A Soldier's Story

A Soldier's Story

I did a lot of things in 'Nam I was not proud of. The war protesters were right. I was a baby killer. Women, too. After I raped them. I burned the thatch-roofed huts of the peasants. I shot down the civilians like dogs. I called in airstrikes to drop napalm bombs on them, on one village after another. I had blood on my hands. You asked me how many I killed? You said 30? More like 3,000!

I was not proud of myself afterwards. In fact I was ashamed. I was only a hick from south Texas. I went to 'Nam when I was barely 18, straight out of high school. The Army made a killer out of me.

Of course, I did all kinds of drugs over there, but I liked marijuana and heroin best. Very high quality, too. And cheap.

When I came back to the States, I soon had a breakdown. The babies I killed and the women that I raped and the smell of burned human flesh from all those Napalm bombs got to me. I saw the bodies and I smelled the burning smell of human flesh almost 24/7. I wanted to kill myself to end the misery, but a buddy of mine begged me to seek help. He got on my case and dragged me to counseling sessions. I was hypnotized. I was given medicine. I am not saying I am cured, but I am barely okay. I still think I am a tickling time bomb. My Special Forces friends who are living in Thailand all want me to go there and live with them, but I have my Mom and my kids here. I don't want to be away from them.

Don't you believe a thing about bullshit stories about MIA (missing in action) soldiers. Most were deserters. Some of them are my buddies. They are living in Thailand, married Thai women, have kids, all established and well-off. Here's another thing you may not know. We were on good terms with the Cong. We sold them our guns and food supply. I still stay in touch with some of them. Hell, the last time I was back in 'Nam, just 6 months ago, they took me out eating and drinking and talking about the "good" times we did business together. What a war huh? I am telling you one more thing, the FBI and CIA knew about me and my deserter buddies and they wanted me to help them build up a case against my buddies. I said, go fuck yourself, I'm already dead. I'm not going to betray my friends. I said, don't you threaten me either. Back in the late 60's, I myself trained some of you the art of torture and killing.

I see you next Thursday. Take care. Don't read too fucking much. It'll ruin your eyes.

Wissai
Friday 13th of August, 2010

P.S. I wrote this "moving" piece of confession by a remorse-filled ex-Special Forces guy. It was meant to read as piece of fiction, as it really was. While there were aspects in the story that could be based on real events, his "confession" sounded more like a boast and an exaggeration of a tortured soul. And guess what? I received only a single response to my story, apart the usual adulation from a rabid fan that I have. The response triggered me to write two pieces called One Returning to Many and Wonder of Wonder, the Wonder of Grace. Please read them, will you? and please tell how "wonderful" I am with words, how "lovely" my soul is, and all that shit, even though you don't mean it.