I volunteered to go in the Army. As a matter of fact I even volunteered to go to Vietnam. A real patriot I was, young, adventurous and, I thought, invincible. Plus, I wasn't sure what I was going to do with my life and a hitch in the Army seemed like just the thing to give me some time to find direction. Besides, in my family, you had to do your patriotic duty or you weren't respected. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

When I look back, certain memories make me shudder. I guess I'm trying to shake them off, put them out of my mind. I'm sure you've met veterans who don't like to talk about their war experiences. Some memories are too horrible. I'm still haunted and I think I shall be all the way to my grave. I'll tell you my story but I'm not going to name my unit and any names I mention you can bet are fictitious.

We all like to think we're doing the right thing in war. You know what I mean. Our country is always on the right side and the enemy is always the evil empire. That was the mood of the country in the 1960's. We Americans were so self-righteous. Our just cause was to destroy communism. That's just the way I thought too. Americans were liberators.

Well, I went through basic training and then advanced infantry training. I felt so macho and manly when I graduated. Mother was very proud of her son. I looked and felt like a real soldier.

Things were really heating up in Vietnam. The Army needed volunteers. A lot of my friends weren't so keen on going over there. Getting killed was something I never seriously considered. So... I jumped at the opportunity to see some action.

I got orders assigning me to an infantry unit in Vietnam. After a thirty-day leave, the Army put me on a troop ship sailing out of San Francisco. It sailed right under the Golden Gate Bridge. What a moment. It's true, military service exposes young men to many new experiences. Some of them were pleasurable.

As a young man, I didn't realize how big this planet is. It took three weeks for that troop ship to make the crossing. We only made one stop along the way, in Okinawa. We were allowed off the ship for a few hours but only into a fenced off area of the military base. They must have feared some of us would go AWOL. I suppose there were some guys that would have liked to. Not me.

Eventually the ship arrived in the coastal waters somewhere near Saigon and anchored for the night. The next morning amphibious landing craft came out, picked us up and transported us to the mainland. There, I was processed and put on a helicopter for the flight to my unit.

I had no idea what awaited me. A machine gunner manned the open door and I wondered if this was a bad sign. But we never came under fire. The flight across the countryside was beautiful. Rice paddies checkered the valley for miles. A long train snaked its way across the lush green countryside. In the distance, mountains poked their tops into the clouds. Aside from dodging scattered thunderstorms, I enjoyed every minute of the flight. I might as well have been a tourist. It didn't seem anything like a war zone. That changed the moment we landed.

Suddenly things started happening all around me. We were hustled off the chopper and a lieutenant barked orders for us to assist in loading wounded. Our gear was tossed to one side and we joined a group in helping wounded GI's board the craft. It quickly departed. Suddenly, I found myself staring into the most miserable faces I'd ever seen. "Welcome to hell," someone mumbled.

After locating the commanding officer and reporting for duty, I was given a quick tour of the camp and a five-minute orientation. Then I was left to organize my gear, settle in and get acquainted.

Well, it was hot. It was humid. It was wet and there were more damn mosquitoes than I'd ever seen in my life. The unit was seeing lots of action and taking plenty of casualties. Everybody seemed to be in a bad mood. The only happy soldier I encountered was high on pot. Within a few hours I was beginning to wonder if coming to Vietnam was such a bright idea.

It rained until dark. The jungle was screaming with crickets, frogs and who knows what. I didn't sleep very well.

The next day things seemed quiet, until that afternoon. That's when Sgt. Hill told me that I was going to join him on a recon patrol that was leaving camp that night. Dangerous stuff. This green GI was getting thrown into the thick of it. I had thought I'd get more time to get familiar with my surroundings. I was off balance and I knew it. My cocky confidence was slipping. I was worried.

A chopper dropped us off in a rice paddy near the edge of the jungle. Cpl. Roberts was designated point man. He had to lead the way. If there were booby traps or mines he was certain to die. I thought about how lucky I was that I was not picked. Sgt. Hill must have been reading my mind. "You're too green. You'll get us all killed. He's had enough experience to stay out of trouble," he commented. I felt insulted but grateful that my incompetence had been recognized.

Our mission was to scout the jungle for several days for signs of the enemy and call in air strikes or whatever was deemed appropriate to handle the situation. Taking our time, we attempted to move undetected through the countryside. We saw lots of Vietnamese working in the paddies but none looked like they were carrying weapons or transporting supplies. That suited me just fine. On the third day everything changed.

Plumes of smoke were visible in the distance. We wondered if it was an enemy encampment.

We began the slow process of creeping in for a closer look. Sgt. Hill radioed in the coordinates. This was done in advance just in case it turned out to be hostile. Time would be of the essence. Artillery, miles away, would already be sighted in on the target and ready to go if needed.

We were about three hundred yards away and still could not identify what we were approaching. It was pretty quiet and we weren't seeing movement. Cpl. Roberts was about fifteen feet in front of us, looking with binoculars, when he was hit by a sniper's bullet. The shot knocked him off his feet. The rest of us dove for cover. In the confusion, Pfc. Stone triggered a mine. I wasn't far away from him, felt the blast but didn't get a scratch. Knowing that our position had been compromised and expecting an all out assault, Sgt. Hill called in artillery. Although it came from miles away, a barrage of shells arrived directly on target in mere seconds. All hell broke loose on that suspect position. To our surprise, we never came under any more fire.

In a few minutes, things got real quiet. We examined Cpl. Roberts. Blood was oozing from his mouth, nose and ears. He was dead. He'd been hit in the forehead and it blew out the back of his head. But that wasn't the worst of it. Pfc. Stone was a mess. His ass was literally obliterated. I suddenly felt sicker than I can ever remember. I had to turn away. It didn't help. Sgt. Hill reminded us that our work wasn't finished. We had to check out the enemy position.

What we found wasn't what I'd expected. Apparently this had been a small village of about six or seven huts. Most were destroyed. Only one was still standing. The artillery barrage had killed about twenty people. Over half were elderly or women and children. Three villagers were still alive but wounded, an old man and a young woman clutching her baby. Sickened by the carnage, I had to vomit.

I now discovered that Sgt. Hill could speak Vietnamese. He questioned the old man and the woman while the rest of us searched the ruins of the village for weapons. No weapons or munitions were found.

Without warning Sgt. Hill stepped behind our prisoners and put a bullet in the head of each. Then he ordered the bodies put into the remaining hut. We set it on fire along with everything else in the village that would burn. That pretty much ended the patrol. We went back to where Cpl. Roberts and Pfc. Stone lay dead. Sgt. Hill briefed us.

 "All right guys, here's the story. We were ambushed as we came upon an enemy camp and returned fire. The artillery took out about twenty of them. An unknown number escaped into the jungle. There were no civilians, no village. Got it?" We all nodded in the affirmative.

A chopper arrived a few minutes later to pull us out.

I was relieved to be safely in camp but I was now a nervous wreck. That realization pissed me off. "God damn it! I hadn't been in Vietnam a week and already I was about to fall apart." Sgt. Hill pulled me off to the side for a pep talk.

"Look. I know what you're thinking but this is a ******* war. I don't like it any more than you do. It's either their ass or ours. If you want to feel bad... feel bad for Roberts and Stone. For all we know, those villagers were enemy. Besides, with their wounds, they were as good as dead. I couldn't let them tell their neighbors how we ****** them up. Now could I? Think of it this way, I did them a favor by ending their suffering. Now, if you want to survive this thing you'll pull your ass together and play it cool. You shoot your mouth off about what happened out there today and you won't make it. We're all in this together and we cover each other ‘s ass. You get my drift?"

I just looked at him but he pressed me for an answer.

"I asked you a question soldier. You got it?"

"Yes Sergeant. Believe me, I've got it."

By the time I got cleaned up, fed and bedded down for the night it was very late. I was exhausted but my mind was working overtime trying to sort things out. I kept seeing those bodies blown all to pieces in that village. I saw the look in the old man's eyes and the look on the young woman's face as she clutched her mangled infant. Twenty-three innocent people, hadn't I come to liberate them?

I thought about Cpl. Roberts and Pfc. Stone. Their families would be getting the news soon. Would I be shipped back home like that, bit-n-pieces stuffed in a box? I needed to think about my own survival and what I would have to do to ensure it. I had eleven months to go. Worrying about innocent victims would only get me killed.

I needed to grow up fast. I had no idea what was going to happen next. But one thing I could count on was that it wasn't likely to be pleasant. A lot of innocent people were going to die. Maybe I'd be the one to kill them. That prospect troubled me. I didn't regard casualties as meaningless statistics. They were real people. Their families were no different than my own. Their death and suffering wouldn't make the CBS evening news. Nobody in America would grieve for them. Still, I would know the truth. I wouldn't be immune. I wasn't going to leave this war proud of what I had done. Or would I?

What if innocent victims ceased to matter? What kind of person would I be?

I couldn't answer these questions. But one thing had become apparent. In every war many people wrongly suffer or are killed. Few Americans seem to notice or care. But I had been forced to notice. And I discovered I cared. It hurt. All that high and mighty patriotic clamor designed to glorify military service and justify war wasn't going to mean the same to me anymore.

I cried for a long time that night. I cried for Cpl. Roberts, Pfc. Stone and all those other people in that village. I cried for Sgt. Hill too. I knew he was as much a victim as I. I cried for the Vietnamese people. And I cried for myself.

Above all, I cried because I knew I'd have to live the rest of my life with the truth. I cried because the person I was and the noble lies I thought I championed for my homeland were either dying or already dead.

The Vietnam War claimed the lives of approximately 58,000 Americans and 223,000 South Vietnamese soldiers. In April 1995, the Vietnamese government reported its estimates of casualties. 1,100,000 communist combatants and 4,000,000 Vietnamese civilians had been killed. These numbers do not include the many wounded. In addition to these numbers, many more were killed or wounded in Cambodia and Laos.

Keyword: Vietnam war attrocities patriotism military service army

Report this story | Add to Favorites | Send to Friends | Author's Profile

No Comments posted

Comments (5)

Posted by philneale1952 2008-06-29 11:59:01 .... Chilling in its 'fly on the wall' documentary style, and probably indicative of what may or may not be happening now in Iraq and Afghanistan. I was in my teens at the time of the Vietnam war, and the true horror of it all was never broadcast on British TV at the time. Only when journalists like Jonathan Pilger were allowed to report back did the true situation come to light. Really good 'story' + Report this comment
Posted by lemon 2008-06-29 13:10:18 .... Both of my younger brothers are in the Navy. They joined after 9-11. Right now one is stationed in Japan, and one is in Bahrain, but he often goes into Iraq to do roadblocks as he is in security.He also does security in the Gulf there. I know bad things happen, but I am proud of them. I'm sure my brother in Bahrain has seen many things that would cause me to vomit, but I know he is certain he is doing good. I believe he is too. My father in law has told us about the cold reception he recieved upon coming home from Vietnam, and I apologize to you because no doubt you recieved the same thing. I have deep respect for the military and that won't change. Thank you for serving. + Report this comment
Posted by flossy 2008-06-29 15:08:07 .... Worked in the hyde park barracks in london a few years ago.They told me some nasty stories about war.Story told really well.I actually felt as if I was there with you.Thanks for posting. + Report this comment
Posted by resistanceisfreedom 2008-06-29 17:58:39 .... i thought you did a superb job telling this story. like flossy said, i felt as though i was indeed right beside you. but lemon...."I know bad things happen, but i'm proud of them" what the fuck is that supposed to mean?? so you're glad 4,000,000 civilians had to die for that ridiculous war. whatever..... + Report this comment
Posted by chaabuk 2008-08-12 21:08:29 War Your story brings alive the reality of war that's on going in Afghanistan and Iraq. I read and saw horrible details of it in newspapers and TV. It is actually a nighmare. Keep writing. + Report this comment

Post a comment

Post a comment