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Recommended Reading For Every Armchair "Hawk" Who Backs "Elective" War... Sadly: We're Going To See A Replay in Iraq and Afghanistan!

Over 58,000 American Soldiers Died For A Lost Cause - A Thousand Times As Many Lives Changed, Ruined, Leaving Broken Families And Years Of Heartbreak.

Read This Very Descriptive Report by Bob Parsons - Thanks Bob!

Saigon vanished on April 30th, 30 years ago. Thirty years ago, on April 30, 1975, The Republic of Vietnam unconditionally surrendered in Saigon to invading Communist troops, thus completely ending what has since been known here in America as The Vietnam War. And of course, there is no more Saigon. It was renamed Ho Chi Minh City. Every year when April 30th rolls around, it's an emotionally charged day for me. I think it's because of the sad finality that I associate with that day. It was on that day, that those of us who hoped that our efforts and sacrifices might have counted for something, knew absolutely and beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we had lost the war. A perfect memorial. To commemorate those who died and went missing in Vietnam, The Vietnam Memorial was erected in Washington, D.C. To me, "The Wall," as it has become known, is the perfect memorial for The Vietnam War. The Wall is 493 feet 6 inches long, and the 58,141 individuals whose names are inscribed on it, are listed in the order in which they died or were reported missing. At the very beginning of The Wall, which represents our first few casualties which took place in 1959, the wall is only a few inches tall, then it progresses up to and through the years of 1967, 1968 and 1969 when the conflict raged. To accommodate all the names of the casualties during those years, this part of the wall reaches a height of 10 feet 3 inches tall. And from there the height of The Wall gradually decreases until 1975, when it once again is only a few inches high. Most of our troops who died in Vietnam were 18 or 19 years old. It becomes even more touching when you know that most of the individuals who have their names on The Wall were 18 or 19 years old when they lost their lives. It's impossible for me to be there without at least tearing up. At a distance, The Wall looks like no other memorial. From the street, looking into the park, you can't see The Wall because unlike other memorials, it is set down into the earth. Unlike every other war, many of our returning soldiers were met by protestors. The Wall reminds me of a tear in the earth, or perhaps a black scar. And that I think is what makes The Wall such a perfect memorial. Because that is exactly what the Vietnam War was for this country. It tore this country apart. It was the only war that has ever been fought by the United States where its troops, upon returning home, were not welcomed. Instead many, to their complete surprise and bitter disappointment, were met by Americans protesting the war - some of these protestors even used the occasion to spit at the those coming home (as though our returning troops were in any way responsible for the war). My most vivid memory of the war. Every April 30th (and on many other days as well), there's a memory of a particular night that takes me back to Vietnam. For me, it's one of my most vivid memories, and it is what I immediately see in my mind's eye when I think back to the dark side of the War - which is often. Eight Marines were killed in that cemetery four months earlier. During that night in 1969 (36 years ago) my squad set up for ambush in an old Vietnamese Cemetery. This particular cemetery was very creepy. One thing that made it particularly so, was a story that was passed along to us about a squad of eight Marines who, four months earlier (on November 17, 1968 to be exact), also set up ambush in that very same cemetery. As the story went, not long after setting up, those Marines signaled to the command post, by firing a red flare, that they were seeing significant enemy activity all around them. Shortly after firing the flare, a frantic firefight commenced and almost as quick as it started, it was over. Back at the command post a rescue contingent was quickly formed, and the Marines in that contingent literally ran the 7 or so clicks (a click is a thousand meters) to the cemetery where the 8 Marines had set up their ambush. But it was too late. By the time the reinforcements arrived, the 8 Marines had been long dead. It is believed that those Marines, who elected to travel light and as such didn't take a radio (among other things), were over run by a full company of NVA regulars. That's just speculation, however. No one really knows what they encountered. There were eleven of us in my squad that night. So, on that night in March, knowing full well what happened to those eight Marines four months earlier, we set up our ambush in that very same spooky cemetery. There were, as best as I can recall, 11 of us. I set up next to a Vietnamese burial mound. The Vietnamese in the area where my unit operated buried their dead in burial mounds. After we arrived at the cemetery and set up in our initial ambush positions, I was on one side of a burial mound, my buddy was on the other. The rest of the squad was spread out around the cemetery. From where I was set up, I couldn't see my buddy or the rest of the squad for that matter. While I knew that the rest of my squad was there, in many ways it seemed like I was completely alone. The area was thick with mosquitoes. After setting in, the mosquitoes began their torturous work. Since the cemetery wasn't far from the stagnant water of nearby rice paddies the mosquitoes were, as usual, out in force. I've had friends who served in the U.S. Army in Vietnam tell me that if they didn't wear their bug nets (which kept mosquitoes off of them) they would be disciplined. Well, similar to the way our Marines in Iraq are provided Humvees that don't have armor -- what sense does that make? -- we were never issued bug nets even though we were operating in the most mosquito infested part of Vietnam (the rice paddies). Instead, we were given repellant that never really seemed to work. So, we were left to suffer the mosquitoes and early that night, suffer we did. When you are shot at, first you hear the bullet zip by, then you hear the report of the weapon that sent it on its way. After maybe an hour of wrestling with the mosquitoes, I snapped to when I heard a bullet buzz over my head. I remember that it came from my left. Then I heard the report of the rifle it was fired from. If you've ever been shot at you would know that you first hear the bullet zip past you (assuming it didn't hit you!) then you hear the bang of the weapon that sent it on its way. It wasn't long after the first shot that there was another, then another, then lots of them. I was set up in a position where I was laying back against a burial mound. The bullets zipping over my head sounded like they were only two or three feet above me, if not closer. So I knew that I couldn't stand up. To do so would more than likely mean a pretty quick death. We were in the middle of a cross fire. Firing also started from a position somewhere on my right, and bullets began whizzing by, and we began hearing gunfire from that direction also. So we were in the middle of a deadly cross fire. Somehow word spread throughout the squad that two of our sister squads that were set up about a click (a click is a thousand meters) away from us on each of our flanks, were engaged in fire fights with the enemy. We were told to expect mortar and artillery fire to be striking close by. When the artillery fire arrived, I was awe struck by how close it seemed to be to us. It may have been much further away, as the night has a way of playing tricks with distances, but it seemed like it was only a hundred yards or so. The thing I remember most is watching the trees fall. I remember laying there, as flat as I could be alongside the burial mound, watching the incoming ordinance explode. First there would be bright flashes, then I would feel the harsh shock of the explosions. The artillery explosions were loud, unbelievably loud. I could even feel the ground beneath me shake. But the image that will always remain with me is of the trees falling in the flashes of light created by the artillery explosions. Like bowling pins, some of the trees seemed to first jump up, others were knocked sideways. To this very day, I can still see them falling, one over the other, over the other. What hell is like. As I lay there, I was 18 years old at the time -- 9 months earlier I was in high school -- I remember thinking: "I wonder if this is what hell is like." I have no idea how long the fire fights on our flanks lasted, or how long the artillery fire continued. It may have been for five minutes, it might have been much longer. It's difficult to keep track of time in these type of situations. Eventually the gun fire and explosions stopped, and the night once again returned to being still and spooky quiet. A quick inventory by our squad leader revealed that, unlike the squads on our flanks, we suffered no casualties. We were lucky that night.

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