With our boys in Iraq and new ryellow ribbons and flags in the front porch, this short story should be as actual today as painfully actual was then.
Report are written cold facts, a letter to the parents are another can of beans
One day I was forced to wrote a rough draft about a casualty for the Regimental Rapport and at the same time a letter to the casualty’s parents Mr. And Mrs. (name deleted)
The Rapport
Four days ago, Thursday, at 0500 hours, we were at
Coordinates (deleted) about 25 miles northwest from Hue, engaging with other four platoons the Vietcong on guerrilla mode and trying to cut some of their supply lines coming through the Laos border as well as identifying possible tunnels outlets.
Despite air reconnaissance assuring us of a very light presence of Cong’s forces as well as been very sporadic fired upon, we received a sudden attack from a force estimated at two company’s direct from our north and two more dispersed in a frontal group from the west with mortar barrage and heavy machine guns.
Trying not to get surrounded I requested air support, which came on their own good time, but not before we had received five casualties, one very severe, referring to private (name/dog tag number deleted) with chest and abdominal wounds caused by mortar grenades shrapnel.
He received First Aid by our Medic/Radioman.
Due to the gravity of the situation, after our forces were impelled to disperse to thwart any attempt by the enemy to wedge between our platoons, I requested you for a forthwith chopper evac of my wounded men as well as more air support against the Cong.
For the next two days we were pinned down by snipers fire with five wounded soldiers, that we simultaneously couldn’t attempt to carry away and confront our enemy without putting at risk everybody.
Four of the casualties were medium severe but incapable of moving by own steam.
The fifth casualty was treated with antibiotics and morphine, but after twenty-one hours we had nothing more to give.
Air support came and dropped napalm around us, but the choppers didn’t come.
The soldier was conscious all the time after the morphine effect ceased to work.
With severe pains it took fourteen hours more to die because some screwed up dispatcher in Da Nang had send our choppers to the wrong rendezvous and kept ignoring our subsequent requests as overlapping ones.
At times we needed to put a rag over the wounded soldier’s mouth so his screams of pain didn’t give our position away to the mortar guys.
We were desperately low on ammunition when the choppers came.
Four men were transported to Hue’s surgical tent, with one man in a body bag.
The men in my command are extremely sad and angry at the mismanagement of the situation requiring prompt and forthwith handling from Headquarter and not wait three days to correct a mistake, unnecessary costing the life of one man.
I am not dissociating me from responsibility, but, I am not a escape goat either.”
XX
The letter
Dear Mr. And Mrs. (names deleted)
I wish I wasn’t bound to write this letter.
I know you have received the President’s notification and condolences to make you proud and to try to mitigate the pain and sense of lost, also received by many others.
But the words accompanying your son effects box, aren’t formally words from a book of rules, they are from the heart of your son’s Marine brothers and their Commander.
We hare deeply sorry not to have him around anymore, because his youthfulness outburst make us laugh, don’t take me wrong, he wasn’t the platoon clown, he was the Company and Platoon’s optimist taking adversities with funny remarks making veterans to forget he was a rookie, to forget home for a moment, and the war and the pain of some darn undeserved letter.
He was a brave soldier but at the same time a kindly boy, going out of his way to help any one showing distress, as putting his arm around a fellow Marine that had just finished reading a “Dear John letter” saying bye-bye, and junior’s getting a new dad.
He was decorated after he voluntarily chose to guard on a pull-out, a wounded soldier who couldn’t be moved, until the arrival of the evac-chopper, getting a few pieces of shrapnel on his right leg, courtesy of Charlie’s mortars, when trying to shelter with his own body the wounded man on his care.
He always insisted on remember how fortunate he was, having you as parents, incessantly talking about the fishing trips with the coolest Dad in the world, not so much a father, but a pal, he would say.
Or the ongoing “battles” with Mom about who should clean the room or take out the trash he or his little sister, the late chore he will do goodheartedly as little sis was under his protecting wing.
We will remember (name deleted) as the man anyone wished to be watching his back in a bad situation.
I will assure you, that your son died in combat and didn’t suffer; merciful his death was sudden, without pain.
He was one of our own, our brother, and as such, we proudly carried him part of the way back to you.
He will never be forgotten.
Please, accept our most deeply regrets.
Sincerely
XX
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Reviewed by Fred Tomasello
9/7/2007
Thanks again for writing the truth about war. The truth is very often quite different from the "after action" reports written by career military men, "lifers" who always put a positive spin on things with their lies and exaggerations. The letter you sent to those parents have much more truthfulness than those sent by higher level commanders who fight war from secure air-conditioned bunkers or the Pentagon or the Congress, or the White House.
Keep writing the Truth!
Semper Fi
I read this with sadness, but I am proud knowing men like you are still fighting for the innocent. My son is in the Army, and I am sure there are still honorable hero's to watch his back. Your letter shows the strength and sacrifice of true brotherhood.
Reviewed by Nancy Meeks
8/16/2007
Hi Georg,
Whoa...this sure is enlightening for me as I didn't realize these types of letters were sent home to protect the families. Very sad...
Nancy
Reviewed by Missy Cross
8/11/2007
Penetrating insight into the war machine, beautifully contrasted with the hearts, minds and bodies that all suffer at its hands in one way or another.
War truly is Hell, as old Sherman said, and you pen its many horrors from deep within, my friend. We've lost far too many valiant young souls, just like the one you describe here, and we very sadly continue to lose them today.
My best friend from high school is one of seven survivors of an artillery company. The ARVNS ran from guarding their perimeter. The North Viets ran elephants through their position in the dark. Then they did human wave assaults. The artillery lowered to horizontal to blow them through the trees. The M-60's saved the seven, not their cries for help. You touched the truth here.
Screw ups in a battle happen all too often and cause lives but that's war for you. The cleaned up letter home did not want to add anger to the loss of their son. Happens too often also. War is hell.
Reviewed by ~ Holly Harbridge
8/9/2007
Too many tears are shed for too many, that sadly, have died in a world of war. Truly sad. God Bless, Holly
