The following reflection on Veteran’s Day is from retired CBF endorsed chaplain Billy Dunn. Dunn retired as chaplain with the Texas Department of Mental Health and Mental Retardation in 2006. In 1990, Dunn retired from the U.S. Army reserve after 30 years. His reflection comes from a 19-month period in Vietnam and a nine-month assignment with the 18^th Surgical Hospital in the Combat Zone.

My freshman year at Ouachita Baptist University (1948-49) was a time when many veterans were going to college on the G. I. Bill. However, my military service (other than College ROTC) came after college and seminary. During my senior year at Southwestern Theological Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas, I became a “Chaplain Candidate” in the United States Army Reserve. I was proud of my 2nd Lt bar that I wore to Reserve meetings during that year. At graduation I was called to Extended Active Duty for my first tour as an Army Chaplain. I was promoted from 2nd Lt to 1st Lt and was proud to wear the 1st Lt. bar as well as the Christian cross on my collar or lapel. There was a joke going around in US Army Chaplain School that went something like: “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Bar. …. How I Wish You Were A Star.”   

My entire military service was that of an Army Chaplain, serving my units wherever they were assigned, to include assignment in the combat zones of Vietnam. The last half of my 19 month tour in Vietnam was served as a hospital chaplain in a combat hospital, the 18th Surgical Hospital. It was a MUST hospital, not too unlike the MASH hospital of TV fame, in its’ mission (Only, we didn’t have as much fun and the characters seem to be having in the TV show). The letters, “M-U-S-T,” meant “Mobile Unit Self Transportable.” Ours was a life saving station. The wounded were brought to us via helicopter ambulance directly from the battle field. Their stay with us was about three days until we could get them stabilized enough to be transferred to an Evacuation Hospital where they stayed for about two weeks and then on to a field hospital or evacuated back to the US for permanent care.

During those nine months with the 18th Surgical Hospital, I was privileged to minister to more wounded and dying troops in that setting, daily, than I could have possibly ministered to on the “front lines” during the entire 19 months in-country. The bodies of some of the soldiers that were brought in were torn apart and ripped open by shrapnel or bullet wounds. Some with arms and/or legs missing. One soldier was on a stretcher with his combat boots on each side of his body with his feet and that portion of his legs still in the boots. There were times in that little life saving station when all doctors, nurses and medical corpsmen in the operating room were so busy that no one had time to wipe up the spilled blood on the floor until all the surgery was over and we could mop up the floors. I spent a lot of time, out of the way, in corner of that Operating Room praying for the patients as well as the surgeons, nurses and corpsmen as they worked tirelessly saving lives.

In that little hospital, there were over 20 surgeons and many more nurses than that and more corpsmen than that. BUT only one chaplain: Me. They all had shifts to work (loosely) like 7-3; 3-11 and 11-7. But I had to be a part of all shifts. I tried to be in the triage area to meet every wounded soldier that came in. But I could not stay awake around the clock to do so. Thus, I napped when I could.In that hospital setting, as I visited the soldiers on the wards, the old Chaplain School mission statement came to mind, over and over again: “Bringing men to God and God to men.” Many of the men and women in the hospital would talk to me about their faith and the reality of death and whether they were ready to meet God in the event of their death. There death stared them, and all of us, in the face each step of the way.

When serving in the Transportation Battalion, I had the distinct privilege to baptize some who made a profession of faith there. Through some of our missionaries in that country, I made arrangements to conduct baptism in a local Vietnamese church. But most of those in the hospital, making a profession of faith chose to wait until they got back home to receive baptism.But this combat situation caused different reactions from different individuals. I was interviewed briefly by some stateside religious newspaper reporter once in the area and was asked about the old saying that “there are no atheists in ‘fox holes.’” My response to him was something to the effect that if a soldier is an atheist when he entered the foxhole he would most likely remain so, UNLESS, there was something in his background, or childhood, about faith in God, or an experience or teaching that he had forgotten and now remembered, that gave him something to fall back on as he faced death. If some seed about faith in God and never been planted then he would most likely remain an atheist when he faced death. However, I found that these instances were very, very, rare.

Occasionally, we would have a POW (Prisoner of War [enemy soldier]) among our other patients. One such patient was an NVA (North Vietnam Army) soldier. As I passed by him, I spoke to him in English, which he probably did not understand, but he looked at me with cruel hate in his eyes. Non-the-less, I handed him a religious or Christian tract in his language, Vietnamese. He refused it and spat on me. I was too far away for him to spit in my face, but his spittle landed on my uniform.

The awareness of the possibility of death was just about everywhere. But we had our lighter moments as well. At night when some were trying to catch some sleep, the rockets would often start coming into our compound without warning. In the wee hours of the morning we might hear the dreadful shout of “IN-COMING.” Then we all rolled off our cots and ran to one of the bunkers nearby. We did not take time to dress. My tent was about 30 feet from the closest bunker. One night (morning) a rocket exploded not too far from my tent (or so it seemed). I did not even pull on my trousers, just my boots and scrambled into the bunker. In that country there were all kinds of Cobras and other nocturnal creatures that posed problems for those doing night duty. On that occasion as I was squatting inside that underground bunker with all the others, in total darkness, I became aware of something alive was making it way up my leg inside my shorts. I won’t describe what followed or what was said, but when I had hastily removed the intruder, someone shined a flash light on him and he was a small green frog. There was much laughter in the bunker about the frog that climbed into the chaplain’s shorts for protection. That laughter did not subside that night. It went on for several days thereafter during duty hours.

I will share with you one moral dilemma that I faced as a Chaplain. As you know, according to the Geneva Convention, Chaplains cannot be required to bear arms. We are numbered among the non-combatants in the US Military along with the doctors and medics, etc. It did not say that we are not ALLOWED to bear arms, but that we cannot be REQUIRED to bear arms. I chose not to even think about carrying a weapon. My chaplain’s assistant and driver had his rifle and that was enough to protect us both when we were together.

As I look back over those 45 (+)(-) years ago, my mind goes back to that 18 th Surgical Hospital in Vietnam and I remember that most all of our wounded were brought to us from the fire fights via helicopter. There is a distinct, unmistakable sound of that rotor blade of that “chopper,” “Whop, Whop, Whop” when they delivered the wounded to us. Even today, especially at night, if I hear a helicopter flying over, I get a nostalgic, gut- retching feeling: “More wounded are coming in, I gotta get down to Triage stat.” 

I feel honored to have had the privilege to serve my country in the capacity of an Army Chaplain for those thirty five years. And, Also, I am honored to be numbered among the Veterans of the US Armed Forces. If I had it all to do over again, I would gladly do it.

BILLY D. DUNN

Chaplain (COLONEL) USAR, Retired