Personal Narrative-My First Vietnam War

As I rose from bed, I could hear my wife starting to make breakfast. Today was going to be quite a day, mainly due to a fast coming winter and the need to harvest the squash and corn was increasing each day. I proceeded to change into my work attire and brown maroon felt hat I had bought myself last week. I walked out of my room and went into the main room where I had my breakfast every morning. I walked over to the table and sat in a hand carved chair made by the finest carpenter in Saybrook where my porridge awaited me. After sitting down at the table with my two sons and wife, I blessed our porridge and had my younger son read a Bible verse. Reading the Bible is a crucial part of being a Puritan since if one could not read the Bible they

We narrowly made it out of the airport. Hank almost got taken down because he got distracted. These infrasound weapons were devastating, but had a major drawback, one that almost cost my best friend his life.

A jagged pain arcs across my chest as I take in a breath. My legs grind up one after the other, barely moving but still pushing me forward. The runners ahead of me continue to press on, legs becoming a blur as they widen the gap. Eyes glancing up for a split-second, I find a primitive strength rising up within me, something that says No. You are not done yet. Throwing my arms higher and feeling my body ache even more, I set my gaze on a tree that lines the top of the hill, and I gradually increase the length of my strides, slowly but surely catching up with the group that was about to leave me behind. As we pound around the corner and begin to coast downhill, I release a small sigh of relief, despite my exhausted lungs. I may have won a battle, but the war continues, and we continue to

I see a small sedan driving into this old school that looks recently abandoned. “The suspect seems suspicious by staying in the vehicle after it has been turned off”, I write in my small booklet. I hope this isn’t just an affair, if this is I’m going to punch that mother… The suspect has gotten out of the car he appears to be a white male, no women got out of the car, he then walks inside. I leave my car and follow behind him.

It was the day before it all happened, everyone knew that people were coming to fight and take all the men, in the refugee to go fight against us, we didn’t know what to do with my father. Once my father came back home we were so sad because we didn’t want our dad to leave us, so we were planning to hide my father, Aunt Betsy was telling us kids to go in the room because, my parents had to talk. So me (Sally) and my little 5 year old brother. My little brother (Michael) all he talked about was being a warrior which I didn’t like because, we were going to be a in a war, but I didn't mind because I knew he was little and really didn’t know what he wanted to be.

“Catherine, we have another solider!” yells my mom. Ever since we started building our home the war has moved closer and closer to us. Now we are known as a “hospital” to them. Basically if someone gets injured they come to us and we have to tend to them. Clean up their wounds, aid to their fractures. Nurse them back to health so they can keep fighting. After I heard my mom say that I rushed down the steps of the loft to assist him in. He limping and look like he could just collapse if he didn’t have the other solider to lean on.

Christmas arrived during my first week home after my discharge from the army. I had been stateside six months, and when I woke up, I felt like I lost my marbles. I mean I wondered if I was an addict, an alcoholic, or insane.

When in combat, you always check your surroundings first to make sure the enemy isn’t approaching, and to find a safe place from the weather or the enemy. When you find something like an abandoned farmhouse, it’s a Godsend. I quickly talked to Pierre, telling him about the house and what happened. His leg was clearly broken, and you could see the bone. There was still no time to waste, so I, again, left Pierre, and walked towards the house. As I approached the house, I crouched down. I listened to see if anyone was in the house, but it was completely empty. I walked in. The house was by no means luxurious or fancy, but it was shelter from the cold and dangers outside. The house had been abandoned for- I imagine- a good six weeks. There was

Suddenly there was a loud explosion in the front of our truck. VC guerrillas had just fired a B40 mortar at the convoy. The truck in two positions ahead of ours immediately flipped over horizontally and partially blocked the road. It was not known if the truck got hit by the mortar or the driver had lost control of the steering wheel. Subsequently; the convoy stopped and all of us simultaneously jumped out of the trucks, like bees when their beehive was attacked. We dived to locations along the banks of the rice field on two sides of the road, to avoid the bullets and to return fire at the enemy. I looked to the left side of the road and saw Second Lieutenant Thạch, our Company Commander, was boldly leading a troop mounting a counter

Most of my grandfathers had fought in wars. Two of them fought side by side in the Vietnam War and my great grandfathers took part in World War II. My great grandparents never lived to tell me their experiences at war. I doubt they would tell me, as the thoughts may bring back scarring memories they had hoped to forget.

I remember something my father use to tell me, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” I remember a time before all of this crap happened, a time where i would sit on my porch, on my favourite chair and watch over my farm. “It was peaceful”, but now, now I'm crawling through the mud, careful not to pop my head up, i don't want to die. The scent of sulfur and gunpowder envelopes the fields, gun shots wring in my ears. I see mud, dirt and the occasional dead body, “god damn I miss that farm”. But now I don't know if ill ever see it again. I make it to an outpost, a little hut towards the side of our field, “Its right next to no mans land” I state to myself. Its dark, so very dark, “If i was at home i would be sleeping”, those were

Sweat trickled down my back and forehead. I felt a single droplet drip off the tip of my nose and splash onto the earthy mulch that had just been spread in the previous week. Stephanie summoned me over to see if my garden claw would be a better match, than the obviously weaker trowel she had been clouting into the ground. Waging war against the stubborn roots thriving in my front yard for ages, would not be an easy chore. We had agreed to help weed, but only in hopes of a cold, creamy reward promised by my lazy father. With a few quick steps, I positioned my body into what my naive 14 year-old logic had apprehended to be the most efficient stance for extracting this stiff shrub. Looking down at the exposed flesh of the half-beaten roots. I prepared myself for my own King Arthur moment, taking short but confident glances up and down my “Excalibur”, which in my fable was sadly only a rusty old gardening fork.

“Okay Eleanor, you don’t like your little glasses and of course the things I am talking to you with that are stuffed in your ear. So I will help you, and everyone else of course regain their freedom from Doctor Blah Blah. You got all that Eleanor?” He seemed to be talking a bit more quiet, almost in a whisper it seemed.

It was already 9:30 so I went to sleep. The next day I geared up for the mission. I had an M40A5 with a silencer and a pistol, along with a grenade.

“An American. One you can trust. Fighting won’t get us anywhere, or we’ll be as fried as KFC!” I told him. Didn’t know if he understood me. “Do you speak english?”