There was no hooch for Captain Casey. The remnants of his tent lay scattered about the sand, a testament to the power of the Chicom 82mm mortar rounds that had impacted, taking Billings’ life with them. Only Billings’ bloody poncho survived, along with some items from Casey’s pack. Pilson scrubbed the dead lieutenant’s poncho near the edge of the sand, occasionally stopping to look up, as if to assure himself that no additional mortar fire was forthcoming, before going back to work. Night was coming, which would bring its own form of concealment but no cover. The jungle trees and other growth were the only covering protection available to any of them.
There was a loose perimeter the Gunny had put together after Billings’ body had been dealt with, and the effects of the mortar strike were over. I helped Fusner find a place for my hooch twenty feet deep inside the jungle bracken, backed up to a stand of old bamboo stalks. The rest of my informally reassembled scout team was nearby, set in around and under the same overhanging fronds of the stand. The Gunny made his way through the path we’d worn over to the sandy area. He squatted down, but made no move to make coffee.
“Where is he?” I asked, sitting comfortably as possible in the center of my poncho liner, preparing to write another letter home before I lost the light entirely. I was greasy again from covering myself with the repellant. The mosquitos in the valley were large, and their bites painful.
“Checking the perimeter and probably looking for you since he has no minions left,” the Gunny said, his tone one of mild disgust.
“We’re backed up to the river with the perimeter?” I asked, not giving our hastily erected defenses much thought, at first.
“That’s the captain’s plan all right,” the Gunny replied.
“I wonder how deep the river is,” I replied, absently, my mind forming the letter I was going to write about the beauty of the river and the sand. I would change the color of the river to a sort of clear blue, or maybe aquamarine. If the river was to be considered a defensive barrier, then it couldn’t be easily fordable.
“Hell, I don’t know,” the Gunny said, “I’ve never been this far downriver in the valley. Last time I came straight over from Hue. Pilson’s scrubbing out the captain’s boots. I told him to check the depth of the river, while he was at it.”
I knew Hue to be well north of our current position. I also knew a river’s breadth wasn’t always a good indicator of its depth, and what could be shallow in some areas could be relatively deep in others.
“Fucking Bong Song, or Song Bong,” the Gunny went on, his tone becoming one of derision. “They’re all the same names. Different rivers but same names, and they all suck.”
I didn’t mention that the word ‘song’ in Vietnamese meant wave, as in river wave. The real name of the river that flows through the A Shau, now our river, is the Rao Lao, often referred to as the Song Lao.
“We can’t have the river at our back unprotected if it’s shallow enough to cross,” I said, trying to figure out how to write my wife about what the words bong and song meant.
It was interesting stuff to write about, and nothing like what had happened to Billings earlier. Or what his body had looked like. Or the expression on his face and in his open staring eyes. He’d looked at me with a grim understanding acceptance. It was a dead man’s expression, but I knew it would live on with me, although probably not for long. It was like the man had known he was going to die. I knew I was going to die but I prayed there would be no acceptance of my facial features when I went. Angry as hell, maybe. I’d have liked to write that in my letter to the only confidant I could trust. She was four thousand miles away, though, and she was a confidant I couldn’t say a word to, even in a letter that probably wouldn’t reach her for weeks.
“Can Pilson swim?” I asked, putting an exclamation point on my river description sentence in the letter with satisfaction.
The Gunny didn’t answer me. I looked up and our eyes met.
“Shit,” I said, jamming my unfolded, and barely started letter into my left thigh pocket.
I quickly got to my feet and then trotted down the path toward the sand and the river. I heard the Gunny leap up after me. I knew without looking that Fusner wouldn’t be far behind.
Captain Casey stood at the edge of the sand, studying a section downriver where the slow-moving water ran under a huge overhanging tree, and then disappeared around a sharp bend.
“Where’s your stuff?” he asked, as I stopped right next to him, shading my eyes against the sun’s fading reflection off of the water.
“Shit,” I said again, dropping to the sand and working as fast as I could to get my boots off, wishing I had a pair of zippered paratrooper boots I’d once seen at a PX.
Pilson was in the river all right and coming downstream faster than the current seemed to be flowing. He wasn’t swimming. He was struggling to stay on the water’s surface and stay alive, and he was losing the battle. I took it all in with one glance. He was not only drowning. He was drowning without letting go of his rifle. He was also conclusively proving that the river was too deep to wade across.
I hit the Song Lao with a surface dive, my background as a surfer in Hawaii, a one-meter diver in high school and two years of lifeguard training all finally coming into play. I’d sat in lifeguard chairs thru two summers and never saved anyone. The dive was perfect, my head barely went under before I was breast-stroking gently, watching Pilson come right to me, down the very center of the moving water. I didn’t like the fact that the end of his M-16 barrel was swinging and plunging all over the place. Just before we made contact, I went under. I took him at the waist and then swung around to my right, crooking his torso with my open left arm until I could grasp him by the material of his utility blouse. Because of his kicking and carrying on with the gun I could not get control of him or move him through the water toward either bank. I thrust myself upward above the surface and took a huge breath, before sinking down. I pulled Pilson with me, both hands entangled in his uniform. I found what I was seeking. The bottom. It was sand. I pushed Pilson upward without letting go of his uniform, once, and then again. I began bouncing him toward the near shore. It took two more surfacings and innumerable bounces before I had him in water shallow enough to walk him onto the lower bank of the river.
The Gunny and the captain were there to haul him in. I crawled out of the water and sat on the bank. A life-sucking fatigue had come over me, as soon as I touched the sand. Fusner brought me my boots and helped me get to my feet. I walked in my socks back to my hooch, making sure to put my boots on and lace them up first thing after sitting down. I was soaked with river water. I went to work rubbing more repellant onto all of my exposed skin.
All I wanted to do was lay down, but I realized immediately that that wasn’t going to happen because the Gunny was back, a soaked Pilson plodding behind him. Pilson hadn’t come to thank me, however. He’d come because he had his radio strapped back on and was accompanying Captain Casey. Rittenhouse straggled behind the small party, swinging his ever-present clipboard and wearing a sharpened pencil behind his right ear.
I pulled the partially written letter from my pocket. It was so much mush. The government pen marks were indelible, but the paper itself had turned to a blue pile that looked like a soggy stack of used Kleenex. I tossed the mess off my poncho liner into the brush.
“Leave nothing for the enemy,” Casey said. “Field strip your cigarettes. You learned that like I did back at Basic School.”
“Cigarettes?” I asked, in surprise. I wanted to ask him what cigarettes he was referring to but decided to ignore the comment instead.
Fusner gently retrieved my letter of mush, and put it into his own trouser pocket, like the wet paper held dog poop or something at its center.
“What did we learn here?” Casey asked, when the rest of us were down, with him trying to pace in front of us but having a tough time because it’s hard to pace in the jungle foliage. Rittenhouse hung back deeper in the bracken until he saw Nguyen come out of the bush near to his side. He moved closer to the captain’s back, looking to see where Nguyen was but the Montagnard disappeared again, like the silent leopard he was.
Nobody said anything back in reply to the captain’s question.
“I’ll tell you what we learned, Junior, and the rest of you,” the captain began. “We learned that you don’t send Marines into deep water unless they can swim and all Marines can’t swim. We all go through drown-proofing in training but that’s not the same.”
I looked over at the Gunny but he looked away. Rittenhouse was taking notes, probably about my sending Pilson into the water without checking to see if he could swim.
“And, for anybody else in this company, Junior, saving the man would earn a decoration. But, since you sent him in and since you are something of an officer, saving him was what you had to do to balance the scales and it’s also your job to take care of my men.”
I looked at the Gunny again. This time he met my eyes and smiled. I smiled back, although mine lacked his depth of meaning. A decoration. The word made me think of something that went on top of the frosting on a cake. I knew the Gunny felt the same way. I was, however, a little tired of the Gunny pulling every stunt in the book and getting away with it at my expense.
“How are your boots, sir?” I asked, in the most innocent tone I could manage.
I watched the smile disappear from the Gunny’s face in an instant.
“Funny you should ask,” Casey said, continuing his ragged pacing, trying to overlook the fact that although he was attempting to pull off a parade ground swagger the jungle wasn’t cooperating.
“Rittenhouse tells me that sometimes the men put a repellant in their boots to give them lesions so they can get to the rear. Apparently someone put a repellant in my boots. The Gunny here is looking into who might have done that.”
Captain Casey stared unblinkingly into my eyes, stopping his pacing to wait.
I knew once again that I was not the Gunny’s equal when it came to playing mental games in the running or leading of the company. Somehow, everything negative that happened twisted about and came right back at me.
“They always hit us at night, sir,” I said, hoping to veer away from the subject I’d opened up. “I’ve heard that our mission is to head upriver to secure an old landing zone and hold it so the South Vietnamese can build a firebase there.”
“What does that have to do with being hit tonight?” Casey replied, suddenly remembering where he was.
He removed his eagle-like gaze from me long enough to take a look around, although there was nothing but jungle to see.
“We always move in the day,” I answered, relieved that I was able to steer the conversation into an area I had some knowledge about. “Tomorrow’s move is about ten clicks. That’s only six or seven miles. Why don’t we move tonight? We’ll surprise the enemy if they’re planning something and as long as we stay on this bank of the river we’re protected by the river on our left flank and the cliff on our right.”
I knew we could be shot at from the other side of the river, or even from high atop the cliff, but the risks seemed smaller than just sitting where we were with an enemy that not only had the position registered for mortar fire but also likely knew that the company would be headed upriver the next day.
“We’re just getting set in here,” Casey replied.
I waited, trying to get to know the man. Casey made almost instant decisions, but then almost invariably changed his mind after thinking about the decisions he’d made. The man used decisions like they were flexible experiments only thrown out to see how they’d be received.
“I suppose you have some silly name for this new plan, Junior?” he mused, rubbing his chin with his right hand, and staring off into the bush like there was something to see.
“Night and Day,” Stevens said.
I looked at my Scout Sergeant in surprise. I’d just thought of the plan a few minutes before. ’ had shared those thoughts with no one.
“I see there was a planning meeting that I missed out on,” Casey said, amazing me with the accepting tone of his voice, like having a meeting behind his back to apply company tactics was quite okay.
“Gunny, I presume you’re in, or Junior wouldn’t be presenting this Night and Day plan to me?” Casey asked.
I watched the Gunny’s face break from its usual expressionless series of facial planes into a frowning mess.
“Well, sir, we don’t move much at night because friendlies that do usually get ambushed. The gooks are out there everywhere.”
I stared into the Gunny’s eyes like Casey had stared into mine about the repellant. The Gunny looked away first.
“But I have to admit that Junior’s strange plans have worked okay so far,” the Gunny squeezed out in a voice that seemed to be more in agony than agreement. “But I don’t like the name. It’s too tacky and it’s the name of a song I don’t like.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. The name of the plan? We were hours from getting hit in the night with mortars, and maybe more, and the seasoned Gunny I knew was quibbling over a dumb name Stevens had come up with?
“We’ll call it Night Moon then,” Casey said, with another of his experimental decisions.
“Fine,” I said, more in exasperation than anything else.
I was going to have to talk to Casey about calling me Junior. He quoted the dictums learned at the Basic School but then didn’t follow them himself. The nickname was not a good thing. At the same time, it diminished me it made me into a sort of Junior of Vietnam. Lawrence had not fared so well with his fame. I knew my life might be a whole lot shorter but I didn’t want my slimmest chance for survival to end up with going home as Junior anything for the rest of my ill-gotten fame-abbreviated life.
“We’ll kick off from the line of departure one hour from sundown,” Captain Casey said, holding up his left wrist. “We should synchronize our watches.”
“Fine,” I said again, in defeat. None of us knew what time sundown was going to be but that didn’t seem to matter. Maybe I’d find out if Casey’s watch kept as good a time as Gus Grissom’s Omega. We synchronized our watches.
I retreated back under my poncho before taking it down. I wanted to get the letter ready for home. I was going to write about the river and the valley but I also wanted to write about Casey because I might read the letter one day, if my wife saved it, and be able to laugh myself into old age when I could laugh again.
I worked on the letter for half an hour. It was getting too dark to see when the Gunny appeared outside the open vent.
He squatted down in his familiar pose.
“Are we square?” he asked, and then waited.
“Of course,” I replied, telling the straight truth. Crooked, conniving and feral as he was, I knew the Gunny was why I was still alive and why I might have had any shred of hope in living to go home.
“Casey,” I said, and then smiled my best fake smile.
“Casey,” he repeated, waiting.
“The Night Moon Plan,” I said. “There’s no moon tonight.”
The Gunny started to laugh and, although I didn’t join him in that, his laughing made me feel good.
Jim, couple more. Seems like I’ve been through here before but they keep popping up. The story is so good, these little typos just get glided over. Later, Dave.
… into deep water unless they can (swim Junior,) and all Marines can’t swim. => (swim, Junior,)
Why don’t we move tonight? We’ll surprise the enemy if (their) planning something and … => they’re
Again noted and corrected,
Thanks Dave
Semper fi,
Jim
I will never forget the first time I encountered incoming mortars. They are spooky. My platoon had just moved to a new position for a platoon patrol base and we were settling in. It was common for troops to use the assistance of C-4 to help them dig their foxholes in the clay. I heard a loud explosion. I called out to remind everyone to call out “fire in the hole” before setting off C-4. Just then another loud explosion went off on the other side of the hill. No doubt – a bracket. This explosion was followed by a radio transmission from a security patrol that announce they heard a mortar being fired about 100 meters from their position. They reported that the were moving in on the position of the mortar. I radioed back, “the hell with that, they are firing on us, open up on them.” The mortars ceased. Yeah, mortars are spooky, ’cause you can’t hear them coming in.
Nope. Unless you hear the launch you are in the shit. Fortunately, the launch of those
things is really loud. The big ones are the worst. The 4.2 stuff of ours fired so far away
nobody could hear the launch. That 120mm they had could fire five miles and launched a missle about the
same size as a 105mm howitzer round. Tough stuff. Thanks for the experience and the support…
Semper fi
Jim
I was down in the Mekong Delta at Dong Tam 9th Infrantry,and you could here the motar round leaving the tube.Charlie would start walking them a mile a way or so,and walk them back and fourth taking out as much as they could before the 155s zeroed in on them.Was in a bunker during one attack durning Tet received a direct hit by either a mortar or a 120,my ears are still ringing.Thanks for sharing you tour with all of us can’t wait for day twelve.
Bunkers were great for mortars, as they did not have the ‘dig’ of artillery incoming.
Most of their terrible damage was done to undefended troops or Marines out in the field.
Thanks for writing about your experiences here.
Semper fi,
Jim
In the Cavs division base camp @ the golf course (An khe) a piss tube took a direct hit from a mortar round in our company’s area & blew its contents over everything nearby. Found 30 days on Facebook. Brings back memories buried long ago. I can’t imagine putting myself out there like you have With 30 days.
1st Air Cav 66-67. I was one of the lucky ones & left 1 month before the Tet offensive.
Thanks for the straight comment about your own service Phil. Some amazingly funny shit happens in the field.
Thanks for making us all smile over that one.
Glad you were lucky…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey Strauss! Still pedaling my sore old ass around SE USA. Got Florida, Alabama and most of Mississippi behind me. Roughly 550 miles from jump off at St. Augustine. The first night in quite a while that we’re close enough to real civilization for me to get “connected” and caught up with 30DHS. I stayed with one of my closest friends from TBS days for a night and day in Alabama and introduced him to your work. We followed a similar path in drawing the lucky card that kept us from being in your boots and getting killed. With what you’ve already been through by the 11th night, I’m amazed at your compassion for Kelley. As hard as I try not to, I’m always inserting myself in your spot. I’m generally exceptionally patient, but when the patience is expended, I’m bat shit crazy. Kelley would have put me there, particularly with his blase failure to accept his role in the death of Billings. You’re a complicated man. We do need to spend some time talking face to face some future day. It’s Sunday, and I missed Mass. I hate doing that. I’m going to give my “Peace be with You”, to you instead.
Casey, not Kelley. Freudian slip. You’ve got enough to do without correcting my mistakes.
Nah, I got it going in. I know where the Conway is coming from all the time. Out there on Life’s Highway
drumming out the miles running from demons he doesn’t really have with a constant laughing companion
who knows it all and doesn’t care…I’m smiling here at you and your wife’s travel…and travail out there
as I write back here (actually I’m at the Turtle Bay right now on Oahu).
Semper fi, my friends,
Jim
Hell, John, I was mad at everyone just about all the time!
If I wasn’t outright being the subject of their murderous intent or they my own!
Emotions ran extremely high. There was no reason for us to be put out there to die with
such abandon and then leaving us alone, except for all the supplies and fire support
we could ever want or need. Like rich parents dumping their kids at a very terminally dangerous summer camp.
But there we were and trying to accommodate a bunch of whacked out uneducated brats loaded with varieties of
life and combat experience not truly knowable was more than a human challenge. I was an ‘alien’ for awhile in
life and somehow, like Rod Serling wrote about the twilight zone…
I made past the sign post up ahead…
To here…
wherever the hell that is.
I am out there on the road with you…
smiling and enjoying the trip…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt General Harold G Moore
got his closure today. R.I.P.
“There is no such thing as closure for soldiers who have survived a war. They have an obligation, a sacred duty, to remember those who fell in battle beside them all their days and to bear witness to the insanity that is war.”
Thanks for the quote. Sacred is a word I might not have chosen to write if I had penned that quote.
The obligation of remembering has proven to be quite a burden to so many not given the ability to carry
that load. Interesting comment though.
Thank you for putting it up here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hal was frequently a man worthy of quotation. He exhibited good understanding of History and the human condition. His teaching time gave us Great Warriors too.
I ponder heavily his death on his wife’s Birthday, just 2 days prior to his 95th. I think there is meaning there on a scale I may never understand.
So sorry about this loss. Hard. Good men are so hard to lose because there’s just not that many
of them were are ever exposed to,..and then mostly we don’t know how great they are until they are gone!
Thanks for writing about it here….I care, and so do a whole lot of these guys…
Semper fi
Jim
Hello Jim, Just stumbled unto your site on facebook, through a posting by another vet’s wife. Had many “contact fire mission over” calls in the fdc, 1st Cav. 1970-71. Being mortared was my constant fear, nothing compared to walking in the jungle at night I’m sure. Went on one short daytime excursion outside the perimeter to practice grenade throwing as I recall, but returned with many leeches.My first mortar experience, just days after being assigned to an outfit was sheer terror as it was from a captured 120mm.
From then on I could awake instantly from the thump of a launched round in the jungle, wondering is this the one?
Subscribed and looking forward to the rest of the story.
God bless you!
Yes, Bob…all of that…and being out there was something.
At least I never had that delayed fear of waiting for something to happen.
It was happening all the time. I think if I got a leech on my neck today
I’d probably croak on the spot. Getting mortared in as set in position is
lousy because the solution in the bush is to run and dive into whatever pile of
jungle crap is around. Absorption and then the fact that if they mortared you
they’d probably measured the distance to their target carefully. They could not
launch zone fire stuff because they just didn’t have the ammo, thank God.
Thanks for the straight stuff and for following the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
We used to set up a Perimeter at night and then in the Middle of the Night move and surround a Village hoping to Kill or Catch any VC that were visiting their Wives or Girlfriends that night,,,,don’t remember it ever working and as We surrounded the Village the Dogs almost always gave us away,,,sometimes after the Company set up a Perimeter with full size shovels and picks and axes, digging Bunkers and cutting down trees to lay on top of sandbags and then sandbags on top of the logs for overhead cover with trip flares and claymore mines surrounding the Perimeter,,,at dusk the LP’s Listening Posts and Ambushes went out and set up,,,sometimes not always after set up would move in the dark to another location and set up….
I guess I could be pithy and say ‘my but weren’t those the days’ and nights. But it was
a lot of labor staying alive and trying to deal with an ever present but nearly invisible
enemy. Thanks for you observant comments.
Semper fi,
Jim
PTSD – Primordial Total Survival Defense. Though my time in Nam was nothing like yours, once one goes Primordial, in my opinion, that trigger is always there I live with it, go to group, and remember.
There is a certain catharsis in reading your story. Glad that my tour was not so rough yet guilty that some, like you, carried a disproportionate load.
I preferred the night, the birds lizards and monkeys were the best tell tells that something was moving. well enough for now. I will comment again I am sure. Thank you so much for writing this. I envy your talent.
Glenn. (Mustang Major)
Thanks or the kind comment Glenn, and the insightful commentary.
I am glad that your own tour was not so rough and I hope many more
who read this story can say the same. There was a great deal of luck
in whom you served with and where you served over there. Some good and some
not so good.
Thanks again for the motivation to keep going.
Semper fi,
JIm
Ten lines from the end does not make sense to me, “… when the Gunny pulled appeared outside the vent I left.”
And the 5 lines from the end “…and why I had might have any shred of hope of living…” I rearranged the words in my mind to make sense while reading. I think some words need to be moved around. So much for the editing today. Great writing. Keep it up. I’m reading it every time I see it on FB. Thanks.
Thanks for your input, Tom…..
Duly noted and fixed.
Let me know if it makes more sense.
Semper fi,
Jim
Looks good!
Thanks Tom, for helping me get it right…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim: guess I’m a bit confused or missed a chapter, didn’t Casey come in with two Lt’s, were both Kia? Look forward to your posts. Was there with USAF, 1966/67, and certainly not in the crap like you. Thank you for your service and excellent writing.
Yes, Bob, he did. Keating and Billings. Yes, they were both KIA, leaving me and him.
Semper fi,
Jim
Some of comments and replies hit so close to home it’s frighting! I was thinking PTSD should be called Post Traumatic Stress Condition! Anyone who was there would have a disorder if they didn’t have the condition! Keep it real and thanks.
I do not believe post traumatic stress disorder is anything described. Not in war.
If you go out into the bush or the desert and into combat you step through the door
to reality. You live that harsh unforgiving and rotten reality. You live and then
step back through the door to this unreal phenomenal world we’ve created. You are expected
to forget and not talk about the reality you saw so violently and personally. You are supposed
to go back to making believe. You are supposed to get over it. You are supposed to take mind altering
drugs. You are supposed to go to individual and then group therapy.
But you can never, and don’t want to, forget reality or the men who fought
and died with you while you were there. But nobody back here in our special
la la land wants to know what’s out there in that jungle or desert.
Whom ever thought that loneliness would be the companion you are
to have for the rest of your life, as your reward?
Sorry to run on…but it’s a tough one to accommodate.
Semper fi,
Jim
This reply really summed up the feelings. VERY WELL STATED! The problem from ‘stepping into reality and back’ is the situation that most will never understand.
The problem with the reality stepping thing is also to do with memory.
No matter what drug you take or bottle you drink from you cannot forget
or diminish reality and what you experience while there except for short periods
of time. It pops right back because living reality and knowing what it is
is part of genetic survival long written into our codes.
Thanks for the comment and reading the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I have attended several reunions of the company I served in. Most of the vets who attend were there during times that were a lot more perilous than when I was there in 1970. I often wondered why I was with them. Then, I had one Marine say to me, “I can tell you things that I cannot tell my priest, because you were there, and I can tell you things that I cannot tell my fellow Marines, because you are a priest.” (I am one of two former members of that company to become an Episcopal priest.) I now know why I was there. Thank you, John Regal, former Kilo 6, 3/1 for inviting me.
Thank you for that John. What a wonderful set of phrases pieced together.
You are a priest who was a warrior…and therefore a special priest.
Combat is about tribal behavior of the most elemental sort…a sort most
men and women are never going to be taken to or be part of…except in passing,
by reading stories about it like here or maybe in seeing Band of Brothers (that was good!)
Thanks for the telling of this and supporting the work…
Semper fi
Jim
Stepping through the door……..pretty well sums it up….
Thanks Michael. Yes, it does. Coming home was stepping through that door the other way.
I’m not sure which adaptation required was the more extreme!
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, when they ask you about making a movie from this, take ’em up on it. The story needs to reach more people and a movie would do that. I was Navy, I thank you for your service then and your newer service now in presenting this story.
Mostly they don’t make movies out of real stuff, as you might have
noticed. And then, if it does get filmed how do you keep them from
up and up and away and back into John Wayne mythological crap?
Remember, the people who live and work in Hollywood don’t believe this
story any more than regular citizens.
Thanks for the thought and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
We cleared the same LZ 9 times after the 3rd time it became sureal. I mentioned this to my Crew Chief and at first he thought it was funny but then he panicked when I told him or was like we were repeating the same day over and over again.
They were like fly paper sometimes. You get unstuck in one part and you are stuck in another.
The persistence of the enemy in almost every way was daunting. The fatigue I discuss feeling
was partially because of that unending pressure when out on field operations. Seldom discussed
anywhere by anybody. Thanks for the touch of reality here Daniel.
Semper if,
Jim
That tenacity led them to victory. The lesson we should have learned – but doubtful that we did, or ever will – is that if you aren’t willing to commit to the long haul, don’t bother going. It just pisses people off, and kills or maims our young men.
Thanks for the very engaging read. I’m not a vet, for which I make no apologies. I enlisted in ’60 and received a prompt Medical discharge. I lost a close friend in RVN. I still miss him.
It wasn’t just their tenacity. It was fighting on their homeland
to decide what they hell they wanted and not what we wanted them to have.
Hard to fight a whole population that really does not want you there
no matter what they might be saying to your face. Behind our backs they
were killing us left and right.
Thanks for your comment and your support…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt, I have shared you memories with a close and trusted friend, now in Saigon, to aid he and his friends a deeper taste of what we struggled with while there. Your honesty, travails and memories can only add demnsional light to “the rest of the story (apologies to Paul Harvey!). It’s my hope your work more deeply brings together ALL of us, them inclusive to a painful chapter of BOTH of our struggles. Your words are a medicine as horrible as they are for those who witnessed and endured. With your blessing??
But of course. The story had come to mean more than I ever meant it to be. The odyssey was
not just my own by man of us together traveling through those same patches of jungle, those same fetid
valley bottoms and up those slippery sloped craggy mountains. With my approval and pleasure…
Semper fi, and thank you for all of us…
Jim
What kind of Marine was Sugar Daddy in combat.
Functional in his way…and most were functional in their own.
Figuring out that function was another matter entirely…
Semper fi,
Jim
Typically I read an installment late at night when I’m not distracted and settled in, then I come back the next day and read the comments. Captain Kelley is looking more like Major Frank Burns of MASH all the time. Its hard to believe that a man with his responsibility could be so out of touch with reality.
There was that. Frank Burns. I’d forgotten about him. There were so many officers
in my time who had that sort of righteous weasel approach to command. And life itself!
Thank you for that appropriate comparison.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was on a carrier tied up at hunters point s.f. as duty deck po I would check on pier watches several times I night so the could make a head call and get some coffee. I watch as seaman contreres was checking on a mooring line tension when he slipped and fell in the water. I ran over to the pier side only to see bubbles . the 50″ utility boats where dead man tied off to the pier and ship. I took a running jump and landed on the boat cover slid down to boat edge grabbed the boat hook and was able to hook my shipmate up and get him out of the water. cold and wet I sent him back on board to wake a replacement up. 10 minutes later he is back out on the pier to resume his watch. I asked him why and he said its was his watch and would finish it. i then asked if he could swim and he said no he was a none swimmer which stunned me. I ok him for the remainder of the watch but only after he promised to stay clear of the pier edge. I went back on board and to our office and reviewed all 60 hands records and found about a dozen non swimmers. I changed how pier watches and boat crews where put together after that. jim great write story thanks for sharing boats
Great swimming story, or non-swimming story. You didn’t get a medal either!
Learning to swim is quite subtle but not as hard as so many people think.
Mythology holds them back. Thanks for the comment and support…
Semper fi,
Jim
In the book “The Things They Carried” the soldiers in this particular platoon , play game of throwing a live smoke grenade back and forth. The one that lost got smoked.
If you have handled smoke grenades, then other than the smoke they put out once they get fully going,
the other thing you notice is the heat. Smoke grenades get extremely hot and if you are throwing them
around, after only about three seconds you need asbestos gloves or your skin and muscles will be gone.
The grenades get so hot that if you thrown one in a cave you will burn up all the oxygen in the cave and
suffocate anyone inside!
Thanks for the comment. Insanity rules a battlefield but I will also say that nobody sticks a neck or
hand out to get hurt in any way unless it’s an attempt to get a ticket home.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey LT, great reading so far! Although I never went to Nam, I really enjoy reading about the country and all that went on. Funny thing about it though, I graduated high school in 1966. I had no plans on going to college, and being 1A, I couldn’t get a job anywhere, except on a farm driving tractors all the time. I knew I would be drafted soon, so I joined the USAF. Now I feel guilty when I read about all the pain that Nam vets have to go through. I know I did a job that needed doing, but I still feel guilty. Is that weird or what?! Thanks for your service and all the rest of the Vietnam Vets!!
Don’t feel bad. We don’t, by and large. It was the luck of the draw, most of it. Whether you were in the wrong
or right place at the time. whether you got place with a good unit or a bad one.
Give that guilt shit up. Sleep peacefully at night. Accept the gift god gave you!
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks! I appreciate that!
Appreciate the help and the content Larry.
Semper fi,
Jim
In 69 everyone was trying to get into the reserves, then the Air Force or Navy. I actually had that thought but all the reserve billets were full and the Navy didn’t offer near the perks that the Marine Corps did. Believe me, there are a lot of Army and other service members that tried to join you in the Air Force. Thanks for your service. Be proud of it.
Could not agree more Rick. I think it’s pretty important to let the guys
here know that being called to Vietnam was being called to something we had no
clue about or we most probably not wanted to be involved with either.
Thanks for coming in on that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Funny thing happened on the way to the AF recruiter. Me and 2 friends all went in the same car. I had talked to the Army recruiter on the phone that morning. We all new him personally. He followed us for about 15 miles before we quit laughing and finally pulled over. We talked at length about why we were going to the USAF. He finally gave up and wished us good luck. He was a good guy. I had wanted to join the Marines, as my Dad had been one, and my Grandma, who was there, pitched such a fit that I sad OK! Holy cow! My uncle was a highly decorated Army Grunt, and she did not want me involved in any of that. 1966 wasn’t fun, except for the music. It was great!! And my Dad said that he wouldn’t discourage me, but I should think real hard about my decision. Grandma had no problem with letting me know her thoughts!! Lol!!
Larry. Interesting write up but what did you do? Join
the Air Force? I could not figure out who you went with from the paragraph.
Let us know!
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks Rick!
I hated the night moves…really didn’t have any chance when it came to booby traps….fortunately I never hit any … we went out on many many killer teams…and they proved very successful….often VC would walk right up to us, thinking we were his fellow gooks
You have brought back many memories..a good read,,, thank you
Working in the night was, indeed, many times fruitful from the very fact you bring up.
When I went to the Nam and for many days there I was afraid of the dark and thunder storms.
When I came to work in the night I discovered that the enemy hated the night too and storms
even worse (you can’t hear or see death coming). When I came home I was blown away to discover
that I had made an unknowing conversion. Now, and since, I love the night and seek out storms.
A storm in a forest at night is a wonderful place, as a couple of my friends found out when we
went camping together and I went out there after forming a perimeter with flash bangs and a tripod
mounted Stoner machine gun set up back at camp in case of trouble. we were in California. They had
not been in the military. When I came back to the camp just before morning they were huddled in the dark
together terrified of me. I don’t go camping anymore and I had to get new friends.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes. I joined with 2 of my friends. They didn’t want any more schooling either. But we were all classified 1A, and couldn’t get a good job because we would soon be drafted. Knowing the Army recruiter, he had been after us since right before graduating high school, he kept up with us. He wanted to talk to us really bad. I had told him that morning on the phone we were going to join the USAF. We had to drive about 30 miles to the AF recruiter in Batesville, Arkansas. Of course he knew the route and waylaid us! Lol! We finally pulled over and talked with him. Msgt Artomoski. We all liked airplanes so we joined the USAF.
All right. So you ended up in the Air Force by taking the strangest of routes.
Isn’t life weird in how much luck and circumstance play such a huge role?
I never knew any recruiters except the one I called to get into the Marine
Officer program. He couldn’t believe any college grad was calling to get in
at that time.
Thanks for the followup comment and the rest of the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great read Lt, as usual. Spotted a couple of possible errors, first was about your wife being 4 thousand miles away, was that meant to be 14 thousand? the other was about you being a lifeguard, “I’d sat to two years in a chair”, should that be “thru two years”? Keep ’em coming, chapters that is!
Actually, in checking, it is around 8000
but I wasn’t thinking such things back then.
I’d written 4000 on the back of one of her photos
and don’t recall how I came up with that number.
Thanks for the corrections.
Semper fi,
Jim
FDC has always looked out for our F/O’s, Shot out!
FDC personnel were the quietly most supportive guys in the rear that anyone
in the field could possible have, save maybe the air people in the choppers.
Man, did they care and oh boy did they deliver. And real mistakes were extremely
rare and agonized over. Thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim I have been amazed with your writing and memory recall. Your episodes have brought back so many memories of that shit hole. Some I had put way back in my memory. Casey reminds me of a SSG I had. Not enough sense to get out of the rain let a lone try to lead men.I have wanted to comment for a long time but just haven’t. I will make this one short but have more I would like to say. Maybe some other time. Thanks for your writing and can’t wait for the next episode. Welcome home brother!
Well Gordon, it is good to hear from you. Until I met a bunch of these vets on here in the comments I kinda thought I went
through a pretty lone experience. Well, I didn’t, apparently. A lot of the guy had officers and Gunnys and men like I was
around. It’s been enlightening for me in ways I never expected, and sure has made the telling a lot easier.
Thanks for the comment and for reading along…
Semper fi,
Jim
This clip disappeared quicker than a popsicle one tries to eat before it melts. And even more? I feel like its impossible to wait for the no-moon night move. I’m ready too soon! Geez James, if you didn’t have a solid clique of 5 to help you there I would totally frazzle. S/F.
Ron Johnson, ever present vet brother. Thanks for the encouragement as I head into this night, a night of the full moon instead
of the Night Moon move we made. Thanks for always being here and there…
Semper fi,
Jim
Never in the service. In high-school ROTC @1969 had a USA MSgt instructor, recovering from wounds, teach me how to evaluate a leader: If he doesn’t understand what he’s doing, help him learn his job. If he doesn’t understand that he doesn’t understand what he’s doing, he’s likely to get you all killed and never know why. Gunny seems to have followed the first half of the rule. Casey proves the second.
Brought my son up with that instruction; on returning from pre-surge Ramadi: “Yup, true that.” Thank you so much.
Pretty good sense from the MSgt instructor, I’d say. And applied in my situation.
Tough to evaluate the men around you when so much shit is going down. Talk about multi-tasking.
And the difficulty of putting together any kind of tribe within the tribe to function
in leadership at all.
Thanks for the comment and support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another correction I think –
“Gunny pulled appeared outside the open vent I’d left.” I don’t think the “pulled” belongs.
Exactly Ken, and I’m on it.
Thanks for the help. Much appreciated
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
You still see Billings face? I still see them, there’s, ours all of them. I especially remember a new black kid killed on his first ambush. A fluke really, it was a well executed ambush with a mechanical set in the middle. After calling in illumination to police bodies, weapons, equipment,etc… we found him. He had a very calm peaceful look. He had fired his weapon, but not a full mag. The hit was in the top of his head, through his soft cover. We never took helmets on ambushes. I remember his face because I was so mad at this FNG for dying before I could figure out how to use him. I don’t even know how he got hit in the top of his head! But I remember them all.
One last question, who’s writing the letters home, usually a squad leader and platoon leader or Company CO did it. With the Combined action groups it was the A squad leader or B squad leader and the Group leader. Kind of thought until the Captain arrived you had to at least sign the letters written by the co. Clerk if not right one your self.
Never signed any letters early on. The Gunny and Rittenhouse took care of all that,
or at least to this day I presume they did. The squad leaders were supposed to write but
we were such a mess I am willing to bet not many got through the system.
Thanks for the accurate questions and comment.
Semper fi
Jim
Maybe a little background in why I like Fuck You Lizards…. Being a creature of two world, The REMFs and Close Support for the Grunts, I had some schizophrenic dichotomies going from the field to the rear, One of them being the Re-Enlistment office, back on base, We had a Re-up Sargent who was a hoot, Always needling you to sign for another 6, They had a nice hooch built for Him, insulated and air conditioned, Where He would invite you into the cool to listen to his spiel, He went so far in pushing His BS, He bought some birds from the local kids, Myna Birds if I am correct, Their call was a screeching squawking …. Reee uppp —– REEE UPPP, Well I believe you know just how that would be received, So, I decided to take up the challenge, I got a bunch of the local kids to catch me about a dozen fuck you lizards, Then with a friend we waited till the Sgt. Fleetwood was out to lunch, we drilled a hole onto the side of the Re-up hooch wall and fed the dozen or so fuck you lizards in between the walls of His hooch… Well it didn’t take long for the fun to begin, Yes after that, Every time you would here the birds screech Reee uppp —– REEE UPPP, They would be met by a course of Fuck You! Fuck You!Fuck You!Fuck You!
God, that’s hilarious. I’ll bet you guys drove him nuts. The guys who made permanent
homes in the rear were the ones who did the two and three year tour stuff. If you went out
into the shit for real you did not re-up….ever…unless you had gone around the bend.
Semper fi,
Jim
(“What did we learn here?” Casey asked, when the rest of us were down, with him trying to pace in front of us but having a tough time because it’s hard to pace in the jungle foliage)
That the Mighty Casey will never take the blame, That anything and everything that he fails to account for will roll down hill in big brown balls.
Yes He was smart about setting the NDP backed on the river, Now since he chose that position, Why didn’t he check whether the river was fordable? Isn’t that the first thing you are taught when setting up a NDP at basic school……
“Leave nothing for the enemy,” Casey said. “Field strip your cigarettes. You learned that like I did back at Basic School.”
Hell, I am a rotor head, and I would have checked that river for several reasons, The second one after finding out if it as a viable back stop to a defensive position would be as a LZ for medevac and supply if the shit hit the fan…. As I said, the Fuck You lizards had more brains that Casey at the Pace…
The rolling stupidity of new people in combat is something to behold.
Intense fear changes everyone so much and they are usually going through it for
the first time…and likely last time, ever. Then there’s the mass confusion
and sounds and food and water and bugs and mud and so much more. Forgivable,
a lot of it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for the corrections!
What kind of experience did the Captain have as a lieutenant, before he came out to the bush?
I have no idea to this day Rod!!!
Thanks for he comment.
And the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
I am thoroughly enjoying your writing, at the same time it scares the shit outta me! I never went to the places you write about, but so many of my dear old friends did some lived to tell bits and pieces of it, others didn’t. I laughed with them and sometimes grieved with them, sometimes I thought I “got it” but I guess I never did I understood the brotherhood, and having each other’s back because that’s who we collectively were,.. what I’m trying to say is thank you, thank you for keeping the story alive, and thank you for sharing your experiences while keeping your sanity while surrounded by the most insane shit imaginable.
Maybe the best part of the story, and the comments here have become part of the story,
is exactly that. What people can glean from the writing not what happened to me but in
what happened to them. It is uncanny to have people write back to me and tell me that
these experiences I thought I alone had were going on in other places not very far away in
distance or time. Thanks for making that comment and support behind it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Interesting that the captain was concerned with getting more officers, yet was willing to continue to demean you, a marine officer. Yet, he continues to compete with you for command of the company in his own mind, by complaining about your new movement plan, without a consult by him. It is very apparent, that he still believes you are trying to undermine all of your superiors. Looks like Gunny is his go to man and second in command, which is what Gunny wants anyway. As long as Gunny can make you the goat, he can control the company, with or without the captain.
How odd that marines who travel primarily with the Navy, can leave training without being able to swim. They spend much of their training crossing over water, but never moving through it, if it is over their heads. Hopefully that problem has been resolved by now.
Almost half of the American population can’t swim and half the world’s population, as well.
Amazingly, only about 25 percent of American’s think they can’t swim. Thanks for the comment
and the thing about swimming. I’ll be there are a lot of Navy guys on ships who can’t swim either.
Semper fi
Jim
James, did not mean to ruffle your marine feathers, but throughout most of your story, you talk about all of the ill prepared troops that you had to deal with. One remembers vets from WW II, talking about the little training they got before going off to war. We should learn from such situations and make the necessary changes, but we never do.
Since we all need water to live with and most cities are near major water areas, it is very hard to believe that half the people in the U.S. can’t swim. Maybe we need to build bigger bathtubs, yeah think?
Just responding as we go along Jlambert. Don’t mean to sound like the total voice of authority about all things Vietnam.
I’m not. I get some things wrong, as I did back in the day. It’s always amazing to me that everyone can’t swim.
To me it’s like breathing and it’s so damned enjoyable too. Some people are terrified though and just will not take
the next step. Period. Thanks for the comment and I did not mean to come on too strong.
I appreciate the people like you who take the time and effort to say something…and like you it is usually interesting
and most cogent.
Semper fi,
Jim
As a former Navy man, I can attest to how many squids can’t swim…you’d think that with 70% of the planets surface covered by the stuff more people would be interested in surviving contact with it…I’ll bet that even less of our green brothers have a good float plan.
Hooyahh, Marine
Well, there was the drown-proofing the Marines required of officers. You got tossed into a big
poor, or rather had to jump twenty-feet down to and then Navy Seals showed everyone how to float on their
back even if they couldn’t swim. Swimming wasn’t taught. I asked a Seal, when I was in the pool, what would
happen if the water was rough, like most of the ocean. He said they would die.
Anyway, I could not agree with you more about the swimming thing. Ten people die per day from drowning in the USA,
almost all of them under 14, according to Google. Jeez!
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey how did they get through boot camp without swimming we all had to go in and show them we could swim and if you couldn’t they had you back to learn. I understand some of what you are saying as I had or was with a couple of officers that weren’t worth their salt including one who tried to stay in but was told no. I also had some very good one, one a Warrant officer acting Captain and the other one also a Warrant officer.I got out just when they were sending the first Marines into Vietnam as advisers.Many shipping over talks while I was overseas but did not want to stay in due to some kind of jerky people.
Our swim program at Quantico for the OCS was similar, although nobody
ever failed out of the program by failing at the program. I don’t know what happened but the
candidates were always back and that could not have been reality. So, the answer is that I
just don’t know. I had to deal with what I had to deal with over there and not swimming cost
some lives for certain…at least in my part of that mess.
Thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
In Marine boot camp 1966 Paris Island we were taught drown proofing with and without a dummy M14 looped around your neck and how to turn your blouse or trousers into flotation devices. Those that had a fear of water and had trouble floating we’re taken to the shallow end of the pool for “instruction”. We had a dark green Marine who was struggling. Pvt Hare if I remember correctly. Hare was a handsome guy who had a natural smile on his face no matter the situation which caused him a lot of grief (to put it lightly) because the DI’s thought he was smirking at them. After much underserved punishment was delivered to Pvt Hare the DI’s finally figured out the smile was not intentially directed at the DI’s. I believe Hare had no idea he appeared to find humor in the antics and commands of the DI’s. His smiling expression was natural to him. I wonder if he ever figured it out and laughs about it today. Anyway when he was taken to the shallow end of the pool apparently no one explained Hare’s smile to the swim instructors who damn near drowned him for laughing at them. I hope he made it through his Marine years safely and chuckles about it today.
I hate to say it but I thought the D.I.s I had were hilarious.
They had such a studied act and were so serious about it…
and they had the power to dump us as candidates so we couldn’t show anything.
I saw an Officer and a Gentleman where the D.I. went to the gym and had a fight with a
candidate. That was so funny.
I had candidate Smith who was 250 and six six.
He said something about Sergeant Baines, our platoon sergeant in OCS
and Baines stopped the platoon, had us face him and then asked Smith if
he thought he could take him in a fair fight.
Smith stepped forward and said he sure could.
My eyes were as big as pie plates as I watched.
Bains made Smith stand at attention and then hit him in the face three time as hard as he could.
Each time Smith went down Baines made him stand back up and take another hit.
Baines then announced “I have just kicked candidate Smith’s ass in a fair fight.
Is there anybody else?”
An Officer and a Gentleman my ass.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m glad you are still writing Lt.strauss and I’m still reading each one thanks for giving me great true stories to read I really enjoy each one and look forward to the next… once again thank you and all the other vets for your selfless service to our great country!!!!
Thanks a bunch Josh. Appreciate the help you give me in continuing.
Thanks for commenting like that too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Semper Fi!
Thank you very much Josh. Short laconic comment but the meaning is all there.
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
well thst was a good read. the boots part brought back a funny time we where on the way to Nam instead of Nam we ended up at Subic Bay while their we went out for some jungle training they split use up in teams we went out and lived of the jungle while out we where to find the other team take something from them without being caught Sam got the lts. boots and brought them back the next day we got back before the other team he put the boots out side of the lts. room he never found out who did it he had to walk back in his socks.
Funny thing, but you can’t exactly lose your boots as an officer
and expect to order someone lower in rank to give up their own if you have…
not and stay alive in combat, anyway.
Thanks for that humorous comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
The ghost are always in the shadows.Combat wounded,Feb 66.Keep it coming!
Doing my best Ron and I am on it again tonight.
Let you know when first book is ready to go.
Semper fi
Jim
So the Captain wanted to stay set where you where you’ve already been mortared? If things went a according to protocol you guys would have dug in, the VC more than likely resupply their tubes and you guys get hammered. Hard to believe your only 11 days in country and been thru all this shit. I couldn’t begin to look ahead another 370 days give or take to the only thing you know, and that its sucking ass big time and you had no way to know whether this is just the he way it is.
The beat just went on and on and on. The action was so continuous that it just
beat us down, coupled with the infighting and elements and the rest of the shit…
Semper fi,
Jim
When suppling a MAT in the Delta. I wanted to wash up. I jumped off their small dock with a bar of soap. While washing up I thought I better get out of the water. Who knew what critters were in it. In that short time the current had taken me about 50 yards down stream. So there I was in Indian country walking a trail naked and alone. When I got back they asked me how it went I said fine. Last time I jumped into water without testing the current.
No shit! Those seemingly slow moving waters could sure fool you,
as they did me upon occasion. Thanks for the story and reality of it.
Semper fi
Jim
James, Your letters home remind me of a tape recording I was making back in the rear for my mom and dad. After a half hour of blabbing, got interrupted by incoming on the ‘far side’ of Phu Bai. After, I rewound the tape to listen to where I’d been before the rounds started. Hell, I’d been talking all thru out-going and some of the first incoming before they started walking the rounds around. Crap, I couldn’t send that home to mom!!!!
I’m sorry, but I don’t understand the Capt. still being around. His plan?? I don’t think He couldn’t formulate a good C-rat dump!
Watch your back, the Capt. will blame you for anything, probably first off the fact that there’s no moon.
The captain was scared and alone in his own way.
Those of us who made it a bit formed some relationships that
mattered so much it was unbelievable in such short order.
Thanks for caring enough to comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have been on the Bong Song in 66 was my first firefight . Like you I don’t think I would make it a year. My first hot LZ Phantoms comeing in behind us when with there Napalm going end over end hopeing it would not hit short then the HE and last the 40 . Could not hear could only see what were going into there will never be any forgetting.
The fucking Bong Song. Can’t find that on any map today
but that’s what it was called.
Thanks for the comment and support in making the comment.
I will go back to work!
Semper fi
Jim
Casey seems bound and determined to get his fool self killed inspite of your best efforts to keep the fool alive. He is floundering as bad as Pilson was and you can’t save them all.
Thanks for the speedy installment for my fix. I find myself haunting your site watching for the next installment.
It was that kind of environment. Nobody wants fault when people are dying and the lies
to escape fault are unending as they are clever and manipulative.
Thanks for understanding and for the support of your comment…
Semper fi
Jim
Yes, very strange times. Casey’s men, Casey’s radio operator, he is watching, doing nothing, but if something happens, it is your fault, not his. So strange, it is almost surreal, and yet the surreal is so commonplace, it is becoming normal. By now you are probably reaching a point in your mind where you don’t really expect to survive. About the only way to survive the “valley of death”, is to become the most evil son-of-a-bitch in the valley.
I wasn’t the most evil son of a bitch in that valley. I don’t think I was close.
I became cold and pretty damned merciless in so many circumstances I wish I could take
back. I did not come away being that tough in my own view either. But I am aware,
cogent and determined as ever to survive against great odds. Better here and now than
there an then…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sorry Jim, I said that very badly. Didn’t mean evil in an evil sense. You said it best as being determined.
That’s okay Joe. These comments are not all about certainty. Some of them are merely
about figuring outselves out with others who might understand and by understanding help.
Thanks for being here and being so very real.
Semper fi,
Jim
Since no one yet has suggested edits and corrections, here are a few:
“my informally reassemble scout team”
“t took two more surfacing’s and innumerable bounces”
“We’ll surprise the enemy if their planning something”
That was all I could find.
Thank you Jerry. Our comment people, like you, are helping a lot and
we can’t thank you enough. Appreciate all the help we can get.
Editing is a bitch because it is hard not to see mistakes the right way.
I look at them and my mind corrects them and moves on but not my fingers!
Semper fi,
Jim
You Know LT you could type the word in gibberish as long as the first and last letters were in correct order. Most would figure it out. I like you read right over the grammatical correcting it in my minds eye and press on.
Keep ‘EM coming. A lot of Vets are learning they are not along. As you can tell from the comments after each chapter.
Sierra Hotel
Doc
I am trying to get better at the editing Roger but it is difficult because the writing
itself does not pour out over the course of one hour or less. It takes me many hours to toss
and turn the thing like a big bad salad. And then I go back because memory does that. “Oh shit, I got
it wrong…” kind of stuff. Thanks for the support here and bothering to comment, and read, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt. as usual I couldn’t wait to digest your story. Your writing brings everything to life in my mind, the sounds, the sights and even the smells. I shared your stories with my nephew, who is a wounded veteran from Iraq yesterday. His late father served in the 101 st in Vietnam in 69 and 70. He was very interested in your story and I will buy him the book as soon as it is out. I believe he will be touched by your gripping experiences and find a closer understanding of his father.
Thank you for sharing. Many in this comment section have said it, but it is true so I will say it too. You Sir are one hell of a great writer, not to mention a pretty darn good officer. The fact you understood the strength and wisdom of Gunny certainly separates you from most “Juniors “. I look forward to the next segment and the entire book.
I was never considered a very good officer in the corps. Oh yes, I did end up with a lot of decorations
but those are no measure of appreciation. Those are more measures of resentment because at the time they
were terribly sought after. Then, in getting them, I found that other Marine officers did not want to
accept you because of them. And so real life plays out, not the movie or television stuff. I spent my last
months in the corps waiting to be medically discharged and I stopped wearing my ribbons except for the Natipnal
Defense medal. That didn’t create any problems except with my last C.O. who said I was not patriotic for
not wearing what I rated. Can’t win. He had been in the corps for twenty-some odd years and never seen combat!
Semper fi,
Jim
I really like these reads and you are really good writer, I like when some can keep me interested in the story the way you do, I was just a little to young to make it to Vietnam, i enlisted in the army in 75, I knew some really good guys that went over there, some came home some didn’t, I wanted to learn all i could about that place and how the guys where learning how to fight a new kind of war, I hope i catch the rest of your story, I started reading the tenth day then had to find the rest of the story, Ended going back reading it all up to now, Don’t know what would have happen to me if i had made it over there, but i would have learnt to deal with it like you did, And a lot of guys i know are still dealing with it, One of the biggest things I hated was how soldiers coming home were treated, there is a lot more i could say, but i will let it go, I love hearing all your’s and other guys stories.
I will follow the last ten days with a continuation of how it was to come home for me.
I think the real shock was in discovering that neither the military nor the civilian
world at the time had any use for returning vets that were damaged physically or mentally.
And I was both, of course.
Thanks for liking the story and the support your words here breathe into it…
Semper fi,
Jim
small corrections: (Paragraphs approximate)-Paragraph 2 reassembled; par 24 stack of; par 33 mine not mind; par 36 was not as
(not for publication) but if you would like a volunteer questionably competent pre-posting editor, I would gladly help.
Corrected and thanks 68H20. Be in touch PM
Jim, another great read. Night moving sounds like the thing to do to miss getting hit with the mortars again. Don’t have to go the hole 10 clicks, just move. Keep them coming Jim.
Thanks Mike. I was bobbing and weaving out there in the field, plus
trying to be Wiley Coyote at the same time. Appreciate you taking the time and effort
to write here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Don’t let that pen run out of ink this is going to be good Semper Fi Lt.
Working away on the Night Moon sequence. The names for these seemingly
silly little operations became almost as important than what we were doing.
It was my first taste of the Hollywood kind of nature that selling and advertising
is all about. Amazing what people can do if they think the idea is a good one, even
if it isn’t. And also frightening to be around people who think a great idea is stupid.
Thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great episode. Thank you. You have requested comments be made if corrections seem to be in order, so I am asking if the Gunny would have not liked a song called “Night Moves”? Unless there is an earlier version, the song was a hit for Bob Seger in 1976.
You are right Joe. It was Night and Day but my mind twisted and the Night Moves song was stuck in
it. Somebody else pointed that out. You guys are good. I can’t get the Night Moves song out of my
head now. Not the one by Seeger. There was this really gravelly singer who did it too and burned it
into my brain. I corrected the story. Thank you most sincerely.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you Sir for another round. The VA should be paying you for therapy for some of us. Helping me to remember some of the details that for some reason I Did Not. Waiting for the shit to hit again. Until next time, George
Thank you George. There was one guy at the VA. An exceptional shrink at North Chicago,
who helped me through a rough patch. Dr. John Bair. He’s still there.
So, in a way, the VA has paid me already.
Without Dr. Bair I might not even be here writing this.
Semper fi,
Jim
Which is harder, saving asses one at a time or all together? Or was it just your own and the others as a consequence? I never got close to “don’t mean nuthin” but you’re helping me understand the complete exhaustion you all dealt with daily.
I never thought about not keeping on going in the field. We did’t have any suicides that I knew about.
Hell, there was no Deer Hunter Russian Roulette going on that’s for certain.
We played that game every day and night with NVA and interior racial problems.
I was saving myself. I was scared for myself.
I felt the weight of being a Marine Officer in combat and it was a heavy weight.
But I also regretted that I did not care more about everyone else’s survival.
I reflect back on how I could have grown so cold so fast.
Thanks for the question. Deep.
Without the unit surviving and some key players, I would not have
survived so I guess I thought about both individuals and the unit
but really I mostly thought about me.
I read the book called the Four Feathers and could not help
feel I should have gotten a white feather
somewhere along the way.
Thanks for the comment, as usual Walt…
Semper fi,
Jim
The river was only about 3 inches deep on the waterfowl (my answer. Lt.
Yes, depending upon the season. September is the beginning of the Monsoon season in Vietnam
though and the rivers were all filled with brown mud while I was in country because of that.
We lived with near constant rain and mist, although I minimize that a bit for the clarity of
writing the story. It’s difficult to keep hitting on how physically dirty and miserable we
were out there in the bush.
Semper fi,
Jim
Conniving and feral….LOL….Perfect
Casey a legend in his own mind, but not…..SMH
I knew right off when you asked about Pilson that he would jump on it. Just had that feeling right then when I read it.
This should prove to be an interesting night
Oh, it was a helluva night, as you guessed again Brad.
I still get pissed for not getting a medal over saving Pilson.
I later got the Navy Marine Corps Medal for saving a Marine
drowning in the surf off of Camp Pendleton so God balanced things
in the universe. As it turned out the medals were like nothing, or worse,
back here anyway.
Thanks for the comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have read a lot of of Vietnam war history. Your posts are some of the best I have read and have kept me riveted and anxiously awaiting the next chapter. My time in the war was as a Navy crew member on a carrier on Yankee Station, 1970. I was one of the more fortunate ones. Keep up the good work. Looking forward to purchasing your books.
You guys on the carrier had to keep sending these birds out with friends in them
and then waiting for them to come back. It must have been crushing when they did
not come back. And totally frustrating. All you could do is ready the next planes with
more guys you knew in them. Thanks for being out there and sending those guys.
Semper fi,
Jim
Strange times indeed, James. SNAFU. At least Casey seems to be coming around that he needs you and the Gunny to survive. He seems accepting of your plans, though will not give you credit for them. Playing rear Mickey Mouse games that have no place in the field, and getting a few in return, it seems. He’s only out there for his own resume enhancement for promotions etc… Hopefully his eyes will be opened in the near future as to what is acceptable conduct in the field, and not go about creating plans from a text book, but deferring to those with raw experience. Listen and learn. Survive.
Working with other officers, in the Nam and back home, was always
one of the most challenging things I had to do.
Just who in hell did these guys think they were?
By being vaulted into the officer designation a great deal of misplaced arrogance somehow was born.
They sure as hell proved to me, and in myself too, that a great college education
is worth about one half of a container of bug repellant…
and that put in your boots, in combat.
Thanks for the comment and your support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Captain Casey seems to have had no experience outside the wire. Did you eventually learn of his background.
As the story develops you will get more on Casey Vern.
Thanks for caring enough to comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow such great stuff Jim the Gunny has become my favorite character he is smart cunning and brave everyone needs a Gunny in war Casey should have stayed behind a desk. If not for you and the Gunny he would get the whole company killed great writing looking forward to next segment!
The Gunny is a great character to reflect back on.
It was tough to deal with him when I was so young though.
I was smart in some ways and he was smart in others.
Interesting times.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’ve come to respect the Gunny but I don’t know if I could have been as patient with him as you Jim. I know the bottom line is he’s kept you alive because he respects your ability as an FO. Can’t wait for y’all to dance in the night moon.
Could not be anything else and live. The Gunny was my life line
even when he was throwing me under the bus!
Semper fi, Jack!
Jim
James,
Like you I am a Marine and a Vietnam vet and a grunt (0331 – M-60 machine gunner). Like so many of the folks who have commented on your most enthralling story and writing ability I too am sucked into your every word. I was never in the Ashau but spent 10 months running around I Corps (mostly South and West of DaNang. I was a lucky survivor physically of that experience and largely emotionally as well. I have my own demons but have been able to control them more than they have controlled me….although it took me about 10 years to really get my “shit together” with life in “the world”. I was enlisted (E-4 in Vietnam, E-5 before I got out) and have great respect as well as feel great frustration for you for what and how you were thrown into that hell with so many “shit birds” (thank God for your Gunny. We had one who was dearly loved by all of us (Gunny Wilson)- he was tough as hell and demanded nothing less than 110% effort at ALL times….but literally would die for any of us at any time and dam near did more than once). It greatly distresses me that so many in that company were so un-Marine like in their actions. We had some race issues and some other personality clashes but we seemed to pull together in the field. I could write a “chapter” for your book just discussing all my emotions and feelings you have conjured up in me. When people ask me when I was in Vietnam I say “Last night” because I was. None of us will ever forget and I wouldn’t want to. I want all my friends I left behind there to know I never have forgotten them nor will I ever and I live my life for them and the life they never had a chance to live. Carry on Lieutenant – I’d be proud to have served with you (as long as the Gunny was somewhere near – heh heh)! We’ll “chat” again – Semper Fi my brother!
Thank you so much for the poignant and revealing comment. “Last night.” When you were there. Man did that comment
hit home! Yes. It is always last night but you can’t tell people. Get’s pretty old at home and also nobody can really understand.
I get that now so silence about it works. That strange interrelationship we had in the field is hard to describe to people.
A tight closeness yet a wondering distrust and guardedness too. Thank you for what you revealed here and thank you most sincerely for
the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Spoken like a true red blooded American G.I. You are not the only one who thinks about all of our comrade in arms that never made it back to the CONUS. I experience bouts of anger and deep sadness, when I think of my young friends in uniform, who never had a chance to live a full life like myself. I also think about their young wives and babies, who never got the chance to know and appreciate their husband and father, who gave his life for what he believed to be worth giving.
The one thing that does give me relief when I deal with those emotional bouts, is that they never knew what was going on back here at home and as far as they were concerned, they died with honor.
It took many years and a lot of mistakes to discover that honor is internal.
It is the measure of a man’s core and cannot be defined from outside the interior of
that man’s core. What happened back home was just an expression of beliefs at the time.
I am sure your friends had some sense of honor in what they were trying to do because it
is intrinsic to the true warrior, but not always known.
Thanks for the comment and the support.
Semper fi,
jim
Gunny sent him in the river !! A plan was made without anyone talking about it ?? I woulda asked Casey what he planned !! This guy is nuts !! Keep on keeping on !! Thanks 🏈🍉!!
The river incident can’t really be blamed on the Gunny. He didn’t order
Pilson into the river that day. It was an offhand comment. Check and see how the deep the
river is wasn’t meant to endanger anyone and it didn’t openly consider swimming capability
or even Pilson’s willingness to go in over his head, with his rifle no less, without being
able to swim and knowing he wasn’t able to. Strange times…
Semper fi,
Jim
When we were young
Well, we sure were all of that. I look at the pictures of myself in full
Marine attire and now don’t wonder why they called me Junior!
Semper fi,
Jim
Man , James this one gave me cold chills. I am not a swimmer and Pilson going in over his head took some crazy thought process. Had an older bro that drowned in the Sangamon River as a child. I never seen rivers in Nam ,just a few creek beds no deeper than knee high, sure glad . We worked the Que Sons Valley . Funny thing is on Stack Arms I body surfed the South China Sea. Must of been the beer,it was free flowing. Semper fi
That river was strange down in that valley, especially the southern end where the valley narrowed to three hundred meters from wall to wall.
Further up it was shallow but had holes you had to look out for, and crocodiles, and snakes, and more…
Thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
That Captain loses more and more of my respect every time he opens his mouth. Instead of asking questions and listening to the experienced mens’ answers, he just decides stuff. But he does seem to be getting the idea that “Junior’s” got some good ideas and the men do follow him. I never did like night movements, except some small patrols where we had some control of the night.
Control of the night. You are correct. Today the third and forth generation NVGs make that given
but not in those days. It was something to move away from the unit in the dark knowing the enemy was
out there but also knowing that the terrified Marines were back in the unit and might shoot you by mistake
when you returned. Thanks for the comment and compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim