Reflections of Fall: A Story of Love, War, and Faith

By Ray "Tony" Miranda

Although World War II has been over for some time, Sam Mcguire is still struggling with his memories of the brutalities of battle. Despite his pain, Sam is attempting to move forward in life. But that task is more challenging than he ever imagined as demons of the past continue to haunt him. As Sam finally gains the strength and insight to emerge from the darkness, he returns home to Indiana where he continues healing with help from family, God, and friends. After he marries his love, Sam builds a new life for himself, made complete with the birth of his children. As his son, Sammy, grows into a rebellious and headstrong young man, he too eventually makes his way to war—this time in Vietnam. Now he must find a way to survive, in his own way, in his own time, just as his father did. Reflections of Fall follows the paths of father and son as each is led from war back home where faith, family, and love strengthen their spirits to overcome pain and obstacles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jul 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483472508

Book preview

Reflections

of

Fall

A STORY OF LOVE, WAR, AND FAITH

RAY TONY MIRANDA

Copyright © 2017 Ray Tony Miranda.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-7251-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-7250-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017911000

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 7/13/2017

It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press. It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech. It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate. It is the soldier who salutes the flag, who serves beneath the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protestor to burn the flag.

—Father Denis Edward O’Brien

For Anna, who always had faith in me and encouraged me to follow my dreams

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter 1   Facing the Demons

Chapter 2   Home

Chapter 3   Healing

Chapter 4   Sarah Jean Callahan

Chapter 5   Early Family Years and Trials

Chapter 6   A Son Grows

Chapter 7   Different Paths

Chapter 8   The Army

Chapter 9   The Calm before the Storm

Chapter 10   Welcome to Vietnam

Chapter 11   Base Camp

Chapter 12   The Bush

Chapter 13   Operation Cobra

Chapter 14   The Reality

Chapter 15   The Home Front

Chapter 16   A Sign

Chapter 17   Brothers

Chapter 18   Back to the World

Chapter 19   Home at Last

Preface

This book is dedicated to all who served this county in the military but especially to those forgotten warriors of the Vietnam era.

US military advisers arrived in South Vietnam in 1955, and the US military presence was maintained until the official end of the conflict on August 15, 1973. During this time, 2.59 million Americans served. Of those who served, 58,169 were killed, and 304,000 were wounded.

The war was brutal and took its toll on those serving, both physically and mentally. For example, the average infantryman in the South Pacific during World War II saw fewer combat days in four years than an infantryman in Vietnam in one year, a fact that was lost by the wayside as support for our military declined.

The US military performed admirably considering the restraints placed on commanders in the field by political leaders. All major battles of any consequence were won by US forces, and losses to the enemy for the war totaled over one million.

No war since the Civil War caused such a rift in US public opinion, leading to social unrest and violence in the United States. Protests, demonstrations, and civil disobedience played central roles in ending the war as political leaders could not justify our involvement anymore.

There were those Americans who supported our fighting men and women during this time, but their voices were drowned out by those who opposed the war and the media.

The military was demonized, and anyone in uniform was generally despised by the American public, who grew tired of the war and became mesmerized by the televised war and biased reporting. It became chic to belittle and revile those who served.

The stigma of Vietnam plagued this country for years, and the military was made to feel ashamed for not accomplishing the stated mission of ending Communist expansion.

The US soldiers, airmen, marines, and sailors performed in an exemplary manner in the face of adversity not only on the battlefield but back home as well.

This country must never again deny our servicemen and servicewomen the support and respect that they have earned in blood.

No one desires peace as much as the soldier,

for he must pay the greatest penalty in war.

—General Douglas MacArthur

Chapter 1

Facing the Demons

The war had been over for almost a year. The weary citizens of America were slowly healing from the years of the tragic conflict. World War II had been fought and tyranny defeated. America was enjoying the relative peace of the times; the energy and resources of the industrial machine were channeled into more peaceful purposes. The economy was on the rise as industries provided jobs for the returning veterans who had come home to live and work as civilians again. There were those veterans who were still recovering physically and emotionally from the horrors they’d experienced, and for them, the healing process would take longer.

One such veteran was Sam Mcguire, who had witnessed and experienced the brutalities that war thrust on young men fighting for their lives. For all the pain and sacrifice he went through, Sam was trying to get on with his life, but the demons of the past came back to torment him.

After being wounded during the waning months of the war, he was sent to a naval hospital in California for treatment. His wounds had healed, but he suffered from psychological trauma that made it impossible for him to function normally.

The months that passed were pure agony. He spent countless hours in therapy as he was torn between wanting to recover and wanting to forget the anguish of reliving the fateful events that took him out of war and into the hell his mind made him a prisoner of.

During his therapy sessions, he did not respond to treatment. He was sullen and would not participate in discussions or interact with the doctors trying to help him. He suppressed the memories that caused him so much anguish and would not discuss any aspect of his pain.

Horrific dreams plagued him at night. He woke screaming, drenched with sweat, and trembling uncontrollably. He could never recall the details of the dreams other than having an overwhelming fear of dying. He had to be restrained at night after he broke the jaw of an orderly who was trying to calm him down. He was given mild sedatives that made him less violent, but they also made him groggy and left him in a stupor the next morning. He stopped taking the medication and pretended to sleep so he wouldn’t be restrained.

He walked the halls of the hospital late at night, which was his habit when peaceful sleep eluded him.

One night, a summer thunderstorm rolled in with howling wind, lightning, and thunder roaring overhead. He stood looking out a window where flashes of memories went through his mind as lightning ripped through the night sky. Snippets of visions began to take form. Scenes of a battlefield where he stood alone, looking down at the dead around his feet, made him break out in a cold sweat. He began to tremble as fragments of scenes slowly started coming together; he started to remember that terrible night in Okinawa.

He had been in charge of a squad manning a defensive position driving back wave after wave of Japanese soldiers trying to break through. They had been fighting for over nine hours and had killed scores of the fanatical Japanese charging their positions. His squad, along with the rest of the platoon, had taken several casualties, and they were running low on ammunition.

Corporal Lefty Johnson was Sam’s best friend; he was manning a foxhole ten yards to the left of Sam.

Lefty and Sam had met in basic training while at Parris Island. They had been assigned to the same combat unit and had become close throughout the Pacific Campaign. Corporal Johnson’s real name was Robert, but as was the custom in the military, he had been given a nickname; since he was left-handed, Lefty seemed logical. Sam’s nickname was Mac.

There was a break in the fighting as the Japanese regrouped for another attack.

Lefty was nervous and whispered to Sam in the pitch-black darkness.

Mac, we can’t hold back another attack. The squad and platoon are less than half-strength. We’re almost out of ammo—for Chrissake, the thirty-cal only has fifty rounds left. Let’s pull back and wait for reinforcements.

Sam whispered back, We can’t, Lefty; the Japs will get past us and get behind our lines. They’ll wipe out the rest of the platoon in the cross fire.

Before Lefty could answer, a mortar barrage signaled that another attack was commencing.

Explosions shook the ground, acrid smoke filled the air, and flashes of light accompanied the thunderous boom of each explosion. Flares lit up the night sky, and the shadowy figures moving toward them sent a chill through Sam. He knew they could not hold on, but still he fought. Screaming Japanese soldiers rushed the line and were met by merciless machine gun and rifle fire.

The attack was too much; the squad was spent, and Japanese soldiers had breached the line. Fighting was at point-blank range, fierce and hand to hand.

Sam watched in horror as men tore each other to pieces in the desperate life-and-death struggle. He fired his last rounds and then jumped out of his foxhole to charge a group of Japanese soldiers approaching him. He could hear bloodcurdling screams as he charged into certain death; then he realized the screaming was coming from him. He used the bayonet on the end of his M-1 rifle to slash away and impale the enemy troops, who were stunned to see this lone man attacking them with the brutality of a savage animal. Time slowed down for Sam, his mind went blank for a second, and then it seemed he stepped out of his body and was witnessing the carnage around him. He saw a blood-soaked fiend shredding men with his bayonet and crushing their skulls with the butt of his rifle. The monster turned to look at him, and he realized it was him. He returned to reality when a bright flash of light and a deafening explosion threw him backward on the ground.

He lay facing the sky. Everything was quiet, and he felt no pain and was oddly at peace. He wondered whether this was what it was like to die. He saw a figure standing over him, a Japanese soldier who was lunging at him with a bayonet—and then out of nowhere, Lefty tackled the soldier and killed him with his own bayonet. Lefty picked up and carried Sam to the safety of a foxhole.

The serenity and peace were now gone; he felt a searing pain in his chest, and he was having trouble breathing. Lefty gave him a rifle and told him to fight on as long as he could. Just then, Lefty fell back into Sam’s lap.

A bullet had pierced his heart. He lay on Sam, dying; with his last words, he said, I told you we should have pulled back.

Sam remembered sobbing as he held his friend and then drifted into unconsciousness, hoping to join his friend in death.

This was the horror Sam had repressed for all these months. He fell to his knees with his face in his hands, sobbing bitterly until he fell asleep from exhaustion. The next morning, an orderly found him curled on the floor. He carried Sam to his room and called a doctor.

This was the turning point in Sam’s recovery; he understood that guilt and shame were destroying him. He confided in his doctors and slowly came out of the darkness of the prison he had created for himself. He was able to think and function without the despair that had consumed him.

When he was finally discharged, his doctors told him recovery would not be complete until he went home to rejoin his family and friends. He needed familiar surroundings and the support of his loved ones to get on with the business of life. He had to put the past and guilt behind him, or he would drift into an abyss of despair.

Chapter 2

Home

Samuel Mcguire was released and given a bus ticket that would have him traveling for two days through the heartland of America to his home.

He was born and raised in the town of Dawson, Indiana, which was one of many rural communities dotting the countryside along the White River.

Immigrants moving west settled the area in the 1800s. They were looking for—and found—a better life for themselves and their families. A contingent of Irishmen traveling west fell in love with the countryside and decided to stay.

These were Sam’s ancestors, a hardy people who worked hard and played hard. They appreciated the fertile land nature provided them to farm.

The landscape was a brilliant palette of color in fall as fields flowed over the rolling landscape like rivers of green. There were maple, oak, and poplar trees that transformed the countryside into a majestic portrait of brushstrokes from the mind of God. The fields, forests, lakes, and streams were the playgrounds of children who were raised there.

Sam missed the beauty and peace of home, where family, God, and friends were the most important things in life. Sam dreamed of coming home to the tranquility and security of Dawson, where he would try to heal his body and soul. As the bus traveled through the night, Sam stared out the window, recalling memories of his childhood.

Sam had lived with his older brother, Jack, ever since their parents died in an auto accident when Sam was nine years old. Jack was the oldest of four children. His sisters, Debra and Rose, were a few years younger than Jack, and Sam was the baby of the family. His sisters were married and had moved to Gary, where their husbands worked in the steel industry.

Jack had taken legal custody of Sam and raised him like a son.

Jack was a big, burly man who always had a joke to tell. He enjoyed having a few drinks with friends and had a quick wit. He was a good man and was liked by everyone who knew him. More importantly, Jack had a big heart and always helped his friends and neighbors who were in need. He had been married for five years to a hometown girl named Lucy.

Lucy was a good woman and would have been a good mother, but she could not have children. When Jack asked Lucy if Sam could live with them, she agreed without reservation and treated Sam like a son as well. Jack and Lucy were proud of Sam as if he were their own child.

Lucy was a quiet woman by nature, but that would change if she felt Sam’s well-being was affected by Jack’s rough and tumble antics or if his drinking was getting a little excessive. She kept Jack in line, and he would complain, but deep down he was glad she let him know to settle down a bit.

The love and attention they gave to Sam slowly brought him to accept Jack and Lucy as his parents. As the years passed, the heartache of losing his parents faded as time’s healing power allowed Sam to have a normal childhood and be part of a family.

When Sam went off to war, Jack’s friends would get bored of listening to tales of how his brother was kicking Japanese butts in the Pacific. Lucy would proudly show pictures of her handsome Sam to all her friends. Jack and Lucy were very good people, and Sam loved them very much.

Sam remembered growing up in the small country community that was his sanctuary in a world that could be cruel at times.

He was a hometown favorite of the folks who saw the boy grow into a man they were proud of.

Jack had been a community leader, and people of Dawson expected nothing less of Sam. His childhood friends were still living there, making a living on farms or working in the surrounding towns. A little smile came to Sam as he let the memories drift through his mind. It had been a long time since he’d thought of home in this way; it gave him a feeling of security.

As the bus rumbled through the night, Sam was growing tired, but he refused to let himself drift off to sleep. He was afraid of having the dreams that occasionally haunted him since his time in the Pacific. Even though his therapy reduced the frequency of the dreams, they occasionally came back to torment him.

He had been given medication to help out, but it was only a temporary treatment. Psychiatrists said the underlying problem had to be dealt with. After months of therapy and the breakthrough of releasing the repressed memories, the dreams subsided but would sometimes reoccur when he was anxious or under stress.

Sam was very anxious now; the thought of going home after being away for three years was a little unsettling.

The bus pulled into town at sunrise and stopped at a little terminal next to a café. Sam took his duffel bag and walked to the middle of the street where a light rain had made the air clean and fresh; he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and saw that everything was as he left it.

The stores, shops, and streets were exactly as he remembered them. Mr. Jennings was already at work in his bakery. The aroma of fresh-baked bread mingled with the smell of the flowers in planters around the town square. Droplets of rain on the leaves of the trees glistened as the rising sun created tiny prisms of light dancing along street.

He