With Fusner boosting me from behind I got out of the hole I’d taken refuge in. The Gunny’s words had bitten hard, and I wished he hadn’t said them in front of Fusner but there was nothing to be done for it. It was hard to leave the protection of the wet muddy redoubt, dug as a refuge against a deadly outside world. The hole was the only respite I’d had since arriving in country, except for the under-runway cave carved out by the river so many days and nights in the past. That under-the-runway place, with the brief period of time I had there was all that had passed for sleep since I could remember. It seemed as if it existed only in some half-forgotten dream. But the Gunny was right again. I watched him walk away, toward the Marines getting ready to follow the details of my latest plan. I would not be coming out of the A Shau, if I ever did, resembling the young nubile and dumb-as-an-ox young man I’d been when I entered. I moved toward the edge of the jungle, not far from the burned-out wreck of the truck Tex had brought with him to support the Ontos. The site of the low-slung little monster of multiple-barrel recoilless fire reminded me of how ticklish our current situation was. The machine could not be left unattended, so there would have been no moving the whole company down the valley to get Kilo across even if I hadn’t modified the plan.
The Gunny came to where Zippo, Nguyen, Fusner and I were huddled near the jungle’s edge getting ready to begin the operation.
“If the Ontos is left alone, then its ammunition would have to be destroyed and the machine itself permanently disabled,” the Gunny said, starting a cigarette but making no move to join me in brewing a cup of coffee.
I swished my canteen holder around and around over the burning explosive, noting that the Gunny had used the word ‘would’ instead of the present tense ‘will.’ He had no intention of destroying the Ontos and neither did I. I’d missed it though. I hadn’t thought in terms of what to do with that vital piece of weaponry we’d need when we worked our way upriver toward the end of the highway where the abandoned airfield was located. I knew he knew that too, so I just waited, sipping the coffee gently.
“Your new plan takes that into account because we’re leaving one gun with the fire teams right here but you might want to let the Ontos crew know that they need to be ready to fire at a second’s notice or if the NVA attempts to overrun them because we’re gonna be stretched a bit thin.”
The Gunny was throwing me a bone and I knew it. I’d forgotten about the Ontos and what to do about it, much less the fact that it was our own ‘pocket Puff’ in a way. The enemy was afraid of it and it was indeed particularly effective in close situations. There was no outside authority or force that was going to check fire the weapon if we were ‘danger close’ either. The area of the bank that followed down the valley on our side of the river was way too narrow to allow the Ontos to accompany us, and firing indirectly with the untrained crew and no cliff wall to spall chunks off of made no sense. The Ontos had to stay put and it had to be protected.
“Yes,” I replied, acting like it was all part of my plan.
“We’ll go down valley fast when Puff hits again, but probably not quick enough,” the Gunny said, and I knew he was going to go on about it so I stopped him with a comment of my own, and took the whole operation right to the heart of the matter, and beyond the specifics we both knew.
“Can we handle Captain Carter if he’s not agreeable?”
“The only one that’s got any relationship with that man is you, Junior,” the Gunny replied, finally taking his canteen out so he could make some hot coffee of his own.
“Relationship?” I asked, in a bit of mild shock. “He hates me. Hell, all three of them hate me, and I don’t even know them.”
“Well, that’s a relationship, of sorts, or passes for one down in the A Shau, if you haven’t noticed a bit of that… with Jurgens and all. No matter how quickly we get down there and get them across the river it’s going to be too dark to come back, unless we want to risk that kind of move.”
“Six of one, half dozen of another,” the Gunny continued, stirring his hot coffee. “The jungle will be a mass of mangled junk and flesh after Puff comes through again with what’s left of the Skyraider ordnance. Will the NVA have a shot at recovering quick enough to have at us when we move back upriver or will they be better able to hit us after they’ve had a night to recover?”
Even though I’d witnessed up close, almost too close, the stunning capability of Puff to lay waste to a huge swath of land under it, I wasn’t at all certain that the enemy would be as fazed as the Gunny felt. One of the truisms I was learning was that the Vietnamese were much tougher than anyone had led me to believe and much smarter. I’d been lucky to be so unconventional in my amateurish stupidity that they hadn’t been able to figure out what we were going to do next. None of their failures, however, had been because they could not take the heat of harsh killing combat. What’s more, I had no idea how the whole field of play, down at the very bottom edge of the A Shau, had somehow come down to a war against two leaders. One was the leader of the enemy whom I presumed to be tried and true, seasoned by long years of war, while the other was a young second lieutenant who had almost no experience at all. Me. On top of that the NVA units were probably responding with a discipline to everything their leader ordered them to do while my own did mostly what suited their own survival, and if that meant going along with me, then fine, and if it didn’t that was fine with them too.
“Are they ready?” I asked the Gunny, dumping the remains of my coffee onto the mud.
He started talking to his radio operator, so I had to wait
I squatted in my oriental knee-stressing position near the mud. I had come to understand why the locals all used the deep squat so handily and often. It kept the torso low for minimal exposure yet still allowed for rapid movement and escape in an instant if necessary. The leeches burst forth from the mud to revel in the remains of my coffee.
“Why do leeches like coffee?” I asked idly, while I waited for the Gunny to finish his whispered conversation with Tank.
“It’s the cream,” Zippo answered. “You drink that creamer in your coffee and they come out to lap it up.”
I watched the leeches fight over the small pockets of liquid. For one thing the leeches didn’t ‘lap’ anything. They just covered the tiny motes of coffee and absorbed them. I also realized that there was no reason for leeches to like cream. Maybe it was the caffeine I thought. Maybe they wanted to get some sort of energy boost too. I didn’t disturb the small group that had surfaced to join the Gunny and I in having some coffee. We were all in it together. Killing one another or sucking each other’s blood whenever or wherever necessary but we were one, in a way.
“No sense delaying,” the Gunny said, turning back from his radio operator.
“They’ll still be in shock over there, or they’re not human. Puff should be back in minutes for a final run. Get Cowboy to make a run following that and we’ll head on down, laying in the M-60 positions as we go.”
Fusner called Cowboy and got Jacko instead. The Skyraiders were only five minutes away.
“He said that Puff was only a few minutes out but they’d make the run,” Fusner reported. “He said if you kept calling in the other guys then you can’t be Flash anymore, sir. You’ll have to be Jackie Paper, and you can’t be that because that’s who he’s named after.”
The Skyraiders roared over the edge of the eastern carapace in what seemed like less than a minute. This time they dropped regular bombs, littering the torn jungle as they went, the snake-eye paddles slowing the bombs so the planes would be gone when they hit and went off.
The company moved. Once moving it was like working inside a well-made, but greasy and dirty machine shop. The Marines broke off in patches to emplace machine guns as we went. Some of them dug holes along the bank and then moved on while the men who were going to get down in them finished the job. Sugar Daddy, Jurgens and O’Brien, three of the platoon leaders, moved quickly up and down the bank. I didn’t see the other platoon leader and was mildly disturbed that I couldn’t remember his name, and didn’t want to ask anyone. I could remember every dead Marine casualty we’d taken but remembering the living was strangely more difficult.
The Gunny moved with me and my scout team. We took what cover we could from any fire that might come out of the jungle across the river.
Since we were backed right up against the jungle on our right side there was little point in doing much at all with that except hoping nothing would come from the nearly impenetrable mess. I realized, in looking at it go by, that if the NVA had an inkling of what we were up to then even the smallest force inside that mess of twisted foliage would ruin our whole operation in a very terminal way. But nothing came from either side. The going was slow but not too slow. I watched the light start to diminish. I knew we’d actually have a couple of hours of strange twilight because, although the sun would set behind the high ridge, it would still radiate light out over and, by reflection from the clouds and the atmosphere itself, give us enough light to move by.
Fusner turned on his little transistor radio but I made him shut it down as soon as I heard Brother John’s voice. The jungle rising up on our right flank was just too fearful to tempt fate that obviously. There was no way that anyone was going to hear anything we did from across the rushing water, but the jungle next to us was a different matter. The enemy had to know we were on the move, but where we were going, how far we were going and why we were going there would probably remain a mystery until we arrived downriver.
The entire company stopped when the sound of Puff’s deeply throbbing engines filled the valley. The smoke had not cleared from the pall it had made over the center of the jungle when it began its strange conical turn.
“Move,” the Gunny yelled, and we all moved.
I hadn’t thought to give the command, but the Gunny was absolutely right. From its last performance we all knew that Puff could only make three full runs before heading back to base. That gave us a bit less than an hour to get where we were going. Four kilometers along the cleared and flat mud surface, semi-hardened since the rains had stopped, didn’t seem like much of a distance for a Marine company to cover in an hour, but it was. Delaying to emplace guns and dig holes took time. The shattering roar of the first attack began. The company picked up its pace although nobody could possibly not look over across the water to see the giant flaming red and yellow fire hose sweep back and forth, and then around the center of the jungle area.
The attack by Puff was over in seconds, with the plane pulling out of its circular run and heading down the valley, low above the jungle but climbing to higher altitude as it went. I wondered if it was my getting used to the outrageous noisy and deadly attack that made it seem shorter than before.
Fusner nudged me, holding the AN/323 headset as we walked.
“They’re going to make more passes than before so we’ll have more time to make the move.”
I realized that somebody other than me was doing some serious thinking about what was going on. The guys in the air weren’t missing too much, even if it seemed that they could only catch glimpses of our company below, and get snippets of our actions over the radio.
Puff continued to fly in and out, raining down fire in one of its pylon turns, bailing out of the valley, and then arching back to come in again. It was brilliant. There was no fire from the jungle or anyone else anywhere in the valley, and it was giving us the time we needed to get where we had to go. I felt the radiation of the air and jungle mixing in with the vibration of the water that penetrated into the mud from the fast-moving river.
The company stopped just as Fusner announced that Puff was headed back to base. The Skyraiders were still up but holding their ordnance in reserve in case we were under fire when Kilo came across the river. But we weren’t downriver far enough to hunt out a crossing, I knew. Why had we stopped?
Jurgens came running back up the bank, staying low and moving like a cat in brief cuts into the border bracken of the jungle, and then down toward the river, like some ship at sea zig-zagging to avoid a lurking submarine. He came toward me as the Gunny approached from behind.
“They’re there,” Jurgens said, sprawling full length between Zippo and I, breathing heavily while looking back downriver.
“Who the hell is there?” the Gunny asked.
Jurgens didn’t have to answer. Captain Howard “Howling Mad” Carter and his two lieutenants emerged from around a slight jutting mess of foliage spreading out from the jungle growth. They looked like strange creatures from some black and white horror film because of the coming of darkness and the exotic conditions we were all stuck in.
I looked at the three officers moving toward me, all crouching low, and all too tightly grouped together if any enemy soldier was nearby with a single grenade. Their radio operators clustered right behind them. Make that two grenades.
Carter reached my position and crouched down, instructing his lieutenants and radio operator to dig in without speaking to me. The radio operators accompanying the officers went to work with E-tools and mud began to fly.
“This will do as a CP since there’s no way we can reach that Ontos we’ve got upriver before dark. We’ll just dig in and wait out the night.”
I studied the captain closely while he talked and ordered the men. Carter was soaked to the skin, as were all of his Marines. They’d made it across without our help and I was shocked. For some reason, I’d forgotten Kilo was made up of mostly hardened Marines, just like my own company. Adapting to conditions was what they did and they’d done it well.
“You made it,” I whispered, more to myself than to the captain, not failing to note that the man had assumed command of both outfits with his orders and his assumption that the Ontos was now his as much as it was our own.
“Digging in and staying may not be the best idea, sir,” the Gunny said from behind me.
I was surprised. Surprised that the Gunny would offer a criticism that would have to bite deep into the captain’s leadership position and also because, once again, the Gunny automatically referred to Carter using the honorific ‘sir.’ He’d only called me that twice in nearly three weeks and both times I’d earned it with blood.
“Well, Gunny, sometimes staying put is the best solution,” Carter answered, his tone not aggressive or negative in any way, unlike how his voice changed when he addressed me.
“The enemy will recover in the night and here, well, they’re only a hundred meters away across that water,” the Gunny said, this time omitting the sir. “We might move upriver into the night but we’d be doing so to a covered position with the Ontos supporting us and we’d do it while they’re still down and out from the beating they just took from Puff. The Skyraiders could still cover a move even into the dark.”
“It’s called a C-47 gunship,” Captain Carter responded.
“Sir?” the Gunny replied.
“I don’t approve of all these nicknames,” Carter shot back. “There’s no magic at work here, just some rotary cannons stuck into the side of a transport that’s long worn out its welcome in combat.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll have the rest of the men dig in for the night ahead,” the Gunny replied quickly, again omitting the sir and rising to his feet.
It was as obvious to him as it was to me listening that there was no reasoning with the captain.
“Yes, see that you do,” Carter commanded, this time his tone definitely showing he wasn’t happy with the Gunny’s criticism or his use of Puff’s name.
I didn’t know what to say. There didn’t seem to be anything to say, as neither Captain Carter or his two officers even deigned to look, much less talk to me.
I was still struck by how seemingly easily Carter had gotten Kilo across the river. If we’d had to go get them then I’d have had to go back in that river. I shivered and then relaxed at the thought, leaning to the side on my back so I could get my pack off. The crocodiles and snakes in the river and the definite danger of drowning were in the past. I smiled weakly and breathed deeply, even though I knew in my heart that it was potentially bad news that Carter had taken over and, at least temporarily, I was to be under his command.
The Gunny bumped me on my left shoulder with his boot and motioned upriver before walking away with Tank following him in that direction.
I got out of my suspender straps, roughly folded my poncho and followed without saying anything to Carter or his men, who were busy ordering M-60 emplacements to be put in facing the river on each side of the command post.
The Gunny had stopped to wait about twenty meters further on, making it look like he was doing so to smoke one of his cigarettes. I approached and he immediately handed the lit thing to me.
I took my obligatory puff, and coughed my obligatory cough, before handing it back.
“Dig in and get the hell away from them,” the Gunny said, before taking his first inhalation.
“What?” I asked, having no idea what he was talking about.
“You and the scout team, and then the whole damn company in the night, are going upriver,” he said, looking back to where Captain Carter and his men milled about and dug into the side of the river bank.
“What?” I asked again, like an idiot.
“Our M-16’s are all firing tracers and the M-60’s fire one tracer for every four rounds. What’s going to happen is that the NVA are going to shoot across that water and Kilo’s going to return fire. There’s no point, but that’s what they’ll do because they’re new to the A Shau.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked. “We’ve got plenty of ammo and we’ll be resupplied later in the morning when we get up to the old airstrip.”
“There’s no point in firing at all because nobody can cross the water. The NVA are going to open up to get shot back at. Then they’ll register every fire hole and every machine gun by watching the tracers, and fire RPG’s over into each one. They haven’t used any rockets, not because they haven’t got them, but because they wanted to save them for just the right time.”
I stared at the Gunny, my mind racing. I hadn’t thought of it. I’d have never thought of it. But it had to be, and if it wasn’t then why take the risk he was right, especially with the full jungle at our back and not knowing what might come out of there at any time? The defensive position was potentially the worst one I’d seen since I’d trapped us on the side of that hill earlier.
“You’ve been here before,” I said, my voice low. “They did this to your unit, didn’t they?”
The Gunny didn’t answer.
“We’re going to be disobeying direct orders in combat,” I finally said. “Again. And what will happen if Kilo gets decimated and we abandoned them?”
“I know you felt really relieved when you realized Kilo made it across on its own. I saw that sympathetic look on your face laying there. I admire that in you, but, slim as the chance is, we may make it out of here alive. The only way we do that is by staying alive through this coming night. Doing what that idiot says we should do is crossing that famous river to the other side. Dig some holes back there and then bring your team upriver to have some chow, or whatever, and the company will wait for you. And that alone, that they’ll wait, is saying something, sir.”
The Gunny walked upriver without turning back, his big radio operator just in back and to the side of him. I could barely see in the distance that Jurgens, Sugar Daddy and O’Brien were waiting for him. I was relieved the Gunny had read me wrong. I hadn’t felt relief for Kilo at all. I’d only felt relief that I was not going to have to die in the river trying to save them. I’d been relieved for myself.
But he’d called me sir again. He didn’t want me to stay and die with Kilo.
“What are we going to do?” Fusner whispered from only a few feet away.
I turned in surprise. I hadn’t been aware of him, and then I saw Nguyen and Zippo only inches from him. All three were staring at me.
“Get back there and dig in,” I ordered, keeping my voice very low, “then we’re going upriver to have a bite with the rest of the company.”
Zippo and Fusner just looked at me before heading back to the CP area. Nguyen paused for a brief second before following. His deep black eyes stared into my own, and then he nodded ever so slightly and was gone.
I pushed myself into the jungle a few yards to relieve myself, and then sat nearby the spot for a few minutes, wishing I still had the Gunny’s cigarette.
What had I turned into? What had meaning anymore? I looked up into the night sky, fast closing in and prayed to God. I prayed that there would be no firing in the night, that the Marines in Kilo would not fire back if fired upon. That Carter would relent and let his men flow upriver to follow the cowardly retreat by my own company. And me with it. God did not answer. If he did then it was through Fusner’s tiny radio speaker. Captain Carter had traipsed off somewhere with his minion lieutenants.
Only their radio operators worked at digging into the bank. Brother John, speaking for God, introduced the last song of the day. The words flowed up to me and then right on by: “Every day’s an endless stream, of cigarettes and magazines. And each town looks the same to me, the movies and the factories,
and every stranger’s face I see reminds me that I long to be…homeward bound...”
Although I knew it was the voices of Simon and Garfunkel, I prayed it was God.
Homeward Bound
Simon and Garfunkel
James, this week I attended a reunion of old soldiers from Vietnam, E Btry. 82nd Arty (Avn) It was instant brotherhood and yes love. Old story’s got better and or wife’s just rolled their eyes. We where kids again!
Then tonight my wife and I sat down for dinner in a restaurant, I was wearing my Cav hat, when the waitress approached and informed us that some one had paid for meal and have said “Thank you for your service” My wife have never experienced this before and I was once again in awe of the change from my two home comings so long ago. What a week.
Now that’s a terrific story. There are some great citizens out here. When I got back from Vietnam and could into my blues for one last time
we went to a restaurant down the coast from San Francisco. Our dinner was purchased in the same way as your own meal. It was wonderful, especially since we were pretty broke at the time. Thanks for the sharing…
Semper fi,
Jim
Captain Morgan had an opportunity to question you, the Gunney, Nguyen, or anyone else in the area with regard to how to survive the coming night. He clearly did not understand the RPG weapon in the hands of the NVA. He did not recognize the range and accuracy of this weapon. You, and the company under your command, stayed alive by staying on the move, and keeping the enemy guessing. You made yourselves hard to kill. This battlefield was no place for beginners.
Actually, the battlefield is so deadly that it attracts beginners all the time.
The biggest beginner problem is the one I found most common and thankfully,
with the Gunny’s help, did not have.
That is the beginner who believes he or she knows.
And that is a very quick trip into how the battlefield teaches.
Combat teaches by killing. Shitty way to learn, even if its others getting killed.
I wonder just how many there really were of those who experienced real combat.
2.7 million served in country. One in seven saw combat, and that would be 385,000 or so.
There were 58 thousand dead and 304 wounded.
That’s a total of 362,000. If you went into combat in Vietnam
you were likely not going to walk out of it on your own two feet.
Semper fi,
Jim
Minor edit – “Our M-16’s are all firing tracers and the M-60’s fire one tracer for every three rounds.
Wouldn’t it be one tracer for every four rounds (of ball ammo)?
Thank you for telling your truth. May many young shavetails read it and learn.
You are most welcome Dan and thanks for being a part of the editing team.
Without you guys I don’t know what I’d do.
Even so, it is really difficult to come to final clean edit before going to the printed copy.
There is no help anymore for publishing books unless you can pay ten bucks a page.
Semper fi,
Jim
When I see a new chapter is out, I stop everything to read it. Keep it up Jim!
Thanks David, then you will be happy tomorrow!
Great compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Me, too, David. I’ve been following since the first. Captivating, Lt.
Thanks Jack. You guys being right there is making me be right here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir,
A question. Although a CPT, does Morgan really have “Command Authority” over your unit. He obviously isn’t in your COC.
Command authority in the Marine Corps can be problematic. The answer is yes and no.
The yes part is in combat the highest ranking officer is in command of all gathered Marines.
In peace time not so much but still arguements ensue but only if command gets invovled.
By and large the highest ranking officer present is in command…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hi Jim, Thank you for writing this, it helps me understand some men I have worked with. I think I found a couple edits for you. “The site of the low-slung little…” should it be sight? and “Your new plan takes that into account because were….” should it be we’re?
Thanks Evan for joining the editing effort, and also for the blatantly powerful compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Yes, sir, I’ll have the rest of the men dig in for the night ahead,” the Gunny replied quickly, again omitting the sir and rising to his feet.
Yes sir, then omitting….tactical faux pas?
Riveting as ever
Thanks Paul, for the editing, and yes you are right, of course.
And thanks for the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
I just finished reading all of the amazing comments to you on this segment. Surely you know now you are never alone while you write. God has sent you so many sincere heart felt comments to help you along with so many prayers that have been said for you. God definitely has His arms around you.
The purpose He has for your story is touching and healing so many including you. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever been witness to read.
God Bless you James Strauss.
Henderson
Thank you so much Nancy. By saying alone, I didn’t mean it that way.
In Vietnam, while leading the men, many if not all that I loved, I felt totally alone.
I felt that at any moment, for all the right reasons, they would jettison me like they had others
who could not be useful to their own survival.
I fought to measure up but in trying so hard to measure up I also grew alone, if you can understand that.
When I was so long in the hospital in Japan and then Oakland, I worked my way out of that aloneness by mostly being alone.
I wrote to the producers of the romance shows that were my daytime television entertainment through the surgeries and the pain.
They wrote back, amazingly. What a different time.
My wife could only make it across the bridge once a week to visit me as we were broke and so was the car.
Tough times indeed.
I am not alone, but I harken in telling the story to back and being alone…
Thank you so very much for the usual supporting and truly caring words.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, what I meant and so poorly said was God was always by your side and placed others around you to protect you. God has remained by your side through out your life and stands next to you as you type your story.
The most beautiful gift God has given you is a loving devoted wife, who has remained by your side through thick and thin. What a beautiful love she has for you.
You don’t need to post this, just clearing up what I meant.
Prayers for you always,
Nancy
Thanks Nancy, and of course I publish everything you say, because you say it so well coming from a wonderful place…
God bless you,
Jim
This is the 46th segment of the second 10 days and not a one of the segments (including all those in the first 10 days) has been anything but riviting.
Thanks again James.
Ken Brown
Thank you Ken. You guys have motivated me in the best way possible so I am churning out another segment tonight and then another tomorrow.
These are tough segments and you’ll see why. It was a tough time and I don’t think the word tough really covers it…although I did not really
become tough from the experience…although I thought I did for awhile.
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding. How were you capable of functioning without sleep for days on end? Your exhaustion is palatable as I read and reread each segment. The sound of the river and the grate of the gatling guns from Puff. The smell of the mud and the jungle torn to shreds is here and now. I fear for all of your Marines not making it home. Thank you for another great well written chapter.
I can still function without sleep for quite awhile.
When I came home and got out of the hospital I could go for two nights straight without sleep
and the doctors said that was not really possible. Yes, it is.
We are amazing survival creatures. I began writing to much because I had nothing to do in the
night except guard my family from non-existent threats…
Semper fi, and thank you so very much…
Jim
Interesting that you said: “guard my family from non-existent threats.” Last year I observed an Iraq vet patrol the parking lot and establish a perimeter at a small ice cream shop while the rest of us in the group stood in line and chatted away. His two tours in Iraq were over a decade ago, and, yes, he saw combat. I’ve read all your segments, and all the posted comments, and it seems to me that you are accomplishing as much by demonstrating to other vets that your experiences, both in combat and afterwards, were not unique, but shared by all who actually fought.
I want to thank you for that comment Mark. Unintended consequences.
I never, through all the years, thought my own experiences were
anything but rather exclusive and due to bad fortune.
And then the guys and gals on here started to write and I was blown away.
There are so many of us who went through that wringer.
Thanks for the compliment and putting your deep and interesting thoughts on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow, just when things are looking up. SNAFU or FUBAR if you wish. Sometimes are worst enemy was our officer Corps. D4/31 69-70
Things would perk up for a bit but then reality would set in.
Our casualties were so humongous that we kept losing people who we didn’t want
or need to lose and the burden of continuing just seemed to get
harder and harder.
How was that possible?
I don’t know. Read on…
Semper fi,
Jim
“I wasn’t at all certain that the enemy would be as phased as the Gunny felt.” (fazed instead of phased?)
The crap just keeps getting deeper LT. I am curious as to how this new development is resolved.
Yes, of course, Glenn. Thank you si very much….
Semper fi,
Jim
Interesting as always… but one small criticizm… You wrote ” join the Gunny and I in having some coffee” that should read “me” not “I”
Yes, you are most correct GMSgt! thanks for being part of the most excellent editing crew aroiund…
Semper fi,
Jim
Looks like the best thing to do is register area across from cap Morgan and move toward ontos and when the nva open fire on capt Morgan fire ontos along enemy on far side of river and depending on supply of ammo blast that ares every 15 minutes or so just to keep nva in there holes and give Morgan cover if he get smart and move down river toward ontos.
Funny how it really works out when you are in it. I wasn’t always the sharpest knife in the drawer…
Thanks for those thoughts…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another riveting chapter!
Thank you for sharing your struggle. You describe the scenes with a vivid, absorbing flair that gives the reader a chance to see, smell, and even taste (such as ice cream and spaghetti) your experience. I check everyday to see if you posted a new chapter.
I have not contributed to your endeavor, so I hate to ask for a favor, but I will anyway as others may also benefit. For your consideration, would you be able to provide a rough sketch of the AO. I guess that I’m a visual guy and I crave an image.
Thanks again and please keep them coming!
I have an image from a rough map I just drew myself but don’t know how to put it up on here.
Thanks for the comment. I have your email address so I will sent it as an attachement to that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim to get that photo on here, I would snap a pic of it with my cell phone, download that to my computer and paste it in my work. That is unless your computer has a camera built in. Just a suggestion.
I drew a map and sent it to the guy who wanted one of where we are right now. I dont know how to get it up here on this site though.
I will have to ask Chuck in the morning. Thanks Glenn.
Semper fi,
Jim
You know how sometimes you will save a favorite snack until just the right time? That’s how I treat these segments. As something to sit back and savor each and every word, let the sentences roll around on my brain and evoke the memories and images tucked away in so many cracks and crevasses.Leaches, the smell of mud, the bite of burning C4 in my nose. The sharp tang of fear pushed down by the determination to be alive while the boonie rat song plays softly in the background. I’ll buy this when it’s in print and it will join with J. Del Vecchio, M. Baker, M.Herr,J. Clark, and the others until I read it again and again. Thank you LT.
Grand compliments here Rick and I am soaking them up! Sometimes it really helps for guys like you to say things like that to guys like me.
I write mostly alone here, with all my supporting stuff gathered around me. You know the kind of aloneness I speak of because so many of the
combat vets have it. Alone in a crowed kind of a thing. Isolated while I am writing because I’m back there…and that’s mostly back there among
the dead. But this odyssey is forcing its way out and I have to keep on going. Thanks for the motivation to finish today’s work…
Semper fi,
Jim
crowd
Say what?
Jim
In your response to Rick Currier I see resignation and determination to complete this alone or not. The writing on this particular post is crisp, and spell binding. Much like you are drawing a perfect picture for those reading who were never there. Two fold purpose for finishing all three parts. Thank you for tolerating and educating the audience who sleep well like myself. I believe I was purposefully sent to read your efforts by the same God you prayed to that night. You have given me the knowledge to know when to shut up when my boys are talking, so I do not do an idiot stunt that put walls between us. Thank you to all the Spectre guys out there carrying the lead these days.
James, you are some kinda really smart Dude, great writing, Sir. Poppa
Poppa J. You are a pretty sharp cookie yourself and a pretty good writer too.
Thanks you for the intelligence revealed in this responding comment.
I have found so many sincere and real people communicating with me on here.
It’s kind of shocked and blown me away. And the care and sensitivity has been
amazing, not to mention how good the writing of so many are when they speak from the heart on this site…
Thanks you!
Semper fi,
Jim
I know just what you mean Lt. I go to bed around 0400 because I get so much time to do as I wish. I remain on watch as I drift over my life’s memories. You pen paints a vivid picture, in full living color, and says “There it is.”
Thanks Rick, yes, us late night fellow travelers through life. Thanks for the compliment about the writing and making it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Random thoughts continually popping up as I read this chapter. One wonders why you or the Gunny did not ask Morgan to have a private chat and discuss the possibility of the VC siting in on Kilo’s position? While the captain wanted to flash his authority about in giving orders, there was a good chance that he would have listened and considered what the Gunny had to offer in private, at least for his men if nothing else. Hind sight is 50-50 though, isn’t?
Then too, there is the question of protecting the Ontos, which was a vital piece of equipment. Did Morgan have any men in his company that were proficient with that vehicle? The VC certainly had time to zero in on that weapon as well, so it would need to be moved to a more strategic position as well as both companies of marines.
Then there is the position and area that has been more insecure then any other near the air strip and river. One wonders how many American troops lost their lives in that area since Special Forces first arrived? It would seem that the hillside that both your company and Kilo descended into the A Shau valley, was loaded with caves and VC’s who set up ambushes as the troops entered into the valley. They now have that hillside, while your troops have their backs up against the river. On the other side of the river is another group of VC. Looks like they have a cross fire advantage.
We are left hoping that you still have artillery support for the nighttime fireworks sure to erupt.
The Gunny was not a real talkative guy, and he had little interest in educating anyone who was
not directly involved with his own unit or survival.
He was impressed that I was concerned about other units but not to the point of going as far as to bother trying to talk to Morgan.
The Ontos was sort of self protected in that it could move about a few meters here and there
but also because the enemy did not want it to shoot back. Funny how often that worked on both sides.
The hill sides were not so filled with tunnels as the
valley floor and up over the top edges of the highlands.
And our artillery would not drop in over that cliff from back in An Hoa
(because it was near the end of the howitzer’s range and indirect high angle fire does not work that far out).
The 175’s were beyond the end of their range even using a red bag load.
Whew. You make me work J!
Semper fi,
Jim
In analyzing your current situation, one was trying to figure out how both companies would establish a secure area under the present situation. No fort to go to or a place to hide, while the Indians were circling. Looks almost like Custers last stand.
Having seen the vast tunnel systems in Vietnam, one assumed there would be plenty of tunnel entrances and exists, leading from within the mountain ranges. In your descriptions of the valley floor and the raging Bong Song, it would seem that tunnels would be flooded along the valley floor. Fox holes and trenches would not last long if dug too deeply. Oh well, that is what assuming will get you, lol.
From a strategic point of view, it would seem more plausible for both companies of marines, to move within the range of supporting artillery as the aircraft were not always dependable with all of the rain and evening cover. Time to dee dee mow out of that hell hole!
Very analytically presented, this argument about tunnels.
They had tunnels all over it is true but they had some problems for certain.
The could not tunnel through rock nor in areas where the water table was too high.
And flooding in a tunnel system is nothing to laugh about either.
So there were some limitations. Also, it is hard to just get up and move against orders not to move.
You can get around some of it but not all of it when you are out there.
Semper fi, and thanks, as usual,
Jim
I was a navel reservist HM3 corpsman attached to a Recon Marine Unit. 1971 Thur 1976. Did not go to Vietnam. Always felt guilty about that. After reading about your tour, I am glad that I did not go. I thank you for your service Sir. I would have been proud to serve under you. Anxiously waiting for the next chapter. Wes
I am glad that you did not go either.
And a whole lot of the guys on here that feel bad that they didn’t go.
You are here reading this. Let the price those of us who went, most unknowing,
enjoy the fact that you are writing on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Some of the names have slipped my memory, but their faces will always be burnt in to my mine>
Semper fi, Jim
Yes, and so it is with us all Dean…and thanks for writing that up on this wall…
Semper fi,
jim
Jim, I’m an engineer and don’t do grammer, but this sentence feels like it needs something: I would not be coming out of the A Shau, if I ever did, resembling the young nubile and dumb-as-an-ox young man I’d been when I entered.
Also, a double “that”:There was no outside authority or force that that was going to check fire the weapon if we were ‘danger close’ either.
Another GREAT installment! Thanks for sharing.
Appreciate the mention, Richard…..
What many do not realize is that question, “if I ever did” was
in the mind of so many day to day….
Maybe will ‘massage’ it a bit
And the double THAT has been corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
I think that that that, that that LT typed….is good English.
Thanks Joey and for writing it on here too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Once again an excellent chapter. I intend to buy you book The Bering Sea. You Sir are an excellent writer. Keep them coming.