summer.html
Logo Hatfield


A Summer's Night at Tan Son Nhut

It was a quiet and very dark summer night.  The rays of the setting sun, had disappeared over the horizon, hours ago.  The sounds of silence, were then wafting across the open field to the East.  As you sit all alone, you can faintly hear the drone of engines, on "Spook the Magic Dragon," as she makes her nightly rounds.  You're never alone as long as the, "Dragon Lady," is in the air, and that in itself, is a very comforting thought tonight.  As the flares, fall slowly earthward, sending forth their million candlepower rays of light, causing shadows to dance and race from building to building, as if they were children playing tag.  If one tries hard enough it is possible to see all sorts of images, in the dim shadows.  Sudden movement in the field of the dead brings the pulse to a racing rate.  All of a sudden you notice you're not breathing normally, in effort to hear better.  So you force yourself, to again inhale, the aromatic summer air.  Moments later you see it's only a couple of dogs on their nightly hunt, so you again turn inward to your own reverie.

You think back to the faces of the young lads, as they stepped off the bus this afternoon.  You wonder what kind of world, would cause a young lad of 18 or 19, to see things and do things, that creates a face of a haggard old man on this young body.  You look toward the heavens and ask the Great Spirit, why can man be so gentle to some things and yet so cruel and unkind to others.  You question the Spirit, as to the wisdom of such endeavors and why it is allowed.  But your questions are not answered now!

The hour is the darkest and coldest, just before dawn when you finally begin fathom an answer from the Great Spirit.  It comes not as a voice or a sign but something felt deep within.  The answer is this:

"Mourn not the dead for they are free!  But instead mourn for the survivor, for he shall forever carry the memories, the scars, and the memories, even though they may be repressed they shall continue to creep into his conscious to haunt him !"

In hopes we NEVER forget, I dedicate this to the ones left behind, I will NOT FORGET YOU and ask the Great Spirit each day to allow you again to join your Country and your families.

Harlan N. Hatfield
Tan Son Nhut 1967






                                                                                


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