What Does Killing Do To Us?

There are few questions in this world that can generate a long, cold, hard stare like "Have you ever killed someone?" When people find out what I have done in my life, in particular the fact that I have carried a gun for most of my adult life, I occasionally get asked this question. Like a lot of veterans, I am a middle-aged, overweight, balding man now, but, like most middle-aged, overweight, balding veterans, I was once young, had hair, could bench press a Buick and was absolutely certain that I was at least ten-feet tall and bulletproof. This was compounded by the fact that I later became a police officer and continued the uniformed, gun-toting image.

First, let me say that I never killed a man while a police officer, in fact, I never even shot and wounded anyone. I did once shoot at a man, after he shot at me, but I missed...11 times. I missed on purpose, just wanting to make sure he did not stop running away long enough to take another shot at me. This is another story for another time.

In the military, I did shoot and kill...at least four times of which I am aware. There may have been more, but four of which I am certain. One aims, leads a little, squeezes the trigger, feels the recoil and the target collapses. Over a period of five months this occurred four times that I saw. The bodies were recovered and examined and they were most certainly and irretrievably deceased. I had killed them.

While I have a strange sense of guilt associated with their deaths, I am not particularly sorry, if that makes any sense. I know, in my heart of hearts, that that were it not for my killing these men, I would be dead or one or more of my men would be dead. The fact is they died so that others would live. Those that died were defined by the term enemy. They were part of a regular, uniformed army engaged in combat operations against the United States. There will be no war crime allegations, beyond those made by those that make such allegations in any combat scenario. These are more based on the general evil of war than the concept that killing can be justified within the confines of an armed political dispute. Karl Von Clausewitz said of war, "It is clear that war is not a mere act of policy but a true political instrument, a continuation of political activity by other means." In the truest sense, I was a pawn in a chess game played out on a countryside with real guns, real bullets and the specific want, need and heartfelt desire to kill the enemy before he killed me.

I can recall each shot, each kill, if you will. The first was in a jungle and it was being in the wrong place at the wrong time for both sides. The enemy was supposed to have pulled out long before we approached, but as usual some dumb SOB didn't get the word or was loafing. They were there when we got there. They had guns, we had guns and as enemies will do, we started shooting at each other.

When the firefight started, I initially performed true to my training. I picked up a point of fire and fired at that point while I sought cover, suppressing the incoming fire, allowing me to get to cover uninjured. I then trained my sights on where that point of fire had been and waited, one Mississippi...two Mississippi and there he was, popped up like a gopher from a hole. I already had my point of aim, so I adjusted and squeezed. The round fired. The recoil and noise were barely recognizable. The round hit the man's head, just above his right eye on the forehead. His head snapped back slightly, just before he fell. There was no massive transfer of energy like you see in the movies. He was not launched backward, was not knocked off his feet and there was no drama to it really. The bullet hit, went straight through his head, killing him and he fell straight down, never to move again.

There was no opportunity for reflection or thought, it was back to the training. Pick up another point of fire, another target, squeeze the trigger. Lather, rinse, repeat....

The second man was running across my line of sight from left to right. I raised the rifle barrel, moving the sight from behind the running man, catching the end of the barrel up to him, crossing just slightly in front of him. I then pulled the trigger twice and heard the "thwack" "thwack" of the impact with the side of his chest. He went down face first, the only thing allowing him to take two more steps was the momentum of his forward motion. He died within a minute due to two high-speed rifle rounds having perforated his right lung, heart and lodging in his left lung.

The third man I killed was a "sapper" that just screwed up. He had fallen and slid down a steep river embankment, more like a levy or dike, and into our compound. The guys on guard duty had him trapped at the back of the compound, running between 50-gallon empty fuel drums. The GI's were shooting at him like a carnival target, but no one could quite hit him. He had a weapon of his own and would fire a burst or two just to let us know it was not really a good idea to go in and get him.

I had been asleep in one of those bunkers within a bunker. My cot was surrounded by sandbags that covered around me to the height above my toes when I lay down. The gunfire got my attention. It sounded like a carnival shooting range, after all, and that is a bit unusual. I arose, put on my boots and in my skivvies walked to the area where all the commotion was. A sergeant told me of he situation. Irritated at having been disturbed from my slumber and the kinds of dreams only young men can truly enjoy, I grabbed an M79, 40MM grenade launcher and told the MP's to fire at the barrels they thought the sapper was hiding behind. When they did, the sapper ran across the area and hid behind another set of 50-gallon drums. I took aim with the 40 MM Grenade Launcher and fired. Three 50-gallon drums and the body of one North Vietnamese Sapper went about thirty feet into the air. The drums were dented and on fire, and the sapper dead, bleeding from the concussion of the high explosive blast. I gave the sergeant the M79 back and went back to bed, happy that the men would no longer be playing with that soldier like a cat plays with a mouse. Partly because I had been disturbed, party because I as appalled by the cruelty of young GI's.

The forth time is a situation that is part of a story that I will save for another time and deserves an entry all its own that I shall save for another time.

I do not find it particularly harsh to have done what I have done. I am really kind of ambivalent. I was doing my job the way I had been trained and it was the right thing to do. I only feel the subtle guilt that comes from wondering how I will be judged for eternity for my actions. I do not feel PTSD, I just did what I had to. If I felt I had to excuse myself in some way, I would simply explain that they were as ready to kill me as I was to kill them. They would have given me every opportunity to die for my country had I not allowed them to die for theirs first.

I no longer have dreams or nightmares about it, although I did for a few months after my first separation from service. I do have faded flashbacks of thought in my mind when I go to the pistol or rifle range. It is a part of my faded past and something I have come to grips with, but I do sometimes wonder how I will explain it to my Maker when the time comes.