Haunting

A touching story in the Washington Post of the return of four of 'our boys' from the Vietnam War nearly four decades later:

They lie in a pile on the red clay of Vietnam. Four dead men. One already is smoldering. The elephant grass is on fire. Three other Marines are still alive for now, but if the North Vietnamese Army doesn't get them, the fires surely will. It is late morning, May 10, 1967, on Hill 665 northwest of Khe Sanh. A Marine reconnaissance patrol named Breaker is in trouble, picked off or blasted apart for 12 hours by NVA snipers and grenades. snip Suddenly a Huey flies in fast and low, just drops from the sky, slips in under a blanket of ferocious cover fire. The chopper slides onto the hilltop, within feet of the Marines. Ron Zaczek, a Marine crew chief, jumps out with a crewmate to haul the survivors aboard. It takes only seconds. The young Marines are sprawled on the deck. Clarence R. Carlson and Steven D. Lopez are bloodied and dazed. Carl Friery is clinging to life. Zaczek tries in vain to stuff Friery's intestines back into his gaping abdomen. Then he just rocks him gently, whispering helplessly, "There, there. There, there." The chopper struggles for lift. It skids and bounces, nearly crushing the four dead men on the ground. Zaczek remembers one face. Oddly clean, calm, facing the sky. Its blond eyelashes flutter as the Huey's rotor whips the air and finally lifts the bird. The dead remain where they lie. It is the last time any Marine will see the bodies of Heinz Ahlmeyer Jr., James N. Tycz, Samuel A. Sharp Jr. and Malcolm T. Miller.