Danang, Vietnam 1969
We had been transported to another dimension. Time in this place moved at a snail’s pace. Hours had now become days; days became weeks; weeks became months….and a year…well a whole year here was incomprehensible.
Home was now only a dream of a place we had once known, and of a way of life, long gone. Yet, all our hopes revolved around this “dream”. Almost every conversation contained something about it. Not one of us could speak of our return to that grand place without a tone of excitement in his voice. But right now, we were only marionettes, dancing out our roles in a play that seemed to have neither plot nor ending. And as we were being manipulated by the “higher ups”, an entire year that could never be regained was being deleted from our lives. Yes, this was indeed a surrealistic place that most of us would never acknowledge as being a part of God’s creation. This sentiment could be found in some of the phrases we used about getting out of this “hole”. We often spoke of when we would return to the “world” or as it was often termed, “the land of the living”.
It was Christmas Eve and this one was unlike any other that most of us had ever experienced. Being ten thousand miles from home had long removed any hope of spending the holidays with our immediate families so we turned to each other in order to have some sense of traditional family structure.
Tomorrow would be special. It would it be Christmas day and many of the duties and details would be swapped about so that most of the guys would have at least part of the day off. After working six and a half, and in many cases seven days a week, even a partial day for leisure would be greatly appreciated, but one thing was certain and that was the Army never shut down; holiday or not.
Christmas Day meant that turkey and dressing would be served in the mess hall, which would be a big change from the meat loaf and some of the then as yet to be determined meats we had consumed over the last few months. Most of us had a couple of boxes of C-rations stashed under our bunks for those times when we just could not stomach one more meal in the mess hall. Even though we never came to love these “meals” that were canned long ago, since they were labeled, we at least knew what we were eating. There were two items that were sometimes packed in the C-rations, either of which a man would almost be willing to fight for. These were fruit cocktail and sliced peaches. If a guy was lucky enough to find a can of either of these in his box of “C’s” he would think he had died and gone to heaven…well almost.
In the weeks earlier, we heard that the North Vietnamese had agreed to a twenty-four hour cease fire, beginning at midnight Christmas Eve and ending at midnight on Christmas day. As doubtful as we were that this would actually come to pass, especially after the promises made for the Tet holiday of 1968, it at least gave us a small hope that we would not get blown away on Christmas day. Yet, as much as we appreciated this at the time, it didn’t make the homesickness any easier to bear.
Most days kept us busy enough to choke back that terrible feeling in the pits of our stomachs, but special occasions like wedding anniversaries, birthdays, Thanksgiving, and especially Christmas could cause a man’s mettle to almost crumble. Tears were often shed, but mostly at night when no one could see them. A pillow became a great aid in muffling the sobs that could be held back no longer. At times, a man’s heart would ache so terribly, he would fear that anyone standing close by might actually hear it groaning from the pain.
In our hooch was a very small artificial tree that had been passed down from the soldiers past who had spent Christmas here. The decorations consisted of maybe a half dozen glass ornaments with much of the paint chipped off, and a short length of frayed tinsel. Charlie Brown’s tree would have looked like a Frazier fir beside this tree. Yet, for this Christmas, it would be our tree and we were glad to have it. There would be no gifts given or received between us. Just to be alive and knowing your brothers “had your back” was gift enough.
By nightfall Christmas Eve, many of the guys in the company had already started making their way from hooch to hooch wishing all a Merry Christmas. Even though our surroundings dictated otherwise, most were still striving to be festive. Some would offer a “drink” or a “sip of cheer” to celebrate, and were usually amiable when a refusal to join in was given.
Not long after the darkness had engulfed the compound, we began to hear the one-o-five and one-five-five rounds being fired off at the “arty” base, located about a half mile inland. This brought us back to the realization that we were still in a war zone and that this war was still very much alive and well. After midnight they quieted down, giving us some hope that the cease fire might actually be working.
The “celebrating” could be heard throughout most of the night. Loud voices and Christmas music from the reel to reel tape players many had set up in their hooches kept any silent moments at bay. In fact there were times when the myriad of sounds from all the different areas became a cacophony. At midnight the entire “berm” became as bright as the day; lit up by the many hand flares that were being popped off by those on guard duty in celebration that Christmas had officially arrived.
By the time Christmas morning had dawned, things had become fairly quiet. Many of the celebrants were still sleeping off their good times from the night before when the CQ came through blowing the whistle to wake us for the day ahead. However, a few of us had jumped out of our cots earlier, just to see what Santa might have left us under the tree, but we quickly found out that the “jolly old elf” didn’t venture into Vietnam, at least not during these times.
After morning formation and our regular daily details and duties were accomplished, many of us spent time relating to each other our personal memories about Christmases past… when we were “alive” back in the “real world”.
Noon came fairly quickly, so we walked the hundred or so yards from our hooch to the mess hall for the turkey and dressing dinner. There were no surprises as to the taste, but at least the Army had thought of us by offering us one of our “back home” traditions.
December in Danang is monsoon season and the chance of rain was ever present. The clouds would keep the temperature down into the high seventies for the day. By late afternoon, a shower of rain had indeed come through, after which the clouds parted for a few minutes allowing the sun to pour out its rays on our little piece of nowhere. This evidently must have awakened the spirits of many, for afterwards, the compound became active again and the celebrating started once more, but not with the fervor of the night before.
Toward the end of the day, a solemnity had settled in around us, as many had actually begun to take time to reflect on how long ago home was and how far from it we still were. Also, there remained in the backs of our minds that the cease fire would soon end and everything, sadly, would begin to slip back to normal.
There had been something very different about this day; something to which we could easily become accustomed, if given the opportunity. It was the quietness that had surrounded us. There was no bombing; no artillery rounds; no mortars, and no rockets. Even the sixteen inch guns on the battleship that sat out in the South China Sea had fallen silent. I can remember hearing very few, if any, of the noises that usually accompanied our daily routine. For a small space of time we were able to experience the sound of peace once more!
All through the day, my mind and heart wandered home; thinking of my family and my young wife I had left behind there, and I knew that while we celebrated our Christmas day, they were all more than likely, in their beds fast asleep.
As the sun made its way behind the ridge of the mountains that lay to our west, the thought lay heavy on my mind, that this same sun that seemed so determined to hide its face from us, would soon be smiling through the window and into the bedroom where my wife’s head was pressing upon her pillow; that this Christmas day that we had seen come to an end, was just beginning for our families. It would be Christmas morning all over again, only this time it would be Christmas in “the land of the “living”. This time it would be Christmas in the “real world”.
Sam Everett
