Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The Sounds of Viet Nam

 The sounds of a helicopter, in peace time...as a soldier's wife, music to my ears. It  is different than during the war. There they come with only  loud, roaring sounds of the engine; and to a soldier inside, the whirl of the propeller, the hard slicing of the wind it creates. In Viet Nam, the sounds come with the swoosh of golden rice fields as you fly  too close to the earth, bullets with the horror of gun fire too close by, of soldiers  yelling, screaming. Thinking, is this a war cry? Who taught us this god awful sound, did we hear it in the movies, on TV?  Is this real? Am I the one screaming?
Soldiers are screaming in pain, some just strangely whimpering. There is no more horrific sound than a man wreathing in pain and the sound of his gasping last breath! The rockets are flying and only the experienced ones can judge the distance, know how much time they have to take cover, to throw their bodies to the ground, to cover their heads, often to realize they are being protected by the buddy now dying, shamefully using their now still, limp bodies for more protection.. No  time to think, no time for sympathy:. You lie to yourself, you convince yourself that you will help your  next buddy live; your next man you will help stay alive. You find yourself sobbing, but for whom or for what,  for gratitude that you are alive or the man next to you.? His gasping is too loud, the blood is too much! "Let him die quickly, Lord", is the only prayer you can muster. His is dying is too loud. I cover both ears hard. Hope that it will help, but it doesn't...
  I was only 18, what did I know, what do I understand of this alien world? I was trained, I relished in my accomplishment. I knew I was a good soldier; but this, why didn't the bastards prepare me for this?!They convinced me  I was the best of the best.Why was I not prepared for the last breath my buddies took?" I am just a kid!"I was not prepared for torn bodies, pieces of flesh...of babies crying in the distance.
How about the helplessness, the void, the sounds. I cover my ears, again and again. Let me out of here!I am no longer human.I don't smell like me. I don't breath like a human being. I have been reduced to this? For what? I don't feel peace. I don't know freedom. I am caged in the hard wire of my training and the sounds of Viet Nam. Only another soldier knows, we feel, we are angry, only we never speak of war...
I knew only one experienced soldier who understood. Only one man with whom I could share and even "Sarge" never had to kill another human being, "mano a mano", throw a grenade from a bridge, stab a soldier in his gut.Christ! This is an old man forced to wear the Vietnamese uniform.What have I done? This is the prize of saving my life?...I throw a grenade. It hits and the explosion follows, death follows. Is it three soldiers? Is it another old man forced to don a uniform? ... Is it just a man with his wife and child? The orders were given. Do not let anyone get through. "God let there not be a child too!" I threw my grenade , another hit. . Another  explosion follows. I only see floating pieces of wood and is it clothing? My brain feels hot.It is burning .I hate being a soldier!Fuck this war!What has the Army done to me? They did not tell me about this  fucking, damned shit! I am just a kid. I am just a kid! Father, I am sorry! Mother, help me...
But "Sarge" understood...he listened through the years. He let me talk; he let me cry. He let my voice quiver, holding back the pain.  He knew of men dying, of men crying ,of holding their hands, of kneeling besides them, closing their eyes, as a soldier breathed his last breath. "Sarge" would no longer cry as he knelt by another young man dying...Too many died , too many without a chance to say good by to their buddies, to see their families again.;the Chaplain giving the last rites, to the believer and the unbeliever, knowing they were , we are all children of God. He could still allow a man's tears to fall from his sorrowful, mournful eyes.Each death, another burden he would carry to the alter ...if he survived. They all knew the sounds of Viet Nam, the smell of rotting bodies.,blood in our hands, the heavy thick blood when it was our own. The indecent rapture realizing when it was not your blood.We are no longer human! I think to myself...I survived and I still hear the men screaming, the enemy attacking, still smell the smells. I don't want to remember, but I do.
I had been in a ditch faced down, another soldier pulling me out by the heel. I had been out,I don't know for how long. I remember falling out of the helicopter as it made a hard left turn. I heard  the sound of my body hitting the ground. I had fallen 50 feet. I had been wearing my radio equipment, all my gear... I remember the pain, thinking , my  body is broken! I was saved by my equipment and our men. But I never again felt free...
The Vietnamese soldiers were not my enemy...we were  fellow soldiers. And I had to kill them, had to hate them. I had to survive. Once their country did not have the sounds of war. It was peaceful; it was beautiful.Who knew of Agent Orange? Who knew how many children would die, how many orphaned in their rice fields? How many starved to death.?Once they were men tending the fields, freely struggling to take care of their families. I salute them , for once they were innocent  kids,once they were human too! Now we all have to heal. How many of them had a "Sarge" in their lives to help them come back to being a simple man?. Someday, I too will be able to say:" That was another lifetime.  Now I am home again, now I am whole again!"