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Vietnam, 1967. A firebase near the DMZ. The men hadn't showered in weeks, hadn't slept in days, hadn't thought about anything but survival in months.
Then a Huey helicopter landed, and out stepped a young woman in a powder-blue dress carrying a box of games and a guitar.
The soldiers thought they were hallucinating.
They called them "Donut Dollies"—young American Red Cross volunteers who traveled thousands of miles from home to bring something soldiers desperately needed and rarely admitted: a reminder that normal life still existed somewhere.
These weren't nurses. They weren't USO performers giving shows on safe bases. They were women in their twenties who climbed into helicopters, jeeps, and supply trucks to reach soldiers in forward firebases, landing zones, and jungle clearings where most civilians would never dare go.
Their mission was deceptively simple: play games. Lead quizzes. Strum a guitar. Have a conversation that wasn't about death.
But what they really did was show up. In places where mail...