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Without Glory

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Ways to Kill a Man

The men of the A-Team sit around the makeshift classroom/supply room. Half of us had our heads on the tables when the door swung open, and Billings and a green beret soldier walked in. He speaks without any intro from Billings, “Gentlemen, my name is Staff Sergeant McMillian. I’m attached

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The Birth Of A-Team

After finishing my NCO leadership course, I was assigned the position of assistant team leader for Sergeant Billings’ “A-Team.” Smitty, Gator, and other men chosen for the Commandoes joined us for several weeks of intensive training. The instruction is not as easily paced as the leadership course was. There are

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About the Author: Ken Smits

Ken Smits began writing his book series Without Glory in 1985 when a friend, the first person he confided in about his experiences in Vietnam, told him the world had a right to know the truth about the horrors he faced there. What began as one book grew into five

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The Frog and Captain America

Written by Ken Smits The Frog Most of the airmen in the squadron are assembled in the orderly room. A handful of the day shift personnel remain at the bomb dump, loading trailers with explosives to be delivered to the flight line. The war goes on. Colonel Farris, the Squadron

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Written by Ken Smits A slight breeze sweeps across the valley of swaying grass in a relaxing tempo. The rhythm broken only by the sounds of crickets chirping and the lizards that sound like they’re screaming, “Fuck you!” back and forth at each other. My foxhole companion is a quiet

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The Pipeline

Smitty and I move cautiously along the pipeline toward the laughing. The knee-deep water and muddy bottom make our movement laborious. We can see what appears to be two men not more than twenty-five feet ahead. One figure crawls over the large pipe delivering fuel to Phu Cat Air Base. The other is holding a rifle, an antiquated bolt action weapon that looks like a pre-World War II model.

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The Tower

I watch the lone shadowy figure clad in black garments cross the third fence. He’s less than thirtyfive feet from our position. He has now entered our kill zone according to the guidelines from Control. “Waste him,” Sergeant Adams whispers. “What?” I flinch, turning towards him. “Why me?” I freeze, my mind suddenly blank. Sergeant Adam’s sarcastic whisper rings in my ears, “Cause it’s your turn, Newbee.”

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