THE SOLDIER: A Vietnam War Era Novel

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

  “He’s dead. I’ve no right to be angry with him.”

  He shook his head. “Seen it before. Anger is a normal reaction.”

  Donna’s face became red. She spoke with fury in her voice, “Angry? Fucking livid!”

  Her teeth clenched and her hands tightened into fists, Donna stood. She spat out, “Anger? How about hate? At him for leaving us, at the God dammed government who sent him there; for no good purpose I might add. Lastly, hatred of those who should have known what would happen but didn’t protect him.”

  “If I find answers…”

  She interrupted. “Why him? He was a good dad and husband. Did he consider what he was doing to us? How do I explain to the boys?”

  “I can refer you to counselors…”

  Donna continued as if she didn’t hear him. “It’s like I didn’t know him. One evening, the boys and I are rolling on the floor laughing at his antics. The following morning, he rips my heart out. How do you explain that?”

  “It’s the nature of his illness.”

  Donna’s tears running down her cheek, her mind filled with righteous anger, her body shaking. “The bastard abandoned us.”

  Rachel put an arm around Donna, who was now crying hysterically, and helped her to her bedroom.

  The boys returned at hearing their mother’s cries.

  They turned to Brian. Ten-year-old Mitchel asked, “Were you at that place that messed up my Dad?”

  “I was.”

  “Are you messed up?”

  “Not like your dad.”

  Through her closed bedroom door, Donna’s sobs provided an audio back drop to the boy’s sadness.

  Young Corey stated, “Mom is crying lots.”

  Brian checked the weather, which was no longer snowing. He suggested he, Seth, and the brothers, head outside for a walk. He helped Seth into his jacket, boots, and gloves. The foursome walked in silence but for their footsteps crunching the snow; only interrupted by James younger son Corey’s occasional sniff and random dry leaves blowing across their path. In the sky to the west, dark clouds gathered, as if in sympathy with their grief. Donna and James’ youngest finally stopped walking and began sobbing. Brian picked up Corey, who rested his head on the surgeon’s shoulder. After a few minutes, Corey, cried out for the moment, was put back on his feet and the foursome began walking again, Corey holding Brian’s hand.

  Another half-block of silence and occasional downy snowflakes began to fall.

  Mitchel asked, “Dr. Levin, if I get to be a soldier, will I do what my dad did…you know…when I come home?”

  Brian sighed and shook his head. “We’ll talk before you go, and when you come home.”

  “Does this happen to a lot of soldiers,” Corey asked.

  “Not a lot but too many, especially after the Vietnam war.”

  “But you said you did the same stuff as my Dad. You seem okay.”

  “We don’t know why some manage and others don’t.”

  Mitchel asked, “Did me and Corey do something bad?”

  Brian spun toward him, used his free hand to firmly grip Mitchel’s shoulder, then spoke in a forceful manner. “Absolutely not. No way. Your father loved everything about you boys. You are wonderful children. Both your parents told me that. Your father suffered from an illness which is not your fault. Is that clear?”

  The boys nodded.

  Within minutes the weather changed from occasional feathery plumes to a squall with flakes the size of golf balls. Visibility decreased to half a block. The foursome slapped accumulated snow off their clothing.

  “We should head back to the house,” Brian said.

  Two days later as the Levin family was about to head out the door for the airport, Rachel said to Donna, “Call me. Daily. More if you need.”

  “My folks will be here tomorrow,” Donna said. “That should help.”

  Standing at the door, Donna was trying to speak but the words caught in her throat. Instead the widow embraced each of them. She took a deep breath to try to get control then told Rachel, “Don’t know how I’d a made it if you weren’t here. Bless you.”

  * * *

  Their airliner gathered speed then lifted off the runway on its return flight to Dallas.

  Brian said, “That was awful.”

  “Could be happening all across the country,” Rachel said.

  “The three of us who came in-country together believed, if we survived our one-year assignment, we’d stay in touch and grow old together. Now the first of us who made it home is gone.” His eyes filled with tears. “We all had the same expectation. Make it through one year in Vietnam then back to a regular life. Once back, I was certain we could work out anything…James, his family…didn’t deserve this.”

  “Maybe the information your research provides will find answers.”

  Brian covered his face with his hands, cried quietly. Seth glanced at Rachel, asked, “Why Daddy cry?”

  “Because his friend James died.”

  “Gone like Mommy Andrea?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  The little one stared at his father, patted his arm then cuddled against him.

  “Thought I heard the wind chimes at graveside,” Brian said.

  Rachel shrugged her shoulders and said, “Didn’t hear anything but crying. I have a strong connection to Donna. And I feel like I just abandoned her.”

  Chapter 22

  1976

  Donna and her boys visited Texas for two weeks during mid-summer, one year and four months after James passed.

  Upon their arrival at the ranch, Rachel mentioned, it appeared Donna had lost weight.

  “I exercise to lose tension, avoid taking my anger out on my boys. Side benefit is being fit and losing twenty pounds.” Brian, Seth, and Rachel, who carried eighteen-month-old Abbey, helped them store their things; Donna in the guest bedroom and the boys sharing bunk beds in Seth’s room.

  Donna noticed luggage in one of the other bedrooms.

  Brian explained, “My buddy Scott is here for the weekend. We were in the same platoon in Vietnam.” He addressed the boys, “Gentlemen, if you put on swimsuits, we can head out to the pool.”

  Standing in front of a large smoker, a slim man of average height, wore a BBQ cook’s apron, insulated gloves, a swimming suit and tennis shoes. He opened the unit. A cloud of hickory smoke billowed toward the heavens. Scott Hendricks hung sausages below racks of lamb in the vertical section of the smoker. Two full-sized briskets had been in the horizontal end of the smoker since well before dawn.

  “Scott Hendricks, this is Donna Ware, and her boys, Mitchel and Corey.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, removing an insulated glove before shaking hands with her and each of the boys.

  “Scott’s also staying with us for the weekend to attend our party tomorrow night and review some of my research on Sunday.”

  “Nice,” Donna said, smiling at Scott.

  “I love smoking meats,” Brian told them, “but Scott is an expert. He arrived last night to season everything then was up at four this morning.”

  “Have to get up early to smoke brisket,” Scott said.

  “They’ll be in the smoker for…?” Donna asked.

  “Sixteen hours,” Scott replied.

  “That’s dedication,” Donna said.

  “Have to do this,” Scott said while motioning at the smoker, “or people would think I only have one accomplishment in this world.” ‘

  The others laughed.

  “What’s the other?” Donna asked.

  “Physics. I’m a professor at UT Dallas.”

  “Swimming boys?” Brian said, then guided the younger ones to the pool.

  After a brief conversation with Donna, Scott took off his cooking gear, dove in the pool where he and Brian played games with the three boys.

  * * *

  Rachel put sunscreen on Abbey. She and Donna relaxed in chaise lounge chairs situated in the shallow end of the pool, enjoyed iced tea and
occasionally reached into the pool to splash water onto their bodies.

  The boy’s joyous peals of laughter filled the air as the men took turns letting them jump off their shoulders.

  Donna, speaking in a wistful manner, said, “That’s what they sounded like when James played with them.”

  “His absence…,” Rachel said.

  “Left a Grand Canyon sized hole in my heart.” She took a long sip of tea while watching her boys frolic in the pool. “A hole in three hearts really.”

  “It’s been a year and a few months since James died, how are you managing?”

  “I’ve rearranged my life to try and cover things James would take care of, leaving no time for me to relax. Had some terrible days when I couldn’t stop crying. Hard for the boys to understand how empty and alone I feel. But, it’s like…in Montana when the weather is below zero for multiple weeks, the cold, gradually soaks into everything, cars freeze in garages, pipes freeze, gets more difficult to clear roads. You can’t seem to find the right combination of clothing to keep out the chill. Substitute loneliness for cold, and that’s how I feel. Every part of my life would be improved if I wasn’t so lonely.”

  “Your friends?”

  “They try and include me when they can but it’s not the same as a partner. I get sick or overwhelmed with daily chores and there’s no one to give me a break.”

  “Your folks?”

  “Have a happy life in Chile where my dad teaches.”

  After another sip of tea, Donna watched Corey try to perform a flip off Scott’s shoulders, laughed then asked, “Scott have a love interest in his life?”

  “None that I know of.”

  “Seems nice. Great with the boys.”

  “Been a good friend to Brian. You ready to move on?”

  “Not sure.” She took a long sip of her iced tea; laughed as Mitchel attempted a back flip off Brian’s shoulders which turned into a belly flop.

  “They’re having so much fun. I haven’t heard my boy’s voices like that since James died.” As more screams and laughter echoed around the pool from the men and three boys, she added, “My boys deserve to have fun like that.”

  * * *

  “Lunch is ready,” Brian heard Rachel announce after she and Donna put a lovely spread on the poolside picnic table.

  “Dry off and put your shirts on,” the surgeon said to the Ware boys and Seth as they scrambled out of the pool.

  “Be right there,” Scott said. “Have to check temps, possibly add wood to the fire.”

  “I want to learn what you’re doing,” Donna said, hurrying after him.

  “That Scott guy must really be funny,” Mitchel said to Brian as they toweled off.

  “Why do you think so?” Brian asked.

  “Mom doesn’t laugh much at home but she’s laughing like crazy around him.”

  “I heard her tell Mrs. Levin, he’s got a cute butt,” younger brother Corey said. He shrugged. “Don’t know why she’d even notice.”

  After a brief rest following lunch, the boys returned to the pool with Brian and Scott. As they could barely hold their heads-up during dinner, they were in bed shortly after.

  The four adults gathered outside on the patio adjacent to the pool deck, seated in director chairs around a fire pit. Abbey slept in a portable crib between Rachel and Donna. Brian used a lighter to start a row of Tiki lights burning as well as a few logs. The four friends were illuminated by the lights and the glow of flames in the fire pit. Scott filled mugs of beer from a keg for Donna, himself, and Brian, but served Rachel a white wine.

  “You served with Brian?” Donna asked Scott.

  He nodded. “About six months. Came home just before he went on R&R. I understand you lost your husband after he came home. I remember James. A good man. My condolences.”

  “Thank you,” Donna said.

  “While you were in combat,” Rachel said, “if you don’t mind me asking, I was told you received a Dear John letter from your fiancé. How did that make you feel?”

  Scott stared at the fire pit then said, “Her letters went from love to hate in six months. I wrote her that I wanted to meet in Hawaii for my R&R… I thought we still had a chance to work things out. She replied with crap about my being a baby killer, a butcher…hated me…never wanted to see me again. My mother contacted her to find out what happened. She gave my mother a bunch of crap for raising a baby killer.”

  “Your reaction while you were still in Vietnam?” Donna asked. “If this is too personal…”

  “No. It’s good to talk…especially with folks who’ve suffered because of the damn war.” He took a long sip of his beer, swallowed hard. “I was so shocked. Kept thinking it couldn’t have happened. I walked around like a zombie for days…felt numb, couldn’t sleep…kept reviewing our relationship, wondered what I did wrong, first anger then depressed for weeks, was sent to the rear for a while where they gave me some pills, which didn’t do shit other than fog up my head. As soon as the pills wore off, I felt the same.” He took another swig of beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “And when you came home?” Rachel asked.

  “Really, until I was back in the world, and after a number of sorrow-filled months, I realized it was the environment at home that caused her to turn on me. All her friends were taking part in anti-war demonstrations. The slanted news coverage encouraging them, the politicians and celebrities who were so vocal against the war, thousands in the streets, all hating the military.” He thought for a while then added, “When I tried to contact her, she accused me of being like the National Guard soldiers who shot the students at Kent State.”

  “That must have been painful,” Donna said.

  Scott nodded. “You can’t imagine. I was depressed for months.” He stared at Donna for a bit then added, “On the other hand, some of us, or our loved ones, suffered worse pain.”

  Donna whispered, “Thank you.”

  “The guardsmen at Kent State killed four people, wounded eight and permanently paralyzed one,” Brian said.

  “Tragic,” Rachel said.

  “Why do you think it happened?” Brian asked his fellow vet.

  “My expertise is in Physics but,” Scott said after another swig of beer, “it does occur to me, if the guardsmen believed they were outnumbered, facing an angry, hostile crowd, who were two-thousand strong, if I remember correctly. Someone felt their life was in danger and pulled the trigger.”

  Silence enveloped the foursome as they considered Scott’s ideas, the silence only broken by an occasional pop from the fire pit. They sipped their drinks, stared at the fire or gazed skyward at the canopy of sparkling stars in the North Texas sky.

  “But they were unarmed college students, little more than children…” Rachel said.

  Brian said, “And they were similarly aged, National Guard soldiers who’d never been in combat.”

  “If a large group of individuals” Donna said, “an angry, two thousand strong mob really, they were shouting epithets, calling you baby killers, throwing rocks at you…”

  “I’d be scared,” Rachel said.

  “Enough to kill someone?” Scott asked, emptying his beer mug and staring at the others.

  “The soldiers wore gas masks and had fixed bayonets. Shoot at college students? Have to be awfully scared,” Rachel said.

  “Not sure what I’d do,” Donna said.

  Rachel asked Scott, “Another?” He nodded. She moved to the keg and refilled his beer mug.

  “As the Vietnam War became more unpopular at home,” Brian said. “I suspect there was a record set for the most “Dear John” letters being sent to soldiers.”

  In an angry tone, Scott mumbled, “Don’t remember killing any babies.”

  Rachel glanced at Brian who returned her glance and mouthed, “I do.” She shook her head.

  “So how are soldiers enabled to kill?” Rachel asked. “They must be trained. If S. L. A. Marshall’s numbers are to be believed, only ten to fiftee
n percent of soldiers actually engaged the enemy during WWII and most previous wars. This increased to forty to fifty percent during the Korean War and ninety-five percent in the Vietnam War.”

  “Why the increase?” Rachel asked.

  “During training, we used realistic, pop-up targets and were taught to react by reflex instead of taking our time and carefully aiming at a bullseye target. In addition, you received immediate feedback if you hit the target.”

  “What have you learned about soldiers committing atrocities?” Donna asked.

  “They happen through a combination of conditioning, pressure of leadership, and of being part of a team.”

  “So you’re saying, with the right conditioning, anyone will commit atrocities,” Rachel said.

  “My Lord, I hope not,” Brian said while shaking his head. “How do people deny that atrocity can or has happened?” Donna asked.

  He walked up and back a few times then responded, “I suspect they say to themselves, because we are good people, we aren’t evil, therefore evil doesn’t exist.”

  Scott remarked, “During an evil event so atrocious, it put 100 million people in slave-labor camps, rivaling Auschwitz and Buchenwald, Soviet Marxists killed more peasants, workers, and even fellow communists than all the capitalist governments since the beginning of time, and acted like it was justified to achieve their socialist goals.”

  “And yet,” Rachel said, folding her arms across her chest, “good people at the time it happened…and today, still deny this happened.”

  “So imagine a good person of German heritage,” Scott said, “reads the history of the Holocaust. Must he deny, people just like himself, his own ancestors, perpetrated such a horror? If not, how can he live with himself?”

  Donna said, “If you denigrate a population to the level of animals, as the National Socialists did with Jews and non- Aryans, then killing them may become an easier task.”

  “Perhaps that’s why soldiers,” Scott said, “make up degrading names for the enemy they face.” He shook his head then added, “But I’ve always felt there is a brotherhood among soldiers, each of us doing what we feel is necessary for our respective nations.”