Vietnam, Medal of Honor

Vietnam,Medal of Honor

Reg O’Brien dreamed of being a Navy Pilot. He achieved his dream and flew directly into the Vietnam War, in his Phantom F-4B fighter. Shot down over North Vietnam by a Surface to Air Missile S.A.M., he fights for survival in the jungle while aiding his wounded Radar Intercept Officer. Will they survive or die in a fight to the death?

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In the Vietnam War, young men went to the other side of the world to fight in a small county most Americans had never heard of before the daily news started to report American soldiers killed in battle. Those that survived came back either physically or mentally scarred for life. The Medal of Honor is a portrayal of ordinary Americans, doing their duty, under extraordinary circumstances; some survive.
The description of the intense horror of their experiences and unflinching courage to duty, for both their country and their fellow man is outstanding.

Sample random paragraphs follow:

“MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY! Saber Tooth hit! Right wing damaged! Fire indicator is on! Feet wet in Halong Bay, ETA twelve minutes!" Chuck transmitted continuously in a clear calm voice that did not exemplify his true inner turmoil.
“EJECT, EJECT!” shouted Reg. He waited for Chuck to clear the plane. He gripped his ejection seat handle and pulled. Everything happened in a flash as the canopy flew off. The seat shot up the rail. At that speed, the force threw his body back into the seat. The screaming air blocked out all other sounds. His eyes bulged! His vision blurred as he tried hard to focus. Dizzy, from a momentary blackout, he had trouble isolating a focal point.
Reg climbed the tree, secured Chuck’s chute with his own harness; he then cut Chuck’s parachute cords with his survival knife. The combined chute harnesses allowed him to lower the semiconscious Chuck from the tree. Chuck had a slash across his cheek through the eye area into the scalp. Flies gathered around the wound area; seeing that made Reg nauseous. Blood from the face injuries had solidified into a scab, which would help protect the wound. Reg’s main concern was Chuck’s eye. He applied first aid bandages from his first aid kit.
The Indianapolis’s mission was secret; therefore, no one knew that she had gone down. Nine hundred men went into the water, most of them with only life jackets; many were nude not having time to put on their clothing. They floated for five days locking arms together in a square. Every few hours each man had to work his way to the outer edge of the square to act as shark bait.
The Tiger sharks had a weeklong feast. One hundred and eighty men survived but none of them would ever forget the horrors they went through. Every sailor gets the chills when you mention the sinking of USS Indianapolis in 1945, and how the sharks disseminated the crew piece by piece.
Reg felt he was going to die as he looked into the barrel of the rifle, seeing the abyss of death, just as a blurred image caught his peripheral vision, hitting the soldier from behind, knocking him off balance, as his finger pulled the trigger. The bullet creased Reg’s forehead, causing him to drop his weapon and fall backward onto the deck. Reg then saw a young, black pajama clad adolescent, who was on all fours beside him. He heard the soldier cursing the kid. It had been the youngster who had rushed the soldier a moment before.
The soldier turned his gun toward Reg, just as Chuck screamed from between the two boats. The VC soldier looked down for a split second, giving Reg the opportunity to reach for his Colt. The soldier saw Reg move and pointed the rifle at him. Reg’s reaction was a split second faster as he shot the Vietcong soldier pointblank in the face. Part of the face disappeared in a gruesome spray of bloody grey matter that flew from the top of the soldier’s head.