The last leg of our flight to Vietnam was quiet, with the soldiers either sleeping or writing letters to their loved ones. This all changed as we approached the Vietnamese coast. Someone yelled out that they could see Vietnam, and immediately everyone got up and strained to get a glimpse.
I was lucky enough to occupy a window seat, and my first thought was how green Vietnam looked from 30,000 feet.
My next thought was, “Where are the cities?” All I could see was jungle.
As we began our descent, the thousands of bomb craters that had marred the landscape showed themselves. Mixed among them were hundreds of wildfires caused by the never-ending thunderstorms.
The lower we descended, the more my thoughts drifted from walks on the beach back home to wondering if the plane would get shot down. As we were landing, the beauty of the countryside was overwhelming. I could not get over the various shades of green in the local flora.
My adrenaline reached its peak during landing, when we passed over a dozen bomb craters at the beginning of the runway.
I realized then that I had indeed entered a war zone, and that death could take me at any moment.
The plane doors opened. The heat hit my face like a slap. It felt like stepping into an oven.
The humidity followed right behind it, thick and wet, pressing down on my uniform before I’d even reached the stairs. Back home, summer heat was something you walked through. This was something you wore.
The adventure begins.