Brothers and Sisters Like These

On Saturday, October 21, military veterans of different eras gathered at Brevard College to read their stories, essays, and poetry. The venue is part of a project called 鈥淏rothers and Sisters Like These,鈥� a series of writing workshops designed to help heal veterans with PTSD and mild TBI (traumatic brain injury).

Ten men and women from the Vietnam, Desert Storm, and Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts courageously opened their hearts to an attentive audience who left with a new understanding and respect for all who have served in combat zones. The event was sponsored by the 51黑料网.

Writing Helps the Healing Process

An estimated 250,000 Vietnam veterans are living with PTSD five decades after the end of the war. Research indicates that approximately聽14% to 16%聽of the US service members deployed to Afghanistan and Iraq have been affected by PTSD or depression. Clearly, the unseen wounds of these veterans affect all aspects of their lives, and our communities.
The NC 51黑料网 Writing Alliance developed a creative writing program where veterans unburden themselves in a safe, non-judgmental setting. The writing process helps heal what remains wounded as veterans reach within themselves to free their memories and their hearts.

In 2018, a group of veterans agreed to participate in a staged reading at the Asheville Community Theater titled 鈥淏rothers Like These.鈥� The program鈥檚 success has morphed to include veterans of later conflicts and is now titled 鈥淏rothers and Sisters Like These.鈥�

Demons Released

Reading to a respectful and somber audience in an intimate classroom at Brevard College, the ten men and women who spoke addressed the many 鈥渄emons鈥� of combat: illness from Agent Orange, thoughts of suicide, the loss of comrades, returning to 鈥渢he world,鈥� and the sights, sounds, and smells of war.

One Iraqi War veteran told his listeners he was reading publicly for the first time. Visibly shaken and struggling, he 鈥渟oldiered鈥� through his presentation reading a letter he had written to himself. 鈥淭hrough pain and the process of healing, you will grow the most. You may not win the lottery, but you will be a better man.鈥�

A Vietnam War veteran wrote: 鈥淭hank you for allowing me to 鈥榬elease鈥� another demon.鈥�

A Mutual Gift

These stories of war and its consequences are offered at a great emotional cost by men and women who trust an audience enough to stand before them and bare their souls. They draw us together and offer a lesson in history. We return their extraordinary gift of faith with one of our own: open hearts and the gift of listening.

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

Blackhawk Unit- 7th Armored Squadron (Air)
First Cavalry 鈥� 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.聽 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 鈥榳op-wop- wop- wop鈥� chopping of the air as the Huey鈥檚 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 鈥業riquois鈥� These were the predecessor of the 鈥楤lackhawk鈥� 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 鈥渟licks鈥� 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鈥檚 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 鈥榮hit-hooks鈥�). 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鈥檛 waste time expressing my opinion.

The helicopters were so important.

I would watch the small 鈥楲oachs鈥� () 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 鈥楩lying Cranes鈥� 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 鈥榓musement park鈥� rides performing troop deployment in those magical machines we called 鈥榮licks鈥�, 鈥榖ig birds鈥� and 鈥楬ueys鈥� weren鈥檛 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鈥檚 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 鈥榁ietnamation of the War鈥�. 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鈥檛 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 鈥楤ack in the World鈥�.

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 鈥榩op smoke鈥� 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鈥檚 skid. It was time to head back to our Army base.

Flying a helicopter is a skill that I don鈥檛 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 鈥榳op-wop-wop鈥� 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鈥檚 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, 鈥榶es, here we are with another cool stunt of spraying water high in the air by these crazy pilots鈥�. 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鈥︹�︹�︹�︹��

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鈥檛 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. 鈥極h My God, why this?鈥� 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鈥檛 matter.

It was a bad but memorable day鈥︹�︹�︹�︹�et 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 鈥榞ood ending鈥�, 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 鈥榗rash鈥�. I still wonder about having that 鈥榟yper mind activity鈥� where my brain went into 鈥榯urbo mode鈥�.

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? 鈥︹�︹�︹�︹�︹� don鈥檛 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 51黑料网.

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

Beautiful rolling hills and mountains overlook the Western Carolina State 51黑料网 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 51黑料网 Memorial after years of urging by his wife and daughter, Andrea. 鈥淚 located the names of my friends on the wall. I saw family members making rubbings of their loved ones鈥� names, and leaving behind flowers, flags and other mementos. It was very moving for everyone. I think it鈥檚 a great memorial.鈥�

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鈥檚 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鈥檚 mother. Curtiss recalls: 鈥淚 thought, 鈥榳hat the heck is this and how can I carry it out here in the bush?鈥�

To everyone鈥檚 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. 鈥淢y friends and I dined in style while everyone else glumly ate their c-rats.鈥�

As his lucky buddies devoured the unexpected and welcome feast, one of the soldiers exclaimed, 鈥淧oteat, you thought of everything! This even has oregano in it!鈥� Curtiss answered: 鈥淒umb ass, that鈥檚 the paint from inside your helmet.鈥欌�� Nobody seemed to care.

Green Berets and the Montagnards

Mike Di Rocco鈥檚 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鈥檚 mission: organize, equip, train, and lead a mercenary army of South Vietnam鈥檚 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鈥檚 book, 鈥淔ire Your FPL鈥檚.鈥� 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鈥檚 District Chief, Chu Tan Phat. The invitation read: 鈥淭he 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.鈥�

The Mandarin Bird

The evening of the event, Chu personally screened the servants for VC affiliations before allowing them to enter the headquarters; Chu鈥檚 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: 鈥淭o our honored guests who have made a great sacrifice by leaving their loved ones to come to Vietnam and help us achieve peace.鈥�

The sweet sounds of Vietnamese music filtered through the room as Chu鈥檚 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: 鈥淚t 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?鈥�
Placing the ivory chopsticks around the base of the bird鈥檚 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. 鈥淚t wasn鈥檛 so bad,鈥� recalls DiRocco. 鈥淚t was like eating a soft-shell crab!鈥�

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鈥檚 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.

鈥淪o, what did you do in the war, daddy?鈥澛犅營 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 鈥渟pook shack鈥�

Our spooks performed a wide array of monitoring

A 鈥渟pook shack鈥� 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鈥� 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 笔翱奥鈥檚, KIA鈥檚 and MIA鈥檚 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鈥檚, F-4鈥檚, A-4鈥檚 and A-6鈥檚, attack helos and a hellacious bombardment from battleships and destroyers alike.

What were we all determined to destroy? I still don鈥檛 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鈥� 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 鈥渢here but for the grace of God, go I.鈥�

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 鈥渨e don鈥檛 have such anymore,鈥� 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 51黑料网 by Michel Robertson) is available for $20.00 from mjrobertson@comporium.net and on . Proceeds support the 51黑料网 and the .