Those Hopeless, Angry Eyes. War Explicit Adult. (standard:Creative non-fiction, 1434 words)
Author: Oscar A Rat	Added: Jul 09 2020	Views/Reads: 1179/831	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Non-Fiction. Not for the squeamish. This was written for a contest at another site: “What would you say if you could write a letter to yourself at a younger age?”

If I could write a letter to me, and send it back in time to myself? A
good question. Everyone has has specific points in their lives where 
they make momentous choices that affect them for many years to come – 
some for the rest of their lives. Most of those decisions, many spur of 
the moment, are taken with little or no thought. 

By the time the Vietnam War started, I was already in the US Army,
stationed in Japan. So I was able to follow the progression. 

In my two years in Vietnam, I never saw any sports being played. Now, I
was never much of a sports fan, but don't recall any games or even 
fields laid out anywhere I was stationed. 

With very few American females around, those the domain of officers. War
was, at that time, the ultimate macho society. The only American women 
I saw there were Red Cross workers or brought over as entertainers. 

We almost never talked about cars or high school subjects. It was mostly
about women, killing, or nearly being killed. That and drunken 
escapades. Speaking of drinking, almost everyone I knew was on alcohol 
or drugs of one sort or another. Not while out on patrol, but on base. 
It broke the monotony, assuaged that constant fear. Our war consisted 
of days or weeks of boredom interspersed by moments of extreme panic. 

There was little free time. On my base, the order was to work men twelve
hours a day, seven days a week. We were allowed to give them a half-day 
off a week if possible. And I could see the reasoning. Having loaded 
weapons constantly on hand, alcohol and drugs available, and plenty of 
free time is a recipe for chaos. The idea was to keep us too tired to 
get into trouble. If nothing else, digging holes, filling sandbags, 
guard duty, building or rebuilding bunkers was the norm. 

We were required to carry a loaded weapon with us twenty-four hours a
day, even out to the crapper at two am or when drinking at the club. 
You can see how mixed up matters can get in a war zone. I imagine the 
same applies to our current wars. 

I was an NCO during that period, very patriotic, a "Hawk" in the
parlance. (As opposed to a peace-loving "Dove.") 

Of course I survived that first tour. By the time I returned to the US,
hippies were in full force, especially in California. Since I passed 
right through on my way to Germany, I missed the confrontations and 
riots. 

Unlike WWII, soldiers weren't a popular item. Nobody gave us parades or
special privileges. We were spat on, glared at, and otherwise vilified 
by the general public, especially by young people. We had none of the 
current “Warrior” status; ours being “Baby Killer.” Oh, how true. 

Near the end of my enlistment, I reenlisted to go back to Vietnam. That
is the point where I wish I could have sent myself, you, a warning 
letter. I'd write it something like this.... 

*** 

Charlie, you don't know me as I am now and might not believe the
changes, but I AM you. A much older and wiser you. 

Don't do this to yourself. Don't reenlist for a useless war which you'll
regret when you get to be me. 

Look back at your life in the army. Look at the lies you've been told. 

Let me tell you of some things you're going to do and see if you sign
those papers. Listen, and listen well.... 

There will be a time, on a convoy to Anh Thon, where you'll be in the
back of a deuce-and-a-half, bringing supplies. An officer in the cab 
will okay giving a ride to three Korean soldiers and a couple of their 
prisoners. One of the prisoners will be a teenage girl wearing no 
pants, only a torn cotton blouse. They will be tied up and thrown on 
the floor, used as footstools by the Koreans. The girl will glance at 
you, fear showing in her dark expressive eyes. 



Click here to read the rest of this story (86 more lines)