I took my binoculars and played with the focusing knobs to bring in the landing zone far below. I was trying to get a clearer view of why there was stuff piled up around the edges of the zone, but I couldn’t make out what they were. The Gunny walked over and took out a cigarette, offering me one.
“I don’t smoke,” I said, bringing the glasses down.
“So you say,” he replied, lighting up. He blew his first puff over the nearby lip of the canyon but it blew right back up and over us. He held out the cigarette.
I moved my binoculars to my left hand and took a deep drag from it, before handing it back.
“I did that for you,” I said, almost coughing but not quite.
“So you say,” the Gunny replied.
Fusner’s radio opened up with Brother John in Nha Trang before I could ask the Gunny about the strange stuff down in the LZ.
“Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again…” the Sounds of Silence played and none of us present made a sound until the song was over. It reached into the depth of my soul and made me extremely uncomfortable but I there was no way I could ignore it or pull away from the meaning of the words. Whoever had written the lyrics had somehow caught the spirit, and served up the language, of the war torn jungle depths I was in. It was darkness we fought in, and we either became friends with it or we died in it. The song finally ended, and I asked the Gunny about the stuff down in the LZ.
“It would have been pretty dumb to unload everything up here, and then have to haul it all down there after only a few hours,” he responded, making me feel like a total idiot.
“How do you want to do this Mudville thing?” the Gunny asked, flicking his cigarette butt over the cliff. It came back and over us just like the smoke had.
“Four at a time,” I replied, having thought the descent through during the time I’d been standing there. “One fire team at a time, spacing each every ten fifteen or twenty seconds. We’ll send a couple, or sometimes three or four.”
“What about the 122s over there?” the Gunny asked, pointing out in the direction where the sun had just risen.
I checked my watch just because I had a watch. It was almost eight in the morning.
“They may fire, or they may not,” I replied, checking out the far wall with my binoculars again. “The Army put around three hundred and fifty rounds in here last night. I’m guessing the NVA battery over there probably fired a hundred, or so. The NVA doesn’t have our depth of supply. I’m betting they don’t have a lot more rounds, and they won’t want to waste very many on elusive Marines moving across an extremely difficult target.”
“The wall of this cliff looks pretty damned easy to hit from over there,” the Gunny said. “And I don’t like the sound of that ‘betting’ stuff.”
“The cliff face is vertical. Hitting a vertical target of that size, somewhere specific along its face, is damned near impossible, even for a battery as advanced in fire direction and ammunition as one in the U.S. inventory. Their artillery complex can’t be of that caliber. Adjusting on flat ground is fairly easy, given an accurate map, compass and good communications. Trying to adjust incoming rounds up and down and then over and across that rock face isn’t something I could do accurately, and I think I’m better than them.”
“So you don’t think they’ll shoot at us,” the Gunny concluded.
“No, I didn’t say that,” I replied. “Actually, I think they may, but I don’t think they’ll hit us.”
The Gunny moved to the edge of the precipice and stared down. He pulled back after only a few seconds. “Doesn’t make it any more appealing to head on down there,” he said.
“I was thinking of sending Fourth Platoon down first, given the problems we’ve had getting them to do anything,” I said, but leaving some leeway in my comment for his opinion.
“First Platoon,” the Gunny replied, immediately. “Then Second and Third. I’ll be up here to play tail end Charlie. Sugar Daddy’s got a radio, so I won’t be out of communication.”
“Why First?” I queried, more out of curiosity rather than disagreement.
“Because you’ll be leading Jurgens’ platoon when you come marching out of the bottom of the trail and up to that perimeter. You’ll be leading a platoon Billings could not, when you walk in.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” and we both know it,” I replied, and then started thinking deeply about what it might mean to be the first man down that difficult trail. I knew I could call artillery from down below, but not along the way. Once we began heading down there would be no stopping or turning back. We would be committed. If artillery was called for I could only use it when I got to the bottom, but that wasn’t what was really bothering me.
“What about booby traps?” I asked, my voice a bit lower than before. I leaned over to look down, and imagined my body blown away from the wall and spinning endlessly into the canopy of the jungle below, minus a few limbs here and there I’d rather not part with.
“You’ve only been here eleven days, by my count,” the Gunny replied, looking like he was getting ready to head out and inform the rest of the company about the plan. “You’re still an FNG, and you were the one who called this the “No Joy in Mudville Plan.”
I knew the Gunny had every point down. Captain Casey and Lieutenant Billings had made a command decision to supposedly lead from the front but, in reality, every Marine life up on top of the twenty-four-hundred-foot high cliff had to feel like he’d abandoned them to make it down into the valley on their own.
If the Gunny and I followed the other Marines down, then their feelings of possible betrayal would only be magnified.
“Great,” I whispered to myself, letting the wind sweep up and over me, at least driving back the scourge of biting mosquitos and the wet fetid heat. On the one hand the Marines in the company might keep me alive if I continued to evidence talents they could use and odd ball plans that helped them survive, but on the other hand, no Marines anywhere on the planet would be able to put me back together if even a small booby trap was tripped while I was nearby on the climb down.
“The NVA likely didn’t booby trap anything though,” the Gunny said.
“They probably don’t think we’re nutty enough to climb down the unsafe path and consequently didn’t spend any time fortifying it with explosives. Even if they got one or two men using a small charge or grenade, the company would still get from the top to the bottom relatively unscathed.”
“Unless that ‘one’ might be me,” I added.
“Yes,” the Gunny continued, in his maddening teacher’s lecture tone. “They probably thought we’d be foolish not to ride down in the choppers.”
“Some of us weren’t,” I said, not liking at all how the Mudville Plan was working out. “I’ll get the team saddled up and ready, and Fusner can turn to the command net so we can talk once you’re ready.”
The Gunny was back in minutes. I strapped into my heavy pack, wondering what the balance issues might be, given that a lot of the path was invisible from above. Would there be places along the route that didn’t allow for much overhang out into empty space. I could not get the idea of having a foot blown off by a booby trap, however. My hands had begun to shake and a coiled snake of disabling fear was buried deep inside my belly again. I didn’t think I was afraid. I knew, however, that my body was afraid. I massaged my thighs with both hands. The fear was not going to make the climb down any easier.
Fusner’s little transistor radio suddenly came alive. Either he’d had it off for a while or reception had been bad on the backside of the mountain slope we were on. I listened, and then was forced to smile weakly. “Big girls don’t cry,” played. They were the opening lyrics of a Frankie Valli song. “Told my girl we had to break up, (Silly boy) hoped that she would call my bluff, (Silly boy) then she said to my surprise…”
“Big girls don’t cry” Fusner and Stevens’ sang the four words into the wind.
I straightened up, letting my heavy pack pull my shoulder straight. I’d first heard the song when I was graduating from Maryknoll High School in Hawaii. I was driving down the highway next to Diamond Head, in Jimmy Dorrenbacher’s dad’s car. The car was a Corvair convertible, but it had a noisy supercharger we loved. Jimmy’d driven down Monsarrat slow, looking for girls to pick up, although we’d never found one on any of our other trips up and down that road. He drove slow to make the trip as long as possible, as his father would time us with a stop watch to make sure we didn’t fail to pick up a hair-dye package for his wife at the beauty shop in the Moana Hotel, and return home straightaway. Big Girls had played on the radio and we’d sung it at the top of our lungs, not quietly like Fusner and Stevens. Jimmy’s Dad was one of the first Special Forces officers training under Aaron Bank, the meanest Army officer any of us had ever encountered at the Fort Ruger Special Forces training center.
The Gunny walked up and pulled on my pack.
“No pack,” he said, working to release the straps. “Your guys can carry it down or you can throw it. You’re walking into that compound looking like an officer, even if you aren’t really, Junior.” Fusner moved to help with the pack, as the song finished playing. Jimmy had enlisted in the Army to piss his dad off, instead of going off to college to become an officer. He’d come to the Nam years before me and died here, somewhere down south. I would do the climb even though I wasn’t good with heights. Jimmy would have done so.
“Big girls don’t cry,” I said, before realizing I was speaking out loud.
“Sir?” Fusner asked, but I ignored him, checking out the opening in the bushes near the very edge of the cliff. The path looked like the perfect place to install a booby trap I thought, getting ready to take my first step down.
A body came out of nowhere and inserted itself between me and beginning of the path. It was Nguyen.
“He’s going down first,” Stevens whispered into my ear. “He knows where they put shit if there’s anything there.”
I turned my head to look into Stevens’ eyes. I knew without him saying it that Nguyen had volunteered to go down before me. I wanted to have Stevens tell the tough brave Montagnard that he should step aside and let me go first, as the Gunny planned, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been the right thing for a real company commander to do but I didn’t have it in me. My relief at not being point was just too great. My breathing stabilized and my shakes were gone. I hadn’t even known there was anything wrong with my breathing until that moment. I knew I must have been panting without realizing it. My image, as even a shitty company commander, was eroding rapidly. I wanted to say something heroic like “let’s go men,” or “onward into the A Shau,” but nothing would come out of my mouth.
Nguyen went into the opening and disappeared down. I followed, and that was it. I crept right behind the willowy leopard-like man, trying to move like him but failing. He made no noise but I made enough for three or four Montagnards, at least. The gray stone of the cliff was at my right shoulder and the path was narrow. I knew the Marines coming down behind me, humping heavy packs, machine guns, and even the mortar, were going to have trouble getting down rapidly. And I knew that meant trouble if we were fired upon. I was useless to myself and the company, as long as I was negotiating my way slowly down the path, up and down, but mostly down along the face. I felt like the whole world could see me, although I was really only worried about the ridge across the valley where a forward observer had to be sitting.
I looked down for the first time, after checking my Gus Grissom Omega, and caught my breath. The landscape below was not survivable if I fell, booby trap or no. There were boulders half-hidden by the bracken, and partially covered over by the high tree tops waving gently in the breeze. The Speedmaster told me I’d been descending for only ten minutes. I was about half way down I knew, but if tested I would have put down half an hour as the time so far expended. I wasn’t truly afraid about the danger of falling. I realized why. I was terrified of being blown up. I was afraid of the enemy artillery. I was even afraid of confronting Casey and Billings at the bottom. My fear of heights had been moved down to fourth place. I looked at Nguyen’s slightly twisting and turning upper body. His lower body never wavered, his feet automatically placed where I couldn’t think to place my own, except to try to mimic where his were going. Every few seconds he’d surge ahead, lean one way or the other to check something, and then surge back, but his forward progress never faltered.
I stopped briefly to gently turn my upper body and head to look back up to where we’d started, which was vaguely visible. Strung closely behind me was Fusner, then Stevens and finally Zippo, dangling my pack out over the precipice, as if the thing was filled with cotton candy or Styrofoam. I turned back and moved to gain on Nguyen, trying not to move too quickly or jar against the face of the cliff and be propelled outward.
The Gunny had not started anybody else down the path. FNG. The Gunny was waiting to see if we would set off any booby traps or whether the enemy would fire a first few rounds at us to get the range. The Gunny was a better company commander than me. I felt it in my bones. He did what was best for the company, not for any of its individual members. He would sacrifice me and my team in a heartbeat if it meant saving the rest of the men. I hated the Gunny right then, I realized. I hated him for being willing to allow my sacrifice, if it came to that, but I really hated him because he was doing something I wouldn’t have done. And it was the right thing to do. I hadn’t understood the shitty company commander thing until now. The company needed more than a good leader. A good leader would lead you through difficult waters, up unscalable cliffs, and down impossible rivers, but a good, even a great, leader wasn’t all that was needed. A real company commander did a lot more than lead. He cared. He sacrificed. He judged. He chose. Most of all, I realized, he thought things through from the start for the benefit of his men. And I had not done that. I was one of the Gunny’s men, so he was looking out for me too, but he wasn’t one of my men because I really didn’t have any men.
I knew we were coming down closer to the bottom because the mosquitos were back, the wind was fading and the heat increasing. But nobody had fired a round. I could hear the gurgle of the river through the thick foliage of the nearby jungle. The river water sounded slow but powerful. From up top I’d been unable to see the water moving. I chose a place to stop that was down, but high enough to be able to see the opposing ridge up in the distance just above the trees.
“God damn it,” I curse out loud. “My binoculars,” I hissed. I could call in fire from Firebase Cunningham but I’d have little chance of seeing any shells hit that weren’t air bursts of nearly useless white phosphorus.
Fusner hit my back with his fist, or what I thought was his fist. My binoculars slid around from behind my body.
“Thought you’d need these, sir,” he said, without expression.
I quickly checked out the far ridge but, as expected, I could see nothing except the tree covered masses hanging over the edge of it.
I reached for the radio handset.
Fusner held it out. “Command frequency?” he asked, but of course already knew. There was no point calling in any artillery if we were not under fire.
“Gunny,” I said, after punching in the button.
“Five-by-five, Junior,” came back.
“You going to start them down?” I asked. “I’m standing by with a line of fire up and down that far ridge just in case we need to make their observer move about a bit.”
“Sending them down as we discussed,” he transmitted. “Assemble wherever before you take them forward to pass in review.”
“Who’s transmitting on this frequency?” came strongly through the radio’s small speaker.
I didn’t know what to say, so I handed the handset back to Fusner.
“You will use proper radio procedure on this net,” came through.
“Pilson, sir,” Fusner said, holding the handset limply in two fingers, like it was a small dead fish. “Probably being told what to say by the captain.”
“We don’t need it anymore,” I instructed. “Switch over to the artillery alert Cunningham as to our position.
Fusner looked at me without replying. I read his expression and pulled out my map and compass. I took one reading but it really wasn’t necessary, as the evidence about where we were was pretty glaring on the map alone. I gave Fusner the grid with codes. He called it in.
The Marines were coming down and they were coming faster than I’d thought they could. They knew they were exposed, and they didn’t have to worry about booby traps. It took an hour for half the company to arrive. The first 122 round came in when my Omega told me it was almost exactly ten-thirty. The round landed on top of the cliff. I couldn’t see it but I knew the observer had used his first round to establish his adjusting point for with some certainty. I reached for the radio handset again. There was no point calling the Gunny to see where the round had landed or what the damage had been. Neither thing mattered.
I called in the first of a series of single rounds. Before the enemy’s second adjusting round came in, Cunningham fired and dropped a high explosive round right near the edge of the opposing face. I felt the concussion of the next 122 round, as it fell short in the jungle, off downriver but a proper shot in order to attempt to bracket the center of the cliff.
I used the radio to call adjustments, all left of one another, each one hundred meters from the other.
The next 122 came in high up on the face, showering rocks and dust down upon the hurrying Marines below. The dust was too bad to see if any Marines had fallen to a traumatic death below.
Cunningham started it’s run, the rounds impacting along the ridge, one after another, about five to six seconds apart. I didn’t wait. Following the end of the first string I called for a repeat. After that I waited, counting off ten minutes on my Omega. Then I called for another run using VT fuses set to have the rounds go off at fifty meters above whatever the tiny radar transmitters detected.
Dusty Marines came down to collapse near the bottom of the path, just up from the heavier jungle between our position and where the unseen river had to be.
There was no more enemy artillery fire, although I waited patiently, handset up and ready to repeat the whole process, until I realized there would be no response from the NVA battery. I handed the microphone back to Fusner.
The Gunny came down last, with Sugar Daddy just in front of him.
“Junior,” Sugar Daddy said, nodding, as he passed me to join his down and resting Marines.
I ignored the sergeant, not really knowing how to answer a comment that was either an insult or a compliment. I couldn’t tell which, or if it was both.
“You ready for the big moment?” The gunny asked, without preamble.
“Roger that,” I replied, wondering what his plan was for approaching the new command post perimeter.
“Fusner,” the Gunny said, holding out his hand like I usually did.
“Command net,” Fusner answered, giving him the handset.
“Six Actual, the Gunny, over,” he transmitted.
“Six back at you Gunny,” Pilson said. “The Actual is indisposed.”
“I think he has a problem with artillery,” the Gunny said, talking to everyone around him instead of into the handset.
“We’re coming in from the cliff descent in a couple of minutes, so have the men on the perimeter stand down.” The Gunny tossed the microphone back at Fusner.
“Let’s go,” he said to me, with a big smile. “Fall in,” he yelled loudly behind him, as if we were on a parade ground instead of a rather narrow grassy path area.
Nguyen stood near the jungle area just beyond the hive of activity going on, as the Marines got ready to formally march into the command post. He blinked his eyes and I knew what he meant. We’d both done good jobs and we’d both understood what each was doing without our having to had to speak a word. My confidence built every time I was committed to doing something dangerous, and he was there.
“How do we do this?” I asked the Gunny.
“This is the easy part,” he replied, his big flashing smile back on his face. I realized it was only the third I’d seen cross his lips in the eleven days I’d been with the company.
“Where do you want me?” I said, not really understanding the drama the Gunny was unaccountably building into the coming meeting.
“You just walk on in,” he replied. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“You sure we’re doing this right?” I asked.
“Hell, I’d have them fix bayonets if we hand any of the damned useless things.”
The Sounds of Silence
<<<<<To The Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>
Thanks for another riveting chapter. In 1970 we were sent on a mission to the Ashau. Each man carried their own IV bottle and double load of ammo. Mission changed while on Chinook, and we proceeded to build FSB Gladiator in order to support Ripcord. Many patrols in AO.
It is hard to explain to anyone, except ones that were there, what the difficulties were. Thanks, again, for a wonderful, unsettling read. The book will be mine when it’s available. Peace.
Wow! They learned something. Every man with his own IV bottle. Not really
confidence inspiring for those going but a later comfort for damn sure!
Thank you for that small but big bit of information. I’ve never heard it before
but there’s tons of things that happened over there I remain unacquainted with.
Semper fi, and thanks for the compliments too.
Jim
Just as a follow up. Upon reflection, it seems when you look back up the trail and realize what the Gunny has ochestrated and the implication that he was willing to sacrifice you to potentially create the unit cohesiveness the company so badly needed(your admiration/hate for him)seems almost biblical.
Interesting analysis. I don’t know the answer, not being a biblical scholar and kind of only knowing
how I felt about the Gunny and what he was up to. I was admittedly ruled by extreme youth, inexperience and fear.
Thanks for giving me food for thought, however, and writing on here…and reading the story, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, thanks so much for this installment. I am really enjoying it, as you know.
Tech question – what was the range of those 122’s? It is almost the size of the Navy’s 5″ 38’s, which were very accurate, and had a range of about 14,000 – 18,000 yards. They also threw a 47 lb projectile, with 10 lb of explosive charge.
Semper Fi, my friend
The 122mm fired a 48 lb shell about 22 kilometers. It was a problematic weapon
that was difficult to move and often had loading problems. That, by the way, is from my
reading and not from memory as I never saw one over there and when you are not he ground
receiving fire don’t much pay attention to anything but the effects. It is damned hard
to figure out where the gun target line is of a weapon you only have a vague idea of its location, also.
I only knew they were using 122mm because that is what everyone said.
Thanks for the interesting comment and the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well young Lt, been one hell of a read so far, and the next chapter only gets better if the Gunny slips a swagger stick under your arm and your crew whistles the River Kwai march as you hump into that sandy new camp.
I figure less than a week till that Parade Captain and Lt get carried out thanks to the oiled boots.
47 years, and the smells still remind me.
SCPO CB
The next segment is about to go up and your instincts are pretty good, although
as usual in that environment it was almost impossible to predict what was going to happen next.
Thanks for liking the story and yes, we do go back whether we want to or not…
Semper fi,
Jim
Your story has made me laugh and cry. Your story has made me both proud and ashamed of our Marine Corps all at the same time. To me, the ability to provoke emotion is the difference between good writer and a brilliant one. Your story has moved me more than any I have read in my 60 years on this earth (and I have read many). You sir, Lt. Strauss, are a master of the pen. Thank you again for sharing your experiences. Semper Fidelis. 0331
Thank you Tim, I have been working on that writing thing for a bit. I’m
now glad I somehow, almost accidentally, made the decision to got back
to the Nam and start from the beginning. I saw Full Metal Jacket, Platoon
and even Rambo but never found much to really identify with. Bits and pieces, so
I just decided to lay it all out as it really was as best I could.
Thanks for the depth of your appreciation and the great compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Everytime I read your story I feel like a hungry man that just ate his favorite food. Well done!
What a neat compliment Joseph. Thanks for the comparison and I am so happy
that you get something from the story…as I never know as I write each segment.
I really appreciate how people like you can reach me and motivate me to go on.
Semper fi,
Jim
The Gunny is doing his best to build you up as the leader of men, LT. What do you suppose he saw in you that you didn’t know you had??
I can almost hear his shtick talking to the platoons ” the LT volunteered to stay behind, and lead you down the cliff. ”
And a review at the bottom to make sure the saw and understood it was YOU that lead the way.
Once again, I saw it pop up while at work, and once again, stopped to read it, TWICE. All’s well that ends well, both in the story, and the workplace in this case. 😉
I can’t wait for the grand entrance into the LZ. The gunny has set you up to run the table there as well.
Here it comes Joel, but there’s no predicting what’s going to happen on a field
of combat where good sense is almost no where to be found and mental instability is
the rule of the day…and the night. Thank you for your interest and writing about it here!
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Missed out on the first chapters.
Honestly I figured it was just more BS about the war, our war.
I finally started reading it. It’s was different, yet the same. I was with C 1/5 USMC at An Hoa. Started as an Asst gunner for an M60, for a month or so then became the gunner, then squad leader. Patrolled back and forth across the Arizona Territory, down south to Goi Noi island and a few other places along the way.
Served under some of the officer types you describe so well.
I later transferred to a CAP unit that was north and west of Hue City about 5 miles prox. That put us near the A Shau. We could hear the constant artillery, and were constantly being ordered to
Be on the look out for the various NVA battalions, regiments, etc. that were trying to get to the coast areas. This was from April, to late August 1968, when I rotated home. My tour was from
Early August 68 to late August 69. I will buy your book as soon as it is available. It brings back bittersweet memories. Semper Fi
Brother.
Maybe the toughest time period of all to be in country over there.
And you a M60 gunner and all. Jesus, but you have some stories buried inside you too.
Thanks for giving my work the nod that you did and thanks for writing what you wrote here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Really enjoy your writing.
Thanks for the short and cryptic comment. I much appreciate such
statements of good intent.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another gem. Thanks Jim. Lucky for you that the NVA didn’t have any 12.7’s along the hillsides. In ’68, some rocket scientist came up with a plan for us recon types to fly NOE down along the river and to snatch any NVA we might find loose. Called them eagle flights. First one lasted about a mile before the big-uns started firing down at us. The pilot juked about for a few seconds then grabbed collective and got us high enough to survive. Never did that again. I know about the shaking hands and trying to hide them from the guys on my team.
Thank you Bill. We were simply god-blessed lucky that the NVA had so few
Russian fifty caliber equivalents.
The A Shau was bad enough although, as the story progresses
there will come a method to the madness of why we were down there.
Thanks for the accurate comment derived the only way you could derive it…by experience…
Semper fi,
Jim
Gunny is most definitely the 3 Ring Circus Leader but it’s Junior that’s the PT Barnum keeping the circus alive. From my point of view, Sugar Daddy is finally acknowledging that fact as well as Gunny.
Gunny is one sharp SNCO.
I’m looking forward to the 3rd pt.
Consequences of you’re valley debut and ……the boots
Naturally, you have a discerning eye and active mind Brad.
Thanks for the note and picking up on the merestof details (the way I see them when I write them).
You are a class act Brad Gallardo…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great mind dump! It’s Nha Trang by the way. Keep up the much appreciated work.
Thanks for the sharp eye…..LNL
Typo fixed.
Thanks LNL, I knew that. I don’t always write that but I knew. That counts for something, although I am not sure
exactly what. Horseshoes, grenades…Vietnam… and so on. Anyway, thanks for the encouraging note and the correction.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn LT, I’m still thinking about the missing boots.
Tony. You guys are so point specific and accurate. The boots.
Yes, but of course I cannot say here when the boots come back in.
As with almost everything that happened, the series of events spiraled around and around with
most things disappearing but then coming back around in a different way.
Thanks for being so dependably accurate and liking the story too…
Semper fi,
Jim
And the ‘Rat’.
He, and we all know it’s male, has even fallen out of the comments.
Speculation abounds my friend.
Here is another segment this day, or night as it was and is.
Semper fi,
Jim
Terrific read we’re heading out Saturday to go to Oahu we love the Marine Corp side of the Island were the big battle was fought i am 0341 mortars on cunningham
Lunch at the O’Club on Kaneohe Marine Base on the 19th, twelve noon?
Wow Jim, you are a busy man. I eagerly await every installment, but be sure to take time to recharge. i’m not a Vet, my Dad was USMC forward observer for 105’s and was happy to have missed combat in Korea, the fighting stopped a week before they were to leave Japan. He also dodged the bullet on sitting in the desert while they set off nukes. anyway, the terminology rings familiar and your writing relates the personal experience well, some of what happened outside, and more of what is happening behind your eyes. Thank you.
Yes, I spend a bit of time on my local weekly newspaper, and then writing the chapters and responding to comments.
And then there’s the other stuff that life puts in my way. But, at my age, if you aren’t moving and moving fast…
you aren’t moving anymore.
Semper fi,
Jim
Oh my god! I am hooked, I feel as if I’m right there with you and your men. I hate having to wait for the next chapter. Lol. Thank you for writing. Had some friends who were inNam, they didn’t tell much,but some stuff was horrible. And there were a few funny stories. To all of you men who served. Thank you and God bless you
Thanks J, it’s quite a production to produce new chapters. Easy to lay out the direction and travel but
harder to recall what was really going on. Easier now that I am into it though.
Thanks for liking it and wanting more.
I am working away…
Semper fi,
Jim
One other song sticks in my mind from these days… https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gfa6umSlR8A . Perhaps too late for your tour, but AFVN played it a lot. Makes me smile and cry at the same time. Strange? Didn’t seem so at the time. Odd how some songs trigger memories. Please keep it coming. Well done!
Love that song too and I bet it played over there when I was there. It just hasn’t stuck in my
mind like some others.
Thanks for taking the trouble to put it up here and link it. Some of the guys will for sure remember…
Semper fi,
Jim
Have heard that in forever! Brings back memories.
Glad you memories are brought back, I mean if you want them brought back, by the writing.
Thanks for commenting hon here and reading the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
The art of command requires a bit of theater now and then. The Gunny apparently knows when to use it. Looking forward to the “pass in review” in your next chapter. Aloha and Mahalo Nui Loa, Bob
I will be on Oahu from the 8th through the 21st if you are around for coffee Bob.
Anyway, yes, I agree with you totally now but was too young at the time to really
comprehend what kind of salesmanship is required in true leadership
and how much smoke and mirrors have to be used.
Not easy and not natural. And risky at hell.
Thanks for your comment here and your liking the story…
Semper fi,
and Mahalo
Jim
Jim, it would be my pleasure to meet you for coffee. I return home on the 17th so anytime after that. Just name the time and place. Thanks, Bob
Where do you live on the island. I will be in a home over near the Turtle Bay Resort…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, Let’s have a long talk about Col. Bank sometime. We may have between us enough for another book! Great inspiration, great man!
Dwayne
Yes, life is so funny that way Dwayne. I was beach patrol when he was doing his daily run and swim around the San Clement pier every day, summer and winter.
I approached him and took him back to the early days when I’d barely met him as a kid at Fort Ruger on Oahu. He didn’t remember, of course but went on and on about how pissed off he was when the Army decided to give his special outfit the name Special Forces. Seems that the people who worked in commissary places and PX were called Special Services and everyone in the Army thought that when he and his guys said Special Forces they were thought of as being Special Services. I tried to get him to talk about General Ho, who he’s served with during WWII but he would have none of that.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Jim, I live in east Honolulu. I don’t mind going to the north shore. Just name the time and place. I should introduce myself, graduated HS ’71, wasn’t drafted, went to college, then Navy. Civil Engineer/Seabee, S3 of NMCB ONE during Desert Storm, retired 6/2000. Lived/worked in Honolulu since. Looking forward to coffee. Bob
How about lunch at the O’club at Kaneohe high noon on the 19th?
Sounds good, see you there on the 19th.
My pleasure Bob. I will look forward to seeing you there.
I don’t know your current military status. The base is I.D. only.
If you don’t have an I.D. then let me know and I’ll make arrangements to get
you and anyone with you aboard.
Semper fi,
Jim
It would be nice to see the terrain you were working with. How far were you from Cunningham and what was the approximate heading? This is absolutely fascinating. Thank You
I suppose I could figure it out with the maps I have, as far as the bearing that you could trace back, except of course we went up and down
that damned valley changing positions all the time. Cunningham was from two to ten six miles away if memory serves me without referencing.
Semper fi,
Jim
USAF 90th TFS Bien Hoa AB ’66. 51 years ago and there’s hardly a day that goes by that I don’t spend time thinking about Nam with emotions ranging from pride to anger to survivor’s remorse and everything between. Your excellent writing makes me feel lucky not to have had to experience all that you have endured! Great story!
Dave, I appreciate the comment here about your own service
and how the time seems so short since we were there.
The relief at coming back to the world of the ’round eyes’ was huge
but we never were able to just slip back in like we’d never left.
I think a great number of guys were like that in wWII as well abut
they kept it somehow quiet, or did they.
Are our current national hysteria problems somewhat do to the PTSD
they had and passed on to their families.
I don’t know, but thank you for coming on here and laying it out the way you see it.
Semper fi,
Jim
I get the feeling mighty (captain) Casey is on the verge of striking out !!
Thanks for your memories !!
Thanks for coming on here to make your forecast. I will finish the chapter and you will kno!
Semper fi,
Jim
The picture of the A Shau looked like nothing but a great ambush area for the locals to trap our troops. Why command would set up camp in areas previously targeted and over run, is beyond one’s comprehension. What was the military gain for our commanders, by taking control of that area? It looked more like a dump for expendables. Thus far, your story indicates that is exactly how our troops were used.
The A Shau kind of described the war. It was a refusal to commit, except within certain
specific parameters that were released to the enemy. No war can be conducted that way and Vietnam
proved that once again. Thanks for your accurate analysis here.
Semper fi,
Jim
I spent my Army time in S. Korea from late 66 to early 68. The positioning of assets there may be why the A Shau supply area was positioned where it was. Virtually all installations in S.K. except missile launch and communication sites were at the bottom of valleys. Since our win (?) there it could be left over planning.
Isn’t that the truth Walt? What in hell were we doing down in those places where we couldn’t bring
our best stuff to bear. Planning had little to do with our survival in the field. There was some kind of
heavy duty disconnect never explained and rarely discussed, even then except for “it don’t mean nuthin.”
Semper fi,
Jim
11th day, second part. Just finished second time through your XLNT story and the astonishing comments that usually follow. Sometimes I don’t hold my breath as long on the 2nd reading. The book S.O.G. related that all USARV(IIRC)missions planned, had to be submitted to the South Vietnamese president or leader. The president or premier’s secretary, it was found out after we pulled out, was a North Vietnames spy who immediately was able to key out the name, rank and serial number of each troop in each unit(seems impossible). The result was that many S.O.G. troop insertions were immediately met by an NVA ambush. Its been several years since I read the book. I don’t remember if the book said who the moron was that established this protocol, but if true, they betrayed everyone who served. Mel
A guerrilla war fought on the guerrilla’s soil is a war of an outside
group against the entire indigenous population and that fact is never
accepted or taught. And, in the long run, without genocide, you cannot
win. But we didn’t know that then and it’s not accepted to this day, as
we continue to fight more pointless conflicts around the world.
Thank you for writing here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Is the image at the top of this entry from the A Shau? It reminds me of photos taken by fellas I know who have served in Kunar Province in Afghanistan.
The image was taken from the Internet to represent what it was like
to scale the face. It is not a photo of the A Shau, as you suspected, however.
Thanks for being so sharp and sorry I did not have a photo of the actual place.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great read Jim! It appears the Mudville plan was a success. You seem to be earning some overdue respect. The Gunny should carry a damn baton! The man is a maestro. “Stuff ” turned quickly over there and I’m not sure I like where we’re headed but so far so good. Thanks Jim!
Thank you Jack for being so sensitive to where this is or may be going.
I won’t tell you more yet because I know you are reading along.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m still hooked too. I have read that the definition of bravery is “Being scared and saddling up anyway” (I left out the expletives). I dont know where it originated but it comes with a picture of John Wayne. Sir, you are the brave one. Pulling yourself up out of the mud and having the mind to call in artillery speaks for itself. Keep up the excellent writing, it is riveting.
Thanks for the motivation to keep going Tony. It’s really neat to have people like you
avidly awaiting the next chapter. Thanks for writing that here and for the support…
Sempere fi,
Jim
You need to eliminate the first word “I” in this sentence: “It reached into the depth of my soul and made me extremely uncomfortable, but I there was no way I could ignore it or pull away from the meaning of the words.”
Got it John and thank you!
Semper fi,
Jim
Wes Holt, 2 Feb, 2017. Just finished reading 11th day, 2nd Part. Lt. Have been following your, to me, revelations. Am a retired AF communications type, time in country 67-68. We didn’t make into the field often and when we did it was to set up our gear to make phone patches back to the world for those of you lived in the shit to as you describe it. I met many of those from various branches who found their way back to the relative safety of the bases from which we operated. They were easy to spot. Some came in to our radio shacks still in full combat array, grenades hanging from tattered cammos, eyes looking like they were pried open by toothpicks. Brittle is the word that comes to mind. As if they would snap at any moment. I recall their use of the phrase you have used in your writing, “don’t mean nuthin” and back then I didn’t really appreciate what it meant. Thank you for clearing it up for me. During the time I spent in Nam, I don’t think I ever really “got” or understood what the guys in the field really went through to be turned into some of the zombies I met. Had one troop come in, said he wanted to talk to his baby girl. I asked him to sit down and I would get to him in his turn. Gun rattle coming off his shoulder, BLAM, clock gone off the wall, with my ears ringing I managed to hear the man say, “I need to talk to her Now.” I had sense enough to ask him to have a seat and I would try to get his call through asap. Luckily we were able to get it done for him and he left peacefully with the MP’s a few minutes later with tears streaming down his face. Have often wondered over the years since how the young man made it through the rest of his time in Nam. All the above is by way of saying Thank You for making me understand just a little bit better what some of you guys went through and why so many came back in the terrible shape they did, not only physically, but more importantly, emotionally. After all these years it makes me grateful to what ever powers there be for my own sanity. Take care Lt. Wes Holt.
Thank you Wes, from way down deep. I could not believe how quickly I turned into one of those zombie guys
or how when I got home or even in the hospital nobody could ‘get it’ or understand. They’d talk to me, even
nicely, and I’d just look at them, my mind running over many things to say but nothing coming out. Eventually I used
a rigidity and a harsh self-discipline to make sure I could survive back in the world. I was terribly polite, clean, shaved and
worked my ass off at everything and anything. In my neighborhood people called me Mr. Perfect. They would never have believed that
my name in the Nam was Junior. And I was a study in non-violence but I thought of violence all the time and how nice it was that
I did not have to kill anyone, not even those who’d appear and I knew the world would be better off without.
Thanks for saying what you said here in such resounding detail. I hope I am helping some understand what it was really like
although I am certain that there will be those that come forward to play and tell only the ‘company line’ so to speak.
Thanks.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m completely addicted to your story… I was born after Vietnam and the few vets I know absolutely will not talk about it. I respect that though, but I really appreciate you sharing your ordeal with us. I have nothing but great respect for all who spilled blood, sweat and tears for our country.
I deeply appreciate your service and your story.
Chad Sims
Thanks Chad. A lot of guys could tell stories quite similar I think. I wasn’t sure when I started
but the comments have proven pretty damned accurate about what hell so many guys went through.
Thanks for coming on here to say what you said.
Semper fi,
Jim
Are you using the actual names of your fellow Marines in this memoir .
No George. That is simply not possible in this world of liability and litigation.
Although things happened long ago about the only way you can write anything of real substance
about the events is to write fictionalizations. Band of Brothers told a real story about WWII
in Europe and it was all ‘fiction.’ Then it was followed by The Pacific, and it was all about truth.
The fictional presentation was all truth, in reality, but the truthful series was all lies because they could not
tell the truth about real people.
There is risk in all of this because the real powers that be are not going to like my running against very powerful mythology.
Semper fi,
Jim
From day one, at the opening to now, from the low valley lulls to every high crescendo of action, you make this whole story worthy. Whether its the subtleties of wisdom or the audacity of boldness, it never missteps, it never sidetracks off course, and never loses the edge of suspense. If you had a plan of operation for writing this fantastical story of truth I suspect it is called “Never Dull”, because the boot fits. Thanks for another great addition, James. Semper fi.
What are you, a NY Times reviewer? Not your slant, which is totally outstanding from my viewpoint, but from
your ability to put words together. What a review. I am speechless (although you’ll not I can still write!).
Thank you so very much Ron. You make me want to run off and get ever deeper into the telling of the story.
The easy part is that there is so little to make up. My friend Chuck found that picture of the cliff face with
switchbacks and it is only after I saw the photo he had put up that I remembered the switchbacks on the real face.
For some reason my mind pictured the scene in recall as being a straight trail down the face. How could I have forgotten the
switchbacks? Anyway, thanks so much for this review….
Semper fi,
Jim
The boot shines, Jim; simply shines. S/f.
Thank you Ron, as usual….
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
You are to be commended on your writing.I have always felt a little guilty that I didn’t go there when so many of my friends did.Your story takes me there.I don’t know if I would have handled it as well as you did, I like to think I would but who knows. Can’t wait for the next installment.Thank you for your service and for telling it like it was.Makes it a little easier to understand some of my friends who were there.
I am not so sure that I handled the situation as much as the situation handled me and I just tried
to winnow my way through. Do not be disturbed because you did not go. If you had gone there’s a pretty good
chance you would not be writing on here. Drop the guilt. We don’t fell bad about you (those of us who were really in it)
and so you should not either. Thanks for being on here and for telling it like it is for you…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great writing, I was there in 70/71, Army, still hate it!
Boy, can I sympathize with that. There was not a lot about the experience that I did not hate, especially
being reduced to near protoplasm by the fear. And then going along with being afraid to do cowardly things.
Thanks for writing and reading the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, Jim, as I said Gunny that Magnificent Bastard, He is teaching you and you are learning well, Your thoughts after only 11 days;
“He cared. He sacrificed. He judged. He chose. Most of all, I realized, he thought things through from the start for the benefit of his men. And I had not done that. I was one of the Gunny’s men, so he was looking out for me too, but he wasn’t one of my men because I really didn’t have any men.”
Show you are ahead of the curve, and Guess what, You already have men, Even if you didn’t realize it, The first time mot show was when they wanted to know what your plan was before they moved…. The second one most surprising of all was when Sugar Daddy, Gave you that one word acknowledgement “Junior” as he went by, Yes you are become one of the Magnificent Bastards that are required in the Darkness…. Congratulations… Bob.
…required in the darkness. Interesting words, to say the least. Your analysis I had to read four times to try to wrap my
mind around it, since this is being reconstructed day by day, night by night. Sugar Daddy and Jurgens were as difficult to deal
with as most of the rest of the Marines who were as out of it as I was but not to my awareness at the time. I have forgiven a lot
more of their selfish outlandish conduct than I ever thought possible but, just as I let Nguyen go down the face first, I had my
own moments of retreat and being a bit cowardly.
Thanks for that comment Robert. It is a jewel I shall refer back to.
Semper fi,
JIm
I either forgot or missed why they didn’t take the choppers down. I have been reading this from the start and am transfixed by the juxtaposition of the fight between the NVA and the fight between the captain. I was in the 25th Infantry Division (1970)in Cu Chi, Tay Ninh, Dau Tieng, Katum and Cambodia as a deuce and a half truck driver. Thanks for this report, Sir.
The choppers would have to have made too many trips up and down the mountain
and been terribly exposed, especially following a raging firefight the night before
in the same area. In truth, I was not told why the choppers were not used for that.
I simply supposed that to be why.
Thanks for the question and the comment here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, a caring company commander. My 1st and 4th COs were that and more. The two in the middle were the “Shitty” COs. You are working into the 1st and 4th kind from what I see (read). My 1st CO was WIA not long after I came to the company and the 4th was still there when I came home. Number 2 was from supply that want a CIB and was gone in no time. The 3rd was relieved after not long we came out of Cambodia, in early June. I am hook like everyone that starts reading 30 Days. Keep it coming.
Thanks Mike, again…and for staying with the story. We now enter the dreaded A Shau, where noting is
as it seems and maiming, injury and death come at us from damn near every direction. Thanks for the
rendition of your own odyssey, that I’m certain had elements of my own story buried inside it.
Semper fi,
Jim
There is a recent remake of that song done by a band called “Disturbed” People are raving about it…check it out on youtube
We used it in another post also. I agree, a great rendition,
Here is the link
Disturbed|The Sounds of Silence
Jim another great chapter,if this was in book form I would not be able to put it down.Can not wait for the book and I’ll be in contact for a signed copy.
That’s a most kind comment Jim. The book is going in tomorrow to Amazon, I think. Then it’s a processing thing.
Thanks for being so enthusiastic about reading it in print form. And thanks for reading it here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great read Jim! My experience in the Nam tells me there’s more “stuff ” coming. Mudville was a success and at the moment your stock is rising! Gunny should carry a baton! He’s a true maestro! Thanks Jim and keep em coming!
Thanks Jack. The Gunny is a different piece of work and have never met anyone as capable
when it comes to small unit operations and manipulation. Thanks for your opinion here and your
continued support.
Semper fi,
Jim
James you did it again love it keep up the great work. I also love the songs you put in. Thank you Brother
The songs were all there, of course. Some come back over time. I bought some original big
tape disks of the AFVN network broadcasts and then a big AKai recorder to play them.
That has helped so much with Chickenman and many of the songs from back then.
Thanks for the nod and the comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
As usual James, you take the reader with you down that slope, butterflies in the stomach and all other emotions that gowith it. Gotta love the Gunny, bound and determined to show the Captain that you are a leader of Marines. Fixed bayonets would have been the exclamation point to your arrival. Love it.
The Gunny was a showman but I didn’t see it then. I just thought he was weirdly
strange in some of the things he pulled. His cunning ability to piss off higher ups
without having their ire directed back at him was amazing.
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt, all that fire support from Cunningham is NOT going to look good on Casey’s reports!! There will be hell to pay! Thank you again for sharing.
You got that exactly right Tim. You must have been there. The supplies were endless
but they had to be explained as being needed, although some of the explanations that went
in were totally poppycock and ridiculous.
Thanks for noticing and thinking about that, and writing it here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Did not mean to double post.. I failed to mention Nguyen as a contributor in this milestone. He recognized your skills the earliest of all.
Good read.
Keep it coming!
Doc
Hard to ignore the importance of the Montagnards at this point.
He was quite a warrior, and if I may say it here, not unlike a lot of the NVA we faced.
Undersupplied, underfed and without the supplies and technology we took for granted.
Thanks for mentioning him.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well Done, junior!
Thanks Ed, it was some kind of strange to come down into the valley that way,
sort of under fire but not in a full scale battle like the night before.
Strange times….
Semper fi,
Jim
Still got me hooked. Editorial comment: “There artillery complex” should be of course, “Their artillery complex”.
So noted and Fixed, Thank you Tony
Somehow I think Casey is going to have a bug up his butt when you arrive safely.
Well, Bill, you are a mind reader on that one. Very strangely ‘blowing a gasket’ is no
understatement, as you will discover soon. Thanks for thinking about that and the likely
potential.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, Great writing, again. Gotta love AFVN and their choice of music. I remember the worst of their selections and not the best. Loved their ‘polka hour’….NOT.
The Country and Western stuff of the time bothered me upon occasion,
until I was there a while. Then I came to see it as another expression
of home. I don’t mind it to this day but I don’t normally choose it to
listen to. Thanks for mentioning the music. Funny how songs can play now
and take your right back.
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding writing, Unless you comment on it, it’s hard to remember you have only been incountry 11 days. Most of the officers I had in the Delta weren’t worth a crap, would have been proud to have you as my C.O.
Deep thanks John. It was an interesting tour. I’m sure glad that
training at Basic School and Fort Sill gave me map reading and artillery
understanding. Making field decisions about direction, mission orientation
and dealing with the broken social order of the unit was tougher and required
more guess work. Not that I could mention that I was guessing most of the time!
Thanks for the comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’ve been “Junior” since birth. When Dad died, my supervisor, a one time supply sgt. said you’re not Junior anymore and I said “until I die”. You seem to be outgrowing “Junior” here. Loving the story, waiting on paperback. Please, hurry!
Thanks for that addendum about being Junior too Walt. I didn’t bring Junior home
with me but I did hear from one veteran who served in one of the other companies. He said
he remembered hearing about the crazy mother fucker in my company who would call artillery on a baby
carriage if it suited him. I’m not sure that was a compliment. I don’t think you ever outgrow a
nickname like that. You move and don’t tell anybody! Thanks for the usual astute and
well thought out comment Walt.
Semper fi,
Jim
I look forward to every chapter.
3rd Bde 82nd Abn 68-69
Thank you
Thanks Kim. I’d say it’s my pleasure, but it runs a bit deeper than that.
Thank you for the simply but meaningful comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Junior, with that last artillery barrage silencing the 122s and Gunny’s support you are the Defacto CO. Congratulations LT you won the faith of the men. You are not an FNG anymore.
“Actual is indisposed”… ROFLMAO.
Doc
The nature of being allowed to be the leader is tenuous and uncertain in the shifting
sands along the riverbank at the bottom of the A Shau. I’m sure it’s that way in many places and times
when combat is prevalent. Watch and read, and thanks for doing both and commenting here about it.
Semper fi,
Jim
wow, that will make you , feel good go Lt. go
One would have thought, but life is a whole lot more complex than the simplicity of
thinking about the way things should be and the way they really are, and back then
under the focus of the A Shau, reason departed.
Thanks.
Semper fi,
Jim
LMAO Actual indisposed.Keep em coming as I am hooked, hook,line and sinker. Casey ought to be catching on but doubtful. Sounds like a typical supply officer back in the rear.
Thanks Peter. Yes, it was a strange time for officers, I think. Some got it and others did not.
Some, I am sure, made their whole tours and never were ‘tested’ by being dumped into something like
the vicious incubator of death the A Shau was. I’m sure some men do not even admit they were there.
I did not for a number of years. About the only word in most people’s memory today about the Nam
and the war is the word Tet.
Thanks for your comment and support.
Semper fi,
Jim
I really like reading this story. It really is one of the best books I have read. I look forward to the installments coming out.
Thanks Karl. The next chapter should be out in two days, if I have it down.
It takes me about three days to write a chapter, edit it and then get it up here
and on Facebook so people can find it. Your support i much appreciated…
Semper fi,
Jim
Good job LT. You are learning faster than you think possible. The NVA had carved foot paths on the steep terrain so they could climb or descend rapidly.
I always wondered about those carved clefts into the rock and clay face. I wondered if they were
there before the war or a product of it. The rain and wind made everything look old.
Thanks for that pointer because that makes a whole lot of sense.
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad you made it down
When weather is better will be down for a visit. Stay safe.
I am excited that you will be coming. Lake Geneva is pretty terrific and there is a lot to show you.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Another well written chapter. I plan on giving both my boys copies of your books as they come out. I want them to know the physical and mental strain the soldiers out in the bush had to endure. Keep up the good work.
The book goes off to Amazon either tomorrow or next Monday.
It should probably take them about a week to get it up on Kindle and available paperback or hard cover.
I will autograph for free, if asked, of course.
Thanks for the support. It does mean a lot.
These comments are the fiber of my motivation and continuance…
Semper fi,
Jim
Have heard that in forever! Brings back memories.