It was Tet 1968 in Hue City, Republic of South Vietnam, crawling with NVA and Viet Cong, fighting and killing U.S. and Vietnamese soldiers.
It was December 20, 1944, Bastogne, Belgium, the 101st Airborne surrounded by three German Army divisions. It was 1950, the frozen Chosen reservoir — U.S. Marines “attacking to the rear,” followed by thousands of screaming Chinese troops. It was Operation Desert Storm, an F-15 “Eagle driver” seeing the tracers from the Iraqi gunners passing his wing. It was Fallujah, Iraq, U.S. forces fighting house-to-house against the Taliban. It was 2010 in Afghanistan — U.S. forces fighting an almost unseen enemy.
For me, it was August 1969, outside of a hamlet in Dinh Quan, Long Khanh Province, Republic of South Vietnam — I and 12 Vietnamese troops and my interpreter running into a squad of Viet Cong in the dark, and the ensuing firefight.
It was, in actuality, none of those — in reality, it was 1995 or 2011 or 2014, or last night, all of those events were happening in the minds of the men who had been there and fought there. Those experiences and similar ones were emblazoned on the consciences and subconsciences of millions of men and women who had served in our Armed Forces and who had experienced the noise, the smells, the confusion, the wounding, the deaths that are that thing called combat and war.
We were soldiers once and young, the name of a book about combat in Vietnam. In reality, that is what we were. We were impressionable — many of us going to Vietnam with the images of John Wayne, Audie Murphy, seeing combat as something glorious and chivalrous — not the bloody death-dealing monster that we found it to be.
And it stays with us for all time.
Someone asked me whether I had ever returned to Vietnam, to the place where I spent a year living with and advising the Vietnamese. I said, “Yes, I was there last night.” They looked at me incredulously and said, “How can that be?” And then a knowing look crossed their face — “Oh,” they said.
Yes, oh. Last night and yesterday, and last week, and forever.
I do not wear this “forever” and the lasting memories as a badge on my sleeve. As a matter of fact, for me, I hid it for years because it did things to me that I did not want to share with others. Only my wife knew. Just like the other wives and husbands of the millions who had served. Actually, I found out, one did not even have to have been in combat to have the memories return and haunt. When you are in a war zone, no matter what the job, the adrenaline is flowing and the impressions are being cemented in the mind. The impressed events return over and over in the ensuing years as the former service member becomes a civilian, goes to work, raises the family and fights off the implanted memories.
Not all of the memories are bad ones. Vietnam was and is a beautiful country. The people are, or were for me, the ones I lived with, beautiful people. Many of my comrades in arms who served in American units did not, and many still do not, hold the same feelings for the Vietnamese people. For them, there were too many times when they experienced the Viet Cong, dressed as civilians, handing the U.S. troop the soda bottle which blew up in his hand.
But it was a lovely country.
They told those of us who would live with the people to get to know them, and then be prepared to eliminate them. Not all of them, of course — just the bad guys.
Why am I writing this?
To cause it to escape from me, and for all of those who served and who may have had some of the thoughts expressed here, but whose thoughts were never translated into words. And to try and explain that we who served did not just “serve.” There was “sacrifice.” Not just sacrifice in the classic manner of a lost arm or leg or guts torn asunder, or death. The sacrifice of leaving family and friends — of leaving the safety of our country for the dangers of the combat zone — no matter whether by choice or by draft.
What we did not know was that there would be for some — those who came back from Korea, and for sure those of us who came back from Vietnam — a continuing sacrifice. Being the targets in the failure of the nation to acknowledge our service and sacrifice. Not just failure, as in the case of the Vietnam veteran — ignoring the fact that we had left the country, that we had fought, been wounded, died, for a cause that many believed in.
And the people got off the sidewalk when we walked down the street in uniform, to get away from us who had gone to war, had not stayed here, had not demonstrated in the streets, had not burned our draft cards, had not taken over college campus buildings, and in some cases, had not resorted to violence to protest what many had decided was an unjust war.
We had gone to Vietnam, to Laos, offshore in the ships — over 2 million of us, and it took over 30 years before some people here found out that we had gone, and stopped us on the street and said, “Thank you for your service.”
How would they have known to add “and your sacrifice”?
Some will, by now, if they have read this far, say, “Oh, he is just bitter.”
But I am not — I am proud of my service to my country and proud of the service of my comrades who fought and served in Vietnam, and proud of the almost 60,000 whose names adorn the stark black slabs of stone in Washington, D.C., known as the Wall. I am content to live with the memories of the firefight in the dark with the VC, and more than that, to live with the memories of the many wonderful people in Vietnam for whom I may have had a small hand in helping for just a little while.
The memories that return to the veterans over and over — all of the veterans of all of the wars and police actions, and deployments and operations — are personal to each veteran, and most do not visit those memories good or bad upon their friends, neighbors or the people in general. The memories are there, and they will not leave us. It has taken me a long time to understand the memories that sometimes haunt and twist the mind, and to learn how to combat them and not let them direct my behavior. Many have done the same. But some have not, and they have taken their lives to stop the noise and the continual battle that happened so long ago, but continues to occupy their minds.
I guess, that on this Veterans Day of 2014, it would be my wish that if the reader sees someone who the reader knows has served — no matter in what capacity and no matter in which war or action — that you not only thank them for their service but also for their sacrifice. I don’t know if it will do the veteran any real good, but it may remind the one who gives the thanks that we people in this country can never again treat our service members as the Vietnam veterans and Korean veterans were treated — no matter how much the people do not like war or the police action or the deployment.
I have heard some high ranking officers of today’s military say in speeches, particularly on Veterans Day, that to you, Vietnam veterans, know that today’s military “stands on your shoulders.” That brings some solace. We returning Vietnam veterans did endure the silence, and after many years, it finally resulted in the people of this country becoming aware that they cannot ever again allow the silence to greet those whose service and sacrifice provide us with the ability to go about our daily lives here with the knowledge that we are free and our democracy is safe.
And then, if you wish to go a step further, you, reader, can say a little silent prayer that those who have served will be able to deal with the personal memories which sometimes and from time to time haunt them.
The memories of the times long past when we veterans experienced and actually lived through the most significant, and for some the defining event of our lives — service to our country in time of war.
Bob Hughes / Special to The News Herald
(The author is a partner in the Panama City law firm of Barron and Redding. He was a captain in U.S. Army Military Intelligence, having served in the Republic of South Vietnam, 1969-1970. His email is vacav4@aol.com.)