About ten years ago, I started wearing my army hat with my 101 first airborne patch, purple heart patch, and Vietnam ribbon. I was eating at Ryan’s steak house in Picayune,Mississippi one early evening when a group of I think high school football players, with parents and coaches, came into the dining hall to eat, maybe 30 people; the restaurant was full. I was almost finished eating when I heard the coach congratulating the team on its great season; he looked over at me and asked me if I would talk to the boys about being part of a team. I was taken by surprise for just a second. I thought a minute and said, sure. I was nervous and hadn’t had any time to think of what I would say. I remember standing before the young men for what seemed to be to long, but it was only a few seconds. One of the bigger boys asks how does it feel to be in a battle.; another asks how it feels to kill someone. I started talking:
Okay, you want to hear about my first firefight, ok, it was early Sept 1967. I had only been in the country for a week or so, joining up with my combat Infantry company. We boarded a choppers headed into the jungles. Our landing on a hilltop and setting up a perimeter, I had been given the “M-60” machine gun and was instructed to point it down the trail to a knoll below us; about an hour and a half after landing, I was looking down the trail, I notice two soldiers coming up the hill a little distance away, I was told quickly they were two NVA- soldiers. My captain happens to be walking by, he tells me to get on M-60 machine gun and for everyone to get down. I remember laying on the ground with anticipation, the captain put his hand on my steel pot, told me he would let me know when to fire. I recall my thoughts of southern Mississippi boy thou shall not kill, came across my thoughts. My hands started sweating, my mouth became dry, I even had thoughts what if I don’t pull the trigger? The enemy soldiers, now over the knoll, headed right into our perimeter, their AK-47 wepons still around their shoulders. They were looking at a picture and laughing almost uncontrollably; the tap on my steel pot, I instantley pulled the trigger; the first round was a tracer round; it hit the NVA soldier like a sledge hammer slamming into his shoulder wholly removeing his right arm from his body; more shots went through his body as he crumbles to the ground. The second soldier had at least a fighting chance to take his weapon from his shoulder but not enough time to respond. My machine gun blew holes big enough to see daylight as he falls lifeless to the ground. It was an awful sight, this all took place less than a few seconds. I felt sick inside as if I had murdered these poor men. “I stopped talking” at this point to drink some water; I hadn’t noticed that there was not a sound in the restaurant, no one was eating, and the waiters and cooks had all walked up to listen; as I looked around, I thought, oh my God, we’re in a place to eat, this is not a place or time for a war story, I started apologizing, I could see the sense of bewilderment from the mother’s. I politely dismissed myself with the boys and restaurant clapping—just a story.