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It was Private Archer's private nightmare.      A column of infantrymen shuffled down a narrow jungle pathway wrapped securely in bulletproof vests, concealed in full-body camouflage, carrying every weapon known to combat. Private Archer shuffled second in line carrying rubber tourniquets, intravenous saline and a box full of "slam-and-squeeze" morphine syrettes. A lone soldier walked point, swarmed by mosquitoes feeding greedily at his thin white        throat while he probed the dense foliage with an automatic rifle never finding what he sought. The point man stopped before a fire blackened opening, then turned toward Archer seeming to as