“I will make you proud.” 

    Those were my last words to Dad before I was abruptly shoved forward by the steadily moving line toward the aircraft’s boarding entrance. Those parting words were also a promise.

    Exactly seven days ago, on my eighteenth birthday, I announced to Dad that I was going to fight in the war. He thought it was a joke at first. When he realized it was not, he exploded like a hacked off grenade. If it were not for that rickety wheelchair, my old man would have given me a piece of his mind. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. I was so confident that Dad would dig the idea. He and Grandpa both served in the army as

respected, high-ranking soldiers, and he knows how proud and passionate I am about being American and how I dream of earning the Medal of Honor someday for serving the country. 

    Despite this, Dad’s reaction to my announcement did not shock me as much as one may think. At five feet with arms and legs thinner than twigs, a strong and stouthearted soldier on active duty is not what most envision when they first meet me, but I am determined to change this, and that is starting today with each stride I take towards my captain’s tent. As always, the smoldering heat and humidity of this place are nearly unbearable, but I will not cut myself any slack. I maintain my erect posture and steady rhythm as my Jungle Boots tread across the muddy brown dirt that is freshly saturated from last night’s downpour. 

    “Captain?”
    “You may enter, Paterson.” 

    The tent is spacious with a large table in the center overflowing with maps, folders, and reports on the most recent operations and investigations. I stand from a distance with my head held high and my heart hammering within my chest.

    “What is it now, Paterson?” The exasperation and annoyance cannot be more obvious in my captain’s voice. 

    “I would like to finally be assigned a mission, sir.”

    “Is cleaning the ammo dump not enough of a mission for you, 

Paterson?” 

    My face burns at the blatant gibe, as I shift my weight uneasily from left to right. 

    “As a soldier, sir, it is my duty to participate in military operations and contribute to the war effor-”

    “I am afraid I have no available positions for you at this moment. Your request is denied. You are dismissed.” 

    The blunt rejection feels like a slap to the face, and I lose all sense of control and conformity. My only wish, my only desire, my only dream is to become the best soldier in the company. How can I prove myself if I am not even given the chance?  

     “Sir, patrols are returning and leaving every week from this base camp!” I protest desperately. “How can there be no available positions? I can fight. I can contribute. Just give me a chance, sir.”

    My captain lets out a long sigh and rubs his forehead with furrowed eyebrows. 

     “Look, Paterson. There are just other soldiers that are . . . . better and more suitable for the job. You dig?” 

    “I may seem like a small useless flake, but I can prove to you that I’m not,” I declare defiantly.

    “You wouldn’t make much of a difference, Paterson,” Captain replies.

“We aren’t making much progress against the VC with their tricks and traps. More and more people here and back home are starting to oppose the fighting. There really is no point in going out there on those missions. You’ll just get yourself killed.”

    “Sir, we’re Americans! Defenders of democracy! How can we lose hope so easily?” I cry out in frustration. “All of the other soldiers are being deployed. Give me a chance. Please, sir-”

    “That is enough!” my captain barks, slamming his palms on the table and sending a tornado of papers and maps to the floor. “You wouldn’t understand. I will not repeat myself. You. Are. Dismissed. Paterson.”

YOU. ARE. DISMISSED. PATERSON.

    I leave the tent, infuriated with the captain and myself. The deafening roar of a chopper passes overhead. With the advancements in aviation, helos have become a common sight in the skies. I tilt my face upwards to the ruthless heat of the morning sun. What am I going to do? I want to be out there, in the dense wilderness, fighting for my life, proving my worth. I feel as if I am being suffocated with every passing second, cooped up here in the base camp, stacking packages of ammo that I will never use. I envy the others. I envy all of them. Why can't Captain just give me a chance? Why? 

    “Hey, look over here! James Paterson’s got bats in the belfry again!”

    I grimace at the familiar voice. I drop my head with a groan and turn around to see Big Mike and his band of hunks strutting directly towards me, looking all tuff and sharp with their groovy shades. They are always laughing, drinking, and talking facetiously like the war is some kind of joke. I watch them take their sweet time as they close in and tower over my figure, their shadows gradually enveloping me in a ring of darkness.

    “How you doin’ today, James?” Big Mike asks with a smirk plastered on his face and his hands on his hips. “Heard you back there talking to Captain. You want to be assigned a mission? You’ve got no chance,

midget!”

    They erupt in banters and jeers, evoking an intense anger deep inside me. I need to fight back, but what can I say? What can I do? I have no means to prove them wrong.

    “Pattyson’s a wimpy ditz!” Big Mike taunts, making fun of my surname. 

    “What a waste it was coming here, don’t you think, James?” 

    “How this little baby managed to enter the army beats me!” 

    I walk away in shame and silence. I am no longer certain of my place in the war, but one thing I know for certain is that the constant belittling and humiliating is gradually becoming too much for me to remain stoic. 

  “Wake up, Anh! We have much to do today!” 

    Má’s soft hands gently caress my forehead, and I slowly open my eyes and come to my senses. I dress quickly and straighten my sleeping mat, bracing myself for another exhausting day in the rice fields. Within seconds, the house is bustling with the clatter of pans and the incessant wails of my younger brothers and sisters. After finishing breakfast, Má, Ba, and I are joined by my three sisters and four brothers as we walk to the fields. The sun has not risen yet, and the cool morning breeze is a 

welcome sensation. The most productive parts of the day are in the mornings and evenings when the heat is not as strong and the air is still pleasant and refreshing, but I can already feel the rays blazing through the clouds on the horizon. 

I look up to see the familiar shapes of nón lá in the distance. More and more families arrive, and Ba walks over to the other men from our village as they exchange greetings and news. 

    “I just learned that my uncle’s village was bombed two days ago. Not a soul left.” 

    A young man with wilted shoulders shakes his head in despair. 

    “And I’ve heard nothing from my brother in weeks!”

    For the past several months, the only talk of the village has been about the fighting, and it seems like things are only becoming worse and worse. Through my terrible skills in eavesdropping, I have gradually gleaned more and more information about the destruction, the bombings, the raids, and the deaths. Thousands of people are fleeing their homes and rice fields, and many say that the fighting will never stop. My nights are often restless as I hear Ba and Má argue outside of the house about moving the family somewhere safer. 

    “Are we in danger, Má?” I ask quietly in a hushed whisper. 

    “No, we are fine, Anh, my dear daughter. We are safe,” Má answers with a small smile and cups my cheek affectionately. 

     “Do not lie to her.” I jump at Ba’s deep voice from behind me. 

    “We could be in more danger than we think. I’ve heard from the others that there is a large camp of soldiers not far from My Lai, our village.”

     Má’s smile fades. She does not like talking about the war and often digresses from the topic whenever possible. 

    “Please, do not scare the children. Let us hope that they will never come. We are safe.” 

    Are we? 

    The next day, everyone is summoned outside. The captain stands at the front. He tells us that he has received orders to immediately conduct a search and destroy mission on a nearby village for suspected Charlie supporters and sympathizers. Adrenaline and excitement surge through my veins. This is the chance I have been waiting for! 

    The orders are clear and simple. 

    “Destroy the village!” the captain bellows. “Anyone and everyone there can be considered a VC soldier or supporter. Leave none alive!”

Leave none alive!

    Today, my entire family is at the market. I sit on the ground and lean against our massive mountain of rice bags. All of the women and children are here to sell and buy clothes, meat, fish, vegetables, fodder, and other goods. Like everyone else, Má bends down to vet the quality and quantity of the items and argue over prices. Life here is so predictable. We wake up early, we work all day, and we go to sleep late. That is why I cherish the days spent at the market when I do not have to sweat and tire while knee-deep in the rice paddies. 

    Suddenly, I hear shouts and pounding feet to my left. Everyone in the market stops and looks in the direction of the commotion. 

BANG! BANG! BANG!

    Running. Crying. Screaming. Someone knocks over the bags of rice, and I watch our precious white grains and hard work go to waste in a second.