INSIDE THE WIRE
This is a true story written by a mate of mine--Peter James--. Pete has grasped (I feel) what so many others feel, when sitting around drinking with other Vets. We so often forget that it takes (I think) 10 blokes to keep one bloke in the field. These people, like Pete, were prepared to put their lives on the line exactly the same as anybody who was in the actual fighting. Their job put them some where else, does this make them less of a soldier???. I THINK NOT. I'll let Peter tell his story.
Regimental No. 3411914. My Unit, 2 AOD. Vung Tau. 12th April--68. " End of November 68-- Till
January 69,I was detached to 106 Fd Wksp, Nui dat. " Then returned to
2AOD . Sent home April 11th 69. I was a storeman in Ordnance Corp and a
member of the Regular Army. I joined on the 11th July 66 and was
discharged 11th july 69.
BLACK DAWN.
Begin at the beginning. That's what they said! What if you are not sure that
the event was the beginning? Or instead, what happened after the event became the
beginning. The anger and the frustration began during and after the event. Learning
how to block people out. The building of the brick wall, the barrier. That definitely
began after the event. So I would have to say that confusion started during the event
and continues along with anger, frustration, isolation until this day. Which is twenty
eight years after the event.
The event began on April the 11th 1968. That was the day that I landed in
Saigon. Which was known in those days as the Paris Of The Orient and was also the
capitol city of, " The Republic Of South Vietnam."( SVN )
I was nineteen years young and a member of Australia's Regular Army.. I was not a
conscript, I was a volunteer. I had sympathy for the married conscripts and
conscripts in general. They did not ask to be there, but they did their jobs, just as I
did mine.
My job was simple, I was a Storeman. I issued things to other people and
Units and every other day I drove a forklift. There was usually more alcohol on hand
than was good for a normal human being. Then again after a while in SVN you didn't
consider yourself a normal human being. There is nothing normal about living in a
Barbed Wire Enclosure, for twelve months of your life. It wasn't normal to watch as
they brought in the wounded and dead by chopper. It was unnatural not to be able to
hit back at the enemy that was doing the damage, to your own countrymen.
Confusion started quite early in the event, as well as guilt. I felt guilt that I as
a Regular soldier was not out in the bush doing my share. I didn't feel particularly
brave, I just felt that I was not doing my share.. I volunteered for the Sharp End( Nui
Dat ) and ended up doing two months in another Barbed Wire Enclosure. The only
difference was, that this camp was a two can,per day, per man, perhaps camp.
After seeing the New Year in at Nui Dat.( 69 ) I was sent back to my original
Barbed Wire Enclosure. It was 1969 and I turned the ripe old age of twenty. I not
only had my twentieth birthday in 69. I saw an American trying to keep his intestines
in with his hands, whilst screaming for his Mother, in 69. I saw a group of orphans
who had come to watch us play football. They were legless, armless, burned so bad.
Poor defenseless orphans who had a laugh at the style of football we played. That was
in 69. I considered myself a hardened young/old man in 69.
I was angry when the Posties refused to handle our mail. I was angry when I thought
of the wharfies refusing to load stores on our supply ship. I wanted desperately to
confront the University students who jeered at our returning mates. I was an angry
young/old man in 69.
The last couple of months I spent in country I had a dream each night. I
dreamed that the plane I was going home on, would crash during take-off. I would
wake when the plane impacted, bathed in sweat. April finally arrived and I was ready
to come home. I asked myself the question many times, was my home ready for me?
The plane didn't crash on take-off. I made it home safely.
The dreams continued. Not the plane crash dream. There were a host of others
which came to torment me. Torment me so that I dreaded to go to bed, sober! It was
easier to face the night and the black dawn. That short time before daylight when the
dream demons were at their worst. It was easier, if my mind was numbed by alcohol.
It seems strange to me that my mind only wants to remember the good side of
Vietnam during the daylight hours and also when I am with my Veteran friends. The
night seems to be reserved for the horrors, the weird and most times indecipherable
dreams. Dreams of blood and guts and guilt. Dreams in which I am usually the
central figure and yet I know that I did not kill, wound or maim a solitary soul,
during my tour of Vietnam.
There was a good side to Vietnam. There was the camaraderie, the mates who
you would have given your last dollar, knowing that they would have done the same
for you. There were natives of the country that I was pleased to call friend. Not many,
mind you, as it was very, very hard to distinguish friend from foe. The country itself
was not as horrible as I first saw it. There were many beautiful parts of SVN. Even
though there was war almost everywhere, my memory still retains pictures of some
beautiful areas.
The humour of the Aussie military man is legendary. I remember some of the
funniest things that happened, usually happened under the most adverse conditions.
The Americans thought we were a crazy bunch. On reflection I tend to agree with
them. The practical jokes were outlandish to say the least. Usually played on our own
kind, but more often than not on the natives of the country. There were the larks that
were funny and the larks that turned very sour.
I remember a couple of our guys who decided to take the old water truck in to
town. They were drunk as ten men. They lost control of the truck and killed a young
SVN boy. They received a well earned beating from the locals and seven years a piece
at their Court Martial. There was the American at the local tip, rubbish dump. He
tried to frighten away the children as they swarmed over the rubbish as you tipped it
from the truck. It was rubbish to us, but they earned a living from what they
salvaged. The American meant to fire a burst over their heads. He stuffed up and
stitched a young SVN boy right up his spine. The boy was dead, we all cleared out
and there were no charges laid to the best of my knowledge.
Yes there was humour and there were fiascoes. I guess it was the same in the
wars before Vietnam and it will be the same in any future war. Pray to whatever God
that you worship that we do not have another war and if we do? Pray that we don't
treat our returning countrymen the way that Vietnam Veterans were treated. We were
not Baby Killers! We did not deserve to be be spat upon. We did not deserve to have
blood, paint and whatever else thrown over us. We were Australians.
We are Australians and I only wish I could tell you just how many of us, have
ended their lives, lonely, ashamed and unwanted. I wish to speak on their behalf, as I
knew a few personally. We do not blame you the Public. You were but a victim of the
time, as we were. I blame a Government that was made up of Australians, who turned
their back and let us shoulder, not only the war, but their responsibilities as well.
Shame on them, because they knew what they were doing.
Twenty eight years after the event I sit here and write words that bring tears
to my eyes. I will never forget Vietnam. Nor will I ever forget the men that I met over
there. Nor will I forget the men that I know that are working together now, to help as
many of our mates as possible. We do not want to throw any more poppies into
graves, that are filled with Vietnam Veterans that are ending their own lives.
I ask you my fellow Veteran. Do not live your life in some lonely hollow? Come
out and join us and raise your head. We deserve none of the blame directed at us
then, or since. Come and join us and help save as many of our mates as we can. The
Vietnam Veteran Association I am a member of has a motto which I will borrow. It is
simply, " Together Then- Together Again."
We did our tour of the funny country and we have been trying to live with the
stigma ever since. The funny country, now that is a contradiction of words. We did
call it that though, didn't we? The word" Funny" was not used as a humorous title.
It was used as an adjective, which was really a conglomeration of adjectives. Such as,
weird, obscene,terrifying, frustrating. The idea was to do your time and your job and
get home when your tour was over. That was my aim and I'm sure it was the aim of
every person there that retained their sanity.
I wish you well wherever you are my mates and if by some miraculous
chance that you ever read these rambling words. Think about it ! Join the throng and
help us to help you and others. You have walked alone long enough !
The End.
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