January/February 2001

Forgotten Warriors

by Ray Pezzoli, Jr.

Over 58,000 Americans lost their lives in South Vietnam. Over three million Americans served their country in Vietnam, returning to an ungrateful nation. Returning veterans were often ashamed to admit they had served in the military. Nobody at home seemed to extend a hand or listen to their often tragic stories. Few listened to Vietnam veterans, unable or unwilling to offer spiritual and emotional nourishment.

Many veterans returned with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Ninety percent of these soldiers experienced unsuccessful marriages. 400,000 were counted among the homeless. Many were spat upon, ridiculed and laughed at. Family and friends often were embarrassed to concede that a close friend or family member was a Vietnam veteran.

In 1969, Captain Bob Scales said a final farewell through streaming tears to the heroic men of his Artillery Battery. Coming home, he felt the scorn of civilians when he pursued graduate studies at a university. He finally decided, as many decorated vets like him, to trade uniforms for bell-bottom jeans and keep his combat past a secret.

Currently commandant of the Army War College at Carlisle, Pennsylvania, Scales wrote "Lessons and Legacies/25 Years After Vietnam," for The Los Angeles Times. Writing about how Vietnam still impacts our armed forces, Scales said that Vietnam is "an invisible scarthat changed the Army and so influences it today. You can't understand one without the other." Vietnam, frequently dismissed as an inconsequential military venture, will continue to have monumental effects.

This article will explore the world of Vietnam veterans. It will explore deeply entrenched anxieties, frustrations and disillusions -- as well as combat experiences. It will help us understand what challenges our forgotten warriors face. It will remind us that these soldiers haven't been forgotten by God.

Each combat veteran vividly remembers his first action. Many of the enlisted men in Vietnam were not very far from their mother's apron strings -- teenagers and still innocent. Uprooted from their homes, suffering from the culture shock of Southeast Asia, these young Americans often felt abandoned by God and country.

New arrivals "in country" felt uncertain and insecure. Replacements stuck out like sore thumbs amongst seasoned, crusty vets. Here's what it felt like -- written in the present tense to place you at the center of the Vietnam experience.

*****

First call is 0400 hours for chopper flights to the "boonies" close to the Cambodian border, inside an area called the "Iron Triangle."

There is no one for a "new troop" to talk to. His buddies have been divided into other companies. The seasoned troops don't look much older, yet they don't talk much.

"When you get out there today, be aware of what's going on, keep alert and remember Basic Training."

The new men are barely capable of absorbing the deluge of negativism as they plunge into maturity.

The first time a soldier hears a gun fired in combat, a bolt of electricity shoots through his nervous system. The terror of the moment slowly recedes after a veteran explains that these rounds are from friendly weapons.

Next to a narrow dirt road is the corpse of a young Vietnamese in civilian clothes, rifle slung across his shoulders and six bicycles loaded with supplies, scattered about.

"He's a commie, infiltrating here with his pals. We zapped this one and think we wounded another. See these footprints leading away -- those spots in the dirt are blood."

The body is surprisingly clean; the only evidence of a wound is a small bullet hole below his neck. The new soldier's heart is beating hard. Perspiration streams down his face. He feels lightheaded and weaves a little as he continues walking.

The bicycles and supplies have to be transferred to a rear area for analysis by Intelligence. The company commander is aware that the escaped men might be waiting in ambush ahead. He instructs the company to follow parallel to the road, inside the tree line.

The six "new troops" are assigned to push the bikes along the road, escorted by Sergeant George Talley and another seasoned trooper, a Specialist 4th class.

"We lucked out. This'll be easier for us than walking in the jungle -- that's for the birds. Let those other guys do it."

Slicing through the dense jungle entanglement, the road makes a slight climb to the crest. As the first two men with bikes reach the top, a brilliant flash and explosion envelopes them, sending one reeling, spinning backward before collapsing. The other stumbles to the right, gradually turning back before he crumbles to the ground. Sharp cracks of rifle fire erupt along the trail, instantly returned from the company inside the jungle.

These six men had been buddies during their short Army life. In a fraction of a second, two had been blown away by a rocket blast.

The Specialist 4 dives into the trench along the road, returning fire with his M-14 on full automatic. One of the new men squeezes next to him, watching to ensure that hot ammo doesn't drop down his back.

Sgt. Talley drags the two wounded back from the crest, now saturated with heavy fire from both sides.

"Johnnythey got Johnny," the young man cries as he buries his face in the trench, both hands holding the top of his helmet.

"Bang!" the Specialist slams the top of his helmet.

"Never mind Johnny!" he bellows. "Keep your eyes on that side of the trail -- kill anything moving!"

"Oh, Johnny, he's dead."

"Bang!", again.

"I told you -- look out there! Keep your eyes pealed in front or we'll both be dead!"

"Johnny, Johnny."

"Bang!"

*****

A company on a search and destroy mission is deployed across a field of dried rice paddies from communist-terrorized farmers. The men are stretched out in file in the 120 degree sunshine, taking a lunch break. One squad is fortunate to have stopped inside the shade of a clump of bushes.

A series of bullets crack from a hill three hundred yards on the left.

"Move out!" calls the squad leader. They scramble from the concealment of bushes for the open rice paddy under fire. A 3/4 ton truck straddles the foot high dike. Hiding behind the vehicle are the driver, his "shotgun" and four other passengers.

The first four members of the squad dive for protection behind the dike while the enemy machine gun continues to assert its authority over the remainder of the company, burrowed against adjacent dikes.

Any object moving or concealed is not a target of opportunity -- standing in the open is. The only free dike for the last soldier is on the opposite side of this paddy, fifty yards away and under the raking machine gun fire. The soldier realizes everybody is covered and the gun is now firing at him!

His only alternative is to run toward it and the only available dike. As he lumbers forward, he remembers soldiers in WWII movies being shot at, dodging and fainting like a football player. Of course, in the movies, they never wore the sixty pounds of equipment: three canteens of water, machete, two grenades, a couple days of rations, double the basic load of ammo, a cumbersome entrenching tool, one bayonet and steel pot.

He is aware of the incessant "crack, crack, crack" of gunfire trained directly at him. These rounds must be flying within inches of him, yet he feels impervious, glancing up the hill toward the sounds, scrutinizing the flickering red muzzle flashes.

He reaches the dike in what feels like an eternity. He adjusts the site on his M-79 Grenade Launcher for the two hundred fifty meter distance of the still chattering weapon.

"Pop." The hollow sound whispers from the 40mm Grenade Launcher as its projectile lobs toward its destination and announces its on-target arrival with a flash and explosion.

"I got them!" the soldier cheers when the field is abruptly silent of machine gunfire. "I've killed them all!"

He nods a quick thanks to God for miraculously keeping him alive after he snuffed out the lives of three other humans.

"You men have performed extraordinarily!" congratulated Captain Carl Armstrong. "You've been on this operation for eighteen days without washing, shaving or brushing your teeth. Our battalion has recovered over two hundred fifty tons of rice from VC caches. There's a convoy waiting for us on the other side of the stream by a rubber plantation. We'll try to get loaded before night. There's hot chow, showers and cold beer for you at the Forward Command Post, three miles down the road."

*****

On the night of October 25, 1965, the 1st Infantry Division is involved in the largest ambush of American troops to that date. VC position themselves the entire length of the twenty-three vehicle convoy at dusk. Charlie Company CO, Capt. Armstrong, had erroneously escorted his men across the deep, fast moving stream from late afternoon to dusk and into the night.

Three signal shots shatter the still night air at 9:30 when the first vehicles of the convoy began moving. Immediately after, weapons begin firing at the entire length of the convoy. Each of the three hundred men in the convoy return fire, creating a surreal red screen of bullets flying through the orderly rows of rubber trees.

The man sitting in the rear of the lead jeep slumps forward -- dead. A Specialist in the rear of the second jeep spins around to see the driver behind him slide beneath the steering wheel -- dead. His two assailants burst out of the bushes preparing to shoot him again.

A "new trooper" aims at the first VC and fires his automatic. The bullets enter the VC's chest, propping him up as he stumbles forward.

The soldier is so terrified he can taste it, realizing he has been involved in combat for the first time and has eliminated his "target of opportunity."

It begins to feel good now, this killing stuff. It is like playing football in the hometown stadium making a "bone-rattling" tackle. The opponent lies on the ground in a semi-conscious state while the crowd screams like Romans in the coliseum, demanding gladiator blood.

"Medic, medic!"

The desperate cry comes from nearby in the dense jungle. The medic rushes into the jungle toward the sound. He appears to be impervious to bullets making innocuous "tick, tick, tick" sounds as they flick the leaves overhead.

The soldier follows the medic through the maze of vines, bushes and elephant grass into a three-foot radius space. Enemy fire intensifies, aiming at the sounds and movement as both men begin to carry their casualty to the rear. Two other soldiers help carry him in a poncho to the clearing for chopper evacuation. The wounded soldier dies before the chopper is reached, his body will have to wait for a later chopper that evacuates corpses.

Normally the monsoons stop an hour before sunset, allowing sufficient time for clothes to dry. This particular evening the rain continues and the temperature drops.

The "new trooper" slouches inside his poncho for a desperate sleep. The cool temperature and rain prevent his body from heating the inside of the poncho sufficiently to dry his uniform. A foul aroma begins to permeate his little domicile in the elephant grass. He sniffs the body lying next to him. It doesn't smell; the night is cold and wet, preventing decomposition. As the temperature continues to drop, the soldier begins to shake as hypothermia takes control of his nervous system. The shaking becomes so violent it seems his bones are about to dislocate from their ligaments and tendons.

The corpse looks serene, a steel gray face with drops of rain scattered on it. His eyes are closed and face relaxed as though he is asleep. The soldier is at peace now. "Gosh, I envy you," says the soldier, "it's all over for you. Tomorrow you'll be placed in a body bag and flown home."

Later the soldier realizes the foul aroma was from his poncho which had been filled with the soldier's blood and cooked sour by his minimum body heat. He now knows what it takes to be a soldier as he becomes desensitized to death.

*****

Sgt. Skip Dunn was inside the compound at Camp Bearcat. His 9th Division was still "green" having just arrived "in country," and just made the day's journey through the jungle from Vung Tao. The camp was defended by three-man gun positions with artillery.

Knowing that the unit had just arrived, local VC decided to test the defenses that night with a sudden barrage of fire. American soldiers weren't sure where to shoot in response because VC bullets fired into one quarter of the perimeter, passed completely through to the other side, creating the impression that VC had penetrated the camp and were firing from the center. Confusion breaks out in the camp as green, panicked soldiers attempt to return fire.

Skip dives for protection under an armored personnel carrier. He feels secure in his cranny of cover until a disoriented top sergeant begins firing indiscriminately from inside the camp. Troops on the outside of the perimeter take this as a sign the compound is being over-run and immediately return fire, creating a deadly crossfire.

Skip crawls further under the middle of the vehicle, flattening himself on the ground. "Dear Lord, help us. Watch out for everyone," he pleads, as American troops shoot at each other in the chaos. Thinking the name "Jesus" calms him enough to grasp his situation rationally and do nothing which might result in his death or anyone else's.

"Where is God? How could he allow this to happen to me?"

Walking in the footsteps of Jesus in Vietnam and losing faith in God is bewildering for soldiers who often ask, "Why am I left alive when my buddies are killed?"

*****

God let his presence become obvious in March 1966 at Dau Tieng where the Black Virgin Mountain is sentinel, guarding the access from Cambodia.

Troops of the 1st Infantry Division are establishing a perimeter for the night around a LZ, 1/4 mile from the Cambodian border. They are surprised to see their Chaplain, Father Confroy, jump from a supply chopper.

"What're you doing here, Father," Sergeant Major James Knox demands. "There's a lot of bad guys out here."

"The fellas haven't had mass for over a week. Where can we have it?"

Knox turns to three men and growls, "Chop a hole in the jungle here for the father. Stack three C-ration boxes as an altar. Spread the word, the mass will be at 1700 hours."

The elephant grass is stamped down, causing water to ooze from the sponge-like mat of jungle floor. Men soon squeeze into the tiny sanctum; curiously each does not take his weapon.

Father Confroy unfurls the white altar cloth and drapes it across the top of the boxes. Yellow mud coats his boots and soils his just-donned white cassock.

The jungle becomes quiet, even the birds. It's a sign the enemy is near -- or maybe it is God. The host and red wine are usually delicious snacks for flies and mosquitoes during communion but, surprisingly, they are not here. The wind whispers through the jungle entanglement of vines and teak. All is silent. The world is put on hold, suspended in animation.

"Take this and drink" He raises the chalice of wine. The trees sway in the breeze, causing shafts of light to blend together. Everything appears to slow down. The men

experience a removal from this world. Time stops. The troops are not dwarfed by colossal edifices which block their view of God. Nor are they dazzled by gold, silver or ivory obscuring his beauty. They are experiencing God in their presence.

*****

A Canadian monk working among the displaced Vietnamese brings forty Vietnamese orphans to join the troops of the 1st Battalion, 18th Infantry for Christmas dinner at their base camp.

Christmas Eve for these men is opening three sacks of mail addressed to: "TO ANY G.I. IN VIETNAM." Captain Bill Moulton's wife's Saginaw, Michigan Civics Class sends a twenty-five foot scroll with seventy-five warm messages. The men sit around a scraggly bush hacked from the edge of the perimeter. The primitive Christmas decorations are strips of toilet paper, clumps of medic's cotton, empty soft drink and beer cans and shreds of aluminum foil. A star has been fashioned out of green bamboo with a forty watt light bulb behind.

Mary Poppins plays on a sheet strung between two poles and Christmas carols are heard for the first time on Armed Forces Radio.

Rocket flares still "whoomp" from the compound and "pop" their luminous white brilliance over the jungle beyond.

Red streaks of tracers dart through the night sky while Silent Night plays on the radio.

The monk delivers the forty kids at 11:00 the next morning, dividing them into groups of ten for each company. They are apprehensive at first, having never seen black and white people other than their white-haired monk. This bashfulness disappears when they reach the mess tents and are completely overwhelmed by the gushes of affection and gifts from their hosts.

The feast is sumptuous with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, yams, squash, peas, rolls, butter, salad, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie -- food alien to their culture. After several delicious mouthfuls, however, the kids need no further coaching.

Later in the afternoon, after more hugs and gifts, the kids become drowsy and return for their nap.

Some of these men are celebrating their last Christmas. God seems to intend something special for those never to celebrate Jesus' birth again. Everybody is humbled by the realization God has just served the most meaningful Christmas in their lives.

*****

Belief in God is a full-time job in Vietnam. Some soldiers find out that they have to look for God, that they have to search for him. As Christians, some Vietnam veterans look back and realize God was in Vietnam with them all the time.

A man is patrolling next to you along the edge of a dirt road and when you enter an enemy base camp. In both cases he notices the three minuscule prongs of a mine he was about to step on, which would have killed both of you.

You leave your base camp the morning of your last day " in country" with the first vehicle and return. You learn that vehicles two and three were blown up by some of the nine mines you missed.

A white flash of heated energy swipes people down on both sides of you like bowling pins -- and you remain standing.

Two rules were evident in Vietnam: "If it's gonna happen, it's gonna happen," and "What will happen is or will be God's will."

*****

The morning of June 24, 1966, twenty-six troops of the 173rd Airborne return their equipment to Supply and are waiting for a convoy to Tan Son Nhut Airport, Saigon, where they will return to the States for discharge. They hear reports that a unit is on the verge of being over-run and needs assistance. The men volunteer to leave the security of their safe harbor and venture back into the insanity of combat to save their buddies.

Their heroism is instrumental in saving many lives. Three days later they return to base camp, turn in their equipment, are issued clean fatigues, splash water on their faces and hustle to the airport. They slowly, methodically, silently, walk down a corridor onto the tarmac leading to their plane home. All appear tall and lean, looking like zombies, large eyes fixed on expressionless, hollow faces. Each has the picture of combat etched into themselves by jungle boots caked in yellow jungle clay, three days' growth of beard, sweat and insect repellent.

They are not awarded decorations for their actions because they were discharged twenty-four hours later, though they receive a distinction which could never be pinned on their chests. They return with the knowledge they are coming home as warriors with a heart -- and a soul.

Other vets did not return with that distinction and went completely unnoticed. Many experienced trauma re-entering civilian life. There was often as much a problem adjusting to peace as there was to combat because veterans still carried emotions and memories of Vietnam. Veterans left Vietnam, but Vietnam rarely left them.

The men who distributed the defoliant, Agent Orange, suffer from its effects years later. Vietnam has certainly not left them.

*****

Everybody sacrificed in Vietnam, regardless of their assignment. Even though not involved with combat, each veteran's job should not be discredited. An individual's trauma is as important to him as that of someone else, regardless of its intensity or length of time.

Nobody really wanted to go to Vietnam. Those who went were the unlucky ones. They didn't have parents with enough money to help them escape the draft. They didn't move to Canada, they didn't know a politician nor were they able to become exempt and avoid the obligation.

After a few months of duty, service in Vietnam became foul -- frustrating the troops. Draft-free college students were protesting the war in the States while troops in Vietnam were suffering intolerable living conditions and becoming casualties. The media rarely showed the help U.S. troops gave to the Vietnamese people, choosing rather to emphasize the negative.

Frustration resulted from the rules of combat imposed on the troops' lives by President Johnson's government: "Don't fire 'til you're fired upon first. Watch what you say, don't give Jane Fonda ammunition. That firing is from Cambodia -- you can't fire back at them and leaflets must be dropped over the area of the next operation to warn 'innocent people' we are going to be there."

The enlisted man sitting next to this author at the VA hospital, waiting for a blood test, was discussing his Survival Training with another vet. The course prepared him for the Forward Observer Element. This unit was lifted into Cambodia for a week to watch and call in strikes on communist activity. One of their main sources of protein, he disclosed, was from different types of indigenous boiled snakes.

He silently returned home without mention or fanfare because American troops were not supposed to be in Cambodia looking for and attacking the enemy. Although he was never rewarded for his achievements, he will always be recognized by the prosthesis attached at his right knee.

*****

Some of these forgotten warriors still can't "stand down," they can't get away from the memories. Common occurrences like a car's backfire or a person's "snapping" of gum is startling. The smell of urine is often sufficient to trigger a rush of memories about being pinned down at an enemy base camp permeated with that odor.

Vets found some release in the overwhelming Allied victory during the Gulf War. They agreed that was the way the Vietnam war should have been fought.

If you're a Vietnam vet, reach out for God. Many ministries and churches are available for support. Share with others in need and

welcome them home. Many Americans -- individually and organizationally -- have not forgotten Vietnam vets. They are trying to help.

Don't let indecision, skepticism or reticence block the trail to God; start that journey now.

Remember what you were doing in South Vietnam. You were helping a people attempt to retain their freedoms of speech, religion, assembly, debate and vote.

As a Vietnam vet you should never feel you were the only one who lost; the people of South Vietnam also lost many of their freedoms and many lives.

American troops did win one war in Vietnam. The spread of the totalitarian communist state stopped there and began a reverse trend throughout the world. Today the Iron Curtain and the Berlin wall are part of history -- part of the legacy of Vietnam. Christianity is flourishing again in Cambodia and Laos where communism was attempting to gain a foothold. As veterans, we can give thanks for our country -- whose constitution guarantees the freedoms of speech, assembly, print and religion.

There were REAL heroes in Vietnam. They were the mundane, unpretentious people seen today on any street in any town. Some are homeless and disoriented, while others have adjusted to the United States of 2001.

Many never received decorations for their efforts. None of them should be forgotten warriors -- we should reach out, love and accept these real American heroes. 

A commercial pilot, Vietnam veteran Ray Pezzoli currently manages a restaurant training school, writes for a variety of publications and facilitates communication of Vietnam Vets from his unit, 1st Battalion, 18th Infantry.

Chris Noel, who once helped soldiers in Vietnam in the 60s by entertaining them on USO tours, is continuing to help Vietnam Vets in three homeless shelters in Florida. The goal of these shelters is to help disabled, homeless and hungry veterans by providing emergency residential lodging, food, clothing and employment opportunities. Noel, who was recently appointed to the Governor's Commission to Homelessness in Florida, asks, "that Americans open their hearts to understand that 85% of the homeless have illnesses of one kind or another, have no family and need help getting back on their feet."

You can reach Chris by contacting her at her website: vetsville@aol.com or at 824 McIntosh Street, West Palm Beach, FL, 33405. 1-561-533-5798

Roy Cypher, a disabled veteran who served in a MASH unit in Vietnam, struggled with emotional issues for many years, pleading with God for "help for guys like us." He eventually became involved with Pointman International Ministries, and currently works with "outposts" on the west coast, including the LZ Elsinore Center at Lake Elsinore, California. Pointman Ministries was originally established to meet the spiritual and physical needs of Vietnam vets, but now provides "landing zones" to veterans of all wars. Their focus is to restore faith in God and heal emotional wounds, but also to provide resource centers, counselling and computer classes. There are 300 such "landing zone" groups in the United States and seven internationally. To locate the group nearest you, call 1-800-877-VETS.

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