It rained almost every day in January in Vietnam. Being on the periphery of the sprawling marine base camp in Da Nang, hostile fire was rare. However, one evening there was an apparent attack. Sirens, floodlights, shouting, and the roar of jeeps and trucks awakened everyone in our battalion. The next day I learned from some amused Vietnamese workers that what started the fuss was a single shot from a single Vietnamese man (I forget his name) who was in his late fifties (my age now). Rather than trying to kill someone, he had hoped to “scare the Americans off his farm.” Planting season would soon begin and he did not want to miss the opportunity. From that day forward I was concerned about his welfare and that of others like him. By then it was clear to me that the Vietnamese people did not want us there, were skeptical of the South Vietnamese government, and just wanted to be left alone.