Nothing quite like the sound of a machine gun in the night or the smell of napalm at dawn.

The forth of july fireworks were particularly strong triggers this year. When it was most intense at this display we attended, I thought, "I could tell my family that this is what it sounds like in combat, only about a hundred times more intense"

And the rocket's red glare - turn all of it into the flash/bang of explosives and bombs and outline everything with tracer rounds

Just behind the hill were these explosions and a glow of light above the tree line ... like 200# bombs doing their work.

You know what? If I could just slip off into the night and join the fight -- what a great gift that would be. And then the fireworks were over, and all of the ooooos and ahhhhhs were finished, and everyone picked up the laughter and light comments about how beautiful it was. If they could only see inside the fireworks, they'd know its beauty from a different perspective.

It's all irrational. Illogical. Insane. Who in their right mind would want to return to combat? Who would see beauty in weapon's fireing and bombs exploding?

Who in their right mind would feel the safety of holding a live grenade with the pin pulled, just waiting for the right moment to throw it at someone? And the warm feel of a well oiled rifle hanging in my right hand, the comfort of knowing my ammo pouches are full of well checked bullets.

And that certain calm that comes with the fight - handling the weapons and the radio with ease - finding targets and shooting, calling in air and red leg. Answering questions, reporting to higher, directing the fight and shooting - all at the same time.
With the snap of passing bullets, and the laughter when you know they missed you. Right back at u, #*!&

All I know is that I can't continue here. Being gone a few days did me some good, but I can see that this short visit brings back more memories than are good for me. Who could imagine that my fingers throw the words out, and I say "That's right. That's the way it was." Memory in the fingers, just like the instinct to pull the trigger is in the fingers.

I really think I'm going over the edge. Sorry.