Monday, November 30

Today was my first visit to my psychologist’s office. She wanted to talk to me about Vietnam. She was the first person, besides my fellow grunts, who I actually talked about the war with. I chose one of the most important battles that I ever fought in to explain. As I began talking about the battle, I transported to a different time and place, the smells and sounds became real and I could see the battle unfolding before my very eyes:

Snipers shot down entire groups of my men without warning. Our first platoon was completely wiped out except for THREE men. Heavy smoke and detonations clouded the battlefield to the point where you could only see 50 yards in front of you (I was a track runner throughout high school so I know exactly how far 50 yards is, but believe me, we used to say the workouts were hell. Mile repeats and hills and suicides are nothing compared to a war). At 102 degrees, men were dropping like flies from heat stroke. Lack of sleep didn’t help matters either. I had been awake for three days straight and at full alert because if we didn’t pay attention once, disaster might strike and we might not have to worry about paying attention any more… Grenades and bullets rained like fire from the sky. The only thing that could be heard was people screaming and bombs exploding. Our casualties added up to 75% of our men. It was a complete bloodbath. We had no idea how to protect ourselves because there was no cover. If there had been a place to go in order to take cover, I think there would have been less death and less destruction but, alas, we were the victims of the landscape.

The psychological stress that resulted from the situation reduced some men to insanity. I saw men next to me run out into the battlefield because they could not deal with the war any longer. It was complete suicide and I could not make sense of it. I figured if I died, there would be one less guy to protect the remaining men. As these thoughts engulfed me, I came to the realization that it was my responsibility to survive. I was responsible for the lives of these men as much as my own life and I fought even harder knowing that I had a reason to continue.

As I told all of these things to the psychologist, she took notes on her clipboard. She probably thought I was insane just like the men I described. Once notes filled the entire page, she asked me if I could describe another battle that may have triggered my PTSD. There were more than fifty that I could explain in full detail, but I chose the most heart-wrenching for me:

This was two days after the battle that I had just explained to her. We were hiding from the Vietcong in the woods. The VC knew exactly where we were because they continued to drop grenades on us. Suddenly, the bombs stopped. At this point, I knew we were in trouble because the only reason they would stop was to advance and close in on us. One of the radio operators was right next to me. I began screaming for the helicopter pilot. Because they also knew our exact location, I begged him to ring us with napalm. Napalm was a nasty gas that slowly asphyxiated its victims. We used it often because gas warfare had become common in Vietnam. It was an easier method to kill many people in one “shot” and it didn’t have to be extremely accurate in order to be effective. The pilot asked if there were any other American soldiers in the area to make sure that he did not drop the gas on them. Making the biggest decision of my life, I replied “Negative, I repeat there are no Americans in the area.” I knew darn well that some of my soldiers were there but I had to protect the ones that were in the safe zone. I heard the screams of my men ring through the battlefield as the napalm attacked their respiratory systems and slowly and silently took away their last breaths. Often, I ask myself how I could be so inhumane as to murder my own men. My answer is that I had to make the choice to sacrifice a few for the benefit of the many. Just as often, that answer is not enough and my choice still haunts me to this day.

Adapted from the story of Larry Gwin: Gwin, Larry. “Battle of the Ia Drang Valley.” The Soldiers’ Story. Ed. Ron Steinman. New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 2002. 53-61. Book.

Sunday, November 29

This morning, I finally went to the doctor. I refrained from telling my wife where I was going because I didn’t want her to worry about me. After my patience had reached its limit in the busy waiting room, I told the doctor about the nightmares I have been having and the flashbacks. Taking extreme consideration not to make myself sound like I was crazy, I did not explain any of the nightmares in major detail. I just said that they were all memories of fighting in the war. Right when I was about to go into detail about the battles of the war, he said that he had heard enough and diagnosed me with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD. He said that it was very common among Vietnam War veterans. As soon as he told me that they used to call it “shell shock,” I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had heard stories about shell shock from my fellow soldiers and they described it as the most horrible disease in the world. The suffering that men experienced during the war lived on through the disorder because of the constant reminders of battle. The doctor said I would most likely have flashbacks when smells or sounds like those of Vietnam reminded me of the battles so it would be wise to avoid any reminder of the war. Not able to diagnose the full extent of my condition without knowing the time period of my symptoms, he told me to consult a therapist so she could monitor my symptoms and my case. I left the office in a trance with the number of a psychologist that he recommended.

PTSD… PTSD… PTSD. I had heard those four letters together multiple times but I never thought that it could happen to me. Just like in battle when you never think that it will be you who is blown up next, I never thought I would get a disorder from the war. The stress of Vietnam must have triggered a reaction in my brain so that I would never forget the horrible things that happened. That’s what the doctor said. I can’t help but wonder if God is punishing me for killing the Vietnamese people. Maybe He is angry with all soldiers and veterans because of the murder and destruction that they spread to innocent people. More importantly while I’m on the subject of judging soldiers for their actions, what will my family think? Will they constantly think that I need to be watched like a baby? I don’t want to become a stranger to them because they are afraid that anything could remind me of the horrors of the Vietnam War. I have decided not to tell them anything so that they do not treat me differently. Hopefully, this is the right decision because I cannot think of an alternative. For once, there is no Plan B.

Sunday, November 22

I volunteered for the army when I was seventeen. It was the “thing to do” at the time. A bunch of my friends were signing up too because they figured 1) they probably wouldn’t see much battle and 2) it seemed like an honorable cause. While I agree with the honor and the pride that arose from joining, the men who thought they would not see battle were completely false. At the time, there wasn’t much fighting, but as the war continued more and more men were sent into combat and they were just not ready.

The most pertinent example that I can think of to explain the lack of readiness was the siege of Khe Sanh. It started on January 21, 1968 and lasted seventy-seven days. In those 77 days, we were bombarded with mortars and machine guns and God-knows-what-else. Our equipment consisted of broken M-16 rifles. Ten percent of them were ineffective and completely crashed when we tried to use them. Eventually, they were replaced with newer models but not before we realized that 20 percent of them jammed after the first shot. What were we supposed to do with rifles that only fired one shot? Did they think we were pirates who could make do with one-shot pistols? The equipment that the Vietcong were using included Russian mortars-- One hundred and twenty-two millimeters of pure evil. I remember one of the rocket attacks hit the ammo supply storage room. As it exploded, I had my hand on the door because I was going in to get more ammo for my soldiers. The door shielded me from the explosion, probably saving my life. Watching the explosion, it was beautiful. I felt like I was home watching fireworks with my little brother and my parents on the forth of July. But then I wiped my forehead and the grime on my hand pulled me back into reality and I was reminded of exactly where I was and what I was doing.

Once the mortars stopped flying, we thought that the siege was over. Not even close. We looked over to the hills and there were thousands of Vietcong lined up on the horizon. Yesterday, I was watching a Disney movie with my granddaughter, Lia. I forget the name of the movie but it was about this Chinese girl who ran away to join the army. Anyway, there was one part when there were about twenty of their soldiers and they were trying to fight the Huns. Right when the girl’s unit thought the battle was over, there was a line of over a thousand Huns lined up on a hill. That was exactly how we felt. When it came to that part of the movie, I had to leave the room because I could not stand it any more. I felt so bad that I had to leave Lia after seeing the pained look on her face. She is only six so there is no way she could know what is going on in my head. And I could NEVER tell her what happened in Vietnam—I don’t want her to suffer with me. I refuse to tell my family because I do not want them to worry about me, but the truth is that it still haunts me to this day—the fighting, the dying, the bombs. I still grieve for the soldiers who died. I still hear the battle cries. And I know that I will never forget.

Adapted from the story of John M. Kaheny in Kahney, John M. “The Seige of Khe Sanh.” The Soldiers’ Story. Ed. Ron Steinman. New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 2002. 79-83. Book.

Saturday, November 21

Last night, I woke up in a cold sweat. Panting and screaming, I was reminded of the horrors I had experienced while in Vietnam. It was crysal-clear: After seeing crates and crates of body bags, I got a chill feeling that I could not rid myself of. As we were herded into two and a half ton trucks, we kept a lookout for the VC (the Vietcong) who were trying to eradicate all of us. There were booby traps everywhere. I remember one ambush like it was yesterday…

We were supposed to be making our rounds but it was more like a casual walk around the base without any supervising officers around. Looking back on it now, I should have known better. I should have realized that taking that walk in the dead of night was a probie mistake—especially without any commanders with us. Anyway, so we walked and walked and then suddenly I heard the rattle of machine guns. My fellow soldiers were being slaughtered by the tens of thousands and there was nothing I could do about it. It was all my fault. Sand sprayed as the bullets ricocheted and the sharp elephant grass scraped my shins. Time stopped. I could not comprehend what I was doing or how to fix the situation. Suddenly, a mortar landed near my arm, wrenching me into reality. Laying on the ground in agony with shrapnel deep inside my skin, I saw the VC coming. I froze, hoping that they would think I was dead as I realized with horror that they were systematically killing the wounded. The grass was drenched in gunpowder and blood. It was the worst thing I have ever seen in my life and I pray to God that I never have to see anything that horrible again.

Something like that doesn’t leave a person quickly. I still mourn the people that died that day because I know that it was partially my fault that they died. I still have nightmares, like the one last night, that I cannot control. Just when I begin to forget about the horrific events, a nightmare like that grounds me back in reality.

All the boot camps and all the training and all the practice are supposed to prepare you for what you see in the war. That’s not possible. Commanding officers at the boot camps can’t fire machine guns at a row of soldiers to practice combat technique. They can’t shoot down your best friend who is fighting next to you to show you what you are going to feel when he takes his final breath in your arms. Boot camps can’t give that kind of preparation because they would lose half of their soldiers before they ever saw combat.

That was my first battle in Vietnam. I was seventeen years old.

This is adapted from the story of Jack Smith from Smith, Jack. “Battle of the Ia Drang Valley.” The Soldiers’ Story. Ed. Ron Steinman. New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 2002. 35-43. Book.

Introduction

The Vietnam War started in 1954 and lasted until 1975. During those 21 years, the United States saw the longest war in its history. It cost the this nation not only a large sum of money (I consider $580 billion to be very large) but it also stole the lives of over 60,000 of our bravest and noblest men. It harmed the nation of Vietnam as well, causing the major alteration of the landscape in Vietnam. No longer did Vietnamese civilians behold a panoramic view of gorgeous grassy plains where they could let their children run around and play but they stared at terrain scattered with holes and craters. France left Vietnam in 1954 after almost a hundred years of colonial rule. They then signed the Geneva Peace Accords, which said that there would be a temporary partition of Vietnam at the seventeenth parallel. This created Northern Vietnam and Southern Vietnam. In addition, Vietnam agreed to hold national elections in 1956 in order to reunify the country. Once the elections took place, the separation at the seventeenth parallel would no longer be needed. Vietnam felt that they only signed the agreement because of pressure from Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China. Instead of the Geneva Accords, United States President Dwight D. Eisenhower supported the idea of the Southeast Asia Treaty Organzation (SEATO), which was enacted in 1955 and said that the United States would assist Vietnam in rebuilding its country. In Vietnam, it created the Government of the Republic of Vietnam with President Ngo Dinh Diem who, as an anti-Communist, thought that the Republic of the south was in danger of attack by the Communist north. He thought that northern Vietnam wanted to take the South by force and proceeded to pass a series of acts that made it legal to hold any person suspected of Communism in jail without a formal charge. In January of 1959, the Northern Communists held a conference (called the Fifteenth Party Plenum) where they agreed to use revolutionary violence in order to overthrow Diem’s government in the south. The United States became involved in December of 1961 when President Kennedy sent a group of people over to Vietnam to report about the conditions. As a response to their findings, he increased the level of military involvement in Vietnam. Over the next few years, many Americans soldiers would go to Vietnam in order to weed out the VietCong, which was the nickname given for the Vietnamese Communists.

I do not pretend to understand the hardships that American soldiers experienced in the Vietnam War, but from my research I will do my absolute best to provide insight on an issue that still plagues the brave men who fought for the United States during that time. I also want to make clear that I am writing from the perspective of a soldier who fought during the war. Although the soldier himself is not real, the stories are adapted from many soldiers who did fight in the war and received psychological damage from the experience. This project is dedicated to those brave men who gave everything they had, even a portion of their sanity, to improve and protect the nation of the United States.

Information from http://www.pbs.org/battlefieldvietnam/history/index.html