Thirty years ago tonight, it happens that I was one of scores of thousands of young Americans locked in a desperate life and death struggle in Vietnam in the name of Freedom. Yes, the name of Freedom, because that was the reason most of us believed that we were in Vietnam when the Tet Offensive erupted on the night of 30 January 1968. (No doubt most of the North Vietnamese we slaughtered that night and the days that followed thought they were there for the same reason.)

Tonight, it matters little to me whether or not historians agree that such was the case, because what is on my mind tonight is the courage and sacrifice I witnessed those three decades ago.

There was a truce, of course; the communists had agreed that there would be no offensive operations conducted during the Lunar New Year celebrations, but their government chose, as usual, to betray their word. And so the young men and a few young women on both sides bore the brunt of their governments' treachery.

Many died that night. Most were the enemy, but many were my comrades-in-arms. Let me just mention some of those I saw with my own eyes that night now thirty years ago; some who died, and some who did not: Nick LaNotte, whose tour was finished (he was to leave the next day) but who voluntarily spent the night and the next morning on sorties into the battle area to load women and children onto trucks and move them out of danger. I remember seeing him bleeding badly, but I can't remember how it happened. I remember why young Gary Swanson (the 'kid' on out team) was bleeding, though; he had moved through gunfire across an intersection to assist in an assault to recover some Americans who were trapped in Khanh Hoa sector headquarters, and his hand was badly mauled by a gun shot wound. I remember next seeing Bud McBroom lying in the street dueling with the machine gunner who probably wounded Swanson. Each gunner fired a series of alternating bursts, until finally the enemy gun went silent, and only McBroom's gun kept firing. I remember that the contact was so close that a North Vietnamese from just a few feet away shoved a satchel charge between McBroom and one of his team mates who was patching up Swanson's hand. It didn't explode though, and they threw grenades right over the wall they were hiding behind, and blew the enemy up into the barbed wire atop the fence.

They got three of the trapped Americans out of the compound, then moved on to the Province headquarters building a block or so away. It was a tough fight there. The Group CO's driver, Specialist Menard had joined us after ferrying some of our troops into the battle. He was killed next to me, as was the Dega soldoier on the other side of me. Newly-promoted Joe Zamiara, who was supposed to be on extension leave since he had volunteered to extend for service with the III Corps Mike Force after already serving 18 months in the thick of it, was shot through the gut and spine, and died not long after in spite of the best efforts of Mik Sharp and others, his blood mingling in the dirt with that of several more Mike Force Dega ('Montagnards') who died nearby. SSG Norman, enraged at Joe's wounding, exposed himself too long in an attempt to locate the source of the fire which killed Joe, and he took a round through the shoulder and went down. Our LLDB team leader was wounded at the same spot. After several more Dega went down in the attempt to take the province HQ, our team leader, hard fighting Larry O'Neil, was wounded as he assaulted into the building and confronted an NVA soldier. They fired a burst at each other, and O'Neil won. He killed the NVA but took an AK round in the leg, shattering his femur, a wound from which he never fully healed before he died on the 4th of July twelve years later at the SFA convention. McBroom and Sharp got him evacuated, then carried on with the fight to secure Province HQ from the enemy. They were assisted by our fearless FACs, 'Papa' Baer and Billy Boyd, who swooped into the enemy fire in their little Bird Dog airplanes at ro of top level and fired WP rockets into the building to root the enemy out. When I went to the other side of Nha Trang, I found Sam Coutts there, fighting a different enemy unit. Sam had encountered five of the NVA huddled in a conference and killed them all. When I got there, he was running through enemy gunfire, shielding a couple of children with his body as he got them out of harm's way.

That is just some of what I saw th irty years ago tonight. I also saw young American women up to their elbows in blood and gore, trying to keep the lives of America's and North and South Vietnam's soldiers from spilling out of their torn and mangled, barely-mature bodies, and I wondered then and I wonder still what that must do to the souls of those young angels-on-earth. I have said enough for tonight... almost.

Our soldiers whipped the enemy soundly that night and the following days. The enemy had finally met our boys toe-to-toe, and we slaughtered them. And we did it not so much with B-52 bombers or superior technology or better weapons, but with the courage and dedication and self sacrifice of men and women like those I mentioned above.

I even wrote a letter home just after that saying that we had all but won now, and that I expected to be home before my tour was up that September. But it was not to be. Was it because too many of our potential leaders were hiding behind college deferments, or protesting against us because they didn't agree with our belief that our fight was righteous? Or was it because the p ress, in their rush to judgement (deja vu) declared it a victory for the enemy we had so badly mauled, simply because they got into the towns before we killed them? I don't know. And tonight, I don't care. Tonight, I just want to remember the courage and sacrifice of my gallant comrades-in-arms; those who have already fallen, and those who have not yet gone on. It's a good night to remember the words of an American warrior of the p ast:

"You will take with you the satisfaction that proceeds fro m the consciousness of duty faithfully performed, and I ea rnestly pray that a Merciful God will extend to you his blessing and protection." -- R.E. Lee, General, CSA.

God bless you all, my comrades. Bucky.
January 30, 1998