Yesterday Was A Better Day [Vietnam, l971]
Yesterday Was A Better Day [Vietnam, l971]
By Dennis L. Siluk
Sept. 10, 2004
1
The South China Sea
[Buck Sergeant Christopher Wright] A windy day it was, and a sandy and sunny landscape in front and back of me, all about was rice fields in the far distance and tall grass several hundred feet to the sides of us, the South China Sea to our backs, Buddha Shrines hidden in the thick of the jungle not all that far to the right of us. Jungles are always right, left in front, overhead of a person it seems, but the beach was pure white sand, often times I'd stop on my way back, picking up newly arrived soldiers, bringing them to the main base camp at Cam Ranh Bay, when not needed else where. I had been stationed here going on four-months, the other several were spent elsewhere; anyhow, as I was about to say, I would often stop and enjoy the beauty of some of these spots along the beach. We were not far from the base camp this group was headed [again]: Cam Ranh Bay. As we stopped the jeep, we all dismounted, I walked about, halted to examine the scene, the Vietcong had been here, did what they had to do and left, there was some kind of noises coming from the bodies on the sand, like hums and murmurs - [or so my imagination was capturing, maybe there was nothing] coming from these three young American soldiers, very young soldiers at that; their bodies were talking it seemed. The ground was soiled with blood and empty rifles. Yesterday was a better day, I told myself, for I had been loading ammo on a five-tone truck [Alpha dump in Cam Ranh Bay].
- There was something else, that disturbed the Captain and me, Sergeant Crusher [otherwise known as Hugh Gunderson, who also knew my friend Chick Evens who had been stations here before me] had seen it before, but we had never seen it, and the young and newly arrived captain was taken off guard by it - we had picked him up and was bringing him back to his duty station, at Cam Ranh. I will explain in a minute for now the debris of body parts lay about, the VC [Vietcong] had abandoned the scene and left it for use to see, to show us what our destiny was.
I was at the end of my year in Vietnam, and I could never quite become fully aware that the VC were human beings like me - its not possible in war I suppose, how can you kill them then? Likewise, today was the foes day, and he did not see us like human beings either.
The long grass was beaten down by the foot soldiers, the Vietcong infantry. Surely they had come and gone, but the captain was looking all about, trembling, almost with tears - he was trying to keep a respectful distance from the bodies. He must have wiped his brow twenty times.
2
Death's Ugliness
Meanwhile, the breeze was catching the smell of the blood as it fluttered smartly around the area - enough to intoxicate the captain; the sun still rested on our shoulders, like a benediction to the dead.
On and on, the captain walked the edge of the water adjusting, getting acclimated to the scene. I and the Sergeant [an infantry man who had spent three tours right in a row in Vietnam, I, for the meantime was an Ammo Sergeant, assigned to Cam Ranh Bay also] looked backwards, then here and there, both of us coveting our M16s. Not a word was spoken by the newly assigned captain, now three days in country. He didn't draw his 45-automatic, just paced, as if he had gotten an electric shock: it seemed we were belated spectators, and I suppose we were; for none of us would forget the nature of the act. But for the report, it would have to say a skirmish of some kind, most likely in which it took place with overwhelming odds; rifle bullets fired, etcetera.
- We now moved among the three male soldiers freely, all faces white - streaked and grouted with blood. This was for all of us one long grotesque moment, one man was headless, one without a nose and hanging shreds of flesh; the third, splinters of bones showed from his body, and his throat was cut. That was only half of it. And I hate to tell you the rest but I will, for war is cruel, and so much is never told.
Beside these bodies were three - what we called - doughnut-girls: Red Cross girls; young and American. They had been raped, or so it seemed, they were stripped naked, lying on their backs, down on the beach, tied to steaks driven into the sand. Their skin was thinly cut into, the top layer pulled back to show the rawness of it, and there were ants all about them and other insects - I couldn't name, and the sweet smell of honey. Slowly and painfully they had died. I told myself: how many people realize we got doughnut- girls over here? I never did answer that question - or ask for an answer, nor had I ever written about this in detail, I just told myself: "yesterday was a better day."
War and Empty Shells
The life that was once in these
Young and vibrant bodies,
Are now like hollow shells-
Gone are the once, beautiful-self's;
Where once a heart-beat dwelt!
From nothing, to nothing,-
They came and left;
Perhaps-: perhaps it was best,
For inside of war - we're but living shells,
Obedient to heart-beats, if you will.
Now, all but empty, deserted shells-
Left on the battle fields.
------------
By Dennis L. Siluk
Sept. 10, 2004
1
The South China Sea
[Buck Sergeant Christopher Wright] A windy day it was, and a sandy and sunny landscape in front and back of me, all about was rice fields in the far distance and tall grass several hundred feet to the sides of us, the South China Sea to our backs, Buddha Shrines hidden in the thick of the jungle not all that far to the right of us. Jungles are always right, left in front, overhead of a person it seems, but the beach was pure white sand, often times I'd stop on my way back, picking up newly arrived soldiers, bringing them to the main base camp at Cam Ranh Bay, when not needed else where. I had been stationed here going on four-months, the other several were spent elsewhere; anyhow, as I was about to say, I would often stop and enjoy the beauty of some of these spots along the beach. We were not far from the base camp this group was headed [again]: Cam Ranh Bay. As we stopped the jeep, we all dismounted, I walked about, halted to examine the scene, the Vietcong had been here, did what they had to do and left, there was some kind of noises coming from the bodies on the sand, like hums and murmurs - [or so my imagination was capturing, maybe there was nothing] coming from these three young American soldiers, very young soldiers at that; their bodies were talking it seemed. The ground was soiled with blood and empty rifles. Yesterday was a better day, I told myself, for I had been loading ammo on a five-tone truck [Alpha dump in Cam Ranh Bay].
- There was something else, that disturbed the Captain and me, Sergeant Crusher [otherwise known as Hugh Gunderson, who also knew my friend Chick Evens who had been stations here before me] had seen it before, but we had never seen it, and the young and newly arrived captain was taken off guard by it - we had picked him up and was bringing him back to his duty station, at Cam Ranh. I will explain in a minute for now the debris of body parts lay about, the VC [Vietcong] had abandoned the scene and left it for use to see, to show us what our destiny was.
I was at the end of my year in Vietnam, and I could never quite become fully aware that the VC were human beings like me - its not possible in war I suppose, how can you kill them then? Likewise, today was the foes day, and he did not see us like human beings either.
The long grass was beaten down by the foot soldiers, the Vietcong infantry. Surely they had come and gone, but the captain was looking all about, trembling, almost with tears - he was trying to keep a respectful distance from the bodies. He must have wiped his brow twenty times.
2
Death's Ugliness
Meanwhile, the breeze was catching the smell of the blood as it fluttered smartly around the area - enough to intoxicate the captain; the sun still rested on our shoulders, like a benediction to the dead.
On and on, the captain walked the edge of the water adjusting, getting acclimated to the scene. I and the Sergeant [an infantry man who had spent three tours right in a row in Vietnam, I, for the meantime was an Ammo Sergeant, assigned to Cam Ranh Bay also] looked backwards, then here and there, both of us coveting our M16s. Not a word was spoken by the newly assigned captain, now three days in country. He didn't draw his 45-automatic, just paced, as if he had gotten an electric shock: it seemed we were belated spectators, and I suppose we were; for none of us would forget the nature of the act. But for the report, it would have to say a skirmish of some kind, most likely in which it took place with overwhelming odds; rifle bullets fired, etcetera.
- We now moved among the three male soldiers freely, all faces white - streaked and grouted with blood. This was for all of us one long grotesque moment, one man was headless, one without a nose and hanging shreds of flesh; the third, splinters of bones showed from his body, and his throat was cut. That was only half of it. And I hate to tell you the rest but I will, for war is cruel, and so much is never told.
Beside these bodies were three - what we called - doughnut-girls: Red Cross girls; young and American. They had been raped, or so it seemed, they were stripped naked, lying on their backs, down on the beach, tied to steaks driven into the sand. Their skin was thinly cut into, the top layer pulled back to show the rawness of it, and there were ants all about them and other insects - I couldn't name, and the sweet smell of honey. Slowly and painfully they had died. I told myself: how many people realize we got doughnut- girls over here? I never did answer that question - or ask for an answer, nor had I ever written about this in detail, I just told myself: "yesterday was a better day."
War and Empty Shells
The life that was once in these
Young and vibrant bodies,
Are now like hollow shells-
Gone are the once, beautiful-self's;
Where once a heart-beat dwelt!
From nothing, to nothing,-
They came and left;
Perhaps-: perhaps it was best,
For inside of war - we're but living shells,
Obedient to heart-beats, if you will.
Now, all but empty, deserted shells-
Left on the battle fields.
------------
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 9:58 AM
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