EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT
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MEMORIES OF DAYS GONE BY:
It was a time of great turmoil in our country, with divisions and life outlooks that rivaled those just prior to the Civil War. We were being told by many that evil was good and good was not necessarily so. Things we believed in and had faith in were being turned on their collective heads.
During those tragic years, we lost people that were loved and respected, like Robert Kennedy and the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior. On the other side of the world, many gave their lives, many gave limbs and eyes and their health, and many gave their minds. And all for a cause that was not universally supported or respected.
Some of you have heard my story before. Please be patient, I have a meaningful followup.
Some of you will not believe my story. Some will say that Forrest Gump has his Lieutenant Dan, and Forrest Gomez insists on having his Colonel Tran. I don't blame you at all if you don't believe what I am about to post. No hard feelings and we are still friends.
The time is early 1968, a fateful and horrendous time in Vietnam. I was tactical radio man to a combined Vietnamese-American strike force in the II Corps area, near Quin Nhon. Two main force Viet Cong battalions laid siege to our base camp for five days, and the fighting was almost constant, with three breakthroughs in our defenses, and a lot of hand-to-hand fighting and killing. During the battle, the VC sent a detachment to a nearby town, where they killed 54 government workers, including my Vietnamese fiance. We had 127 killed, and nearly everyone else was wounded at least once.
We counted over 700 VC bodies, with lots of blood trails going back into the jungle. We were so spent that the aircrews had to help us onto the Chinooks when we were relieved and replaced by the Vietnamese Rangers,
Come forward to the mid-1970s. Saigon had fallen. LBJ got us into a war, and in the end, his party made sure we lost it. I was a bitter young soldier, now stationed at Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE), in Belgium. I was getting ready to rotate back to the States, to an infantry unit. My girlfriend and I decided to have the last outing before we parted, deciding not to continue a relationship that would be an incredibly long range.
Maubege, France is a beautiful tourist town just across the common border with Belgium, boasting of medieval structures, a zoo, monuments and leftovers from both world wars, and lots of food and drink. My girlfriend and I were having a light lunch at a sidewalk cafe. It was Mayday, 1 May.
Now I need you to latch on to two other thoughts here. First, on certain days and holidays, Europeans wear any medals they received in military service on their civilian clothes. Second, I had become a geek who studied foreign military decorations.
Now back to my story. While dining at the sidewalk cafe, I noticed an early middle-aged man of Asia extraction wearing Soviet, Chicom, and North Vietnamese decorations on his sports coat. I couldn't resist striking up a conversation in my rough French with him. He owned up to having been a Viet Cong commander and had gotten out of Nam fast when the North Vietnamese won the war and started arresting VC bigwigs. His name was Tran, Colonel Tran, and he was now an anti-communist and a devout Catholic. I was not a Christian yet, but I found I was intrigued and liked this man.
We began to compare stories and compliment each other and our former respective fighting forces. As the conversation droned on (with my girlfriend open-mouthed and fascinated0, some of our memories seemed to strangely overlap. Then we realized at least one experience was common.
Both of us were afraid to say anything for about two minutes or so, and then he asked softly, "Son, have we met before?"
I said just a softly, "Well sir, if we did, I think it was over gun sights." Then, after a short pause, "But I'm not there if you're not." We gave each other a firm handshake and smiled. At that moment, the war ended for me for real.
As we talked, he lectured me like a caring uncle, telling me not to be bitter and to be proud and appreciative to God that we made it through times that others can only imagine in their worst nightmares. ("Each day is profit!") He advised me to come to Jesus, and his words began my journey that way.
In 1979, I finally did give my life to Jesus, after He let me experience a few more miracles. I learned forgiveness from Colonel Tran, and I am happy that Christ forgives me when I put my mistakes in His hands.
Colonel Tran and I exchanged about four long letters a year, remaining friends, although I never saw him again. When the e-mail came on the scene, we were able to discuss all kinds of things. I felt like just a little bit better person every time I read something from him.
Colonel Tran was sick for a long time. About two weeks ago, when I was getting involved in the move Cathy and I just completed, he died. (His wife e-mailed me.) I will miss him greatly. He was a man who took part in much butchery and violence for nine years, but in the end, he found Jesus and changed his life. Next, to my dad, he had more effect on my life than most. He planted seeds.
You libs and others out there, along with the world, are still cheering for Barabas. But you can come along with us anytime you want. Doesn't cost a thing; it's already been paid for.
Conspiracy buffs and people who want to still be upset about that damned war, please give it a rest and post your contentions elsewhere.
See you later, Colonel!
May our Lord Jesus Christ be with you always, brothers and sisters.
The Sarge
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