EYES ON THE RIDGE: OVERLOOKING KHE SANH I remember the silence of those hills before the storm. Perched high above the Khe Sanh Valley in 1968, you didn't just see the enemy; you felt them. My M40 rifle was my only friend, a piece of American walnut and steel that never let me down in the humidity of I Corps. We were the ghosts of the Hill Fights, waiting for one slip in the brush. The mist would roll in, but our resolve never wavered. Comment your unit below if you held the line in the Highland