In 1968, shortly after arriving at my assignment as a
battalion surgeon at An Khe, South Vietnam, I was awakened late one
night by a drunken sergeant.
“Doc, we need your help,” he
said enthusiastically. “A platoon has just returned with some captured
gooks. We’ve got the gadgets all set up to make ’em talk.”
The
gadgets, he explained through slurred speech, were improvised,
battery-powered devices that could deliver electric shocks. I realized I
was being asked to participate in torture.
No comments:
Post a Comment