20 Red Years (Vietnam War Short Story)

Why?

November 20, 1967

Peter and I would send each other mail all the time. I didn't exactly know when it was, but I had made a huge life-changing decision... I was going to war.

*******

Ma and Pa were gathered under the hazy light above the dining table reading what looked like a small piece of paper. Automatically, my mind raced to Peter. Was he shot and wounded, or did he get sick with pneumonia as so many others had? Or... no, he couldn't, he's too strong and... and he just... he couldn't.

"Ma, whats that?" I question suspiciously.

"It's a letter from your brother dear. You can read this one, but he also wrote one just for your eyes, here." My sweet mother handed me a small folded slip of paper. Greedily, I took the paper and sat down to read it.

'How's my Bee doin'? sorry I ain't talked to you in a while. I've been kinda busy, ya know. I don't have much free time here. But I can't complain, many people have it off worse. I've made a couple of friends. I have only one year left on my contract then I'm a free man again. In your last letter to me, you asked what it was like. I made you this letter separate from the other cause I don't wanna put them through hearing about it, but I believe that you deserve to know.

It is absolutely terrible. Signing one of those forms for joining up is like making a deal with the devil. We evacuate people from their homes then destroy everything, and I mean everything. so many of the men here have lost their humanity. It doesn't bother them when they shoot an innocent man down just because he said 'hi'. I'm sick and tired of this. I can't stand it anymore. I used to think wearing a dog tag was a symbol of bravery and now I know that it's just there so if you get blown to shreds they can figure out who you are. All day we are on edge waiting for someone to attack, but that's hardly the hardest part of this... this, I can hardly say in words how appalling this atrocious, harrowing, ghastly war is. When I see those innocent woman's and children's faces when their home blows up in front of them it... kills me inside. Then I hear the news back home in America and I die all over again. Here we are working our butts off and all they can do is criticize what we are doing. I hear cries and screams of men and woman and children, not only while it's happening but also at night when I am trying so very hard to forget it. Terror percolates throughout my thoughts dripping into my body until I am overrun with grief and heartache. While this is an overwhelming task I know God is with me and I believe I am doing what he wants me to do. Although I think he wants me to change how we are handling these situations. It's not okay at all.

Your brother,

Peter.

My tears blotted out the last words in his heartbreaking letter, but this letter triggered something inside of me I couldn't quite put my finger on. It feels as if I suddenly have a strong urge to protect everyone and everything I hold dear to me. I will fight.

I suspected that if I was to go through with this outrageous plan, my parents should know about it. They may not approve of my proposition but I am 19, almost 20 and I have to make something of myself. As the Bible has taught me, I will honor and respect my parents, but I feel a strong calling by God himself that this is where he wants me to be, where he wants to use me.

"Ma, Pa I know you may not approve of this plan, but I am determined to fight in this ever-growing war." I apprized. Both stared at me shocked out of words. Once father found the words, he lectured.

"Lizzy, do you even know what that means? Why would you do something so foolish? Have you comprehended what Peter is saying in these letters home? WHY!?"

"Yes, I know exactly what he is saying, yet I still want to help. Pa, please, I'm going whether you like it or not. But I would much rather prefer to have you on my side in this." He could tell I was set on going. Pa knows that when I want something, I can almost always get it. Hesitantly, Pa agreed, but he made me promise to only go for one year.

We made a deal.

My next step was confronting Jason. I already knew he wouldn't like it, but I had to do something.

"Hey, Jason," I forebode, "I have something to tell you, and I can tell you that you won't like it." With a suspicious side stare, Jason challenged,

"Ok I'll bite, whats botherin' ya?"

"I'm going to war. I just thought..."

"YOU'RE WHAT!" He shrieked, " What are you... why would you... where would you even... When on earth did this happen, Liz? NO, I won't let you, I care about you too much Lizzy."

"I didn't come here for your permission, Jason. I made this decision on my own, I came here to say goodbye. I'm leaving tomorrow..."

"I can't believe this, I won't believe this."

"Would you stop interrupting me, it's getting on my nerves. Maybe I shouldn't have come, I just thought you deserved to know. Bye, Jase." I didn't like how Ieft things with him but I had such a temper and knew that if I stayed any longer I would have said something I would regret forever.

*******

I was on a boat. Since I signed up in the Navy, I guess I would have to get used to this whole riding on a boat thing, but that would come with time. I tried being happy and smiling, but everywhere I looked someone was hurting. Maybe not physically, but they were most definitely hurt mentally or emotionally. This wasn't a good way to start out this big of a journey.

By the time we docked, I was ready to get off that depressing ship. We were all led to a large camp where it looked as if the Army, Coastguard, and Marines were stationed for awhile too. The Marines are here maybe Peter's with them. I speculated though it was a fat chance, there are so many different divisions he could be with.

I went to go grab something to eat in the large tent set up in the middle of the camp, and the food was disgusting. I wasn't that desperate, not yet anyway. The man next to me saw I wasn't eating my... and he asked if he could have it. Of course, I told him to help himself. On the way to my assigned tent, I heard a familiar voice coming from the tent a few yards away, but I couldn't quite pin it. I'm just paranoid I convinced myself. It was my imagination.

In the morning, I crawled out of my minuscule tent, then went off to explore the new camp. On my way back, I heard an eerie sound coming from around the bend of a large tent on my left. I took a peek around and saw a mud-crusted, medium length blond-haired man in the middle of a pack of brawny men. Their fists swinging at the one in the blond in the middle. I saw the outnumbered man double over grunting in pain but he stood back up and swung his fist out again, making contact with one of the other brutes. Again, he was punched in the gut and this time he didn't stand back up. Out of instinct, I ran towards the commotion, a logical person would run away and get some help, as it was I am not a logical person. Despite not being very strong and muscular when they spotted me and heard me shouting at them to back off they scattered making sure I didn't see their faces, so I couldn't identify them. Immediately, I ran over the man in the dirt on his torn knees, gasping for air. When I saw the blood oozing down the side of his strong features, I knew it wasn't good. I helped him stand up, but when he looked at me all the blood drained from my face and my heart started to pound so violently that I was sure it was going to burst. Peter? No, it's just my imagination acting up again, it can't be him. A ghost of a smile spread across his lips.

"What on earth are ya doin' here, Bee?" he whispered. I stood there dumbfounded. My mouth gaping open, eyes wide and astonished, body still as a hot summer day. Once I became the slightest bit aware of my surroundings, I inspected my brother. His green pants were torn, so was the left side of his face. I touched his bleeding lip and hazed over the shiner on his left eye.

"Well, didn't you do a bang-up job. If you were goin' for a new look you sure found one."

"Are ya tryin' to hurt me by making me laugh or is that just a habit of yours?" When I saw that ever so welcoming smile on my beloved brother's faces, I couldn't be mad at him, even if I wanted to.

"So do ya wanna tell me why they beat you up or not?" I interrogated.

"I'm not sure you'll like it, but here it goes. I'm the only guy in my division that doesn't jump at the chance to murder a Vietnamese citizen, so I'm the guy nobody likes and everyone wants me gone, so there." At that horrific moment, a loud bang came from behind us and blood was scattered across my uniform. Had I been shot? Was I in shock and I didn't feel it? Both of those hypotheses were wrong. I hadn't been shot. But who had I seen right in front of me?

"Oh good Lord."