My name is Samuel F. Williams, I was only 19 when the Vietnam War started and 19 when I was first drafted and these were the last days of my life. I remember it so well, my last moment with my family, the last moment I was really living. My Ma in the kitchen cooking happily that Saturday. My Pa, little brother Jackson, and I worked in the garage on the old dodge woody we had.
I had three days, only three days before I had to go back to Vietnam. My Pa, so proud of me, would go off bragging to all his friends in the shop, “my son is an Army man, my son is a proud American” I would just smile and go along with it. My Ma, on the other hand, worried more every once and a while I would catch her going up in the attic and look through all my child-hood memories, there was photographs, baby clothes, my old baseball caps, and even some of my toy car collection.
At the airport before I left, the tears of my little brother came showering down. “Sam I wanna come, I wanna be just like you” but my Ma and I both knew that would never happen.
The nightmares crawled into my head, flashbacks, and all the deaths I witnessed when they first pulled me in the war I sent letters each week telling on how it was here and, sending all my love to friends and family, commenting on my hopefully next visit. one day an unforgettable letter came for me, it read:

Dear Sam,

I’m so happy you’re okay, but your father isn’t doing that entirely great. We visited the doctor and they found he had the lung cancer and don’t think he’s going to make it. Jackson is doing fine, he got an A on his math test and can’t wait till you come home. Your sister is finally graduating from college this year and has a new job down in Florida, she sends her love too.





Love, your family


My old man is dyeing back home I almost cried aloud. The tears started running down my face, it wouldn’t have mattered to the other men if they saw me, for they were in morn and it was raining again.

That next morning was very different, started out silent, and then woken up from the bullet shots made from another ambush. Henry was one of my new friends, one of my new brothers, he never woke up, I tried to search while the other men scrambled around camp looking for hiding places and help from others. I found it, covered in cold crimson red blood was his dog tags, his last will and testament, and his gun for I knew I would need as much equipment as I could get my hands on.

It was horrible, awful; passing my dead brothers I had learned and trained with the last few weeks. I was running now terrified for my life, a few men in front of me and about three or four behind. This was it, I knew this situation wouldn’t balance out. There were still tons of them and we were numbered. I glanced around at my men worried for what was to happen next. Then I heard a loud bang and my whole left side was suddenly in excruciating pain.
I had been hit or blown by what seemed to be a grenade. It was Andrew and I that had fallen, the rest took cover and hid out of the way for a bit while some more Vietnamese warriors passed over and by us. I was waling and screaming from what had happened. When I got the chance to look at Andrew, he was already dead. Dizzy and oozing out with blood every heartbeat. Everything went dull and silent for a while when they tried to cure and help me. Memories and faded pictures of home filled my head and I don’t know what emotion to feel. I blasted for a short time back in reality a group of around six U.S. men surrounded me trying to numb my left leg and arm and attended my severe head injuries .I started to feel cold after a while and my heartbeats slowed into nothing more than silence.
The Vietnam War ended around 1972. My Pa died three years later, losing the battle he fought against the cancer.

In my last few seconds I was living, I finally realized this is who I am-



An army man.


A Proud American.