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24 Hours In Vietnam

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posted on May, 21 2009 @ 08:42 AM
This is a video montage of some of the photographs I had personally or that were sent to me by soldiers over the years. Some made it home, others did not.

(click to open player in new window)

One of the most outstanding things that was ever sent to me was an audio documentary. It is something that is very personal to me and thousands of us who served and died in Vietnam. It is an amazing 9 segment audio documentary that was sent to me from a Vietnam Historian and co-creator of this project who is also a big fan of the Radio First Termer Saigon Show. It is a journey that takes the listener from the hopeful dreams of President John F. Kennedy, to the bitter end on a rooftop of the American Embassy in 1975. Why did we not take what we learned in Vietnam to prevent the mistakes that would follow after in other battles and conflicts? Listen to these emotional stories of the troops themselves … then make your own conclusions. Through knowledge do we hope to understand.

These Are FREE To Download

Part 1 - Into The Quagmire

Part 2 – Next Stop, Vietnam

Part 3 – America’s War

Part 4 – Fading Light

Part 5 – Prisoner Of War

Part 6 – Dust Off

Part 7 – Hamburger Hill

Part 8 – The Last Run

Part 9 – A Day In “The Nam”

Additional Audio

How Radio Changed The War

posted on May, 21 2009 @ 10:14 PM
Dave, Don't you ever wonder why people in this country are always so ready to send young men (and now women) off to fight, kill and die in third world countries that really aren't a threat to us.... If everyone had to experience first hand what those that fight these wars do, things might be different.... I don't know for sure, but maybe.

posted on May, 22 2009 @ 01:29 AM
reply to post by Dave Rabbit

Dave, we will NEVER forget!!

If only we could learn from our history, we wouldn't be repeating it now. Talk about frustrating!!

I got your back brotha!


[edit on 22-5-2009 by TheBorg]

posted on May, 22 2009 @ 11:59 AM
I'll never forget the flight in. It was dark-thirty, and as the plane's engines were slightly throttled back, the whine reduced, the pilot came on the intercom:

"Gentlemen, we are approaching the coast of Vietnam, your home for the next weeks or months. Temperature is ninety-nine degrees, relative humidity of ninety-nine percent, and ground fire is light to moderate. Wind is light and variable, as is rocket fire.

We just want to remind everyone that the crew is not responsible for this vacation, and upon getting on the ground and receiving your weapons, we ask you not shoot at us.

We wish all of you the best of luck, and look forward to taking you all home in the future. Thanks for using Flying Tigers airline."

We were all nervously laughing, but not too sure what parts he was serious about.

posted on May, 25 2009 @ 06:10 AM
Yes I remember in high school how proud some were to join the service and fight for their country,sadly on their return how they were portrayed as killers,I feel soory for friends who never returned,and the ones that did that came back out of their minds resulting in suicide,I hate to admit it but I'm glad I stayed in college,sadly the same thing is happening with soldiers returning now

posted on May, 25 2009 @ 04:45 PM
This day, I am compelled to remember, even some things I'd give anything to have never happened. I have more regrets than the law allows, some things that will haunt me till the day I pass.

We had a Yaqui in our group, built like a brick, as kind and soft spoken as anyone you'd ever want to meet, yet a man who was as tough as steel named Val.

After seven of us had unwittingly attacked the 33rd NVA Regiment, a nearby platoon snugged up to us and we really kicked over a hornet's nest.

I had grabbed an M203 - an M-16 with a 40mm grenade launcher mounted underneath, and I was running out of grenades. I yelled someone get me another vest. Val yelled, "I'll get 'em."

This firefight continued, everyone up front was wounded to some degree including me, and I was running on pure adrenaline. I yelled and cursed again and again that I needed more ******* grenades.

Finally I hear Val behind me yelling he got some and was coming.

A minute or so later, I am out of grenades and scream to Val, "***dammit Val, what's the ******* holdup . . . " as I turn around to see where he is, and he's dragging himself along the ground, his rifle sling in the crook of his arm that held the vest of grenades against his belly, trying to keep the other half of his intestines from falling out as he's slowly pushing himself to me on the one elbow, guts trailing.

I damn near died.

I think I said, "Jesus Val, I didn't . . . " and he interrupted, "Sorry, I tried to hurry . . ."

I stripped off his shirt, gathered his intestines up, dirt, debris, and all, put them in the shirt, tied the shirt behind his back, told him to leave his weapon, and took out his canteen.

"You gotta keep these wet. Do NOT let them dry out!"

I had to turn around and help keep them from overrunning us, and it went on seemed like forever.

I found him after the shooting died down, and since I couldn't carry him, told him I'd help, but he'd have to walk a couple hundred meters to the LZ.

We were strictly task-oriented, he was in a lot of pain, therefore, we didn't talk.

I'd give anything in the world to take back those biting words, cursing him to hurry up.

But some things you don't get a do-over.

Since then, I try to understand before I go bat**** on someone.

Those hard lessons are those best learned.

And I cringe every time I remember this one.

posted on May, 30 2009 @ 12:51 AM
My older Step Brother, my hero and friend died in May of 1970 when the 1st Cavalry went into Cambodia. I got into the Army as early as I could to even the score, but missed Vietnam; many tagged and bagged Communist later his loss still burns and the pain never quits.

He had left a black military glove on our room floor the night before he left on his second tour as a Huey Pilot because he had stayed up late with me teaching me to play cards. Many nights I have cried holding that glove expecting him to come home, wishing; I still have the glove and I have never played cards again.

posted on May, 30 2009 @ 01:46 AM
My husband and I just spent memorial day huddled up with a bunch of Vietnam Vets, we were there representing the Sons of Confederate Soldiers and had a display set up with the many other displays, mostly Vietnam vets were there with displays, not a lot of memorabilia from their own wartime, most of them had there dad's world war 2 medals, uniforms, ect. Talking with them I noted the pride in their father's service, as I am my father's. When the parade started they all rose in honor, saluted as the group representing Veitnam Veterans passed us, and many of them cried. One of the guys had made his own version of the memorial wall, listing everyone he has known and lost in service, friends, family, and those in passing. It was a very emotional day, I was drawn in by their stories, their honor for others, one gentlemen named Lopez had 3 generations of soldiers lost in 3 different conflicts, and his grandson was there with a display of his family members service, I found that to be very admirable. I left there feeling sad and happy at the same time, I knew that a few strangers would remember what I told about my own father, and I will never forget their stories about what they went through, and the pride that they showed for their fathers, and all other soldiers before and to be. Lopez, Williams, Powell, Snell, you are remembered.

[edit on 30-5-2009 by space cadet]

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