Compiled, Edited, and Introduced By Jennifer Yaros
Before beginning Ishmael Beah’s memoir, A Long Way Gone, I prompt my seniors to consider the realities of war. As a class, we read “Vietnam: What I Remember,” an excerpt from David Powell’s memoir, “Patriotism Revisited,” and apply a four-step reading process that directs students to annotate passages, develop writing ideas and compose a written response based on one of the ideas. This strategy not only allows readers to interact with the text in a conversational and participatory manner but also teaches students how to actively read and respond to literature. In correlation with Memorial Day, I wanted to share a selection of fictional pieces inspired by Powell’s work that depict realistic, empathetic understandings of war.
“In Times of War, Anything Goes”
By Corey Wagner
I was walking down a jungle path. My platoon was behind me in a dense fog. We could hear artillery blasting like cannons on a nearby town. The Vietnamese people were going to die; that’s all we knew. It was either we shot them, or they shot us. Anyone was a target. As the dirt road went around the bend, we heard rustling in the bushes. Something jumped out and screamed at us. We opened fire, and it was too late. Our bullets penetrated the young, playing child’s chest and face. As we approached his corpse, we saw that nothing about this child was dangerous to our mission. So, why did we have to blast him up? It was the first Vietnamese I had killed. To this day, I cannot get the image of that young child’s bullet-shredded face out of my head. Anyone after that was just a simple casualty, but this boy was not. I remember thinking to myself: That’s weird; he doesn’t look like an enemy….
“Almost Safe”
By Brandon Owen
Gunshots rang out all around as a jeep sped up a dirt road in the forest. Inside the jeep, two young marines frantically planned their escape.
“How’d this go so wrong?” one of the marines exclaimed, straining to lift his voice above the shots. “It was supposed to be in and out, simple. I didn’t sign up for this.”
Explosions started to rock the jeep, narrowly missing each time. The marine was right; it was supposed to be a simple extraction mission, but it was a trap. But then again, there’s never any safety anywhere.
Straining to see the road through the showers of dirt and debris raining down, the second marine fought hard to keep the jeep and themselves out of the worst dangers.
“Calm down, clam down, we’ll make it. We’re almost there. We’ll make it.” He jerked and swerved around, expertly avoiding the death looming about.
A clearing could now be seen. The end of the forest, the light, safety. The shots and explosions seemed to come faster now, not just from behind anymore. The jeep sped through the opening only to find more enemies waiting for them. The driving marine turned hard, off the main road, desperate for an escape.
As the jeep swerved off the road, a stray bullet pierced a tire and sent the jeep rolling. The driver didn’t make it through the trauma. Dazed, the other marine crawled out of the now flaming jeep. He looked around for an out, some means of escape. He lunged towards a tree, using it as a support. He stumbled from tree to tree. Almost away, almost safe, he was going to make it. They couldn’t have known where he was. He was in the clear.
Screams of foreign commands came from the edge of the forest. The marine felt a sharp pain and stumbled to the ground. Looking down, he saw a stream of crimson red flowing from his right leg. He looked up. Then, nothing.
“The Ceramic Vase”
By Bridget Muntzing
Looking down at my blistered feet crunching against the rough terrain, I tried to count my blessings. Aside from residing in Vietnam, my life was not too terrible at all. In fact, neither I nor anyone else in my family had been shot yet. But oh how I dreamed and wished with all of my might to be somewhere far far away from such a land, a land neglected by God for He no longer even bothered to gaze at His helpless people trapped in this pitiful place.
Feeling both abandoned and forgotten, I began to tap my mud-stained fingers rhythmically against the ceramic vase I was carrying. As eldest daughter, it was my daily routine to retrieve water for my family. I pretended that I would be making this trip for the last time and that my family and I would be leaving this awful place immediately upon my return from the well. Therefore, I cherished each and every step, allowing my toes to sink into the cool mud. I could see the well now, and just beyond the well, a man in a funny uniform cleaning one of his killing machines. I wondered if I would respect these soldiers any more if I were to see them without a weapon in their hands.
Reaching down with the vase, I scooped up the murky water. My distorted reflection in the rippling water stared back at me. One wish, I thought; I wish to be out of this place forever. Realizing how such a request could never come true, I stood up quickly. And there, I stared at a man yards away pointing his gun at me.
Blackness. I was gone forever. A sickening twist of my wish. What else was I expecting in a place like this?
“Gold”
By Sam Stark
I shift my M-14 to try and get comfortable but to no avail. The rifle reminds me of myself. I am pulled down to the earth with a weight, the rifle falling into disrepair. The corroding barrel, which desperately needs oil, resembles my torn, tattered, rotting uniform. Even my boots rot away. The rifle still works, for now, and that means that I still had to work. Hell, even when the rifle falls apart, and all I have is my KA-BAR, I’ll be expected to fight. So, my squad marches through the jungle, eyes always looking for an enemy. We usually just shoot whoever we see that isn’t in an American uniform or that we know isn’t a local informant. We figure it is better to shoot them, so they can’t report our position to any nearby Vietcong. I turn my head and see two men messing with a body. One draws his KA-BAR and sticks the knife in the man’s mouth. I hear a crunching sound, and the man let out a shout of success. Even in this living Hell, a man can find gold.
“Haunted”
By Jeremy Reff
I got out a lifetime ago. I never left. I am still haunted by things that I saw. Every time I see a shadow behind me, every time a dish crashes to the floor, I go back. I have lost my friends and my family to the war, but they were never near a bullet. I can’t get a job; I can’t take the orders. I can’t go out at night; I don’t know what’s behind me. Video games are out of the question. I want to live a normal life. I want to have friends who care. I want to stop looking over my shoulder everywhere I go. I can’t have these things. I ask myself why every day. I know the answer. I got out a lifetime ago, but I never left.