#QUANG TRI

[usafphantom2]

US HELICOPTER VIETNAM WAR 1971 - QUANG TRI by manhhai Via Flickr: A United States Skycrane pilot chose unorthodox resting place for his hammock during a recent break in flying operation at Quang Tri, South Vietnam. U.S. helicopters, flying from the base here have been running a shuttle ferry service of supplies to forces in frontier regions. (AP-Photo/Neal Ulevich) 1971 ------------------- ALBUM Skycranes during Vietnam War www.flickr.com/photos/13476480@N07/albums/72177720298373237

[dankhoab]

[lleememo]

[captain-price-unofficially]

South Vietnamese troops inspect a North Vietnamese BTR-50 fitted with a ZPU-1 14.5mm HMG turret on the rear deck, knocked out south of Quang Tri City in 1972

[my-vanishing-777]

Quang Tri: Wife threw acid on husband, husband died tragically

According to initial information, on the evening of July 4, due to family conflicts, Ms. Nguyen Thi Lien and her husband, Mr. Nguyen Manh T. (born in 1964) had an argument that led to a fight. Immediately after that, the incident was stopped by neighbors.

At around 0:10 on July 5, still angry, Ms. Lien decided to throw acid on Mr. T. while he was sleeping in bed.

[casbooks]

Book 30 of 2024 (★★★★)

Title: Vietnam Marines 1965–73 Authors: Charles D. Melson

Series: 43 of Osprey - Elite ISBN: 9781855322516

Rating: ★★★★ Subject: Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.ARVN.VNMC, Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.ROK.ROKMC, Books.Military.20th-21st Century.Asia.Vietnam War.USMC.Misc, Books.Military.Series.Osprey.Elite

Description: Osprey's survey of Marines during the second half of the Vietnam War (1955-1975). The period following World War II (1939-1945) saw a number of associated Marine Corps, three of whom fought together during the war in Vietnam from 1965 to 1973. These Corps were similar formations, but each had its own history and traditions: they were the United States Marines, the Vietnamese Marines, and the Korean Marines. Common to them was a reputation for toughness on themselves and any foreign or domestic enemies; strong unit pride and loyalty; and a privileged place within the political structure of their respective countries. This title by US Marine historian Charles Melson describes the history, weapons, equipment, uniforms and insignia of the US, Vietnamese and Korean Marines who fought in Vietnam.

[southeastasianarchaeology]

UXO Clearance in Central Vietnam

Two wartime bombs defused in Quang Tri, Vietnam, a region with a high UXO toll, in a mission towards complete clearance by 2025.

via Vietnam Express, 21 November 2023: The Military Command in Quang Tri, with assistance from the U.S.-based Golden West Organization, successfully neutralized two wartime bombs, following tips from locals. The operation involved the careful disarming of a 340 kg M177 bomb and a 230 kg MK82 bomb. After receiving information from local residents, the command’s combat engineer unit approached the…

[alexanderoftirragen]

g-d i love quang minneapolis

[xx-alice-in-wonderland-xx]

modern au!The Last Of Us headcanons 🖤🍟

(characters: Ellie, Dina, Abby, lev, Yara)

birthdays (the year being 2024)

Ellie - May 31st 2005, she’s 19 years old

Dina - February 8th 2003, she’s 21 years old

Abby - July 15th 2000, she’s 23 years old

Lev - October 31st 2010, he’s 13 years old

Yara - August 24th, 2007, she’s 16 years old

Full names:

Elizabeth ‘Ellie’ Ashley Williams

Dina Miriam Levi

Abigail ‘Abby’ Lee Anderson

Lev Quý Wu (hate to put this but it used to be Lily Quang Wu)

Yara Chún Wu

Now for headcanons:

Ellie plays electric guitar

Dina is a better chef than Gordon Ramsey

Abby becomes a doctor and owns a hospital

Lev is emo/alt

Yara loves Shakespeare plays

Ellie grew up in foster care

Dina was a straight A student

Abby plays basketball

Lev plays Tomb Raider lol

Yara lives for animal crossing

Ellie is good at voice acting

Dina once ate ketchup straight from the bottle for a dare

Abby hates the word froth

Lev has ptsd from a game of spin the bottle lol

Yara is the overprotective older sister that always makes Lev text her where he is, every 30 mins

All 5 of them are best friends and live in the same neighbourhood

Ellie once gave Lev beer and got him hammered, let’s just say Abby never let her babysit lev ever again

Dina likes to travel

Abby adopted Lev after their mum kicked him out for being trans (She didn’t adopt Yara cause they’re best friends and Yaras old enough o look after herself)

Lev tried to get a vape off of someone and Yara caught him

Yara loves the beach

Ellie is the QUEEN of ‘that’s what she said’ jokes

Dina falls off the bed in her sleep because she rolls around

Abby has her nose pierced

Lev spoke in the tiktok language for 2 month straight when he went on it for the first time

Yara has a diary

Ellie taught JJ to swear (his first word was bitch)

Dina swears at Ellie in Hebrew and tells her she’s saying ‘I love you’ and shit 🤭

Abby once didn’t sleep for 2 days

Lev would listen to Nirvana thanks to Ellie

Yara is always cold

Ellie loves ALL the classic rock bands - Nirvana, Green Day, Foo Fighters, Rolling Stones, Black Sabbath, The Sex Pistols, Iron Maiden, AC/DC, etc

Dina listens to Coldplay and The Name Game from American Horror story (Dina, Dina, Dina, Bo, Bina, Banna Fanna, Fo Fina, Fe Fi Mo Mina, Dina!)

Abby won’t admit it, but she is a simp for Rihanna

Lev likes K-Pop lmao, his fav is TXT (he finds their songs relatable 😭)

Yara would like twice (thanks to lev lol)

Ellies lesbian

Dinas bisexual

Abby says she straight but questioning

Levs pansexual

Yaras straight

Ellie would have a twilight phase, and would be team Jacob, but then she hated it lmao

Dina is dyslexic

Abby takes Lev trick or treating on his birthday

Lev watches hearstopper

Yara watches Karen freak out videos

Ellie is so FUCKING picky when it comes to food

Dina always gets headaches

Abby has 2 beers a day

Lev goes on character ai

Yara likes to hide under Levs bed and grab his shoes to scare him (I do this to my siblings and they hate me lmao)

Ellie writes cheesy love songs for Dina

Dina and Ellie have matching tattoos

Abby rarely has her hair down

Lev plays the sims 4 lol

Yara is always tired for some reason

Ellie has 15 bottle of lucozade a day

Dina always has a cup of tea

Abby eats raw onions

Lev thinks he’s hard because he vapes and drinks monster lol

Yara doesn’t know half of the mischief Lev gets up to when she or Abby isn’t there

How I think they look irl (I found these on Google okay don’t judge me credit to the actual ppl)

Ellie:

Dina:

Abby:

Lev (I love Ian Alexander so fucking much LOOK AT THEM):

Yara:

[taraross-1787]

This Day in History: Steven Bennett's Medal of Honor

On this day in 1974, a hero’s family accepts the Medal of Honor on his behalf. “He was a fine young fella,” Steven Bennett’s uncle would later reminisce, “who came from a modest family and came up from moderate means. He worked his way through school. . . . He was a first-class citizen.”

Bennett was commissioned into the Air Force immediately after graduating from the University of Southwestern Louisiana. He learned to fly bombers and fighters and received forward air controller training before being sent to Vietnam in early 1972.

“He performed exceptionally well,” historian Edward F. Murphy explains. “In the next sixty days, he earned four Air Medals.”

Trouble came on June 29, 1972. The young Captain was then flying an OV-10 Bronco in support of some Marines near Quang Tri City.

The story continues here: https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-steven-bennett-moh

[cid5]

Viet Cong soldiers armed with rifles and grenades during fighting in the Quang Tri - Thua Thien area during the Vietnam War, circa 1968.

[rfsnyder]

Quang Tri

[captain-price-unofficially]

A F-4 Phantom of 389th FS drops two Mark 82 500 lb Snake-Eye retarded bombs over Quang Tri Province with an apparent 50% dud rate. 10 Feb 1968

[usafphantom2]

3, 2, 1... Launch! An F-4J from VF-143 "Pukin' Dogs" launching from USS Enterprise (CVN-65). This particular aircraft (BuNo. 155768) was shot down by flak over Quang Tri, Vietnam, in January 1973. Photo via @kadonkey. #avgeeks #aviation #aviationdaily #USNavy

@RealAirPower1 via X

[stirringwinds]

Purgatory

Whumptober Day 8: Back from the dead 

Summary: ​​ Vietnam, 1967. Marine Captain Alfred F. Jones, born on July 4th 1942, is killed in action at 0930 hours, twenty klicks from Quang Tri city. This is the aftermath. 

Or: Alfred, through the eyes of one of his men. Because not every human’s experience coming face-to-face with their nation is a good one. 

Notes: CW for violence, death, graphic injuries, war, depictions of PTSD, murder and Cold War-era imperialism. This fic leans hard on the darker side of ‘nations as creepy as hell eldritches and their relationship with war’; citizenship, loyalty and nationhood can cut many ways can’t it? 

“VC” refers to the Viet Cong— the Vietnamese guerrillas who fought against both the US-backed South Vietnamese military and US forces. They were allied with, but distinct from the regular ARVN (aka, the North Vietnamese military). “Charlie” became a slang for the Viet Cong, because the NATO phonetic alphabet reads “V.C” as “Victor Charlie.” [3.2k words]

Read on AO3

One week after Jones dies, a VC sniper nails me twice in the right thigh on a night patrol, with all the suddenness and wrath of a prayer answered by the Almighty. 

Maybe Charlie had been aiming for my balls and had missed, the helo pilot on the medevac chopper had guffawed. He’d seen people in worse shape than me, I’d live, so just sit tight and shut up. 

It enters my leg at a diagonal, it hurts like a bitch, fractures my thigh bone, shreds a whole lot of muscle and nerve tissue, nicks a major artery; I lose buckets of blood. The surgeon at the field hospital in Khe Sanh who ties the artery, fishes out the bullet fragments and sews me back together tells me that at best, I’d walk with a painful limp all my life—if I even recover that much function. Then, I get a raging infection. I burn and I freeze; my temperature shoots to a hundred and four, I’m pumped with antibiotics, I’m told I nearly died—but I don’t give a shit. 

I’m giddy, delirious and incoherent, hopped up on morphine and euphoria. 

My war is over. 

I’m packed off to the 700-bed Naval Support Activity hospital at Da Nang. The hospital’s on the strip of land in between the Han River and the South China Sea—which means unlimited ice-cream, lazing in bed all day, and miles and miles of golden sand and the gorgeous blue of the ocean. After seven months in the red mud, hell and mosquitoes that is Khe Sanh, Quang Tri province, this is heaven, as far as I’m concerned. 

One night, I awake with a start. It’s my ninth day there. 

At first, I think it’s because the air conditioning has broken down. The ward I share with eleven other guys is dark and quiet, the air oppressively still, sticky and humid. The corpsman’s station is empty—which often happened whenever there was a surge in casualties. Everyone else is either passed out or groaning in their sleep—unsurprisingly; I was the milder case in a ward full of grunts convalescing from amputations and head injuries. 

I throw off the blankets. My hospital pajamas are soaked with sweat. I’d been doing well enough that they’d taken me off the IV. So I drag myself out of bed, reach for my newly acquired crutches. Maybe there’d be more of a breeze outside—they’d made a makeshift verandah of sorts. You could see the ocean from there, and they’d begun wheeling me out there in the day, like those photos of TB patients in the old days, to take in the fresh air. 

I stagger outside, a pathetic figure shuffling on my crutches. I’m a long way off from my high school days on the track team. 

Outside, the smell of salt hits my nose. It’s three twenty-five in the morning, according to the glowing hands of my watch. The air is warm, like an oven; back home, it’d be much cooler at this time of the year—but at least there’s a breeze, instead of the hot, still air inside. 

A tall silhouette of a man. The waft of cigarette smoke. Someone else is already out there. My eyes are still adjusting to the dark, so I can’t make out his features. I’m weighing whether to greet this stranger, or to just shut the fuck up—but he takes the lead. 

“You’re finally up, Corporal,” the stranger’s voice is low and nonchalant—and I can’t breathe. “I’ve been waiting.” 

It’s like ice shooting through my veins—the cold, deeply awful dread that instantly surges up at the sound of the not-stranger’s voice, at the recognition that hits me. 

I’m having a heart attack, it feels. It’s like getting shot again—not feeling anything, just numb for a few seconds and then the pain just exploding. There’s a clatter as one of my crutches falls to the ground. My fingers are gripping the wooden railing. It’s rough, unfinished, there are splinters digging into my palms. I’m going nuts. I’d been steadily losing it over the past seven months, but now I’m sure as hell over the edge. 

That’s what it is, seeing a dead man in the flesh. 

“There are only so many reasons for this kind of shit, so I can guess,” Jones strolls over nonchalantly, his distinctive features melting out of the shadows into the light of the moon with vivid, horrifying, mesmerising clarity, looking every bit as he did in life; the unmistakably gold glint of his hair, the intense blue of his eyes, the strong bronze angles of his face. That strikingly handsome, sharp and squared-away look; the exact damned way the Marine Corps liked its officers. 

“But I’d still like to hear it in your own words,” Jones stops, keeping about a meter and a half between us. “So. Tell me. Why’d you do it?”

Dully, I barely register the fact that he’s considerately picked up my crutch, setting it against the railing with a dull thud. 

“Fuck. You’re not real.” You’re dead, is what I really want to say. 

“Come on, man,” Jones raises a well-groomed brow, completely disregarding my weak  protest. “This whole thing wasn’t just your idea, I know—but you did the honours, didn’t you?” His manner is dry, matter-of-fact. He speaks as though he were assigning latrine-cleaning duty or boredly ordering us to set up a night defense perimeter. 

There’s no anger, no vengeful fury from this ghost. Whole thing. Describing his own murder with such nonchalance. Something vaguely unpleasant, but that ultimately had little lasting consequences. 

“I was,” I echo uselessly, when I’m able to form words again. I’ve sunk down into one of the chairs they’d placed out there for us to enjoy the sea views. “It wasn’t personal.” Of course it was personal. 

All those dangerous jungle patrols, deep into Viet Cong territory, the zealous, whole-hearted fanaticism with which Jones pushed us on with, his voice like the very command of God. 

The way he’d held McLean’s hand as he bled out, just one month shy of his nineteenth birthday. McLean, who was just the latest in a long line of dog-tags and body bags. No, what was terrible wasn’t that Jones didn’t care. What was terrible was the sincerity with which he said you did good as McLean died, his unseeing eyes staring up at the remorselessly blue sky, as his blood seeped down into the soil of Vietnam. How he said how his sacrifice would be worth it, that he'd personally make sure of it. 

The careful, sincere letters Jones always composed to the next-of-kin, not dashed off carelessly the way some other shitbags did it. He meant every word he wrote. Their sons and brothers had been brave and special. They had gone too soon. But for a worthy cause at the end of the day, for their nation, for the global cause of freedom and democracy and— And I suddenly saw it. How many other hands had my commanding officer held? An endless procession of poor motherfuckers like myself, led into the abyss to make the deaths of those before worth it. The weight of my M-16 rifle suddenly felt too much. Its strap was cutting into my neck, a noose—

In the present I shrug. I stick my hands into the pockets of my hospital-issued pajamas so he won’t see them shaking. Not that it matters—he’s probably already noticed, of course. I keep my eyes staring straight ahead at the inky darkness of the ocean—anything but the ghost standing beside me. Maybe this is what damnation is.

“You were going to get us all killed, sooner or later. You couldn’t be dissuaded.” I’m defending myself, justifying it, assuaging my conscience—whichever.  

“And you decided to take on the burden, I suppose,” Jones remarks. On the surface, his expression is eerily placid, bereft of any vindictiveness. “A noncom like you, loyal not to his superior officer, but his men? Guess I can admit there’s something admirable about that, Corporal.” 

I can’t tell whether he’s mocking me or not. He probably is. 

“Admirable?” I feel sick. I could, of course, go along with this bullshit. Loftily and righteously say I did it because I owed it to the miserable fucks under my section, to the 14 teenaged Marines who were barely younger than I was, to save them from our commanding officer’s zealotry. But— what principle was there when it came down to it, when I looked the truth in the face? When the overwhelming feeling that had driven me was pure fear? The desperate fear that every next patrol Jones assigned me, further and further into the dangerous, mined jungle paths that the VCs knew like the back of their hand—it was their land after all—would be my last?

“Yes,” Jones drawls. There’s a southern twang in his voice; he’d always said he was born in Virginia. July 4th, 1942, of all dates— but as with all things to do with him, you don’t know when the truths end and the lies begin. 

“Don’t get it fucking twisted up,” I breathe. Close my eyes. I feel the edges of hysteria creeping in—not now. Not fucking now of all times. “I just wanted to go home in one piece. And I sure as hell wasn’t gonna get my ticket punched before I can even get legally piss-drunk, not in that fucking shithole.”

Jones fixes his eyes on me. The gleam of his captain’s bars on his right collar catches the moonlight. He’s in a fresh and clean uniform, instead of the bloodied, shredded mess I’d last seen. My mind is filled with just two thoughts— of my knee hurting like a bitch in this incredibly realistic nightmare, and the way his stare feels like it’s gnawing on my very soul. 

“And you won’t die for this?” Jones’ smile is curious and there’s something disconcertingly piercing in it. Mesmerising. “Not for this cause?” It’s a disarming smile, the same one he always flashed in life—that bullshit Hollywood smile that so easily wooed and won anyone over. A trap. He exhales a stream of smoke,  his blue eyes dark and unblinking, his presence all at once relaxed and disarming, intense and oppressive. “Not even for me?”

Once, I would have followed him, until the end. I’d worshiped him, with the fervour of an idiotic boy fresh from dropping out of community college, beaten and broken down at Parris Island. He was magnetic, that way; always friendly and easy going— not one of those officers who looked at us grunts like we were lower than the shit in the latrines. 

Before all this, I knew nothing of Vietnam, had the luxury of thinking nothing of Vietnam. When my draft notice came, my mother and older sister had begged me not to go, to run away and stay with our relatives in Guadalajara. Or our maternal granduncle, who was still living in Ireland. He’d take me in for sure. Didn’t I see the news? The casualties? This war was a bad one…I’d brushed them off, with all the conceit of an arrogant, stupid boy hungry for adventure—I wasn’t thinking. I’d never lived anywhere but home, I wasn’t about to cut and run forever. How bad could it be? Our late father had proudly won his medals in Europe, on the beaches of Normandy, hadn’t he? And so, I’d have eaten a hundred bullets for Jones, chewed miles of barbed wire, crawled through a fucking VC tunnel if he ordered it. Maybe I still would have, in the darkness of the thick jungle of Quang Tri province, away from the lively cities and towns, away from anything that reminded me that I was more than a warm body with a M-16 and Ka-bar knife. 

It’s like exiting a fog, looking back at those moments and realising how deluded and detached from reality I’d become. 

“No, I fucking wouldn’t,” I exhale, say the things I never dared to in the light of the day. “You’re just a man. A charismatic and delusional asshole, but blood and meat when it comes down to it.” 

Jones takes this all in calmly and silently, with a sort of knowing and watchful patience. It’s like hurling pebbles into a vast lake and seeing no ripples. It’s utterly unsettling, this shade of him, this utter calm. Where is all that dark, vindictive fury our commanding officer had betrayed, in life? All that seething fanaticism that simmered underneath that effortlessly charming exterior of his—that something dark and dangerous, that showed in his eyes, whenever he spoke of the wretched tide of Soviet influence, polluting and fracturing the utopian world order that lay ahead, that was the reason rivers of American blood were being shed so far from home?

Here, in this night, the silence is punctuated only by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. 

“If that’s the way you see it then I guess I am.” Jones is staring at his own hand, the one free of the cigarette, his palm skywards, flexing his fingers experimentally. “Just a man. Nobody’s said that to me for a long time.” 

“What else would you be?” The hair at the back of my neck stands. I can see the faint sweat beading on Jones’ brow because of the muggy heat, the same way it does on mine.

He’s human, I remind myself. And very much dead, and just a figment of my imagination, a remnant of the guilt that haunted me. 

Jones shrugs. “Many other things.” Then, surreally—with an easy-going and gregarious smile—“Cigarette?” 

“No, thanks.” I only just remember to silence the reflexive sir on the tip of my tongue. “The doc said I couldn’t, not so soon after getting cut up. Risk of infection or something.” 

Jones nods. “You oughta take care, yeah.” He stashes his smokes back in his pocket. I brace myself, but for the next few minutes, he doesn’t say anything. He’s content to smoke and stare out at the inky darkness of the ocean in the distance, his blue eyes contemplative. It’s incredibly vivid, this nightmare, I think. Even the very slope of his shoulders, the way he leans against the verandah, the loose strand of blonde hair falling over his eyes—is true to life. 

“What’s it like, on the other side?” The words slip out. I’m going along with this batshit dream, I guess. Maybe I need the reassurance. Día de Muertos and All Souls’ Day had been in the landscape of my childhood, but I’d never really believed in ghosts. Or the afterlife. At least not the way either of my grandmothers talked about it. “You’re one calm motherfucker for someone who is dead.” 

Jones exhales another stream of smoke. The end of his cigarette is a burning ember in the darkness. Now, he’s not smiling. But his blue-grey eyes are still that unnerving, thoughtful calm. 

“Am I, really?” 

“You are,” I say to the ghost, who takes this news calmly. Maybe this was some screwed up way I sought closure. Some sort of fucked up confessional. The shrinks would have a field day with this, if I could ever talk about it. There was the chillingly routine murder of the enemy in the business of war, and then there was this shit sandwich on top of it. I murdered my commanding officer, and now the bastard shows up in my dream for a casual smoke and chat—

I continue. “You died. On a muddy trail in the middle of the jungle twenty klicks outside of Quang Tri city. It was Thursday, and it was nine-thirty in the morning. I pulled the pin. It was a Soviet-made NVA grenade I stole off a VC prisoner taken into custody. Back at base, I lied. We all lied. Said that we were ambushed by the enemy.”

Jones’ calm expression doesn’t flicker, as he stubs out his cigarette on the railing. He flicks a stray piece of ash off his sleeve, as he strolls over. I’m rooted to my chair, I wouldn’t have the energy to stand up even if I wanted to. 

“Murdered by my own men,” he says ironically, with an almost bizarrely philosophical air. Jones exhales. “Lien would be having a good laugh about this, I suppose. ”

A Vietnamese name—A woman’s name isn’t it? I think vaguely. Nothing he says makes sense. There were more than a few of us who, after leave in Da Nang or Saigon, deluded ourselves into thinking a beautiful bargirl we'd met on a night out was our one true love, not a poor or desperate woman with few choices and trying her best to make ends meet. But Jones’ tone is bereft of such sentimentality, almost businesslike, the way he’d talk about a peer. “Who?”   

“Someone I’ve known for a long time,” Jones says, with cryptic nonchalance. 

His shadow falls across me. For a moment, I’m thinking that this is the moment where he’ll reach for his sidearm and blow my brains out, dream or not. 

“Well, I suppose this is goodbye, Corporal.” The unmistakable, solid feeling of Jones’ fingers casually slapping my shoulder is a shock. “You take care and watch that leg of yours, yeah?” He says it, neither sarcastically nor backhandedly, but with a surreal, friendly sincerity that makes my skin crawl all the same— “And just so you know; I don’t take it personally.” 

Then, he’s disappearing around the corner, and against my will, my eyes are closing, sinking underneath months and months of exhaustion.

I wake up to a nurse shaking me, her hand on my shoulder. There are the faintest pink streaks on the horizon. I ought not to be out there, she said, not unkindly—had I been there all night? The air-conditioning had been fixed. Maybe I ought to have some hot coffee. 

In the bright light of the day, all of it seems unreal. The sky is an endless blue dome, the palm trees on the beach and the bougainvillea bushes lushly green and purple. No ghosts could wander here, in all that light and freshness. 

The next few days, I find my breath catching whenever I catch sight of an officer. Maybe my dream was a premonition. Maybe they’d find out what I did. Maybe I’ll be arrested for murder. Maybe one of the guys still in the hell that is Quang Tri will break, will spill. Maybe I’ll be undone. That’s how it always happens, doesn’t it? Just right when freedom is around the corner. 

But nobody accosts me, nobody asks me any questions, nobody says a single word about Jones.

I spend another two weeks at the Naval Hospital in Da Nang. Then, I’m handed my medical discharge papers. I’m going home

The remaining days pass, easy and languid in the eternal summer of Da Nang, all the way until I board my flight home to America, my citation for a Purple Heart in hand, sick with relief and exhaustion, the bloody wheel of the war grinding on—but behind me, for good. 

Notes: 

1. ‘Fragging’: the attempted or successful murder of (usually higher-ranking) military personnel by fellow troops— occurred amongst US forces during the Vietnam War, due to the war’s unpopularity, usage of young draftees and the breakdown of morale. The term comes from how a fragmentation grenade was the weapon of choice used at times. There were close to an estimated 900 incidents recorded.

2. Parris Island: the Marine Corps recruit depot in South Carolina. A Purple Heart is a decoration awarded to US military personnel wounded or killed in action. 

3. Lien is of course, Vietnam herself. Vietnam was partitioned in 1954; after Vietnamese forces successfully defeated the French attempt to re-establish its colonial presence. US foreign intervention in Vietnam was publicly justified by American politicians on the basis that Northern Vietnamese forces were communist puppets of larger powers like the USSR or China. Many US policymakers subscribed to the “domino theory”: that the “fall” of another country to Communism would lead to it spreading throughout Asia. But a more accurate appreciation of the situation might have recognised the nationalist motivations of the Viet Cong and regular Northern Vietnamese forces, whose end goal was to reunite their country and rid it of what was for them a long line of foreign imperialism; French, Japanese and now American. And therefore, the limits of American hard power, especially in propping up a Southern Vietnamese regime that was unpopular with the population for multiple reasons.

[bluepearlkg]

Nhắc đến những bài học triết lý về nhân sinh và tình ái, không thể không nhắc đến 25 câu nói kinh điển khiến người đọc phải suy ngẫm dưới đây.

1.”Những thứ ấy tốt lắm, đẹp lắm nhưng ta không thích thì sao?”

Câu nói này nằm ở cuối tác phẩm Bạch Mã Khiếu Tây Phong, là câu hỏi không có câu trả lời cho cuộc tình tay ba của nhân vật Lý Văn Tú khiến nhiều người suy ngẫm.

“Tình bất tri sở khởi, nhất vãng tình thâm, hận bất tri sở chung, nhất tiếu nhi mẫn” – Tiếu ngạo giang hồ

Tình không biết bắt nguồn nơi nào, trong khoảnh khắc đã thành đậm sâu, hận chẳng biết sẽ về nơi đâu, vừa cười đã tan đi mất…

A Tử từng hỏi Kiều Phong: “Tỷ ấy có gì tốt hơn ta? Tại sao ta không thể sánh được với tỷ ấy? Vì sao chàng luôn nghĩ về tỷ ấy, cũng không thể quên được tỷ ấy?”.

Kiều Phong đáp rằng: “Ngươi cái gì cũng tốt, hơn nàng ấy mọi thứ. Ngươi chỉ có một khuyết điểm duy nhất chính là ngươi không phải nàng ấy“ – Thiên Long Bát Bộ.

“Chỉ yếu hữu nhân đích địa phương tựu hữu ân oán, hữu ân oán tựu hội hữu giang hồ, nhân tựu thị giang hồ” – Tiếu ngạo giang hồ

Chỉ cần là nơi có người ắt có ân oán, có ân oán tất sẽ thành giang hồ. Con người chính là giang hồ

“Ngã bất khổ, nhĩ hữu khổ thuyết bất xuất, na tài thị chân đích khổ” – Thiên Long Bát Bộ

Đây là câu nói mà Diệp Nhị Nương nói với Huyền Từ phương trượng trước khi chết trong Thiên Long Bát Bộ: “Ta chẳng cho rằng như vậy là khổ, người có nỗi khổ mà không thể nói ra, đó mới thật sự là đau lòng”.

“Trên đời này không có gì là hoàn hảo. Một người vượt trăm ngàn đắng cay để tìm kiếm, đến khi nắm trong tay rồi cũng chỉ đến vậy, đôi khi vô tình lại đánh mất đi những thứ vốn nằm trong tay mình” – Tiếu ngạo giang hồ

“Nếu tơ tình chém một lần đã đứt, thì đó không phải tơ tình” – Tuyết sơn phi hồ.

“Nhĩ tiều giá ta bạch vân tụ liễu hựu tán, tán liễu hựu tụ, nhân sanh li hợp, diệc phục như tư. Nhĩ hựu hà tất phiền não” – Thần điêu đại hiệp

Ngươi hãy xem, mây trắng cứ tụ rồi lại tan, đời người cứ ly rồi lại hợp, hà cứ gì phải phiền não.

“Yếu đề phòng nữ nhân phiến nhĩ, việt thị hảo khán đích nữ nhân việt hội phiến nhân” – Ỷ Thiên Đồ Long Ký

Nhất định phải đề phòng nữ nhân. Nữ nhân càng xinh đẹp càng biết gạt người.

“Trên đời này, hợp tan biến ảo. Mọi sự đều có may rủi, sự khác biệt của người may mắn và người không may cuối cùng đều đến từ bản tính mỗi người.” – Thần điêu đại hiệp

“Tại giá thế thượng, hoan hỉ khoái hoạt nguyên, chỉ nhất hốt nhân thì quang, sầu khổ phiền não tài thị nhất bối tử đích sự” – Anh hùng xạ điêu.

Trên thế gian này, niềm vui và hạnh phúc chỉ là trong thoáng chốc, nhưng sầu khổ và phiền não lại là chuyện của cả một đời.

“Nam tử hán đại trượng phu, đệ nhất luận nhân phẩm tâm tràng, đệ nhị luận tài can sự nghiệp, đệ tam luận văn học võ công” – Thiên Long bát bộ.

Nam nhi đại trượng phu, thứ nhất luận nhân phẩm tấm lòng, thứ nhì luận tài năng sự nghiệp, thứ ba luận văn học võ công.

“Hễ ai không chung tình với quá khứ thì sẽ không chung tình với hiện tại và tương lai” – Tiếu Ngạo Giang Hồ

“Nhĩ hỉ hoan nhất cá nữ tử, na thị yếu nhượng tha tâm lí cao hưng, vi đích thị tha, bất thị vi nhĩ tự kỉ” – Lộc đỉnh ký

Nếu ngươi thích một nữ nhân, thì hãy làm cho nàng ấy hạnh phúc. Hãy nhớ làm cho nàng ấy, không phải cho chính ngươi.

“Sách đến khi dùng mới hận mình đọc ít, thịt đến khi miếng ngon mới hận mình đã ăn quá nhiều” – Lộc đỉnh ký

“Đan chỉ hồng nhan lão, sát na phương hoa thệ, dữ kỳ thiên nhai tư quân, luyến luyến bất xá, mạc nhược tương vong vu giang hồ” – Thiên long bát bộ.

Hồng nhan chớp mắt thành kẻ bạc đầu, hương thơm cỏ hoa chỉ còn lại khoảnh khắc. Ở nơi phương xa vẫn nhớ đến người, quyến luyến chẳng muốn rời xa, chi bằng cùng nhau lãng quên chốn giang hồ.

“Như quả nhĩ thâm thâm ái trứ đích nhân, tức thâm thâm đích ái thượng liễu biệt nhân, hữu thập yêu pháp tử” – Bạch mã khiếu tây phong.

Nếu ngươi yêu thương say đắm một người, nhưng người đó lại yêu một người khác, có thể làm được gì đây?

“Thế thượng tối bảo quý chi vật, nãi thị lưỡng tâm tương duyệt đích chân chánh tình ái, quyết phi giới trị liên thành đích bảo tàng” – Tuyết sơn phi hồ.

Điều quý giá nhất trên đời chính là tình yêu đích thực của hai trái tim, chứ chẳng phải bảo vật vô giá nào.

“Tuệ cực tất thương, tình thâm bất thọ, cường cực tắc nhục, khiêm khiêm quân tử, ôn nhuận như ngọc” – Thư kiếm ân cừu lục.

Thông minh quá ắt tổn thương, tình sâu quá ắt tổn thọ, mạnh mẽ quá ắt chịu nhục, vậy nên hãy là người quân tử khiêm nhường, ấm áp như ngọc.

“Loạn thế chi tế, nhân bất như cẩu” – Anh hùng xạ điêu.

Thời thế loạn lạc, người không khác gì chó.

“Dù có tốt hơn nữa? Dung Nhi của ta cũng hơn nàng ta cả trăm lần” – Thần điêu đại hiệp

“Nhân sanh tại thế, khứ nhược triêu lộ, hồn quy lai hề, ai ngã hà bi” – Thiên long bát bộ.

Người sống trên đời, khi chết đều như sương sớm tan nhanh, hồn quay trở về, bao nỗi buồn sầu.

“Trường danh lợi nổi phong ba bão táp, người thắng rồi đến cuối cũng lại thua” – Hiệp khách hành

“Giá ta tuyết hoa lạc hạ lai, đa yêu bạch, đa yêu hảo khán. Quá kỉ thiên thái dương xuất lai, mỗi nhất phiến tuyết hoa đô biến đắc vô ảnh vô tung, đáo đắc minh niên đông thiên, hựu hữu hứa hứa đa đa tuyết hoa, chỉ bất quá dĩ bất thị kim niên giá ta tuyết hoa bãi liễu” – Thần điêu đại hiệp.

Những bông tuyết rơi xuống, tinh khôi biết mấy. Nhưng khi mặt trời chiếu sáng, sẽ chẳng còn bông tuyết nào nữa. Tới mùa đông năm sau, sẽ lại có rất nhiều bông tuyết, nhưng không phải những bông tuyết của năm đó nữa rồi.

” Tòng kim dĩ hậu, khả biệt thái khinh dịch đáp ứng nhân gia, thế thượng hữu hứa đa sự tình, khẩu trung tuy nhiên đáp ứng liễu tức thị vô pháp bạn đáo đích ni” – Phi hồ ngoại truyện.

Từ nay về sau, đừng quá dễ dàng hứa hẹn với người đời. Vì có rất nhiều điều dù đã hứa nhưng vẫn không thể thực hiện được.

Dù đã rất nhiều năm qua đi, nhưng những câu nói kinh điển trong tiểu thuyết của Kim Dung vẫn giữ được những giá trị triết lý nhân văn và khiến người đọc phải lặng mình suy ngẫm.

(banmaihong)