Franklin D. Miller

North Carolina · born or raised1945–2000

United States Army Medal of Honor recipient

Born in Elizabeth City

military personnel

Quotations with a citation

I remember Kelly most for the times we spent playing cards. You name the card game, and we played it. We were both avid card players, and even though our card games were strictly for fun, we were both highly competitive and hated to lose. The winner always took great delight in the loser's whining, excuses, and accusations of cheating. Good-natured miniscuffles broke out on occasion. My most vivid memories were of the times we played cards by moonlight. The moon appeared so much larger by the equator, and the absence of air pollution out in the bush allowed the moonlight to bathe us unfiltered. There we sat, playing game after game inside the platoon's perimeter when we weren't pulling guard or on patrol. At night we played without the usual theatrics, whispering only to name the game or utter a put-down. The stillness of the jungle and the glossy blackness of the night sky combined with the moon's frozen brilliance to create an eerie, haunting setting. The worn, creased cards that Kelly always carried were never idle for long under those conditions. Now they'd be idle forever. Death was now close to home.

Mail is such a critical thing to soldiers in the field because of their Spartan way of living. Mail can make or break any situation. When you get a letter, man, your morale shoots sky-high. Especially when it smells just like your girlfriend. That perfume smell, you know? There you are, sitting in the middle of nowhere, and the next thing you know someone comes along, says, "Here you go, man," and flips you a leter. A letter that he's probably sniffed most of he perfume out of before it gets to you.

They don't have mail call out in the field like you'd think. If we all gathered round he sarge to receive your mail we'd probably be attacked. It would be an ideal time to do so, with all of us clustered together in one big, easy target. So one or more guys distributed the goodies. Just as receiving mail will boost your spirits, absence of mail will, over a long period of time, dramatically lower your morale. This is particularly true if you're expecting something. You start getting jealous of guys who get mail, especially if they are receiving it on a constant basis. I've seen two guys exchange heated words because one was extremely happy about hearing from his girl, while the other hadn't heard from home in weeks. Enough said.

And then there was the freedom. We were our own masters, the captains of our own ships. We received general guidance regarding a mission and executed the basic plan any way we saw fit. The bottom line was nobody fucked with us when we were on a mission (except maybe the enemy every once in a while), and nobody fucked with us when the day was done. Nobody fucked with us period. We were left to do as we damn well pleased. Last question: How often do you get fucked with back in the World? Answer: All the time.

The most warlike tribe was the Sedang. They were the tallest, meanest, and most aggressive. This may or may not be true, but I was told that up until the middle sixties they still had human sacrifices. I wouldn't doubt that after being around these people. They were so tough and hard it was scary. These people truly lived by the law of nature. Only the strong survive. If a baby has a defect, it dies at birth, or it's not going to live very long. Consequently, most of them were in excellent physical shape, very muscular, and built for endurance. Their knowledge of the woods was unrivaled by any American soldier. Face it, when you're born and raised in the jungle you become intimate with its essence. You learn about the sounds of the animals, how to track prey, what to eat, what to avoid. A Bahnar youngster can construct the little booby-traps you set up for people, because they are the same ones he uses to catch animals. By the time a Sedang child is eight years old he knows all the things they teach you in Ranger school about the woods and tracking. All he'd need to do would be learn how to jump from a plane, and he'd be an airborne ranger.

But I'll tell you what. I'd rather have one of them in an asskick than an American, any day. That's not meant as a derogatory comment on American fighting men, but simply a compliment regarding the tremendous fighting abilities of the Yards. They are natural hunters, people born to the hunt. Many times we'd be in a fight and I'd look downhill or across from me and the Yards would be on the move. I very rarely had to tell them anything. I'd see them fix their eyes on the enemy and move like they were stalking game. Once they learned your personality and technique no words were necessary. Eye contact said it all.

Six fellow soldiers also received the Medal of Honor with me on that warm, clear day in June, 1971. However, only one man stood beside me. Tragically, the other five were awarded posthumously. Such sorrow reflects the magnitude of the actions of those individuals who are considered for the CMH. A female lieutenant colonel once asked me if I knew why they gave me the medal. She asked the question in such a way that I took it as meaning she knew the reason- did I? Her question pissed me off. I thought, what the hell do you know? How could you, who have never seen combat, possibly know? I was preparing to give it to her with both barrels at the conclusion of her comment. However, she said something profound that hit the nail right square on the head. She said, "They gave you the medal because they realize that something has happened to you that they can't understand." You were absolutely right, ma'am. My apologies.

It seemed like the entire world knew I'd come out of Womack's Nut Ward, and as a result I was accused of everything from shoplifting to armed robbery to murder. Nobody took my word for anything. Any derogatory stories that could be old about me were given maximum dissemination. When you have the Medal of Honor, all actions- good, bad, true, or false- are magnified, and an undue amount of significance is attached to each. My every move- real or imagined- became front-page news. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but not much.

Once, a student asked me what the secret was to being a good combat leader, a man who commands the loyalty and respect of his subordinates. That was a question I'd been formulating the answer to for many years, almost from Day One when I set foot on Vietnamese soil. My answer to him and the class was a simple one which I would repeat many times throughout the years. "If you want a soldier's respect and loyalty, you must demonstrate two things. First, you must show that you know more than the soldier you are leading. Your subordinate must be aware that you have knowledge he does not possess, and that you are trying to teach him. "The second thing you must demonstrate is a genuine concern for his safety and well-being. The concern must be real, because a young soldier can spot a faker a mile away. If your concern for him is genuine- and he knows it- then you can rest assured that he will follow you into the jaws of death."

And so I began in earnest my awkward assimilation into the training environment and the peacetime Army. And after all the trials and tribulations, the blood, sweat, and tears, I'm still in the Army today, twenty-five years and untold heartaches later. Maybe I'll make it a career.

AK-47: A selective fire, Russian-designed and manufactured assault rifle used by the North Vietnamese. Fires a 7.62mm round at a muzzle velocity of 2,330 feet per second. Noted for its simple and rugged construction, it is much heavier than an M-16 (11.3 lbs vs. 8.42 lbs) and harder to control (harder kick because of the heavier round) when firing on full automatic. A somewhat crude but effective weapon.

Cobra: Commonly referred to as a gunship. It was the U.S. Army's primary attack helicopter (AH). The AH-1G Cobra was equipped with a variety of formidable armaments, including rockets, 40mm grenades, and 7.62mm miniguns (Gatling-style machine guns). Cobras were very effective against ground troops, and more than once came to the aid of U.S. soldiers in tight spots. Their presence was greatly appreciated by us and especially devastating to the morale of enemy troops.

M-16: The standard personal firearm (rifle) of American troops. In my opinion, the M-16 is superior to the AK-47 as a killing instrument. Although the M-16 fires a smaller caliber round than the AK-47 (5.56mm vs. 7.62mm), its muzzle velocity is far greater (3,280 feet per second vs. 2,330 feet per second). The increased muzzle velocity creates a tumbling effect on the smaller round; the round will tumble and ricochet off bone once it penetrates flesh, causing enormous damage as it rips crazily through the body. I've seen an M-16 round create an entrance hole no bigger than a dime, yet leave a hole the size of a softball upon exit. I've seen it blow off limbs at the joints. I've used both the AK-47 and M-16, and I far prefer the latter. On the Medal of Honor day, I was shot through the chest with an AK-47 round. Had it been the M-16 round, I can almost guarantee you that I'd have been killed instantly.