I felt like I was back in Vietnam while reading John’s book: the heat and humidity, the smells, the snakes and bugs, the strange sounds in the night that might signal your life was close to an end — all while sharing the misery with other soldiers whose life stories were as different as America until fate put us together. Over the years I’ve read a lot about men at war, but in none of them has the author opened himself emotionally to the degree shown here. John was unsparing of himself, and expressed both doubts about what we were even doing there and the struggle to balance following orders and supporting his fellow Wolfhounds. John’s honesty sears both readers and the writer. I respect and commend him. No man can escape his demons until truthfully acknowledged, and John Quintrell has done just that in this very readable story about the Wolfhounds.