The Battle Rages: A Soldier's memoirs of war - Softcover

Farley, Martain A.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1426928610 ISBN 13: 9781426928611

Verlag: iUniverse, 2010

Inhaltsangabe

Just out of school, Martain and his brother Mike head to an Army post in Columbia, South Carolina. They are resolved to serve their country and help defeat the enemy in Vietnam. On a plane to training camp, the young Martain is served a cocktail by a flight attendant. In camp, he's stripped down and examined during a physical. And in Vietnam, he hears people speaking in short energetic bursts in a language he's never heard. His life has completely changed, and now he has to deal with it. Martain serves three tours of duty in Vietnam, and while fighting in the wilderness, he usually doesn't know if he'll live to see the next day. He witnesses and engages in horrific battles where bravery determines the outcome. By the end of his final tour of duty, fear and danger no longer mean anything. After serving in Vietnam, Martain joins the Reserves, and he participates in the 1989 invasion of Panama. As a result of his experiences, he suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Join him as he relives his ordeals and helps everyone understand what so many veterans must deal with after the war ends in The Battle Rages.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Martain A. Farley served three tours of duty in Vietnam, and was an active reservist on duty during the 1989 invasion of Panama and the Gulf wars. As a result of his experiences, he suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A resident of Georgia, he wrote this book to help educate people about the condition.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

The Battle Rages

By Martain A. Farley

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2010 Martain A. Farley
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4269-2861-1

Contents

Preface..............................ixAcknowledgements.....................xiiiInduction............................1Basic Training.......................7Westover.............................18Tiger Flight.........................27Myrtle Beach.........................54Bien Hoa.............................65U.S. Customs.........................84The Last Chapter.....................95

Chapter One

Basic Training

We landed in the San Antonio airfield in the early-morning hours. After the airplane rolled to a complete stop, the exit door opened, and we departed down the portable outside stairway.

Our unit walked in a close group to the terminal reception area. I do not believe that any of us had brought along extra baggage because we were told that the Air Force would supply us with whatever we needed.

A young military man who had been assigned to take us into his custody beckoned for us to follow him to an awaiting transport bus. Most of us were grateful that we had had a safe trip, and the atmosphere among us was one of relief and expectation.

On the bus someone started telling jokes and, after a very short time, the jabber and jocularity among us became invigorating and lively. We drove through the gates of Lackland Air Force Base tired and growing giddy.

My initial observation of this military facility left me with the impression that the compound contained a tremendous network of territories that appeared to be completely autonomous and vibrant.

Eventually the bus came to a halt next to the steps of a large and solemn-looking building. Our chatter came to an abrupt halt as a lanky and weathered sergeant stepped onboard and began hurling profanities at our complement of new recruits.

He told us to quit ******* off at the mouths and not to speak unless spoken to. Our responses were to be: "Yes, sir" and "No, sir." Our next instructions were to follow him into the building where we would draw military-issued underclothing and toiletry items.

We became part of a larger troop that had preceded us to the issue area. Once our task was completed, we reentered the transport with a larger contingent and departed to our dormitory. I looked at my watch and saw that it was close to three o'clock in the morning.

The carrier stopped in front of our new residence, at which time we were introduced to our new drill instructors. The senior-ranking sergeant told us in a gruff voice each to pick out a bunk and that they would be back to talk with us after we had had a short rest.

Like the rest of my compadres, I grabbed a nearby bed and forced myself into an uneasy slumber. My thoughts at this moment were serious. I reminded myself inwardly that I had volunteered for this mission and that my future was now in the hands of fate.

The vast majority of men in our group were draftees who had decided to join the USAF to lessen their chances of being sent into a combat situation.

Mike and I had enthusiastically volunteered for military duty and were required to have a parent sign for our mobilization because we had not yet reached the minimum age (eighteen) for enlistment.

Being stationed in a war zone was of no consequence to us because we had already decided to volunteer for combat duty at the first possible juncture. Carlisle Military School had instilled in us the belief in duty, honor, and country.

Our brief repose ended when, out of nowhere, the dorm was flooded with lights. It was still dark outside, but the hue of dawn was beginning to permeate the sky. As promised, the drill instructors had returned.

Their belligerent words and commands snapped our coalition into an uneasy awakening. The voices told us to get dressed quickly for a march to the chow hall. The last man fully clothed fell prey to a volley of obscenities that caused all of us to cringe. This lesson did not go unnoticed or forgotten.

We quickly assembled outside into a mass of confused humanity. This initiated a new round of profanity that would question our intelligence and cripple our egos.

The final set of communiqus was to march forward, shut the hell up, and for our company of simpletons to follow all the given commands. In this new world, we could hear and see other companies of men and women being ridiculed and berated during their parallel journey to the morning repast.

The chow hall was a huge facility. It had to serve thousands of meals every day. Each of us stood stiffly as we made our way through the serving lines. The mass-produced food served was basic but satisfactory. The milk and juice machines became favorite friends with their never-ending flow of refreshments.

Our instructors warned us to keep the chatter at a minimum and to finish our meals within an abbreviated amount of time. Once finished, we proceeded outside to join again in a crude formation.

With the drill instructors marching alongside barking commands, we made our way to the parade and exercise grounds. This trek would become a daily routine and almost second nature.

Here we practiced marching, close order drill, and strict physical exercises and listened to directives on military protocol. Classroom instructions were scheduled on a regular basis with the exception of the weekends. This allowed a short reprieve and an opportunity for any trainee to participate in his or her preferred religious leaning.

In the first week of our training, we were sent to a very large building nicknamed "the green monster." This facility was the heart and soul of the entire Air Force base. Here, military clothing was issued; individual legal documents (such as life insurance forms) were completed, and specific job classifications and military assignments for every recruit were determined upon the successful conclusion of our abbreviated training period.

On our first visit to the green monster, we were handed out our boots, socks, service caps, and military uniforms that would later be tailored and sized at the base alteration center.

Until this moment, we had been vocally castigated by more senior recruits, who cheerfully designated us as "Rainbows," while marching within a close view of our unit. This moniker was assigned to us new trainees because of our colorful and varying civilian attire, which had yet to be replaced by the regular olive green fatigues of our peers.

A sampling of this indoctrination by the passing cadence-callers was as follows: "Rainbow, rainbows don't be blue; __ more days and we'll be through.

As time marched on, we would be the ones to berate the newbie's gleefully with the many days and hours of condensed training behind us as the sand in our hour glass diminished in quantity.

One irregularity that I remember from this particular period was the caustically harsh manner in which the women recruits were treated. The insensitive female drill instructors yelled and taunted these ladies in a manner that was in every respect foreign to me because of my Southern heritage and upbringing.

One instructor issued the statement: "While under my watch, you will walk and march in a military manner, so I do not want to see any of your pretty ... young ... asses wiggle."

Their poetry in motion was being eradicated from the equation and the first two letters in the word female were being artificially expunged, to my manner of thinking. These basic recruits were expected to eliminate thoughts that had been hardwired into their gender since...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: iUniverse
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2010
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1426928610
• ISBN 13: 9781426928611
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 140
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: preigu GmbH & Co. KG; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; Niedersachsen; 49078; Deutschland