DARE TO DREAM...
Part 7: GOD, IF YOU'RE LISTENIN'
The skinny I heard was true and we're truckin' our way back to Phubai. The scuttlebutt is that we will fall back and regroup for a few weeks then head north to Dong Ha. They're building an airstrip up that way and we will be manning the holes around the perimeter. I've been told that there is some heavy shit going on up there; seems like Charley don't want C-130's landing in the midst of his stomping grounds. Only time will tell what that place is all about. Right now I'm gonna catch a few zee's. It's gonna be a long bumpy trip back to the country club. Trouble is my mind won't shut down, it keeps driftin' back to yesterday and I keep seeing my brother's eyes every time I close mine, God if you're listenin', help me and my brothers get past this, Please...
Old Glory is on fire and lays burning on the ground while a mob of anti-war types chant, "Hell no we won't go." Draft cards are lit up and waved in the air as though that would free these freaks from the draft. Jimmy Hendricks wailing guitar rifts in the background as the anti war movement gains momentum on the streets of Berkley. Longhaired, barefooted girls toss flowers on the ground with their spaced out eyes looking like two piss holes in the snow. Their long limp dresses twirl round about them as they dance and raise their hairy assed armpits towards heaven as if they didn't have a care in the fucking world. The bandana wearing, bead clad male hippies are sky high as they smoke their grass. Standing there thinking their cool as shit while they pump the peace sign up and down chanting at anyone within earshot to get out of Viet Nam. They talk of flower power and of peace and love. Yet they display hate and contempt for anyone who is fighting or who has fought in Viet Nam. What I see is America's youth fighting against America's youth, 'cause teenagers are fighting and dying in the Nam while teenagers are protesting and dancing in the streets here. Makes a hell of a lot of sense don't it? These shit birds think they are fighting a war over here in the world using flowers, drugs and words as weapons of peace. The truth is they wouldn't amount to a pus filled pimple on a combat Marines ass. All these hippies are accomplishing is the alienation of the true American defenders of freedom; keeping those who know the cost of freedom from the homes and peace that they sweat and shed their life's blood for.
A decorated soldier walks by the crowd of dancing idiots and they turn their anger towards him and shout "Hey baby killer, how many villages did you burn? How many innocent people did you kill?" And then they spit on the uniform of one who fought for them and for the freedoms they have.
In his mind he reflects back to the Viet Nam highlands where a battle still rages on. Orders were given to take the hill that would be a strategic foothold for the powers that be. Bleak would be the only way to describe this place as the smoke from the battles seared the lungs of those heroes who fought and died for every inch of ground gained. The hillside he remembers was blood-soaked with the dead and wounded everywhere. Enemy resistance was high and the NVA had a definite will to withstand this assault. The hillside looked like a charred pile of burnt ash; the trees nothing more than blackened crooked matchsticks leaving a visual testimony to the destructive power of Napalm which sucks every bit of life out of the ground and foliage - not to mention human life, for it is obvious as they fight they see the enemies twisted charred bodies motionless as though kiln dried in time similar to the statues of Pompeii.
He remembers the anguish upon the faces and the contorted features of his buddies as they crawled upward covered in mud and blood seeking cover under fire; machine guns riddling the dirt as he watched the earth explode upward showering him and all those in the vicinity. He remembers the mortars as they came crashing down at steady intervals leaving only traces of his buddies to the left and right of him as they were caught in the blast of this hellish nightmare. His ears echo the sounds of choppers doing flybys, sending rockets screaming through the air and watching Willy-Peter spread itself spider like in all directions and listening to the screams of the night.
He feels the recoil of his M14 cracking off rounds as inch-by-inch, step-by-step he and his unit advanced onward and upward into the hell of the battle. The situation was fucked up beyond all recognition and he had seen this all before. An eerie and strange recollection of other battles fought and won at the high cost of life; hills taken after fighting for days with uncountable casualties on both sides. Then once the hill was taken it would be abandoned by the command, only to be taken back again by Charley as a stronghold: knowing also that this same hill would have to be retaken again later at a greater cost of life. Meanwhile the smoke still rises, the battle still rages and blood still flows this very moment on many hills in Viet Nam.
Seven days ago this soldier was on a hillside steeped in the fury of war. Today he feels fortunate to be alive, though guilty because he survived. He walks upon the streets of America amid the draft dodging scum of the earth that curse and ridicule him and those who fought and died for their freedom.
His eyes have no reflection and for these protesters his heart holds no emotion. The Viet Nam Veteran undauntedly walks quietly on by muttering under his breath,
"It don't mean nutthin"
And his mind drifts back to his brothers in the Nam. And he says, "God if your listinin', help me and my brothers get past this, please"...
And the war goes on......