"Last Night"

Mobile Riverine Force Association (MRFA) is comprised of Viet Nam veterans who were assigned to take control of the Mekong and its associated rivers in South Vietnam. It’s mostly Army and Navy vets.

I joined MRFA when I discovered its existence a few years ago. I get the quarterly newsletter. Each issue contains stories – mostly battle stories – contributed by members. I am always impressed by the details guys recall after nearly 50 years. And the pain the guys still feel. Many of the stories will just rip your heart and your guts out.

In a recent story, the guy said that whenever someone asks when he was “in country,” he always replies, “last night.” Because he relives the experiences every night.

Several years ago, I attended an MRFA annual reunion in Indianapolis. I didn’t stay long. I felt no kinship for the mostly motley crew who seemed to be stuck in life, never able to put Viet Nam behind them. After a couple hours, I got in my car and drove home fast.

Maybe I was being selfish.

There is no way to predict who will and who won’t be able to leave Viet Nam in the past. It’s a sliding scale, of course, like most things in life. Viet Nam is behind me 97%, and that’s a stroke of luck. The guys that are 20% back aren’t there because they want to be, or because they are too weak to move on; what they did, what they saw, got blended with the chemicals in their brains and out of that slurry came what is being called “post traumatic stress” (well, they had to call it something other than being fucked up).

Nobody recovers 100% from war. War changes people permanently. 

“What did you do in Viet Nam?” It is a pretty common question. Implicit in that question are others: 

How many times were you in mortal danger? 

Did you kill anybody? 

Did you see your buddy KIA’d? 

The answers to those questions can then be used by the asker to assess (a) your worth as a soldier, and (b) the mental state that you are entitled to.

I have come to believe that Viet Nam’s lingering effects on a guy are entirely unpredictable. The guy charging up the hill with bullets coming at him from several angles may have the same degree of lingering stress as the guy back at base camp monitoring the radio. Just a theory, but I’m pretty sure of it.

Yeah, maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I could – and should – mingle with those guys and give ‘em some moral support. Or sympathy. Or a cold beer. Or something. It’s not the kind of thing I have any skill at, and all I really want to do is run, but maybe it’s my duty to give it a try.

Duty? That’s what got me to Viet Nam in the first place.