12th February, 1973
A prison guard cracks his baton against the wooden frame of the bunk bed and I blink wearily back to life.
Hòa Ló. Shit. I'm still in Hòa Ló.
Charlie assembles us in the exercise yard for roll-call. As our names are read out, that punk John McCain makes a loud fart noise with his armpit, much to the displeasure of the camp commandant. He demands to know who it was and McCain says it was me. I tell McCain if this is revenge for substituting his revolver for a water pistol during our game of Russian Roulette last night then I can go one better, and inform the commandant McCain's been hiding a gold watch up his ass for the past three years. McCain wisecracks that my momma's so ugly she walked into a hall of mirrors and it blew up. As I retort that his momma's so fat she's got her own eco-system, two guards drag us out of line and crack our heads together. The commandant walks over and says he has orders to release all prisoners from the camp, but asks for one good reason why he should let two imperialist pigs like us back into the world. I reply that I've got a really great idea for a Korean-Vietnamese fusion restaurant, and if he wants in we can split the profits 50/50. The commandant nods sagely and points at McCain.
"This man has a gold watch up his ass, you say?"
"Son of a bitch took it from a dead VC," I whisper conspiratorially, flashing a shit-eating grin at McCain. The commandant orders McCain placed in irons and strip-searched. As they drag him away, the little squirt threatens to get me for this and warns me to watch my back. I smirk that he's got more chance of becoming President of the United States.
Later, as I board the helicopter waiting to deliver me from the horrors of the camp, I take a moment to reflect on my time at Hòa Ló. I have been in a world of shit, but I am alive. When we finally lift off and I take one last look at North Vietnam, I do so in the sure and certain knowledge that the memories of the terrible things I saw there will stay with me for the rest of my week.
