Trooping thru waist deep mud like a sponge, Sucking, Clamping, Adhering, To infantrymen that thru the mire lunge. Where everything smells rancid like grunge. In a place so unfriendly with a smell all its own, An inpenetrable Mangrove swamp overgrown. Rung Sat farmers live on mounds piled high, VC live in plank houses in trees high and dry. No dry land in the Rung Sat exists In the foul perfumed mysts.
Every step taken is a battle with elements.
Booby trap the rice paddy dikes. Completely discouraging movement On high ground. So Riverine troops must In sticky mud pound. To attack VC strongholds along tree lined rivers. Choppers, hovering over the spongy earth bestow Troops leaping into mucky mire below.