Do not forget these heroes!
The men and women who have returned or will soon return from the war in Afghanistan deserve the praise and thanks from each and every American citizen.
They fought gallantly to help slow the rise of terror mongers, while displaying compassion and civility for its inhabitants. What started as a hunt for Osama bin Laden quickly and quietly transformed into a mission of mercy.
The hardest part of soldiering is having to leave without completing the task. These men and women are now another muster of servicemen and servicewomen who must “leave the gate open” so the dogs can escape.
They now join the growing list of cadre who served in Vietnam, Korea, Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, Somalia , and other domains — only to have their efforts belittled as fruitless.
Operation Enduring Freedom has not ended. America’s war on terror continues and may never come to a peaceful end. However, these men and women have served their country with valor and high distinction. They have not failed us!
America’s might, the very fabric of its muscle in this world, is the result of the accomplishments of its Armed Forces. If there has been a weakening of our strength or resoluteness, it is directed by the hands of our leaders.
Excerpts from a letter dated Wednesday, March 5th, 1967:
I haven’t had any sleep for the past three days. We moved day and night for two days to get to this V.C. base camp, and when we arrived, all hell broke loose. A battalion of V.C. had one of our companies pinned down, trying to wound them instead of killing them. It seems they wanted to capture some of our troops to use them as POWs for leverage.
Our Second Battalion called for our help, and we pushed ourselves through the jungle in the pitch black of night to give them some relief.
“We rendezvoused with them at 5:00 A.M., in the pitch dark. We positioned ourselves around the wounded company and opened up fire at 6:10. We didn’t think the V.C. would still be around, but they had stayed, expecting us, waiting for us.
Every morning when we would awake, it was standard operating procedure (SOP) to clear the “firing field” in front of us. The standing orders were simple: “If it moves, kill it!” When we started firing this morning, it was to clear a kill zone in front of us. Unexpectedly, the V.C. fired back at us, surprising the heck out of us.
We were now engaged in an intense, raging firefight. The V.C. had the advantage over us — they had tunnels, foxholes, trenches, food, ammo, and water. All we had was trees to hide behind, water, 20,000 rounds of ammo, and grit. We would need every bit of this to keep ourselves alive.
But, we also had something they didn’t — air superiority!
Our Company Commander put in a call for resupplies, airstrikes, and artillery. We were too close to the target for napalm to be used. The fighter pilots dropped multiple 500-pound bombs while the artillery honed in more closely on specific targets within their camp.
That helped too, because while the airstrikes and artillery were coming in overhead, we got supplies off the supply choppers and get them distributed to everyone who needed something. We had been given enough food and water to last us a week.
At 6:45 A.M., we started firing again, and this time, when we stopped, ‘Charlie’ was gone. We whipped them good! The C.O. sent squads out in four different directions, hoping to re-establish contact with the enemy, but they found nothing.
We then searched the base camp and found food, water, ammo, penicillin, morphine, candy, soda, beer, tools, radios for communications, lighters, toothpaste, toothbrushes and we found quite a few dead Viet Cong, and rifles. Then we checked the tunnels and found about the same stuff down there as we found above-ground, except for 80 bicycles.
Yep, they had transportation and everything.
I can’t say how many we killed because I don’t know, but there were over 25 dead bodies for sure. We had 22 casualties and no deaths. Our casualties came from the company that had been pinned down. For a bunch of 18 and 19-year-old kids, we did all right, considering what we had to accomplish.
One of the biggest lies of this war was that body count didn’t matter. I can put that fallacy to rest right now…KIAs and WIAs always mattered. It was the best way for the higher chain of command to know whether or not our strategy was working.
To my recollection, this was one of the very first skirmishes I was a part of over there. I wish it had never happened. It would be the start of a nightmare that would follow me (and every other vet) for years to come.
In my child-like innocence, I had been thrust into a situation I had no control over, had been forced to kill or be killed, and came out alive. But, I was not left unscathed. Nor were the countless others who had experienced this. The mental scars would take a lifetime to heal, much the same as shell-shocked victims of WWII have endured.
Why? Because you can’t snuff out life without answering to your conscience at some time or another. Life is much too sacred to allow you that comfort, regardless of the rationale behind the execution.
You lay awake at night, hoping and praying for relief from the inner torment you feel. And yet, outwardly, you seem to have been able to escape Vietnam without it affecting you adversely. As any veteran knows, you hide your true feelings so that people think of you as they did the WWII vet, as a hero. You need that acceptance to justify what you did over there.
But inside, in your mind, where you live and breathe, there is a never-ending turmoil. You feel angry at the way you are received back here in the States. This carries over for years into the way you think and feel about authority figures. Your bosses think of you as some cantankerous individual who’s not too easy to get along with.
In reality, it’s you fighting against those who would take away your ability to think for yourself. Yes, there is mistrust on your part. I can’t think of a single authority figure I would follow to hell and back just because he asked me. Yet, I did in Vietnam.
While I was over there, I told myself I would do, and would never again do, certain things once I get back to the States. For instance, I would take as many long baths as possible. I would never, ever be caught out in a rainstorm again. I would respect life and never put myself in this position again. I would honor those who never made the plane ride home.
I would never follow along blindly again, opting instead for being informed and making decisions for myself. Nor would I allow my son or daughter to be cast into the middle of a senseless war, whether or not it was popular.
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This post was previously published on Change Becomes You.
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You may also like these posts on The Good Men Project:
White Fragility: Talking to White People About Racism | Escape the “Act Like a Man” Box | The Lack of Gentle Platonic Touch in Men’s Lives is a Killer | What We Talk About When We Talk About Men |
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