MauriceStacio7
New Here
In 1966 I was drafted into the U.S. Army. I went through basic training in late July and in January of 1967 I was shipped off to Vietnam. I was attached with several other men from basic to a 12th Infantry platoon near Saigon, in Phuoc Le.
During the months of January through September, 1968, Vietcong forces conducted a major offensive during the Tet holiday. My unit had not seen much until late June. It was the middle of the night, most of the boys were asleep. We heard the siren screech and knew that something was going down. We all jumped out of our bunks and ran to our positions on the outskirts of the jungle. The siren continued to wail for five minutes but nothing happened. I joked with my foxhole buddy Barski that Charlie was never going to hit our position because I had to get back home and bang his mom one last time before they got us.
He never got the chance to respond. Moments after that remark, a 60mm mortar landed only a few feet from our foxhole. The shrapnel from the blast killed him instantly. I only took a slight wound to my forearm, but that was only because his torso had landed right on top me, shielding me from most of the shrapnel. In what seemed like forever, I recovered from the shock of the blast. I was looking straight into the sky, but when I looked down what I saw is engraved in the back of my mind forever. I glanced down, and noticed that Barski's upper half lay in pieces on my body. The only part semi intact was his lower torso, but I wish it hadn't been. His intestines had been spilled on my stomach, leaving me covered in his entrails. It stank of blood and rotten meat.
I started to scream and didn't stop until my platoon sergeant came over and removed Barski's remains from my body. He told me that Charlie was going to be coming from all sides and I better be ready. I tried to forget about what happened and just try and hold my position. Shots started to ring out on all sides and in a matter of minutes my sergeant was hit. He screamed and swore blindly until I ran over to check on him. I was about to ask him where he was hit until I saw for myself where the blood was coming from. I quickly removed the clothing around the wound and found my sergeants genitals in a bloody tattered mess. I froze and time seemed to go by at a snails pace. The last thing I remember is a Vietcong guerrilla charging towards me with a grenade in hand. After that all I can remember is waking up in a nice clean, hospital bed, without my left leg.
I have seen psychiatrists over the past 40 years but still have flashbacks of that terrible night. I can't forget these things I've seen though I wish I could.
I can't lead a normal life. Not just because of the leg, but because of my memories. I am haunted by visions of these events and can't seem to go on.What can I do so I can live my life like a normal person again?
During the months of January through September, 1968, Vietcong forces conducted a major offensive during the Tet holiday. My unit had not seen much until late June. It was the middle of the night, most of the boys were asleep. We heard the siren screech and knew that something was going down. We all jumped out of our bunks and ran to our positions on the outskirts of the jungle. The siren continued to wail for five minutes but nothing happened. I joked with my foxhole buddy Barski that Charlie was never going to hit our position because I had to get back home and bang his mom one last time before they got us.
He never got the chance to respond. Moments after that remark, a 60mm mortar landed only a few feet from our foxhole. The shrapnel from the blast killed him instantly. I only took a slight wound to my forearm, but that was only because his torso had landed right on top me, shielding me from most of the shrapnel. In what seemed like forever, I recovered from the shock of the blast. I was looking straight into the sky, but when I looked down what I saw is engraved in the back of my mind forever. I glanced down, and noticed that Barski's upper half lay in pieces on my body. The only part semi intact was his lower torso, but I wish it hadn't been. His intestines had been spilled on my stomach, leaving me covered in his entrails. It stank of blood and rotten meat.
I started to scream and didn't stop until my platoon sergeant came over and removed Barski's remains from my body. He told me that Charlie was going to be coming from all sides and I better be ready. I tried to forget about what happened and just try and hold my position. Shots started to ring out on all sides and in a matter of minutes my sergeant was hit. He screamed and swore blindly until I ran over to check on him. I was about to ask him where he was hit until I saw for myself where the blood was coming from. I quickly removed the clothing around the wound and found my sergeants genitals in a bloody tattered mess. I froze and time seemed to go by at a snails pace. The last thing I remember is a Vietcong guerrilla charging towards me with a grenade in hand. After that all I can remember is waking up in a nice clean, hospital bed, without my left leg.
I have seen psychiatrists over the past 40 years but still have flashbacks of that terrible night. I can't forget these things I've seen though I wish I could.
I can't lead a normal life. Not just because of the leg, but because of my memories. I am haunted by visions of these events and can't seem to go on.What can I do so I can live my life like a normal person again?
