I know the content of my heart. I am a good soldier. I go where I am ordered. That kind of loyalty, at least, is noble and vital for the preservation… - Roy Benavidez

Serving in Korea was not all misery for me. I felt more a part of something than I ever had in my life. I was a U.S. soldier. Maybe I was a little shorter, or a little darker, or had a different-sounding name from some, but to the other troops I was just one of them. A poor dogface freezing his butt off, too. It did me good. The Army had always separated me a little bit as a Hispanic, and I had always separated myself, too. Now they didn't have a choice and neither did I.

Frankly, I don't believe in luck. Everything happens for some purpose. To begin with, I'm alive. I shouldn't be; I should have been dead many times over. No, I can't walk too well, I'm missing one lung, and I lock up like an old rusty gate if I sit too long, but I am alive. Most of my buddies aren't; almost all of them are gone. Over fifty-eight thousand other guys that I didn't know died with them, but I'm alive, and I'm here, and I owe them the telling of this story. Every one of them had his own story. Maybe he just stepped off a plane one day and got it from a misplaced mortar round. Maybe he was walking back from the latrine when a sniper got him. Maybe he's a bigger "hero" than I'm supposed to be, but few are alive to tell the tale. Every one of those guys sacrificed his life, or his limbs, or his humanity, or his youth, or his mind, and I'm alive to tell about it. Up until now, nobody has really cared too much about hearing our side of it, our stories. Maybe it's different now. But I can't tell everybody's story. I can only tell mine. This is not a story about war. It's a story about freedom and its cost.

Our men developed strong compassion for the plight of these proud, independent people. The desire to be free from oppression seemed to extend to the last man, woman, and child. The greatest tragedy of war could be seen in the children, and they touched everyone. We were soldiers, but we were human beings, too. Our toughest, meanest sergeant often visited the kids in the orphanages to take them gifts and to clown around with them. If a word was ever said to him about this contrast in his behavior, he would give a look so mean and threatening as to make anyone shut up fast.
Some guys adopted kids and sent them home, and some married Korean women who had borne their children. Some claimed their Korean children and had them, shipped back to the States when their tour ended. The children left behind by American soldiers were a horrible reminder of the price paid for occupying foreign lands. Many soldiers never considered the consequences of fathering these children, who were left to a life of despair. They were abandoned by their fathers and scorned by the people of their mothers' culture. I had never been an orphan in the sense that those kids were.