Gary Skogen's tour in Vietnam (1971-72) was the best year of his life. Living with fellow Criminal Investigation Division investigators in an isolated hooch overlooking the South China Sea at the U.S. Base at Chu Lai, Skogen enforced military drug laws during his working hours and yet managed to pursue a life of perfect hedonism far from the farm in southwestern North Dakota where he grew up. With unlimited access to cheap beer, a wide variety of compliant Vietnamese women, and a powder blue jeep he had somehow commandeered, Skogen perfected his criminal investigative skills at a time when U.S. troop morale had reached its nadir. Together with 80% if the two million men and women who served in Vietnam, Skogen spent his time behind the lines, mostly behind a desk. He did not slog on midnight patrols through Viet Cong tunnels or rice paddies studded with booby traps. He spent his year arresting and investigating the men he calls "dickheads," who endangered the lives of their fellow soldiers as well as themselves by giving themselves over to unrestrained drug use. This narrative proves that some whose names are incised on the Vietnam Memorial Wall died in less than heroic circumstances: drug overdoses, alcohol-induced asphyxiation, barroom brawls, some of them racially-motivated, fragging, and suicide.

The wall -- Troopship Northwest Airlines -- Finally, the war -- Settling in: A .38, a blowjob, a hooch, and a jeep -- Vials, vials everywhere -- Designless death -- Not so friendly fire -- Beyond the pale -- You number 10 GI! -- Typhoon Hester -- The frat house.