When I Close My Eyes I See…
Keith Nightingale
Files of Grunt walking through the deep green….the rice paddies…the sand dune broken plain…the rough scree and pine branches of impossibly steep hills…the dusty deserted all too silent city streets….the plowed ground and poppy fields of the mud village just within rifle range...always moving forward
Helicopters, dust, swirling colored smoke sucked through the blades
Innocent eyes listening to my orders, eager to follow
Tired eyes knowing what they mean, resigned to whatever the outcome
Them. Trust. Am I worthy?
The white contrails of the Copperhead heading toward the left window, Building Two, Second floor
The biting straps of the ruck impressed on the skin after it is shed
The small glint on the tip of the front sight aligned with the shadowed figure to the front
The first gush of juice from the fruit can as the P38 pierces
The ochre stain of the C ration spoon as it is licked clean
My fingers around the black plastic forward hand grip…back to business
The limp figure that wanted to kill me. Now so small and inconsequential. Where did he get it?
The flapping ponchos on the KIA’s as the helicopter comes in to recover them
The perimeter at first light
The perimeter at last light
All the junk the morning after
Flies circling the bodies in the craters in front of me
The sixth sense that says Stop--Listen
The sudden muzzle flash to my front
The crosses-- in the marble garden telling our story
The marble crosses--Why I serve
The blinding light and heat as the evening’s excess charges are burned
The quick flash of heat and light from the ball of C4 under my C ration coffee cup
The fading light in his eyes
The look in the eye of the replacement during his first fire fight
The dial of the radio with an earpiece listening to Vinny broadcast a Dodger-Giant game on AFVN
The AFVN image of President Johnson saying he would not accept his party’s nomination for the Presidency
The melted tar from the PRC 25 battery being swabbed across the leak in my air mattress
The miniscule red bubbles seeping out of the edge of the plastic wrapper on the sucking chest wound
The great gouts of blue smoke from the rear of the tank as it crashes through the green
The contrails of wispy smoke from the hot .50 cal as it is wiped down
The brownish black smoke and stink from the shit burner
The incredible cleanness of the uniforms and equipment of the replacements
The look in their eyes
The later oneness of the troops and the terrain they pass…time dissolves differences…almost the same
The sight of the shaking ant mound in the tree above me
The wildly rotating green sparks at the tip of the blades of the helicopter through the NVG’s
Reaching into the box and the joy or sorrow when seeing the menu item selected
The undulating ground in the triple canopy from the B52 strike
The incredibly iridescent green of the curled bamboo viper less than three feet from my face
The unique bright flash from the AK 47 pointing toward me
The bright flash when I hit his grenade vest
The look in the eye of the FO as he screamed- “Danger Close. Down.” as the rounds come overhead
The momentarily revealed light through the canopy as the boxes of ammo, rations, and water course through the upper branches
Whisping dust contrails and the deathly silence of the street in Falluja, disturbed only by floating bits of paper, plastic, and dust with a distant whining of dogs
The sudden explosions, flames, dust and noise at Desert One
The small contrails of foot-raised dust from the Pine barrens on the border
The incredible joy in the face of the children
The watchful wondering gaze of the old folks who have seen so much
The beautiful swirling red cone from the distant Spooky
The distant black mountain that is our objective
The unbelievably deep pools of the black-brown eyes masked by the cobalt blue gauze
The last anxious light of life of the man that was and is a soldier
The deep brown exhaust of the bore evacuator
The bulgur wheat sticking to the side of the iced 33 Beer glass
The discernible but steadily diminishing sight of the artillery round leaving the muzzle
The squishing mud oozing from the boots of the man in front of me
My prune textured fingers
The hot vapor trails from the helicopters as they stand by to load
The endless line of Grunts hunched by their rucksacks patiently waiting to load as the red dirt swirls around them, coating the rivulets of sweat coursing down their exposed skin
Same scene. Different uniforms. Different times. All the same.
The white encrustation outlining the ruck straps after the fatigue shirt dries
The tiny flecks of white tissue residue coating my dog tag chain
The reddish black snagged smile of the old woman squatting by the black market product pallet
The billowing pink and yellow ao dais swirling behind the cyclos
The soft features of femininity—wherever
The innocence of children-wherever
The wavering greenish-yellow flares overhead and the dancing shadows to my front
The incredible force of a monsoon rain pouring through the trees
The all penetrating Crachin foggy rain on the slopes of the A Shau
My soldiers…they do not fear the storm…they are the storm
So many storms…so many places
The several white bones protruding through the laterite
The incredibly sweet small pineapples
The last eight magazines in my rucksack
The purple smoke billowing from the ammo box full of secure codes dropped through the canopy
The first sight of the gunships when they were so desperately needed
The thick heat density currents flowing from the verdant iridescent green paddies…How do they work in it?
The furtive swirl of black hair lost in the bush in front
The soaked but readable monster paperback when absolutely nothing is happening
The glistening moisture from the high speed hard pack just encountered—less than 15 minutes ago—the tiny evaporative bubbles are still forming
The incredible oven heat of the red ball overhead diffused by the almost impenetrable loess-like dust
The first sight of the LRRPs running toward me and the waiting helicopter between the coursing green tracers
The slowly firing and twisting A1E as it makes a circle around me—help is here!
My soldiers’ look of utter exhaustion but willing spirit
Soldiers in all colors and all uniforms
Grateful eyes of grateful people
The long open swath of Omaha Beach at low tide and the eyes of the listeners who suddenly Get It.
The school children walking through Omaha’s marble garden
My wife standing in the parking lot as our bus departs for the airplane
The silver metal caskets palletized under the wing of the aircraft
God gave me another day
The end of the runway as the plane lifts off
My wife and children standing in the parking lot when the bus returns us from the plane
So many runways. So many tarmacs.
Pride
I see it in a Uniform
I see a unique and a good thing.