"Kiowa, a devout Baptist, carried an illustrated New Testament that had been presented to him by his father, who taught Sunday school in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. As a hedge against bad times, however, Kiowa also carried his grandmother's distrust of the white man, his grandfather's old hunting hatchet" (page 3).
"On ambush, or on other night missions, they carried peculiar little odds and ends. Kiowa always took along his New Testament and a pair of moccasins for silence" (page 9).
"On ambush, or on other night missions, they carried peculiar little odds and ends. Kiowa always took along his New Testament and a pair of moccasins for silence" (page 9).
Run Through the Jungle by Credence Clearwater Revival
Whoa thought it was a nightmare
Lord it was so true
They told me don't go walking slow
The devil's on the loose
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Whoa don't look back to see
Thought I heard a rumblin'
Calling to my name
Two hundred million guns are loaded
Satan cries "take aim"
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Whoa don't look back to see
Over on the mountain, thunder magic spoke
Let the people know my wisdom
Fill the land with smoke
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Whoa don't look back to see
Whoa thought it was a nightmare
Lord it was so true
They told me don't go walking slow
The devil's on the loose
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Whoa don't look back to see
Thought I heard a rumblin'
Calling to my name
Two hundred million guns are loaded
Satan cries "take aim"
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Whoa don't look back to see
Over on the mountain, thunder magic spoke
Let the people know my wisdom
Fill the land with smoke
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Better run through the jungle
Whoa don't look back to see
General military supplies - preserved from Vietnam
"Lying there, Kiowa admired Lieutenant Jimmy Cross's capacity for grief. He wanted to share the man's pain, he wanted to care as Jimmy Cross cared. And yet when he closed his eyes, all he could think of was Boom-down, and all he could feel was the pleasure of his boots off and the fog curling in around him and the damp soil and the Bible smells and the plush comfort of night" (page 18).
"Or Kiowa teaching a rain dance to Rat Kiley and Dave Jensen, the three of them whooping and leaping barefoot while a bunch of villagers looked on with a mixture of fascination and giggly horror. Afterward, Rat said, 'So where's the rain?' and Kiowa said, 'The earth is slow, but the buffalo is patient,' and Rat thought about it and said, 'Yeah, but where's the rain?'" (page 36).
"One afternoon, somewhere west of the Batangan Peninsula, we came across an abandoned pagoda... No one could decide what it meant. The older monk led us into the pagoda.'It's bad news', said Kiowa said. 'You don't mess with churches'. But we spent the night there, turning the pagoda into a little fortress, and then for next seven or eight days we used the place as a base of operation" (page 119).
Preserved Vietnam tank
Myth of Glory
1.
The orphan boy
has one arm,
he stares at me
from the side of the road;
a lifetime of hate
in eight short years.
2.
We storm the village,
it is invested by VC
wrapped in villager's cloth.
They fire AK-47's.
We return fire, kill them.
From a hootch we hear voices,
we yell, throw out your weapons,
come out, with your hands up!
(pigeon Vietnamese.)
They answer with curses and fire.
We fill the hootch with lead,
toss in a grenade.
Silence.
Warily, we look inside,
all dead.
A young woman
clutches an infant to her breast;
welded together
in a river of blood.
3.
She is young, yet old,
browned by the sun.
Barefooted
she toils in
the dark corridors of night,
the small dank rooms;
repeated heaving, drunken breath.
4.
The Saigon street
is filled with people,
the sounds of life energizing,
the business of living
intensely pursued.
A shell explodes, then another
and another.
The Saigon street
is filled with the sounds of death.
5.
The boy, no more than ten,
glares at me.
From beneath his garment,
he flashes his weapon.
Give me a noble cause,
telll me why,
I had to kill a ten-year old boy.
6.
We are on patrol,
dark night, steaming jungle.
The sawgrass cuts.
We step warily, listening for a sound;
trip-wires, booby traps abound,
meld with the earth,
waiting for one more step.
7.
The nurse came down
with the chopper,
its blades whirling, churning air.
They take our wounded.
The nurse is young, rumpled;
the lines of exhaustion, heavy
on her face.
She tends our wounded with the
sure hand of an angel of mercy.
I hunger for her.
I ache for her soft touch.
8.
We are on a two-man LP
fused to the undergrowth
of the jungle.
The moon peers between
the tall-bladed grass,
giving us vision,
then retreats behind night clouds.
Our ears become our antenna,
tuned to detect a suspicious sound.
It is difficult.
All sounds are suspicious.
9.
Today,
I see a monk burning;
self-immolation.
He sits on the damp ground as a budda,
his hands clasped in silent prayer.
The flames flare up;
as ash, he disappears.
Still, the war goes on.
Tomorrow, another monk will burn
in flaming protest,
and every day a monk will burn
and still, the war will go on.
10.
There is little thought
of rioting, flag-burning,
our own venomous vilification.
We fight because we are here,
there is no alternative.
We did not burn our draft cards
and run off to Canada.
11.
There is a place called home.
I don't know where that is.
John Kent
Helmet of a South Vietnamese guard
The Man I Killed
"Go Away" Kiowa says to Azar
"Go"
"Just forget that crud"
"I'm serious. Nothing anybody could do. Come on, stop staring".
Then he said, "maybe you better lie down a minute"
"Take it slow. Just go wherever the spirit takes you"
"Listen to me", Kiowa said. "You feel terrible, I know that"
"You okay?"
Kiowa picked up the rubber sandals, clapping off the dirt, then bent down to search the body. He found a pouch of rice, a comb, a fingernail clipper, a few soiled piasters, a snapshot of a young woman standing in front of a parked motorcycle. Kiowa placed these items in hi rucksack along with the gray ammunition belt and rubber sandals.
Then he squatted down.
"I'll tell you the truth", he said, "The guy was dead the second he stepped on the trail. Understand me? We all had him zeroed. A good kill - weapon, ammunition, everything". Tiny beads of sweat glistened at Kiowa's forehead. His eyes moved from the sky to the dead man's body to the knuckles of his own hands. "So listen, you best pull your shit together. Can't just sit here all day".
"Understand?"
"Go Away" Kiowa says to Azar
"Go"
"Just forget that crud"
"I'm serious. Nothing anybody could do. Come on, stop staring".
Then he said, "maybe you better lie down a minute"
"Take it slow. Just go wherever the spirit takes you"
"Listen to me", Kiowa said. "You feel terrible, I know that"
"You okay?"
Kiowa picked up the rubber sandals, clapping off the dirt, then bent down to search the body. He found a pouch of rice, a comb, a fingernail clipper, a few soiled piasters, a snapshot of a young woman standing in front of a parked motorcycle. Kiowa placed these items in hi rucksack along with the gray ammunition belt and rubber sandals.
Then he squatted down.
"I'll tell you the truth", he said, "The guy was dead the second he stepped on the trail. Understand me? We all had him zeroed. A good kill - weapon, ammunition, everything". Tiny beads of sweat glistened at Kiowa's forehead. His eyes moved from the sky to the dead man's body to the knuckles of his own hands. "So listen, you best pull your shit together. Can't just sit here all day".
"Understand?"
From the writing of Norman Bowker:
"He could not describe what happened next, not ever, but he would've tried anyway. he would've spoken carefilly so as to make it real for everyone who would listen.
There were bubbles where Kiowa's head should've been.
The left hand was curled open; the fingernails were filthy; the wristwatch gave off a green phosphorescent shine as it slipped beneath the thick waters.
He would've talked about this, and how he grabbed Kiowa by the boot and tried to pull him out. He pulled har but Kiowa was gone, and then suddenly he felt himself going too. He could taste it. The shit was in his nose and eyes. There were flares and mortar rounds, and the stink was everywhere - it was inside him, in his lungs - and he could no longer tolerate it"
"He could not describe what happened next, not ever, but he would've tried anyway. he would've spoken carefilly so as to make it real for everyone who would listen.
There were bubbles where Kiowa's head should've been.
The left hand was curled open; the fingernails were filthy; the wristwatch gave off a green phosphorescent shine as it slipped beneath the thick waters.
He would've talked about this, and how he grabbed Kiowa by the boot and tried to pull him out. He pulled har but Kiowa was gone, and then suddenly he felt himself going too. He could taste it. The shit was in his nose and eyes. There were flares and mortar rounds, and the stink was everywhere - it was inside him, in his lungs - and he could no longer tolerate it"
"He would not lose a member of his command like this. It wasn't right. Kiowa had been a fine soldier and a fine human being, a devout Baptist, and there was no way Lieutenant Cross would allow a good man to be lost under the slime of a shit field... And Kiowa had been a splendid human being, the very best, intelligent and gentle and quiet-spoken. Very brave, too. And decent. The kid's father taught Sunday school in Oklahoma City, where Kiowa had been raised to believe in the promise of salvation under Jesus Christ, and this conviction had always been present in the boy's smile, in his posture toward the world, in the way he never went anywhere without an illustrated New Testament that his father had mailed to him as a birthday present back in January" (page 163-164).
"Carefully, trying not to look at the body, they carried Kiowa over to the dike and laid him down. They used towels to clean off the scum. Rat Kiley went through the kid's pockets, placed his personal effects in a plastic bag, taped the bag to Kiowa's wrist, then used the radio to call in a dustoff" (page 175).
O'Brain recalls a particular conversation with Kiowa:
He was sitting in his foxhole when Kiowa asked to join him. Then he offered O'Brain one of the cookies his family had sent him for Christmas. This conversation occurred after the men made a joke of shaking hands with dead man. Kiowa says, "You did a good thing today. That shaking of hands crap, it isn't decent. The guys'll hassle you for a while - especially Jensen - but just keep saying no. Should've done it myself. Takes guts, I know that". O'Brain replies, "It wasn't guts. I was scared."
"Same difference", said Kiowa, and then he shrugged.
page 227
He was sitting in his foxhole when Kiowa asked to join him. Then he offered O'Brain one of the cookies his family had sent him for Christmas. This conversation occurred after the men made a joke of shaking hands with dead man. Kiowa says, "You did a good thing today. That shaking of hands crap, it isn't decent. The guys'll hassle you for a while - especially Jensen - but just keep saying no. Should've done it myself. Takes guts, I know that". O'Brain replies, "It wasn't guts. I was scared."
"Same difference", said Kiowa, and then he shrugged.
page 227
The Black Horse
I rode the black horse
Into the sun
And his hoof beats were music
And it was fun
Duty, honor, and country
Rang in my ears
And I carried that banner
Throughout the years
So exciting to be
On life’s narrow ledge
To be totally alive
And on the very edge
But the art of war
In any rational mind
Is the insanity, the madness
Of all mankind
To friend and foe
It was sometimes the same
It was the ultimate high
Of the ultimate game
I have no hope
That war will cease
But for you I wish fervently
Only for peace
I sometimes now listen
To the mockingbird's song
And ponder the blurred edges
Of right and wrong
But I rode the black horse
Into the sun
And his hoof beats were music
And it was fun
By the late LTC. Archie Rider, former C.O. 2nd Squadron, 17th Cavalry Regiment. Courtesy of the Rider Family - Copyright protected
I rode the black horse
Into the sun
And his hoof beats were music
And it was fun
Duty, honor, and country
Rang in my ears
And I carried that banner
Throughout the years
So exciting to be
On life’s narrow ledge
To be totally alive
And on the very edge
But the art of war
In any rational mind
Is the insanity, the madness
Of all mankind
To friend and foe
It was sometimes the same
It was the ultimate high
Of the ultimate game
I have no hope
That war will cease
But for you I wish fervently
Only for peace
I sometimes now listen
To the mockingbird's song
And ponder the blurred edges
Of right and wrong
But I rode the black horse
Into the sun
And his hoof beats were music
And it was fun
By the late LTC. Archie Rider, former C.O. 2nd Squadron, 17th Cavalry Regiment. Courtesy of the Rider Family - Copyright protected
Bear that was left behind in Vietnam and discovered later. It has the name tags from uniforms of dead soldiers on it.