The Battle

The Battle
During The TET Offensive 1968

(C) James J Alonzo


That day, There was single flower rising up from the cold, clammy muck, its delicate petals reaching for the warmth of the sun. Meanwhile, all around, laid the broken and mangled bodies of men, some were Americans in olive green clothing, stained with blood, others, the Viet Cong, in blood stained black clothing. All the bodies were mute testimony to the horrors of war. The wounded Americans had been tended too, by our medics, but the Viet Cong had been ignored, and you can hear some of the groans and cries.

Both the Viet Cong dead and wounded were of many ages, young, middle age, and occasionally older. The dead American soldiers, blank dead eyes, their youthful faces were contorted by the fear and shock they felt in their last moments on this earth and my heart was heavy at the sight of them.

It had to be done, after all we had to fight to protect ourselves and our buddies. We were told to kill the enemy because their beliefs differed from ours and in the heat of combat, it was easy to do so, but when the guns have finally been silenced, it gives one time to reflect on what has happened.

That day, the only sound that remained were the helicopters above, coming to pick up the wounded and the dead.

As time passed there was the stillness of death, then and only then do you realize that in the jungle before you, lying in wait is more of the enemy, bent on destroying the world that you know, someone’s father or son, defending their beliefs, wanting to kill you.

I felt my sanity starting to slip, so I quickly brought all my focus to bear on that flower that rose before me. Its petals, blowing gently in the breeze were yellow around the edges with stems of dark green and a round spot of blood red in the center that somehow seemed fitting for that place and that day. It knew no hate or prejudice, no pain or sorrow; it existed simply for the sake of existing. It was beautiful and I longed for its carefree way of life.

“Lock and Load!" shouted the platoon sergeant, meaning check your weapons , ammo, and be ready. The command shouted along the ranks and I felt once more the sour taste of bile rising in my throat. I knew they would come through the jungle again very soon, black clad Viet Cong screaming insults with hate in their eyes and blood in their hearts and once more, the extermination will resume.

I heard the gunfire and angry whine of bullets even before I heard the shouting of the VC and instinctively raised my rifle, my trained eye searching for the culprits. I spotted a boy, probably no older than sixteen coming towards me, his raven black hair flying out behind him, a look of determination and fear vying for dominance on his face. He ran towards me, firing a full magazine then paused, awkwardly trying to load another magazine at the same time and I knew that I can kill him any time I choose.

Once more, instincts and training took over and I raised my rifle, aiming carefully down the sight. I calmed my breathing and gently took up slack on the trigger, and fired a burst of three rounds, center mass, killing him.

Once I believed in that war and what we fought for, but that was many years and many bodies ago and I am not the naive boy that I was then. I only believed in my brothers who fought with me.

After the fire fight, and all was quiet, i sighed heavily, dropping my rifle at my feet and sat down in the bloody mess that surrounded me. Taking my eyes off the dead, I looked over at the flower standing so stalwart beside me and smile, “it truly is beautiful”, I thought to myself.

From the corner of my eye I saw the dead VC boy's body lying there, only now he has joined his dead friends, each having that same look of death. I sighed heavily once more and closed my eyes. I was tired, bone weary but it felt good to rest. I knew when my tour was over, I would be as free as the blessed petals that bloomed before me.

Little did I know,,,