Me: I love AmeViet as much as the next person, but only if they were represented in a certain light. None of this 'love lost' interpretation. Please understand that Vietnam is nearly 10 ten times older than America and so I'm reflecting her personality in consideration towards her vast history of civil wars and revolutionaries (especially against China). Of course, I will be implementing her with all the Vietnamese culture there is about Vietnamese women, but she'll act more like one of those elderly Vietnamese women more than the younger people nowadays (because those kind of women are tough, stubborn, and frightening—I'm well associated with them…). I always figure Vietnamese women (like my mother and my aunt) to be like hard-working veterans—always look forward and doing the impossible to reach a certain goal. The women of my countries are ridiculously headstrong in more than one way…
Honestly, I find America and Vietnam to be more like friends than become possible love interest in truth. Probably because America is so 'young' while Vietnam is so 'old'. I see it more like a relationship between the grandmother and her grandchild (which is probably why in the future, America has a tendency to call her 'Granny'. It's a headcanon of mines. Don't judge me). But Vietnam is even older than England (if I did my research correctly), so this is my interpretation of my beautiful country.
You can interpret it as AmeViet if you want, there are some hint, but don't hold your breath for some kind of romantic tragedy. Eh, some of you may be offended about how I wrote the two personifications.
Some of the details of this fiction may not correspond correctly to real historic facts. Please be aware; I am not a historian, but I did do as much research as I can about the Vietnam War.
Warning: Some details of violence, killings and blood. It's war—what do you expect? Cursing may be inevitable.
1. Tet Offensive: To Win a War
The stench of rotting bodies permeates into cool, but humid, air and Vietnam could only watch with dark eyes as the bodies of her people –the Northern Vietnamese, the people of the Vietnamese National Liberation Forces as they called themselves– were being piled away to either be buried or cremated. Many of the lifeless bodies that she saw, littered across the dark streets of Saigon like morbid dolls, were devastatingly young. Then again, all of human life is young in comparison to her age.
Even the young country curled up outside the barracks in front of her is terribly young in comparison to her 4,000 years of experience.
Her harden eyes gleamed against the dying light, twisting her usual golden-brown color into an intense amber that seems harsh in the twilight. Her military uniform is splattered with dry and stiffening blood and her hands are no doubtfully caked with dirt and mud, which are only hiding the stains of red she was not able to wash off. She hasn't been able to wash it off for over a millennium, even when they were not visible on her skin. Her boots felt heavy on her feet, but her strides did not falter as she shoulders her favorite rifle on her back. Grabbing onto an abandon metal chair lying haphazardly on the ground, she drags the creaking object towards the disturbingly quiet nation before planting the seat next to the curled American man. Not giving the younger country another once over, Vietnam promptly swung her leg over the chair and proceed to sit backwards with the back of the chair pressed against her chest in a un-lady-like manner. She has seen plenty of men –especially the American soldiers– who sat the way that she did and while it was not the most elegant of positions, especially for a woman like herself, she did not need the army men to see her as a woman among their ranks. Not in the way that she wanted. Besides, she's way too tired to become 'proper' like many of the other female countries. Slumping over the back of the seat almost like an 'uncultured slob', Vietnam positioned her rifle in front of her before swinging her arms around the backrest in a lazy manner.
America –his blond hair reflecting the warm color of the sunset dirtied with gravel and soot from the recent attack– hasn't moved a muscle as Vietnam was settling down near the young nation and the two warring countries fell still into an almost compatible silence. It was the first time, the Asian country mused absentmindedly, that the Super-power had treated her like a soldier rather than a woman. If America still has any reservation about her gender, then the young man would have tried to reassure her of their victory against the Northern Vietnamese, plastering on a smile of fake strength as if she would be too weak to handle the bloody events of war. Instead, his silence and near-broken figure meant an acknowledgement that Vietnam regrets to have earned.
She doubts he could be disillusioned for too long though—the young nation had seen her brutally killed her own people right in front of him. She felt his eyes as she buried her knife into the throat of a charging NFL, the blood pouring onto her hands and splattering against her uniform as the unfortunate man gargled for his last words. It was thankfully a quick and painless death, but she doubts the naïve nation sees it that way.
Nonetheless, despite the brutal wake-up call, maybe the Americans would finally understand the extent of this war. Because as the representative of her people, she knows that the Vietnamese are stubborn beyond all reasoning. Not even the threat of nuclear weapons could deter them from their goal and it wouldn't be surprising if they fought until the bitter end—just until she disappears off the map and becomes Vietnam no more.
Soldiers of different groups passed by the two nations and every single one of them seemed to be aged by the decades. Many are skittish by the post-battle stress while others look as if they would rather collapse on the place they stood. Almost all of the troops avoided her stoic gaze or just avoided her in general, not even bothering to give their salute to their personified nation if only because her presence is too much for them to bear. Out of guilt or out of disgust—Vietnam doesn't know, but she knows that they don't see her as an exotic woman whose words only matter every other sentence.
Young and inexperienced as a lot of them were, they could recognize the movements of a practiced killer and war veteran. It wasn't difficult to see how easily she could cut a man's throat without blinking an eye. It wasn't difficult to see how familiar she is with weapons of every shape or form, holding it high as if the weight in nothing in her hands. It also wasn't difficult to see how she always aims for the head, the throat, and the heart in perfect alignment from her gun while the rest fumbles trying to make a decent hit onto the enemy. She wasn't even actively trying to fight against the attacking Vietnamese—every kill she makes is either to protect the civilians caught in the crossfire or to protect America, their country…
Nonetheless, her vast experiences is enough to make them feel as if they are just out of their league.
When they first met the Vietnamese women, side-by-side with the Southern Vietnamese higher military personnel who had just introduced the nation as their advisor and only as their advisor, they didn't take her seriously. She was short and slight with barely a noticeable figure in her thick uniform. Could she even carry her own weight in provision, much less a gun? The Southern Vietnamese were confident in her, but the Americans could barely share the same sentiments. Her lessons in guerilla warfare, the techniques that the Vietnamese have been using for ages, have been heeded half-heartedly at best. Even her advice in hand-to-hand combat and weapon-usage have been ignored.
But after watching the woman briefly in the actual battlefield is like a slap in the face to many of the soldiers.
They know that personified-nations are the reflection of the nation's past, present, and future. What does it mean for their war against Vietnam when the country's personification is that tough? Sure, their own super-powered nation is ridiculously strong and most are sure that in terms of power, America would come out on top every time, but Vietnam's strength means that the Northern Vietnamese won't be so defeated easily. That means they might have to stay longer in this god-forsaken country to finish the war, and they're not entirely sure whether they could last that long.
So, they avoided her gaze. Avoided everything about her. It would mean accepting her strength. Accepting the bitter realization that they wouldn't be coming home in maybe the next few years. Accepting that they were not even close to winning the war as they thought they were. Accepting that they were actually part of a horrifying war just as real as the World Wars that devastated the planet and the inhabitants of that planet.
Understanding their deniability (their fears, their desires, their trepidation), Vietnam lets them, for the moment, turn away from the inevitable; she watches as the men she had become familiar with for the past several months acted as if she doesn't exist. They were all so young, she mused once again, and war isn't something that she wished for any generation of the human race. She has been sick of bloodshed and death—that's for sure. Nonetheless, she will have to open their eyes tomorrow morning, forcing them into the swampy lands of her country if only to get them to acclimate to the terrain. The majority of them don't know where to step or avoid when traveling across the rainforest. She doubts that even most of them ever been inside a rainforest, much less trudge through one with heavy baggage and items for war. She would also have to teach them how to carry only the minimum essentials, since the jungle is so thick and it would only make the journey more difficult to have extra luggage.
"…We're winning… right?"
The question was barely above a whisper and Vietnam wasn't entirely sure it came from the subdued nation, but America finally lifted his head from between his knees, giving the stoic Asian a clear view of the other's devastated expression. The blond man is surprisingly without his glasses, emphasizing how truly young the Super-power is.
For a long moment, as she shifted the rifle tucked into her arm, never truly relaxed as her intense orbs would sometimes follow the shadows in the corner of her vision, Vietnam wasn't sure how to proceed to answer. They both had just recently came back from briefing which was called for after the assault had ended—or at least slowed down enough for the majority to catch a single breath. They were told the results of the 'Tet Offensive' as they had called it and the female veteran had no reason to refute the statistics calculated. Of course there were more Vietnamese 'enemies' casualties rather than American casualties—the hollowing ache throbbing deep into her bones confirms the large number of her people that had been killed on her land, but the pain was nothing new and she had learned to ignore it long ago. Honestly though; what does America want her to say?
"…Your higher-ups said you are."
"It doesn't feel like I'm winning." No, it feels like as if his head is about to split open, his brain spilling from his ear into a puddle around his feet. His whole body is set on fire, his nerves tingling in agitation as the voices of his people consumes his senses. They were angry. Outraged. Horrified by the images of massacre and death. They want an end to this whole war. They want an out.
America grinds his teeth as he tries to push the assaulting spirits of the American people to the back of his mind, digging his fingernails into his arm. The will of his citizens are strong (they always were—the Bill of Rights kept their voices loud and heard), but the young nation refuse to submit to the crippling pressure their opinions. With the stubbornness that his people has been famous for, America didn't let the pulsing voices in his head influence him. Despite what is being said back at home, the blond does not want to leave Vietnam yet—he has a duty as a hero to fight against the evil communists and that is what he's doing. Here, he was supposed to be the hero of the American and Vietnamese people. Here, he could save the Vietnamese from the dark path of communism. He's supposed to be a hero. He's trying to save Vietnam…
A rise of bile crawled up his throat as he remember the flash of liquid red sputtering from the Northern Vietnamese's mouth, a stream of silk-like dark hair coming from the former French colony who have her knife buried inside the man's thin throat. Her golden-brown eyes are unblinking as she watch one of her people die from her own hand, gently laying the lifeless body onto the ground as if putting the man to sleep. A pool of blood grew around her feet, but her hand never faltered when she manually closes the Vietnamese's eyes; unlike America, who visibly tremble at the lack of hesitance or mercy she has against her own people. Or maybe, that swift, well-planned counter-attack was merciful since the male didn't have to suffer before his death. Nonetheless, it was surprising how easy the deed had looked in her unexpectedly professional hands. Hands that he had jokingly touched and played without heeding the uncharacteristic calluses that seemed normal on her skin.
They were hands of a veteran.
America swallows the sourness he could taste on the back of his tongue. "I'm the hero." The statement sounds desperate, the tone a mixture of confusion and anxiety. "I'm the hero." No matter how many times he repeated the declaration it still doesn't sound right in his ears, not with the disgust of his people hanging in the back of his mind. "I'm the hero! I-I have to be!" His voice steadily grew in volume, cracking out of stress as he tries to inwardly reason with the conflicting feelings deep inside his soul. "The Americans are always the heroes and the villains are the Vietnamese—"
Sharply aware of the words that are coming out of his mouth, America closes his mouth with a loud click of his jaw, looking upon his experienced companion with an expression something akin to fear. His heart almost shuttered to a stop as he was faced with Vietnam's intense, bright-golden eyes, the searing orbs staring right onto his figure with a strength that frightens his shaken soul. The blond automatically tensed as if expecting to be assaulted by the old veteran, his true-blue eyes closed and his head turned away, not even defending himself from the inevitable attack, but it never came.
It took a long while for America to force himself to look directly into the Vietnamese's eyes and the young nation is surprised to find a lack of anger in the other's expression. In fact, Vietnam didn't even look insulted or affronted by his previous statement of heroes and villains. He can't help but be disturbed by her nonchalance. Shouldn't she be furious? Indignant for her own people? He sort of wanted her to be angry at him.
"W-Why are you not angry?"
The statement seemed uncharacteristically childish, like a little boy asking his mother whether he did something wrong, and Vietnam couldn't help but snort at the comparison though there was no real humor in her eyes. Hearing the amused sound coming from the generally stoic individual, America easily thought that the Vietnamese was now making fun of him and daringly glares at the armed Asian.
"What? What's funny?" The blond's tone is unmistakably hostile, his hands curled in an unsteady fist as if he would dare to reach out and try to punch the other square in the jaw, but the dark-haired veteran effortlessly brush the younger country's aggression as she shook her head in response. The corners of her lips were quirked upwards into something that was supposed to have some semblance of a smile but instead comes out as a grimace. Adjusting her position, Vietnam faces her supposed comrade-in-arms with an expression that seemed rather cynical.
"Are you expecting to be scolded like a child, young one?"
Immediately, America's entire face reddens –out of anger or embarrassment, there was no distinction between the two– as he sputters his indignation at the female's accusation. "N-No! Of course not—I mean, w-why would I want to be—" America was lost on how to answer without sounding like a fool and his frustrations only increased when Vietnam blatantly laughs at his fumble, but the supposedly joyous sound was hollow and brokenly bitter. Leaning back, the dark-haired woman lay her head against her assault rifle in a casual manner as if the magazine isn't still full of bullets, looking at the younger nation on the group with what looks to be a self-depreciating smile—if you could call that faint downward curve of the lips a smile.
"You're such a kid that it's not even funny."
America hackles rise at the statement, understanding the implication of what the other had said—he heard said it to him before. For most of his life, he have always been belittled by the older countries because of his age and they rarely gave him a chance to prove himself to become a great independent country without needing to particularly lean on England or France. After the last two World Wars, his confidence –not to mention his validity– as a strong nation exponentially grew. His involvement was always a turning point in those wars, and staying out of the way while the 'adults' fight is not going to help anyone in the long run. He honestly tried to stay neutral, they're the ones who kept blowing up his ships.
When Vietnam had first called him young (a kid, a child, etc.), he didn't think much of it. He just thought that woman was jealous of his youthfulness so he had taken to calling her 'granny' in retaliation. He doesn't remember the details entirely, but he heard that Vietnam was one of the oldest female personification in the world so it seemed befitting at the time. He never understood what it means for her to be older –more experienced– than him. Not until now.
Just the way she calls him a 'kid' makes him feel extremely inadequate in a way that England and all the other European countries have never been able to achieve.
"I-I'm not a kid!"
"Perhaps not. But you're barely halfway a millennium. Đụ, you're young. Why are you even fighting this war?"
"T-To save Vietnam! To save your people—"
"Then you don't get it."
"What? Because I'm young or something?!"
Their argument (was it an argument? It's too one-sided to really be considered one…) was steady growing louder—or at least, America's voice is rising in volume. The younger nation had stopped curling his body inwardly, taking a semi-defensive position against Vietnam in order to face the older personification heads-on. The blond's expression is filled with stubbornness along with outrage—the limitations of his age has always been a sore spot to the so-called superpower ever since his birth as an independent nation.
"…Don't misunderstand me. Your age contributes to the situation but it's not the problem. Who or what are you fighting against?"
America was temporarily befuddled by the question at first, his indignation momentarily forgotten as he tries to understand the Vietnamese's line of thought. Wasn't his goals clear in the beginning? He has been genuinely honest about his intentions since the day he landed onto Vietnamese soil.
"To fight against the evil communists." America stated without hesitance, and it's because of that lack of hesitance that Vietnam couldn't help but snort once again, an amused grimace forming on her lips that only the younger nation could see.
"'Evil' huh? You really are a kid."
"S-Shut up! The communists are evil a-and—"
"Those 'evil' communists are the North Vietnamese, right?" The statement halted his train of thoughts, and America gave himself a minute to absorb what the female Asian had said before cautiously nodding his confirmation. Yes, all the communists are the North Vietnamese, but Vietnam should already know this. Why point it out? He's not that clueless of his surroundings… "And the people on the side of democracy is the South Vietnamese, right?" And the Americans too, the young nation wanted to correct, but the look of her eyes, a harden intensity upon golden-amber that makes his throat goes dry, prevents him to. "So, you have two sides of the same ethnics warring against each other because of two different ideals—what does that sound like?"
Her final question was asked in a way that almost seem to be mocking his intelligence and he almost gave in to her game. He knows what it sounds like, but he dares not to say it out loud. It would be the same as admitting they're the ones who encourage it. It would have just been easier to say that they're fighting against the evils of the world.
Looking upon the ashen face of the younger nation, the blond's courage to face the older personification lost as he diverts his gaze in an attempt to close himself off from the conversation, Vietnam made an obscured expression of regret. It was the last thing that America needs from her though. Pity is useless in the time of war.
"You Americans call this The Vietnam War." She seemed amused by what the naming implies. "The Vietnamese in the north began to call it the American War, but it's not that simple, is it?" The young super-power didn't say anything in response, his lips pressed into a firm line as if determined to keep himself separate from the topic, so the old female veteran continues with her analysis. "To the Americans and to some of the Vietnamese, the enemies is clear: the Americans vs. the Vietnamese. But in the end, we all know this is just another—"
"Don't say it." America's voice was hoarse as he cuts off Vietnam. It looked almost painful and difficult for him to speak up. "You don't need to say it. I… I understand..."
"Do you?" The question seems like a judgmental statement and America wasn't able to procure an immediate response. "Do you understand that there are more of my people dead than any of your soldiers? Do you understand it's my lands being devastated with bombs, blood and death?"
"I—"
"Make no illusions of grandeur, child. We're just pawns in an elaborate game of chess. Your American government is using my people and your soldiers to play war with the Chinese and the Soviets. The same vice versa."
"No—!"
"To the rest of the world, this war is a way to settle points between rivaling powers."
"It's not—!"
"But to me, this is just another frustrating civil war."
"B-But…But we—we just want—w-we didn't mean—we just—" Hearing the desperate tremors in America's voice, Vietnam focuses back on the younger nation whose entire figure is the perfect representation of distraught. His eyes were shimmering with unshed tears, his bottom lips almost harshly bitten through, and the coarsen Vietnamese couldn't help but immediately soften at the sight. Without the blond's glasses, it really hits home to anyone how young the nation truly is in comparison to other countries.
Not even bothering to ask for permission, Vietnam reaches out with her stained hand towards the other, not even blinking when the super-power flinches at her sudden proximity. Carefully using the part of her skin that is dirt-free, sunset-eyed woman wiped away the spilling liquid building up in the corner of America's eyes.
"My apologies. I have lost my composure." Vietnam admitted, though her self-control haven't really falter despite her strangely calm tirade. Stiff frozen as soon as he felt the elder's surprisingly warm touch, America finds himself completely baffled by the other's near-motherly gesture, unconsciously sniffing out of reflex due to his stuffed nose. "My frustrations wouldn't change what has come to pass. Neither would your tears."
"I-I'm not crying!" America immediately contradict as he shoves the startlingly gentle hands away from his being, hastily rubbing his tears with the less dirty parts of his sleeve. His face was slightly red –either from his earlier distress or out of embarrassment– and his mind completely befuddled, earning him a throb that probably wouldn't leave him in the morning.
"…America." The said nation almost jump in surprise just by hearing his name. It was the first time that Vietnam had ever called him by his actual name—all the other times during his stay in her country, she have been referring to him as 'child' or 'young one' or 'kid'. It would be the subject of teasing among the troops if it wasn't for the fact she does that with everyone.
"Y-Yeah?" Suddenly feeling like an equal if only because the old veteran had used his real name, the young nation tries to be attentive to what the more experienced country would have to say, even though he wanted nothing more than for this conversation to end.
"…For your sake, stop thinking of this war as a battle of good versus evil." Vietnam's voice was harsh and firm to the ears of the country of freedom, and America felt the tension in his shoulders worsen. "…Stop being a hero and start being a soldier."
At first, the so-called advice made his blood run cold and his lungs to stop taking in air, but soon replacing the breathless and chilling sensation is a burning fury or outrage. He knows what the other is implying by asking —no—commanding that he should stop being a hero and start being a… If he can't be a hero, what else can he be? As the country of freedom, independence, and opportunity, he's supposed to be the nation where everyone can look for help. It's in his nature to respond to those who needed aid. If he's not the hero in this story, what part can he possibly play?
"…I can't do that. You can't make me." America nearly growled, his white teeth grounded shut, almost as if he's bearing his teeth, in order to control the overwhelming sense of indignation.
In response to his obvious hostility, the black-haired women subtly shifts her rifle in a way that the young nation can recognize to be a sign of command. Vietnam did this plenty of times with the other young soldiers in a way that makes them unconsciously more aware of her strength—though most have ignored the warnings she have given in the beginning. Seeing a slim Asian woman carrying a large gun is rather amusing to watch to most men, but it's different with Vietnam, who asserts her higher rank by displaying her knowledge over the weapon she is holding. She doesn't have America's strength, but her experiences and her speed easily made up the body strength she cannot conjure. Currently, the blond is not entirely sure whether he could beat her in a one-on-one battle. "No, I can't." The war veteran bitten bitterly with a look of exasperation upon her sharp features. "But I supposed it would only be fair if I warn you. Discontinue this notion youhave about being a hero to my people. It's for your benefit."
"So, you're asking me to be a coward?! To—To just abandon all that is good?!"
"I do not understand why you keep mentioning that good v. evil concept." Vietnam sounds entirely frustrated at the livid superpower's stubbornness, fingering her rifle as if contemplating on shooting the other in order to get her point across. "Are you being purposely naïve just to irritate me? You cannot put labels in this war—you'll only sink further into ruin."
"What would you know?! Y-You don't know anything!"
"Now you are being foolish." The insult was practically hissed and before America could snap back, a deceivingly lithe hand grab onto the collar of his uniform and drag him upward to where he was nearly face-to-face with the South-eastern Asian country. The young nation instinctively reach up to defend himself from the assaulting hand, but was quickly alarmed that he could not pry off the iron-like fingers digging into his uniform without ripping his own clothes. There was no anger in Vietnam's amber-golden eyes that would contradict her aggressive actions, but America finds her nonchalance more nerve-wracking than her fury.
"L-Let's go—"
"I will once you have heard what I have to say. I cannot make you listen otherwise."
"I get it! I'll listen, I'll listen–"
"But you are not fully comprehending my words. I want to make this war easier for your people, but your idiotic patriotism and ideals—"
Her words easily stung is pride as he scramble for some kind of purchase against the immobile hand buried in the cloth of his uniform, and in a desperate attempt to defend himself, he unintentionally snaps. "Why would you care whether what happens with my people?! You probably don't want us to win the war!"
As soon as the words came out from his mouth, he was promptly drop onto the ground with a grunt. At first America thought he was going to get pummeled into the ground, very well aware of the ridiculousness of his accusations. After discovering the full extent of Vietnam's strengths, the young nation finds himself slightly terrified at the prospect of facing the old veteran in the battlefield as the opposing side. But to his surprise, the Vietnamese instead gracefully stood up on her feet, the chair she was sitting on scrapping against the dirt while the rifle that was laying against the crook of her arm is now swung over on the back of her shoulder. Just as Vietnam started to move away from the superpower, her back facing the young nation as she turns to leave, America scrambles onto his knees.
"What—Where are you—?!"
"I do not wish to waste my time on someone who do not clearly understand what it means to win a war. I will be speaking to the generals about further strategies to defend ourselves from the northern troops in the near future."
"W-Wait!" America fumbles onto his feet, trying to follow the speed-walking Asian. "What do you want me to do?! What am I supposed to do?!"
America was barely able to stop in his track as Vietnam halted from his question, but she never turned around to look at him. Her figure is the personification of calm despite their rather heated –but slightly one-sided– dispute. "Assert your imperial world power. Bring your enemies to your knees as you did to the Japanese in the Second World War."
The young nation pales at the reminder of what they did to Japan during the war, sicken by the end result of the destruction his people had created in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Everyone was so desperate in ending the war and after the Axis have surrender in the European front, his people were so eager for the Japanese to unconditionally surrender. But even after their allies had conceded in defeat, Japan –or at least the country's leaders– planned on fighting until the last man alive.
Sending his people to invade the country in order to make the Japanese surrender is just asking for countless of American lives to be destroyed. America have been telling himself that Japan had given him no choice. This war cannot go on forever.
The atomic bomb was like a wake-up call to the Japanese—of all of their misdeeds and atrocities made in the pacific and the Asian countries they have overtaken. American cannot forget the hollow, empty look on Japan's face, his old friend, as his boss signs the Japanese Instrument of Surrender on the USS Missouri.
And Vietnam is asking him to—?!
"D-Do you even know what you're asking?!"
"I'm asking you to end this war." There was something haunting in Vietnam's sunset-like eyes that speaks of a bone-deep weariness that most probably wouldn't understand. Not even her fellow countries and personifications could relate to the millenniums of horror she had witness—not to where their own sanity is still intact. There is still times where Vietnam questions whether she still has any sanity left. "You and Russia started this war—either one or the other will end it in victory. If you're not willing to use my people as pawns for your rivalry, then leave. This war is pointless if you do not make a complete conquest of the North—I know my own people and they are prepared to use the last of their reserves to remove the Americans from this land."
Me: I think I somehow lost my train of thought along the way as I was writing this. I had a certain storyline in my head that I tried to follow, but somehow, this story got away from me. If some things do not make sense, don't worry—it's the author's fault, not the reader's.
Anyway, is there a reason why nearly every Vietnam War story is just the setting for Vietnam's love interests to take place? Or is war romance settings is all Vietnam is good for? Though I'm probably not one to talk since I'm writing about the Vietnam War, but I'm not really using it to promote a pairing I like. I just kind of want to display a relationship between America and Vietnam that I don't see often, something that is more tragic and grim than the 'love lost' interpretation. I want something rather realistic to the events that had happened, a more human –yet slightly inhuman– response from Vietnam and America in the events of the war.
Many would probably think that America is acting too young or too childish, but I'm trying to make America as a reflection of the type of men that was drafted into the war. In fact, a lot of them had barely been 'men'—many of the drafted soldiers are very young, barely into adulthood, when they first came into the Vietnam War. You could imagine their inexperience. There were also many soldiers who weren't wanted in Europe that has been transferred over to Vietnam. A lot of those soldiers are not used to fighting in swampy terrains and that is mainly what makes it difficult for the Americans to fight against the North. There is a lot America has to overcome in order to effectively fight against the Vietnamese
I would like to think that Vietnam is well aware of her position during the Cold War between the Soviets and America, but barely has the international power or recognize to prevent being in the middle of their rivalry.
I will think in a later time, I will write more of this sort of AU or interpretation in the later future. Right now, this would be considered a one-shot.
Anyway, some history references:
The Tet Offensive is a series of surprise attacks directed by the North Vietnamese (Vietcong) on the day of Lunar New Years. These attacks were made in the south of Vietnam, but was ward off by the Americans and the South Vietnamese people despite how they weren't prepared for it. Technically, it was supposed to be a win for the Americans, but politically, the North had the advantage. The Tet Offensive was broadcasted in America and when the American people saw that they weren't winning the war as they thought they were and all the bloodshed that happened, the support for the Vietnam War plummeted. After the revelation, the American people called out for the government to end the war and bring back their troops.