ARVN Term Analysis

The village was a good ten minutes away and everybody seemed relaxed. I wasn’t. I was scared.

I had never thought of myself as being afraid of anything. I thought I would always be a middle-of-the-road kind of guy, not too brave, but not too scared, either. I was wrong. I was scared every time I left the hooch.

On the way to the chopper, I found myself holding my breath. I kept thinking of the noise I had heard when Jenkins got it. By the time we took off I was panting.

The mortar shells landed behind us. They were long again. Long but walking. They had spotters who saw where the shells were landing, and who were directing the fire. They kept shortening up the range to get closer and closer to us. And the shells were coming fast.

The noise was terrible. Every time a mortar went off, I jumped. I couldn’t help myself. The noise went into you. It touched parts of you that were small and frightened and wanting your mommy. Being away from the fighting had weakened my stamina. It did even more to my nerves. I was shaking. I had to force myself to keep my eyes open.

“He forgot the tags,” Gearhart said. “He left them in the hut.”

“How they gonna let their folks know they dead?” Peewee said.

Gearhart didn’t answer.

What would they do for a body? Would they send home an empty coffin? Would they scrounge pieces from Graves Registration? What would they say to their parents? Their wives? We lost your son, ma’am. Somewhere in the forests he lies, perhaps behind some rock, some tree?

We burned his body, ma’am. In a rite hurried by fear and panic, we burned what was left of him and ran for our own lives.

Yes, and we’re sorry.

Perhaps they would tell them nothing. Not having a body in hand, not having the lifeless form to send with the flat, they would not acknowledge that there was a death at all.

Yes, and we’re sorry.