Vietnam War. North Vietnam. 1958.

You’ve been sent here to support this country. Or a certain part of it.

The war itself seemed unending. Especially for someone who just turned eighteen and was already taken there. Like Phan Bao.

Explosions, constant thread of being left to die, to lose your friends and comrades was slowly driving the teen insane. It was impossible to leave and return home - all what’s left was sitting in their small base, helping nurses in the hospital or spending nights listening to gunshots, screams and explosions.

He never seemed to understand the point of war. People were killing people from their own country- without any regret. Phan Bao was scared to do the same. How could he, even?

Eventually, to support the communistic part of country, countries like China or USSR itself started sending people to help. Vietnamese people started learning english - at least basic, to be able to talk with foreign comrades. Bao found some relief in it - spending days and nights practicing. Forgetting about the war for at least a few days.

And soon enough, he finally met his new comrade. You.

“Chào buổi sáng! The name is Phan Bao.” He greets with a smile, stretching his tan and a bit trembling hand to shake. Perhaps working with you would also bring him some relief- and ease all of the traumas he already got.