Epilogue

[Timeline: Los Angeles – 1994]

15 years later I did get a chance to thank Captain Fallone. One of our missions took us to a small fishing Island, where Fallone had retired to after the Vietnam war. We rescued him and his fellow Islanders from being overrun by a bunch of sleazeballs.

He had been shot bad and as he lay on the stretcher, I asked him if he remembered me from the jungles of Vietnam. To this day I will always remember his reply.

"So many men. You teach yourself to forget their faces."

His words sent a chill down my spine as the memories of that day in La Drang Valley suddenly came back to haunt me. An experience like that leaves scars. For years afterwards I was sour on life. It turned me angry, cynical and alienated from society. They may have healed the injuries to my leg and face, but no-one could tell me when the nightmares would stop. And of course being a fugitive on the run didn't help. Even now, as a free man, 'Nam would never be far from my thoughts. It still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Then one morning, out of the blue, an envelope was sent to me by a young man called Mickey. He had come to look upon Fallone as a father figure during the trouble on their Island. I opened it and took out a small, clear plastic packet. Inside was the gold cross and chain I had put round Fallone's neck when we had rescued him on the Island.

I suddenly felt a pang of gut-wrenching apprehension. The accompanying letter was short and to the point. Fallone had died after suffering a massive stroke. His last request had been that Micky return the chain to me as "he didn't need it where he was going!"

I laughed at the light-hearted humour in his words, but my eyes filled with tears. For a moment I was transported back to the horror and desperation of that hostile conflict. For me and many veterans, it had been a war that was fought without any real conclusion. Politics had got in the way and the American people had turned against the GIs, who were valiantly trying to make sense of what was happening amongst all the confusion.

We did finally get our parades and our memorial on the Mall in Washington. But I wanted to do something to mark my respect to all those unsung heroes, who had died serving for their country. There were so many who deserved that respect.

There were the young men who stood in the doorways of the Hueys, gallantly protecting our backs as we emerged from the treeline under constant unfriendly fire.

There were the skilled pilots, who pulled as out of a hot LZ more times than I cared to remember.

There were the courageous platoon leaders who would lead us to safety, literally fighting until they had lost their last breath, rather than surrender to Charlie.

And there were the brave medics, who went into combat armed only with a pistol for protection and their first aid kits which would save thousands of lives.

So when an opportunity arose, a few weeks later, to return to Vietnam, I jumped at the chance. I still had the A-Team, who had become my lifelong family, but this was one journey I had to do without them.

Together with other La Drang veterans, I travelled back to the jungle in the Central Highlands. I remembered a handful of them from my Platoon. Lt Dave Sheldon had been shot in the kneecap and ankle. His permanent limp would serve as a reminder of his time in the valley of death. Sgt Harry Delaney had both his legs blown off, but being wheelchair bound hadn't stopped him from continuing with his life and making the journey back to 'Nam.

Seeing Corporal Angus Scott was a reminder of one of the wounded we had left behind when the ambush had first began. He had been unable to walk but he could still operate his M-16. He had protected himself and the other wounded that were left behind, from being executed by the Cong. His reward had been the loss of several fingers, but his guts and determination had saved all their lives.

For several days I walked the battlefield. What struck me was the overwhelming peacefulness of the place, even in the clearing where I thought I was going to die. I broke down several times. I wanted to bring back some shell casings - some physical manifestation of the battle - to lay at the foot of The Wall in Washington.

But I was unable to find any remnants of the war. The forces of nature had simply erased it. Where once the grass had been slippery with blood, flowers now bloomed in their glory. Flowers - that's all that I could find in that jungle clearing that once held terror and now held beauty. So I pressed some and brought them back to LA with me. I would later visit Fallone's grave and lay them there.

The land was at peace and possibly for the first time, Vietnam has become a place again, not just a devastating battle ground. I finally begun to let go and now I have a great pride in the service I gave to my country.

But I would never forget the day I escaped death in the tall grass of the La Drang Valley or the young medic who risked his life to save my skin.

Fini

[AN: I cannot take any credit for the contents of this story. They are based on true extracts of a soldier's plight in Vietnam. I found the extracts very moving and used poetic licence to turn it into BA's story. It was really just an opportunity to share this remarkable story with others.]