One Man's Battle

WHILE men of the 9th Infantry and 3rd Marine divisions were celebrating the decision to withdraw their units last week, Specialist 4/C Arthur Jaramillo went about his tasks as sergeant of a 25th Division weapons platoon. Jaramillo's unit is remaining in Viet Nam, and his war still has two months to go. "You can have this war and stick it," he told TIME Correspondent John Wilhelm. "Why don't they pull us all out? Either that or decide to win this thing?" Still, despite his frustration, he realizes that matters are not quite that simple. "You can't blame Nixon a lot," he says. "He had to take on the war from Johnson."

A former defensive tackle for East Los Angeles College, Jaramillo enlisted in the Army because he "wanted some action." He has had plenty. He was awarded a Purple Heart and has been recommended for a Bronze Star for his leadership and courage during a mortar attack on his unit. He shrugs off the recognition: "I couldn't use no medals. Now if it were beer or money, O.K. But what's a medal gonna give you?"

In his ten months in Viet Nam, Jaramillo has known fear, boredom and disillusionment. His biggest worry: "Getting killed. I just couldn't see myself getting killed. Some nights I don't worry, 'cause you know nothing is going to happen. Some nights I don't even feel safe in the bunker. I've seen guys at night just crying. Let the guy cry. It's helping him. I cried. Two good buddies of mine got hit, but it's over with and you can't keep thinking about it." He does think about it, though, and about the terrible loneliness of war. "The only ones who even worry about you are your mother, your pa and your girl," he says.

What keeps Jaramillo going, he feels, is the letters that his girl, Lydia Terrazas, writes almost daily. Frantic with concern for his safety, she writes him: "Artie, you have so much to come home to, please don't be foolish, come home to me." Jaramillo saves the letters in an old ammunition case, reads them as many as 25 times, then burns them because he knows he has more coming. They provide a link with the "real world." Like most G.I.s, Jaramillo also strings good-luck medals around his neck --including, in his case, one blessed by the Pope. "You can't have too much good luck over here," he says.

Jaramillo, who will still have a year and five months to serve when he gets back to the U.S., says that he once considered extending his tour for six months but abandoned the idea. When he gets out, he thinks that he may return to school. Meanwhile, he watches his step and counts the days: "It's a long year. Here a year seems like five years. I never gave a -- about this or that until I came over here. I just read the sports pages before. Now I read and try to form my opinions. I feel I'm more mature since coming over here. I got more responsibility--'cause it's my own ass I've gotta protect." If he succeeds at that task, his happiness at getting out alive will probably conquer whatever bitterness that Viet Nam may have left. "When you're flying home you feel like crying 'cause they got it so beautiful back there," he says. "Someday it will all be over."

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