It began in a room that still belonged to Dennis.
At my grandparents' house on Lake Tichigan—the home of Dennis's parents—I slept in the bedroom he had left behind, surrounded by the belongings of a young man who went to war in 1965 and never came home.
I was born in 1967. I never met my uncle.
But somehow, I came to know him.
His letters were still there, carrying the anxious handwriting of a young soldier trying to sound brave for the people he loved. I read every one of them. Until then, Vietnam had been little more than a chapter in a history book.
After those letters, it had a face.
Years later, during the early days of the Internet, I left a simple tribute to Dennis on The Virtual Wall. I expected nothing in return.
A few days later, a reply appeared.
It came from Dan Simons, the last man to see Dennis alive. His message contained only two words:
Hill 65.
Those words changed everything.
Curiosity became a search that lasted decades. I followed veteran accounts, after-action reports, letters, photographs, memoirs, official records, and conversations with the men who survived when so many others did not.
Eventually, I realized I was not searching only for a battle.
I was searching for the men inside it.
I wanted to know not merely where they fought, but how they laughed, feared, argued, endured, sacrificed, and held on to one another in a place determined to tear them apart.
That story often survived outside the official record—in fading memories, unfinished jokes, family silences, and small moments that never appeared on a map.
This book is my attempt to return those men to the page.
It began with Dennis.
In the end, it became the story of every man who climbed Hill 65.