I did not serve in the Vietnam war, but my old growing-up buddy, Johnny, did serve. And he came “marching home.”
In the very first lottery, 1970, my number came up 349, so I, literally, “lucked out” of it.
But I am thankful for those men and women who served our nation in the wars. Whenever I see the old veterans anywhere with their military identity caps on, I always thank them for their service.
I was strolling through Boston Common yesterday when I saw this:
The people of Boston have understood clearly, ever since their shot heard round the world . . . the dear price of freedom paid by our fallen soldiers.
As for my commemoration. . . My tribute is written in the novel, King of Soul, an historical fiction presentation of what happened to our nation during the war in Vietnam. In the story, several battle scenes are described. In one instance, I retrieved an historical account of the battle at Ia Drang valley, from the “We Were Soldiers Once. . .” historical account published by Joe Galloway and Lt. Col. Harold Moore. For my novel account, I re-wrote their description in my chapter 6. Here is an excerpt from King of Soul:
Next thing you know 150 of the enemy were coming up on three sides, north, south and east, and the soldiers of Bravo 2nd Platoon were going down. Lt. Henry ran from man to man trying to get a defense organized, until . . .
He was cut down. Lt. Henry, seriously struck, radioed his Captain John, said he’d been hit bad and platoon command would go to Sgt. Carl. Lt. Henry gave specific instructions to his men to destroy the signal codes, redistribute the ammo, call in artillery and get the hell out of there if they could.
He pulled the platoon together so they could make their stand; before he expired, green lieutenant, 24-years old who had stuck his neck out, looking for the long ride and when you get right down to it, put the brakes on a very large NVA unit that would have been thick in the battle for the LZ down below them. The very presence of Bravo 2nd Platoon so far off the beaten path up in the northwest away from the main American position—their marauding up there on that ridge had confused the enemy commander as to where exactly the Americans were and how far out they had penetrated in all directions. Their bravery had helped their fellow-soldiers build the battle in which Americans ultimately prevailed.
So Lt. Henry got hit; he was kneeling when he caught the fatal bullet. A few moments later, his replacement in command, Sgt. Palmer took a bullet in the head, was suffering and then a grenade landed nearby and snuffed the life out of him.
The encircled infantrymen of the Lost Platoon were all on the ground now, unable to raise their heads because, to do so, and they knew it, would bring instant death. They shifted into defense positions. Suddenly a mass assault came from three directions; they slapped their M-16s on full automatic and mowed down the oncoming enemy.
Now with eight or nine men of the platoon’s twenty-nine down, and thirteen wounded, they were caught under fire in a 25-yard perimeter. Medic Charlie Lose crawled from man to man, treating their wounds, amping up their resolve, boosting their courage, keeping the breath going in and out of their lungs, the blood running through their arteries, the pain down to a dull roar as much as possible, the bandages going on and the defensive bullets going out, serving up medical treatment and administering raw courage itself with all that life support.
We Americans express our appreciation for those fallen heroes, especially to the friends and family who remain. Lastly, I recall the words sung long ago by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young:
"Find the cost of Freedom, buried in the ground. . ."
Memorial Day, May 25-27, 2024.
No comments:
Post a Comment