CHAPTER 19: WE, WERE AN ELITE SOLDIER
NOTE: At just seventeen we are getting our first introduction to bar life instead of just walking in one to get money from our dad to eat on. The 82nd Airborne Division is like no other when it comes to extensive war prep training, and we love it. Train hard all day long and drink harder all night long. This brings us to the unedited version of...
CHAPTER 19: WE, WERE AN ELITE SOLDIER
During enlistment the only options we had selected were combat arms and airborne, being assured at recruitment that would give us the best opportunity to make it to war if there was any chance at all. And at this time, we still had no idea what our job was going to be.
We chose 82nd Airborne, and the army chose to put us in the fire direction center for the artillery. Here we practice killing the enemy in war games on a regular basis, always busy, either in the field on fire missions or getting ready to go back into the field, but we never really get to leave the United States.
We run several miles every morning, chanting about blood and guts, and killing Charlie Cong was always the theme of the day. If we can’t be in a real war zone, then this is the ideal place for us. There is an abundance of alcohol and high testosterone levels, which make for many great street and bar fights.
Somehow even with all these people around we still manage to stay to ourselves as much as possible. Not even these nut cases we share a barracks with have a clue what life is about. There were many people returning from Vietnam now with haunting war memories, some would share their stories. Others seemed as quiet and lost as I was.
Most of them were part of the 101st Airborne Division while in Nam. They all think that none of the young rookies here without combat experience have a clue about the real tragedies in life. Most of these combat vets have lived through some very ugly times. Some have seen some very tight friends die very ugly deaths. I just keep quiet. Not wanting to compare and I had no idea how to share. Joe never says a word about losing his whole family with just one shot in the ugliest way imaginable.
Their war stories do make us feel like we belong here. These men have served honorably and had to see every type of death that war has to offer. Like Joe, many of them try to keep their horror stories locked up inside where the images they harbor can fester and boil over at any time. None are like the High School kids I could still be hanging out with if my life were different. After all Joe was just seventeen and should be almost done with his junior year. Thinking about Friday night football and the upcoming prom.
Joe was able to make rank promotions quickly. He is an elite soldier by day and a loner by night. Everyone that had made it through it were returning from Vietnam. Many of them were alcoholics and/or drug addicts, many were lost, I was all three. Sadly, my chances of entering combat are getting slimmer every day. Maybe President Nixon can do something to re-escalate the fighting.
Until then, I’ll keep fighting my private battles within myself and then those in the bars and on the streets of Fayetteville, North Carolina. There were always plenty of willing participants here. None of these guys are afraid of anything. On Fort Bragg alone we have two Groups of Special Forces/Green Berets along with the 18th Airborne Corp and 82nd Airborne Division.
Within the vicinity, we have an Air force Base with Special Operations, and then not far from there is Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, a Marine Corp Base with their Airborne Recon troops. The testosterone levels are always skyrocketing. Everyone has something to prove, and we were all too young to know better.
When it came to fighting, I never lost. Joe has learned to fight very well and with my help we are unbeatable. Usually, the odds are in our favor, two to one (Joe and I). The opponent only sees one, but they feel both of us. Even when there are more of them, we find a way to win. Since I could not fight all the time, I spent a good deal of my off time in private lessons learning Kung Fu. The instructor I had believed in a medium contact training method. You would not lose teeth or break bones in training, but fat lips, black eyes and deep bruises were pretty normal. We loved his training method. It definitely toughened Joe up.
One night Joe and I fought against four other people and won. No one was knocked out or down for the count, but they were all hurt, and ready to get out of there. We were still standing our ground and ready for more. We were not above fighting dirty. We did not use weapons, but where we hit, kicked, bit, or pulled hair of someone did not matter to us.
During our battles in Fayetteville, we were shot at once over a pool game. We were stabbed in the upper thigh once by a heroin addict that insisted Joe had to give him a ride to score a fix. We also had our hand sliced once while taking away a knife that was being used against us. We were hit with almost any object that a person could find within reach, from chairs to bottles. With all that we still never lost a fight. Even though sometimes winning can be very painful. Like the Kung Fu training, the physical pain that came with the fighting just seemed to make us grow stronger.
**Reach out to me at any time.
I am not only willing, but I also look forward to taking a share of your pain. Email: David@bondedabrotherslove.com. You will get a caring same day response.
Nothing scripted.
You are not alone, and you matter.
If You’re Struggling
If you or someone you love or know is in a dark place, please know you’re not alone and there is help available. Reaching out is a sign of strength, not weakness. There are people ready to listen, ready to walk with you, and ready to help.
Immediate assistance is available:
National Suicide & Crisis Lifeline
📞 988
Veterans Crisis Line
📞 1-800-273-8255 (Press 1) | 📱 Text 838255
Survivor Support / Crisis Group
🌐 https://www.crisishotline.org 📞 832-416-1177
💡 If you know someone who needs to hear that they are not alone, share this story. Together, we can create echoes of hope that outlast the pain.
For more than five decades, I carried this story in silence. Silence nearly broke me, but telling it is what keeps hope alive.
Bonded: A Brother’s Love : One Bullet. A Thousand Echoes my hope is that it offers understanding, connection, and even a reason to hold on when life feels unbearable.
📖 Order your copy today and join me in breaking the silence. Together we can spread hope, honor the lost, and change the future.
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