Bad Coffee Essay Research Paper It was

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Bad Coffee Essay, Research Paper It was a cold and damp morning, the moisture stuck to skin like flies to fly paper. The loud ?thud thud thud? of the helicopters had awaken me from my trance, after two and half hours of sleep. I had risen just in time for a fresh cup of coffee when all of the sudden a chopper touched down just outside the barracks kicking up all the debris and dirt it could find. The night before had been a hellish one, the mortar blasts and screams of my fellow soldiers had kept me awake nearly all night. And how, my coffee had been ruined by the damn helicopter. I was in the worst place on Earth, Saigon, in 1968. Definitely the wrong place at the wrong time. My orders were simple, so I thought. Meet up with a group of Green Berets just outside of enemy

lines, and go north to a small village controlled by American troops, we would get more information soon after we had arrived. That was it, just like king of the hill when I was kid. I met up with my partners in a joint called the Lucky Money, a real run down place, the air filled with stale smoke and the scent of plastic palm trees. Let?s just say the Lucky Money had seen better days. Hell just four months ago Bob Hope had occupied that vacant stage. The atmosphere was filled with tension. At the drop of a pin the whole environment could erupt into total chaos, half the time shoot outs would start in the street just from punks tossing rocks around. The guys I met up with were worn down, not one of them had a good night?s rest in at least a month, you could see it in their eyes.

All they wanted was a ride home, and they were going to do anything and everything in their power to get home. The leader of the group, Colonel Jake Denton, had been here two damn years. He didn?t have much to say except he missed his kids. The other three were all from Texas, but none of them knew each other until the army put them together. The mousy looking kid was from Dallas, and he always had a cigarette hanging from his lip, a sure sign of the stress that was building inside him, his name was Jon Weinhard. The two other guys were Mike Brown and Jerry Stocker, both of them really seemed to like each other and were always giving Jon a hard time, no doubt they were a couple of jocks straight out of high school. Mike was always talking about something, I swear to god not even

a roll of duct tape could shut him up, and Jerry was always slacking off, doing just his part of the job, and leaving early so he could go and get drunk. We sped off in the Jeep making good distance for the next couple of hours. Twilight fell and we slept in a small town along side a river, the hotel was horrible, the skittering and scattering of roaches on the floor kept me awake for hours. The weather was hot and muggy, bugs everywhere clung to my skin like metal on magnets, it was impossible to escape them. The next morning came. After an early meal of some rice cakes and goats milk, the breakfast of champions, we decided to get moving. To my surprise we had reached our destination by noon, and there was no going back for a while. The Jeep was totally empty on gas, it was a

wonder we even made it to the bridge. I went and talked to some of the fella?s by the barracks, they had said that the mail hasn?t been delivered for more than a month now, according to them the mail use to come through once every two weeks. The camp looked like a circus, lights strung up across power lines, people everywhere just seemed to be having a good time. The atmosphere was really relaxed, these boys probably hadn?t seen any action in months, and it was definitely starting to show. Night fall came and the berets and I settled down in a bunker alongside the river, Jerry was listening to a radio he talked out of some guy and kept getting angry because when ever he found a frequency that was English it would turn into static after a few minutes. The issue about the mail not