Page 100 - Firehouse Pond

We trained daily for war and service “In-Country.” It was a harsh reality that

going into direct combat was in our future. We were experiencing what was
waiting for us. The stories and sights of those who had returned impacted us
every day.

We were wounded by our second-hand experiences of those combat soldiers.
They jokingly referred to us as the non-combatants; the “lucky ones.”

We knew there was a deeper story than the one being told. We knew because
we lived the real stories by hearing the voices, “seeing” by imagining the
events, and the pain from their nightmares. The blood-curdling screams, the

crying – it was like watching the same bad movie repeatedly every night
without the ability to change the channel or turn off the television.

We were unforeseen collateral damage; a term used by our government to
describe the killing or wounding of non-combatant individuals during a
military mission.

I did not say it was limited to Vietnam missions.

The war was being physically fought thousands of miles away. But

emotionally it was in our minds and our souls twenty-four-seven. We were
always thinking: “When will it be my turn? Will I die? Will I ever see my
family again? Will I be badly wounded and unable to take care of myself?

Will I turn to drugs and alcohol like those guys?

Always knowing that my life was destined to be altered by war, yet also
believing I was doing the right thing was confusing. “I am an American with

responsibilities to my nation; I am a Soldier.” Of course, I challenged the
cause on a daily, if not hourly basis. But I also accepted my leader’s
explanations almost without question.

Critical thinking was not acceptable or tolerated by a soldier. A soldier’s
duty is to follow orders. “Yes sir, understood sir!” was the expectation.