Wednesday, May 23, 2012

I'm Coming Home

     I wonder what my mom will say when she sees me? Will my dad throw his masculine pride aside, and give me a hug? The only times he had were when mom almost died in a car crash, and when I got the draft. I'm disappointed I didn't get to see Wally graduate, but at least I'll see his college ceremony. When an important official shook my hand and patted my shoulder, then told me how my service was appreciated, I had lifted my left arm to pat his before I realized that appendage was already gone.
     Michelle is coming home with me. I don't exactly know how that happened, but I'm not going to stop her. She doesn't look at my burns or my missing body parts. All she looks at are my eye's, and that's all I want. Before we leave, I'm learning how to use this weird claw they attached to my left wrist. I think I'm starting to get the hang of it.
   

     Michelle helped dress me in a new, shiny uniform with gleaming medals. I can't wait to take them off. They're only a reminder of what I did and didn't tell her about. My parent's know even less then she does. And that's how I'll keep it. Everyone will be happy. My mom still has her boys. Dad doesn't need to worry about saving up too much money. Wally is one step closer to being a doctor. And I... well, I certainly won't be an artist now, but I've got Michelle. She's all I need. Together, we'll heal each other. Love each other. Never mention the war again.

Scarred for Life

     Two years. That's how long I've been fighting in Vietnam. All that time, and I still don't see the point of this war. Even though I've battled tooth and nail to cause the least amount of bloodshed, I guess setting off a bomb meant as a demonstration and killing a large faction of hidden Viet Cong (38 members to be in fact) is smiled upon. I was awarded some sort of ribbon-honorable service- or something, and rose in rank. Lost an ear and a hand for the trouble. Not to mention the large burn covering the left side of my body.


     I guess I got my wish though. Apparently, my injuries are too severe for me to continue being here. I couldn't even say goodbye to Marcus, they shipped me off to the nearest field hospital so fast. It was all very clinical and cold, but it got the job done. Luckily enough, I wasn't so bad, that they didn't lump me off with the patients in worse condition. I counted my blessings there wasn't a priest waiting for me in the front room; that usually meant you were in the worst shape. They called in a religious figure thinking you'd kick the bucket before any treatment could be given, or that you didn't have much of a future to live for.
     Michelle was the nurse who dressed the bleeding stumps that used to be my ear and hand. After the initial surprise of seeing the state I was in, she was all business, if a bit fiery at times. Once the doctors assured me I wasn't going near Death's door anytime soon, she reverted back to the high-school days and called me an idiot for getting caught in an explosion.
     Before my red-headed neighbor could continue shouting abuse, I grabbed her with my good arm and kissed her. That sure shut her up. 


Never Forget

     I don't know how I'll live with myself after tonight. It's been four months since my first station in that small village. I still remember the people's faces; the brutalized bodies of the twin's parents. It all came back today. There had been rumors going around that the enemy has been recruiting young females to be spies, soldiers, because men don't suspect them as often. I didn't know how young until the ambush.
     Charlies, mostly girls of varying ages, sprung up from the thick bushes are started shooting. They had the element of surprise on their side, so naturally we scattered, desperately searching for some form of cover. Marcus and I seperated in the fray, military training kicking in as we dodged ducked and fired nearly all at once. I was a few yards from the mass of bodies struggling together when a dark-clothed figure jumped ahead into my way. All I could tell as I reloaded my gun and hid behind a tree, was that she was a tiny thing, skinny, and... hesitating. Her mistake. So as not to waste my chance, I fired three shots, and the kid went down.


     Kid? I shot a little girl... I dropped my gun out of sheer shock. Completely drowning out the background noise, I lunged forward, and caught her before she even touched the forest floor. Jesus! She was so small. So familiar. It was the little girl from the village. Why was she here? Where was her brother? I had shot the child that used to call after me, laughing, "khá cậu bé." Had she hesitated because she remembered me?
     I held her in my arms as the last breath left, and then my commanding officer was in my face, yelling at me to get my sorry backside up and start shooting some more.

The Monthly News

     They finally came! The airplane that drops our correspondence was two weeks late due to a bombing at the closest hanger. Five people died. Three Charlies, and two pilots. It wasn't that big of a news story according to the local disk jockeys who were all hyped up about an unscheduled air-raid. The only thing that even came close to mentioning the attack was their names being solemnly spoken near the end. A minute of silence for their passing, as well as 26 others in another close by area of conflict.
     Anyway, enough bad news. My brother just wrote that he got straight A's! I'm so proud of the little bugger. No doubt mom's making her golden sugar cookies. Man, do I dream about her cooking. Just last night, I started to doze, and swore to God when I thought she was standing before my very eyes, humming in the kitchen busy as ever while gunfire sounded just a few miles from camp.


     Dad's letter was basically the same as hers, wishing me health and luck, but she was a bit more sensitive. Mom told me how she and the church group were praying for my safety, as well as Mrs. Thomson's daughter who became an an army nurse. I can hardly believe stuck up Michelle would volunteer for something like that! I guess I didn't know her all that well. Maybe we should search each other out? It wouldn't hurt to have someone from home understand what I'm going through.

Robin's Relation to the Song

I'm Coming Home part II

And the blood will dry
underneath my nails
and the wind will rise up
to fill my sails
so you can doubt
and you can hate
but I know, no matter what it takes


I'm coming home
I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming home
let the rain wash away
all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits
and they've forgiven my mistakes
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming ..


Still far away
from where I belong
but it's always darkest
before the dawn
so you can doubt and you can hate
but I know, no matter what it takes


I'm coming home
I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming home
let the rain wash away
all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits
and they've forgiven my mistakes
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming ..


I'm coming home
I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming home
let the rain wash away
all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits
and they've forgiven my mistakes
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming .. home

     My character, Robin, is a strong-willed and stubborn man, but he has a gentle heart. He was drafted into a war he didn't support and is expected to defend it's cause to the death. Day by day, he is surrounded by pain and fear, not the type he and other recruits were trained for. Even though it disgusts Robin, he also participates in the violence. The only thing keeping him from going insane or breaking down is the thought of home. Seeing his mother, his brother, and his father once again. He knows that no matter what happened to him, or was caused by him, they will always love him.


Where's the Humanity?

     As I've said earlier, I don't support this war, but try sayin' that in front of the ignorant recruits and you could find yourself in a world of pain. Speakin' your mind isn't exactly appreciated when it concerns how operations are dealt with here in 'Nam, especially around the commanding officers. Those pigs are completely blind to the death and destruction they cause in their wake, and the only thing they see is the enemy. I know, I've witnessed it.
      My first mission was simple; stay on guard and make sure no Charlies cross our path. We were stationed just outside a small village, that maybe had five families in total, and the people were very kind. Staying there for a month garunteed we'd get close to the kids, what with them reminding us all of our siblings and kids. These twins, a boy and girl, took a real shine to me and my friend Marcus. They called us "khá bé trai". I didn't really know what it meant, but the girl would always blush, and the boy would full out laugh.
     It was about another month when it happened. Late one night, during Lex and Ben's shift for watch duty, gunshots rang out. Marcus and I woke up instantly (we were trained for that) and ran to the village to see what was going on, but were too late. Inside the canter hut, my friends were standing over a previously hidden hatch and a bloody stump of a hand was outstrecthed from inside. Beside the manhole, lay an unrecognizable face, bullet holes completely disfiguring it. I could only tell who it was after noticing the crying twins curled in the corner. Their mother was dead.
     Before Lex could even speak, I knealt down to see how far the secret tunnel go, but was shocked to find it wasn't an escape route at all. The manhole was a storage area for rice. Looking back at the mangled body resting on the side, I didn't have to guess he was the kid's father. Lex and Ben tried to say how they thought it was a passageway for Viet Cong; that it was a mistake. I couldn't look at them after that. The twins cried louder when I got close. The next morning, they left with the remaining four families, never looking back.


     Once we informed our commanding officer that two villagers were gunned down, he came as quickly as possible. But when he arrived at the hut, he wasn't asking the right questions. "Where does that tunnel lead?" "How many Cong attacked?" When we informed him of the real situtaion, the fight in his eye's instantly deflated. His exact words were, "Wake me up when there's actually a problem. Don't go wasting the ammo so willy-nilly." Then he left.   
     My friend's and teachers all shared and taught me what the real reason was we went to war. Some Republicans defend our part by saying our ships were attacked, or they killed our French allies; but the most popular reason for them seems to be that if communism rules Southeast Asia, it'll spread everywhere. I'm tired of this reason. Communism this, communism that-everyone of those pigs seem to forget about McCarthy! He blamed all those people, and not a single one of them was a spy! If everyone would stop thinking the worst of people, or trying to find a scape-goat, the world would be a better place. Killing innocents, blaming the whole instead of the one, will just make more enemies.

Tuesday, May 22, 2012

My Beginning

     My name is Robin Silas McCallister, and I am an American soldier in the Vietnam War. That is all I will say on that topic for now, as my true feelings concerning this matter will come to light eventually. I am 19 years old, born in October on the 13th, of 1945. I suppose I should introduce my background now.
     I had just been accepted to an art school in California when my draft number had been called. My father is just a grocer and a construction worker, so he had no pull whatsoever with the community bigwigs like my friend's father, the mayor, did. Though I guess I shouldn't blame him, Charles, too much for being born into the family he was. Charles is gonna be a big shot lawyer, marry a pretty girl, and have a nice little house surrounded by a white picket fence when he graduates-while I'm stuck here, fighting a war I don't support.
     My little brother Wally is the only one in our family that has a shot at a good life. He wants to be a doctor, and I'd bet my whole life savings that he'll be the first in our family to get into college. My mother is mighty proud of the both of us, but she never really understood why I pursued my art. She always thought it was a frivolous pursuit, but said, "If you found a future in drawing pictures, then I'll try my hardest to see those dreams come true."
     Hopefully I'll make it back alive to prove her right, and see my brother wear a cap and gown. I can't leave my father all alone care for those two. He's barely making end's meat as it is.