January 28, 1973, Tan Son Nhut Airbase, Saigon, Vietnam—the air hums with a fragile silence as the Paris Peace Accords, signed just the day before on January 27, 1973, usher in a tenuous ceasefire. The accords, brokered after years of brutal conflict, mandated a halt to U.S. military operations, the withdrawal of the remaining 24,000 American troops, and the release of over 600 U.S. prisoners of war, though they failed to end the war between North and South Vietnam, which would drag on until Saigon’s fall in 1975. For Sergeant Brandon Herrera, a decorated oddball with his tour of duty finally up, the ceasefire signals a bittersweet end—until an unexpected gift changes everything.

In the sweltering chaos of Operation Linebacker II in December 1972, Sergeant Brandon Herrera trudges along the perimeter of Tan Son Nhut Airbase, his mind fixated on his cherished donkey, Dolores, stationed miles away in Da Nang. As the thunderous U.S. bombing campaign rains destruction on North Vietnam, Brandon’s deep yearning for his friend spurs him into an impulsive act that promises unexpected repercussions. Unaware of the absurdity about to unfold, his small gesture of longing quietly sets in motion a series of events that will leave an indelible mark on the operation.

May 15, 1972, Bien Hoa Air Base, 25 miles northeast of Saigon—a sprawling concrete jungle of runways, hangars, and jet fuel fumes, now a linchpin of Operation Linebacker I. Since May 9, the U.S. has been pounding North Vietnam and the Ho Chi Minh Trail with everything in the arsenal: B-52 Stratofortresses, F-4 Phantoms, and laser-guided bombs, dropping over 155,000 tons of ordnance by October. The NVA’s Easter Offensive—a failed attempt to overrun the South—has been stalled, with thousands of their troops killed and supply lines in tatters. But it’s not all smooth flying: 134 U.S. aircraft will be lost by the operation’s end, mostly to NVA anti-aircraft fire and SAMs. At Bien Hoa, ground crews work around the clock, dodging monsoon rains and the occasional NVA rocket.

January 31, 1968, Tan Son Nhut airbase, on the outskirts of Saigon—a sprawling hub of U.S. operations now turned into a fiery circus. The Tet Offensive kicked off yesterday, with the NVA and VC launching a massive, coordinated assault on over 100 targets across South Vietnam. In Saigon, VC sappers breached the airbase’s perimeter at 3:00 AM, aiming to destroy aircraft and sow chaos. By dawn, the base is a mess—hangers burning, Hueys scrambled, and 2,000 U.S. and ARVN troops fighting to push back an estimated 4,000 VC. Across the country, the communists will lose 50,000 men by the end, but the real damage is done: the American public, watching the chaos on TV, is losing faith in the war.

April 2, 1968, Khe Sanh Combat Base, Quang Tri Province—a muddy hellhole perched on a plateau near the DMZ, where the air smells of cordite, sweat, and despair. The Battle of Khe Sanh has been grinding on since January 21, with 6,000 U.S. Marines of the 26th Regiment surrounded by 20,000–40,000 NVA troops hellbent on turning the base into a Dien Bien Phu sequel. Spoiler: they’re failing, thanks to Operation Niagara’s 100,000 tons of bombs and enough artillery to make the hills shake like a bad Elvis impersonator. But it’s still a meat grinder—500 Marines dead, 10,000 NVA turned to dust, and everyone’s wondering why they’re even here.

January 12, 1967, somewhere in the godforsaken Iron Triangle, 20 miles north of Saigon. The air’s thick with humidity, mosquitoes, and the faint stench of bureaucracy. Operation Cedar Falls—Uncle Sam’s latest attempt to stomp the Viet Cong into submission—is in full swing. Thirty thousand grunts, including the 1st Infantry Division and 173rd Airborne, are crawling through the Cu Chi jungle, torching villages, and poking sticks into VC tunnels like it’s a twisted game of Whac-A-Mole. Spoiler: the moles are winning.