This is from a captain (company CO) who was in the boonies in Vietnam for a long tour.
It's approaching Thanksgiving, so I think it's timely and illuminating.
"With the exception of a fine turkey dinner delivered in mermite cans, Thanksgiving was just like all the other days. We had no celebration. Patrols, LP's and pre-planned artillery fire were conducted as usual.
War returns men's values to the basics. A good meal, a can of beer, a few hours sleep, and a letter from home were ample reward for seeing another sunrise. The death we observed and inflicted made our own lives that much more precious, but from a "we" and "they" perspective rather than in any appreciation for mankind itself.
Perhaps it was the luxuries of the world which we exchanged for the harshness of the jungle that made us so violent against the enemy. Pilots killed from the air with napalm and bombs, and they returned to air-conditioned clubs to talk of flying rather than destruction. Artillerymen scrambled to man their guns on fire missions that rained death on an unseen enemy, and they returned to half-eaten meals to complain that their food had grown cold. Infrantymen removed gold teeth, and occasionally ears or more from bodies of young men and women who surely must have thought their cause at least as just as we thought ours.
Yet I, like the others, expressed no regret nor remorse except about not being able to kill and destroy even more. I don't know why we were the way we were. The standard justification, that we were fighting for the survival of our comrades and ourselves was true. But we went beyond the means of self-protection with a blood lust that no American mother would recognise nor acknowledge in her son. I never knew a man who admitted liking the war, yet none of us ever seemed to live as intensely as when we were trying to kill our fellows on this planet."



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