The United States has been commemorating the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War since Memorial Day, May 28, 2012, continuing through Veterans Day, November 11, 2025.

My father, brother, and brother-in-law all served in Vietnam between 1970-73 resulting in our family being deeply wounded with personal tragedy.  I share this story written by my brother, as a way to honor and recognize the sacrifice of Vietnam veterans and their families.

And On the Seventh Day

by Sergeant Charles “Chuck” Nelson III

I reported to the Republic of Vietnam in January of 1969 and served in the First Marine Air Wing (MAW) at Da Nang Air Base. 1^st MAW provided crucial logistical, air, and reconnaissance support to US forces.  We worked six days a week, taking Sundays off whenever possible.  However, there was no liberty and nowhere to go. Many attended a non-denominational church service, wrote letters, and rested on the seventh day.  Although I was raised attending church, I never attended a service while in Nam, wasn’t ready to write my girlfriend, and was never one to rest.  As it turned out, a special mission was scheduled for the upcoming Sunday, so of course I volunteered.  My curiosity had opened up many interesting experiences, so my first Sunday off I was heading for a new adventure.

Shortly before daylight on Sunday, I rendezvoused at the helicopter pad with a dozen other volunteers from the 1^st MAW, all of us half asleep due to the nightly rocket attacks having gone into extra innings. We boarded a Boeing Vertol CH-46, a standard Marine troop and cargo transport, and lifted off under the cover of darkness.

The flight was just long enough for the sun to have risen and reflect brightly off the crystal blue waters and sparkling white sand off the coast of Da Nang, nicknamed “China Beach” by the soldiers. As we scanned the terrain below for any sign of hostile activity, we began our descent to a small island.

We spotted nothing alarming, received no incoming fire, and no one surrounded the hatchway as they normally would when a helicopter was landing.  We looked more like tourists getting off the bus at the beach, than a squad of combat ready Marines ready for a mission not of death, but one of mercy.

Two Australian missionaries, a nun and a priest, had set up their orphanage on the island as a place of refuge for fifty or so children whose parents were either lost, dead, or conscripted into the war effort. They had previously run their orphanage on the mainland, but were repeatedly robbed of supplies by foraging Viet Cong guerrillas.  With the help of the Marines, they moved their half-starved band of war-torn children to a place of relative safety where the coast was controlled by our Navy and the airspace controlled by the US Air Force. These were not the “dust children” or Amerasian children fathered by American soldiers, who were unwanted, scorned, or even left to die of neglect.  These orphans, all under age ten, were Vietnamese kids born in the wrong place at the wrong time, having lost parents, a limb, or an eye.

The Marine Corps has always been active in charity work and this Sunday as with most Sundays, we were hitting the beach in order to deliver food, medical supplies, and also enjoy the children in the sunshine on the water.  For me this was a day of rest, doing the Lord’s work, and hopefully undoing a little of the damage done in our struggle to “stem the tide of Communism.”

I had been “In Country” just over two short weeks, and shock was setting in from constant explosions, friends turned junkies or blown to hell, and firing my first shots at fellow human beings and knowing my rounds had struck home.  Yes, I was shocked to the core of my soul and I needed this Sunday, the Lord’s Day, and the cleansing beauty of the sea and sky and beaches.  I was raised in a Catholic family, went to Catholic schools, and needed to reconnect with God, because in just two weeks, my soul had become too dirty from things I had seen and done to enter into God’s house.

We unloaded supplies, carrying them up the beach and stored them in one of the two buildings of the small orphanage.  Then we were free while the chaplain and the Lieutenant talked with the priest. On this first visit to my last link with God, goodness, and humanity, I became attached to a four-year old blind boy named Tai, who had lost his sight and his parents during a US bombing raid.  Most Marines singled out a child to give their special affections, yet no child was ever left out, especially the severely maimed.  The kids didn’t seem to know much about playing, but we did our best to play with them on the beach, and I gave Tai his first swimming lesson. 

At lunch time, a few of us went walking down the beach to explore the island.  A few hundred yards around a bend in the shoreline were a dozen shacks, pieced together with wooden boards, rags and bits of old blankets.  We hurriedly locked and loaded our M-16s, the standard military assault rifle, even though we had not been advised of an enemy camp nearby. Several sets of eyes were peeking through the raggedy blankets.  We left them in their hiding place and returned to the orphanage and inquired about the rickety camp.  We were so surprised to learn it was a leper colony, and at the same time realized we had walked barefoot through their camp. All of us at once fell to the ground, grabbed soap and cleaned between our toes for fear of “catching” leprosy through open sores.

During our Sunday visits I observed that the lepers maintained a symbiotic partnership with the missionaries, doing chores in return for a share in the Marine’s donated food. After the evening meal for the children, leftovers were made into a stew, and one ladle per person was given to the lepers.  It wasn’t much, but it helped to keep them from starving. 

For several Sundays, we built a sea wall to protect the orphanage from the high waters of typhoons. We Marines flew in bags of cement, but did not have time to construct a wall, so the lepers did the work. As the healthiest of the lepers met us to unload the cement bags, the reasons for their shyness became obvious.  They were wrapped in rags, yet you could see that ears, noses, and fingers were cut off piece by piece to slow down the progress of their disease.  Since they lacked fingers, we off-loaded the bags directly onto their shoulders from the helicopter, and they carried them a hundred yards up the beach.  As we hoisted the bags onto their backs, they would reach out with nubs of fingers, stubs of hands, and would inadvertently scrape up against us. This unavoidable contact made me want to run and jump into the cleansing salt waters of the sea. These thoughts surely were echoed in the minds of my fellow Marines, but I’m proud to say not a man flinched from contact, nor gave even one poor leper any indication of repulsion that would add to their shame.  I’m sorry to say I never learned the names of the lepers because of their shyness.

Although I couldn’t go to the orphanage on the beach every Sunday due to patrols, missions, and duty, I went often to maintain my link with God and the children.  The gifts I received there were strong and the feelings of happiness remained with me between visits. I knew most of the children by name, and Tai could swim well by the time his fifth birthday came around. The orphanage grew to seventy-five children and another nun came from Australia to help.

It all came to an end one terrible Sunday. As we approached the island, we could see smoke coming from the ruined remains of the orphanage.  We scrambled from the helicopter in a perimeter and deployed fire teams and searched the area.  A team was sent to the leper colony and returned with the story of what happened, since no one was left alive at the orphanage. Charlie, as the Viet Cong were called, came in the night by boat to take all the supplies and every scrap of food.  They then locked everyone inside the buildings and set them on fire, killing 80 people, all the children and the missionaries.  In the search, we found only two adults, one male and one female, leaving one nun unaccounted for. No one commented on what might have become of her. The lepers were left undisturbed, maybe because allowing them to live was the worst thing they could do to them.

We began the horrific job of cleaning up the smoldering ruins.  The bodies were burned beyond recognition.  We dug a mass grave in the sand, and said a few words.  Afterwards, we returned to the rubble to pull out the iron cookstove to leave for the lepers. The stove had been built on a base of cinder blocks, two high for a solid base. On pulling the stove loose from its base, we found that the blocks on the rear had already been loosened, perhaps as a hiding place for valuables. As we raised the stove top from the cinderblock base, we discovered the missing nun. 

As we carefully lifted the nun’s charred remains out of the stove, her arms fell off, revealing the small bodies of two infants. She had hidden them in the stove, shielding them with her own body. Her arms were wrapped around them and in the blazing fire they became three persons in one.  Not like God, no, for there was no god in Vietnam, maybe not in the whole universe. 

I never returned to the sparkling white sands and crystal blue waters of the island.

Editors Note: This story has rooted itself in my heart for two reasons, one, the ridiculous and incomprehensible loss of war, and two, the image of Divine Love reflected in brave humans who stand against evil for the sake of the innocent.

The Lord will cover you with his feathers,
    and under his wings you will find refuge;
    his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. Psalm 91:4

Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.  Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.  For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.  When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory. Colossians 3:1-4

In this dangerous, hateful world, may we find refuge under the broken wings of the crucified Christ. As Christ was raised from the dead, we are raised, our soul hidden away with Christ until God’s kingdom come. Maranatha, come Lord Jesus.

Are you having thoughts of suicide? You’re not alone, and help is here for you. Reach out to the Veterans Crisis Line today.

Dial 988 then Press 1, chat at VeteransCrisisLine.net/Chat, or text 838255.