Descriptive Essay: My First Vietnam War

            Whenever he looks into the eyes of an enemy soldier, he does not see a man, but sees death staring back at him.  He has no choice; the enemy cannot and will not coexist with him.  It

I looked down at my yellow tunic and blue pants. Unlike other soldiers around me, I didn’t have armor. Our commander slowly brought us to a stop in front of what appeared to be Constantinople, the city we sought to take over. We had been attacking the city for over a month and still we hadn’t made it past the protective wall. They laid a chain across the mouth of the Golden Horn to stop our ships from approaching the city. “Charge!” Our commander yelled from atop his white horse. I took off running with towards the walls. As we ran I smelled body odor, blood, and death. The sound of heavy breathing, crossbows being fired, swords clashing, and screams of pain filled my ears. Dead bodies littered the ground around us. As I neared the wall I threw the ladder I had in my hands against the wall and started to

I wandered across the street, the gravel crunched under my feet. I hear my dad yell my name “Amira.” I run toward my house. My dad tells me to lock the door as soon as I am in. Click, goes the lock. But, something’s not right, my dad is still outside. I look through the peephole in my door. I see 5 men in camo uniform with guns charging at my dad. They stop one meter away from him. The soliders raise thier guns. Aim. Fire. Bang, Crash. I can’t see anything except bright red blood. I scream. I hear the soldier’s feet crumble on gravel and the sound becomes more and more faint. I open my door and there in front of my eyes, my dad covered in thick blood. I roll up into a ball and start shaking. My throat starts closing up. Suddenly I hear a soft,

Six wrestling mats mantled the floors, three in each of the two gymnasiums. A battle was being fought on every one, each and every soldier using all of the weapons in his arsenal. The hands of the victors were raised while the heads of the defeated drooped. The bleachers were packed with spectators. In the thin corridor that separated the two gymnasiums, people shuffled through, walking, talking, and laughing. Wrestlers occupied the indoor track that encircled the upper floor of the gymnasiums. Awaiting their next battle, the warriors prepared their minds and bodies.

I ran instinctively towards the enemy, without fear, without worry. I saw an enemy; he was wearing a brown shirt. Wait, wasn’t that my uniform? I looked down, it was grey. With that information it was a reasonable enough to shoot. Bang! His head had a hole bigger than my fist; it was like a glass you could see through. I felt no remorse, he wasn’t my ally. Shots were exchanged rapidly. Each bullet flew faster than a plane, ending life as we know it. Onwards we marched into the calamity, me and my squad. I looked carefully at each face; I didn’t recognise who these people are. I looked at their name tags, I couldn’t even read it. It was in a different language, was it in German? I don’t remember them... What is going on? Before me there was an ambitious beast, the M4 Sherman. My squad got demolished by a hail of bullets from the beast. My heart

"I needed to kill him for the greater good of our town and to protect my family at any cost, and I do not regret anything and will face any punishment for what

War is caused by human beings, and it is up to us to save humanity amid of this horrible tragedy. Even if I have to give my life to open the eyes of the world, I must confront

“I did try to leave my position, to leave for the front, for honest battle. But I was held fast in those dark duties. Once again I would stress that I am guilty of having been obedient, having subordinated myself to my official duties and the obligations of war

The insanely loud firecrackers that I heard previously weren’t something so innocent, but it was the sound of automatic gunfire. These tanks, claiming to be part of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, were heading to massacre their own people that they were sworn to protect. This war for democracy, is now a literal, war for democracy; although I must say, calling it a war is unfair, because for it to be war, both sides need to have a chance. 15 meters away now, and I still have no idea what to do, except stay and let my anger boil my blood. Forget about bringing a gun to a knife fight, the government, that I thought wanted the best for it’s people, is bringing tanks to fight against rocks. But if this was a war, then that meant that I was the frontline, that I was the last chance for the people of China. Perhaps this was a sign from god, he heard my whining about having a ‘boring’ and repetitive life, and sent me this dilemma. I have two choices, to run away and to let more be massacred, or to stay, to somehow not let this monstrous tank pass. 5 meters away, and approaching like a lion stalking a doomed gazelle. I’LL BE DAMNED if I let them murder their own people! So here I am, making a

The courage to stand up for what you believe is not as rare as many think; it simply requires an infallible hope to produce faith, that will supersede and dispel all fear. Likewise, the decision to die for religious beliefs takes courage, and this practice did not start with the 9/11 attack, but martyrs can be found in some of the oldest history book telling their stories through each line. These are people who voluntarily suffer death as the penalty of witnessing to and/or refusing to renounce their religion, and both the song, “The Hymn” by Jermaine Edwards and the poem, “A Mind at Death 's Door: A Martyr 's Mind” by Veneisia Tomlinson amplify what it takes to stand. The perspective and peace associated with martyrdom brings “The Hymn”

“Thats madness”, no mans land is covered with landmines and booby-traps, charging through it would be suicide. But i have no choice, war is horrific, but desertion is punishable with execution. “Shit, I'm going to die”. My horrid and broken body has had enough, my pinky finger is broken, I have bruises all over my body, cuts over every piece of revealed skin, I kneel on the floor, its covered with broken glass but i don't care. “I haven't prayed in a while”, i say to myself, and then begin to pray, I pray for the well being of my family and farm and hope that this god forsaken war can end. As i finish, i pick up my rifle, and as i do a sense of fear washes over me, “Could this be my

War is an evil to mankind that can bring devastation downfall for human existence. Those who withstand such catastrophic experience deserve all respects from all of us for all the bloodshed they have sacrificed. They are the real life heroes of men and women. My grandfather; Than Pham, and my uncle; Tuan Pham are veterans who survive through the Vietnam civil wars in 1960-1975. I feel really honor to have them as part of my family and be able to hear war stories from both of them. They take in account of story about obstacles which they face every day in combat. Both of my family members are very intelligent and lucky to be able to live through those hard times of violent, destruction, and havoc.

Shells exploded all around us, peppering us with shrapnel. Over the past months, I’d watched friends, enemies, and innocent bystanders die. Every time someone fell, I felt the briefest flicker of guilt. Had it been my bullet? Was more blood on my hands? Some nights I yelled, hoping more than just God and the stars would hear me; some nights I cried, praying no one was listening. Around me, I saw grown men falling to bits, their nightmares screaming them back to reality as they echoed through the trenches. Reality was no better than their nightmares.

One day as Isaac and I were wondering along the streets that headed to the bay, we saw an Italian militia heading straight towards us. The picture I saw then could have been in my worst nightmare. Isaac, being his mere eight year old self, hid behind me in fear.my first instinct was to run back to my house and hide, but before I could turn my shoulder, the soldiers confronted me. They asked me where my parents were and why I was out alone. At first I wanted to lie and say that I was just stopping by a friend’s house to puck something up, but I decided not to take that risk. Instead, I told them the bare truth about my parents and that we were just wandering around to get some exercise. The soldier at the front (probably the General) responded with an offer. His offer was for us to work for the militia and we’d receive a decent meal and a place to stay. I consulted with Isaac and we both agreed that accepting the offer would be the best option for both of us.

The sounds of gunfire quickly drowned out all else as the rebel forces engaged the army. Sprinting, standing, crouching, or lying down, the soldiers focused solely on one thing: killing their enemies. With an assortment of weapons and under the influence of drugs, they carried out their jobs with ruthless efficiency. They spared no one because each side believed the other to be monsters. Kill after kill with blood on their hands, the soldiers fought on, driven by their desire for revenge and justice. To them, they were doing their country a favor, by liberating it or by protecting it. They cared not for who they had to strike down. For the hardened soldiers, remorse and guilt were long forgotten emotions. As the battle came to a conclusion, the rest of the army fled for their lives while the rebels celebrated, did drugs, and raided dead bodies. As the sun faded to darkness, the soldiers readied themselves for another day of marching and fighting. After all, this was just another typical day in their lives. However, for a large portion of the soldiers their lives had not yet reached sixteen years. They had lost their family and their innocence. They were only boys. They were children.