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A novel about the Vietnam War.
10 backers pledged $1,510 to help bring this project to life.

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My father, a veteran of the war in Vietnam, wrote Under The Jackfruit Tree, a novel about the Vietnam War. He never published the novel, and, as a gift of thanks for all he has done, I would like to publish it for him. Achieving the funding goal will enable me to have the book professionally published.  

Excerpt from "Under the Jackfruit Tree":  

1000 Hours  

It was already mercilessly hot as the men moved in leapfrog fashion from the night lager position to the top of a small knoll some 2 klicks (kilometers) to the northwest. Foster Parrish had chosen this position well, not only for it height, but also for its commanding view of the Quan Dong Plain, one of the richest rice baskets in Vietnam. Framed picturesquely on both the east and the west by the rugged, verdant Tiger Mountains, the fertile rice fields of the valley were spread out before them as life in Vietnams’ rice paddies continued its timeless pattern.

Below them men, women and children worked as generations before had – 7 days a weeks, 365 days a year – toiling beneath an unremitting sun that felled so many of the Americans as they struggled to acclimate themselves to the hostile climate. The farmers worked and did their best to ignore the war swirling around them. Some of them had indeed been the hated and feared Viet Minh, now the Viet Cong of legend and newspaper headlines, but the overwhelming majority wanted nothing more that to live in peace and to have yet another good rice harvest.

Foster Lee Parrish, purposely ignorant of the people whose lives he controlled with the trigger of his sleek black M-16 automatic rifle, had set up a defensive position on the hillock, ordering a 360-degree watch. Cautious men could do no less. As soon, however, as he was sure that everything was secure, Parrish ordered his radioman, Charlie Robinson to follow him on yet another perspiration soaked reach-out.  

 “This fuckin’ heat is unbearable” Robinson moaned to himself as he struggled to keep up with his sergeant. He longed for the cooler, more habitable weather of the monsoon season and wondered why he had volunteered to serve with this madman. “Goddamn crazy bastard never seems fazed by the heat. He never seems to sweat.”  

 Foster Parrish has once explained his phenomenon by telling his men that he had never sweated much in his whole life and, as a result, that it made him better equipped to fight in Vietnam. Some suspected, however, that he was just a little less than human. This did nothing to diminish his reputation as a super soldier – an image Old Scratch played to the hilt. He was, if nothing else, his own best PR man.

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