The wait through the rest of the night was wet, dark and conducted mostly under my poncho. It had taken several tries for me to convince the Gunny to get Jurgens’ flashlight from him so I’d be able to lay out what we might do to ensure our return across the angry river water without taking terrible casualties. Although the enemy had been forced inside a dense jungle compound of sorts, the same open area that extended out between our position and that jungle growth, which was protecting us, would serve as a killing field if the NVA could not be forced to move away from the river area. It would take at least twenty minutes for us to lay and then use the ropes to get across even the short distance of water we had to traverse. Twenty minutes of exposure on open ground in broad daylight was an invitation to death if even one machine gun could be mounted to open up with any protection around it. The NVA had to be ensconced in their caves and the paths we knew they had to have running along just under the flora cover. They could pop up at any time, however with potentially devastating and deadly results.
I pulled the poncho open to get fresh fetid night air, mixed with the misty goo of early monsoon misery. Jurgens had delivered his flashlight but needed watching, since he hadn’t left the vicinity once after handing it over. Flash lights weren’t that uncommon in the unit, so I was mildly disturbed about why he might want to remain so close to somebody he knew had no use for his continued life on the planet. That he obviously felt the same about me was what was really bothering me. I could make him out in the night only because of the glow from his cigarette. How he kept it going in the rain I had no idea. I knew the Gunny was close by, but I didn’t know how close.
Nguyen was sitting by my side when I came up out of the poncho, however. He sat erect while Fusner and Zippo laid flat only inches away. My scout team was more like a pride of lions or tigers than humans during the night. Visibility was near nothing so I went back under the poncho, switching Jurgen’s light on once more. What we might do in the morning depended on the map. Everything was right in front of me if I could only figure it out. I drew a black oblong circle for Kilo company, and where it had to be down the wall. I drew another for us, and a third for the rest of the company across the river. I then marked a long thin corridor for where the Ontos sat and extended it all the way back to the old airfield. Finally, I drew a rectangle around the entire jungle area where the NVA had to be.
If nothing else, the company, including Kilo’s contribution and that of the Army combat engineers had pretty much proven that there wasn’t going to be an ARVN base built down in the A Shau Valley. Not again. There’d been the air strip and that had proven a disaster, still sitting there to serve as an example. The improved concrete and asphalt road had been more of a success, but for whom? The only way the NVA had been able to get their tank as far down as they had was by using the only road built by first the French and then rebuilt by the U.S.
I let the map lay there and scrounged around for my stationery. I could get a letter to my wife aboard the resupply chopper if we made it across the water in time. I wrote about the beauty of the night and the blessed merits of fresh water falling from the sky all the time. When I was done with the writing I looked at the map once again. And I saw it. The valley, just beyond our position and expanding down to another place below where Kilo was, once again snuffed out against the wall, as long as the river stayed in full flood. And the monsoon season was just beginning. The strip of land we were occupying, along with Kilo and the NVA, was shaped more like a bent banana rather than the rectangle I’d drawn, with the inner curve carved out by the swollen river and the ‘outer’ curve pressed against the canyon wall. But the rectangle would allow for some safe space.
There was one war machine specifically built to slip neatly into the niche situation the land mass, and the location of our combat units provided. Puff the Magic Dragon. The multi-barreled nightmare machine with mini-guns jutting out of one side grinding the ground below into jungle mulch wherever their dragon tongue-like fires were directed. I had heard that Puff was the only weapon the NVA feared more than the Ontos. The Skyraiders were one thing but it was going to take something special to keep the NVA inside its tunnels if we were to get the time we needed to get across the river.
Could we get Puff in the morning and if we could what was to be done with Kilo Company? Captain Howard “Howling Mad” Carter’s outfit was supposed to leave its current position at dawn, and head up to join us in our own position to make the crossing. Could they get by on the flank, with the wall at their back and the NVA firmly ensconced in the jungle between them and the river?
I came out from under my poncho. My short letter to my wife, each word a carefully considered lie, was done and in my pocket. All I had to do was make it to the resupply chopper before it picked its load and got the hell out of the valley as quickly after a dawn landing as it could. Whatever was going to happen was going to involve incoming and outgoing fire and that meant the resupply would be coming into a hot LZ. Once again, our dead would not be hauled out.
There was only one solution that might work, and if it did then every objective could be accomplished. If something went wrong then there would be hell to pay all around.
I handed Jurgen’s flashlight back to him, and for a brief second, I thought he might turn it on to see if it was still working, but he didn’t. He shoved it into one of his thigh pockets.
“We cross at first light?” he asked, with no animosity or aggressiveness in his tone.
The Gunny appeared at his back. The darkness was a mess of muted jungle reflections radiating everywhere from the minimal light allowed through the rain clouds and the misting rain itself. I didn’t have an answer for Jurgens so I said nothing, merely shrugging my shoulders in a move he probably couldn’t see. The rain was cooler and fresher than the air had been under the poncho and I thought of trying to sleep. My mind was briefly taken back to the cave-like hole near the river bank at the base of the old runway. It was the last place I’d gotten any rest at all.
The Gunny murmured something to Jurgens I couldn’t hear. The sergeant scurried away.
“What’s the plan?” the Gunny asked, crouching close.
Our position was in defilade so I thought he would either light a cigarette or begin brewing a cup of coffee, but he did neither. He crouched, waiting for an answer, like Jurgens had before him.
“Danger close,” I replied, twisting my plan around to try to make it fit into the valley. “If we can get Puff out of Da Nang, we can pour fire down on that mess of jungle to the point where nobody’s going to do much of anything but hiding, giving us all the time we need. The problem is Kilo. Puff will never fire that close to Carter’s company, whether they stay where they are or move along the cliff to reach us. But if they try to make that move without anything but the Skyraider’s fire and our own support they’ll be chopped to ribbons.”
“So, what do we do? We can’t exactly cross the river either, not with the NVA over in that jungle.”
I marveled at the situation ethics the Gunny brought to every situation. He was a Marine all the way but he was a Marine dead set on surviving, even if that meant that Kilo would be out there on its own. I had no doubt that he felt we would cross the river, if we could, and get the company back to the old runway. I also knew he thought Kilo would have to take care of itself.
I sighed to myself. If it was only that simple. But our survival and Kilo’s were linked, whether we liked it or not.
“The solution is for them to move back down river, Puff comes in and does its thing, we cross over the water and head back downriver to help Kilo across from down there. The Skyraiders, given decent weather, can strafe the hill over on the other side along with the remains of the jungle while we get Kilo across. Then we all move up to toward the runway. We make it that far and we’re in range of Fire Base Cunningham, and even the 175’s will be safe to fire.
“I don’t like it,” the Gunny said. “Why can’t Kilo cross on its own and come upriver to join us at the runway? What are we, the river crossing experts, or something, not to mention guardians of the universe?”
I thought about what he said. I knew that stressing a plan that had saving Kilo as the key part once again wasn’t going to motivate him, or the other men either. I tried logic.
“What have they got down in those tunnels or buried deep in that jungle patch? A battalion, or maybe more? With Kilo linked to us we have two full Marine companies, reinforced with supporting fires from artillery and air. Hell, if they have a regiment we can hold our own pretty easily. On our own things might not be so great, plus Kilo’s Marines are rested and we’re a mess.”
“We’re trying to get up and out of this damned valley, but we keep going back down there,” the Gunny hissed, his voice so soft it was almost impossible to hear him.
“What the hell? We’re supposed to help an ARVN unit build a firebase here? What fantasy novel did that one come out of? Has anyone noticed that dead airstrip and why it’s so torn up and dead? Or why the highway ends right here and hasn’t gone anywhere since this damned war started? We can’t even protect ourselves.”
I had no answer for him. He knew what I knew and the idea of somehow supporting an ARVN unit in building a firebase had passed from my mind almost the instant we’d entered the valley. We were in Indian country and our presence, even with what supporting fires we could bring to bear, wasn’t going to have much effect on that. The full brunt of the North Vietnamese effort to supply the whole war in the south was based on using the valley as the key artery for the Ho Chi Minh Trail. I’d come to doubt that there were enough Marines in all of I Corps to outnumber and outfight the NVA in and around the A Shau Valley, just the part I’d come to know so bitterly.
“We get Kilo, we get our dead, we get the hell out of here and back to the runway,” I said. “Then we hold until battalion decides we need to go somewhere else or do something else.”
“The plan is called Danger Close?” Fusner whispered from behind me.
“I don’t like it,” the Gunny whispered, moving closer, finally taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He took one puff and offered it to me.
I didn’t want the cigarette but took his offering. One inhalation and I coughed, as usual, before handing it back. I needed the Gunny’s support and would endure a whole lot more discomfort than a cigarette to get it.
“I don’t like it,” the Gunny repeated.
“What part?” I answered, fear stirring in my very center again.
I could not fight Jurgens, Sugar Daddy, the Gunny and then deal with the enemy too.
“The name,” the Gunny said. “It’s too candy ass.”
I breathed out slowly, in relief. The name of the plan was meaningless.
“Think of something else,” I replied.
“Danger Close. That’s cool,” Fusner said from the dark.
“Danger Close Cool”, okay,” the Gunny replied.
The name made no sense but I was too tired and dawn was too close to argue. Danger Close Cool it would be.
“What about that Class ‘A’ prick?” the Gunny asked.
His description could only be of one person, even though in the captain’s presence, the Gunny was the picture of Marine rigidity and discipline. I wondered how men like Carter did it. How could they keep a form of order and command that seemed to elude me entirely? Maybe Kilo company was just a better outfit and Howard Carter more deserving of respect, although there was the Class ‘A’ prick comment to consider. I hoped the Gunny didn’t talk that way about me behind my back, but then I doubted it would make any difference.
“There’s that,” I replied, noncommittally, although I knew the Gunny knew exactly how I felt about the man.
“Get me El Producto,” I said, quietly, turning to where I thought Fusner was.
The radio handset appeared next to my hand, as if by magic, and then it pulled back out of sight, Fusner making the call to Kilo, but letting me know he was on top of things, as usual.
“The six actual is asleep, sir,” Fusner whispered in my ear.
“Wake him up,” I ordered.
A few seconds of hurried whispering went on behind me. I knew the drill. The way Carter ran his unit all of his Marines would be afraid to awaken him, for fear of being put on point, or worse.
“Tell them that if they don’t wake him up they’re all going to be dead by dawn, and tell them Junior said so.”
Minutes went by. The Gunny took out fixings to make coffee in the dark, the small red and yellow flare of his burning explosives a potential gift to an enemy sniper. Reflexively, I scrunched down further into the mud. Fusner pushed the microphone into my left cheek.
“What is it you want now, Junior?” Captain Carter said, using his most pissed off imperious tone, stressing my nickname.
“At dawn, you need to move down until you can’t anymore,” I said, ignoring his presentation. “Stay there until we come for you from the other side. I’ve got covering fire for the move, the wait, the crossing and the way back.”
In truth, I didn’t have shit. I hadn’t reached out to the Skyraiders, although I knew Cowboy would not abandon us. I hadn’t even tried to find out how to use Puff or if there was one of those death ships available to do what we needed done in the morning. I wasn’t even certain that resupply had dropped enough rope to use further down the river, which would take a lot more than the easier job of crossing twenty feet of open rushing water at the bridge would entail.
“We don’t move without orders from battalion and I’m damn well certain that I’m not waking the six over there,” Carter said.
His voice gave away his fatigue and I sensed an advantage.
“You stay there and Puff the Magic Dragon is going to make mincemeat of everything between the two canyon walls, including you,” I lied. “They’re coming and they’re committed to saving what they think is left of our tattered units, so go ahead and wait for battalion. We’ve pulled your bacon out of the fire twice now, maybe three times and it’s not going to happen again unless you follow the plan.”
“Seems like your idea of saving our bacon costs a lot of Marines their lives, Junior, and how do we know you’ll be there with the equipment needed to cross that rotten river?”
I knew I had him. He wouldn’t have asked the question if he wasn’t going to make the move. He had to know that battalion might simply order him to remain where he was or even move up river against withering enemy fire. He might be an academy prick but he wasn’t stupid. Our company dealt with battalion as little as possible. It was very evident that the guys in the rear command areas didn’t really want to know what was going on in the valley, if our battalion CP was any representative example.
“We’ve crossed a few times now and we’ve got the equipment,” I offered, hoping he would simply let everything else go.
I was lying but I was doing so with the expectation that I could pull off the necessary fire support to support the plan.
“Don’t say it,” he said.
I understood. The chances that we were being listened in on were high down inside the valley with so many of the enemy around. Not discussing anything was just the way I wanted it.
“This better work,” Carter said, his frustration at having no other place to turn fully evident in his voice.
He couldn’t stay where he was and moving up toward us along the cliff was suicidal. That we’d gotten away with our run up along the river bank was due partly to luck and partly to an enemy not being ready for such an outrageous move.
“Stand by for incoming,” I said, letting him know that supporting fires would start at or right after dawn. Air would be up in the dark but there was no way any of us wanted Puff firing thousands of rounds down into the valley in the dark.
“I don’t believe it,” the Gunny said, drinking his coffee and smoking his second cigarette. “The question is, will he do what he has to do or some other screwy thing he thinks up. It was better when he was sleeping.”
“Get Cowboy, or somebody there,” I told Fusner, returning the command handset to him. “We need Puff and we need him bad. Those Skyraider teams at the base will know how to reach the guys who fly them. I’m going to give them a grid rectangle to fire into with plenty of free fire area around it. As long as Captain Carter in Kilo keeps his mouth shut we should be able to get permission to fire. The Skyraiders will automatically coordinate with Puff. We need at least three or four passes ten minutes apart to give us the time.”
I laid my head down on my poncho liner, more to rub the mud off than to rest or try to sleep. The next thing I knew someone was shaking me like a leaf.
“It’s all ready,” Fusner said, literally lifting me to my feet.
It was light enough to see him. It was almost dawn. I’d gone out for several hours. I couldn’t get my bearings.
“What’s ready?” I asked, putting on my helmet and letting Fusner strap me into my pack.
“Danger Close Cool,” he said, with a slight laugh. “Puff the Magic Dragon is coming to our amusement park.”
“Danger Close Cool,” he said, with a slight laugh. “Puff the Magic Dragon is coming to our amusement park.”
For some odd reason that passage made me smile for the first time in awhile and feel positive. I guess that also goes with your recent eye episode and it now healing…. that should make you smile as it does me.
So glad that your vision is returning.
Randy English (US Army, Ret.)
Thanks a lot Randy for the nicely worded and meant comment.
Merry Christmas,
Jim
in 2nd paragraph: Jurgens had delivered his flashlight but needed watching, since he hadn’t left the vicinity once handing it over.
could be more precise to add “after” in between “once” and “handing”
Noted and corrected.
Thank you Mike,
Semper fi,
Jim
James, great to see the story continue. Semper Fi. Mike VonTungeln, USMC, Retired
Thanks Mike! Means a lot to get the support on here, as you must know…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey LT been out for awhile, my sis’s husband of 44 years passed.a Marine Nam vet 3rd amtrac Batallion, 69,70. A warrior who came back to the world finished his education and taught 1st, 2nd, and third grade children for 35 years. Was honored to speak at his memorial. Agent Orange James, chalk up another to the Nam….
Sorry to hear that Al. Yes, that crap has claimed so many so silently all these years later. Whom would have a thought? Other
than the people who made it so carelessly, knew about its risk and used it anyway.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damnit, I’m always a bit sad and angered when I have to wait for the next story. But…when I check in and see a new one, the wait is always worth it. Good stuff James, cannot wait to see how this all plays out. Keep doing your thing man!
Thank you my friend. It is enervating to have people write in like you have
and help keep me motivated and going.
Great compliments and well received…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I am almost speechless with memories as I read your chapters. I recall “once upon a time”, sitting atop a sandbag bunker watching in awe as the thin red curving line came down out of the darkness to repel those seeking to destroy us. Truly memorable even to this day, as many other memories strive to reappear and get recognized.
I am praying for your physical healing and well being.
SEMPER Fi
THE EYE HAS MADE A MIRACULOUS RECOVERY, according to the doctor today. The epithileum, against all hope and possibility, attached itself
to the underside of the cornea and is working. No pain and I can see. The doctor said he’s never seen anything like it and he’s a long time
pro. No surgery again next week. Three week visit and the vision improves daily. I don’t know what to say except thank you to all the people who prayed because that’s the other thing the doctor said: “it’s probably God,” and although he was being facetious, I am not being that way.
Thank you for the care and also for being a part of this story…with your own life experience…
Semper fi,
Jim
Absolutely Awesomeness, James Strauss! God’s purpose and love for you exceeds words. Priceless Miracle.
One happy pebble here thanking God.
Nancy
I much enjoy the comments made by my ‘pebble,’ and, of course your well received prayers. I am aboard my rickety boat atop the
wild white water seas of faithlessness. Thanks for tossing me a paddle…
Semper fi,
Jim
I started to throw you a rope but decided by paddling you would find your own way out of the abyss and then God sent you a big ole Evinrude motor and shining clear beam of light through the fog.
Nancy
Happy Birthday Henderson! Thanks for all you have done and do for me…and I did not find my own way. You did. I just followed where you
told me to go. Hope this a wonderful day for such a wonderful woman…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you so much for the Birthday Wishes, James. I had an Awesome Day. Praying your day was Awesome too. God loves you, He has you in His arms and His purpose for you is so Great. You are always in my prayers.
Love,
Nancy
Glad your birthday went well. I think you have a big admiration cluster out here and I am happy to be one of them.
Thanks for the thanks and great wishes too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Never know you’re tough until you do. My “aha” moment came early in Marine Corps boot camp. I dropped out near the end of our first 3 mile run. My drill instructor, Ssgt Butler refused to let me stop. After nearly drowning under a faucet, Ssgt Butler said, let’s go. Starting at a walk, then jogging slowly, I entered our platoon area, head up, jogging and NOT defeated. You’re as tough as you have to be. Taught me to Never Ever give up. The most valuable lesson I have ever learned. Love the series. Semper Fi.
Thanks for the story of measuring up. Yes, the Marine Training instilled and brought out so much.
I will never forget Sgt. Baines and how he worked so well with so many of us who had no clue about life.
Semper fi, and thank you…
Jim
Puff was so Impressive and so WELCOMED!
What a asset!!!
Never forget that “roar/burp” of steel/lead raining down such intensive fire power with every short burst.
Your writing is appreciated putting in words “how it was”
Thank you,
Chris
I think the key to the whole design was the plane’s ability to fly pylon turns, as they call them. From
that they could raind down fire on one spot as they went around and around.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great story that brings us back in time to which so many years ago that we all were counting our days to leave. Hopefully your eye will improve back to 20/20.
Thanks Walter. Appreciate the sentiment and liking the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
Ah Puff, I was fortunate enough or unfortunate enough depending on how you look at it to see Puff in action a few times. The beautiful red lines like blood running out of the sky, what a sight. My track driver, Reb, called Puff a pee bringer, he said “Puff has them little bastards pissing all over themselves” I believe he was right.
That’s kind of a neat comment Bob. Thanks. I smiled at the thought, remembering my own inclination at the time…
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, Short history of the Gunships, Puff The Magic Dragon ‘AC-47’ came first, One hell of a Christmas present for the troops; Puff’s first significant success occurred on the night of 23–24 December 1964.
Then Spooky The AC-130, was selected to replace the Douglas AC-47 Spooky gunship 3 miniguns, 3 Vulcan 20mm cannons, and either 2 40mm Bofers cannons, or in later mods 1 40mm and a 105mm Howitzer.
The last Gunship used in Vietnam and then retired was the Stinger, AC-119-K, two M61 Vulcan 20-mm cannons were carried in addition to the AC-119G’s four GAU-2/A miniguns.
Yes, Got to work out with all of them at various times, Yes the AC 47’s were suppose to be retired but soldiered on till the US withdrawal so did the AC 119 Stinger ……. But we still have Spooky/Specter, AC 130 now in it’s 6th generation…..
Semper fi/This We Defend Bob.
Great history here and a lot I didn’t know about those gunships.
My own experience was with the old C-47 style gunships.
Semper fi
Jim
Yes, The AC 47, For being the old maid of the fleet, even in 72 The AC-47 still could bring down smoke, fire, and a large piece of hell to earth …………..
Semper fi/This We Defend Bob
Amazingly simple and endurable design and construction of this plane. I think a few are still flying.
Semper fi,
Jim
iN THE 70S I WORKED WITH A VET W HO TOLD OF BEING ON A GUNSHIP WITH MINI GUNS STICKING OUT THE WINDOWS THAT COULD PASS OVER A FOOTBALL FIELD AND LAY A BULLIT IN EVERY INCH OF IT.hE SAID YHEY LOST 17 FT OF A WING AND WAS IN A DEATH SPIRAL AND THE PLOT PULLED THEM OUT. nOW I KNOW HE WAS IN A PUFF SHIP. gLAD YOU ARE BAAAACK
Thanks Joel. I didn’t know one of those birds would fly with that much wing missing. Wow.
Thanks for telling that on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir, I have posted a link to the Air Museum pub on the history of Puff to your web pg in the contact us area.
I too was worried the medics were keeping you down and not really comfortable. Understand no pain relief desired. This segment is most outstanding. At 76, I am amazed what I still do not know what really makes a combat leader, but instinctively I know I would be right on your hip. Thank you for holding forth through so much you have experienced lately. Poppa
To this day I am not at all sure I was a good combat leader Poppa.
I sometimes think I was but then there was stuff that simply blew by me or I got away with good luck.
I had nobody to talk to at all, about any of it while I was in the bush.
The Gunny talked to me and I listened and followed what I could of his advice
but I didn’t talk to him. We shared many silent moments together by the side of the paddies,
the paths and the cliffs.
I had my team but I did not talk to them either. They also talked to me in some detail about personal stuff.
But I never felt I could share anything. How do you lead men when you don’t really have a relationship with them?
The fear and the being alone was murderous on me. I came back and talked a lot, sold insurance,
worked for Nixon when into the CIA and more.
But I never talked about anything of substance. I could entertain and I could spellbind with a gift for such talking,
and that has not left me, but the real stuff, this is the first real stuff I have let out,
this and my novels of CIA adventures which I never published before.
Chuck makes me put everything up and there’s much more. I write to myself and then people read it and it seems I am writing to them….
Thanks for your usual words of support and wisdom, and thinking I was a good leader.
That makes me smile…even if I don’t really believe it.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have thought for awhile that a good leader is one who can encourage troops to do what is needed and at the same time sublimate their own needs without being unapproachable. A lot of water has gone under that Army bridge but I think you are on the correct path to a more peaceful life. I will keep that specific thing on my heart where I think prayers begin. Poppa
Thanks Poppa, much appreciate your comment, as I do all of the ones you write…
Semper fi,
Jim
It is a matter of trust isn’t Jim? I well know what you are saying about not being able to talk to others about your personal thoughts. One would guess that was also a problem between you and your father. Some call it a fear of self exposure, along with the fear of failure or not being socially accepted.
Then too, there is the problem that one must deal with leaders, who do not want to disclose their weaknesses for fear that you will excel beyond their abilities. It is a similar problem that one encounters between father and son. In such cases, it is a dog eat dog situation, where one has to fend for themselves and learn on their own, the hard way.
Yes, J, you described my relationship with my father to a “T.”
We never communicated about anything. When I tried to tell him
about what happened in Vietnam back in 1972 he said he’d lived through the depression
and didn’t share those stories with me so why share my own with him.
I flew back home, speechless. Living through the depression as a teenager in Dallas was probably tough,
but Vietnam combat tough? I don’t think so.
Thanks for the usual in depth and accurate analysis.
Semper fi,
Jim
Greetings to you Sir,
I was pleased to have the opportunity to gain a little more insight from those men who were there and returned. I wanted to thank you for your service, and for sharing your perspective, in the manner you do.
For this post, two things would compel me to reply to you. First, your concern for Mr. Strauss as it went to a stay in (I can only presume) a VA medical facility. My late brother would also be hospitalized for colon cancer. Anyways, in my life, I would spend nearly 32 years in the Medical Imaging/Radiology. I have heard complaints from many patients, regarding their long wait time for services. Yet, it was extremely rare to meet a person who was considerate of a brother’s well being first, even before their own! Thanks for being you in this regard!
Then you mentioned pain relief. My father would spend the last 9-10 months of his life with me, by his choice. He was a combat veteran of Korea, and completed two years as as a member of the Marine Corp. I’ll sum up now, my father would consistently refuse local anesthesia. For that matter, even if he was in severe pain he would still choose to hold off as long as he could! Would you sir, be able to provide an explanation to me as to whether this practice is peculiar to having been a Marine? Perhaps as a tradition or some old school service training? I thank you in advance of your reply, sir. Sincerely, Dennis D. Hayes
Interesting questions Dennis. I am not going to step in between you and Poppa
but I would say that the pain thing is as much about being clear and cogent for everything going on as well as the Marine thing.
The Marine Corps does not make you tougher, it simply makes you come to terms with the fact that you
were already tough and didn’t know it.
Semper fi,
Jim
August 1969 I Corps Delta 4/31 196th LIB walks off LZ West straight into a battalion of NVA. We were quickly surrounded and pinned down. The only reason I can relay the story is because of Puff. What a magnificent light show that had the advantage of keeping us from being completely overrun. Visited the Wright Patterson Air Museum in 2015 and cried when I saw Puff up close and personal. It brought everything back in a flash. 120 men walk off the hill and 3 days later 34 humped back up. Newspaper reports we suffered light casualties. Great writing again by you Jim. Thank you.
Puff, if you could get it was magical in its ability to not only bring huge amounts
of fire down to the earth but was also a giant psychological tool of battle. Thanks for your comment and your support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Served with the 3rd,
shore party. Which sure as hell wasn’t not party
Semper Fi,
Thanks Dean, for the reading and the commenting here.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT (and I say that with All Respect), You and I are parting ways. My wife (and my dog who sleeps with me) is tired of the nightmares and my revisiting places I ought not go anymore. Some are stronger than others, guess I’m the weaker one. Not looking for sympathy (I know where that’s at in the dictionary….somewhere between shit and syphilis), just got to move along.
You’d think that after ALL these years, it wouldn’t come back so strong…but here it is. I’m going to leave you there, sorry, but I know you get out. It’s horrible, I want to know, but can’t anymore. It’s like the casualties I evac’d, wanted to know, but was afraid to find out, so didn’t follow-up.
Best of luck to you in all your endeavors.
Roy.