It was hard to believe, but there they were with their big afros, pant legs hanging over mud-caked boots and talking very loud. I was impressed. They acted as though they were back on the block somewhere, taking long casual strides, strutting and not really paying anyone any attention. I saw at least a dozen officers pass them by without even a hint of a salute being given. In fact, it seemed as though the officers were trying to avoid them just the same way someone would avoid the plague. I considered myself to be a rebel but this was something else entirely. They looked and acted the part. I observed them from a distance. I looked silly wearing the Jungle Hat I had just bought to replace the hated baseball cap. I tried not to look like a new arrival. I even crumpled it up and rubbed it in the dirt to add credence to the farce. These soldiers had a look on their faces that almost defied description. They had blood in their eyes, you might say. They looked very angry.

Although I grew up in Detroit, a very tough city, it took a while for me to gather up enough nerve to approach those wild figures. Well, I just walked the 20 or so feet over to them, put out my hand and we dapped (dapping was a ritual handshake that most black soldiers and a handful of whites performed when they greeted one another), one after the other. I was in. I asked what unit they were with and how long they'd been in country. These guys were hardened combat veterans.

The soldier with the biggest afro became my tour-guide of sorts and answered all of my questions. When he started talking he didn't stop. I have never heard such a story before or since.

"Blood, we were just released from the stockade (Long Binh Jail)", he said. He went on to relate that he and other soldiers (inmates) had revolted and had taken over LBJ, then burned it to the ground. He told me that the prison Chaplain was killed in the melee (I wonder if his family ever knew how the padre really died). The treatment of the prisoners rivaled that of Devil's Island. Being locked up in Viet Nam, in and of itself, was enough reason to rebel and the list of atrocities was long and sordid. The prisoners had more to fear from the US. Army than from the so-called enemy, the Viet Cong.

The military criminalized resistance to the war within its own ranks. LBJ was full of soldiers who refused to fight, who refused to be victims of the blatant racism and sexism running rampant in the military and to this very day, who refused to be yes-men, who refused to look the other way, who refused the "My Country Right or Wrong" bag, and who refused to become something less than human.

Our discussion went on for what seemed to be hours, but in reality it lasted only fifteen minutes or so. We stood there talking loud, not caring who heard us, and the mood got ugly as NCO'S and Officers looked on with disapproval and disdain. Someone came over and told us to break it up and move on and go about our business. We gave him a look that would kill, turned to each other and said good-bye.

The Brothers went their way and I went mine. Little did I know that I would soon pay my own visit to LBJ. To be continued...

SP4 DARNELL S. SUMMERS -- RA 16932434