Sunday, December 6

War is based on a survival mentality. Basically, we are taught to kill the enemy before they kill us. I was painfully reminded of this adage when I heard my grandson, Benjamin, playing his new video game. He is only fifteen. Why is he shooting men in cold blood? I walked into the room and heard the gunshots. Suddenly I flashed back to a battle where I was a machine gun operator because they had run out of men to manage the guns. Constant gunfire pounded in my ears to the point of bursting. I wasn’t even paying attention to where I was shooting because I was scared stiff. I had to kill as many Vietcong as I could before they killed my men and me. Ammunition was flying by the bucket loads because I just fired without aiming sometimes.

Shooting during battle was so different than shooting for practice. When I practiced at the ranges at boot camp, I was shooting at targets. They were made of straw and other materials that had no relation whatsoever with the stuff that humans are made out of. During the battle, however, I shot at real people of flesh and bone. I could see the blood and the guts and the flesh blown off the men by the bullets. I could see their mouths scream in agony as they died. Maybe I couldn’t hear the screams, but I knew that they were screaming out. This was up close and personal.

That mentality never leaves you—shooting hundreds of men a minute. It was that same battle where I almost vomited because I saw the boot of a man lying on the ground. The only problem was that there was a leg still in the boot. I was able to identify the victim because our unit had a special philosophy of wearing three dog tags—one at the waist, one around the neck, and one tied on the laces of our boots.

I still think about the men who died. What did they do when they knew they were doomed to dying? I often wonder what their last words were. Sometimes, I thought about my own death. If I had died on the battlefield, what would I have said? I didn’t have a girlfriend so it’s not like I could have called out to her. My family did not want anything to do with me after I ran off and joined the army. There was no one that would have missed me when I was gone-- no one to attend my funeral and to cry at the sight of my casket. Now that I am older and away from the entire war scene, I think about what would happen if I died today. Now, I know that there would be people at my funeral. My wife and my kids and their kids will always be there for me. I will always have my family. And I know that’s more than I deserve and more than I could ever want.

Adapted from the story of Bill Beck in Beck, Bill. “Battle of the Ia Drang Valley.” The Soldiers’ Story. Ed. Ron Steinman. New York. Barnes and Noble Books, 2002. 71-74. Book.

And George Forrest in Forrest, George. “Battle of the Ia Drang Valley.” The Soldiers’ Story. Ed. Ron Steinman. New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 2002. 51-53. Book.