We ran the boat up onto a shoal and into some reeds for cover. They had been taking me upriver to a village where we did outreach. I was the only psychiatrist left in the Delta. It was 1974 and the war was winding down. We never expected to get in a fire fight.
The boat’s skipper and crew went onshore to see if they could help. I set up a triage down below in the main cabin. They just kept bringing down wounded and there wasn't any more room. My field pack didn’t have anywhere near the supplies I needed. I tried to tell the lieutenant but he'd already lost it. He laughed and jumped overboard. They shot him when he tried to climb the bank on the other side of the river.
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