I
n recent years, a strange phenomenon has occurred. Veterans of
Vietnam proudly admit they are veterans of Vietnam. In a few cases,
people who never got near Vietnam--or even the military-- are trying to
cash in on an acceptance and growing tribute by claiming to be Vietnam
vets.
Parallelly, it seems that all of a sudden, (all) Vietnam vets were
infantrymen. What, I find myself wondering from time to time, happened
to those proverbial nine men it took to support that one man in the
field?
Life in the field was, naturally, the hardest life of all. There
was the combat. But beyond that was the mud of the red dust; the
incredible sun; rains you couldn't see through; trenchfoot and the most
exotic of skin diseases; dirty clothes, and C-rations. LRRP's weren't
too bad, but needed some water. Mostly used in the mountains. Lighter
to carry. Lots of hot sauce (Texas Pete).
No one really wanted to live in the field. But human perversity
demanded that we celebrate the agonies and discomforts of that life. And
the human mind demands the rejection of memories of much of the fear and
physical hardship. "Maybe we couldn't do it again, man, but we (did)
it!"
Except for the weirdos and psychos and really bad-ass motherfuckers
nobody messed with, no one enjoyed life in the field while it was going
on. But once over, being in the bush was an event to be celebrated; to
gloat over to lesser beings.
Ken Hornbeck D/1/501: Vietnam 1969-'70
Got a good story? Please submit stories in the format of "plain text."
email link