
The Invisible Wounds of War
In April of 1965, The Vietnamese jungle felt unusually humid on this particular afternoon with an air engulfed in fumes of distant fires. This created a suffocating atmosphere filled with unknowns, which surrounded Staff Sergeant Frank Lee and the rest of his squadron. As they walked up to the desolate village on patrol, boots covered in mud, hands tightly gripping their metal machine guns, something seemed off. Slowly making their rounds they realized the village seemed much more isolated than usual. The doors of the makeshift wooden homes were wide open, empty, and filled with dust, producing an eerie feeling of abandonment. They continued along the path led by the battered brick walls, wearily trudging down the dirt road to the center of the village. As they reached the end of this path, they paused for a moment, sitting in silence.