Veterans Reflect Somberly on War : Reaction: Former service members seek out camaraderie after the attack on Iraq, which, for some, revives memories of combat.

President Bush said what ex-Marine helicopter crewman and Vietnam veteran Jimmy Schepps wanted to hear when he promised Wednesday that the troops fighting in Iraq would be allowed to do battle unhindered.

“All right, George!” Schepps barked, slapping the bar at Veterans of Foreign Wars Post 2805 in Canoga Park.

And when Bush said Iraq would not become another Vietnam, the other dozen men and women gathered in the bar broke into applause.

It was a rare outburst on a night of often quiet reflection for veterans who, as news of the war spread, gathered Wednesday night at familiar haunts across the San Fernando Valley. Most were regulars, but some had specifically sought out the smoky camaraderie of veterans’ halls to share a beer with friends from old wars as a new one began.

Many seemed confident that unleashed American military might would win a quick, decisive victory. Schepps, a bearded 40-year-old ex-Marine with blond hair trailing down his back, said he may re-enlist.

“My main concern is that the politicians stay out of it and let the troops do their job,” he said. “Bush is able to understand that. He’s been shot down. He knows what’s going on.”

During Bush’s speech the dozen veterans sat at the Canoga Park bar, arms folded on their chests, eyes on the television screens. Just moments before, they had talked excitedly. “Why don’t they just neutron them, and end it?” asked Navy veteran Jerry Matthews, 45, referring to a weapon designed to maximize troop deaths while minimizing damage to buildings.

But it appeared to be a nervous bravado. And as details of the air attack on Baghdad emerged, some veterans relived their experiences.

“It brings back memories. Not pleasant memories,” said Air Force veteran Mike Keefe at Disabled American Veterans Birmingham Chapter 73 in Woodland Hills.

Irene Coudek joined about 10 veterans and their wives at the bar in the DAV’s simple cinder-block building. Coudek had come by herself, leaving her husband John at home. She had to “let him think for himself,” she explained.

“He was in World War II,” Coudek went on. “He was in the infantry. He’s at home, reminiscing about the last time.”

To join the disabled veterans group, a soldier must have a Purple Heart or have sustained a service-related injury. A plaque behind the bar reads: The Price Of Freedom Is Visible Here.

That price is visible in the scars George Dunagan still carries. “I got blown out of the sky,” said the former Korean War bomber pilot. His knee still troubles him.

“The only true pacifist I know is a combat soldier,” said Dunagan as television reports continued.

The half-dozen clients gathered for a group session at the Vietnan Veterans Counseling Center in Sepulveda were stunned by the news that the nation was again at war. “There is a sort of disbelief,” center director Dave Alcaras said. “The reality sets in later.”

In Granada Hills, the Veterans of Foreign Wars post was almost deserted, the juke box silent, the pool table abandoned. Usually, the place is bustling.

“It’s not the night to play darts,” said Bill Coulombe, a Navy veteran who served in Korea. “It’s not a night to play pool.”

Coulombe was joined by Harry and Eileen Sloan of Granada Hills, who sat quietly on their bar stools, watching the television mounted on the wall. As Defense Secretary Dick Cheney praised U.S. troops, Eileen Sloan shook her head slightly, thinking of the young troops. “Just babies,” she muttered.

“Old soldiers never die,” her husband added. “Just young ones.”