We get stoned out on the gun. When Brady joins us with his big head, we crack jokes and run for cover.

Run for your lives.
The Space Creep has landed.
Hey brother, take off that head.

We hide behind sandbags to blast the Creep with bullets, grenades and the M72 LAW. He stands in the middle of the gun pit, with his hands pressed to his ears, screaming.

Come on you guys. Cut it out. You’re driving me crazy.

Brady ran around today, babbling at the top of his lungs.
They observed him in Nha Trang for a few weeks, then sent him home, to Philadelphia I think.

Fred Nicholson