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.