So ok, picture this, a typical Vietnamese jungle, savage and bearing down on all sides by gigantic leaves and the looming fear that a sniper waits for you around the next tree. A clearing hundreds of square feet wide about the size of a professional futbol/soccer field. In fact, it is a field. It has a goal at each end and a crudely carved and semi-painted line half-way down the field. Next to said field there is a 60-foot wide chasm, approximately the same depth with a small river at the bottom. We're playing soccer for some reason with the "locals." Suddenly the bridge that spans the chasm begins to rock with the march of guerillas moving across it. Grenades explode left and right. Gunfire speckles the air around everybody and the shrapnel flails around the field barely missing the local bystanders. In the midst of fire and bullets, my car sits quietly about 20 feet near the ravine and I quickly run towards her in a mad effort to save her from the battle. As I hug her after a vain attempt to start her, a grenade rolls over towards her and lands under her and just out of my reach. It took the strength of 49 people to get me away from her just before I woke up nearly in tears. Does this mean anything? Hmm, I wonder.