And there I was, two bullets in my left leg, and I was losing blood fast. I could smell my wound and I was in so much pain I was throwii…
“Dad, should you really be telling the kids about all that stuff?”

“That’s part of my story Sheryll, and if I didn’t include it, how would they know what Veitnam was really like?” Anyways, I was throwing up all over the place and running for my life, my cadets had always been impressed by my multitasking so I chuckled a little.

“Grandpa, why were you running?”
Oh! I almost forgot. It was 1965 when I was drafted and I was a prodigy they said at flying planes. Within 3 years they had named me a sergeant. Sergeant Duke Bledsoe was the name and flying planes was my game. I was the best plane fighter in our entire base and top 20 in the country. I had shot down 47 planes in my whole career and that is the most out of any plane fighter in the world. I grew to be the most popular guy in my camp, and along with that came a large ego.

It was October 5, 1972 and I had just got order to shower North Vietnam. I had questioned the order to myself but I never let an assignment go unaccomplished. The showerings were always better at night time. I didn’t like to think about what was going on down there, and the lights put on a show that would help me forget what I was doing.

“What were you doing Grandpa?”

Oh, uh nothing sweetheart, I would be flying my plane over the forest and I..

“I told you not to be telling them that story duke!”

I’m almost done Sheryll!... So another fighter plane was near, it was really dark so I couldn’t see him and I imagined he couldn’t see me unless we fired. I waited and I waited for him to fire first. That he did. He popped up behind me and blasted my left wing out. I went down screaming MAE DAE! MAE DAE! I ejected myself, opened my parachute, and landed into the jungle. I ran as soon as I got my parachute detached but somehow the Viet Kongs were waiting for me.

“Were they mad at you Granpa!?”

Oh buddy they were furious, they beat me and starved me for weeks at a time. From what I’m told they had me for about two years, and from the day they captured me to the day I escaped they were inflicting pain on me. I knew I couldn’t take it forever and it was getting old fast. By the end of my stay I had only my underwear for clothing. The guards who kept an eye on me slipped up and I was able to get them both alone, which I was able to take them out with a little bit of luck. When I got out, once again I instantly started running, as I was running I feel my left leg cramp up and I fall to the ground. I grab my leg and see blood EVERYWHERE. It had been shot in the leg twice in one shot, my guess was that the gun had gotten jammed but fired afterwards. Hell of shot i’d say.

“Is this when you started puking Grandpa?”

Yes sweetheart, I was scared, hurt, hungry, and bloody. Throwing up was the least of my worries. Adrenaline was the only explanation of me still being able to run through that jungle. But I never stopped. And that’s what got me back to base. I survived and now I have all of my grand babies to tell my story. So thank you for listening, go on and play now.

How was that one honey!?