Army veteran Robert Hendricks carries scars in his memory from the Vietnam War that time cannot erase.
Hendricks, drafted in 1967, was thrust into the chaos of the Tet Offensive in January 1968, witnessing the brutal power of napalm as it devoured everything in its path, according to Military.com.
After receiving his draft notice, he trained at Fort Ord in California and Fort Holabird in Maryland for military intelligence. From there, it was a direct ticket to Soc Trang in the Mekong Delta, tasked with gathering intel alongside South Vietnamese forces.
Thrown Into the Fire of Tet
“I think everyone who was graduating knew exactly where we were going,” Hendricks told Central Oregon Daily News. Hearing that, you can’t help but wonder how a young man processes the certainty of war, with no illusions about the danger ahead.
Stationed in a small blockhouse, Hendricks was jolted awake at 3 a.m. on January 31, 1968, as the Tet Offensive erupted. Tracers lit up the night, and he had no idea who was firing or from where, only that he was caught in the middle.
Dawn brought an unsettling silence, with no sounds of village life to reassure him. “There were no children laughing and screaming,” he recalled, a chilling detail that hints at the terror of not knowing if the enemy had taken over.
Napalm’s Unforgettable Destruction
For 72 hours, Hendricks and his bunkmate waited for the all-clear to reach the Soc Trang airbase. That wait was punctuated by a sight he would never shake, as U.S. Air Force F-100 Super Sabres dropped 500-pound bombs and then napalm along the roadway.
“I had never seen napalm in my life, and I never want to see it again,” Hendricks said. Those words carry the weight of a man who saw hell unleashed, a weapon so vicious it defies any attempt to justify its use.
Walking through the aftermath to reach the airbase, he saw devastation that seared his conscience. Bodies, some still smoking, lay scattered, leaving him to wonder if they were enemy fighters or innocent villagers caught in the firestorm.
Human Cost Beyond the Battlefield
“That was disturbing,” Hendricks admitted, reflecting on the grim reality of war’s indiscriminate toll. Seeing human remains in the sweltering heat of the Delta forced a reckoning with the personal loss behind each casualty.
He later mused on one body in particular, noting, “That was somebody’s father, somebody’s brother, somebody’s son.” Such a thought cuts through the numbness of combat, reminding us that even in war, empathy can survive.
Over nearly six decades, those images have lingered in his mind. They’ve shaped his understanding of the mental burden soldiers carry, a weight that doesn’t lift with the end of a tour.
Lessons From a Reluctant Warrior
Despite his hatred for being in Vietnam, Hendricks found a strange appreciation for the experience. “A real education in foreign affairs and human affairs,” he called it, showing a depth of reflection that transcends mere survival.
He recognized the humanity in the enemy, soldiers who were just as trapped in the conflict as he was. That acknowledgment speaks to a maturity often forced upon young men in the crucible of war.
Hendricks also felt for the Vietnamese people, an ancient culture yearning for peace amid chaos. His story isn’t just about horror; it’s a quiet plea to remember the human stakes in every conflict, a perspective that feels more urgent than ever in a world quick to forget.
