one last point

One last point to make. I hope Wes Zanone can forgive me for using his story, but here it is.

"...It was a nice little village, maybe 300 inhabitants. I became acquainted with a Vietnamese family. My hooch was in their back yard and my guard position was in their front yard. There were seven people in the family: papa-san and mama-san, an adult son who'd lost an eye fighting against the NVA/VC, a married daughter who's husband was in the ARVN, her two toddlers (a boy and a girl), and an unmarried teenage daughter. I played around with the two kids a lot and gave them my unwanted food. The teenager sold me an oil lamp. Every day she'd come to my hooch and replenish the oil, I'd give here some of my extra rations in return. The son and oldest daughter sat guard with me, nobody else in the platoon, just me. The son had an old French bolt action rifle. It was hard to believe there was a war going on during that month in the village. We went on patrol every day and ran a couple of ambushes but in the whole month we never fired a shot... There were a lot of bomb craters and a some unexploded ordinance laying around. The was a fork in the trail. Second platoon proceeded toward the ridge, the rest of the company continued along the main trail. It was steep, we moved cautiously. Near the top we heard a baby crying, we slowed to a snail’s pace. We reached the crest of the ridge and split up. The lead squad moved down the left side of the ridge toward a hooch and the crying baby. Part of my squad continued on the main trail which ran down the other side of the narrow ridge. I followed a couple of guys along a trail that ran along the right side of the ridge. Our trail dead ended after a few meters. We found a couple of tunnels that looked fresh. I volunteered to pull guard on the surface while the other two guys explored them. They found an NVA helmet, a belt buckle, and a rusty bayonet. We were told to stay where we were as flank security. Every once in a while somebody would drop by to tell us what was going on. The crying baby was lying in a dead woman’s lap at the bottom of a four foot hole in one of the hooches. There was a dead man in the bottom of a similar hole in another hooch. Fearing that the baby was booby trapped, they suspended the medic over the hole and he attached a web belt to the baby’s ankle. Once attached they slowly pulled the baby out. They got the dead man and woman out using the same technique. The baby was a girl, relatively healthy and very hungry. She couldn’t have been more than a couple of days old. The man and woman were young, early 20s. The hadn’t been dead long. They were still warm. They’d both been shot in the back of the head. There were no exit wounds. We originally assumed they were victims of the artillery prep, now it appeared that they had been executed by their compatriots. I can only guess at what happened. The VC unit knew we were coming. They didn’t have long to gather some necessities and get the hell out. They couldn’t take the baby, it would make too much noise, or maybe the mother wasn’t strong enough to travel. In either event the man wouldn’t leave without them. So, some cold blooded son of a bitch shot them and put them where it would delay us long enough for the rest of them to get away. It started to rain. We quickly destroyed everything we could. We pitched grenades into the tunnels and set fire to anything that would burn. I saw the woman for the first time just before someone dumped a bag of rice on her. I looked into her face until it was covered. She had been somebody’s daughter, and, for a short while she had been somebody’s mother. I wondered if her last thought was of her daughter and what would become of her. I think half the guys in the platoon volunteered to carry the baby down the hill. Our medic was the logical choice, he was a conscientious objector and of course unarmed. I was jealous. At the bottom of the ridge we joined up with the rest of the company. We set up for the night in the old fortified area we passed earlier. It was a dreadful place but it was high and dry. Within our perimeter were caved in bunkers, tunnels, vertical shafts, and trenches. Behind my hooch was a water filled bomb crater. A few yards beyond that, still in the perimeter, was an unexploded 250 pound bomb. The place gave me the heebie jeebies. It was raining so hard that the choppers were grounded. That meant that the baby was spending the night with us. The grounded choppers also meant that it would be a miserable night. A couple of weeks prior to this mission the brigade commander replaced our ruck sacks with those little fanny packs we used in basic and AIT. We were only supposed to carry shaving equipment, food, and ammo. He devised a system where our heavy gear was brought out every night. He was trying to make us a lean, mean, fighting machine. On nights like this, when the choppers were grounded, we had to rough it. No air mattress, no poncho liner, no dry socks. And, no re-supply of food or water. The medics came around and collected anything that would make the little girl more comfortable. I gave up a dry, almost clean, T-shirt that I had stashed in my fanny pack. We all gave up the sugar and powdered cream from what little rations there were. The captain’s radio operator sat up all night with her. The concoction he made with the sugar and powdered cream didn’t work, she cried much of the night. Having a baby in our midst gave new meaning to the war. We were protecting and caring for a totally innocent and helpless child. It was the first time that I felt like we were doing something worthwhile. Early the next morning a Medivac came and took her away. I was glad she was safe. I’ve often wondered what happened to her. If she survived, she’d be 27 years old around New Year’s Day."

It's funny how the bad stories of rape and murder stick in ones mind, but what about the good things? What about the people who cared for the children. Who shed tears for them, who loved them? I think that people forget that there are GOOD individuals out there, even in a time as harsh as a war. Seems that many people are only happy when they complain, and point righteous fingers. I'm glad I'm more optimistic, it makes life a whole heck of a lot happier to live.