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.