Why Didn't They Ask Evan?

A letter from his Mom, Grace Helena Smith

Received on the 4th of March

Dear Evan,

My son and my joy, I hope you are healthy and well.

We're all very well here, everything considered. The rationing has been rather harsh, but we know it's for the good of everyone. At least I got to shave off some pounds from it.

Grandpa is a bit crankier than usual, but we bought him an old chessboard from the McDonalds' and he's now happy as a clam. He plays against Michael, your father, aunt Tara, Mr. Roarke, Father Ashton, and everyone else who allows him fifteen minutes between each move.

The weather is beautiful back home. The flowers are budding, green and perky, brilliant against the leftover melting layer of snow. It's always hot and humid yearlong over there, isn't it? Don't forget to hydrate yourself. And don't forget the mosquito net and repellent!

We heard about your first field deployment.

P̸̛̺̬͇̤͎͔̱͉̄̾̉͑̐ͮ̍̃l̢̩̱̥̫̯ͩ͆̋̐̈̚͜e͛͒҉̶͇͎̗̼̖a͈̠̤̦͊͞s̷͉͈̈́̾̿̓͛̿ͦ͠ȩ̈͌ͨ̀̋̏̌̊ͩ͏̻͎ ͈͓͚͉̿̂͛̓͠c̳̟̱̪͉̙̳̻̿͒͆͛͡͡ȏ̰̤̘̺̥͛ͦ͌̃̄̿͂ͨ͜m͇͎̟͍̙̃ͩ́ͧȇ̴̮̮͎̤̇͛̈́ͥ̍̈ͅ ̻͍̟͓̜̮̞̪̝͋̈ͨb̆͒̾̃͟҉͇͚̳̤̫̣̀ãͤ̒̍͜͏̯̰̗c̷̼͆͒ͧ̅́ķ̼̗͎͇̣̭̖͕͕ͨ͗̔̓̒̓̑̏͠ ̛̤͔̦͚̜͓̱ͥ̐͠t̪͇̦̰̩͈̝̮͛̑̃̉ǒ͔̼͑̅̂ͅ ̵̸̪̹̈́͗̇ͪ̓̋ͤ͑͋ũ̜̳̤̭̓̿ͪ͗̒s̶̪͔͕̞̔ͯ͂

̯̼͂͛̊͛̌͝͞Y̷̨̦̗͖̣̹͋̅͞o̸̪̲̖̮͓̳̠͔̫̒̇̌́̈́ͤ̅ͪ͝ū̺̂ͤ͆̂͘͢ ̲̞͈̇̇̀ͬͣa̶̻̥̘̬̱̙̫͈̿̑̅̓̌̈́͂̎̔r̡̛̦̙̺͓̟̤̪͚̟̒͒̑̓̅ͭe̛̻̜̥͙̹̪̪̗͕͌ͨ ̱͎̮̦̝͚̰͋̇ͧ͆͛ͧͯw̘̣̞͈̹̖͍̩ͪ̿͟ò̹̣̱͓̑̇ͨ̈̅̊͘ŗ̵̑́͛͗̀̇̽ͮ҉̞͈͙t̨̺͙̳͇͍̓̍̇̂̔̽̚h̺̺͒͠ ̙̗͉̈̌ͣͧ̿̈ͫm̢̮̳̰̥̗͙̭̃̋̒͋̈́ͫ͛̕͞o͎̻̰͙̫̩ͪ͑͂̕r̩͎̦̫̩͇̰̆ͫ͡ͅe̢̘͓͙͙ͥ̃̃̈̽̅ͣ ̛͇̲̰̩͙͕̩ͤ̈̾ͦt̙̳̙͍̲̯̺ͮͧ̿͆ͮͥŏ̶̸͇̬̤ͮ ͖̻͕̱̫͌̂̎͠ͅͅm̓̿͋̃ͬ͏̳̟̀́ę̙͍̦̤ͯͬ̓͑̾̂̔͞

(several more lines, scribbled over)

Please don't do anything rash. I believe in you.

Come back home safe. We're always here for you.

Love, Mom.

===

Mission briefing notes, Col. Frederic Sullivan, transcribed by Lisa Patricia Perelli

Transmitted at the dawn of 20th of March

Jameson, Smith, Kendrick, Morsztyn, Goldstein, to lead at A41, 0400

Rest of the boys to follow once the flags are up, except for the flankers (approach at 7 and 2 o'clock, where the bins probably are, roughly 0005 after, may vary).

Take down the bastards, prob. 11-13 in all, not more than 20, God forbid. Use the usual strategy (always check the outhouse first).

Set up perimeter, drink some morning coffee, eat breakfast (rice and some vegs if we're lucky, otherwise it's back to canned ham).

===

Excerpts from 'Tropical Nights: Memoirs of a Cong Hoa Soldier' by Nam Xuan Truong, English translation by Geoffrey Luthers

Published on September 7, 32 years after the end of the war.

The night of the 20th of March was, even more than usual, dreadful and restless. The humid air felt almost unbearably thick with tension and drenched the company in our own sweat. I remember it being unnervingly quiet – as if the mosquitos and the jungle could feel the frightful anticipation and decided to join waiting in strained silence.