Mike Vining on Vietnam, Delta Force, and the sardines he never ate

His mother sent cookies. She sent canned goods, too. And every month or so, somewhere in the rotation, a can of sardines showed up at whatever firebase Pvt. Mike Vining was operating out of in Vietnam.

He never ate a single one.

His little brother had told their mother that sardines were a good thing to send, certainly with his older brother’s best intentions in mind. So she sent them faithfully, alongside the cookies and the rest of it. Vining just traded them away quietly and never made much of it.

What made SGM Vining? Before Delta Force, before Desert One, before any of it. A young soldier in Vietnam, trading canned fish he never wanted, sent by a mother doing her best, on the advice of a kid brother who probably meant well.

That is who Mike Vining is when you get past the resume.

Most people who know the name know the man’s accolades: Founding member of Delta Force. Vietnam EOD tech. One of those military figures who has become equal parts history and meme. In a recent conversation with We Are The Mighty, Vining was asked about near-death moments, care packages from home, life after the Army, and a memoir that has been a long time coming.

The combat and cool missions are all there, and it is exactly what you would expect from a man with his record. What might surprise some, though, are the other moments. The ordinary. A teenager who almost blew up his bedroom. A veteran who tried factory work and decided it was not for him. A man who closed one chapter with both hands and opened another without looking back.

And who sold sardines to his mates before eventually finding peace climbing mountains.

Quite a Few Times

When asked whether he ever had one of those “oh crap, this might not go well” moments, Vining’s answer arrived quickly.

“Quite a few times.”

What followed was a service record written by chaos, delivered with the flat affect of a man who has had decades to file these things properly in his memory.

There was the time MSG Land and he were left behind at an abandoned Special Forces camp in Vietnam. No radio. The unit that extracted them had left without realizing it and did not figure it out until they were already back at Phuoc Vinh. Just before dark, someone came back for them.

There was Rock Island East, a massive enemy weapons and ammunition cache discovered in Cambodia that became the largest such cache destroyed during the Vietnam War. Vining and three infantrymen were on the ground with a fuse burning toward 79 tons of ordnance. Another helicopter in orbit came down and pulled them out. He was, by his own account, prepared to cut the fuse for the second time.

There was an ammunition cleanup at FSB Barry, where he thought he was dead until he felt pain. His reasoning, delivered without performance, was precise: “I figured when you are dead, you don’t feel pain.”

And there was the inside of a burning EC-130E at Desert One during Operation Eagle Claw, the failed mission to rescue American hostages in Tehran. A helicopter had crashed into the aircraft. “I thought death was a few seconds away.”

Four moments that would shape any other life. Any one of them would anchor someone else’s entire story. For Vining, they’re items on a list.

The Kid with the Fire Extinguisher

Before any of that, there was a teenager in his bedroom with homemade black powder and, fortunately, a fire extinguisher close enough to matter.

Vining told a story about how his parents signed him up for the military, because they were worried he’d blow up the house. He laughs the story off a little. The line about his parents signing his enlistment papers because he might blow up the house was a joke, he says.

What actually happened was that he ignited some homemade black powder in his bedroom and put it out himself before things got worse. His parents signed not out of desperation, but because they understood this was what he wanted. He was 17. In two months, he would have been 18 and done it on his own anyway.

Some people are built for a specific direction from the start. Vining was one of them, and his parents were quite eager to share his talents with the world.

Factory Work Was Not a Career

Here is where the legend becomes something many veterans will recognize without needing much explanation.

After Vietnam, Vining was honorably discharged in 1971. He was out for 2½ years. He got married. They had a daughter. He worked in a factory. At some point during those 2½ years, he made a clear-eyed assessment of where that road was going and decided it was not the road for him.

“I decided factory work was not a career,” he said, “so I enlisted.”

That sentence might have been said by hundreds of enlistees over the years. Any veteran who has ever stood in a parking lot six months after terminal leave, trying to figure out exactly what comes next, will know. Civilian life does not automatically fill the space the military occupied.

Some people find their footing quickly, while others try “factory” work for 2½ years, then get that itch to go back.

Vining returned to EOD duty in 1973. Five years later, when a new unit was being quietly assembled at Fort Bragg, he threw his name into contention. Of the roughly 130 candidates in that first selection course, only Vining and a handful of others passed. He became Delta Force’s first EOD specialist, and he spent the better part of the next two decades there.

The reenlistment decision, made somewhere between a dirty factory floor and a welcoming recruiting office, was the start of one of the most impressive military careers in history.

A Chapter, Not the Whole Book

When asked whether he ever misses the life, Vining does not hesitate, but he does not feel the nostalgia, either.

“That life is out of my system,” he said. “That was a chapter in my life, and I am on a new chapter.”

The new chapter has been well-lived, too. After retiring in January 1999 following 31 years of service, Vining turned toward rock climbing and mountain climbing. His wife, Donna Ikenberry, is a freelance photojournalist and professional wildlife photographer, and her work became, in his words, his new life.

They have embarked on a series of adventures to Hawaii, New Zealand, Australia, New Caledonia, Tonga, the Fiji Islands, and French Polynesia. At the time of the interview, they had been back home for about a month.

He also remains connected to the community in ways that matter to him. Vining remains actively involved with the EOD Warrior Foundation and the National EOD Association, where he serves as a historian. He is a life member of his local VFW. The threads are still there, just woven into different quilts.

Many of his former Delta teammates are still operating in that world. Vining is not, and he made his peace with that distinction quietly and completely, which is its own kind of personal combat.

The Story Is Not Over

What is coming next? The book. And it should be very well-received.

SGM Vining’s memoir is titled “Blasting Through,” and it is due out in August 2026. Thirty chapters. Roughly 90,000 words. The manuscript has been submitted to USSOCOM (United States Special Operations Command) for review and will go through Defense Security Review prepublication screening before release.

It will be available in hardback, paperback, e-book, and audiobook. A publisher in Spain has even expressed interest in a Spanish-language edition.

A man who has been part history, part internet lore, and part legend for decades is about to tell the story himself, on his terms, at his own pace. That is a long way from the teenager who almost blew up part of his parents’ house, but you are never too far from home.

Until the next drop, stand easy.

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