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Zusatztext "The Most Important Book Ever Written About The Vietnam Experience. The people of the United States can be immensely proud of Nick Rowe and Americans like him who have resisted and survived the worst abuse a brutal enemy could visit upon us."--Robin Moore "If you can read this story and not weep! you are inhuman."--The Cincinnati Post Informationen zum Autor James N. Rowe was an officer in the Green Berets and was part of the small advisory force sent to assist the South Vietnamese in 1962. Captured by the Viet Cong in 1963 and marked for execution, Rowe succeeded in escaping after five years of captivity. After the war, Rowe was assigned to the Philippines to train the army to fight communist guerillas. On April 21, 1989, Rowe was assassinated by communist insurgents in a suburb of Manila. He is buried in Arlington National Cemetery. Klappentext When Green Beret Lieutenant James N. Rowe was captured in 1963 in Vietnam, his life became more than a matter of staying alive. In a Vietcong POW camp, Rowe endured beri-beri, dysentery, and tropical fungus diseases. He suffered grueling psychological and physical torment. He experienced the loneliness and frustration of watching his friends die. And he struggled every day to maintain faith in himself as a soldier and in his country as it appeared to be turning against him. His survival is testimony to the disciplined human spirit. His story is gripping.1 Two hui—helicopters pushed northward, two thousand feet above the swamp and rice paddy domain of the Mekong Delta’s Vietcong legions, their blades beating a steady rhythm against the air. One of them, the unarmed “slick,� carried Capt. Humbert “Rock� Versace, intelligence adviser with the Military Assistance and Advisory Group at Camau. The other chopper, flying slightly to their right front, was an armed helicopter, its landing skids heavy with rocket tubes and machine guns. Their destination was a small Special Forces camp twenty-six kilometers north of the provincial capital and in the center of a Vietcong-controlled zone. Rocky was a trimly built, twenty-six-year-old West Point graduate who had volunteered for a six-month extension after completing one year as an adviser. His slightly outthrust jaw and penetrating eyes were indications of his personality, but his close-cut, black-flecked, steel-gray hair looked as if it belonged on someone much older. He had recently been assigned as MAAG intelligence adviser in Camau and had witnessed some hard combat as the Vietnamese units his detachment was advising stood toe to toe with the best the Vietcong had to offer. The battles were typical of that period: Vietcong nighttime assaults; chance daylight encounters with an elusive enemy and the seeming impossibility of pinning him down; bloody ambushes; lack of adequate air support and artillery even though our pilots were flying the wings off of the available T-28’s, the frustration that went with the “old war� before the arrival of jets, artillery support, and American Combat units. This was the war known to the American advisers, to the isolated U.S. Special Forces detachments in their efforts to combat the Vietcong in their own territory. This was Vietnam, 1963. Small groups of huts, clustered along canal banks bordered by coconut palms and banana trees, passed below the open doors of the choppers. The countryside was deceptively peaceful. To shatter the illusion all one had to do was drop down into range of the weapons which were, no doubt, pointed skyward at that very moment, hidden by the foliage of the trees. Farmers worked thigh-deep in water, tending their rice paddies, their conical hats reflecting the sunlight. Water buffalo wallowed in the mud, oblivious to all around them. A graceful “spirit bird� hung motionless in the sky, “suspended high in a rising air thermal,� its lonely world undisturb...
