I remembered the way a phantom pilot had talked about how bueatiful the surface-to-air missiles looked as they drifted toward his plane to kill him, and remembered myself how lovely .50-caliber tracers could be, coming at you as you flew at night in a helicopter, how slow and graceful, arching up easily, a dream, so remote from anything that could harm you. It could make you feel a total serenity, an elevation that could put you above death, but that never lasted very long.
– Michael Herr, DISPATCHES
