War in Vietnam

Some say it must be 50 years gone before accurate history can be written. Well, it’s been 50 years from when I left the Vietnam War behind so allow me to tell you an abbreviated history of our most flawed and fabled war. It was a war that President Nixon declared in 1971, “the end is in sight.” It just didn’t end how he envisioned it would.

The war in Vietnam began to take shape from a letter President Dwight Eisenhower sent to Winston Churchill after Korea. In that letter he expressed his concern that Indochina, as well as those islands on the periphery, could not be allowed to fall into Communist hands. He suggested a coalition of nations to stop that from happening and thus in 1954, the Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO) was formed. It was to act as a common front against Communist aggression in the region.

When, also in 1954, the French were defeated at Diem Bien Phu and cast out of Vietnam, the country was subsequently divided at the 17th Parallel in a negotiated Geneva settlement. Responding to aid requests from the South Vietnamese government, President Eisenhower–using the now-discredited Domino Theory to justify our involvement–sent U.S. advisors to train the South Vietnamese army in conventional and counter-insurgency operations. After five years of “relative” quiet, in 1959 the Communists began to step-up their encroachment into the South. In response, in 1961, now President John F. Kennedy began to add more advisors and Special Forces personnel. That number eventually rose to approximately 15,000.

America’s forces continued to aid the Vietnamese

America’s forces continued to aid the Vietnamese in the foregoing manner until 1965, when Lyndon B. Johnson and his Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, began an American buildup which would increase to almost 500,000. During LBJ’s presidency when he and his Cabinet were more interested in domestic policies than in fighting a war, they successfully stopped the military from fighting one. Military recommendations were disregarded and all decisions—down to target sets and even the munitions required on aircraft—were made in Washington.

Thus, the war continued unabated until Richard Nixon was elected President in 1968. He began a U.S. drawdown in 1969. By 1972, President Nixon, taking the advice of the military that LBJ discarded, brought the Communists to the peace table. The Paris Peace Accords were signed in 1973, and the war essentially was over. But not so fast.

A Congress, hostile to Nixon and subsequently his successor Gerald Ford, reneged on the Paris agreement by not only passing an amendment to the Defense Appropriations Bill to prohibit further military involvement in Vietnam but also ignored any further Vietnamese requests for aid. So, in 1975 the Communists, seeing South Vietnam standing alone, crossed the 17th Parallel and a Viet Cong flag was raised over Saigon on April 30, 1975. The war and the extraction of the remaining U.S. personnel from the American Embassy had truly come to an end that day. Not with a bang but with a whimper.

Let me close by saying Vietnam was a war we won in 1973. However, two years later it was lost in the halls of Congress. But the sacrifices these men and women made, not only those of the regular armed forces but also by those whose number simply came up in the lottery of the draft, never failed their country.

Author’s Note: I did not receive the scorn you have perhaps heard about directed at other returnees. That may be because we were advised to wear civilian attire and to not go outside the San Francisco airport’s terminal building while waiting for our next flight unless absolutely necessary. However, many vets were vilified and treated as the “face of an unpopular war.” To this day I know that many Vietnam vets still carry the emotional scars they faced over 50 years ago. A war in which they were sent to fight by those who never did.

Americas citizen-soldiers performed with a tenacity

“Dropped into the enemy’s terrain 12,000 miles away from home, Americas citizen-soldiers performed with a tenacity and quality that never may be understood. Those who believe the war was fought incompletely on a tactical level should consider Hanoi’s recent admission that 1.4 million of its soldiers died on the battlefield compared to 58,000 total U.S dead. Those who believe that it was a dirty little war where bombs did all the work might contemplate that it was the most costly war the U.S. Marine Corps has ever fought—five times as many dead as WWI, three times as many dead as in Korea, and more total killed and wounded than in all WWII…To this day it stuns me that so many of their own countrymen have so completely missed the story of their service, lost in the bitter confusion of the war itself.” Senator James Webb (D-VA)

If you’d like to read more about veterans coping with physical and mental issues caused by the nature of war, I’d refer you to a wonderful website,,

May we always have men and women such as these who served.

Picture above: A buddy wearing goofy glasses with Sgt. Hallimore

Blackhawk Unit- 7th Armored Squadron (Air)
First Cavalry – Attached to the 1st Aviation Brigade
VINH LONG, VIETNAM

As a teenager I often had a reoccurring dream which I hoped would never end; in the dream, I was able to fly. I can still feel the wonder of soaring like a bird; these were daylight flights, a couple hundred feet above the outdoor mountain landscape. In my dreams, I simply concentrate on my body lifting off. I would begin to levitate through the power of concentration and easily ascend up and away.

I would float in a vertical, standup position, and soon would be sailing along; with the ability to control my direction and speed of travel through a strong and continuous mental focus. These solo flights were accompanied by deep blue skies and always happening over beautiful tree topped forest and lush grassy meadows.

I soaked up the amazing views, looking down at the treetops in a sense of freedom that I imagine only eagles feel. The irony of having these dreams, with such clear perspective of the treetops and landscape below seems surreal since I had not yet flown in any type of aircraft.

In the Army

My lack of actual air travel quickly changed when I joined the Army.  There were commercial airline and military aircraft trips to various Army training stations with particularly memorable trips to and from Vietnam; the airliner which held row after row of soldier appeared to be larger than any imaginable winged object should be. How could such a big bus even get off the ground?

But by far, the most captivating flight was that in helicopters. During my Vietnam tour, it is the many hours flying in helicopters that recreated that childhood perspective of beautiful treetop flying (which I no longer experienced in my dreams).

Wop-wop-wop-wop

It is the loud, yet distinctive ‘wop-wop- wop- wop’ chopping of the air as the Huey’s large main rotor lifts and pulls its flight cargo forward.

Even today, the unique sound will pull my eyes to the heavens in search of that familiar big bird. There are indelible memories of those UH-1 birds with a model name ‘Iriquois’ These were the predecessor of the ‘Blackhawk’ model helicopter and were the backbone of the Vietnam war and troop movement.

Hallimore with buddies

Slicks, Big Birds, and Hueys

When flying in these “slicks” a favorite position would be two or three of us sitting on the outside edge of the compartment with our legs and jungle booted feet dangling out over the skids (there were no seats, 8 or so soldiers would be sitting on the Huey’s floor). The large sliding doors would be pinned open on either side so that you could easily see right through the mid portion of the bird.

A door gunner with an M-60 machine gun sat on a seat in a notched area on either side of the helicopter attached to and slightly to the back of the cargo/troop carrying area. Centrifugal force would hold us in as the helicopters made sharp banking turns during flight. During those gravity defying swoons, a soldier would be looking straight down (maybe 1500 feet to the ground) without slipping out.

Flying treetop, they seemed to be half crazy

The young warrant officers who flew helicopters in Vietnam probably became some of the best pilots ever, but they seemed to be half crazy as they pushed those birds to their maximum performance. They would come in fast and stand the bird on its tail to stop quickly. They could hover partially in or over water while troops got in or jumped out. They would fly treetop at full speed hitting the tips of the trees with the choppers skids. A few feet higher would have seemed prudent.

Flying treetop minimized exposure time to possible ground fire. As a full platoon vs. smaller squad movement, we occasionally flew in the twin rotor Chinook Helicopters (we called them ‘shit-hooks’). They were much larger than the Huey UH-1 and could carry a significant pay load. They were also quite fast. At times, we would be flying at full speed in a Chinook Helicopter just 6 or 7 feet off the water of the Mekong River; it seemed ill advised with little room left for pilot err. I would be thinking that flying a little (or a lot) higher would make good sense. But since I was ground pounder (combat foot soldier), I didn’t waste time expressing my opinion.

The helicopters were so important.

I would watch the small ‘Loachs’ () fly at treetop level with a pilot and a single adjacent seat door gunner as the decoy. They scouted the jungles trying to draw fire as a method of locating the enemy; this was a job for someone who had a death wish in my opinion.

More dangerous than the actual combat field?

The Cobra helicopters possessed an awesome array of armament and firepower that was very welcomed when we needed their assistance during a firefight. There were also very large skeleton like helicopters called ‘Flying Cranes’ hollowed out underneath with a sling and the ability to hook and pick up extremely heavy loads of equipment. I had a lot of appreciation for the utilization of wartime helicopters, but I often wondered if the wild ‘amusement park’ rides performing troop deployment in those magical machines we called ‘slicks’, ‘big birds’ and ‘Hueys’ weren’t more dangerous than the actual combat field mission itself.

It was generally said that a soldier was most likely to get killed in his first 30 days or his last 30 days in Country.

The early loss due to mistakes caused by a lack of experience and the late loss due to anticipation of leaving and the development of careless habits. In my unit, when there were 30 or less days left in a combat soldier’s tour, he would typically not be required to participate in field operations. When I had 17 days left in Country, I volunteered to participate in a joint American ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) mission. These joint missions had become common place during the ‘Vietnamation of the War’. After 11 months of active operations, the idleness of staying within the perimeter of our Army base/compound became monotonous, I needed something to do. This last voluntary trip to the field became the most memorable air mobile mission of my life.

Our ground unit was stationed in Vinh Long with combat operations throughout the delta.

Most of the delta is covered in water. It must have been the wet season because the water in the rice paddies came close to being waist deep. There were only a few of us Americans working as advisors to the ARVNs on this particular mission. In our trusty UH-1 helicopters, we flew in and jumped into about 3 feet of murky water covering the rice. We were at the assigned LZ (landing zone). I don’t remember much concerning the mission. The day spent with the ARVNs was uneventful. Generally not much did happen when we jointly deployed with the ARVNs. It was a long term war for them and they had a knack of regularly avoiding enemy contact. Many of the ARVNs had spent their full adulthood as soldiers. Their Country had been in a no-win war for over a decade. Surviving became a greater motivation than mixing it up with the Viet Cong. The American mindset was different. We wanted to fight, we wanted to win and we wanted to return to our good life ‘Back in the World’.

At the end of the day, we called in the birds (Hueys) for extraction of the troops.

We would have stood in the water probably near the tree-lined edge of the paddies waiting for the helicopters to arrive. When we heard them coming, we would ‘pop smoke’ in the opening so they knew where we were. The Helicopters would fly in and hover with their skids just touching or slightly in the water. That afternoon, the water in the LZ was somewhat deeper than usual. The helicopter may have hovered or sat a little lower in the water for us to get in. Each helicopter would pick up about 8 to 10 soldiers. Since we were a joint force, the Vietnamese were lighter weight and more could be carried. As we climbed up on the skid and into our chopper, I took my normal position sitting on the edge of the deck with my feet hanging out over the helicopter’s skid. It was time to head back to our Army base.

Flying a helicopter is a skill that I don’t think is easily mastered.

But the American pilots who flew in Vietnam had a tremendous amount of practice; they were daring but so familiar with the maximum capabilities of their craft. As earlier stated, they pushed their birds to the limit. When taking off, there is an increased whine of the laboring turbine engine and a heavier ‘wop-wop-wop’ sound of the main rotor as it fights the air for dominance. Helicopters take off in a typical pattern of increasing the power and/or pitch of the rotor to lift the fully loaded bird up out of the water (or off the ground). The chopper then starts tilting forward, picking up momentum and speed. As the helicopter’s air speed increases, the chopper begins to climb.

As we took off, I was looking forward though the plastic canopy at the front of the Huey. There is a lower plastic canopy at the pilot and copilots foot pedal area that allows you to see down and out. I observed that the helicopter had started forward, picking up speed, but instead of going up, we were flying along partially touching the water.

“Another cool stunt by these crazy pilots”

At first the water was spraying out with just the skids contacting the water; I am thinking, ‘yes, here we are with another cool stunt of spraying water high in the air by these crazy pilots’. But, as I watched, instead of going up we were actually going down. Almost instantly, the slick became like an ocean liner plowing through a watery marsh swamp. I could feel the helicopter shutter and stumbling all very quickly as its nose dove even deeper






I was underwater, still holding my M-16

Within a split second, my next memory is that of being on my hands and knees under water with my M-16 rifle still held in both hands out in front of me on the ground. I could feel something relatively large and hard on my left and something similar on my right. My mind went into a hyper activity mode that I have never otherwise experienced. I thought I was trapped under the helicopter and knew I wouldn’t be able to hold my breath for long.

I thought I was going to die

In a very quick moment, I had a million thoughts go through my head. The turbo speed of my brain function was incredible. ‘Oh My God, why this?’ I thought of my family, my friends, my home and I thought how stupid it was to be out in the field with only 17 days left. I thought I was going to die and this was the only time that I ever felt that way.

I had to find a way out.

I had to find a way out. I started to move up off of my hands and knees. To my surprise, I was able to stand up. I was fine, I could breath. All of the troops on the helicopter were thrown out and the only two remaining in the helicopter were the pilot and the co-pilot. The helicopter had flipped over and came to rest upside down. The pilot and copilot were strapped into their flight seats upside down securely held in place by their seat belts. The flight helmets on their heads were just inches above that dirty water of the rice patty. The helicopter was destroyed but fortunately all of the personnel were OK.

The helicopter was destroyed but everyon was OK

Apparently as the helicopter started its angled path down in the water, the top rotor caught the ground and violently twisted and flipped the Huey UH-1 helicopter over. The force threw all of us out and away from the helicopter into the murky water of the rice paddy. One object at my side under water was the large top rotor and the other was one of the bulky doors that had been pinned back and open. It broke loose and flew off of its mount. I was thankful. We were lucky that day.

Well, I was happy to be alive and happy to return to base, but I was miffed. In my opinion, there were too many times that we had faced unnecessary risk while flying with the young Huey pilots. There was an investigation into the cause of crash and loss of the UH-1 Helicopter. It was a $250K piece of equipment in 1970. The interviewing officer for the investigation said that the pilots thought there was a cable stretched across the rice paddy that caught their skids and flipped us over.

What cable?

I told the officer how ridiculous such a story was. How would the Viet Cong know where to strap a steel cable in all of the rice fields throughout the Delta to cause a Helicopter accident? And of course when the Flying Crane picked up the helicopter to bring the damaged carcass back to base, was any cable found in the water?

It was my positon that pilot bravado and human err caused the destruction of the Helicopter which could have killed us all. Ultimately, the determination was made that when the Huey sat down in the water, hovering, the compartment below the floor deck filled partially with water. As the Helicopter tilted and started forward, the weight of the water in the under compartment moved forward driving the helicopter into the ground. I do not know if that was the truth or a cover up. It doesn’t matter.

It was a bad but memorable day




yet it turned out alright! We survived another day without casualty. I was soon headed home. Our Blackhawk Unit continued with its air missions until leaving Vietnam in1972.

***NOTE: The above story, having a ‘good ending’, was one that I could share with my family soon after arriving home. When writing letters from Vietnam and after getting home I did not communicate the painful events experienced in war. I arrived home about 3 weeks after the ‘crash’. I still wonder about having that ‘hyper mind activity’ where my brain went into ‘turbo mode’.

My mother

My mother tells of being woken in the middle of the night, sitting up and hearing me yell her name. It is not like my mother to have such an experience. The time frames appear to mesh fairly well. Is there a higher level of cognitive function and method of distant communication available to human beings? 





I don’t know. –

Above photo:: Members of Special Forces Association, Smoky Mountains Chapter. L-R: Bill Gunn, William Knowlton, John Funderburk, Robert Terry Smith, and Phill Hanson

Mike Di Rocco in his Special Forces green jacket, having a good time at the 51șÚÁÏÍű.

Team leader Phill Hanson holds his salute during the “Final Roll Call.”

Beautiful rolling hills and mountains overlook the Western Carolina State 51șÚÁÏÍű Cemetery in Black Mountain.

Presentation of the flag to Maggie Di Rocco by a Senior Master Sergeant from the Fort Bragg Green Berets during memorial service at Sacred Heart Catholic CHurch, Brevard.

Green Beret Robert Terry Smith with Maggie Di Rocco

A painting of Green Beret Mike on patrol in the Van Cahn Valley, VIetnam 1965, by military illustrator and painter Max Grace.

Back in the Mountains

Although reluctant to make the trip, Larry visited the Vietnam 51șÚÁÏÍű Memorial after years of urging by his wife and daughter, Andrea. “I located the names of my friends on the wall. I saw family members making rubbings of their loved ones’ names, and leaving behind flowers, flags and other mementos. It was very moving for everyone. I think it’s a great memorial.”

After leaving the Army, McCall landed a position with the postal service, carrying mail in Brevard, NC, for many years. He married Elaine and the couple have a son, Jonathan, and a daughter, Andrea. He also served as a deacon in his church.

[Author’s note: Larry McCall died on January 6, 2022 at the Charles George VA Medical Center in Asheville, NC. His funeral service included a ceremony by the Transylvania County Honor Guard, many of whom were his friends.

Vietnam was brutal and scarring for its warriors

While interviewing more than 30 Vietnam War veterans, I listened to stories poignant, harsh, and tragic. Like all wars, Vietnam was brutal and scarring for its warriors. Yet, these combatants occasionally laughed at their plight, using humor to deflect their nightmares. The following two accounts prove there is humor in uniform.

No C-Rats Tonight!

In a letter home, Curtiss told his mother that he sorely missed her cooking, especially the spaghetti dinners. Mail call, usually delivered by helicopter, was a gratifying experience for these men in a war zone. One night, as the unit prepared for a dinner of combat rations, the helicopter unloaded a large box from Poteat’s mother. Curtiss recalls: “I thought, ‘what the heck is this and how can I carry it out here in the bush?”

To everyone’s surprise, the contents revealed four boxes of spaghetti noodles, four large cans of Chef Boyardee spaghetti sauce, two cans of B&B mushrooms and two cans of parmesan cheese.
Curtiss and his friends, ever-resourceful, used their k-bars (knives) to fashion forks from their spoons. As the spaghetti sauce simmered in machine gun ammo cans, the Sea Tigers removed the liners and filled their helmets with water from the nearby river, using them to boil the pasta. Stirring in the B&B mushrooms completed the extravaganza. Voila! Dinner was served. According to Poteat, the sweet aroma of spaghetti sauce filled the air. “My friends and I dined in style while everyone else glumly ate their c-rats.”

As his lucky buddies devoured the unexpected and welcome feast, one of the soldiers exclaimed, “Poteat, you thought of everything! This even has oregano in it!” Curtiss answered: “Dumb ass, that’s the paint from inside your helmet.’” Nobody seemed to care.

Green Berets and the Montagnards

Mike Di Rocco’s clandestine entry into Vietnam began in 1962 on a moonless night in the Viet Cong-controlled Van Canh valley, 200 miles north of Saigon. The twelve-member Special Forces team’s mission: organize, equip, train, and lead a mercenary army of South Vietnam’s indigenous tribesmen, the Montagnards.
The Montagnards were recruited into service by the American Special Forces (aka the Green Berets) to defend their hamlets against the Viet Cong and serve as rapid response forces and intelligence gatherers.

A Raid and a Rare Invitation

The affinity between the Green Berets and the Montagnards, and their exploits in battle, are recounted in Mike DiRocco’s book, “Fire Your FPL’s.” The following story from his book depicts Special Forces courage and ingenuity at a banquet table.

After DiRocco and his Special Forces team completed a highly dangerous and successful raid which eliminated three treacherous Viet Cong leaders, he and his friend Zack Novak received a dinner invitation at district headquarters by the region’s District Chief, Chu Tan Phat. The invitation read: “The people of Vietnam extend their gratitude to Sergeant DiRocco and Sergeant Novak for their invaluable assistance in the killing of the three Viet Cong leaders.”

The Mandarin Bird

The evening of the event, Chu personally screened the servants for VC affiliations before allowing them to enter the headquarters; Chu’s wife oversaw the banquet preparations. Appetizers of small pork cubes dipped in a sweet brown sauce were served. Chu introduced the honored guests to the Province Chief, who made the following toast: “To our honored guests who have made a great sacrifice by leaving their loved ones to come to Vietnam and help us achieve peace.”

The sweet sounds of Vietnamese music filtered through the room as Chu’s wife removed the warming cover from the plate set in front of DiRocco. Seeing the small Mandarin bird, cooked whole and with its feathers intact, the Vietnamese chattered excitedly, knowing what was in store for Mike.

The Regional Chief explained: “It is our tradition that the honored guest eats the head of the bird before anyone else eats. Would you please do us the honor, Sergeant DiRocco?”
Placing the ivory chopsticks around the base of the bird’s neck, Mike lifted the small bird, inserted the head into his mouth, and bit down hard, severing the neck from the body, to the cheers of the Vietnamese and Zack. Mike chewed the soft head and beak, then swallowed, drinking more rice wine to help it go down smoothly. “It wasn’t so bad,” recalls DiRocco. “It was like eating a soft-shell crab!”

A View from the Tonkin Gulf

How did I get to the Tonkin Gulf in Vietnam? My mom and dad served in the European Theater of WWII. My dad made patriotism a given. We felt a sacred commitment to defend our nation and the hopes of others around the world. I chose my path of service because of my trips to the Air Force Academy to see football games and hear concerts. But rather than the Air Force Academy, the Naval Academy gave me an appointment in 1966.

During my Navy tour in Vietnam, I never had to sleep in the rain or in a swamp or in a fox hole. My experience did not include walking on point down a jungle trail. Nor did I carry a bleeding buddy to a medivac helo. And I never had to look into the eyes of the enemy’s casualties.

At the academy, we constantly had Vietnam in the forefronts of our minds. We observed a tradition of silence in our mess hall and the ringing of the bell when we heard that another of our alumni had been killed in Vietnam.

We studied history and recognized the brutality of the dictatorships of Hitler, Stalin and Mao, and we believed our cause was noble and just. But not all concurred outside the walls of the Academy. I recall our Brigade of Midshipmen marching to the stadium for a football game on a Saturday. College students from a nearby campus would jeered and spit.

“So, what did you do in the war, daddy?”  I served on the USS Mahan, a guided missile frigate responsible for directing aircraft from carriers onto targets in North Vietnam. Our unit provided anti-aircraft protection to the task force and shore bombardment. The station was in the Gulf of Tonkin, north of Yankee Station, across from Hainan Island and close to Haiphong.

A “spook shack”

Our spooks performed a wide array of monitoring

A “spook shack” appeared on the fantail for a few weeks. Navy cryptologists and other spooky dudes manned this box and monitored enemy radio traffic. With the mining of Haiphong Harbor, Soviet ships attempted to bring armaments to the North Vietnamese Army (NVA). China supported the Ho Chi Minh regime, so our spooks performed a wide array of monitoring.

Unfortunately, we got little sleep since replenishment for fuel, food and ammo occurred every other night, in addition to 12-hour watches. Typically, we would average 2-4 hours’ sleep during these intense periods which came far too frequently.

The USS Worden relieved us as we went to Sattahip, Thailand for R&R, spending only one day in Bangkok before being recalled back to the ship. Missiles had hit the Worden resulting in deadly casualties. Now aware that North Vietnam torpedo boats or MIGS were actively attacking our ships, we took our station again.

Later the investigation revealed it to be a “friendly fire” situation where fighter escorts for B-52 bombers sent a missile to the origin of a radiating and locked-on radar, Worden being the source.

Comrades in Arms

I was privileged to fly with a classmate as he flew the Big Mother, an armored search and rescue helo that packed a Gatling gun-type of weapon. Although for me this was a joy ride, he flew many heroic and harrowing missions into enemy territory.

One of my classmates, a fighter pilot, attended a briefing by the air wing. Amidst the bravado he always exhibited, he now showed a focus and seriousness that reflected this was not a joy ride. The numbers of ±Ê°ż°Â’s, KIA’s and MIA’s from that naval aviation branch showed the seriousness of each mission.

Aboard the USS Mahan

In the Tonkin Gulf

The bell tower of a church in Quang Tri near the demilitarized zone still stood on a Sunday morning despite an endless line of ships firing upon that target. I witnessed every form of military power exerted on that piece of Vietnam. The armaments included B-52’s, F-4’s, A-4’s and A-6’s, attack helos and a hellacious bombardment from battleships and destroyers alike.

What were we all determined to destroy? I still don’t know. Perhaps that is the sad reality when destruction is so far off, one cannot see what harm one has done. Watching form the bridge of the USS Mahan, then armada across the Gulf that was reminiscent of those photos of the fleet during WWII, I was stunned. During our deployment, there were five carriers in the Gulf at the same time. We witnessed hundreds of airstrikes occurred on a daily basis. Seeing those aircraft take off and land on the carriers postage stamp deck was a sight to behold.

Collision Imminent

One black night, with all ships in a darkened condition, a split-second command to shift rudder averted a catastrophe of huge proportions. No matter which way I turned, the other vessel seemed to change course to continue this perilous outcome. By the grace of God, my last-minute command avoided a collision that could have caused numerous deaths.

Close to Tragedy

Seeing the dark profile of that other vessel pass quickly across my bow, I realized how close we were to tragedy. I never had to notify family members of the ultimate sacrifice their loved one made. But on that dark night, I discovered that a 24-year-old LTJG is truly responsible for hundreds of lives.

These few thoughts come to my mind when I contemplate the uniqueness of the situation and circumstances of my time in the Gulf of Tonkin. They are not spectacular when compared to others’ stories – those who faced the rage and horrors of war. I thank those who did so much beyond what I did. I pray that the hauntings that some encounter will leave them. I know that “there but for the grace of God, go I.”

Host to Cambodian Naval Officers

In 1973, after the U.S. departure from Vietnam, we hosted 27 Cambodian naval officers in San Diego. As part of the alliance with Lon Nol, this strategy-planning program benefited both groups; but I delighted in seeing their wonderment at Disneyland. Within a year after their return, we learned that the purges of Po Pot and his Khmer Rouge killed all of them. Brutal dictatorships persisted.

Having visited the battlefields where my grandfather and my dad fought, I revel in their heroism. Although I hear the accolades given to their generations, always followed by “we don’t have such anymore,” I protest. For during my brief time in the military, I saw in my shipmates a dedication to service. It was a unique focus and brotherhood. I also felt blessed to witness the heroism of those who flew the rescue missions, the special forces who took on dangerous challenges and those who survived the horrors of the jungle.

Hearing the emotional reflections by men who were at Khe Sanh, the and dozens of other hell-holes makes me realize that the blood of my father and grandfather, and all those dads of my youth, does flow in the veins of these amazing warriors and will continue as our country requires. And to my mom, an Army nurse in the European theater, I salute you, for many more brave women now follow and stand in the forefront of those who willingly accept that their sacrifice could be ultimate.

(An excerpt from Welcome Home, Brother: Memoirs of Vietnam War 51șÚÁÏÍű by Michel Robertson) is available for $20.00 from mjrobertson@comporium.net and on . Proceeds support the 51șÚÁÏÍű and the .