DAYLIGHT MOON

I didn’t feel like celebrating. I could only think about the first man I killed in action. Would it get any easier? I know I’ll have to do this many more times before returning home - if I get there. I wondered how anyone dealt with killing another person. I knew how my dad managed it when he returned from the war. He woke up in a cold sweat; he had horrible nightmares. My mom begged him to get therapy as it was affecting their marriage. He saw so much during WWII. I prayed to God for forgiveness that week. I had taken a life. I still had the dying soldier’s blood on my clothes. To this day, I feel I could still find my way around that area if someone let me out of a helicopter in Vietnam. That spot has never left my mind. Or my nightmares. You never knew the names of the little towns or provinces you were fighting in. These little hamlets were where most GIs laid their lives down. The telegrams that went home to the parents and the wives would tell them their loved one was killed, but the name of the province was never included. When bagging up a fellow soldier, we would sometimes leave a note inside about where he died. We never left anyone behind; everyone was cared for with honor and dignity. I always wondered about the first man I killed. Did he have children? Was he a good husband? Was he providing for his family? I would have to say today that he died a brave man. Much was asked of him, and he gave it all. I’ve become worried these last few days. I’ve already been wounded twice in the previous ten months, but the scars in my mind were worse than the wounds on my body. I would tell myself it can’t get any more complicated than this, but it did. Now, I’m getting replacements - new guys all the time. They come in and go out so fast that I don’t even know their names. These provinces, like Thu Thien, with all its towns, villages, and capitals, are confusing to young guys like me but must be essential properties to the enemy because they stand to defend them at all costs. I thought I had seen much combat up close and personally, but nothing prepared me for what I had seen in the past three months. There were so many killed. Each day in Vietnam, they would try to come up with the best numbers they could for the experts. We had our minds on staying alive to fight another day. They had their mind on doing their jobs and turning in their paperwork. They, after all, were the ones doing the counting. But they’re not alone. In all the uncertainty, the one thing I knew for sure was that the Lord knows the numbers of those who died on both sides. The number HE was keeping track of was all that mattered.