Cpl William Stilwagen, U.S. Marine Corps (1968-1970)

THE KNIFE

Who knows how many lives each of us destroyed in Vietnam. Confirmed kills is a term for the official way of counting dead enemy bodies. But unless you were a sniper whose spotter could document your kills, you really have no way of knowing. The environmental conditions in Vietnam were such that clear sightings and clear shots were illusive. The vegetation and terrain were extremely rugged and concealing. Once we located the enemy, we d saturate the area with firepower and/or call in supporting arms. Unless you saw an individual go down when you squeezed the trigger, you never knew if it was truly your bullet that ended the life of an enemy soldier. We knew we were responsible in part for enemy deaths, but there was really no way to make a quantitative accounting for the individual warrior. Most times, the killing took place in an obscured environment, or at a healthy distance in the case of mortars and artillery.

It s rare, but sometimes circumstances can bring you face-to-face with those who would be happy to kill you. These are life-changing and troubling events that can forever deny a person true peace in their lives, because now you know for sure.

One fateful day, we were on a daytime patrol working an area just below a ridge southwest of Camp Carroll on the DMZ. We were called to go down into the valley and do a routine sweep through a VC camp that had been destroyed a few weeks earlier. As we carefully made our way through the bombed out hooches and bunkers, I came around a large pile of debris, and there he was. He had just started to sharpen a large knife on an ancient grinding wheel that was mounted on an axle and powered by foot. I looked at him. He looked at me. Then he reached for his rifle. And then he died. I shot him in the side before it crossed my mind, and he fell to the ground, dead, before it crossed his mind. As I stood over his body, other Marines patted me on my back, telling me what a hard dude I was. I stared at the dead soldier s face, and I could see he was my age. Under different circumstances, we might have been friends. But old men from his country had sent him to war, and old men from my country had sent me to war. So here we met, on the battlefield. We should have met on the ball field.

I took his knife. I still have it. It is said that when you save a life, you are responsible for it. It s even more true when you take a life. It s been more than a half-century since his death, but still, he s with me wherever I go.

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