These are responses to a class activity based on information from the Vietnam War.
“There really is a War” –Tim Driscoll (Letters from Vietnam)
This is a true description of a battle in Vietnam. From the moment I began reading it until the soldier signed his name at the end. After reading so many references to the war, it is good to know how the soldiers felt during and after a frightening battle. Now I understand why so many of these soldiers were later diagnosed with
post-traumatic stress disorder. While reading the letter, I was curious as to how many soldiers were so open and honest about what was really happening in Vietnam. If I had been a soldier, I feel that I would have attempted to keep the gruesome details of my life hidden from my loved ones.
Vietnam Veteran’s Terminology and Slang
While reading the slang terms and acronyms used by the soldiers in Vietnam, I felt like I was invading a personal memory of the veterans. It reminds me of young children who“make up a language” to use among friends. The soldiers were given a sense of security by this “language” as it kept their conversations secret from those who were not in on the terminology. I was shocked at some of the terms, as they were quite brutal. One of that I found particularly disturbing was AMF, or “Adios, Mother F*****”. I immediately imagine a group of men under attack, losing hope so fast that they resort to saying goodbye to their friends. It is so sad. As I’ve said in other reflections, I feel like I would ignore the chance of my death and hope for the best. I’d be an optimistic soldier, pretending that there was no danger and that I’d be home with my family soon.
“A Tear for Those Who Gave Their All” –Guy Jones
Guy Jones’ poem is so moving. It truly embodies the emotions of the surviving soldiers. I can’t even imagine the guilt felt by those who survived. In some cases, a man lived only by a few inches. Like in Things They Carried, when Norman was showing a picture to Kiowa. Kiowa was killed while Norman lived, even though he was standing just inches from Kiowa. The guilt eventually drove Norman to commit suicide. Though I may be wrong, I don’t think the number of casualties from Vietnam includes those who took their own lives when the war was over, due to guilt or PTSD. How much higher would that number be if those men were included? But returning to Jones’ poem, it was beautifully written. It radiated the guilt he felt, while still maintaining the rough and tough” outer edge of the soldiers.
“Catharsis” –Robert Sasse
This brief story is an emotional piece. It tells of the regret of one soldier, and of the way he thirsted for revenge. The shocking part of this story is the way it ends. The narrator discovers that the death of his friend was actually his own fault, and not his comrade. His honesty and how he owns up to his friend’s death is surprising. As the reader, I am floored by this man’s total openness. He tells of how he now spends his time drinking, and I am reminded of other stories I have read about how many of the soldiers can’t be employed, be in crowds, and have other problems as a direct result of serving in Vietnam.
“The Diary and Other Writings of 1C9H”
This soldier is so honest in his diary entries. The need for revenge after his “love” dies is so prominent. I am so speechless. This soldier wrote that he doesn’t want to be known by his real name, only “1C9H”, or “One Charlie Niner Hotel”. How would it feel to be ashamed of your own name? The details he chose to include in the story contribute to my reaction to it. The way he describes his attempt to put his friend back together is disturbing, but a perfect way to illustrate his desperation to the reader.
This is a true description of a battle in Vietnam. From the moment I began reading it until the soldier signed his name at the end. After reading so many references to the war, it is good to know how the soldiers felt during and after a frightening battle. Now I understand why so many of these soldiers were later diagnosed with
post-traumatic stress disorder. While reading the letter, I was curious as to how many soldiers were so open and honest about what was really happening in Vietnam. If I had been a soldier, I feel that I would have attempted to keep the gruesome details of my life hidden from my loved ones.
Vietnam Veteran’s Terminology and Slang
While reading the slang terms and acronyms used by the soldiers in Vietnam, I felt like I was invading a personal memory of the veterans. It reminds me of young children who“make up a language” to use among friends. The soldiers were given a sense of security by this “language” as it kept their conversations secret from those who were not in on the terminology. I was shocked at some of the terms, as they were quite brutal. One of that I found particularly disturbing was AMF, or “Adios, Mother F*****”. I immediately imagine a group of men under attack, losing hope so fast that they resort to saying goodbye to their friends. It is so sad. As I’ve said in other reflections, I feel like I would ignore the chance of my death and hope for the best. I’d be an optimistic soldier, pretending that there was no danger and that I’d be home with my family soon.
“A Tear for Those Who Gave Their All” –Guy Jones
Guy Jones’ poem is so moving. It truly embodies the emotions of the surviving soldiers. I can’t even imagine the guilt felt by those who survived. In some cases, a man lived only by a few inches. Like in Things They Carried, when Norman was showing a picture to Kiowa. Kiowa was killed while Norman lived, even though he was standing just inches from Kiowa. The guilt eventually drove Norman to commit suicide. Though I may be wrong, I don’t think the number of casualties from Vietnam includes those who took their own lives when the war was over, due to guilt or PTSD. How much higher would that number be if those men were included? But returning to Jones’ poem, it was beautifully written. It radiated the guilt he felt, while still maintaining the rough and tough” outer edge of the soldiers.
“Catharsis” –Robert Sasse
This brief story is an emotional piece. It tells of the regret of one soldier, and of the way he thirsted for revenge. The shocking part of this story is the way it ends. The narrator discovers that the death of his friend was actually his own fault, and not his comrade. His honesty and how he owns up to his friend’s death is surprising. As the reader, I am floored by this man’s total openness. He tells of how he now spends his time drinking, and I am reminded of other stories I have read about how many of the soldiers can’t be employed, be in crowds, and have other problems as a direct result of serving in Vietnam.
“The Diary and Other Writings of 1C9H”
This soldier is so honest in his diary entries. The need for revenge after his “love” dies is so prominent. I am so speechless. This soldier wrote that he doesn’t want to be known by his real name, only “1C9H”, or “One Charlie Niner Hotel”. How would it feel to be ashamed of your own name? The details he chose to include in the story contribute to my reaction to it. The way he describes his attempt to put his friend back together is disturbing, but a perfect way to illustrate his desperation to the reader.
This is a historical fiction piece.
November 3, 1967
Dearest Rebecca,
Reading your letter brightened my life. I have been here in Vietnam only a few weeks, and I am already counting the hours until I can return home you, my lovely fiancée. The war is a frightening place, a place where I do not belong. The men in my unit are hardened and strong; they don’t mess around.
Just last week, we were hiking through the jungle when we heard rustling in the brush ahead of us. Sarge commanded us to halt, and we hit the soil. It was silent, but I could hear the prayers being sent up above. Sarge was angry with Mathew from the night before, so he made him crawl ahead to see what was going on. We laid there for what felt like hours before we heard the explosion and the scream. I still hear that scream at night, when I fall
asleep. It’s the sound of pure agony. Poor Sarge never saw that one coming…
It’s hard to believe that a few short months ago, I was downtown protesting the very war I am now a part of. I don’t want to believe that I could die for a cause that I am so against. Since I’ve been here, I have seen so many innocent deaths, regardless of nationality. When I arrived here, I was
shocked to learn that not all Vietnamese citizens wish Americans dead and gone. Some of them are grateful for our presence here in their country. Yet, as expected, there are those who would rather us be dead.
It saddens me to hear of innocent Vietnamese being killed by Americans. Sure, we’re here to rid South Vietnam of the communists. But I don’t understand why some soldiers feel that it is their turn to “play God”, deciding who to kill and who to let live. It’s a sick game that I refuse to take part in. I can assure you that the only time my weapon will be fired is that time when my life is in jeopardy.
When I first arrived here, I was amazed by the ironic beauty of this country. We’re here for war, but it looks like a destination for tourists. The
mountains and the jungle and all of the green trees and shrubs, it’s so beautiful. The irony is the horror that I see every day. It completely contrasts
the wonders of the country.
Every day, we wake up and search the perimeter to make sure that we were not found and surrounded (even though two men are continually
keeping watch throughout the night. Then, we march. Actually, “march” isn’t the right word. We stalk, never straying from our formation. After a few days, we circle back and return to headquarters to await our next mission.
The jungle is truly a frightening place. However, I have come to know more about myself than ever before. There’s something about being forced to hide and be silent, or else be found by the enemy and most likely be killed, that forces you to do a lot of soul searching.
I miss Mom’s cooking. We get these gross rations. They have beef-flavored crap and a tiny piece of chocolate stuff. For the energy we exert on a daily basis, you’d think they’d feed us a lot better.
Anyway, back to your question about my daily life… It’s so repetitive. When I’m not searching the jungle for an invisible enemy, I am sleeping. When
I’m not in the jungle, or sleeping, I’m watching the movie they play every night at our headquarters. I wish there would be a new movie, because some of the men who have been here the longest have started acting it out. It’s actually quite entertaining.
My tour of duty is only 8 more months. When I dwell on the longevity of my stay, I find myself growing numb. It’s so unfair that a government such as ours has the right to force me, and so many others, into a war that a large percentage of the population disagrees with. I am not alone in these beliefs. Many of the soldiers find it hard to shoulder a weapon, much less use it, knowing the truth about this war. It isn’t right.
While it is frightening to be here, in the midst of this brutal war, I am also scared of what will happen when I return. The soldiers talk about how there have been men returning home who go crazy at any loud noise. If I’m going to serve my country, I want to be the same man when I return. And
don’t worry, I will return.
With
all my love,
PFC William A. Cunningham
PFC William A. Cunningham served in Vietnam from 10/17/67 to 3/01/68.
Dearest Rebecca,
Reading your letter brightened my life. I have been here in Vietnam only a few weeks, and I am already counting the hours until I can return home you, my lovely fiancée. The war is a frightening place, a place where I do not belong. The men in my unit are hardened and strong; they don’t mess around.
Just last week, we were hiking through the jungle when we heard rustling in the brush ahead of us. Sarge commanded us to halt, and we hit the soil. It was silent, but I could hear the prayers being sent up above. Sarge was angry with Mathew from the night before, so he made him crawl ahead to see what was going on. We laid there for what felt like hours before we heard the explosion and the scream. I still hear that scream at night, when I fall
asleep. It’s the sound of pure agony. Poor Sarge never saw that one coming…
It’s hard to believe that a few short months ago, I was downtown protesting the very war I am now a part of. I don’t want to believe that I could die for a cause that I am so against. Since I’ve been here, I have seen so many innocent deaths, regardless of nationality. When I arrived here, I was
shocked to learn that not all Vietnamese citizens wish Americans dead and gone. Some of them are grateful for our presence here in their country. Yet, as expected, there are those who would rather us be dead.
It saddens me to hear of innocent Vietnamese being killed by Americans. Sure, we’re here to rid South Vietnam of the communists. But I don’t understand why some soldiers feel that it is their turn to “play God”, deciding who to kill and who to let live. It’s a sick game that I refuse to take part in. I can assure you that the only time my weapon will be fired is that time when my life is in jeopardy.
When I first arrived here, I was amazed by the ironic beauty of this country. We’re here for war, but it looks like a destination for tourists. The
mountains and the jungle and all of the green trees and shrubs, it’s so beautiful. The irony is the horror that I see every day. It completely contrasts
the wonders of the country.
Every day, we wake up and search the perimeter to make sure that we were not found and surrounded (even though two men are continually
keeping watch throughout the night. Then, we march. Actually, “march” isn’t the right word. We stalk, never straying from our formation. After a few days, we circle back and return to headquarters to await our next mission.
The jungle is truly a frightening place. However, I have come to know more about myself than ever before. There’s something about being forced to hide and be silent, or else be found by the enemy and most likely be killed, that forces you to do a lot of soul searching.
I miss Mom’s cooking. We get these gross rations. They have beef-flavored crap and a tiny piece of chocolate stuff. For the energy we exert on a daily basis, you’d think they’d feed us a lot better.
Anyway, back to your question about my daily life… It’s so repetitive. When I’m not searching the jungle for an invisible enemy, I am sleeping. When
I’m not in the jungle, or sleeping, I’m watching the movie they play every night at our headquarters. I wish there would be a new movie, because some of the men who have been here the longest have started acting it out. It’s actually quite entertaining.
My tour of duty is only 8 more months. When I dwell on the longevity of my stay, I find myself growing numb. It’s so unfair that a government such as ours has the right to force me, and so many others, into a war that a large percentage of the population disagrees with. I am not alone in these beliefs. Many of the soldiers find it hard to shoulder a weapon, much less use it, knowing the truth about this war. It isn’t right.
While it is frightening to be here, in the midst of this brutal war, I am also scared of what will happen when I return. The soldiers talk about how there have been men returning home who go crazy at any loud noise. If I’m going to serve my country, I want to be the same man when I return. And
don’t worry, I will return.
With
all my love,
PFC William A. Cunningham
PFC William A. Cunningham served in Vietnam from 10/17/67 to 3/01/68.