Mark listened to the "wop-wop" of the helicopter's blades. He had lived on a farm before marriage and joining the Air Force. How had he come this far, from a boot heel cotton farm to the rice paddies of Viet Nam? He could never think of himself as brave or fearless as he watched Charlie's movement, there in the deep forest. He was reconnaissance and he was scared. The enemy was getting closer and he had seen movement out in the field and thought he heard the sound of a baby's cry. As the helicopter's sound became stronger he saw the child dart from the thatched hut, an adult on its heels and he knew enemy eyes were focused on the movement, too. There was no other way to run, but from the enemy straight toward Mark with shots pelting the ground and the churn of air from the helicopter coming in for him. How was he to know saving the lives of mother and child would become only a memory of a war that had taken him from a good job, a new wife and a son to be born while he was away, to return home to a bleak future, void of promise? There was no hero's welcome, when he returned. He would never understand those who spat at him, while calling him and his buddies, "baby killers." His country had called and he had answered. Now as he struggles to gain control of his life, the old relationship suffered as a boy with his father simmers. When illness strikes, neither he nor his father are prepared for the ravage it will take with Mark's life. But Mark's faith becomes the Savior he shares with those he meets. Few have not met Mark Buchannan.
