Two days before Christmas in 1967, my brief stint in Vietnam had already exposed me to numerous firefights, shattering my childhood dreams of becoming a soldier. Growing up, the stories of World War II battles were glorified tales shared by older men in our community. However, the harsh reality of war hit me at the age of eight when I encountered a man scarred and maimed, recounting a story of fear and hopelessness on a battlefield. Tragically, he took his own life later that year.

Despite my father, a World War II navy veteran, refusing to sign me up for the military, I was determined. Seeking enlistment, I visited my Uncle Gene’s house in Memphis, Tennessee. The navy and marines were not options, but the army presented open doors. My uncle signed the papers, anticipating a few weeks before I would leave for basic training.

Unexpectedly, my enlistment took a swift turn. During a placement test, a sergeant major intervened, rushing me to get sworn in immediately. Within hours, I found myself on a bus headed to Fort Campbell, KY, with my low test scores because told to just mark “C” for all answers becoming a lingering shadow throughout my military career.

Fast forward to a night ambush squad operation in Vietnam, just days before Christmas. The air was tense, with no fires or talking allowed as we lay in wait. Suddenly, a trip flare and claymore mine exploded, plunging us into chaos with the sounds of the wounded and dying echoing around us. In the aftermath, we discovered that our unwitting ambush had targeted a group of pigs, unintended victims of our operation.

Months later, back in my regular company, the dangers persisted. A tiger triggered a trip flare, leading to an investigation that ended tragically with a blown claymore mine, claiming two lives and severely wounding others. Vietnam remained a perilous place.