The front window shattered and a black oblong object rolled toward us, sending off a wild shrieking noise - a stench filled the room as a thin grey fog.
“Down!” I said. My reactions were those of someone who had been in combat but no matter how rusty, I knew we needed to get out of there. Nothing good was about to happen.
The old man hustled from behind the counter holding what looked like a silk scarf in his hands, and advanced on the object. He motioned us to get behind him with his head, never taking his eyes off the thing on the floor, which had begun to spin slowly. I think it was still shrieking, but my eardrums were numb with pain and I couldn’t hear anything.
Mia pulled me by the arm and we slowly moved backward, still watching the scene. I watched the old man throw the scarf over the object. I still couldn’t hear, but the spinning beneath the scarf appeared to be speeding up, riffling the edges of the cloth, but it was more irregular and eerie, like a living thing, a malignant kitten trying to find its way out from under.
“Go now”, he said, and walked past us to the rear of the store. We followed, Mia and I, to the alley beside the store.
Outside he looked at me closely. “You have brought an evil thing into our lives. Leave now. It will not stop - but…” at that he looked to the store doorway again, and hustled us off.
It all started one night in South Vietnam, at the home of the Screaming Eagles, the 101st, just south of the Ashau Valley. I woke up already falling out of my bunk onto the plywood floor, musty with mildew and a raw bitter smell as I pressed my face close. Hollow booming sounds, close and far, were echoing through our encampment. Incoming rounds, 122 mm rockets, exploding all around had brought me out ...
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...y, and cut myself again. “Damn!” Then I pushed up to look for Moss. He was sprawled on his back beside me just listening. Then I rolled on my side to see what had cut me. It was a silver bit of metal, about the size of a US quarter. It had some of the same odd script I had seen on the gravestone.
When I went back to the States after my tour, I took it with me as a souvenir. It was a lucky charm, I thought, because whatever had blown me and Moss into that grave may have saved our lives. The ammo in that chopper had blown up and scattered bit and pieces everywhere.
Trying to put my life together, I had gotten married when I got back. That didn’t work out. I was too young, too messed up from Viet Nam and had no business trying to be a husband. A second marriage ended no better and wiped out my appetite for a settled life. There was a restlessness I couldn’t control.
A Rumor of War by Philip Caputo, is an exceptional autobiography on a man's first-hand experiences during the Vietnam War. Philip Caputo is a Lieutenant during the Vietnam War and illustrates the harsh reality of what war really is. Caputo's in-depth details of his experience during the war are enough to make one cringe, and the eventual mental despair often experienced by soldiers (including Caputo) really makes you feel for participants taking part in this dreadful war atmosphere. Giving way to the parties and the common fun associated with college kids, Caputo failed out of college and realized what he really wanted to be was a Marine. He joined the Marines and went through a lot of officer training until he eventually reached what would be known as his final rank of Lieutenant. Introduced to the Vietnam War in 1965 as a Platoon leader, Caputo walked into the war a little scared but with a lot of determination. Caputo started the war with a lot of field work including jungle expeditions and shooting escapades, and eventually was sent to keep track of the everyday deaths occurring during the war and all the paperwork associated with such a job. Later he was put back in charge of a platoon which eventually lead to his downfall following an unethical order he gave his men that resulted in the killing of a couple Vietnamese pedestrians believed to be part of the Viet Cong. Caputo was acquitted of all charges and was given a letter of reprimand from the general. About ten years later he continued his Marine endeavors as he reported to Vietnam and witnessed the surrender of the Saigon Government to the Communist North Vietnamese. Caputo's war experience was plagued by...
On the thirtieth of January, 1968, as the sun set over South Vietnam, nothing seemed out of place. A cease fire had been declared in observation of the Tet holiday and the U.S. and South Vietnamese forces welcomed the break. The latter half of 1967 had been filled with violent, bloody and perplexing battles for the anti-communist troops. For the last three months the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and Viet Cong (VC) were launching regimental sized suicide attacks against remote U.S. outposts near the Cambodian border. The losses for both sides were mounting and morale was dipping due to the perceived stale mate. The peace was exactly what was needed, but it wouldn’t last. Shortly after midnight North Vietnam would launch the largest offensive
I. ‘s True Story of The War in Vietnam”, is a powerful account of one man’s journey from New York to the horrors that would proceed him into Vietnam. The memoir’s use of writing and vivid descriptions helps to make the story come to life as something more than events that would appear on a timeline. While some of the text seems clumped together, they also give a sense of life and credibility to a subject that at times caan be too much to comprehend. The author’s approach about his experiences is admirable. I would recommend this book to anybody who would want an up-close account of what life in Vietnam was
Author Tim O’Brien in “How to Tell a True War Story” uses the physical and mental mindset of isolation in the Vietnam war to create a story with many literary devices that makes a captivating story. The author uses point of view, verbal irony, and the character Tim O’Brien to enhance his written experiences of the Vietnam War. This story teaches the reader that experiences that were lived by the reader can be altered by the mind to a certain extent, where they can be questioned as true or not. Perhaps at a sports game or in a heated situation such as a police chase or court case. Tim O’Brien’s experiences have captivated many readers, but are they true? Or just a product of insanity from war? Well, Tim O’Brien leaves that up to the reader to decide.
Tim O’ Brien’s narrative, How to Tell a War Story depicts the livelihood and experience of American soldiers during the Vietnam War. More so evaluating the life Tim O’ Brien and several other characters in his platoon. The sequences of stories reveals the thoughts and behavior of many post-Vietnam veterans and also can be related to the behavior of many veterans today. Throughout the segments of stories, “How to tell a War Story”, “Speaking of Courage and Notes”, and “The Things They Carried”, O’ Brien illustrates a common theme of guilt and sacrifice among the key characters Lieutenant Cross, Rat, and O’ Brien himself. Each character are presented with an unexpected responsibility and are forced to serve their state. A sense of discomfort
Henry Dobbins wore his girlfriend’s pantyhose around his neck because he claimed, “the pantyhose had the properties of a good-luck charm,” (111) and, even after his girlfriend dumps him, he still believes the pantyhose still symbolizes the good-luck charm in them. Jimmy Cross carried pictures of a girl named Martha even though they lived in two separate worlds. Once, Martha sent him a pebble that acted as a good –luck charm for Jimmy Cross. Each of the other soldiers also carried something with them as a good-luck charm, like Dave Jensen’s rabbits foot, and/or something that could relieve them from the terror of the war, such as Rat Kiley’s comic books. Each item symbolizes a way for them to cope throughout the war. Sometimes they had to come up with ways to deal with death. One old man that they killed they all, except O’Brien, made point to talk to corpse. These rituals over the dead had “formality to it, like a funeral without the sadness,” (215) and symbolizes a way for them to cope. Twenty years after the war, when Tim returned to Vietnam with his daughter, he went back to the shitfield and buried Kiowa’s moccasins back where it was found. By doing so, it was a way for O’Brien to come to term with everything that had happened. O’Brien had finally found a way to put the past in the past, saying that he “felt something go shut in my heart while something else swung open,” (179) and let go of what
War is a hell of a thing. War is misery, suffering, pain, and anguish. From the days of rocks and sticks to today’s high tech drones and aircraft carriers, one thing above all others has remained the same: war is a terrifying, nightmarish endeavor. Unfortunately for those who fight for their nation, the battlefield does not remain in the far off land where the battle took place. In fact, those warriors bring back that battlefield, festering in the hearts and minds, sometimes long after their uniforms have been put in the closet to collect dust.
The book, We Were Soldiers Once... And Young, begins at a pivotal point in American history. The year was 1965; the year America began to directly interfere with the Vietnam affairs and send our young men to defend the notion of "freedom." During this year, Vietnam interested and concerned only a few Americans. In fact, the controversy of American involvement in Vietnam had hardly begun. But this all changed in November 1965 at the Ia Drang Valley in distant Vietnam. The Battle at LZ X-Ray and LZ Albany was the first major battle of the Vietnam conflict; a conflict that lasted decade and caused American turmoil for many more years.
“I-I’ll let you know,” he stated, though I could tell he was livid. His face was red and he was staring off into space above him.
Bullets flying through the air right over me, my knees are shaking, and my feet are numb. I see familiar faces all around me dodging the explosives illuminating the air like lightning. Unfortunately, numerous familiar faces seem to disappear into the trenches. I try to run from the noise, but my mind keeps causing me to re-illustrate the painful memories left behind.
The author, Tim O'Brien, is writing about an experience of a tour in the Vietnam conflict. This short story deals with inner conflicts of some individual soldiers and how they chose to deal with the realities of the Vietnam conflict, each in their own individual way as men, as soldiers.
It can be hard to fully comprehend the effects the Vietnam War had on not just the veterans, but the nation as a whole. The violent battles and acts of war became all too common during the long years of the conflict. The war warped the soldiers and civilians characters and desensitized their mentalities to the cruelty seen on the battlefield. Bao Ninh and Tim O’Brien, both veterans of the war, narrate their experiences of the war and use the loss of love as a metaphor for the detrimental effects of the years of fighting.
Then all of a sudden, he began to choke, and blood dribbled from his mouth and got on my jacket. "What the hell?!" I yelled. I grabbed his shoulders and stared, astonished, at his face, as he silently pleaded for help. I couldn't handle looking at him anymore and I was frozen in shock, so I let him fall to the ground.
Everything seems like it’s falling out of place, it’s going too fast, and my mind is out of control. I think these thoughts as I lay on my new bed, in my new room, in this new house, in this new city, wondering how I got to this place. “My life was fine,” I say to myself, “I didn’t want to go.” Thinking back I wonder how my father felt as he came home to the house in Stockton, knowing his wife and kids left to San Diego to live a new life. Every time that thought comes to my mind, it feels as if I’m carrying a ten ton boulder around my heart; weighing me down with guilt. The thought is blocked out as I close my eyes, picturing my old room; I see the light brown walls again and the vacation pictures of the Florida and camping trip stapled to them. I can see the photo of me on the ice rink with my friends and the desk that I built with my own hands. I see my bed; it still has my checkered blue and green blanket on it! Across from the room stands my bulky gray television with its back facing the black curtain covered closet. My emotions run deep, sadness rages through my body with a wave of regret. As I open my eyes I see this new place in San Diego, one large black covered bed and a small wooden nightstand that sits next to a similar closet like in my old room. When I was told we would be moving to San Diego, I was silenced from the decision.
No one answered. Thomas looked down an almost vomited. There was a metal alloy through has stomach. Blood was