| MEMORIES
As I looked at him, his eyes returned the stare.
His skin was black, mine white, though we didn't care.
Instant brothers, as from one mother's womb,
Now lying together in our earthen tomb.
He held my hand as he gasped for breath,
Our blood mingled as we fought against death.
We had met as youngsters only months before
And now lay dying, old men, from this war.
We talked quietly in our muddy hole;
We shared those moments and bore our souls.
He told of a wife and a baby due.
He spoke of his little boy, now only two.
He was afraid of dying, of leaving them alone.
He started to cry, and in pain, then, to moan.
It seemed insane that moments before,
We both had been healthy - had life by the door.
I had been walking just a few feet ahead
Hadn't noticed the mine planted in the field's green bed.
He lunged ahead, tried to push me away
The mine had exploded; our world turned to gray.
His legs were torn off, as though they didn't exist.
His lips had been touched by Death's final kiss.
He gave up his life without any regret
To save me, his brother, he had only just met.
We held each other as the choppers grew near.
We held onto life, so precious and dear.
Both of us knew, they'd arrive too late,
Death was waiting, holding open its gate.
The tears ceased flowing from his eyes of brown;
He pulled me closer, lifting his head from the ground.
"I'm dying, my brother," he whispered low.
"Tell them at home, so that they will know
“That I died for my country, our freedom to save
For others to live, my life gladly I gave.
Don't let them forget us or the blood that we shed,
For to die without cause, when you die, you're just dead.
"Make them remember what their freedom costs.
Help them to know it can be easily lost.
Don't let them forget me or the other Vets
For we gave our all and paid a large debt."
He let out a sigh, as I gave him my vow.
Then he lowered his head, as though in a bow.
A smile appeared upon his face
And I knew he was now in a better place.
I'll never forget him - what he gave up for me
And for you, my brother, because you see,
He died for us al, and we cannot forget
He died bravely - a Vietnam Vet.
Dedicated to my brothers and sisters who
gave their lives.
Karen SP5, USA Vietnam 1969-1970
Copyright 1989
|
| AND
THE WAR GOES ON Don't show them you're afraid.
Smile - get on the plane.
Go on over there, wherever "there" is.
You'll probably come back.
I don't feel like I'll come back.
I'm scared ‘cause ahead is the unknown.
My family is crying. They're making this worse.
Go home. Let me do this. I have to.
Long flight. I am tired.
Already miss my brother - My best friend.
I'll show my parents I am strong and brave and, and,
And can do anything a boy can do.
Plane full of men - no women - what am I doing?
What am I trying to prove?
You know it won't be good enough anyway.
You'll die and it still won't be good enough.
They'll say, "We told her not to go."
"We told her to marry, stay home and sew,
Raise babies, take care of a man."
Act like a girl! What's wrong with you?
Finally, I am here, but I don't know where.
I want to go home but I can't.
Need to sleep and try to figure this out.
Pick a bed, any bed, not that bed, this one.
Monsoon rains pouring outside and in the room.
Hitting metal pans with giant "plunk", "plunk", "plunks"
Everything is hot and the earth red as blood.
Click your heels together and you'll be home.
You are home, silly girl. Rest now.
What's wrong? Being hit with powerful concussions,
as though a giant's fists are pounding them.
My bed is shaking and I'm afraid.
More afraid than I've ever been.
There is nowhere to hide. . . to run to.
Someone says there's a bunker somewhere.
What's a bunker? Where is it?
I'm lost and new here. Why won't anyone help me?
I am paralyzed in my little bed. It continues all night.
I wait to die. Well, this is why you came.
Give your life for your country.
Make them proud, as they drape the flag
Over your empty casket, because you're in pieces
Somewhere in a place far away from home.
Pray. Tell God to let your family know you loved them.
Prepare to die. I am 19. I haven't learned how to live.
And I don't know how to die.
How do I do this right? Can't I do this one thing right?
Fall asleep from the drumbeat. It pounds steadily,
Louder than my heart. What music is that?
It's a rocket and mortar
Symphony. It's the music of war.
How can I sleep while someone is trying to kill me?
This is insane.
I awake and it's morning. The music has stopped.
I am alive. I am dead. I am a kid. I am old.
Home Ec, Honor's Biology, Basic Training ,
All of it worthless. No class prepared me for this.
Naked children playing in mud.
Beer can and cardboard houses.
Children selling their sisters to the soldiers.
Working 9 - 5, what a way to make a living.
Just like a song, only this is real.
Children touching my skin, teenage girls feeling my eyelashes,
GI's taking my picture.
Strange sounds, penetrating smells that will never leave.
Snipers firing, barely missing my head.
Don't flick your lighter - it'll explode.
Don't pick the kids up - they may be booby trapped.
Claymores and barbed wire, mama-sans and black pajamas.
Time to go home, but I am home.
I don't want to leave. I'm on the edge of life and death.
Fear and excitement mix. Pride and guilt intermingle.
I'm confused again - still.
Parents meet me at the airport. Seems they think
I've been on vacation. They have suffered they say.
Mom shows me her white hair and her limp from
Where a tumor is pressing on her uterus.
I feel guilty. I have failed again.
I haven't brought them honor - only pain.
Why didn't I die there?
Maybe I can go back and try again.
What am I afraid of? Of not measuring up?
Of not doing life right even though there
Seems to be no "right" way of doing it?
Afraid to die but wishing I could, quickly, painlessly.
Scared of not being loved. Frightened of the dark,
When all the bad people out there
Wanted to hurt someone with their war toys and evil hearts.
Afraid of myself and the rage inside.
Afraid of the dark side of myself,
The war words that can come from within
To push others away so that I am alone
As I deserve to be. Alone and afraid. Afraid to live, afraid to die.
That year of war changed me. Made me see the evil in mankind.
Took my youth and trust and naivety,
Grounding them into the red mud ofVietnam.
You can't see the scars...I look as good as new,
But they're there - inside.
Vietnam is alive and well.
And the war goes on. . .
Karen Offutt
Copyright August 1999
|
| I FORGOT. .
. The longer I wait for the reunion conference,
the more I remember just how much I forgot. I forgot because of my road-blocked brain. My
Vietnam-time brain--road had so many stopovers.
I FORGOT the reason I went to Vietnam.
I FORGOT, for just a moment, to thank God for my safe return from that combat
zone.
I FORGOT how I actually enjoyed working from sunup to sundown. Sometimes,
working for 18 or 22 hours a day was so rewarding.
I FORGOT how much it mattered whether a Viet Cong solder was killed, or whether
it was an American soldier who lost his battle. All dead people are dead!!
I FORGOT how many of my acquaintances and a few of my friends left me at the
"office" -- never to return. Some were caught in ambush. Some were wounded by
sniper fire. A 122mm rocket blew up the hootch of five of my guys. Some were wounded and
never returned to my road-blocked brain. My Vietnam-time brain-road had so many stopovers.
I FORGOT how many times I went to the bunker; it was supposed to get me out of
harm’s way. I forgot the time the CO had to come to my room, shake me awake, and
remind me that whenever the incoming alarm sounded, I was to go to the bunker. (I remember
that I remembered to take my cigarettes and bottle even though I forgot my flak jacket.) I
even forgot who brought me that fifth of Crown Royal everyday!
I FORGOT so much. I’ve even forgotten what I forgot.
But, wonder of wonders! I never forgot my friends. I know that those
friendships were forged in the heat of battle. I never forgot Grendel and Joanne and
Mickey and Effie and Marion C and Betty B and Mary Jo and Betty T. I never forgot the
Shirleys, the Marys, the Joanies, the Donnas, the Claires, the Pats, the Annas nor the
Lauras. They are forever here in my heart. They help me through the nightmares and PTSD.
And the very moment that I recognize a sad period approaching, I call on my Vietnam
sisters who helped me through my Vietnam time; and, at least one or two of you were always
at one of those stopovers on my Vietnam-time road.
And, now I get a chance to offer my sincere thanks to all of my sisters.
Thanks for listening when I tried to be "mama" and thanks for ignoring me when
you thought it best. Thanks for inviting me enjoy a swim with you in our little backyard
pool. Thanks for being my friend. THANKS for being my friend! May God bless you all.
Doris "Lucki" Allen
Vietnam 1967-1970
|
AND STILL WE
WAIT . . .I can remember being a youngster and playing hide and seek.
A huge smile upon my face.
Trying to keep from giggling out loud so not to be found, as I had found the perfect
hiding spot.
Playing tag, your it! Gasping for air and choking from running and laughing so hard.
Holding my friends hands tight as we played Red Rover, Red Rover, let so and so come over.
They couldn’t break our hands apart.
We were bonded tight.
I remember crouching down real low and waiting for
some unsuspecting person to walk by so I could jump out and yell BOO!
What fun it was.
Crawling around on our hands and knees in the dirt and jumping in the mud puddles.
Even making pies from that same mud.
Oh what fun it was.
How about dressing up and playing big people?
We would put on clothes way too big for us and didn’t really understand what the
clothes were for.
We had fun for hours.
Cutting our doll’s hair, and holding them when we thought they were sad or sick.
Even played Doctor and Nurse.
We did have fun.
All us kids would gather at the end of the day and
sit on the porch and eat popsicle and talk over what games we played and what games
tomorrow we would play.
We had fun. We put our bodies through all sorts of positions while playing statue.
Could stand there real still and quiet till we knew it was safe to move.
Then, we grew up!
In size anyway.
We went to war.
Our growing up stifled forever.
And the games we played were, oh, so different.
But the body motions and positions seem to be the same, yet very different.
We still hide, not wanting to be found, but I don’t recall any smiles on our faces.
We would still be real quiet so not to be found, but no giggles came out for fear we would
be found.
And we may not have found that perfect spot to hide.
We could die if found.
Seems to me that the game of tag was there too.
Nobody wanted to be it.
I remember the gasping for air and choking, from running hard and trying not to cry.
And we held each other’s hands ever so tight.
Don’t let any of them come over tonight.
We crouched low and held our breath till some walked by.
Waiting for them to leave and not jump out and scare or harm us.
No fun it was.
The dirt and the mud we stomped through.
And afterwards looking over each other to be sure there were no leeches hiding on us.
Oh yes, I remember the mud, the puddles we jumped.
We didn’t make mud pies, for we were the pies then.
We had such clothes to dress up in.
Not exactly our choosing.
We didn’t really understand the clothes we wore.
We had to wear them for what seemed forever.
Seems they are still on at times. Even now.
We gave each other hair cuts, or even a shave for a stubbled face with arms so bent or
broke could not do for themselves.
We held their hands and stroked their faces, and even at times hummed to them the tunes
that soothed us as children.
We made ourselves believe all would be okay.
We patched them up and dressed their wounds, and had to send them on their way.
Even when they pleaded not to have to go.
It wasn’t our game, nor our rules. We had to
do and do and do.
We did not like this game or it’s rules.
Some never had to go back, their names are gone, but their faces remain today locked and
stuffed so far in my mind.
At times they crawl into my heart and all those games come back to haunt me.
All would not be okay.
At the end of the day, we would gather and sit and
talk of the day.
Cry and hold one another for we knew what tomorrow would bring.
We put our bodies through such positions trying to be, WHAT?
I’m at a loss of a word.
We waited till we thought it was safe to move.
Back in the states we knew it would be safe and
all would be OK. WRONG!
We are still waiting for that safe, secure
feeling. Allyee allyee in free!!
It does not come. We are still crouching
somewhere. Still hiding and waiting for our demons to attack.
Will we ever get to go home? Will we ever gain ourselves back? Are we lost forever?
Tommiie Acierno
Copyright 1971
Written upon returning from Vietnam
|
Youngsters, caught up in delight,
We flew on wings carefree.
Our years of school were now complete,
Our futures soon we'd see.
There had been talk on all the news
Of a war somewhere far away.
But dances, football games and love
Were the order of the day.
Soon came the letters in the mail -
Your country's chosen you
To serve, honor and defend
Its flag, red, white and blue.
Promises of travel came,
A chance to learn new skills.
Become a man, revered by all.
Oh yeah, you'll also learn to kill.
Vietnam, the orders said
But who knew where that was.
They said a war was going on.
We didn't know the cause.
Goodbyes were said to loved ones,
And many tears were shed.
We didn't dare to tell them
Of our hearts so full of dread.
Young men and young women
Flew across the sea each day,
To that land called Vietnam -
It seemed so far away.
As if caught up in a time warp
We each stepped off that plane.
And each of us somehow knew
We would never be the same.
The land was torn and barren,
Though jungles did abound.
It seemed as though all life
Had been driven underground.
The plane flew off and left us.
Bewildered there we stood,
Alone and scared with our new families
In our new-found brotherhood.
Though each had a different task,
Our lives intertwined as one.
Our hearts were united by unspoken words.
When will this hell be done?
The sounds were so different there,
We were frightened to the core.
Mortars, machine guns and mines going off,
We felt death standing at our door.
The choppers' rotors could be heard
Throughout the day and night.
We knew they brought our brothers,
Torn and dying from our fight.
Our time there went so slowly,
In that land of stench and mud.
Our youth lay far behind us;
It was robbed by our own blood.
In Vietnam we lost more than youth.
We lost arms and legs and eyes.
Many came home in body bags,
Met by their families' anguished cries.
We lost our trust in fellowman.
We lost our sanity.
We lost our innocence, it's true,
But we did not lose our dignity.
When people called us killers
And spat upon our face,
We hid our feelings deeper,
Withdrew from this thing called human race.
Ghost-filled dreams still scream at us,
Into our minds they creep.
The terrors of that war so long ago
Still keep us from our sleep.
Forget it! It's over, people say
There's no reason to recall.
But have they ever seen what we have?
Our real families' names are on the Wall.
You're lucky to be alive.
That is what they say.
How can we explain to them
That we don't feel that way?
You see, we were one united,
Our feelings were the same.
A brother's death left us
With a lot of guilt and pain.
Each one of us would gladly
Have stepped into that bullet's way,
To save one of our brothers
So he'd be alive today.
No, we can't and won't forget.
We lost too much in that war.
No medicine - no passage of time
Can remove that awful scar.
Dedicated to my brothers and sisters who served their country in Vietnam,
Cambodia and Laos.
Karen SP5, USA
Vietnam 1969-1970
Copyright 1989
|
REFLECTIONS FROM A WAC The combat zone is far from home.
There is a job for you alone.
Courage in the midst of fear
Never knowing if you’ll see next year.
A new found friend to share the day.
Loneliness just a breath away.
Mortar firing in the night.
Flares that light the sky so bright.
Mama-san to shine your shoes
For time is precious, there’s none to lose.
There’s always something to be done
But, even here, there’s time for fun.
The path for you will not lead North
But, still the WAC must prove her worth.
And if I do nothing else worthwhile today,
At least I pray
That all who pay the final price
Make freedom closer come tomorrow’s day.
Cheri Asmus Halsey
Written while at Long Binh, 1967
|
A HEALING TIME Since December 22, 1961, the beginning,
There have been tears and sorrow. Since April 30, 1975, the end,
We hoped to dry the tears and lessen the sorrow. A war of purpose holds honor
In the tears and sorrows, and never to be forgotten. A war of failure there is only
“Why?” and “Let it be forgotten.” We will never forget, we can’t.
Our tears and sorrows are so deep. We gave honor and duty and all that we had
We wished only for honor in return. “Time will heal.” That’s what some say
Time for healing will be someday. One decade, two decades, we await
Three decades, will it take? A dream of a dedication has begun
That dream has a date. “The Wall That Heals” has been built
For all the souls, and tears and sorrows. And now, we are so honored
To share our tears and be healed. Patricia Babcock Schmauch
Long Binh, June 1969 - June 1970
Written May 30, 1998
|
| Little
Girl, Old Woman
Little girl, where ya going?
I'm going off to war.
Going to serve my country.
It's you I'll be there for.
So tell me where you're going?
I'm going to be brave.
I'm going to be a soldier
Someone's freedom for to save.
Young woman, where ya going?
I'm going to do my part.
I'll work through rockets blaring
And fear that stops my heart.
I'm going off to Vietnam,
Though you may think it's wrong.
I'll be gone for a year or more...
Now that won't be so long.
I'll fly in open choppers.
I'll walk in monsoon rain.
I'll smile to give our troops hope
I'll never show my pain.
I'll patch up the wounded
Hold his hand as he lays dying.
I'll be his mom, sis, or girlfriend.
He won't see me crying.
Young woman, where ya going?
I think I'm going crazy.
There's something very wrong here
It's starting to get hazy.
Tell me why are we all fighting?
There's too much blood for me.
Everyone is dying
And no one seems to see.
Old woman, where ya going?
It's only been a year.
They say I'm going home now.
I'm flying out of here.
The joke is on them, though
They think they sent me back
But Vietnam came with me;
It snuck into my pack.
Old woman, where ya going?
I'm awakened by the dreams.
The war inside my head
Just never stops it seems.
Old woman, where ya going?
Well, no one understands
Why I go hide inside my cave
And distrust my fellow man.
Little girl, where are ya going?
I guess I do not know.
I tried to be so strong and brave,
I thought that I should go.
But as I look around me,
It's finally all so clear,
The war took so much from me
And left me without tears.
Little girl, where ya going?
By Karen Offutt
Copyright 10-30-98
Dedicated to my Sisters who served and all those who have died.
|
| The Sentry
Always before the sudden rain
Before the rustle in the tall grass
Even before the leaves move or shadows change
The cricket sings and sings
But when the wind comes up
And the sounds of the grass are strange
And the leaves on banana trees are quivering plumes
When the boom of war shudders the earth
He stops.
Be comforted . . .
When all around are dead
When the stillness returns
When nothing is stirring but the heavy
Humid stench of indolent marsh
The cricket sings:
"You are not alone;
I am still here."
Maj. Marty N. Stanton, USAF
Vietnam 1969-1970
|
| My 21st
Birthday
I want to tell you about my 21st birthday, in-country, halfway
through my 12-month tour. My boss, feeling like he was doing me a good
turn, gave me courier duty that day -- a trip to Saigon, carrying Top
Secret documents to MACV HQ. I hopped a chopper from the helipad on The
Hill, and I was off for the day. Ten minutes into our 18-mile flight, we
encountered rockets, missiles sending smoke streaming uphill, racing
straight for us, like a snowball shot out of a canon.
The only thing the pilot could do and did was to climb higher fast,
trying desperately to out climb the rockets. He did, fortunately, but for
the next few minutes I sat in a daze, aware only that my tongue was stuck
to the roof of my mouth. I could not breathe, blink, or swallow. When I
did come to, I said to the door-gunner sitting next to me "That was a
close one!" He nodded solemnly and replied, "We were almost
roasted duck."
A few minutes later, we had Saigon in view and were approaching the
landing pad at Hotel Three. We circled several times before I asked the
door-gunner what was up. You had to scream to be heard above the sound of
the chopper, but he turned and leaned forward. When we were face to face
he said, "Small arms fire -- snipers in or behind one of those
buildings." He pointed to our right, and I could see three
single-story buildings situated behind the larger one we were trying to
land next to.
"What happens next?" I was extremely excited to know but
tried to sound calm.
"We are trying to pinpoint their location so that ground troops
can take them out. Then we can land." He put it so matter-of- factly,
I wondered if there was anything at all to worry about.
"Are we in any danger?" I tried to sound nonchalant. I
failed.
He simply gave me another solemn nod. He had learned the fine art of
nonverbal communication.
As an afterthought he added, "If one bullet hits our fuel tank,
we're a ball of fire and a sinking ship."
The apple did not return to my throat, and I felt somehow a passage
had been executed and I was on the other side of something felt but not
seen.
We could not see the snipers or hear the rifle fire, but we could
see soldiers running. Almost an eternity went by before the door-gunner
said, "We are going in and will hit the ground running. You stay in
behind me close and run like hell." It was my turn to nod solemnly
and say nothing.
We landed, and things pretty much proceeded as planned. I ran,
following on his heels, as fast as stiff and heavy legs could go, until we
were inside, somewhere, anywhere on the ground. I decided then and there
to take the Army bus back to the unit when my errands were completed. I
thanked the door-gunner for all his help, and said a prayer for him as I
turned to go on my way that he would soon be home, safe and sound.
Once outside, I was glad to have my legs back and made my way off
the air base and out onto the streets of Saigon. My first trip to the big
city, and for a girl from the prairie, this was one big town.
I saw a small boy on the sidewalk coming toward me. He looked to be
six or so and was carrying a small wooden box rigged with a mop handle. He
said, with the voice of an angel, "Hey GI lady, I shine your boots,
number one job and only charge you 50 pea."
I was too paranoid to stand in one place for that amount of time,
and without thinking further, I shook him off with a wave of my hand. His
voice took a 180-degree turn and went from an angel to a street-wise punk.
He threw his middle finger up and said, "You cheap Charlie S.O.B."
The initial shock dropped my jaw. I tried to smile but only managed
to blink passed my wide-eyed amazement at his sudden transformation. I
wish now I had just given him the 50 pea.
The next block brought an old woman into my path. She was very frail
and had no hands. She pleaded with her stumped arms for me to come over.
Her begging was too much to bear. I could not make contact with her eyes
for her pain had become mine. I had to turn from her wounds to protect my
own. I dropped my head and barreled on.
I handed over the documents at MACV HQ and headed for lunch. Then on
to shopping on Tu Do Street. I crossed a street, and from around the
corner five boys, all looking to be under eight years old, jumped me. One
at each knee and elbow, and the fifth somehow climbed over them up my back
and emptied my breast pockets with the hands of a skilled surgeon. I
thought of giving a hard elbow-sock to the jaw to the boy on my right. But
with that thought came another: stand still and do nothing, I followed the
second thought and let them take everything I had. They vanished as
quickly as they had appeared.
Now broke, I headed to the motor pool depot and back to camp. Life
passed in slow motion as I sat and stared out the window. Huts made from
aluminum cans lined the highway. Patch works of orange, root beer and
Seven-Up, then one entirely of Hamms beer. Hamms would be proud, I
thought. Gives a new meaning to aluminum siding.
Back at camp, I walked from the depot instead of waiting for another
bus and thought about my birthday and how I had been saved again and
again. I counted my blessings as I thought about the shoe shine boy, the
old woman and the five little boys who now had my ID card, ration card and
30 dollars MPC. I had my life and I was very thankful.
SGT Peg Roberts, USA
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