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t was 4:30 pm. I had donned my web gear and steel pot, filled my canteens, cleaned my M-16 rifle and drawn ammunition from the arms room. Bolstered with insect repellent to ward off mosquitoes and a can of peanuts to battle hunger, I was ready for the big night—my first time standing guard on one of the bunkers around the Dong Tam perimeter.
     I was a little nervous and probably stood out from among the dozen or so "veteran" guards who stood casually talking about anything but the berm. I had heard many strange tales about guard duty and read some very frightening ones in stateside newspapers. I tried to forget about those less pleasant things and concentrate on something more positive.
     "Standing guard is a pleasure, not a duty," various drill instructors had blared as I suffered through basic training and AIT. Taking their words to heart, I climbed confidently aboard the deuce-and-a-half, ready for a night on the berm.
     The truck bumped and jiggled down the dusty road, stopping at each bunker to disgorge portions of the night security force. We finally stopped at my bastion for the night and I hopped off.
     Climbing onto my bunker, I could see it was going to be an interesting night. The overhead cover wasn't worth a can of nuoc mam. Luckily it was the dry season so we didn't have to worry about rain. My partner, who hadn't spoken yet, and I stared at each other for a few minutes before taking off our flak jackets and relaxing.
     After a few noncommittal grunts, my bunker-mate finally mumbled something like "uwanta gophers." I hadn't seen any in Vietnam so I demurred, until I finally realized he meant did I want to be first on guard. I agreed and he was snoring two minutes later.
     The first couple of hours weren't too bad at all. A magnificent Delta sunset burned the sky for about 20 minutes before darkness set in. It was cool and pleasant, a welcome change from the heat of the day. But an hour after the sun went down, the sky turned blacker than a Lambretta driver's heart. I could barely see the edge of the bunker, much less to the treeline which I remembered was somewhere to my front. I tried opening my eyes as wide as I could. That didn't help. Then I tried squinting. No luck. Finally I decided I would listen hard.
     I kept up until my shift was over and then cautiously tried to awaken my sleeping companion. I whispered and nudged, tried it again, and then finally shouted at him while almost throwing him off the cot. He groggily looked at me like some sadistic E-7 and mumbled something I was probably better off not hearing. He finally mustered enough strength to climb off the cot and stumble into position. I took his place on the cot, smeared myself with insect repellent and settled down to sleep.

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