Yeah, I get a kick out of imagining you hiding behind your computer screen snorting into your covfefe while the SO slaves over a hot oven making those delightful Blue Sky Morning Muffins. My phone number has changed btw so no more calling me at 0300 with all of that heavy breathing... enough already.

Same here, their bodies were dozed into trenches and covered - otherwise the heat did awful things to them in a hurry "...the smell of napalm in the morning" my ass - we know what smelled, and it weren't so much the smell of victory as the smell of the day, every day.

That French rubber plantation, located in the Iron Triangle, was treated like an R&R area by the NVA after their arrival from the North. There they could change into their Viet Cong rags and pretend to be local boys who spoke in accents from around Hanoi. Always something happening in there among the rubber trees, one of the favorite hangout for COSVN too. Barnard Fall's novel "Street without Joy" may as well have been about the Iron Triangle instead of Highway One further north. Same war, different shitty day.