Personal Narrative: The Vietnam War

College students were aware that over 38,000 American troops had been killed in Vietnam and if something wasn’t done on the streets of America, many more would die. With tensions running high all over America’s college campues, the unrest of the anti-war movent was just about to get worse. Nixon’s decision to engage more troops into a sensless War, sparked a new wave of protests that errupted into many violent standoffs. Unknown to the country, this unrest would take a fatal and trajic turn.

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.

They were everywhere we went. We ran down the dark alley. They were right behind us. We turned down another alley only to find a dead end. They were already walking towards us, blocking the only exit. We were surrounded. There was nothing we could do. We were out of ammunition and had no other weapons. I stood in front of the group ready to protect them at all costs.

Currently I am the acting Section Sergeant in Bravo Troop 1-73 Cav, 2nd BCT, 82nd ABN DIV. I began my career October 2009 and was stationed at Ft Richardson AK, with 3rd Battalion 509th Infantry. In my tenure there I served in positions spanning from the assistant gunner to squad leader, and also the Fire Direction Center (FDC) check and chief. While serving as a gunner/ team leader we deployed to Eastern Afghanistan in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. I was attached to Chosen Company 3-509 and in December 2011 we landed in Bagram, the following week I was slowly pushed out to Combat Outpost (COP) Herrera. COP Herrera was a small outpost located in the Jaji District, East Paktia, and the surrounding villages were known Taliban strongholds.

I sat in my room bored out of my mind. My last mission was a few days ago and since I’ve only flown once. I was getting the itch. I needed to fly. To kill. To do something other than sit here on my ass and deal with drunk French and American soldiers every night. Being the first woman to fly and the only woman soldier in this war, I had a hard enough time dealing with their horny, egotistical men comments. I don’t need them drunk too. I got up and walked to my brothers room.

It was 5 am in the morning and I was flying over the Persian Gulf, I was exhausted from the 18 hour flight from Virginia. All I wanted to do was sleep, but the vast amount of emotions I had swirling around in my body kept me in a trance state. Scared because this was my first time in the Middle East and excited to finally see something new, it was a bittersweet moment for me. Finally we landed, Excited to feel my legs again, I rushed towards the front of the plane, only to feel like someone was holding a perpetual blow dryer and LED light to my face. And at that moment, I knew I had arrived in Qatar --- what has the military gotten me into?

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,

Something strange happens to me whenever I fly into Beirut airport, which I have done several times in the past twenty years. My heart beats faster and I get butterflies in my stomach. I begin to recall Lebanon’s history and the horrific events that took place. Lebanon, a country that has suffered from civil wars as well as invasional wars, continues to overcome and recover from all the past scars left behind. One particular war in which Beirut and several other cities were affected is the 1982 war with Israel, also known as Operation Peace for Galilee. This war has been of interest to me since I was young because my mother would not stop talking about it every now and then. She describes her startled feelings as a young girl experiencing a violent and disastrous war.

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.

It was early when we woke up, the sun hadn’t completely risen and I was already starving. To our surprise, we found that the swamps had expanded and overflowed overnight. We camped at a site which we thought was a dry camping area, but when the sun came out we realised the whole forest floor had become one massive swamp. The stench of the swamp was so overwhelming that I suddenly didn’t feel so hungry anymore. Our balloon basket was gooey and dirty on the outside and on the inside patches of swamp water had seeped into the basket, soaking our sleeping gear and damaging our canned foods. We wrapped all of our spoiled belongings in the tarp and packed up our basket. We inflated the balloon and begun to rise.

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

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.

In order to progress in this analysis, I decided to interview an individual who has remained next to me throughout my entire life; someone who ardently encouraged me through periods of excel and stagnation. There was, in reality, only one person who I strived to speak to: my mother. Before commencing this discussion, I anticipated numerous astounding facts about her; my mother rarely talked about her years in Vietnam - presumably due to the Vietnam War and its chaotic nature. Therefore, late Friday when twilight was approaching, I interviewed my mother and received some peculiar information, which disclosed fragments of her life. It became apparent that my mother strived to become a schoolteacher or an architect; however, due to the war, she could not continue