It was July 5, 1967, around four-thirty in the afternoon. It was one of the driest days the rainy season of that time of year could offer. The sun was still in the sky, but its brightness was gradually fading as late afternoon turned into early evening. Michael Cooper walked wearily toward the field where some soldiers were about to play soccer, using only an improvised ball and a lot of energy to endure the heat and humidity that made their bodies as wet as if they had just come out of a river. He wouldn’t play, but he would enjoy a moment of leisure amid the constant tension that loomed over the temporary American camp in Saigon.

Cooper approached another soldier who was sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree. The man appeared to be about his age, around 20 years old. He had tired green eyes, while his face and posture seemed both defensive and scared. The soldier quickly glanced at him and gave a slight nod, as if inviting him to sit, which Cooper did. Both remained silent for a few seconds in an awkward quiet, until Cooper, wanting to break it, introduced himself: "Hi! I’m Michael Cooper. What’s your name?" he said, extending his hand.

The young man replied: "I’m Ryan Carter, nice to meet you," and accepted the handshake.

They continued watching the game for a few minutes until a nurse with black hair and blue eyes approached and asked if she could sit beside them, to which they agreed. The woman had a kind yet determined and confident gaze, which suddenly reminded Cooper of his younger sister, Claire. He missed her a lot. The woman then introduced herself as Rachel Collins. Wanting to start a conversation with the two, Cooper said: "This heat just doesn’t give us a break, does it?"

And Carter replied: "Yeah. Back home, I’d be hoping for rain, but here, it doesn’t help much. Sometimes, the rain even causes a lot of damage."

"That’s true," Collins agreed. "Once, I was treating patients in a canvas tent, closer to the battle zones. It started pouring, and the tent’s frames collapsed. It was chaotic! You know, this war makes me so angry! Thinking that everything happening here is just because of the Cold War and that Domino Theory!"

"You surprised me," Carter said. "I thought all nurses supported the war."

"I did, a few years ago."

"Well, what we see here changes anyone’s perspective," Cooper commented.

"Absolutely," she nodded, her expression turning sad. "But that wasn’t even the main reason I changed my mind. Actually, my older brother was drafted. He wrote me many letters, telling me about the horrible things happening here, and when he passed away, I was furious! That’s why I volunteered to become a nurse—I wanted to help people in the same situation he was in."

"I’m so sorry," both men said.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Their expressions were now sorrowful. For a few moments, they sat in silence, eyes downcast. Then, she asked:

"And you two, how did you end up here?"

They both answered at the same time: "Drafted."

"Oh!" she said, sympathizing. "I’m so sorry you had to come here against your will. That must have been terrible!"

"It was," Cooper confirmed. "I was studying engineering, halfway through my degree when I was drafted. When I arrived, I was sent to a camp very similar to this one. I was scared, I thought I was going to die, but I tried not to dwell on that—if that was even possible. I threw all my energy into my duties in the war; I think it was my way of coping. Now that my service is over, I’m here, waiting to be sent back home."

"Wow! I admire your courage," Carter said. "I was really scared—for me, this was certain death! I had a hard time carrying out my duties. When I was in combat, all I could think about was that I didn’t want to die. My service time is over too, which is why I’m here. When I was sent here, I could hardly believe I had made it out alive." Then, with a soft, sad sigh, he continued, "It’s actually a strange feeling. Of course, I’m happy to be going home alive. But at the same time, I feel guilty, you know? I don’t know much about the war. I don’t really understand what led to it. I fought in a war—I even killed people like me—without even knowing anything about them or the reason I was doing it!"

Cooper added: "And it feels like you don’t deserve to be alive. You don’t understand why you’re here, while that fellow soldier or the one you shot is dead."

A silence followed for a few minutes. The three of them stared somberly at the game, as if trying to process Cooper's words. Collins finally broke the silence:

"I believe witnessing death up close is one of the quickest ways to change a person." She reflected for a moment before continuing. "Just before coming here, I saw my grandmother pass away. She had been sick for a long time and was staying at my house. I was in the room with her when, already so frail, life gently slipped away from her. It was a peaceful end, but it gave me a very different perspective on life. In the end, we all go the same way—sooner or later, with more or less suffering. The war and the deaths I’ve seen in the infirmary remind me a lot of that day. But the feeling is completely different when you’re responsible for trying to save someone. When you fail, instead of reflection, there’s only guilt. Even when you know you couldn’t have done anything, you still feel responsible." She paused before adding, "You both must think I’m foolish for saying this. Having to kill must be much worse."

"I don’t think you’re foolish at all," Cooper said. "Watching someone die is terrible no matter what. But I can’t deny that taking a life feels worse. I feel like a monster every day for what I’ve done. In war, you just do it—you pull the trigger without thinking, running on adrenaline. But the moment after, the guilt hits you. And all those questions come rushing in: ‘Why him and not me?’ ‘Who was he?’ ‘How will his mother react?’ ‘Was he married?’ ‘Did he have kids?’ ‘What will they do without a father?’ And those thoughts never leave you."

The three of them fell silent again, lost in their thoughts. They continued watching the game, though none of them were truly paying attention. Each carried new perspectives, new burdens to add to their already heavy thoughts about the war. Even with different words in their minds, the general conclusion was that death defines war, and no one who witnesses it remains unscarred.

The match soon ended. Slowly, the three stood up and exchanged addresses, promising to stay in touch once the war was over. Then, each went their separate way, heading back to their respective quarters.