He was taller than me, dressed in black, scary, and I knew he was lying. A few days later, we killed him, but it was okay because it was Vietnam and I was fighting for The United States of America. Thirty years later, he came back to my medical office and tried again to take me out, but this time he was fighting for The United States Department of Justice, I was the enemy, and I was lying. Not all the scars of war are visible and some never heal. Learning that lesson can be painful for all concerned. I hope this story helps us all better understand that combat experiences come home with the soldier and what that can mean.