But his punishment is most glorious. He is made to flip a tractor tire, end over end without rolling it, for the length of the shooting range. Everyone cheers him on, and so he does it a second time, and as further punishment for the cheering, he must spend the rest of this day on this mighty task. He is the hero of the day.

The next night I am on patrol, and my partner is called back to the main tent on the new radio which I operate most expertly. I transfer the message with precision.

While he is gone I suddenly find myself confronting a vehicle on a dirt road at night with my Uzi and radio backpack. The driver took quite a chance, because when I called, as instructed "Halt, who goes there? Friend or foe?", his car vanished in a cloud of wheel spinning dust. With heart thumping, I radio in my report. It is the first contact my group has had with the enemy. I am the hero for the evening.

They gave us no bullets for that patrol. But the next day we are given time off to explore the shooting range. One guy throws a used bullet at another. Then the retaliation follows, which almost hits a third guy. Pretty soon two groups evolve, and its war, with used lead flying in all directions.

It comes to standstill when I am hit between the eyes by a bullet. I collapse. The blood drips down my nose. A minor wound, just a scratch. The others carry on as before.