I felt a large hand grip my left bicep, as I stood gazing with Fusner down into the hypnotic A Shau Valley below. The hand gently guided me backwards. I didn’t resist, turning to see the man I already knew the hand had to belong to.
“Why do you suppose this clearing is left alone on the edge of the jungle, as cleared and clean as it was when it was created?” the Gunny asked, pulling me slowly back to where the jungle smoked, and would continue to smoke for days as the white phosphorus I’d brought down in the night would continue to eat its way deep into the muck under the vegetative covering above. I knew the answer but didn’t answer. When we were back among the bodies and piles of blackened debris the Gunny answered for me.
“Artillery registration point,” he said, squatting down to begin work on one of his coffee concoctions he’d addicted me to, as well. I took out my canteen, poured it half full and squatted down next to him, both of us working our small metal pots over the single burning chunk of explosive he’d lit. I looked back across the bare rock area. The Gunny was right. I wondered how I’d forgotten the danger of being exposed anywhere upon it, and exposing Fusner, as well.
“Your first real combat,” the Gunny said, softly. “It’s like that. Always like that. The grand symphony of God plays with all its crashing percussion, drums and whistles. And then it’s over and you walk around like you’re walking around. In a daze. Your brain so disconnected that you end up becoming the perfect target for anyone across that valley who might have binoculars and even a bit of your ability in calling artillery fire. Remember what it’s like for next time, so you won’t get killed right as you’re thinking you can’t be killed.”
My brain began to think again. The Gunny was right, and I was embarrassed. How dumb would it have been to live through the horrendous night, call all of the supporting fires with some accuracy, and then die because my deadened mind was off in some sort of mental fantasyland.
“So what do I do now?” I asked.
“You be the forward observer you’re supposed to be,” he answered.
“Okay,” I replied, after taking a swig of the coffee that was too hot to drink. I grimaced, but didn’t spit, preferring to burn my lips rather than lose the life-assuring coffee. “What about when we’re in deep shit again?”
“Then you become whatever that other thing is again,” the Gunny replied, sounding like he knew exactly what he was talking about.
“What other thing?” I said, surprised.
“I don’t know,” the Gunny replied, after almost full minute, which he passed sipping away at his own hot coffee. “Maybe the best I can describe it is of another officer I had in that Korean mess. He was a shitty commanding officer but the best leader I ever fought with.”
“How can anyone be a shitty commanding officer and a great leader at the same time?” I asked, my surprise holding.
“You tell me,” the Gunny replied, shaking his head. He said the words like he didn’t expect an answer, and I had none to give him.
“I’m supposed to be a leader when needed but not get the credit or respect,” I said, not intending to sound disappointed or angry but sounding every bit of those things to myself.
The Gunny finished his coffee, drinking his last dregs down, and then rising to stamp out the burning embers of the small fire.
“If you want respect then get yourself some merit badges,” he said before turning to walk away. “If you want to live then do what you have to do. I’m going to have some of this debris shoved around to make a decent landing zone. We don’t need to lose any choppers, and we need the FNGs to replace what we lost.
“What we lost,” I whispered to myself, still squatting by the extinguished fire, nursing my own coffee. The Gunny hadn’t said ‘who,’ he’d said ‘what.’
I wondered at what point of mental deadening the Marines became ‘what’s’ instead of ‘who’s.’ The only satisfaction I got was in thinking that if I could reflect on it then maybe I’d not gotten to that emotion deadened point yet.
Fusner was right at my right shoulder, like a pirate’s parrot, but not actually on my shoulder.
“Did you hear that corporal?” I asked. “I’m a shitty commander but a great leader, according to the Gunny.”
“Ah, I don’t think you’re a commander anymore, are you, sir?” Fusner replied.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” I whispered.
“Sir?” Fusner asked, but I didn’t bother answering.
When I was ready, a few minutes later, we made our way back to the command post area. I noted that everyone was packed up and sitting around eating C-rations. Dawn had come while the Gunny and I had been having coffee. The jungle had become a different place. Except for the stinking smoking mass the kill zone had become, the double canopy jungle looked bright and inviting, with the first rays of dawn shining upon it.
Keating’s hooch was gone and so was his gear, like he’d never been. Marines had come and carried his body to where the Gunny was having a detail form a landing zone, I guessed. Captain Casey and Billings were sitting on their packs. They both had their boots on. There was so much oil on and in them that they’d turned dark instead of the light greenish camouflage they’d been. The oil mystery was a small one, but one that nagged at me because of Keating’s death and the likelihood that his not having boots possibly contributed to that.
Casey waved me over, just as I’d taken a can of ham and mothers from my pack and settled atop my poncho to relax for a bit. I was still not over recovering from the combat of the night before. I was trying to do ‘normal’ things to help get by the hangover it had left behind. I dragged myself back to my feet and walked over, with Fusner, my ‘parrot,’ at my side, but back a few feet.
“Sir,” I said, formally, making no move to hunker down with them, however.
“You can come with us,” Casey said, “since you’re an officer too, Junior.”
I wanted give him a nasty comeback about the ‘officer too’ comment but held my tongue.
“Where are you going?” I asked instead, wondering both men looked like they were ready to depart immediately.
“Down into the A Shau, when the choppers come,” Billings said, with a laugh, like I was the outsider in the command post that I was.
I looked at both men and wondered if they were in some sort of shock. They didn’t seem to be making sense. We were all going down into the A Shau.
“Keating’s dead,” was all I could think to reply, wondering why the loss of one of their own was not impacting on them emotionally.
“No thanks to who or what?” Billings asked, his tone indicating that the words were not delivered as a question.
“That would be the Kamehameha Plan, I believe,” Casey said, responding to Billing’s question.
“We’re heading over to help clear the LZ,” I said, using any subject to get away from where the apparently shell shocked officer’s minds were going. I gently clutched the three letters I’d written home with my left hand, so I wouldn’t forget that there was sanity in some part of the universe, and that I was still linked to it, no matter how tenuously or distant. Captain Casey didn’t respond. I didn’t know what our orders were about heading down into the valley but felt it wasn’t a good time to ask. I backed away slowly, and went back to collect my things.
I arrived at the jungle clearing scene, looking more like a set from some WWII island hopping movie than anything else. The Marines had already cleared a section almost a third the size of a football field. Several were cutting down bamboo stalks with knives and a couple of machetes.
The Gunny stood supervising. There was no place safe for Fusner and my scout team to drop packs and lay in wait for the helicopters, not without going deeper into the bracken, and that wasn’t going to happen.
“Flank security out?” I asked the Gunny, wondering if whatever listening post we had out currently was manned by Sugar Daddy’s men. I didn’t ask about that, however. I analyzed the potential of the LZ for artillery. There was no possibility of using counter-battery fire because we had no idea where the enemy artillery was set up. The open rock area at the edge of the cliff was only a hundred meters in the distance. The choppers would have both concealment and a bit of cover but if the enemy had any kind of decent forward observation post the adjustment of fire from the already recorded and again proven registration point would be child’s play. There was nothing to be done so I squatted down and made coffee, joined by Zippo and Stevens. Nguyen hung out near the fringes of cleared area but not so far into the bush that he might be taken for the enemy or become a victim of it. The man’s ability to travel light continued to amaze me. He carried no pack, no poncho and wore no suspenders to hold up a heavy belt with a lot of stuff attached to it. He carried an M-16 in one hand and a canvas sack in the other, and that was it.
“Flanks are out, north, south and back to the west,” the Gunny reported, tersely, as if I was going to bring up the subject of the previous night’s failure.
I heard the choppers before I felt the vibrations of their spinning blades. It took only seconds to figure that An Hoa had sent a big twin-engine Ch-46, a slick, and what seemed by sound to be a couple of Cobra support craft. In only ten days I’d somehow acquired the ability to tell all helicopters apart before I saw them, and recognize any weapon at night using only my ears. I stared over toward the edge of the jungle where Nguyen had posted himself. I watched the Montagnard but thought about myself. I was changing and I didn’t like it. My memory skills, the map reading and instant talent with the artillery were more than I’d had before arriving in country. I was becoming some other form of man, or creature, as the Gunny had said, and I’d yet to even enter the dreaded valley below.
The big chopper came skimming in, causing the burned top of the artillery shredded bracken in the clearing to blow about like black snow. The smoke blew with it and the smell was awful, somehow the newly dead strewn about able to begin the process of decomposition early. The C-46 touched and boxes and slings of supplies were disgorged from the back ramp at an incredible speed. I though the chopper would be gone in seconds, as I hunched down with my team not far from Nguyen, trying to shield ourselves from the savage wind-blown debris. My helmet proved invaluable. Tipped slightly forward, I felt and heard a couple of more substantial objects bounce off it. The Phrog didn’t pull up and out to allow the slick to come in and collect the body bags, however. It just sat there with its giant blades spinning.
I looked around to see the Gunny escorting Captain Casey, Pilson and Lieutenant Billings toward the back end of the chopper. A line of Marines streamed by behind the two bent over officers, and disappeared inside the big bird. The last man I recognized as Jurgens. Our eyes met just before he turned to get up the dropped ramp. And then he smiled a nasty smile and waved. He disappeared inside with the rest, avoiding a flock of about a dozen FNGs surging down the ramp and spreading out as they were to be attacked or had to set up a perimeter.
I stared at where Jurgens had disappeared. What was Jurgens doing with a full squad of Marines taking off with the company’s officers? I couldn’t figure it out, as the pilot put full power to the huge turbines and the giant machine first shuddered into the air, and then tilted toward the lip of the valley and took off.
It was gone in seconds, to be immediately replaced with the more familiar Huey slick, or utility chopper. The helicopter landed and a bag of bags was tossed to the ground. The Gunny supervised half a dozen Marines as they dragged the black bags out of he Huey’s prop wash and began unfolding them. I didn’t want to watch so I turned back to the body of the waiting bird to see Macho Man step out. His ridiculous costume was fully intact and possibly even more squared away than in the past. My left hand shot down to the external pocket stitched onto the outside of my thigh trouser leg. I reached in and crushed my three letters into a ball before pulling them out and taking off and running full tilt to where Macho Man stood in his usual parade rest position, his Thompson still looking extremely well cleaned or never fired, or both. I pushed the letters out. Macho Man dropped his right hand from the receiver of the Thompson and accepted the letters, shoving them into his breast pocket, before returning to his rigid guard position.
“Thank you,” I said, cupping my hands.
“Welcome, Junior,” I thought I heard him yell, as I turned and retreated back from under the blades to where Nguyen stood unmoving, with my team hunched down nearby. The name ‘Junior’ was getting around, and both the use of it and the unlikely places I was hearing it made me uncomfortable. In seconds, the bodies of the company’s losses were tossed aboard the Huey before it lifted off. Macho Man hopped aboard with one fluid jump, finishing the move by rotating mid-air, like a gymnast finishing a routine. The door gunner, his black helmet and dark glasses making him look like a giant insect, swept his door-mounted M-60 back and forth across the clearing, as the chopper surged into the air, following the same flight path as the bigger 46, that preceded it. The airborne Cobras closed in behind the departing choppers, flitting about like the big dangerous predators they were. Silence again reigned down across the dying battlefield.
The Gunny came down the path to join me. We stood watching the distant tiny dots of the now distantly silent helicopters gaining altitude for their return flight to the air field at An Hoa, except for the big 46. It began a slow spiral down, until it was lost to sight, as it plunged down into the A Shau.
“A landing zone down there somewhere near the bottom of the path?” I asked.
“You guessed it,” the Gunny replied. “They’ll be down there with a perimeter set up when we finish the climb.”
“Nice example,” I said, wanting to add expletives but stopping myself. The rule in training was never to criticize leadership decisions made above your own rank in front of enlisted personnel. “Casey invited me along,” I added, not mentioned that I hadn’t understood what the offer was when he made it.
“If you’d chosen to go then you’d be a good commanding officer, Junior,” the Gunny said, turning to look me in the eyes. “Like I said.”
“I’m not a commanding officer at all,” I replied, putting some bite into my words. “And I don’t like the fact that Jurgens went with them. We’ve got enough racial problem without Casey and Billings taking sides.”
“True, but that’s about a future problem. We’ve got a more immediate one,” the Gunny continued. “That problem is getting down the path leading across the face of this cliff without losing half the company, or more.”
“Too bad we can’t use the escape routes I laid out,” I said, not prepared for the Gunny to break out in laughter.
“You’re going on report for that one, according to the real company commander,” the Gunny said, still laughing. He then reached out his right hand toward me. “Your watch,” he said, his expression once more returning to seriousness.
I looked at him for a few seconds before unstrapping my ruined combat watch, and then handed him the tattered item, wondering why he wanted the thing. It was a useless piece of junk.
The Gunny heaved the watch into the bracken. He looked back toward me and reached down to his pocket. Pulling his hand back out he pushed it toward me opening his fingers to display an object held atop his open palm.
I stared down for a moment. The object was a watch.
I took the watch, and then marveled. A small smile came to my lips.
“Gus Grissom,” I whispered. I was holding an Omega Speedmaster watch, the favorite watch worn by my favorite astronaut. “Fuck’n A,” I breathed, quoting the great man. I stared across the small space between the Gunny and I, the watch hanging from my left hand by the end of one strap.
“Keating?” I asked.
“He’d be proud,” the Gunny replied, looking off toward where the cliff above the edge of the valley was located. “Besides, no watch that good would ever make it back to the world without getting pinched.”
I strapped the watch to my left wrist, covering the dead white band of skin that had been protected by the old strap. I stared at the face of the watch, which had one big dial and three smaller dials. I saw that it was just before seven in the morning. I’d never had or handled a real chronometer before so I didn’t really know how everything in it worked but was becoming excited about finding out. A pang of regret over the loss of Keating shot through me.
“If we go home, I’ll return it to his parents,” I said, holding my wrist up to keep looking at the beautiful watch.
“Or his wife,” the Gunny answered.
“Wife?” I asked, in surprise. “He had a wife?”
“Just guessing,” the Gunny answered. “Didn’t know you had a wife until Nguyen showed me.”
I was rocked back a bit by the Gunny’s revelation. I hadn’t expected Nguyen to show anyone anything. The enigmatic man seemed to be totally self-contained and private. I looked over toward the bushes he’d been standing near earlier but he was gone.
“Let’s take a look at the valley,” I said, changing the subject. I wasn’t ready to share my family with anyone, in the hell I’d been dropped into. It just felt wrong, even with the Gunny or any of my team. I left my pack, after pulling out my binoculars, and headed for the edge of the cliff, although this time being careful to head for the jungle covered northern edge of the exposed rock clearing. The Gunny, Fusner and Stevens followed.
Once near the edge I steadied myself against the trunk of a large tree that overhung the abyss. Using the binoculars, I followed the narrow path that worked its way back and forth, first across the bare stone face, and then down into the jungle below. Off in the distance I saw the white color of the landing zone Casey had landed in. Even through the powerful lenses the Marines left behind after the big chopper’s departure looked like small ants setting up a perimeter. I checked my map and found the LZ right where it was supposed to be, not far from the river. The whitish appearance of the small LZ patch was sand, according to my map. The words ‘destroyed landing zone,’ were also typed across that same patch.
“What’s a destroyed landing zone?” I asked the Gunny. I stepped back from the edge and pointed out the words on the map.
“Means it was once important but got overrun,” he answered. I noted that some fire bases were listed with the same words, further up the river. In fact, almost everything along the bottom of the valley heading upriver read the same.
“Which means it’s probably registered, like the clearing up here,” I added.
“Mortars, though,” I said aloud, but mostly to myself. “Artillery would have to be howitzers and they don’t have howitzers. Guns won’t do indirect fire at high angle in order to get rounds down there. Casey’s in deep shit from mortar attack unless the NVA are willing to wait until the whole company’s down there with him.”
“What about their artillery hitting us up here and while we’re climbing down?” Stevens asked. “Why couldn’t they have used the helicopter to fly us all down there, too?”
“Would have had to make about a dozen or more trips back and forth,” the Gunny said, reaching out his left hand for the binoculars.
“That’s the plan,” I said, handing the binoculars over, my eyes going back and forth from the valley below to the map resting against the bark of the overhanging tree trunk. “The No Joy in Mudville Plan,” I said.
“Mudville?” Fusner asked. “Where’s Mudville?”
“Right here,” I replied. “There’s a story back home about a small town baseball team. The big hero of the team steps up and every ball thrown at him turns out to be a strike. Every ball thrown is a big swing and a miss. And that’s what we’re going to do. Every artillery round they throw at us will be a miss because we’re going to give them targets too small and moving too fast to hit, especially since they’ll be trying to adjust up and down against the face of a rock wall.”
“One at a time down the path?” the Gunny asked, handing back the binoculars with a grin on his face.
“Maybe three at a time,” I answered, once again surprised at just how quick and bright the Gunny was. “We’ll delay and stagger departures from the brush here. The only downside is that the move will take most of the day and I don’t know what the mission is. We’re going down into the A Shau for some reason we don’t know.”
“Let’s get started,” I said. “Using that path isn’t going to be possible at night. Also, the lower we get the safer it gets. No snipers have anything that’ll cover the range to the other ridge and their cannons can only depress so far unless they’re mounted on the lip of the canyon, and that’s unlikely. If your Marines follow instructions, they’ll cross back and forth across the face unpredictably. When called in, and saying the 122’s are pretty distant across the valley, it’ll take the rounds almost twenty or thirty seconds just to travel through the air.”
The Gunny took out a cigarette, had a little trouble lighting it with the mild wind coming up over the lip of the abyss, and then coughed and laughed after exhaling the first puff of smoke.
“What’s funny?” Stevens asked, the Gunny’s laugh seeming out of place.
“That story, about the baseball team,” he laughed again, before going on. “No Joy in Mudville. The last line in that poem.”
“The last line,” the Gunny repeated, blowing out another puff of smoke before finishing, “mighty Casey has struck out.”
Looking at the Helo – ET was HMM 262 a sister squadron to us at Quang Tri air base , we were HMM 163. Brought back those times .
Jim, Minor typos. Welcome back, Dave.
“Did you hear that corporal?” I asked. “I’m a shitty commander but a great leader, according to the Gunny..” => either 1 extra period or 1 too few
“No joy in Mudville. The last line in that poem.” => joy should be capitalized as the name of the poem.
Noted and corrected.
Thanks agin Dave
Semper fi,
Jim
James
At the end of the 11th day, there are no arrows to take you to the next chapter. Am really enjoying, if that is a good word, your book. Was in the Gulf on a carrier 68-69.Hard to believe, after as much ordnance we loaded out, that there was anything left. Thank you for this book.
Thanks Dan for reading and liking the story.
We sure used a lot of the stuff you loaded.
There was no end to American ordnance in that war,
at least not the part of it I worked.
Thanks for the supply and your compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, I see you bust on yourself for typos and other small errors. They matter much less than getting this story written. Fix what you can, but you now have a team of readers and editors backing you up, so don’t waste a lot of time fretting over any of that. We’ll get it squared away before it’s time to publish. You’re the writer, and it’s your job to get the story down. Cool?
Paragraph and Correction: The Gunny finished his coffee, drinking his last dregs down
Paragraph: “If you want respect then get yourself Correction:…to replace what we lost.”
Paragraph and Correction: “Where are you going?” I asked instead,
wondering why both men
Paragraph and Correction: “One at a time down the path?” the Gunny asked, handing back the binoculars with a grin on his face.
Paragraph: “Let’s get started,” I said. Correction: …possible at
night. Also…
Thanks for the help Arnie. Correcting away….
Semper fi,
Jim
I think that this is a true story. It may be told as a fiction. But I think that it is told from the heart as it happened. I know a lot of vets that lived it and it all lines up with what they have told me GOD bless those that have ben there. And GOD bless you James Strauss. Welcome home. Thank you for your service.
Thank you billy. It’s kind of hard to tell the ‘truth’ about anything these days because
almost everything one writes or say is available to everyone and everyone has a different perspective
and feelings about the ‘truth’ as you or I may relate it.
Thanks for being here and thanks for reading the story…and really thanks for welcoming me back!
Semper fi,
Jim
Truth is relative only to the story teller. What is real for one may not be real for another. 6 pilots on a mission, all 6 come into same landing zone, taking same fire, getting out, back to An Hoa, Baldy, wherever….each saw the mission unfolding differently from their respective seats. What was real, was the fear. Each pilot had to remove the seat cushion from their butt cheeks albeit at different angles.
How very very true Pat, and I restate my own experience, now related all these years
later. It is impossible not to publish as a novel because of how flawed we are under
such emotional and harsh circumstance. Thank you for that wisdom from like experience.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just some thoughts running thru my head………..Keating and his white socks, No boots , his watch, … did the watch come home with U ? Did he have a wife ? … I had two husbands who had gone to Vietnam, one a Marine who never wore underwear, I never asked why, but, having read a story last yr. I found out why.. Neither could talk of their time there.. I don’t understand why more women , wives of Vets aren’t reading, i’m a huge war history buff (esp Vietnam) having graduated H.S. 68 , your writing is almost hypnotic, you just can’t stop . reading …. …. thank you ! I wish more ppl really cared about what really happened , everyone seems to only remember the Calley incident ..
The most satisfying part of writing the story has turned out to be
the comments so many wonderful people have made. Like your own. As you read you discover
why my own family and friends are getting the story for the first time, all the way through, for the first time.
It’s not a believable story and it does not leave a glowing impression about the heroism of me or anyone around me.
It’s grit and dirt and shame and loss…and then loads of regret.
And again, that stuff is not only not believable, nobody wants to believe it even if they have or do!
The citizens want it to be the fake Marines raising the fake flag on Iwo for the second time…no!
They want those guys to have been the ones who charged up that hill and took
it from the Japanese. And there it is.
The real guys cannot say anything because they will be cast even further out.
They will not get the job, the girl, the family or anything but an old coat, a bottle
and a cemetery spot to sleep in as long as they are not rousted and moved on….
Thanks for writing about this.
And thanks for being caught up in the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your personal courage telling the raw, unvarnished truth today leaves me in awe, sir. I join the hundreds, perhaps thousands of others who have become addicted to the story. Thank you for sharing what so few are able. I notice my stomach had that deep, low grinding unexplained fear I remember from much of my time in the Army 70-79 as I read this, even though I was not in country. The race problems & violence are especially familiar. I have to confess when I see one of the Brothers in the VA my age I wonder if he was one of the 4 guys thumping a guy with bunk extenders back in 71 who complained about their smoking dope & playing loud music in an open barracks at 3 AM & went back for a second round. That insanity that was there trough out my Army “career” was really bad in Korea & bad stateside until the last of the draft left…then it let up some. We had quiet fragging incidents in Korea. I was EOD & later an MP. I was on orders for RVN in 71 & spent 4 days in the madness that was Oakland Army Base in Feb. of 72 then returned to my own slot since so many units were standing down. I am grateful, actually, for that & your story reminds me of why. Thank you for telling the truth for the time & place you were in country. No one wants to hear anything but bull shit usually. Reality gets edited out to the “narrative”. Thank you for serving as we say in our generation & telling the story others are unable to. I am so glad wives are reading this.
I haven’t seen evidence that many wives are reading the story. A couple have made comments.
Yes, I do believe now, in reflection, that if might help the
wives understand why their husbands feel that they will not burden their wives with their
living nightmares without realizing that the burden they land on her shoulders
is greater than that if they told those awful things.
Part of recovery from this is realization that you can do good works
and be redeemed for the shit we did, had to do, really had to do.
Wives are a hell of a lot less judgmental about this sort of thing than most men
would believe and they can be the best therapists in the world.
But only if they are brought into that world. So, if my ‘world’ story helps
then I am thankful. And thank you for saying that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jan, maybe I can answer your question about the wives. I was a Navy Corpsman who did my time with the Marines in Vietnam. In August 1965, we lost a baby that we had been trying for for almost 5 yrs. I was headed to Nam at the time, and my wife took that as a sign that I was going to be killed, so she would not have to raise the baby alone. She was 5’8″ and weighed in at 135 when she lost the baby. When I returned, she weighed only 96 pounds. Last year, I wrote a book of short memories of my 12 years in the Navy. She refuses to read it, saying “I lived through Vietnam–I don’t want to read about it”. OH, and as an after-thought, anyone who wishes to look at my page, Photo Memories of Vietnam and see the 1st Med Bn Field Hospital that the author referred to–it is the face page. That was it as it was originally when we built it as 3rd Med Bn, before turning it over to 1st Med on Christmas Eve 1966.
I am certainly not intimating that your wife is a problem,
but she is emblematic of some of the bitter experiences that guys who really
went through the shit have to deal with.
That hurts. When someone close chooses not to accept the sharing of that
pain it hurts, pure and simple…and the closer the person the greater the hurt.
More hurt. Another helping of porridge please.
I was at First Med, of course and it was one hell of an efficient place to be. Thank you!
Semper fi,
Jim
Jan, wonderful comment.
I am surprised how many wives are sharing this with friends.
Also the number of younger people are finally understanding
WHY their father, uncles, and grandfathers were a bit “different”
in some areas.
I share this site with so many and they have been appreciative
I am betting that the “oil” in those boots is really Mosquito Repellent.
So, you are a gambling man, Glenn. I sure had a lot to learn and not learned nearly
enough in only ten days. Thanks for noting and then thinking about those boots.
Semper fi,
Jim
ROFL I’m guessing that some foot problems will come up next.
Thanks for coming to that conclusion Marcus, because it takes some in depth reading and
thinking, and a bit of life experience to thing those kinds of things through.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, I was there too. It’s so long ago now but I can remember all the intensity as it was yesterday. ROFL And getting back at folks that didn’t understand that the book goes bye, bye in the bush.
Army here.
Thanks Marcus, for the comment and the astute observation.
The book goes out because the book is improperly written,
and now I wonder if it is not deliberately done that way.
How could training be so far from reality?
Why is the military set up to work so rigidly efficient back
in the barracks but falling apart in the field?
Is that all by accident? And has it changed at all with the advent
of the all volunteer professional military of today?
Thanks for the comment and your writing it here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Although I was not a Marine there were so many parallels between your experiences as a young 2LT and me being an Army 2LT in the Nam at about the same time. I was a FNG LT; I was a replacement platoon leader to an Army unit who got the living crap beat out of them in the Ashau Valley. The Platoon I was assigned to experienced more than 50% casualties in the Ashau. Thank God I mixed it. After Infantry OCS I was assigned to six months stateside duty at Fort Carson. In 1969 the Army did not assign any OCS graduates directly to Nam; they required the new 2LT’s to serve stateside for 6 months. In my new platoon there were a couple of Buck Sergeants who had just come from Viet Nam to spend a few months before they were discharged. We were about the same age and got to be friendly. Anyway these two buck sergeants gave me some of the best advice I ever received. Their words as close as I can recall were- “even though you are an LT you don’t know shit about combat. Forget everything the Army taught you in OCS and when you get to your unit in the Nam grab your platoon sergeant and tell him you don’t know shit and your want his help to make sure you don’t get anybody killed because of something stupid you do”. And if he is a good platoon sergeant he will appreciate your comments and will do everything to help you. That worked well. That advice has worked well in life- do not be afraid to admit that you do not know everything and be open to help. The other good advice I received was just as soon as you get in country throw away your underwear as you are going to be wet most of the time and the underwear will rub you raw and cause infections. That also worked well. The last thing was to always keep an extra pair of dry socks.
In the company I was assigned to the CO was an older ROTC Captain, a West Point 1LT who was being promoted to Captain and was being reassigned to be a Company commander, a ROTC 2LT, and an incoming West Point 2LT. With my experience I was not impressed with any of them. The 1LT West Point had the knowledge but did not have any people skills- nobody liked him- I was afraid he would get killed by his soldiers before he got reassigned. The other West Point officer just wanted to be one of the guys and got hooked up with smoking weed with his troops. The troops ran that platoon- no leadership at all- he was finally reassigned and sent elsewhere. The poor ROTC 2LT had neither the knowledge or the skills- didn’t last but a few weeks. I lasted but did bump heads with the CO on a few occassions due to some ill thought out orders. He was promoted to Major and was assigned to the Battalion HQ staff. We got a second tour Captain and I got along with him a whole lot better and we had a much better working relationship.
Another great rendition of military history. So many of you guys on here with interesting back grounds
and strange, if not downright weird tours of duty.
IF you were seeking justice in the Universe than Vietnam was not where you
wanted to end up by any means.
Thanks you for this rendition of your own and the advice you were given,
which as all spoton and I’d have loved to receive myself before going in there.
Thanks for the support and making this richly described comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Got out and burned everything that associated me to the military. Your comment on leaving military service off your resume is funny . Thought I was the only one who did that.
I wrote the only article I ever published in the New York Times about being denied
a position with a big company because of my military background. I think there are
a lot of us who came back to find that veterans of combat are liked in general, at a distance,and
not specific and up close. That discovery has remained mostly true and valid.
Thanks for your own confirmation…
Semper fi,
Jim
One curious comment that may seem critical but not intended. You write about and others mention them–FNG’s. Were these guys just dumped in the field and into combat with little or no training about how to survive? It appears to me that the air conditioned commanders only cared about enemy Kia headcount and not the survival of new troops. I can see how when dumped on a unit in the field there could be little instruction on survival for these guys. You could have easily been a stat your first few days. The war protests hurt me when I got out of the army and came home. Now, after reading this, I wish I could have protested. Too many boys lost their lives due to the office chain of command and their asinine orders. I was proud of my service, now not so sure.
I was put directly into active ongoing combat when I was taken from Da Nang and flown right to a combat
unit within 24 hours of getting off a plane. FNGs were exactly like that. In they came and out they went.
There was no instruction, no training there and only a pack of supplies and a gun. And yes, they died so many
times in only hours after reaching he field. That first night. Who’s ready to be deaf and blind and lost
on a front line of battlefield where everyone else is hiding or not to be found…and waiting for you to die
so they don’t have to. I am sorry it was that way. I don’t know how it is today.
Unbelievable? Yes, and that’s why this writing of 30 days is so controversial.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you James Nam 69-70 USMC
You are most welcome Tim. I’m not sure I deserve thanks, exactly. Sort of a judgement call based upon
perspective. But I really appreciate the support and the kind words…
Semper fi,
Jim
OK Jim, a question Lake Geneva? Do you know where Mosinee is?
Yes, its up above Steven Point. Haven’t been there in years. Like the place though and Stevens Point too.
When I worked for the CIA used to visit Stevens Point because they
had the supply depot for most of the NVG equipment of the time.
Thanks for commenting…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hell, It would be a pleasure to buy you a beer, even a few of them, and have a talk, Yes I came back, tried to go civilian, Met a judge one morning and we discussed my future travel plans, So, I went back and became a career man….. Yes civilians loved us from afar, But don’t get close enough for them to smell the death that became part of us, They become jumpier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, Chism; Pat Garrett: Well, I’m upwind and I smell it on you.
Billy the Kid: Buffalo?
Pat Garrett: Death.
Billy the Kid: I see what you mean. Can it ever go away? That smell I mean.
Pat Garrett: Sure it can, with time, good company and patience. Chism;
Pat Garret: Well I am up wind of you and I can smell it on you.
Billy the Kid: Buffalo?
Pat Garrett: Death….
Billy the Kid: Can it ever go away? That smell…
Pat Garrett: Sure it can, with time, good company and patience…
The problem was Civilians did have the Time or the Patience or the Will, Because they thought they new who we really were from the news…….
Civilian: Welcome Home, Why are you that way, I never did anything to hurt you!
Me in my mind: (OK…. What have you done for us?) never said a word because it would be like yelling into a canyon all you would get back would be the echo of your own voice….
Semper Fi…. Bob
I get some deep comments and then I get some well researched and thought out deep comments that have
bitter hard and accommodated pain at their foundations. This is one of those. The pain is real but submerged…running silent and running deep,
a Navy submariner might whisper. Yes, it is all there and it eminates from us. If you have killed up close and personal that you know things about
killing that citizens, real citizens, are never going to be able to figure out. If confronted and threatened, which is not that uncommon in the
American macho culture, the citizen threatening has no clue that death is sitting across from him or nudged up to him at the bar. That the decision about
who is going to live and who is going to walk away has already been taken from him. That he lives will not come as a gift to him in knowledge, for he won’t know
and would never believe. It would also completely escape him that your reticence in doing devastating things to him is from perfectly selfish motivations.
You don’t want to add him to your night-visiting ‘friends.’ You do not want to even damage a pinky in hurting him. This is a funny world to be a real predator
in and to be completely in disguise at all times. But it is in not doing further damage or giving out death that we former combat veterans shine. We, and the cultures of
the world are the better for it and we know that, even if most of them do not.
I am glad you are here with me, and us.
Semper fi,
Jim
I read that you came out of the catholic school system in Duluth, MN. I thought you might like to hear about the old Cathedral High School building on w. 4th st. In the 1980’s, a group of us formed up a committee and the Bishop of Duluth gave us that building. We built a collection of low income issue people including food, clothing and housing. I was amazed by the amount of old soldiers who were homeless and hungry. We managed to organize enough help to get most of them sheltered and fed. I thought you might like the serendipity of that connection to your past.
That was my school, with the church across the street. I sure broke a lot of ice
from those walks and playgrounds. Somehow the nuns knew the young guys needed to do stuff all the time.
Thanks for that comment. Glad the building is still there. They took down the old Coast Guard house
I lived in right near that bridge. They build a bunch of apartments or condos on the land.
Loved the pier and the run all the way down from the school every day.
Great thanks!
Semper fi,
Jim
Back again Paul……
Did you catch my reflection posted last year?
Monsignor
No. This is the first writing of your work I’ve read. It is very good, and I will look at more as time goes on. I had a friend who just died last year. His name was Jim Northrup and he was a marine who wrote extensively about his service. He had a life like you write about, unconnected to corporate reality, full of funny, profane impeccable wisdom driven by his service and race. (He was a Chippawa) Good man, good read. Same as you Keep writing.
Paul Dwyer
Thanks Paul. I have sort of lived life burning the candle toward the center form both ends.
That part’s is undeniably true. Sorry you lost your friend.
Thanks for the comparative compliment and putting it on here for everyone to see.
Semper fi,
Jim
Tremendous ability to weave a story in and out and put us there. It’s one thing to tell a story and quite another to put it to paper and make it incredibly readable for anyone. I’ve read a multitude of books on Nam and this one is easily the most interisting, and the ability to read the comments is a book worth reading by itself. Thanks again, the comments must be time consuming , but very interisting to get other Vets observations.
The comments are worth it. At my age you either stay very busy or you slowly stop moving.
The comments also have a current life in them that permeates me and the story, in a way.
I’m not sure how, really, but I know it’s true. You guys are somehow having a say in recreating the past
and although I am not consciously aware of that I know it is there.
Strange thing to say, I guess, but as near to the truth about why
I am involved personally in all comments as I can get.
thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
I like your story you put me back there. We were getting clean clothes about 1st a Month. They came in a bag and they dump them on the ground. The Co gets his 0nes a week . lol
Why in hell was that the best they could do with utilities, sox, underwear and boots.
Underwear and sox came more often than utilities though. We burned out old stuff because
we didn’t want the chopper crews to put up with that smell.
thanks for the comment and the clarity of it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow? underwear,sox.When we got to the firebase after six weeks in the bush.those things rotted off our bodies out there. And really boots every month. I love you man.
RT. Right on, brother. It don’t mean nuthin. The stuff rotting off was something
else. It was like having ‘attire leprosy.’ For some reason I always wanted to keep my old
ratty stuff after awhile. Dumb but definitely true..
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank You for the riveting story! I was a kid growing up during the Viet Nam era, I remember listening to tales and stories from many of the troops that came to my parents home. My dad was a gunner on both a B-24 and B-17 during WWII so was an old man during Viet Nam. He was a crew chief on a CH-47 in the 1st Cav. I remember the tapes (small arms and mortars in the background) and watching the 6 o’clock news for information. My mom was the den mother for all the wives in our trailer park, my dad would council and mentor any and all that came home, long before we knew about PTSD. Old memories have surfaced by reading your tale, some good some not. Thank you from someone who served during peace time. Keep up the good work, you sir are a wonderful author!
Really appreciate that Roger. I wonder what some of those guys stories would be like from those bombers.
I had a neighbor in San Clemente who served on a B-24. He was the nose gunner and loved the grand
number of 50 cal machine guns it carried.
His three were in the island campaign He got shot down twice.
But he would never give me the details except to say that what
he hated the most was waiting to be rescued because if no one came quickly he would have been dead.
That must have been awful, and then back out there again!
Thank you for the comment and your support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great writing, and I too am waiting for the next chapter. I spent 20 years in the USMC (4years enlisted and 16 years as an officer. During my enlisted time I was an avionics guy who spent 25 months (1 13 month tour and 2 6 month extensions) in country with 2 CH-46 squadrons (165 & 364). During that time I got to fly as a gunner for about 12 months total and got some “gun time” but nothing like you describe. The closest that we came to realizing what it was like for the grunts was to come and get the WIAs and KIAs and see the carnage up close. As an officer, I flew the A-4 and A-6 aircraft. The real reason that I am writing is to question the seemingly total dysfunction of the command element in your company. Was there any coordination and communication flow among the command structure? It seems like the company CO is doing his thing with little or no input from you whom I would think would be an extremely valuable asset! You state that he goes in search of a proposed LZ, and you are coming up with a plan to get the guys down to the valley floor in small groups of 3 or so Marines. Did you have all day to do this? What was the company’s mission? How can you come up with your plan with seemingly no coordination with anybody? I am totally confused. I know that my time was with the Wing and not the grunts, but I have never seen a command structure work like this!! Semper Fi….Weasel
Eric. Whew! What a bunch of great questions. The unit was worse than dysfunctional. It wasn’t a unit at all.
I was a bunch of small tribes acting like a unit but only at unpredictable times. The tribes fiercely protected their
own. Command back at battalion was sketchy, usually involving where we were supposed to go next, endless requests for
after action reports even when we had no action. Explanations about why nobody could come and support us, like the other companies.
FNGs that were the worst picks they somehow got somewhere. Sometimes from other companies that might have shit canned them somehow
I used to think. But the groups were very sensitive to being able to ‘get it’ when it came to moves and my plans became
popular as much for the entertainment value, I think, as their mixed effectiveness. And it only all sort of worked here and there.
Thanks for the questions and the cajones to ask them here.
Semper fi,
Jim
James-I am always excited to read the next release, when you release it, I stop everything to enjoy and and also the comments from fellow VN vets. One editing comment here;
“You (Your) brain so disconnected that….”
Thanks,
Don (Another non-combat support vet, I was a deuce and a half and jeep driver for a medical company in Long Binh and Phu Loi, 65-66).
Thanks for the comment, Don.
It is fixed!
tank you I look every night for the next one to read thank you
Thanks Mark. I shall endeavor not to disappoint you. Probably be tomorrow afternoon before the next segment is up.
thanks for the support and making that comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yup. Just about right. The CO and his boot licks hopping a chopper and going around a hump down a cliff through enemy fire to “secure a perimeter”. I never knew a single Marine officer above the rank of O-2 who was worth a shit.
I’m glad your story and your guys are making it into the Valley, though I know what’s down there. Good luck and keep your heads down! (I 3/9 ’69)
Yes, a lot of the guys here know what is down there too. I did not expect to take everyone
back but down into the strangeness and danger of that valley we are going…
Semper fi,
Jim
We miss so much in one year in Nam of what went on back home. I hear someone talking sometimes about the Astronauts getting killed in the fire when there rocket got on fire. I don’t know about that. We had no way of knowing anything.
There was no news from home. Armed Forces radio used to carry brief news
shows but the protesting back home made most of us tune it out. And then there
was the focused loneliness we enforced on ourselves because we knew we had to pay
attention to the here and now like never before, or maybe since. What news? Who gave a shit.
We were dying right where we were. You don’t care about news of the present or recent past if
you know you have no future. Just the way I think I saw it back then. But you are exactly right.
Semper fi,
Jim
Golf company 2/9 3rd mar div fire base Cuningham mortars 80s&60s both fire bases hit hard tet offensive yet come dawn there were seven dead hooks inside the wire this was 1969 keep the writing coming great story
You are the first Veteran to say you were at Cunningham. What a place for a firebase!
Typical of the leadership back then. Put the guys on a hill and no problem, supporting fires
will protect them. Right. A lot of other guys died trying to get up to those firebase
and landing zones to try to help. Thanks for the arty, by the way.
The Americal got a black eye because of the Calley incident
but not with me or my company. You fucking Army guys rocked!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
thanks again for a terrific story. It brings back a lot of memories.
It is my mined pleasure Frank, as I work on finishing the next segment this night.
Sometimes I’m excited to tell what happened next but not always.
Like back here, there were good days and bad days, even in that hell.
And many days, as you’ve read, that had both of those things in it.
Thanks for the reading and the commenting here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir, I wrote to you earlier and gave you a history of my tour in country. I didnt mean to sound like a brag. Its just those things touched me on the pilots, crews, and machines each have their own untold stories. Sir, your writings even touch me deeper with the people you went to hell with.
Tomorrow I am meeting an old schoolmate of 50 years ago for coffee and old times. He is a Marine that served in MACV LRRP into Laos and such. I respect his service greatly and have only heard a few of his stories and they are hell because he was the FNG his whole tour. Another schoolmate was Decorated Army EOD Colonel and lost the battle to his demons in the past year. Sad indeed. I will be getting your book, I have several Marine friends who served in Hell like you. Welcome back sir and carry on, Salute!
Tony, this is an open forum of guys saying stuff that amazes, confounds and makes me think.
I think about their time and my own, or even their lack of service and how it deeply effects them.
You can’t make too many mistakes on here because this audience reads right through bullshit,
even if they don’t say anything which is part of the thing.
When another guy is telling shit stories about a war that never happened the guys who’ve really
been in the shit just leave quietly. No point in breaking in.
So don’t worry about what you say here. What you have said so far
has all the patina of truth you need here, or so I believe.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your family is none of my business, but if you have/had a son, would you steer them clear of the military. My college grad, enlisted, trying to become sea air land. Tried to talk him out of it.
I won a presidential appointment to West Point for my son when I was CIA. He did not go.
Went to Purdue instead. His mom was the critical opinion he went with because I chose to
stay out of the discussion as it was such a strange and emotional one. I love the corps.
I really lover the corps and just about every damned Marine on the planet. But would I put my
son in my boots over there if I had a say. No. I would not. Would he go in and have me get on
my knees and sweat blood for him every night if he did? Of course. Sometimes life makes it hard.
without the automatic appointment it would have been easier.
thanks for the thoughtful comment. Hope that answers your question.
Semper fi,
Jim
As usual James, you take the reader on the journey. Never made it to a combat zone, enlisted at 17 in 1977, boot camp in January 78 in San Diego. Spent four years active till 82. You take readers on a quasi trip with the company into the A-Shau. Thanks for your service and for telling the story for others to understand. Will definitely be getting the Kindle edition when this comes out. Semper Fi, LT.
Hey Bill. Thanks for coming aboard and reading the story, not to mention liking it enough
to want to buy the book. Final edit is done and you should be able to get it in a week or so.
Semper fi,
Jim
You’re welcome James. I’ve been reading this whole story and love the details. Thanks for opening up.
Thanks Bill for thanking me. I’m not sure what the word ‘open’ means. I guess telling the story.
My second tour as some guys have brilliantly put it on here (took me two days to figure out what the were talking about).
thanks for reading and making a comment here…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Gus Grissom,” I whispered. I was holding an Omega Speedmaster watch, the favorite watch worn by my favorite astronaut.” You thought Robert Ecklund was channeling you when he mentioned the significance of Sound of Silence. I’m still on our 4 month biking/RV’ing hiatus, and we spent a good share of yesterday at the Kennedy Space Center. Gus Grissom, MY favorite astronaut, is a Saint of the Cathedral of Space. I’m here reviewing his life and exploits, and you’re writing about his watch on the same day. A lot of weirdness going on here Strauss. Good thing I’m not a superstitious Irishman. A lot of good comments here today also regarding your “second tour”. I think you’re the only one who didn’t get it that your resurrection of the long buried past is exactly that, the second tour.
SF,
PFJ
Conway. I gave up God when I was a kid and small in Catholic school and having a tough
go of it in Duluth, Minnesota. I gave him up again in Vietnam and then a third time when
my brother died. But God keeps seeping back in, using his infernal insidious power of uncommonly circumstantial
actions that simply cannot be coincidence. That I had just cut and pasted the two first lines of the Sounds of Silence lyrics
to the story (to be sure to be accurate in memory) I get a comment minutes later from Robert, who sent the entire body of lyrics in his message.
How can that be? And now, there you are, at the Space Center where I did not know you were going…and your favorite astronaut is
Gus Grissom and you gave special attention to paying homage to him…and then you read my latest segment and there he was. Now, outside of
there being this ridiculously powerful magical figure who can be explained in no way by anybody with a shred of sanity or reason, how
does an intelligent, worldly and experienced man explain this? I don’t know what to say other that when I give up God again I am
going to review these incidents before really dumping Him. Meanwhile, you and Robert have to have special meaning in my life
so I am waiting for whatever pearls of wisdom you are both supposed to impart.
No, I did not pick up on the ‘second tour’ comments until it was held up to my attention for what it was.
I can’t deny that. I am sure living it again although the fear is not there and that’s a really big deal.
Early on I used to see the guys all lined up behind me but that has not happened in 30 years. I have the
same exact dream from back there but it remains the same and occurs once or twice a week, just like always. It’s sort
of my middle of the night alarm clock. I just get up and go turn on a light and sit in the living room. The images
are not there when I’m awake, not like the more frightful times when I used to see my men.
Thanks John for the usual email that only you can seem to generate (thank that returned God).
Semper fi,
Jim
I have had similar thoughts. When was married, my father was in a small band, and played Waltz Across Texas. Our wedding song. Well When l went to visit his grave at Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery, for the first time after his burial, I turned on the radio, just as I turned into the cemetery. Guess what started playing! I never have my radio tuned to Country Western. Was it his soul? You tell me. What happened to the souls of the men you write about ?
I went and heard the waltz on YouTube and thought about what you said while I listened.
A special moment although I don’t know you or your dad. Sounds like you had a good dad
and that’s something pretty neat. When I came home from the Nam I tried to tell
my dad what happened but he stopped me and asked me why
I would want to put him through that kind of pain.
I never told him anything, even when he was near death.
When my sister was dying of cancer I called her every night.
She could only handle the pain one way, she said.
I told her the story of Thirty Days, bit by bit, every night.
She said it was the only thing that worked while I was talking.
And then there was dad! Thanks for the song and your comment here.
Hit home.
Semper fi,
Jim
James thanks so much for such a great story. I was 18 in 1974 and it missed the draft thanks to President Carter. I grew up watching Vietnam on the 5 o’clock news.I did need a lot of veterans when I was in college in 1975. I cannot wait until your book comes out I will definitely get it. And regarding God and giving up on him,one of my favorite verses is Ephesians 3:20 you may want to check that one out when you get a chance. It just blows my mind when in my head I think all is lost in a situation that seems hopeless and there he is shining down his light on the path. All the best Chuck
That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fulness of God. Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, Unto him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end.
Yes, I did indeed read it Chuck. I do not take the comments on her lightly, or the men and women behind them. I am thinking, okay?
thanks for the lift.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, your story is the most addictive piece of writing I’ve read in the last 40 years. I came of age consuming every book I could find on the Vietnam War. Spent the best 8 years (84-92) of my life in the Corps. Have never read anything that nourishs my thirst for the military experience, yet leaves me craving the next chapter. I also enjoy reading all the comments and your replies. Keep it coming, please.
I must say that this comment is high praise, indeed. Thank you so much Hunter.
I don’t expect comments like that. I am working on Eleventh Day Second Part as I write this.
I had to go and re-read the first page to see it it is the ‘most addictive piece’ in my own
view. After reading it again I am going with Hunter on this because I’m a bit more harsh when it comes
to analysis of my own work. It’s never edited well enough. Never. And I can’t keep re-reading it because
I start changing stuff. Thanks Hunter, I am tap dancing across the top of my dog house!
Semper fi,
Jim
“I am tap dancing across the top of my dog house!” Just another “coincidence”, I’m sure. Our activity yesterday p.m. was on open cockpit biplane ride around St. Augustine. Required gear; a “Snoopy” head cover.
Conway. You will simply have to turn your rig north eventually.
I will assure you that the weather has moderated. Sort of.
Our lives are somehow running in sync. and I have no idea why.
Interesting as hell, thought.
Thank you my friend,
Semper fi,
Jim
Echo 2/1 USMC 69-70
Semper Fi
Laconic comment here Gary, but then some of the guys who were really out there have had a harder
time coming back than others. Hope you are doing okay and can feel free to hang here and read the story
and the comments. Sometimes what your buddies, you don’t really know you have, say can be helpful. I know it helps me.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was Army and had field time in Alaska in 01/1964, -30F was the normal temp. Remember C-Rats. we had double because of the cold. Also remember ham & lima beans, don’t go near them now. Berlin as new duty ten months later until enlistment up. Read about LZ-Xray & LZ-Albany then in 02/1966 read about Big Red One going to Vietnam. Decided then that when my enlistment was up I was done. Some guilt about not going, but reading your recounts, not any more! Excellent work!
thanks for the comment and liking the story enough to come to understand that you probably did not
want to witness things personally. Alaska service sounds just a bit rough, itself!
Thanks for writing in and glad you missed the show…
Semper fi,
Jim
This story plus the 360 degrees of perspective make this the best I have read. I was an Ordnance OCS 2LT platform instructor teaching maintenance and tracked vehicle familiarization and recovery at the Artillery Missle School at Fort Sill (Summerall Hall) in 1968 & 1969. Several outstanding NCO’s with a tour in Nam guided me and our field recovery exercises that I intended to be a real help for our SP Arty students. Between my NCO’s, 3 good friends in Nam I was writing to, and a map I was marking up, I had a list of units to (try to) avoid if I could. (I know how naive this sounds.) I expected to go to Nam, but honestly didn’t think I would be returning. I hadn’t gotten Alerts Orders by 1 August, 1968; so I called Ordnance OPO. They told me that Ordnance attrition rates in Nam hadn’t met expectations, so I would have to extend to get over there. Due to coaching from NCO’s and my friends, I told them I would have to get back to them if I decided to extend. (Which I didn’t) If I had your “Thirty Days has September” story, all of the comments, and a complete translation of “Sun Tzu – The Art of War” I would have been much better prepared to do the job I was trained for at Aberdeen Proving Grounds too.
So glad you missed out on the show. So many guys come on her in that strange mental
state where you have deep feelings about not having performed when you might have been needed.
Well, it wasn’t that kind of war. And if you went you became fodder in the jungle. They did not name
it Hamburger Hill because of a McDonalds sandwich. Thanks for reading and liking and then commenting here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great reading again Jim. Keep them coming.
Thanks Mike, for coming on with your short comment. I am going to assume you commented as a great
and grand compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
It was cold salads I dreamed about cold salads, even now when I order a cob, shrimp, or Waldorf salad I close my eyes for a sec. an enjoy that I did really survive and it’s not a dream. One time HQ shipped ice cream to all the teams in “Vac” cans. Ours arrived as soup. We loved it, all taking turns drinking out of the can. Being dirty and unwashed saved life’s. if you smelled differently from the Nam they could tell where you were hiding. On more than one ambush I smelled Nathan Victor coming or trying to hide because they didn’t smell like my Nam. No fog of battle after my first fight. I was puking next to the first person I ever killed, didn’t matter he was a bad guy, still puked all over, it got easier until they weren’t even human, just a number worth beer . Still looking forward to each installment until the bloody end of a Marine Rifle Co. and it’s inhabitants
SF
Butch
Wow, but that is a rather stirring comment Butch. The smells of Vietnam, and of course you are correct about
working life or death deep inside a jungle scenario. I just looked at photos in Military Officer Magazine
that had the new jungle warfare training center photos in it. Of the ‘jungle’ at Schofield Barracks in Hawaii.
I cracked up. There jungle compares to the real deal like an inflatable patrol boat compares to the USS Nimitz.
But, there is real and then there is training for real…and those two never seem to come together or even get close.
Thanks for the gritty and real comment though.
Semper fi,
Jim
I remember getting home in January, ‘ 69, and Mother wanting to wash everything in my duffel bag. When we opened it she said “What is that stink!”? I told her, Mom, that is Vietnam, and everything smells. She asked if the clothes had ever been washed and I said they were clean. Her opinion was that they need to be burned! No reply needed, just adding to the blog this has become.
When my wife came to see me at Oakland Naval Hospital, months after I was back and through with
Japan she sniffed my hair and said the exact same thing. She still smelled Vietnam. She brought back
shampoo on her next visit and scrubbed my head for twenty minutes with a brush!
It was something else…
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, Gunny, That Magnificent Bastard, You are being trained and mentored by the very best, He is worth His weight in gold for you there, But I believe you know that now, Good People.
Now a shift, Yes Brother John, I remember a song from back then, I kind of adopted it as an anthem after I returned, It speaks volumes of what I was seeking back then and now yet even today, ….. Yes still seeking a way to create a silence, for the sounds of pain and violence, In my mind and in those who speak and do not know therefore of what they speak;
on Amazon Music
“The Sound Of Silence”
(originally by Simon & Garfunkel)
Hello, darkness, my old friend
I’ve come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
‘Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence
“Fools,” said I, “You do not know:
Silence, like a cancer, grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you.
Take my arms that I might reach you.”
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
And the words that it was forming
And the sign said,
“The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.”
And whispered in the sound of silence
Robert, are you channeling me? The first lines of this song are embedded in the next segment!
I was working on finishing it when I read your comment and was blown away. There have to be a million
songs from back then and you pick the one I’m working on right now. jesus! I just used the first two lines
though. What a song of the time and it has remained with me like very few others. Coming to talk to darkness…
Good God…on those dark nights back then and now.
Thanks for the compliment and that for the Gunny too. Hew as something else.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim I enjoy your work. Having served in the Marine Corps from 1969 to 1995 and from Grunt private to Aviation Chief Warrant Officer 4, I never saw one day of combat. Like always being prepared for the big dance but never asked out. I’ve always felt like I let my fellow Marines who served in combat down. Thank you for giving me and those who read your pages a chance for group therapy.
You guys who did not get to the front, so to speak.
You sure as hell did your part in so many ways without knowing it so many times.
That plane that saved how many lives did not get in the air without being prepared to get into the air.
The bombs had to be loaded. The artillery had to be fired after being transported. And so on. We were just
that proverbial tip of the spear, but a spear tip without the rest of the thing is pretty damned ineffective and worthless.
And the guys who didn’t get there at all or serve in uniform? How was anyone supposed to know and if they did know should they have
gone to a mortuary and tried on a body bag…just in case…to see if it fit?
Nope. I am glad you are back here and fit as a fiddle.
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding as usual! I can picture the guys looking at Casey and Billings like they’re aliens😀 Had that happen a couple of times. Our new Gunny was a DI for five years, got us squad leaders together on the lz and reeled us for being filthy! I wiggled my toes sticking out of my boots,laughing. Oh well. I meant to comment before about maps. Google ” Vietnam war resources ” found some great stuff there. Go Noi, etc. S/F
Tom, yes it was kind of funny to see the look in any of the news guys eyes.
We were like coming to visit the Mud People in Flash Gordon on the planet Mongo.
Getting used to being dirty was almost impossible for an American kid. The kids
from the sticks in the south made the transition easier but there was simply no
way to stay clean. Thanks for the comment and the reading..
Semper fi,
Jim
As an official REMF I have to ask what the significance of oiling the boots is. In my mind I’ve thinking that it caused the boots to hold in all the sweat, etc thus causing Immersion Foot or Jungle Rot, but as a USAF REMF what do I know 🙂
My “Free Vacation” in Vietnam was at Tan Son Nhut AB Oct ’67 – Oct ’68. Even in the so called rear we did dodge a few bullets & rockets ourselves.
Well, without the guys in the rear we would not have had shit out in the field.
There was a lot of support back there and some of it came out of motivation not to be out in the shit.
It was hard to miss the guys coming in from the field with their uncaring mud filth and ceaselessly staring
eyes. What smart human would want to go back out with them? So give them as much gear as possible!
And they did.
It’s funny, but with the bugs, the snakes, the mud, the heat, the moisture, the constant slogging through shit, the think I missed the most
on a daily basis, other than home was hot chow! Screwy but true.
Semper fi,
Jim
Once again I was left spell bound. I liked it when I was catching up, I could read to my hearts content. Are the pictures of your Company? Thank you for putting your experience on paper…
No photos I know of Al. It wasn’t a John Kerry situation. We didn’t have
photographers and I didn’t know anyone in the unit with a camera. A few tape
decks to make tapes for loved ones back home or play them. The few tapes that
came in were listened to by all of us, like we were the guy being talked to.
Poignant time, those…
Semper fi,
Jim
Two points.
Mind is racing with a dozen comments.
Your wife.
How’s she handling your second tour to Vietnam?
You have a huge new unit that I am sure is growing exponentially, while you are being that Second Lieutenant meeting and greeting everyone you meet.
Hope you still have that Omega, set to a time to quit each day.
Your old unit.
Has anyone surfaced yet, good or bad, to challenge or support?
Don’t need answers.
Just letting you know what is going through my mind.
Steve, there was no second tour to the Nam. They let me go first to Treasure Island
up in San Francisco (where I basically lasted one week before being ‘fired’ by the C.O.)
and then down to Camp Pendleton in Southern California to be put on disability work
detail and slowly processed out. The unit stayed the same in size throughout because of project
transition, wherein we got new guys for the guys we lost the day before. They had to be paired up
like the guys coming in from Project 100,100 to make it at all.
Has anyone surfaced? When? Then or now? You guys writing on here have ‘surfaced,’ but there
are no old guys from the unit to surface.
Thanks for making me scratch my head, as usual Steve.
Semper fi,
Jim
Lieutenant,
Sorry.
My wife quit scratching her head years ago. She just makes me start over when my brain gets too far ahead of my mouth.
Your wife.
I have this mental picture of you sitting at your desk totally immersed in telling this story and responding to every comment non stop.
My wife would be hiding in the closet with a fire ax ready to destroy that keyboard at the first opportunity.
I am worried about your stamina.
2nd tour reference is your current situation reliving your first tour.
New unit reference is all of your current readers and commenters that you are now leading with your teaching and personal contact.
Omega comment (I went to Vietnam with a brand new one, came home without it) was I hope you have a daily time limit spent on fulfilling our needs at the expense of your family’s.
Old unit comment was exactly that. Has anyone in this story surfaced.
I now regret that question because I fear I have gotten everyone too far ahead of the story by your answer.
I shall restrain. Maybe.
You are trying to teach me to read deeper into the meaning. You are being like the Gunny was back then Steve.
Thank you for the comments that cause me to puzzle and think. I’m also thinking of your wife with an ax.
Jeez! Thanks for being there and coming here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Your writing is your second tour, and your new unit is all of us, unless I miss my guess….
That’s a pretty damned good guess. I am assuming that that comment before, about a second tour
must have meant exactly that, as I’ve indicated many times that I didn’t do or have a second tour over there.
Semper fi,
Jim
You are one terrific writer. Not many can make great get better. This one did it. For the ‘nom de guerre’ just proves attachment, sort of a pet name and with the chart it carried ‘reputation’. The problem I hear is, “what do they know?” and an unfair imbalance on meeting first time. Without it you weren’t human, Junior. Thank you James for remaining so. Semper fi.
Very astute Ron, but then you are all of that. “What do they know?”
Interesting take on that. Thank you for the compliments and thinking
the latest was better. I don’t know myself when I write it. Sometimes
I wonder if the action battle scenes are not the ones that will garner the
most attention but then you guys surprise me….all over again.
Thanks for everything you do here Ron.
Semper fi,
Junior
What of the action report , amt of casualties for both sides & did you see the report as requested before it went out ??
The after action reports were made over the radio, supposedly issued by the six actual
and then transmitted by the six actual’s command radio operator. The daily report dealt with
supplies and the day to day operations of the unit and was given to the choppers to take back. The after action report was really a dead and wounded report
used to justify artillery and other supporting fires usage as well as gathered in as statistics for high command.
The Gunny got to the daily and made sure it was “scrubbed” into the future.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was MACV CAS/Medevac at Long Binh !! We took reports from companies , gathered records etc , & carried them to Saigon to the morgue or the evac hospital there!! Interesting trip along Hiway One everyday , or chopper if the road was blown up !! Lots of stories & this the most I’ve ever put in words !! TET of 68 was fun !! I’ve read all of these segments & sweating like crazy right now !!
U S Army 6-4-67—7-6-68 !!
Thank you Rex and I am quite proud to have the site wherein you have written the longest about any of it.
If there is a place for such things then I guess this might be a good one. I don’t know of to many places where
so many good-hearted and ‘real deal’ combat veterans hang out.
Thanks again.
Semper fi,
Jim
“Did you hear that corporal?” I asked. “I’m a shitty commander but a great leader, according to the Gunny..”
“Ah, I don’t think you’re a commander anymore, are you, sir?” Fusner replied.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” I whispered.
“Sir?” Fusner asked, but I didn’t bother answering”
I have to admit that I laughed out loud when I read this exchange but instantaneously felt a rush of guilt come over me for laughing in the face of death all around. Then realizing I am setting in front of my computer in the warmth of my home. I could not get any more of an emotional ride if I went to Kings Island!
Good work Jim.
Thatcher, Sherm, Sgt type….thank you. You made me laugh, as well as allied me to see the improper placement
of a quotation mark. Editing. Shit. Thank you for the very important compliment. I felt like Rodney Dangerfield
over there when later I would see him do his “I get no respect” routine.
It was a smiling pleasure to read you comment and it makes me feel good to provide what you consider some decent literature.
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
I though (thought ) the chopper would be gone in seconds…about halfway down….
Mesmerizing as always….can’t wait for the rest…..
You could never figure out what the enemy was going to do on a dependable
rational level. They were weird. Later I discovered that many times they
had ideal targets but no ammo to shoot. Or they had the wrong weapons on hand.
Plus, they worked with poor equipment. Many of their artillery rounds never went off.
Grenades either.
thanks for the comment and the compliment,
Semper fi,
Jim
Jimmie. I don’t know what to say to that comment. I thank you for wanting to read further and for the compliment about my writing. Yes, I have
been able to cage together a decent life, trying to use PTDS to my best advantage. As to the first part of your comment. It would appear to me
that you were not over there back then. Most, if not all, of the guys who were in the shit have been able to use their own experience to
validate whether I am real or not, whether what happened is real or not. I will publish the first novel in a few weeks but I am making certain
to announce that it is fiction. I need those protections because you can’t stand on street corner and tell the truth about anything in this
world and last very long. So, if you want to think of this as total fiction then you have my approval for that, as I give to anyone who
reads my stuff. Make of it what you will and glad you enjoy the adventure of the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey you, Cool Hand Luke, being one of those guys who doesn’t take shit from anyone.
I understand where you are coming from and I sympathize. Not too many non-vets or non-combat vets
could write a story like this fact or fiction. The truth of it is in the reading and the comments by
guys who were in similar circumstance back in the day. Thanks for the compliment
and I wish you well too.
Semper fi,
Jim
Chip, the first book in the series is called The First Ten Days.
It is edited and should be in to Amazon for publishing next week, I think
it takes about another week to actually go up for Kindle and hard and soft cover
slaes (print on demand). I’m doing this all myself.
Thanks for the encouragement…
Semper fi,
Jim
Good read Jim I’ve been reading for about two weeks now and if i could offer some advice,please write faster.Semper Fi
I write fast Ray but it takes time to re-read and edit. Without that care
then you lose yourself in the process instead of in the story. I am working away right now
on the Eleventh Day Second Part, or Mudville, if you prefer.
Semper fi,
Jim
I seem to have a probkem I. Getting comments to go thru
my message gets erased after I get a a comment that I am
sending a duplicate message .
We are seeing this one, Lucky
Hello, I was a young teenage girl when we first heard of *Nam*. I never knew anyone who didn’t come back, but in my adult years I have met those with the *thousand yard stare*. I read your account of that nightmare and cry and cry…… you were the ages of my ‘crushes’. Such young, wonderful boys being thrown into that Hell breaks my heart. May all the rest of your years be Blessed……
Thank you Marsh Barton for writing on here. You made me, and a lot of other old vets, smile
in reading about being your ‘crushes,’ as most of us never felt that way about ourselves.
Thanks for caring nd for reading the work in the first place.
Semper fi,
Jim
Back to reading the story again , I had to quit for awhile.
The chapter about Alfie sort of knoked the wind from my
sails.
I onky used c 4 one time to heat rations. I have an extra
sensitive olfactory system and the smell disagreed with me.
My preferred method wax to cut a hole in the c ration box
and insert the opened can into the hole , stuff some wadded
T.P. and small twigs in and set it on fire. By the time it had burned
to ashes the can was warm and had a nice smokey flavor.
Probably you could not have that big of a fire out in the brush.
but it worked very well especially fot the scrambled eggs and ham
which I took a liking for. Lo , no one else ate them .
I dont want to be critic , but you wrote that the gunny
“Stamped” out the remainder of the fire which dosent seem likely
and thought it may just have been a poor choice of words do to
fast thinking and being tired or maybe I just interrupted it wrong.
Any way I have caught up and waiting for the next chapter.
Thank you Lucky. The explosive we used for fuel to heat the C-rations
had a nasty smell when it burned. When we were done and it was still burning
all it took was a boot stepping on the small locally contained flame to extinguish it.
Habit. You are correct. I should not have used the word stamped. I like your solution to
light up the rations and I too loved the scrambled eggs and ham mix that most did not.
Tried to track some down on Ebay years later but you can’t eat it anymore so what’s the point.
Semper fi,
Jim
James , did you ever experience any health issues due to Agent Orange exposure?
No George, and I was suffused in the stuff for a bit there. At least
not yet. I have read that the effects take many years to hit though.
Thanks for the comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
As a member of the USAF I wasn’t exposed to Agent Orange except for the 2 days we spent walking up & down a mountain at Phan Rang picking up Commo Wire to reuse, yet I do have health issues related to Agent Orange. Go figure!
The Agent Orange thing is a big deal, mostly because it has proven to be so damned dangerous and downright creepy in how it cold effect
so many without being visible or felt, for the most part. You had to be exposed in some way. Maybe hauling it in airplanes.
thanks for the thoughtful comment and I’m sure the other vets hurt by that stuff like the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great writing. When will you compile these vignettes into a book? I’d like to be able to recommend your recollections to all my old military buddies, many of whom, like me, who were in the mix in one role, or another. I’m sure they’d appreciate the recounting of just how ugly it could get. You really did land in a pretty close approximation to hell. Glad you made it out.
Thanks for your work,
090702
Thanks for your comment Chip. I am getting the first Volume, The First Ten Days ready for publication this coming week.
It will be available on Kindle and Paperback. Followed by Second Ten Days and Third Ten Days
The First Ten Days, the book, will go in next week to Amazon
and then it takes bout one more week, I think…to be out.
Thanks for liking the work and making the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
I don’t believe the writer has been born yet that can put us all back in the jungle with you…..unless he has been there. No poseur, or imaginative writer can construct the realities of close combat that you describe…….Thank you for sharing your own personal hell, allowing us to join you , and reminding us that we are not alone, and were not alone in that time….
That story only carries through time with me now…although for those who’ve been to that jungle
and fought until their clothes rotted off, there’s a reverberation of the core that takes place in the reading.
It’s not belief in the story…it’s identification. It’s having traveled in those footsteps no matter the
plot or the theme…it’s there, all in the details of my journey…their journey..your journey.
Thanks for what you said and what you will go on saying inside. And thanks for being with me now and back then too…
Semper fi,
Jim
The title “Junior” is morping into an honorific. You are earning your stripes and and respect is on their heels. Too much going on for reflection. Gunny is the master and you are his student. You’re in good hands. Carry on!
Thank you for the rather short but in-depth analysis.
I was always mixed about the nickname which even followed me in the
Corps back to the states. How in hell did they find out? The name
on my chart at Oakland Naval Hospital said only “Marine Corps – Junior” for the name, although
my serial number underneath was correct.
Life can be so strange. Thanks for the comment and the reading…
Semper fi,
Jim
While I spent ’70 a ’74 in the Coast Guard, when I got out I spent 23 yrs as a police officer. I often wondered what it was like over there. I have several friends that were there but I respect their privacy. Your stories and descriptions are very vivid and I can close my eyes and picture the scenes you describe. I have nothing but respect for all of you that went through that Hell.
Thank you for sharing that part of your life so that we can understand some of what you went through.
May Dad was in the Coast Guard. We moved every two years when I was a kid.
Great for leaving nasty bullies behind but not so good having to make new friends all the time.
The Nam was something else again, as you are picking up on from the writing. I, nor nome of my combat
friends here, would have wanted you to go there and be a part of that. That would be like wishing cancer on somebody
just because you had it. Nope. Glad you are reading and enjoying what you are reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
The mighty Casey. Gotta love the Gunny. Keep hammering them out. Waiting for what’s next.
Thank you George. The Gunny was something else. A complex surviving predator
among other predators not necessarily so well equipped or experienced.
Thanks for the encouragement and support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Dadgum, James! You are doing it again! totally riveting, total concentration, immersed in the telling of things from long go. Tugging at the mind.
Thank you for revealing so much of yourself.
Semper Fi
Thank you Craig. That’s a rather nice comment to make. What happened in the Nam
doesn’t have to stay in the Nam because it all came home with us. Define home.
It was hard to accept the fact that I had to get out of uniform as fast as possible
grow my hair and keep my military background off my resume in looking for a job.
Define home. Tough days I will write about if I get the time after Thirty Days…
Semper fi,
Jim
P.S. Nobody ever spit on me coming home or I would be serving a life sentence today.
Caught that “Mighty Casey”. Good one. Got to tell you James, my first fire fight, I cried. Not ashamed, just embarrassed. An 19 year old ‘man’ doesn’t cry……wrong. I liked that the crying stopped the first time I heard “Doc”. I reacted as I should have.
Again, my heart goes out to you, LT. Write-on!
Understood Roy. That happened a lot and where I could I tried to
get those kids away from the other hardened vets who’d easily forgotten
their own first time and days. Marines sleeping would also sometimes call
out for their Mom in their sleep. Tough stuff. Glad you made it.
Glad you made it in good enough shape to write deep-felt stuff like that here!
Thank you for that. Makes people like me feel better about our own backgrounds.
Semper fi,
Jim
After we moved to our new brigade base camp, Red Devil, between Dong Ha and Quang Tri City, my MI detachment was right next to Headquarters Company. One of the em’s would recite “”Casey At The Bat” like a one person play, with all of us adding the sound effects such as oohs and awes and the swish of the bat and so forth. He would go thru all of Casey’s actions of setting up to the plate, grinding his feet in, etc. Great entertainment about once every 10 days. I wish I could remember his name. We lost him on a brigade sweep thru the DMZ. I never hear a reference to the poem without remembering him.
I am glad you enjoyed the Casey usage there. I kept having to come up with
cool names, or names I thought were cool, because for some reasons the regular
guys, the real Marines, took a hankering to me doing that, regardless of how
the plan worked out. I wonder to this day what many of them must have been saying
about the psycho officer out there on the fringe of the company.
Thank you for this comment and the knowledge you brought with it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Anxiety building….
Thanks for the next chapter. Anxiously awaiting the next one.
Hey Ed! I can only write so fast. Fortunately, it is Sunday so I can write.
Hell, I don’t have a real job, what am I talking about, anyway! I am on it and at
it just as soon as I finish answering the comments here.
Semper fi,
Jim
That was a short wait this round. I will be surprised if Casey and crew aren’t in deep shit before you are down there. Got a feeling he and Billings are going to develop some sore feet.
Thanks for the note Peter. Yes, it was something else back then to go
from one frying pan, hop out and land in another frying pan. But that was
the place and the time and all that. I never thought of the whole thing
as interesting to outsiders however. Maybe that’s why the manuscript sat
for so many years. Other than letters home and college course stuff, Thirty Days
is actually the first work I ever wrote.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Much respect for taking the time to respond to so many comments, and write this nerve wracking beautiful story. Gunny is a piece of work. Fascinating relationship between you two. Referring to “what” we lost and then presenting you with Keating’s watch,complicated guy. I like the Mudville plan. I guess we’ll see how that plays out. I’ll be waiting! Thanks Jim
Jack, you are that detailed analyst when it comes to the story.
That parallel you drew between the Gunny’s comments I didn’t think
would catch so strongly. Hell, when I wrote it I was reciting rather
than thinking about the depth of the differential. Only in editing did
I pick up on what you so easily saw from your perspective. Thanks for that.
Much enjoy the vision of other combat guys here.
Semper fi,
Jim