I stepped into the office, pen and notebook in hand, settling into the couch. A green orb illuminated the room, revealing a soldier inside it. After getting comfortable, the glow faded, and the veteran appeared across from me.

“Much better. Nice to meet you, Lieutenant.”

He smiled and nodded, confirming my guess at his rank. The Lieutenant was striking, reminiscent of Cary Grant and Ben Affleck, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a charming cleft chin. One leg crossed over the other, he seemed eager to begin our discussion.

“Good evening, Ma’am. I’m Lieutenant Jeremy Walters, US Marine Corps. I enlisted in '66 and served in Vietnam for four tours, totaling nearly five years, during which I witnessed a lot.”

As he contemplated his next words, I noticed the bitterness in his voice.

“People were unwilling to acknowledge the horrors of Vietnam, despite the compelling stories. They preferred the media's narrative over the truth from those who served.”

I understood his sentiment, one echoed by many veterans of the Vietnam War.

“Thank you for visiting, Lieutenant Walters. I enjoyed your entrance.”

“Thanks! Just call me Loo; that was the name everyone used, even after I earned promotions. I retired as a Colonel, but Loo stuck. It showed that my achievements mattered, that my service in Vietnam made a difference, which is all I ever wanted.”

“You all mattered, Loo. Every individual who served did, even if many didn’t realize it. I’ve always understood that.” He nodded appreciatively; many veterans felt isolated in their experiences. “You left the Marines as a Colonel. Did you continue serving after returning from Vietnam? When did you retire?”

The Lieutenant's pride was evident as he brushed his fingers across his rank insignia. Beneath that pride was a hesitation to revisit painful memories, a desire to protect both himself and me from the darkness of his past.

“I joined the Marines as a Private First Class at eighteen and retired as a Colonel thirty years later. I didn’t plan to stay, but halfway through my first tour, I fell in love with the Corps. My grandfather, a Navy lifer from World War I, was proud when I shared the news. He valued the continuation of military service in our family. My father served in World War II, but he wasn’t a career soldier like Grandpa and me.”

The Lieutenant reminded me of youthful, enthusiastic individuals I once knew, presenting himself as he was during the war—the peak of his military career. Spirits can appear as they were recognized or as they wished to be remembered.

He sat tall, exuding pride, and I wondered how long it took for him to grapple with the disillusionment of his service in Vietnam.

“I wonder how he looked at retirement?”

Loo gazed at his hands, seemingly captivated by their movement. I watched as he morphed from the young, optimistic Lieutenant of Vietnam into the distinguished Colonel he became. He retained the handsome features of his youth, with gray at his temples and a sparkle in his eyes that couldn't conceal the horrors he had witnessed. He gave me a playful wink before reverting back to Lieutenant Walters.

“You were curious about my appearance at retirement, weren’t you?” His playful tone continued. “Honestly, I wasn’t much different—just more wrinkles and gray hair. I prefer this version of myself. My youth was spent in a combat zone, but I never viewed it as wasted. I have no regrets about my time in Vietnam. There were good memories alongside the bad—valued friendships, a beloved career, and experiences that shaped my thirty years of distinguished military service. Sadly, the media erased any positive legacy our Vietnam service might have left.”

As I focused on the man rather than his uniform, I recognized the brutality he endured. I couldn't fathom the challenges he faced. He fought to ensure future generations wouldn't have to raise arms in anger. This understanding made me pause, reflecting on my own young teens, who were not much younger than those Loo commanded.

“Loo, may I ask you something? It’s been on my mind. You’re not obliged to answer, but I need to know.”

“Sarah, feel free to ask anything. What’s troubling you?” The Lieutenant's concern was palpable, offering comfort. “Have I upset you?” His innate leadership radiated.

His example was admired by those who struggled to match his standards throughout their careers.

“Firstly, thank you for your service. Even now, you exhibit a sense of responsibility for your men, showcasing the commanding officer you were. They were fortunate to have leaders like you and Captain Reynolds.”

“Thank you, Sarah. Recognition was rare for what I did in Vietnam. That war was brutal, but coming home was even more so. I was fortunate to remain a career Marine, which shielded me from the harsh treatment veterans received upon their return. Society and the media condemned us as war criminals for merely following orders.”

“I’ve heard about those homecoming receptions from Captain Reynolds. Did you know him? He seemed commendable.”

“Yes, I knew Chuck. He was genuinely one of the good ones, though he often downplayed his heroics. Ask any of his men; they’ll tell you how special he was.”

“The last time I saw Chuck in Vietnam was when we liberated the Farnsworth POW camp. He and his team had been MIA for over a year.”

“Chuck and his team were legendary. The Vietnamese spoke of the challenging Captain they captured, and it was likely him; he could be relentless when needed. We often liberated those camps, so the rumors were likely accurate.”

“Each time we rescued our soldiers from a POW camp, more were taken to replace them. It was like a never-ending cycle.”

“I remember flying over the camp, witnessing our men caged like animals. That never got easier. I had liberated many camps by then, and it always broke my heart to see American soldiers treated worse than dogs.”

Lieutenant Walters' memories took him back to Farnsworth, his eyes distant and haunted as he gazed at the floor. I felt tears form as I witnessed the internal battles all veterans faced, confronting their buried traumas.

“Captain Reynolds was elated when we landed in Farnsworth, but he was key in getting those men out. He energized them, rallying them to board the helicopters. The first thing I heard upon landing was him encouraging the troops.”

“Let’s go, boys! I told you they’d come for us! Help each other out! No man left behind—time to leave this hell and head home!”

“Reynolds was a powerhouse, constantly motivating us while we loaded the men onto the choppers. He was malnourished from his ordeal, but that didn’t stop him. He made it his mission to ensure every man in that camp made it to safety.”

“We flew off with 25 POWs, a mix of Americans, South Vietnamese, and a few Brits, thanks to Reynolds’ efforts.”

“As we took off, he paused to honor a body lying in the center of the cages, tears in his eyes as he retrieved the dog tags from around the soldier’s neck.”

“Once airborne, Captain Reynolds looked down at the center square, clutching the dog tags with tears still in his eyes. He saluted the soldier whose body lay there, and the other rescued soldiers followed suit.”

“I will find them, boys, one day soon. They’ll know. I promise you all that… and you too, Wellesley. They’ll know.”

His words puzzled me.

“Who will know what, Captain?”

Sadness crossed Reynolds' face, mirrored in the eyes