Mike and I were punished for sharing the same bunk.

We were awoken the next morning by the Lieutenant who pulled Mike and me from the bunk. My heart raced. I thought the North Vietnamese were pulling me from my sleep. I scrambled for my gun but was jerked to my feet. Mike and I were facing the Lieutenant and although a new fear arose in me, I was relieved. I would not die. At least not at that moment.

I brought myself to attention.

"Dolenz, what were you doing in Nesmith's bunk? I'll have you know that relations between soldiers are strictly prohibited!"

"Oh no sir!" Mike spoke up. "We aren't gay."

"Right." Kircshner said as he looked me over. I became uncomfortable as he visually examined me.

He made us run twenty laps around the camp the next morning. I hated that guy! I had finally gotten a good night's sleep and he drained the energy it bestowed on me by making me run. I hated him!

Mike and I slept in our separate beds from then on. I laid awake each night and tried to keep myself alert. Miserable nights lead to miserable days, which circled back around to miserable nights.

The boys and I had more free time than we'd expected but naps were prohibited. You were needed for odd jobs and no one had time to wake you up. Peter and I got stuck filling bags with sand one day. We would use them to fortify the tents in case of an air raid.

Peter and I hadn't had a chance to get to know each other, so I was thankful for the opportunity to talk to him. I asked him about what he thought of the war.

"I hate it!" He said right off the bat. "I think the world should find a way to solve their disagreements by talking and not sending people, especially teenagers and children to fight for them."

"That's certainly a good thought." I said.

"It's the only way." Peter insisted.

He told me about his life back home in the Greenwich Village, about how he was a hippy, and about his part time folk group. I told him about my life in a Hollywood family.

"I envy you." I told him.

"Me?!" He asked with a slight laugh.

"Yeah, you got to move around a lot and see new places. This has been my first time away from California."

"No I envy you. You had foundation! That's something I didn't have growing up. I never had a permanent place to call home until the Village."

"I can see where you would get tired of that." I shrugged.

We worked in silence for a moment and then I picked the conversation back up with a question that had been wearing on my mind.

"Do you hate me?" I asked.

"What?"

"Do you hate me? You know, because I enlisted." I asked again.

"No, I don't hate you. I hate this war, and I hate that you enlisted, but I don't hate you."

I sighed in relief and smiled.

"Can we be friends?" I asked.

"Micky, you sound like a child. We are already friends." Peter laughed.

"Oh, ok!" I nodded with a smile. Peter laughed at me again before standing from his work and walking away. I thought to myself as I finished up my work about what Peter had said about the war. I could defiantly see why he and so many others back home thought that way. I hadn't figured it all out myself. I believed my 'thoughts' on the war to be greatly influenced by other people. I had no ideas on it of mine own. That's why I'd enlisted. I wanted my own opinion.

A regular's day's work was the troops heading out to the local towns and taking care of the people. We were trained for combat but not allowed to engage in fighting, unless directly attacked by the Viet-Cong or North Vietnamese. We had seen the results of the Viet-Cong on the local village of Chi. Hundreds of people were laying on the street, wounded or dead. I couldn't believe people could do such things to other human beings.

I felt especially bad for the children. Many of them roamed the streets crying, naked and afraid. Many of them were under the age of two. I wished I could bring them back to camp with me. And eventually take them back home. I wished I had not come to Vietnam.