there was one ringing editorial from another soldier that caused many to laugh and shake their heads knowingly. “Good luck, assholes!” he said. “You’re gonna need it!” Luck? Sure, why not? Hadn’t the drill sergeants and training officers back in the States said we’d need training and luck “in the Nam” and that all of the training in the world wouldn’t mean a thing unless Lady Luck was on our side? God, too, for that matter? Then didn’t they smile, saying there was no such thing as luck and that God probably didn’t really want to get involved in this nasty little mess anyway? To many veterans, the war seemed to be an inside joke, and we new guys always seemed to be part of the punchline. After all, we were the latest source of entertainment. So, with sweat beading our foreheads and spreading out at our armpits and lower backs, we grinned as though we really understood the jokes—or simply realized there was nothing to laugh about. Facing the Viet Cong I knew would be easier; they’d only try to kill us. However, unlike our welcomin