My best friend was killed last night.

[**The following is taken from a collection of excerpts of the diary of Joseph E. Sintoni, an American soldier who was later killed in the Vietnam War.**] >Joey, the bright-eyed boy of pride and purpose, began to feel doomed. He confessed in his leather diary: >*March 2, 1968. A sad day, the worst day for me in the time I’ve been here. My best friend was killed last night. He was my very best friend. We came together, we were going to go on R and R together. We fought for our lives next to each other, now he is no more. He had been going with his girl for five years and was going to be married the same June as me. Everyone called him “Hoss.” Oh, Hoss, please be in heaven, I’m so blue and morose. Earle Althehaus, that was his name. I’ll remember him for the rest of my life.* >Joe Sintoni had been in Vietnam for almost two months. Of the twelve men in the group he had arrived with, he was the only one still alive or strong enough to fight. >*I am not trying to be a fatalist, but I realize I’ll never be able to make one year alive in the field, unless the fighting drastically changes or the war ends, both of which are unlikely. The “oldest” guy in my platoon, one still in the field, still able to fight, has been here six and a half months. All of a sudden I realize I may never see the woman or family my heart beats for. I dare not make a friend.* _______________________ **Source:** Palmer, Laura. “Joseph E. Sintoni.” *Shrapnel in the Heart: Letters and Remembrances from the Vietnam Veterans Memorial*. Vintage Books, 1988. 13-14. Print.