whatyareckon

I walked past my twin brother’s hospital bed to the end of the ward, not recognizing anyone I had passed. I had asked the nurse at the entrance of the ward for Roger Helle, and she pointed down the ward, saying, “He’s on the right.” I walked back to her and asked again. This time she walked me to his bed. This can’t be my twin brother, I thought, but the name on the chart said otherwise.

Roger’s unit had walked into an ambush and a grenade had landed at his feet, ripping him apart. Attempting to stand, he was shot twice, one bullet shattering his right elbow and another hitting his stomach, knocking him off his feet. From out of nowhere a North Vietnamese Army soldier appeared and…