UNDERSTANDING
THE MISUNDERSTOOD: Another hole, another stand in
Vietnam. The liquid humidity wrapped itself around us as though while your eyes frantically search
and your heart does flip flops to the beat. If were possible the flesh would crawl off your bones
and seep into the cracks and crevices of the earth. We had The reports were coming in
staggered, Viet Cong were seen advancing towards our position. The silence and the concentration of
each and every Marine in the perimeter was an awesome sight to experience. From time to
time you could hear the sounds of M-14 bolts sliding home, piercing the silence. A muffled
cough or the mumbling of a prayer could be heard also as we prepared for the siege. We were
sitting on a potential powder keg that was getting ready to explode. Each one of us had our hand
on the plunger ready to detonate in an instant, without remorse or without conscience. Hope came in the form of a dragon.
We called it Puff. It had been summoned to help us out. It had been here for us in the past and
it was not an unfamiliar sight to see it breathing fire in the sky. I hoped that tonight it
would manifest it's presence, a needed show of force to deter our enemy from it's objective and
purpose. War deals with death, it's sole
purpose is to destroy life, maim, cripple and intimidate the opposing force. It is a machine that
uses human beings as fuel, it draws us in and burns us up then spits us out. Refueling itself
with an endless supply of living breathing entities who are willing to be spent for the cause of
freedom. In the aftermath we find that the waste was nothing more than a toxic means to an end A necessary evil, for the advancement of peace. Devastation has never been displayed
in any other form that equals Puff the Magic Dragon. It is here. We watch as the
magnificent beast groans out its power. The Dragon breathes fire in the distance and nothing can
stop it's utter and complete domination of the air and ground. Tracer rounds light up
the sky as a red sheet of rounds twist to the ground as a tornado, covering in it's wake, the
area the size of a football field. It drops one round in every square foot of jungle. It
deals out death swiftly and conquers all under its wings. Then it devours the souls and moves
silently through the night, as the grim reaper rides his nightmare returning to hell.
We breath again... The advance has
stopped. The jungle is silent, no movement is seen. It is ironic how relief is found in
terror, and in death life is gained War! It is understandable how it is
so misunderstood. 21 |