BODY COUNT

Then said Jesus unto him, Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.
Matthew 26:52

I’ve mentioned the Vietnam war a lot and I’m sure there are some that wish I’d shut up about that already. The sad truth is that it was the hardest time of my life and from hardship comes the best lessons life has to offer. It was part of my formative years and that speaks volumes about who I am.

Here’s a morbid history lesson that I lived through. It’s called, “Body count”.

Vietnam was the first televised war in history. The press was everywhere and at times they came with us into a battle. They would travel with the Captain and a small group called the comand post. The Captain, his leiutenants, the radio operator, the top sargeant and the head medic made up command and being the head medic, I got to travel with them. Sounds safe except that our captain was nicknamed Mad Dog and liked being near the front of the column as we traveled.

One time, two amiable souls from UPI traveled with us and I was told to stay close to cover them and help them adjust to life in the bush. We became friends and they told me about how the war was perceived back home. Unlike today, there was nobody willing to support troops. They told me how Jane Fonda went from being Barbarella to Hanoi Jane and how other celebrities followed in pursuit. Then I had a chance to tell them of a sad ritual the mass media insisted on; body counts after a battle.

The press, in their morbid sense of demanding to know all of the facts, insisted on a body count after each battle to report “who won” to the folks keeping score back home. My new friends had movie and still cameras and a lot of film in their backpacks and were filming our company on a routine mission and it was quiet for our first three days out. They were starting to get bored and were taking wildlife photos so they wouldn’t go home empty handed. Then all hell broke loose and they saw battle firsthand.

We met a very large force of North Vietnamese Army regulars held up in a massive bunker complex. The UPI fellows had a lot of battle footage as the bunker complex was huge. The enemy had a munitions factory underground as well as a hospital and many other bunkers to make living bearable. The munitions alone made a huge story and the photos of the demolition of tons of explosives made great shots for their newspapers back home. But before I let them take any pictures after the battle, I made them follow me.

As the head medic, I would count the dead and search for any live bodies. Sometimes I would get lucky and find one of our guys we thought was dead or missing and he would be found, banged up but still alive. That day we didn’t have anyone unaccounted for and the captain just needed some numbers to report to the brass in Saigon so they could tell the press who won.

I brought along my new UPI buddies as I strolled through the remains of hundreds of dead bodies. One of them stopped because he got very sick suddenly. They noticed that I wasn’t really counting bodies like they thought I should. The captain knew the enemies number by the size of the bunker complex and we had pulled of the perfect ambush of the site; the dead were all NVA. The numbers had already been calculated. While the UPI guys thought I was doing the body count the press used, I was actually just being a medic and looking for survivors.

I did find a young NVA officer that was badly wounded but alive. He was scared and pulled a gun on me but he was to weak to point it so I just took it from his hand. His ID showed his hometown as Hanoi. He had pictures of his family in his pocket. He saw the cross I wore and still do today, and he relaxed. He was muttering something in Vietnamese but I didn’t understand and didn’t care; I patched up his wounds and put him on a chopper with the other wounded.

I found out later that the NVA lieutenant was Catholic and he thought I was a priest coming out to give last rites to the dead. The UPI guys wondered how I could give aid and comfort to the enemy. They didn’t know that even though medics weren’t doctors we were still bound by the same oath and, unlike today, an oath was pledged under the watchful eye of God and upheld. I told them that we are all God’s children and that was enough for me. There would be times when my faith was stretched to the breaking point and I would hate my enemies but once you heal a man’s wounds, you are changed forever.

I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.
John 14:18

The UPI reporters learned that numbers were people and in the end, nobody won. Before they returned to the safety of Saigon, they drank themselves sick as they reflected on lessons learned. They told me that they would never ask for a body count again and if their superiors asked, they would just make up a number to make them happy.

The last time I saw them, I gave a peace sign as their chopper took off. I received a letter and this picture. The one who took the photo found Jesus after that battle. His buddy died getting a body count in another battle. When your own buddy is part of a mind numbing body count, the war and the job you were sent to do, suddenly means nothing.

The press still uses body counts to measure victory in any battle today but we are all God’s children. Learn to look beyond the numbers when the media gives you that almighty body count. They may counting someone you’ll meet in Heaven.