Vietnam
It is another one of my not-so-famous-and-loved war stories.
When I look back at it, I think of what a terrible, cold, cruel and completely pointless thing the war was. I myself still have nightmares over it every night. Every time I hear a helicopter go over the house, I close my eyes and try not to think back to those terrible months in Vietnam. I fail to do that so many times, for whenever I close my eyes, whenever I go to sleep, I nearly always wake up screaming, shaking and covered in a cold sweat from the things I’d relived in my dreams. Anyway, that is now. I’m supposed to be talking about then, not now.
Ok, I’m going back to the. Then was the year 1965. I’ll never forget that day. It’s funny how a piece of paper can change everything in your life, isn’t it? I don’t find any humour in it at all though.
I think I arrived at Vung Tau at about 1500 hours, military time. I knew that a lot of my mates from school were there and sure enough, as soon as the chopper landed, they all rushed over to meet me, despite the warnings that the commanding officer had given about doing so. I remember exactly how old we all were too. 19 years old. We’d just finished school. God, when I look back at it now all I can do think to myself. Jeez! Is that how old I was? I remember a bloke in my unit who was even younger than the rest of us. I think he was the youngest. He had to be about 16, if not 15 years old. How he’d lied about his aged and had gotten away with beats me, but I know that it was a sure waste of great talent. He could’ve been so much more than what he’d decided to become. I’ll never forget what happened to him. That came later on though.
I’ll never forget my first patrol night. It was sheer horror and fear, knowing that you were out in open enemy territory. I can’t find the words to describe how terrible it was to just aim a rifle at another man and...........and shoot him down in cold blood. I don’t know how I did it, but I did. When I think about all the men I’d killed during that war, I just shudder. It makes me sick, knowing that I’d done that unfeelingly. With no feelings what so ever for the men I’d killed. I suppose that’s where I fell apart. I know that’s where most of the men I was with fell apart. When they were shooting from the trenches, they were fine. When the enemy was about a foot in front however, it was very hard to pull the trigger on a man and hear him scream and not show any emotion at all whilst you made the second shot to hopefully kill him and end his pain.
In the jungle, there were so many booby traps that were set up by the Guerrillas that one step in the wrong place and it could very well be your last one you ever take. When I was walking through the jungle, I was shaking with fear inside. Fear of my mates getting their legs or arms blown off by a wretched landmine or fear of them getting killed by a booby trap that some bloody Vietnamese **** had put there.
Out in the light green was worse though. The cleared areas of no man’s land. That was where most of the killing happened. Every so often I would hear the screams of one of my mates as they were either bayoneted by the North Vietnamese or shot down or blown up by a landmine. God knows how the rest lived through it. I shudder whenever I think about it now. I’d recon that they’d do the same. Those who’re six feet under wouldn’t have to think about it ever again. I envy them.
Ok, I’m going back to the. Then was the year 1965. I’ll never forget that day. It’s funny how a piece of paper can change everything in your life, isn’t it? I don’t find any humour in it at all though.
I think I arrived at Vung Tau at about 1500 hours, military time. I knew that a lot of my mates from school were there and sure enough, as soon as the chopper landed, they all rushed over to meet me, despite the warnings that the commanding officer had given about doing so. I remember exactly how old we all were too. 19 years old. We’d just finished school. God, when I look back at it now all I can do think to myself. Jeez! Is that how old I was? I remember a bloke in my unit who was even younger than the rest of us. I think he was the youngest. He had to be about 16, if not 15 years old. How he’d lied about his aged and had gotten away with beats me, but I know that it was a sure waste of great talent. He could’ve been so much more than what he’d decided to become. I’ll never forget what happened to him. That came later on though.
I’ll never forget my first patrol night. It was sheer horror and fear, knowing that you were out in open enemy territory. I can’t find the words to describe how terrible it was to just aim a rifle at another man and...........and shoot him down in cold blood. I don’t know how I did it, but I did. When I think about all the men I’d killed during that war, I just shudder. It makes me sick, knowing that I’d done that unfeelingly. With no feelings what so ever for the men I’d killed. I suppose that’s where I fell apart. I know that’s where most of the men I was with fell apart. When they were shooting from the trenches, they were fine. When the enemy was about a foot in front however, it was very hard to pull the trigger on a man and hear him scream and not show any emotion at all whilst you made the second shot to hopefully kill him and end his pain.
In the jungle, there were so many booby traps that were set up by the Guerrillas that one step in the wrong place and it could very well be your last one you ever take. When I was walking through the jungle, I was shaking with fear inside. Fear of my mates getting their legs or arms blown off by a wretched landmine or fear of them getting killed by a booby trap that some bloody Vietnamese **** had put there.
Out in the light green was worse though. The cleared areas of no man’s land. That was where most of the killing happened. Every so often I would hear the screams of one of my mates as they were either bayoneted by the North Vietnamese or shot down or blown up by a landmine. God knows how the rest lived through it. I shudder whenever I think about it now. I’d recon that they’d do the same. Those who’re six feet under wouldn’t have to think about it ever again. I envy them.
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