To My Brother Veterans, Both Living And Dead: I May Not Have Liked You, But I Loved You...

 Let us enter the "way back" machine, and see who remembers the 1956 song, Love Is Strange, by Mickey and Sylvia?  I may not like all the words to that song, but for the purpose of this short article, I will at least use the title to make a point...

Being in the military, and being a Vietnam veteran, I found it pretty damn scary at times, not knowing what was going to happen from one minute to the next, especially when on the perimeter during the dead of night, when things could go from boring -- trying to stay awake -- to deadly chaos in seconds.

The Flight that I was assigned to -- Tiger Flight -- (a "flight" in the Air Force was equivalent to a company in the Army) was the largest and most heavily armed as we were the "night shift," and the main defense against any attempt of the Viet Cong (VC) or North Vietnamese Regulars (NVA) to penetrate the perimeter of my base...

But the "night shift" was just a little different, as far as time was concerned, than a night shift back in the "world."  Not your typical midnight to seven, or eleven to seven.  No; our shift usually started just after sundown, to about five or six in the morning.  When the 1968 Tet Offensive started, so did the length of our shift increase from dusk until sunrise, or later, depending on the enemy activity near the base...

I mentioned earlier that I was pretty damn scared at times, but I had to stay put regardless of any enemy force that might "hit the wire," and gain access to American soil; our planes, personnel and the munitions storage bunkers were their main targets.  

On one particular, quiet and very sleepy night, our world was turned upside-down, when, at about 1:30 in the morning, my bunker-mate (the ammo feeder to my M-60 machine gun) and I heard the very loud sound of enemy mortar shells leaving the tube, right smack in front of us beyond the wire... The VC were using the civilian huts to conceal their position; I couldn't see the muzzle flash from the mortar, so I could not return fire from my "60"... 

I immediately contacted defense control that we were under mortar attack from a position directly in front of us... Not only did we have my favorite, heavy machine gun, but also Claymore mines as well as other "equipment" to destroy any of the bad guys... But I couldn't use any of our weapons, at least not until I could make sure of my targets.  I couldn't shoot through the huts with civilians potentially in the line of fire -- the VC knew that and used that tactic with great success...

I directed my black brother bunker-mate to watch the perimeter to our left, and I would watch to the right, fully expecting the next stage of the attack to be a ground assault!

Other units: observation towers, other machine gun bunkers and "strike teams" were put on high alert, just in case...

The ground attack never happened... the mortar attack was unsuccessful; our planes and munitions storage area did not suffer any damage, at least not with this attack, on this night...

(Just two weeks after I was transferred to another base, my former base was "hit," and hit badly, with sappers destroying several planes and storage areas... None of my brothers were KIA, but the enemy were wiped out as they tried to escape from the base...)

I will never forget that night, nor the brothers that I served with... There were more than a few other "incidents" that threatened to cut my life short, but I had many folks praying for me back in the states and I am convinced that kept me safe, both physically, morally, as well as spiritually...

Not all my brothers were "great guys," far from it... they had their faults and weaknesses, but I fought alongside them and would die for them if it ever came to that... 

I didn't like all my brother G.I.s, but I loved all those G.I.s...

We know as Catholic/Christians that there is a major difference between the two, and in a war zone, that love is paramount for unit cohesion and esprit de corps... Sure, tough guys aren't going to say it that way, they may not even think of it that way, but that's what it is!

Let me be clear: there is no glory in war, only death, mayhem, destruction and despair.  War is a grave punishment for our many sins, and the turning away from our good God.  He grants us free will to accept the free grace to overcome our sin and weaknesses, yet we resist His love to the detriment of our immortal souls; when will we ever learn??

Pray for strength and honor!

Viva Cristo Rey!  Bl. Fr. Miguel Pro, Fr. Emil Kapaun and Fr. Vincent Capodanno pray for us...

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle...

Gene DeLalla

PS: In September of 1967, Fr. Vincent Capodanno died on the battle-field ministering to his wounded and dying troops... I arrived "in-country" just three months later...