ABSTRACT
A steady drizzle was falling on the aluminum matting of the airstrip. The tin-roofed hangars and waiting rooms were abandoned, paint peeling and doors swinging loose on their hinges. Rusted, barbed-wire barriers were tumbling down and slashed. Across route one, endless rows of dirt-brown hootches stretched toward the grey-green of the rice paddies. Half-emptied sandbags were strewn around some of the hootches, deserted except for a few forlorn-looking South Vietnamese soldiers. An occasional jeep or truck splashed down a dirt road, veering around potholes and upturned oil drums.
