someone came up with. Made it easier to shoot at ’em if you didn’t have to think of them as real people.”
“I know guys do that in every war,” Dave said. “Come up with nicknames for the enemy.”
He sighed. “We did. But I don’t want to be calling those people names anymore. They didn’t want to fight that war any more than we did.”
A few moments passed in silence. Dave figured John had a right to them. When it seemed he had pulled himself together, Dave said, “You were talking about how Aaron came to your rescue when you guys were pinned down, about his injuries, I think.”
“Right.” He reached over, took the last bite of his sandwich, cleaned up with a few napkins, then continued. “We found out later that Aaron not only had shrapnel wounds but that somewhere in there he’d taken a bullet right through the midsection. Went clean through, somehow missed his vital organs. But word got back to us a few days after the medevac choppers got him out. He and Paul. They went back to a field hospital in Vandergrift, a bigger base not too far from Fire Base Cunningham. Lieutenant Mann pulled us all together and filled us in. He couldn’t stop talking about what Aaron had done. All the guys were going on about it. Hammer said—I mean, Allan—‘You need to put him in for the big one, Lieutenant.’ He was talking about the Medal of Honor. The lieutenant said he’d already started the paperwork headed in that direction.”
“What did the after-action reports say about the firefight?” Dave said.
“Well, turned out our guys had chased the VC out of the immediate area. They left in a hurry after what Aaron started. We searched the jungle, counted eleven enemy dead. We’d only lost poor Sardelli, and two wounded. Paul and Aaron. But Dave, that’s not what was supposed to happen that day. Except for what Aaron did. Which he didn’t have to do. I mean, it’s not like we were good friends. If anything, we treated him pretty badly most of the time, or else ignored him altogether.” A look of disbelief came over his face. “He came after us anyway. Paul, Allan, and I should have died that day in a nasty firefight, along with a dozen more of our guys. Of course, the three of us didn’t need to read that in an after-action report. We knew we were dead men.”
John looked back at Dave. “That’s why we’ve got to find him. If he’s still alive. We’ve got to find him, to thank him properly for saving our lives.”
“You didn’t get to see him again after that?”
“Only once. I’ve got a picture of the three of us at his bedside, Paul still on crutches.”
“You do? Can I get a copy of that?”
“Sure. All three of us have a copy. The picture was taken in a bigger hospital about two months later in Quang Tri. A few years after the war, Paul saw a picture of Aaron getting the Medal of Honor at the White House. It happened a year after that hospital picture, in 1970.”
“Were any of you there?”
“No, but we heard about it.”
“Could I get a copy of that picture too?”
“I’ll see that you do.”
“You said things didn’t go well for Aaron after that.”
“From everything we heard, he had to stay in the hospital several more months. They shipped him back to the States. One of the guys heard he’d gotten addicted to painkillers. Like a lot of guys, he really struggled with all the head stuff. The guilt, the nightmares, the depression. He couldn’t pull out of it. He became an alcoholic. Lost his family and eventually started living on the streets.” John looked up and said, “That’s where you come in, Dave.”
“Is this the part where you make me that offer?”
“It is.” He took a swig of his iced tea. “The guys and I talked about this, and we’re all in agreement. We want to see Aaron again, if he’s alive. And we want him at our next reunion to thank him properly for saving our lives. None of what I have here . . . my wife and kids, grandkids, my
“I know guys do that in every war,” Dave said. “Come up with nicknames for the enemy.”
He sighed. “We did. But I don’t want to be calling those people names anymore. They didn’t want to fight that war any more than we did.”
A few moments passed in silence. Dave figured John had a right to them. When it seemed he had pulled himself together, Dave said, “You were talking about how Aaron came to your rescue when you guys were pinned down, about his injuries, I think.”
“Right.” He reached over, took the last bite of his sandwich, cleaned up with a few napkins, then continued. “We found out later that Aaron not only had shrapnel wounds but that somewhere in there he’d taken a bullet right through the midsection. Went clean through, somehow missed his vital organs. But word got back to us a few days after the medevac choppers got him out. He and Paul. They went back to a field hospital in Vandergrift, a bigger base not too far from Fire Base Cunningham. Lieutenant Mann pulled us all together and filled us in. He couldn’t stop talking about what Aaron had done. All the guys were going on about it. Hammer said—I mean, Allan—‘You need to put him in for the big one, Lieutenant.’ He was talking about the Medal of Honor. The lieutenant said he’d already started the paperwork headed in that direction.”
“What did the after-action reports say about the firefight?” Dave said.
“Well, turned out our guys had chased the VC out of the immediate area. They left in a hurry after what Aaron started. We searched the jungle, counted eleven enemy dead. We’d only lost poor Sardelli, and two wounded. Paul and Aaron. But Dave, that’s not what was supposed to happen that day. Except for what Aaron did. Which he didn’t have to do. I mean, it’s not like we were good friends. If anything, we treated him pretty badly most of the time, or else ignored him altogether.” A look of disbelief came over his face. “He came after us anyway. Paul, Allan, and I should have died that day in a nasty firefight, along with a dozen more of our guys. Of course, the three of us didn’t need to read that in an after-action report. We knew we were dead men.”
John looked back at Dave. “That’s why we’ve got to find him. If he’s still alive. We’ve got to find him, to thank him properly for saving our lives.”
“You didn’t get to see him again after that?”
“Only once. I’ve got a picture of the three of us at his bedside, Paul still on crutches.”
“You do? Can I get a copy of that?”
“Sure. All three of us have a copy. The picture was taken in a bigger hospital about two months later in Quang Tri. A few years after the war, Paul saw a picture of Aaron getting the Medal of Honor at the White House. It happened a year after that hospital picture, in 1970.”
“Were any of you there?”
“No, but we heard about it.”
“Could I get a copy of that picture too?”
“I’ll see that you do.”
“You said things didn’t go well for Aaron after that.”
“From everything we heard, he had to stay in the hospital several more months. They shipped him back to the States. One of the guys heard he’d gotten addicted to painkillers. Like a lot of guys, he really struggled with all the head stuff. The guilt, the nightmares, the depression. He couldn’t pull out of it. He became an alcoholic. Lost his family and eventually started living on the streets.” John looked up and said, “That’s where you come in, Dave.”
“Is this the part where you make me that offer?”
“It is.” He took a swig of his iced tea. “The guys and I talked about this, and we’re all in agreement. We want to see Aaron again, if he’s alive. And we want him at our next reunion to thank him properly for saving our lives. None of what I have here . . . my wife and kids, grandkids, my
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