Finals (27 page)

“
Straight scotch takes
time
to get used to I’m afraid,” he snickered, watching as I tried to catch my breath. “But this stuff will put hair on your chest.”

“
And likely sterilize any injury,” I retorted.

“
I didn’t really become accustomed to it until Vietnam,
and
then it became a necessity.”

Many elderly men, such as my grandfather, spouted out war tales as if it
was
a form of
Tourette’s
, but O’Connor wasn’t
such
a man. He held his cards close to the chest. This occasion notwithstanding, we mostly talked about lectures after Mass, my classes or campus activities. The man had a knack for drawing the conversation back to the other speaker. I felt as though I was one of his closest cohorts on campus and I hardly knew any details about his personal life. I knew he was raised in a small Midwest town. He had two brothers, both of whom were great baseball players. He grew up in a strict Catholic family, not surprising given his current position, and he was an avid John Grisham reader.

In comparison, aside from Hayley and my roomies, the priest knew everything there was to know about me. Aside from my sexual liaisons (which were few and far between) and my heinous activities, there was nothing I wouldn’t share. Father O’Connor was caring, intelligent and provided great guidance and moral support. He was
basically
like my third grandfather.

“
I never knew you were in Vietnam, Father. That must have been quite an experience,” I said.

I watched as the priest leaned back into his chair, taking a rather long sip from his glass. He stared blankly at
the ground
for a moment as if collecting his thoughts or contemplating how to best describe his duration overseas.

After a lengthy pause, I knew the story soon to be spoken was one that was earned, not fervently told. In many personal matters, O’Connor’s responses were short and sweet. A prompt answer was given before the habitual topic change
took place
. This silence meant preparation, a tale rarely received by students past or present was going to be my reward for a four-year friendship with this man of the cloth.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“
I
n the summer of 1968, at the age of twenty-one, I was drafted,” O’Connor began. “The first eight months in Nam weren’t difficult. My training lasted for quite some time and once I finished my tasks were hardly considered dangerous. I scouted a few areas and ran supplies between bases and AOs, but it wasn’t until I became a part of the Artillery Forward Observation Team assigned to the Infantry Company that my time in Vietnam started becoming life threatening.

“
It’s been so many years an old man forgets things, but my last mission is one I still vividly recall. It will be embedded in my memory until I die.

“
In early October 1969, our team, 22 Delta, was assigned to find and destroy the North Vietnam forces that were crossing over from Cambodia in an attempt to mount an attack on the city Tay Ninh. The previous morning our squad had conducted a little reconnaissance. We concluded the party was merely a small band of suppliers and some North Vietnam Army soldiers. Little did we know, we only got a glimpse of half the unit. In reality, this was a group of well-trained, well-equipped soldiers that equaled, if not surpassed, the number of men in Delta.

“
I remember that morning feeling uneasy. I felt apprehensive as if I already knew this day was going to be far different from any day in Nam so far. I was close to a few men in my unit. Chuck Daniels and Noah Johnson were two of the most cocky, self-absorbed men ever dropped in Nam, but honest to God there were no soldiers I would rather have had guarding my back than those two men. My closest friend was Isaac Rebello, but everyone called him Finch because he was very articulate, which wasn’t the norm over there. One of the boys pegged him as Finch because he thought Isaac talked like Gregory Peck’s character in
To Kill a Mockingbird
, and truth be told his nose stuck out like a bird’s beak as well so the name suited him quite nicely. Like me, Finch was a well-read, God-fearing Christian, who had a passion for AL baseball. We were simply two peas in a pod.

“
Before we broke camp, I knew Finch was feeling similar to how I was because he was curiously quiet. Most mornings when Daniels and Johnson debated on who was going to kill more gooks, Finch would be there to jazz them about how often they cited “mechanic malfunctions” as their primary excuse for misfiring, but not today. I remember asking him if everything was okay as we packed up our gear.

“
You see Wayne, my boy, a man at war can never say ‘I’m scared’ or ‘I’m nervous’. It just doesn’t happen, no matter if you feel that way or not. For the sake of your troop and for your own well-being, a man can’t go into battle afraid he might die. Your fellow soldiers won’t be reassured and if all you think about is death then by God you’ll eventually will it to transpire. Finch knew that as well as I did, which is why he didn’t say anything. He said he just missed his wife Whitney and his year-old son he had yet to see. That might have been the truth, but I think what he was really saying to me was ‘O’Connor, I need to go back home to my family, I can’t die here.’ I remember patting him on the back, and telling him that I’d make sure he didn’t get himself killed for his wife and son’s sake. He gave me a slight grin, and I think he felt more at ease after I said that, but who knows what’s running through a man’s head.

“
I knew a couple of the other men in our unit but most were new soldiers, also known as Cherries. They were thrown straight into the action due to the war’s escalation. Our team’s lead man was Harry “Nails” Westman, nicknamed because he was tough as nails and always had a way of getting out of a tight jam.

“
Our company broke camp in our three standard files, I was center file behind Nails. We walked for about two miles, not knowing we were heading into an ambush. The NVA had set a large U-shaped perimeter and were hoping to get our entire party into their kill zone.

“
Thankfully, someone on the enemy’s side had an itchy trigger finger. Before our party was sucked into the ambush, a machine gun opened fire injuring our man at point. Nails ordered us to the left where we ran into more heavy fire. This caused the platoon to split, most hit the ground but Nails, a few Cherries and I broke off to the right. Since I was the RTO for this mission, it was my job to radio in for Bounce Max, a call that in essence meant we needed air support to subdue the enemy. The Cobra of the 2
^nd
Battalion could be in the air to render assistance in as little as two minutes, so when I heard the Cobra flight leader’s voice I was thanking the dear Lord that backup was on
the
way.

“
His call sign was Bravo 42, and when I heard the flight leader and his wingman were quickly approaching with rockets, 40 MM grenades and a mini-gun I thought for a second we might all get out of there with our lives. During their first run, Bravo 42 managed to wedge a small gap between our scattered platoon and the enemy, but the airborne crew expended their ammo in just a few
minutes
, forcing them to return to base.

“
While Bravo 42 was at station, another Cobra flight team helped fend off the enemy but our situation on the ground was becoming worse with each passing minute. The majority of Delta 22 was hunkered in near the tree line, and was under intense fire. Our small section of Delta was under the adjacent tree line divided by the NVA troops. Thanks to a couple rockets and Chi-Com hand grenades, several Cherries in our group were killed. As the enemy advanced upon us, I’d say only eight or nine men include Nails and I were capable of defending our position. The rest were dead or badly wounded. Compared to our position, Finch and the majority of our boys were in far worse shape. Although the tree line was providing much needed cover, the NVA troops were closing in.

“
As grenades exploded all around us, I could vaguely pick up the voice of the Bravo 42 flight leader informing us of his position. The pilot told me he was at about three thousand feet but still a few minutes out.

“
While our tiny unit attempted to hide in the nearby brush, I began thinking there was no way we were going to get out of this alive. The enemy was pushing down on us and both sections of Delta were in serious danger. The increasing smoke from the Cobra’s rockets and the enemy’s grenades made visual conformation impossible. The enemy was right on us, and Nails was screaming at me to give Bravo 42 our coordinates. The next thing I remember was telling the flight leader our position near the far tree line. In the heat of the moment, I forgot to give the coordinates of the location where the majority of our team sat. The Cobra flight leader said he couldn’t see a thing and that he was afraid he was going to hit the Friendlies, but Nails, who was right beside me on the ground yelled, ‘Just shoot the damn rockets you bastard!’

“
After that call, the rest of the mission was a blur. At the hospital, Nails informed me that the Cobra’s rockets hit the trees near our location. Apparently, alongside with killing the enemy, the explosion knocked us back. I think I blacked out for a few minutes but when I awoke, I tasted blood and I knew my left arm was broken. Blood was streaming down my face into my eyes but I couldn’t move my arm to wipe it away. I could hear wild screams around me, so I closed my eyes believing this was truly the end. I can say for certainty that was the scariest moment of my life. I truly believed I was going to die.

“
When I awoke, I heard the humming of a helicopter and Nails with his arm around my waist was shouting in my ear, ‘Pick up your goddamn feet soldier!’ I can’t tell you how I got on that chopper, but I managed somehow.

“
Two days later, I woke up in the hospital with my head bandaged and my left arm in a cast. The doctors informed me that I had suffered a concussion and my arm was broken in three places. The pain grew far worse; however, when I learned that I was one of only five members of Delta that survived the mission. Nails informed me that he and a few of the rookies that took cover near our position lived, but the enemy, as well as the possible friendly fire from Bravo 42, killed all of the soldiers that broke off from our party, including Daniels, Johnson and Finch.

“
It took several months until the doctors gave me the all clear and I was released. I spent a couple days traveling but I was in the air on a plane back to the U.S. in no time. Shortly after I returned home, I joined the seminary, and I’m sure you know the rest.”

Father O’Connor refilled his glass and gave me a top-off before sinking back seamlessly into his chair. His face was void of expression and I was having difficulty reading his emotions. Maybe time had dulled the pain because he didn’t appear too upset, but I knew the events of that mission had caused him to become a man of the Church.

The one aspect of the story I had yet to wrap my mind around was how he came to that swift decision. “Wow, Father, was there something that made you want to join the seminary once you returned or was the experience itself simply that traumatic so you decided the world needed another man to teach the word of God?”

“
That’s a good question, Wayne,” he said. “The guilt was a heavy burden. I felt responsible for the death of those men.”

“
But it wasn’t your fault, Father. You were in Vietnam with bullets whizzing overhead, rockets blowing up all around you. You were in the heat of battle, what were you suppose to do?”

“
You’re right, my boy, but I’ve still struggled, especially with Finch’s death. He was my closest friend during the war but it wasn’t just that, it was the promise I made to him before we left that morning and coming to the realization that if I had told the Cobra pilot their coordinates, Finch might be back home with his wife and child. I believe the reason I joined the Church was not only to spread God’s word and to enhance lives, but also to give individuals a second chance or guidance that can hopefully change their lives for the better.”

“
I think you’ve certainly done that, Father. With the advice and guidance you’ve provided to countless students throughout the years, I know you’ve been a positive influence to the St. Elizabeth community,” I remarked.

“
Thank you, I try to provide the best advice I can to assist students with their important decisions, because I believe every once in
a while
you come across moments in life that define you and your choice of recourse can forever change your path.”

“
As a priest don’t you believe that God has the ultimate say though?”

“
He does, but I’m a strict believer that an individual travels down his or her own path. God knows your plan, yet it’s not as though you don’t have a say in how to live your life. If you sit around waiting for God to direct you, then I’m afraid you’ll be waiting around for quite some time, my boy.”