Only Fools Rush In [to be edited]

The Young Veteran

June 15, 1967

I returned to Fox Base where I told of my entire account to the commanders and everyone else who was meant to be involved, including Wallace. It wasn’t easy justifying myself, especially since Wallace was convinced he had seen Tien the night before in the attack. We had to send a team out there to investigate her brother, Chien, and it was only then Wallace admitted his wrong. I would be lying if my entire mind was wondering where Tien might have gone. I was hoping that the next day wouldn’t erase our destiny together and that she had come to her senses and returned to her home for good.

I was afraid to tell them that I had proposed to her; the thought of their response was enough to keep me silence. Though, when it came time, I told my captain that I had. I only received a hard knock to the floor, profanities, my future in a nutshell, and then an apology.  I kept telling the captain that I was willing to leave the company and be returned home, no matter what I was labeled as or the reputation I would be leaving behind. But he denied such a privilege and asked me to stay until the war ended.

LBJ was president, and from what was coming from the White House, it sounded like we were still heavy in war. We had prediction that North Vietnam was going to come in strong, and that the American soldiers were much needed in South Vietnam. I was soon giving the news that I was to be deported to South Vietnam on June 30, 1967. By then, the doctors were confident I was ready for combat. They were right. My ear and hand sealed nicely, and though I couldn’t handle certain equipment or FRs the same way again, I had a week’s worth of therapy, which had me prepared in no time.

To be honest, therapy didn’t help me at all. It helped my physical body to be sound and ready, but my mind was deeply troubled. I wasn’t sure why. I felt so “comfortable” out in the jungles, even though my life was hanging by a thread every second of every day. Back at the base, I felt alone and frustrated. None of the men that were around me looked like men I could trust with anything, especially something as “trivial” as what happened to me as a prisoner of war. Many would identify, but none would really care.

When I had fully recovered, a helicopter team invited me to one last journey to the area I had left Tien weeks ago. They wanted to do a final search and evidence check before moving out. For some reason, I said, ‘no.’ And by saying so, it felt as if I had made a final goodbye to the girl. Being away from her, with so much time to think, I realized that what we had hoped for one another was empty faith. It wasn’t possible that we would find each other after the war. I would be in South Vietnam and she in the North. And when the war was over, I would be returned to the States.

We shared fine moments together that helped us through that particular moment in our lives. Now, it was time to return to lives we knew so well. I know I will forget her, and she the same of me. I don’t want  her to be a memory, I want her forgotten.

Shi Brennan, Corporal of 1st Battalion, 5th Field Artillery

Brennan, on June 30th, 1967, was transferred to South Vietnam. There, he became a respectful corporal on a fireteam for two years. At age twenty, he was promoted to sergeant. This time, Brennan knew he had earned the position. Though his men and he faced tragedy after tragedy and encountered rare victories, Brennan managed to get his squad in and out of fire safely. On one occasion, during an open field attack outside a Vietnamese village, disguised villagers came out and laid fire on Brennan’s men. Having had suggested fox holes, his men were declared safe and the attackers were defeated.

After several close calls, each with Brennan in charge, it was becoming clear that he would be awarded a medal. When asked by his buddy, Corporal Lievens what was keeping him going, Brennan replied simply, “By the grace of God and a girl.”

“A girl?” Corporal Lievens asked, smirking slightly.

“Every attack we come out of is closer to me seeing her again.”

Brennan was never questioned about his motives again.

He was surprised to hear himself expressing his feelings in that manner, especially since he wanted her out of his life. But he felt that he still owed her his respect, and by mentioning her in conversations seemed to give her her due.

At the end of the year 1969, when President Nixon was elected, an excited private ran into Sergeant Brennan’s tent and declared joyfully, “President Nixon has been sworn in, Sergeant! The war is sure to end now!”

Taking the shrunken cigarette from his lips, Brennan turned to the wide-eye private and laughed through his nose. “It’s never going to end, Cherry. Ain’t no one knows when it’ll end.” Dabbing the cigarette on the small wooden work table beside him, Brennan went up to the private and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It don’t matter what the presidents say now, we’re the ones fighting, right? Nixon’s got his home, his family, his money, his wife. We’ve got nothing, man. So, please, next news you want to share with me, it better be very, very important. Dismissed.”

When the private had left with his head hung and newspaper flapping limply by his side, Brennan collapsed into his chair and lit up another cigarette. As the flame flickered in front of his eyes, he heard her voice. So clear, so alive.  Standing up, Brennan called out, “Tien?” but no one answered, only the barking of the German shepherds and Dobermans. Feeling a bit foolish and disappointed, he returned to his chair and took a heavy drag from his cigarette. Squinting against the haze he had blown out, he remembered feeling her hands on his back as she cared for his wounds; her breath, sweet and delicate, breathing on the back of his neck as she leaned in for his protection.

He thought he had forgotten it all. But the more he wanted to forget, the more he had to remember in order to do so. Snuffing the cigarette and placing his face in his hands, Brennan let out a small whimper of regret. His mind erupted and flashes of him asking her to be his made his heart claw at his chest. Was it too soon? Was he acting on impulse? Was it just a fear of losing the person who had saved his life? Was she meant to be only a season in his life and never for as long as he lived? It seemed very much that he had made a fairytale in his mind in order to mask the horrors he had experienced.

Upon standing up, a deafening explosion roared in his direction. And the last thing he saw was a ball of raging, orange flames and his body tossed into the air. He felt his head slam into a piece of furniture and his vision in front of him flipped off like a light switch.

A warm fluid trickled down his face, waking him up to consciousness. Moaning against several weights on his limbs, Brennan turned his head slightly to the left and saw his men running towards him. The tent had been completely blasted away and everything inside had been scattered in all directions. Swallowing, he tasted blood. A lot of blood. Bending over, he spat out several mouthfuls of red liquid, rolling his tongue around, he found a deep hole in his cheek and his back morals cracked and open. His wounded ear, by the impact, split open and began bleeding. His nose, as well, oozed of the thick liquid inside of him. It reminded him of a dream he had a long time ago, wasn’t the same, but it felt just like it.  

“Don’t move, Sergeant,” the corporal commanded, kneeling down beside him and pulling off the table and chairs that had piled onto him. As they moved the table, they stopped and looked up at Brennan with white faces.

“What? What’s wrong?” Brennan’s breath stopped for a moment as he slowly looked under the table and saw the muscle that clung to his thigh, shredded into a mass of tangled flesh. Trying to keep his calm, Brennan closed his eyes and said in a shivering voice, “Get the medics, it came off during the explosion. About seven inches taken off, unknown depth—,”

“Just shut up, Sergeant, and drink this,” the corporal gave him a shot of whiskey and reached behind his head to get him comfortable before feeling a gash behind his head. Bringing his bloodstained hand out from behind the sergeant, he looked up at the PFC beside him. He shook his head in hopelessness. Turning to Brennan, Corporal Lievens said confidently, “You’re going to be all right, sergeant. We were ambushed, but we got them and they ain’t gonna bother us, man. All right? Sergeant? He’s out, Private, get the medics here as fast as possible. I’ll see if I can restore him. If it don’t work, he ain’t coming back.”