I was a PFC in a search patrol hunting Charlie down in the Jungle Wars of '65. My weapon was jammed and I was all alone, separated from my squad, the sounds of the enemy slowly advancing straight towards my position. A twig snaps and I turn around, empty gun in my hand, preparing myself to fight or run as my fate was counted down every second. But there was a marine, a very large man, with a pair of friendly eyes, who gave a little wave and told me to stay put. He offered to help, which I gladly accepted. I introduced myself and asked for his name. He told me, "The boys just call me... Camouflage..."