The Skyraiders came out of the low level pre-dawn light, the sun still out and down earth somewhere on the other side of the valley’s eastern lip. There were four of them, and the drone of their big powerful propellers and engines built from a faint buzzing to a resonating roar, as they dropped from the heights of the valley wall, coming in low, pulling level just above the A Shau Valley floor.
“Three hundred gallons of special lemonade, times four,” Jacko said.
“The fifty’s back up,” I warned.
There was no more time for talk. The big planes came over us at what seemed like ten feet in altitude, but had to be more. Each carried externally mounted bombs, as before, but unlike before they also each had one huge centerline tank attached to their bellies.
I immediately presumed that they had been on station in the dark, waiting for the dawn in order to make out the situation. Cowboy knew we were in deep shit down below, and didn’t want to drop anything on top of us by mistake.
The four Sandys dropped their tumbling loads, the white bodies of the bloated white canisters tumbling briefly through the air, before falling into the jungle. Four distinct deep ‘whumps’ vibrated across the space between us and the deadly hill the NVA had taken so much abuse in defending, and then refortifying every time their position was destroyed. The wumps vibrated their way through the jungle debris and more solid growth, the shudder of their ignition felt, more than heard. Red and yellow fire exploded upwards, the last of the Sandys flying right through the thick rising mass of its fury. Black clouds came next, and then the radiant heat of the fire spreading out as the planes banked in the distance and turned to make another pass.
“First the enchiladas and now a little hot sauce to make sure everything’s nice and spicy,” Jacko yelled, his faintly suppressed glee coming right through the speaker pressed into my ear. The Skyraiders twisted down, seeming to dive straight into our position from on high before abruptly pulling out and heading directly back to the mess of burning jungle they’d left behind only seconds before. This time the planes lined up with two in the front and two in the back, wings almost touching. Their twenty millimeter wing cannons opened up, and then a mass of bombs dropped from the first two planes and was followed with the bombs of the other two only an instant later.
The planes flew through the smoke like it wasn’t there, and then the bombs went off. The five hundred pound bombs threw parts of the burning jungle in all directions, including toward us.
I rolled toward the water. Great chunks of flaming tree parts, fern fronds and indescribable debris rained down around us. I knew I’d never make it to the water, and even entering the fast moving liquid would not save me if some part of a tree trunk descended and struck me. All I could do was cover up, and push the front of my newly clean body as deep as I could into the combined sand and mud mixture under me.
The Sandys flew off, the faint buzzing of their existence dwindling down the valley. There were no sounds coming from the jungle area they’d torn to burning shreds. I pushed myself up to my knees and stared up and over the tops of what was left of the jungle area that lay between the river bank and the hill where the fifty had been. The whole mess burned and seethed with billowing curtains of black ugly smoke. I looked upriver a few meters to see Fusner and Zippo recovering, while Nguyen slipped from the edge of the jungle, walking carefully but confidently toward us. I realized that the headset still hung from around my neck, the jack end dangling down to the sand. I’d pulled away from the radio in panic, without noticing my electronic connection. I suddenly realized that if Cowboy was trying to reach me I couldn’t hear him. I moved toward Fusner, as Zippo stood and moved toward me.
Before I reached Fusner, I stopped. Zippo handed me my cartridge belt with the Colt still attached to it. I flopped my helmet on, happy to have the damaged thing back, pushing Casey out of my mind. I pushed the jack toward Fusner, shaking myself into my gear, fastening the belt clasp and feeling like I was me again.
Fusner took the headset and tried to reach Cowboy or any of the air group that had saved us.
“Nothing,” Fusner reported, after trying for five minutes. “I think they’re out of range because the radio seems fine.” I walked to the edge of the forest to get away from being so exposed on the flat bank. I looked back at the tank through the clearing mist. It was like the rain and mist were clearing, so the jungle could burn properly, although I knew deep down that the jungle was so laden with moisture it would never truly burn.
I ignored Jurgens behind me, letting the man get warm again, while also recovering from being certain he was a dead man. I had no expectations of the man. His character was set in my mind. There was little doubt that once he regained his composure he would return to being the manipulative, violent and dangerous man he’d revealed himself to be. I really didn’t care if he lay by the side of the river all day long, fully exposed to whatever remained of the burned out NVA position the Skyraiders had hopefully taken out. I’d risked everything to save the most rotten noncom I’d ever met but I hadn’t done it to save him. I’d done it because I knew in my heart of hearts that First Platoon would find a way to do me in if I left him to die out in the middle of the river. Coming to that conclusion caused me a shiver of regret. What had I become? I didn’t know, but left to my own devices I knew lousy Marine Sergeant Jurgens would certainly have become dead lousy Marine Sergeant Jurgens.
I turned away from thinking about the disgusting man to think once more of surviving the day and surviving my scout team with me. I knew I wouldn’t feel safe from the fifty until I was under the concrete end of the eaten out runway pad. Before we could pull out and get back I had to talk to the Gunny. I didn’t have it in me to go back upriver, swim out and then let the current return me to the body of the tank. Once there I would have to tie one end off and work my way back to shore downriver. I couldn’t do it without rest, and neither could any members of my team. The Moses Plan was a failure, with one fatality and the entire company still trapped on the other side of the damned unforgiving river.
“We’ve got to move upriver,” I said to the Gunny, once Fusner got him on the radio.
“Jurgens alive?” the Gunny asked.
“Five by five,” I replied. “We only have a rope halfway across, to the tank.” I glanced back to where Jurgens was laying but saw that he was no longer there.
I didn’t know what else to say to the Gunny. I had no plan except somehow getting back to Pilson, and getting down before I fell down. In turning my head to look out at the tank I saw things near the edge of my vision. I jerked my head back and forth. The things went away but then came easing back, almost invisible but there. Fatigue was coming for me and I knew I didn’t have much time left. And I had no plan. Nothing. My patrol could not stay on our side of the river, even in a fortified position, and hope to survive long with only a few small arms for protection. The only thing we’d have going for us is the mighty reach of the 175mm guns firing at more than maximum range from Rip Cord, and using them was a tough call all the way around. The company could not stay where it was forever, either. Without resupply of ammunition, water, and food, it was a tossup about whether our situation was worse than that of the rapidly deteriorating situation of the hunkered down company across the river.
“What’s the plan?” the Gunny asked.
It was the question I was dreading. The relatively flat area between the river and the company perimeter was so exposed it didn’t deserve any thought about landing choppers on it. The old airfield, particularly the northern part of it, was the only solution. But there was no way to get the company across the river that I could think of.
“We’ll cross later in the day,” I lied.
“You better move out,” the Gunny replied like he believed me. “We can cover your traverse for quite a ways if you stay close to the river’s edge. To a point. We’re trying to cook up some bread here but we’ve got little or no flour.”
I pulled back and looked at the handset as if the Gunny was somehow visible inside it. Bread? Then it came to me. The company was almost out of ammo and the Gunny didn’t want that broadcast in the clear.
“Call command and get resupply onto the runway,” I said to the Gunny. “I’ll let you know the plan as soon as we’re up into position.”
“Roger that,” the Gunny said. “Knew we could count on you.”
“Great,” I whispered, not keying the microphone. “Just great.”
Out of ammunition. What got the British massacred in South Africa and Custer’s company by the Indians? I looked around, wondering what had happened to Jurgens. I finally saw him, sitting on the backs of his ankles by the poncho-covered body of Barnes. I looked at Fusner, but he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Zippo was getting his pack ready to go. Only Nguyen gave me anything at all. He looked slowly from where Jurgens sat, and then back at me with his expressionless eyes. He took his right fist and gently tapped his chest over his heart. I got up and headed to Jurgens’ position, but stopped just before I reached him. He’d pulled the poncho back, exposing Barnes’ boyish smiling face. He held the kid’s left hand in his own hands. Jurgen’s eyes were closed but his lips were moving. I slowly backed away, more in shock than respect or care. I knew what he was doing. Jurgens was praying.
Fusner and Zippo ignored the man. Only Nguyen and I kept a vigil over Jurgens and the boy. Once again the silent Vietnamese seemed to know things nobody else did. He sat like a statue, watching closely but making no move to do anything but wait. I determined to do the same. After a few minutes Jurgens recovered the boy’s body, stood up and walked toward me. In spite of the light mist still falling, and leftover water still dripping from his being submerged in the river, I knew Jurgens was crying.
Jurgens stopped in front of me and crouched down. I joined him. He didn’t look me directly in the eyes.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, making no move to wipe his eyes, the tears obviously bothering me more than him.
I hadn’t been expecting any ‘thank you’ or demonstration of gratitude toward me on the man’s part. For some reason, I didn’t see his obvious grieving state as a weakness either. Once again my mind whirled in conflict. I wanted to hate Jurgens so badly I could taste it but I couldn’t. There was a twisted complexity running through the Marine I didn’t know how to deal with.
“Well, for one thing, you can call me sir,” I replied, my voice soft and not commanding, however. “And then you can help me figure out how to get the company across this goddamned river. But, before that, we’ve got to get to a secure position upriver. Pilson’s holding down a fortified position all by himself under the old runway located up there.”
Jurgens wiped his eyes for the first time. I looked away and waited.
“I didn’t make you Junior,” Jurgens said. “You did. As far as the rest is concerned I got your six.” He stood up. “I got nuthin. No pack, no gear and no gun.”
I stood up in front of him, wondering what he wanted me to do. Fusner and Zippo had hung onto their 16s and I had my .45. None of us had much in the way of ammunition. I’d lost my knife like Jurgens had lost his. I stood facing the man uncomfortably, and then he did something that stunned me again. He held out his right hand.
“You want to start again, Junior?” he asked.
I didn’t take his hand right away. My mind raced. What was he up to? It took half a minute, but finally, I thought I had it. Jurgens was calling our experience together to date a wash. He’d probably let me live when I came back to the company earlier. I’d come back out to the tank for him. We were even, in his eyes. I gingerly took his rough hand on my own. His handshake was hard, like mine. There was no smile in either of us. I stared into his eyes and him into mine.
“Move out,” I ordered, dropping his hand and turning upriver.
I caught Nguyen’s look as I turned. I would have bet quite a bit that he smiled but it was a fleeting wispy thing if it existed at all.
“Fusner, give Sergeant Jurgens your weapon. You’ve got enough to do with the radios.”
I walked past Fusner, not looking at him. I knew just how seriously Marines were attached to their weapons, and my order was way out of line for normal conditions. But we were a long way from normal conditions.
The hike back up to the old runway complex took less than an hour. The coming light was everything in being able to avoid pits and rocks along the way. There was no fire from the enemy along as we moved, but I didn’t feel relieved until we arrived just above where we’d left Pilson, who was supposedly working away to make a camp for us.
I motioned for everyone to get down just before we reached the end of the concrete, where the worn away ground under the runway had to be. I was going to instruct Jurgens to check out the position when Fusner got up, walked to the edge, leaned over and yelled, cupping both hands over his mouth.
“Pilson, is your sorry ass down here?”
He got an answer but it wasn’t what any of us expected. Instead of a return cry from below, the sound of a diesel engine floated across the concrete extending out behind us. We all froze in place. The creak and clanking clutter of tracks on a hard surface followed the low roaring of the diesel.
“Not another fucking tank,” I whispered, jumping to my feet.
“Down under the runway,” I hissed at my patrol.
I ran to the edge of the runway, looked down at the sand about ten feet below and jumped. I landed, twisting to one side and rolling out onto my back. I immediately saw Pilson, standing in the cleft with his M-16 held at the ready position. The other men jumped, landing nearby. I crawled to Zippo and reached him before he’d stopped moving. He’d held onto my pack. I grabbed it and tore it open, dragging my Japanese binoculars forth, before climbing to my feet and making it back toward where the concrete stuck out over the eaten out riverbed wall Pilson had turned into a nearly livable cave. The top of the concrete lip was at shoulder level. I placed the binoculars down on the hard surface after sweeping a thin covering of plant debris and dirt away.
I saw the lead vehicle coming down Highway 548, headed for the road’s dead end. I focused the lenses until the metal clanking and smoking beast came into fully defined view. I breathed out heavily, only then aware that I’d been holding my breath. The tracked vehicle wasn’t a tank. And there were two tracked vehicles followed by a truck. I didn’t recognize the lead vehicle. It looked like nothing more or less than a combination of a portable drilling rig and a giant erector set put together wrong. But I recognized the second vehicle. I’d seen many of the little deadly things in Quantico and at Fort Sill. I was looking at what was called an M-50 Ontos Tank, which I’d heard was the Greek word for ‘thing.’ The vehicles were U.S. equipment painted dark green with yellow letters on their sides.
The other members of my patrol were lined up along the edge of the concrete, looking at that same sight I was.
“The cavalry has arrived,” Zippo laughed, as he started to climb the bank to get up to the runway.
“Stay,” I ordered. “They’re about to reach the end of the road, so they’ll have to turn, anyway.”
I was still worried about the fifty that had claimed so many. How the crew and hardware slowly passing in front of us had gotten down to where we were would be explained when they got closer. Until that time, the attention they had to be drawing was significant. The Ontos was armored, I knew, against light weaponry, even the fire of a fifty caliber, but I doubted the truck or the other vehicle could take such abuse.
I drank my last half a canteen of water while I waited. The liquid perked me up, as I stood and tried to think. It took an hour for the Ontos to come out from behind the overgrown undergrowth and appear on the other side of the runway.
“Okay, Jurgens, get up there and wave at them, since it’s not likely they are on any radio frequency we can get quickly. I was so tired I’d forgotten about the radio. The vehicles had had to come from somewhere further up the valley and the Army firebases would probably know where. But it didn’t matter. The Ontos was coming right at us. Zippo jumped up and joined the sergeant.
The loud, smoky mini-tank came skittering across the width of the runway, moving fast and looking light and nimble in coming. The six big barrels of its 106 mm tubes
M50 Ontos in Vietna
looked menacing, indeed. Zippo was still waving at it when it stopped, broadside to the river edge of our position. The vehicle slowly ground around until its barrels were pointing at the far side of the valley. Its engine died and the two rear doors of heavy steel banged open in unison. A tall skinny man in light green Army fatigues stepped out. I laboriously climbed the short distance up the berm to meet him.
He walked toward me with his hand outstretched, for some reason walking right by where Jurgens stood with his M-16 hanging at his side.
“They call me Tex,” the tall man said, his face split in half with a huge smile. It was impossible not to smile back at him, what with the fact that he also wore a huge winding ‘handlebar’ mustache under his nose. He wore no rank. I had no choice but to accept his hand, as I had done with Jurgens only hours earlier.
“I’m company commander of Charlie Company, 326 Combat Engineers. They sent me down here to pull some Marine faggots out of a hot fire. Am I in the right place?”
I didn’t know where the laugh or not so I did nothing, simply shaking his hand before releasing it and moving a few steps back to wait.
“Man, you look like hammered shit,” Tex said, with a laugh. “Who are you?”
I thought about formally introducing myself but it seemed, even outside of the company, nicknames were all the rage in combat.
“They call me Junior,” I replied, “company commander of the faggots.”
“Where’s Flash?” Tex asked.
“That’s him too,” Fusner answered, pointing unnecessarily at me.
“Junior Flash, I like that,” Tex laughed some more.
“What’s on the big lead vehicle?” I asked, eyeing the thirty caliber machine gun on top of the Ontos.
I suddenly realized we had guns, real guns, and ammunition again. There was also a fifty caliber spotting gun aligned with one of the three barrel sets. I knew that the spotting fifty shot the same arc of fire as the 106 round. The gunner would fire a fifty tracer round, one at a time until he got a hit, and then almost instantly slam his hand onto the big button on the side of the recoilless to explode a round out. The enemy could not reach us with their artillery and we couldn’t really reach them, but the Ontos could. The 106 rounds delivered less than half the power of a 105 howitzer round but that was more than anything other than what could occasionally be dropped in from the air, except the 106 would now be right here with us all the time. I wondered how many extra rounds it carried inside.
“That, my friend, is an armored vehicle, bridge mounted, fording device, Tex said. “She’ll handle forty tons and stretches out almost a hundred feet, which I have to guess is enough to get your company across to join you. Why do they call you Junior?” He asked the last question like it was part of what he’d said before.
“Why do they call you Tex?” I countered, trying to think about how to tell him why I was called Junior.
“Tall, lanky, and laugh a lot, I guess,” Tex answered, laughing again.
“I’m a second lieutenant. They call me Junior…” but I didn’t get to finish my own explanation.
“Because he’s tall, lanky and laughs a lot,” Jurgens broke in, his M-16 at the ready position and his voice low and gravelly.
“No offense,” Tex said quickly, backing up a few steps. “Came all the way down here to help you fellas.”
“Call the Gunny,” I ordered Fusner. “I’m going down.” I was simply too tired to carry on any kind of further conversation with Tex.
I walked the long way around to climb down toward the river. I was too beat to jump again. I could hear Fusner calling the Gunny and talking like the young gossip he was. I heard him tell the Gunny that I was implementing the Bong Song Bridge Plan, and I smiled for the first time in a long time. The Gunny was probably going to have a heart attack because of the shock of the bridge laying machine showing up, or merely collapse and breathe slowly in relief, like I was going to do. I entered the cave. I didn’t know which poncho or pad was mine. I’d left my pack behind me in the sand. I knew I was done. Fusner stopped talking up above and moved down to stand just outside the cliff. I knew that Tex was probably going back over to the bridge laying device and no doubt about to save the company.
I heard Fusner turn on his little transistor radio and fiddle with the dial. I looked over at him from where I sat deep inside the cave. I sat leaning against the worn away surface of the dried mud I’d backed into because for some reason I didn’t want to lay flat. There was only one station to listen to. It took Fusner almost a minute to find it, however. I closed my eyes. Brother John spoke, as if he’d been inside Fusner’s little plastic box waiting to be let out. “This is Brother John, coming to you from Nah Trang on the Armed Forces Radio Network, and here’s a selection for you guys out there in the bush wondering about those you love and miss back home. It’s Tim Hardin giving you all a reason to believe.” The song played: “If I listened long enough to you…I’d find a way to believe that it’s all true…knowing that you lied straight-faced while I cried, still I look to find a reason to believe…”
The words bit into me, the melody driving them ever deeper with each line of lyrics Hardin sang. I knew my wife was true, but I didn’t think the song was about her. I’d get home, if I made it, and there we would be. And I’d stand there, looking at her, and then I’d lie straight-faced, and she’d cry. She’d know, and we’d live with her knowing, that I lied. She wouldn’t leave me because of who she was and who she thought I was. And I knew I could never tell her the truth, unless I wanted to lose her. The song continued to play, like it was being strummed on the damaged instrument of my soul, until I couldn’t listen anymore. I closed my eyes and it all started to go away, as I drifted to somewhere else inside the faded darkness of my cave. I went away, knowing that somehow my wife would find a reason to believe.
Reason to Believe
Written by Tim Hardin 1965
Footnote on Featured Photo: Four Douglas A-1E Skyraider aircraft fly in formation over South Vietnam on way to target on 25 June 1965. The aircraft were assigned to the 34th Tactical Group based at Bien Hoa, South Vietnam. The A-1E 133899 was lost on 9 June 1966, 132633 on 10 November 1966, and 132638 on 4 May 1967. (U.S. Air Force photo)
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OK, I’ve finished the first ten days and have started to get caught up to the current chapters. Long history of service in the family, my Father in WWII in CBI, brother in law MACV, Dad’s buddy Parnell a chopper pilot Korea and Vietnam, myself a Cold War Warrior and in through Desert Storm, my son currently serving in the Navy, so I’ve been around the stories all my life, but I have to admit that this has to be one of the most dicked up companies I’ve ever seen or heard about. Are we going to get some clues to what fractured the company’s unity to the point that platoons where killing each other? Generally I would expect that aggression to be externalized towards things outside of the unit.
One of things that you must do Larry is carefully read the comments by guys
who were really out in the bush at the time.
It was not the most ‘dicked up’ company down in that valley. There were a lot of them.
And the guys don’t come back and talk about them that way. They make up stories to get them by.
None of us want the public feeling sorry for us or afraid of us or any of that.
The truth about what I and so many others faced is not really believable
(and that is reinforced by your writing)
and so we modify the stories to make them more acceptable
because we have to live back here with you citizens.
We are not citizens. We went away and came back as something else entirely.
If you will note what happens in many damaged marriages back in this world, husband and wife
often attack one another when faced with terrific stress from the outside.
What happened in my company was not really that odd, I am discovering.
It is simply odd when viewed upon by those who have not been in that situation.
And we were externally aggressive as hell also….at the same time…
Semper fi,
Jim
I was 101 and 6th Id and I realize that the public face of the war was different than the realities of combat, the same as the perceptions of what the guys today face in the Middle East. The stories told inside a unit are not the same ones that you tell your friends and family. But that really isn’t what my question was about. You walked into a company that was as much at war with itself as it was with enemy and that doesn’t seem to be the norm from any of the other sources. Even in Oliver Stone’s Platoon, the division was at leadership levels and the men in the platoons and squads weren’t killing each other. To use a historical example that my father supported in CBI, Merrill’s Marauders, where 2750 men spend over 5 months in jungle combat to the point that only two remained combat effective, but you still didn’t see this kind of breakdown in the unit. So what happened within the unit to allow things to get where they were when you arrived? And I am just old enough to have a real draft card, so I saw how returning vets were treated by the nation.
I was 11B (0300 for your guys)enlisted and commissioned (grass to brass officer), and also a 21J Combat Engineer Officer.
What happened Larry? What happened is that I have been willing to write what happened and not some fanciful movie version of Merrill’s Mauraders, Band of Brothers, Saving Private Ryan, Kelly’s Heroes, or any of that stuff. I don’t know what happened in WWII or in the rest of the Nam. I operated in a small part of that country called the A Shau Valley. That September, down in that valley, around me with those companies and ancillary units, I am writing what the hell happened. I don’t know the rest and cannot fathom the rest. When I started writing this I thought my experiences were singular. That I had been punishment assigned (for lipping off) to a bad unit out in the shit. I had no idea that my experiences were so general. That so many would identify. That so many could not or would not talk about what had happened to them. But here we all are. And the preponderance of comments comes form men who were there and who went through the shit storm like I did, whatever variation….
Semper fi,
Jim
The Merrill that my father spoke of wasn’t Jeff Chandler, nor were his experiences the movie version either. He spent from March of 1942 to November of 1945 flying into China and Burma, “Flying the Hump”, a mission that was so dangerous that the command didn’t report casualties for fear that public pressure would shut them down. The point of that being what he told me was not about glorious deeds of valor, but as real as one could get it, especially after I joined the Infantry.
While your experiences may not have been as singular as you believed, I certainly think that the situation you were dropped into was pretty singular. Been around enough to know about vindictive commanders and incompetent company grade officers, especially in a war that wasn’t popular back home, but what I can’t fathom is how the company was allowed to get to the point that it fragmented the way you state. Hell, I don’t understand why it was still in the field if they had taken enough of a beating to remove all the officers and senior NCO’s down to running a platoon with an E5, which isn’t even squad leader in the Army. I guess the Marines have their own brand of Stupid sometimes.
Please don’t feel that any of this is aimed at you, but you were dropped into a special kind of a hell, besides the A Shau Valley, and I am trying to understand how that hell developed.
Your foundational belief system is based upon the idea that the leadership back in the rear,
or even over in Washington at the time, was somehow grounded in principals of integrity and care.
We were out there doing what we were doing and going through what we were going through
because of some strange and weird Twilight Zone kind of experience.
That is the explanation you are looking for. I thought that for years. I thought it was me.
I thought it was just plain bad luck and strange circumstance.
Well, read the comments of others on here. I have. I was not alone and my unit
and the units I worked with were not being served by caring people in the rear…
if it meant that they might have to replace us in the field with themselves.
Nobody went out there voluntarily and sure as hell, if some did out of complete ignorance,
they never went back a second time voluntarily. You are reading this story and if you believe it then
would you have wanted to be dropped in on the coming resupply?
They cared in the rear and they were sorry.
They had booze and drugs there to get through their own angst over what they had to do to us so it would not be done to them.
Thanks for the depth of your comment and the way you have fashioned wording it
so as not to hurt my feelings or attack me. It’s okay. I could not understand more your own feelings, misgivings and doubt.
This is not a believable story and I knew that from the start. It’s why the whole thing has lain at the bottom of closets all these years.
I also knew that the writing of it might be costly to me as a person.
Semper fi, and thank you…
Jim
Jim, Welcome home, Dave.
Their twenty millimeter wing cannons opened up, and then a mass of bombs dropped from the
first two planes was followed () the bombs of the other two only an instant later. [ (by) ]
The gunner would fire (a fifty tracer rounds), one at a time until he got a hit, …
[either (fifty tracer rounds) or (a fifty tracer round)]
Thanks Dave, appreciate the comment and your making it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m still not sure you are understanding my question. I was in the Army long enough and a student of military history enough to know that Washington can screw up empty space and even in peace time I’ve had the S4 leave my platoon in the Tundra for two days without fuel or food, so none of that part is surprising or unbelievable. Nor do I find your personal situation unbelievable, while somewhat more desperate, it parallels the experiences related in James McDonough’s Platoon Leader, if you haven’t read it. And as a student of military history there are battles after battles fought by desperate men with inadequate support, from Valley Forge to Fallujah. Additionally my college roommate was a Navy Corpsman on the DMZ in 1968 and my buddy Bob spent most of three tours as a door gunner (do you believe that!!), only went home after he was shot up enough to put him out of the service, so I heard a lot of this first hand from people besides you. What intrigues me about your story is that you landed in a civil war within the company, and that certainly wasn’t the norm for field units as far as I can tell. So my question is still what pushed/allowed them to go in that direction? You may not know and I can understand it is you didn’t.
All acts of courage are done by scared men that would rather be somewhere else.
The answer would be that I don’t know. I came upon it and then left later so that one will remain a mystery. There is no place later in
the books were everyone sits in a circle around a fire and discusses how the unit came to be the way it was or why.
Semper fi,
Jim
Then thank you for taking the time to respond and I look forward to reading the rest of the story.
Most welcome Larry. It means a lot to me that you have written what yuu’ve written.
Semper fi,
Jim
back from my off grid world for a few days and got caught up. Sounds like you may be getting another visit from the 101st – at lease part of the 326 Engineers were working with us at that time.
The 101st was such a class act over there, even damned part of it.
And they liked Marines!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
Dang, LT, you got me crying, thinking about
the whole mess. Been lots of years. I remember that the Ontos was discarded by the Army, and here it is, saving your butt.
Yes, the Army dumped the Ontos but some units kept them in inventory
until late in the war. Vietnam was a funny place for equipment. It could
come out of the woodwork from the strangest of places…
Thanks and semper fi,
Jim
i have been following you since day one. wow, your in deep $hit and no end in sight! i chose 4 years in the navy instead (70-74), so i didn’t have to deal with what you are going through. that was no picnic either, but sure not this. in basic, was told all sailors had to pass water survival training or they would be transferred to marines. not sure if true, but a motivation for sure. half the recruit company went to corpsman school. seems like a lifetime ago now. guess it because it is. my God, we were a bunch of kids back then. it don’t mean nothin now does it? keep on writing. .
Thanks for following from day one. There’s an end in sight, all right. For all of us, of course. Half the company became Marines, anyway! Funny that eventuality
wasn’t well played in training either. Yes, were were kids sure enough, and most of us came home kids in trouble in one way or more…
Semper fi, and thanks for writing on here what you wrote…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lit the page up after my nap wondering if an unnamed Lt was relaxing on his couch under the runway waiting for a CB Outfit to arrive with a beverage cooler and generator to run it. This might shock some, but Nam Vets are old guys these days. Then I read the comments, this is the damndest place. If nothing else it convinces me I’m neither nuts or delusional.
I once wrote of that geography as an accursed vortex on a damnable peninsula that devoured all who came. That slab of ground devoured the blood and fortune of China, Japan, England, France and America. How it unfolded is well established, and kept very quiet by filthy politicians covering for prior politicians who drained our blood, savaged our minds, and hauled our expended carcasses back to a place we never knew, so they could throw shit at us.
I study too much History, learn too many facts, and remain pissed off. Sorry Dorothy, there is no place called home. I remain certain that place ended the day I buried my Mom, and I take solace Mom never saw what her son became.
SCPO, you are, of course, delusional.
And this is a place, this very site, called home if you want to sort of make it that.
Home for those comments and thoughts that just don’t seem to fit in with ‘regular’ folks, as much as we love them.
You became what you are, by the way, which is something of life experience and intellect,
if I am to gauge much from your writing here.
Most people cannot put words about emotions together like that.
You are troubled and you are right.
The people that send other people into the kind of circumstance you and I were sent in to had and have no
clue about what they were sending us into. They don’t go and they cannot understand.
What you got out of it is mixed. You got through with your life and some knowledge few others
will ever possess and the ones you tell will generally not believe or not want to deal with.
But you are special for what you have become and that’s one of the reasons I write what I write.
For guys to read and realize what they came through and how those experiences
shaped them into possessing a knowledge of reality few comprehend.
Here is where we can talk and write about such things and then
reflect upon how we can best use and shape the material we were given.
Semper fi, and welcome, my friend,
Jim
There was a song that came to me in a letter. It was 98.6 we all could not see how it could a song
Well, it sure was a song and it was put out in 1966. I don’t particularly remember the lyrics Like I do some
but it was there all right.
Thanks for the memory and writing it here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Good mornin’ sun I say it’s good to see you shinin’
I know my baby brought you to me
She kissed me yesterday hello your silver linin’
Got spring and summer runnin’ through me
Hey 98.6 it’s good to have you back again, oh
Hey 98.6 her lovin’ is the medicine that saved me
Oh I love my baby
Hey everybody on the street I see you smilin’
Must be because I found my baby
You know she’s got me on another kind of highway
I want to go to where it takes me
Hey 98.6 it’s good to have you back again, oh
Hey 98.6 her lovin’ is the medicine that saved me
Oh I love my baby
You know she’s got me on another kind of highway
I want to go to where it takes me
Hey 98.6 it’s good to have you back again, oh
Hey 98.6 her lovin’ is the medicine that saved me
Oh I love my baby
Writer/s: GEORGE FISCHOFF, TONY POWERS
Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind
Thank you ever so much for the song, my friend.
Funny the lyrics that got burned into
us while back here they were simply fun songs.
Not so with us. Parts of home, to be remembered and revered
and once back here to take us back there.
Strange time machine music…
Semper fi,
Jim
Strauss…. you okay???
The segment goes up tonight. I was down for the count with a bad respiratory thing but I am fully back at it. Thank you for caring and writing about it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, glad to hear you are feeling better, wish I was.
Yes, J, thank you. I just put up the next segment. How are you?
I just have had this awful cold, the worst part being my voice not working. Not being
able to talk, doing the things I do, has been a bit tough. How are you doing?
Semper fi,
Jim
Unfortunately not well, have been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer and waiting for all of the blood work to come back. Don’t know if I will be around for the end of your story, but hope all goes well for you.
Semper fi my friend,
J
P.S. Don’t blame God for the madness of men.
No, I am not blaming God for the madness of men. Right now I am busy blaming him for your cancer. Come on J! For Christ’s sake, I just found
you. That’s fucking not fair. From a selfish viewpoint, of course…God damn it. I was going to say something. Stage four where?
Yes, you are my friend. I don’t know what to say. I am here. Pouting. Mad. I’ll write faster, and having too because you are going to die
before I finish really pisses me off. But not at you.
Shit.
Jim
Good Lord man, don’t blame God for my cancer, He had nothing to do with it.
If you want to blame someone, blame our military complex that sends men on assignments where the land is full of radiation from shelling and bombing or where they have sprayed it with deadly chemicals and polluted it for all of mankind.
Then too, I chose to smoke most of my life and that was my decision, not God’s. Then there were all of the accidents I was involved in from using bad judgement on my part. I could go on, but you get the message.
Jim dying is a part of life and we all have to do it, sooner or later. We are all on a journey here on earth, but that is not the end of life as you well know. The sad part at the end of this journey, is parting with those whom you know and love, but then we may get a pleasant surprise on the other side and all come together once again under much better circumstances.
Yes it would be great if you would hurry up with your story as you are no spring chicken either. From what I see on Face Book you have thousands of likes, so there are a lot of readers who are following very closely now. Think of all the disappointed readers if you are never able to finish the story! You have been sitting on it now for over forty years and it is about time that it gets told.
Thanks for you kind words and the camaraderie as that is something my wife and I miss since leaving the military. We spent twenty years in the service and the troops became our family.
You confound me, or is the right word befuddle? So I proceed, with my special
relationship with God, who is no doubt as continuously antagonized by me as I am by Him…if
it is a Him. Thanks for the kind words. I’m as healthy as can be for a man of my age. No smoke, no more,
no drink, no more, no drugs, no more and my doctor after the physical this year said I should keep on doing
whatever the hell it is I’m doing because he doesn’t see people my age who don’t have problems.
Thanks Poppa, for trying to make me feel better…
Semper fi,
Jim
Were we the boobs? I believe we all asked that question at one time or another, along with many other questions, after coming back home from Nam. Why were we there and what did we accomplish? How can you win the battles and lose the war? Why did we have to be the first U.S. troops to come home in defeat, when we were never defeated by the enemy? Why did our own people turn against us, when we gave everything while representing our country? If those questions and many others were not enough to cause PTSD, what are?
It turns out that we went to war in the beginning stages of a cultural change within our society. Most of us were raised in an entirely different scenario, i.e., God, Family and Country. We donned our uniforms and our weapons with pride and went off to defend the honor of our country. Problem was, our country was in the process of losing it’s patriotism and honor. We found this out the hard way, when some of the troops came back from leave to the CONUS and related to the rest of us, what was going on back home. It was the first of many cultural shocks that we were to experience before leaving Nam. Suddenly the heavy loss of our comrades in arms on the battle field, lost it’s meaning. Did they die in vein and would we also? When the enemy body count became more important then supporting our own troops, we started losing faith in our government as well as the military command.
Of course the worse shock of all, was landing on U.S. soil and receiving the despicable greetings that we got from our own people. It was like coming back to a nation that we no longer recognized as our home. Instead of hero’s who served their country bravely, we were treated worse then any American troops ever to return from battle. If that is not enough to depress a vet, nothing is. That treatment did not end with just our arrival, but continued for nearly a quarter of a century. The unearned shame was heaped upon the vets, instead of where it belonged, which was our government and with our current society.
No, we were not the boobs, we were the unsung hero’s who went off to war for our nation. It was a society of boobs that deserve that nomenclature. The pendulum always swings the other way and in the process, there is a silver lining when it comes to the treatment of our troops and vets. Society finally realized the shame did not belong on the shoulders of the Vietnam Vets, but on society itself. That realization has brought about more respect for soldiers who are now standing for freedom in this nation and they have the Vietnam Vets to thank for that change!
Figured I better get this up right away. I’m obviously not the only writer on this site!
Nice lay out and delivery there. Nothing you said can be questioned. I think we all here share
your sentiments and have come to conclusions not far from your own. Those of us who made it through…
Thanks for taking the time and pouring out your intellect and heart…
Semper fi,
Jim
James
I was in the valley in 68 with A 1/7 Cavalry, on Operation Delaware. I have a possible correction for you. The Bong Son River doesn’t run through the Au Shau Valley, I think you might be referring to the Song Be River. The Bong Son is further South.
Correct. We simply called it the Bong Song mistakenly. To all of us, for some reason, it was the Bong Song.
You are right though as I had and have maps. The Gunny said, when I called him on it in country “fuck the gooks, it’s the fucking
Bong Song and that’s it.”
Semper fi,
Jim
Skip, you are correct, the Bong Song River runs west to east, south of Danang. As Seabee, I worked on a bridge over the Bong Song at Hill 36. The head waters of the Bong Song could be in the A Shau Valley but most of the valley drains north/east into the ocean east of Danang. We also worked on bridges there before Hai Van Pass. True though, The Valley was pounded day and night, the year I was there.
It wasn’t the Bong Song! We just called it that! I had maps with the correct river and tributary names on them.
It didn’t matter. The river was the Bong Song to us!
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir I just got caught up reading the whole second half! Once I started I couldn’t stop. Being a Marine combat vet (Iraq/ Afghanistan) this brings back so many emotions. I know your working quickly but please hurry with more. In a huge way this is therapy for me!
“MAKE PEACE OR DIE!”
Bco 1/5
Thanks Joey, for that vote of confidence in the story. I wish it was as easy
as the earlier segments but the story details a lot of the emotional baggage that began
to accumulate along the way, and I can’t ignore that. We are not “mean green killing machines.”
We are much more than that, and sometimes less. So I am on it, laying each segment down as I am done.
Thanks for what you’ve done too and for writing at all on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
You have kind of frozen my mind and therefore any words which could do justice to complimenting this damn hard job you took on. I will be stuck here for a good long time I reckon. Poppa
Well, after reading all of your cogent and intelligent comments on here it’s very difficult to picture your
vibrant active mind as frozen in any way. Thanks for that being sort of a compliment, though. I shall kick back
and await your ‘recovery’ and return…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you Sir
No thanks necessary, but always nice to hear. Wonderful to start and maintain a dialogue with men like you. You and the men and some rare women who
come on here to discuss real life and how things are and how they came to be that way for you and every other combat veteran.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I hope that you continue this journey, bringing along folks who have reached a time in their lives when they are able to feel a little more, and dang near ready to forgive themselves. We may never live to see the long lasting effects of this story. But it may be or should be a model for future studs and helping them come back to this
Phenomenal world as I think you describe it, and unload the baggage much more quickly.
A man I love like a son,,, is at the point that he tries to ignore things he can’t do anything about. Maybe too much he saw, he wasn’t allowed to try to fix the situation. And another man I love like a new generation son is headed into the snake pit somewhere this week. I can only hope they can talk to each other when they need it the most.
Doing my best to be fine tuned medically for the July trip. Rest LT, you deserve some. Poppa
Wonderful reading your words Poppa, as usual. You always make me think and wonder some more
about you and those whom you have and do associate with. Thank you for putting me in your life
and keeping me there.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks Jim, you are bringing us along and mentoring at the same time.
Well Lieutenant, you just put all your readers down for a nap just like our mothers tried so long ago.
Not me. I ain’t closing my eyes.
I know you need your rest, but I’m afraid it’s about to get worse and I don’t want to be caught sleeping.
Your ability to foretell the future down in that god forsaken valley is spot on, of course.
Where I and the company were headed was called Indian territory but I don’t think the old
west ever compared…thanks for staying awake and on guard while we all pause…
Semper fi,
Jim
Well Lt. you have done it, Get some rest while you can. Don’t think I slept for more than a few hours a day for over 9 months. Gunny is using the two weak non-coms to his personal advantage and to keep control of the company.
Wifes are special, they know what we can’t share, why we can’t share our feelings and why we anger so very instantly. The rest they don’t want to know. Keep up the excellent writing!
from an old Army Huey Crew-Chief/ Door Gunner
The Gunny was slick as snot. Yes, he was the real leader of the outfit no matter how I
put pieces of the puzzle together to help keep us going. Thanks for the comment and your
support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Mercy, Mercy, Me! Just got the First Ten Days. Wow!
Thanks Larry, hope you like the story in book form…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m thinking that Jurgens is gonna be calling you Sir before long
There are nothing but more surprises ahead. Thanks for speculating, though.
You are paying attention. And that’s a compliment!
Semper fi,
Jim
Well Done.
Thanks Glenn, always good to hear and to help me keep on going..
Semper fi,
Jim
Brings back vivid memories
I was 2531
Cua Viet 67 68
Thanks for coming on here Bryant. Radio operators were kind of special people over there….holding
it all together with their communications glue….thanks…
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s taken a bit to digest all this. You and your co. only just survived the last 14 days and on the 15th help arrived. How do you process help arriving when you’re still neck deep in the shit? This was physically draining before you mentioned your wife. That’s what took so long to comment. I was one of those Dear John recipients, as soon as she found out I WASN’T going to the Nam. It took me some time and a wife to learn that renting from Mamasan wasn’t how to treat women. Sorry for venting, you have a knack for stirring up some weird shit. Keep on keepin on, I’m loving the ride.
Glad you are along for this ride Walt….like lurking along just over my shoulder as I move with
fits and starts sometimes, moving back and forth to get it right as best I can.
Thans for being on my six…
Semper fi,
Jim
It don’t mean nothing in the scope of things.
Exactly Tim. A phrase that runs much deeper than the mere words might imply, but you had to be there…
Semper fi, brother…
Jim
Another exciting installment. Now we will see what happens between you, Sugar Daddy, and Jergens, now that the dynamic has changed.
Exactly J, with your usual forecasting capability on display…
Semper fi,
Jim
What happened to “Gunny” ? and Jurgens ? Were they “busted” ?
I flew in Carrier based Phantoms in “65” over Nam .
Jurgens is right there with the patrol when the Army engineer outfit comes upon them.
The Gunny is back on the other side of the swollen river with the rest of the company…
Semper fi,
Jim
excellent!!
Thanks Donnie, nice on word compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Tex saves the day. I was wondering how that was going to work out.
Well, it’s working out, although some of the solutions in real life, as you are getting here,
were held together with little more than dried crap. Thanks for the comment and for coming on here to write it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great segment ! If we could only find away to leave the past behind,great song!
Rest my friend The dance with the devil is not over.
Semper fi
Song didn’t make it to the top of the charts. Rod Stewart made it famous, not the first two guys
who sang it. Unfortunately, he stuck it on the back side of his number one hit of all time.
Anyway, it was and remains the depth of meaning in the lyrics that means so much. And it’s all laced
in or braided together for us who were there and listening to the songs and what meaning we could find in
them. They were like from back home…little singing messages we made as much of as we possibly could.
Semper fi
Jim
Damn eL-Tee! Great big brass ones! Total respect!
Semper Fi from this old dogface.
Thank you Kimball. Running scared, mostly. Sometimes I did a good job but usually
for what I consider for all the wrong reasons in retrospect…
Thanks for the comment and the support…
Semper fi,
Jim
Where in the devil did those guys come from , driving down a road most likely inhabited by the NVA ?? Looks like a good place for an insertion rather than trudging up the A Shau !! Especially after a good saturated effort by the air support !! Military Intelligence , what an oxymoron !! My 45 disappeared while unloading my truck after a hunting trip !! It was shining like a diamond in a goat’s butt inthe open door of the PU !! The reason for my broken , short sentences is that I’m like New York secretaries , hunt-n-pecker !! Thanks & keep on keeping on !!
I am all over it tonight Tex. Thanks for the encouragement. Can’t tell you whats coming up until
it comes up of course. On it though, for the next segment…
Semper fi,
Jim
The best read I’ve ever experienced. I was a marine DI late 70’s,all I’ve herd are words from nco’s and non Coms. I would have been proud to have served under you.
Can’t thank you enough Sgt. I am busy writing the next segment and also trying to put
a more definitive ending on the first book because a NY publisher says it has to have it.
Most people get mad at books that just ended on one day and then pick up on another.
Your comment motivates me to work harder…and longer…
Semper fi,
Jim
The song played like it was being strummed on the damaged instrument of my soul! Really moving, thoughtful writing! Can’t believe we’re almost halfway thru your story. I thought Tex was another tank, if he had been I think the story would be much shorter! Thanks Jim and Semper Fi!
That last paragraph. Chuck imbedded the song, finding the original somewhere online.
Took me almost twenty takes and retakes and edits to get that one down. The action is easier to write, even
when it results in violence and death. The inside stuff is harder and for some reason rawer.
Thanks for your comment and support Jack, as usual…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another excellent chapter LT!! I can say I perked up with some pride when Army Combat Engineers showed up!! When I was stationed in Korea in 1995 (2nd Engineer Battalion, Combat Heavy) we had a fleet of AVLB’s (Armored Vehicle Launched Bridge) that were built on M48 Chassis from Patton tanks, quite possibly the same as what showed up at the airfield. The Ontos was gone before my time, but I sure would have liked to have one in Iraq in 2003(or at least it’s turret mounted on a deuce and 1/2). It would have been a handy piece of firepower.
The last little bit about your wife really struck me, My (now ex) wife hauled ass and left 1/2 way through my tour in Iraq. I think I lost my mind for a while, volunteering for everything…In the long run, she did me a favor, I am now married to a woman who understands me, and knows what to do when I am in a funk, but at the time in the desert it was almost the worst thing.
Thank you
She stayed, it is true. And I lied, it is true. In fact, and she’s not reading this, fully ninety percent of the whole story,
written on here, she’s never heard one thing about, and I don’t think she’s going to read about either. I don’t think I’m alone in hiding out most of the stuff until now. I used to
think it was just me, that there was something specially wrong with me. Maybe in finding all of you guys I at least know that my
form of ‘mental illness’ does not leave me bereft and alone. Maybe it does not help me to talk about these experiences or write about them but I have to tell you I have never felt better about all of it since so many of you have come on here and made me feel. Thank you, as one of those men Andrew.
Semper fi,
Jim
This episode really touched me. Of course, I read all the preceding episodes and thought, “Yup, been there, done that and it don’t mean nothin'”. Just a trip down memory lane from inside a box I closed long ago and had refused to open. Then this – it’s been almost fifty years since my time in beautiful SE Asia and I have never discussed my experiences with anyone least of all my bride. You, my man, are totally correct – I’m not sure a marriage could weather a frank discussion about what we were over there – after all we are all just civilized human beings, right? Thanks El-Tee from an Army LT who actually liked Marines. 🙂 .
Thank you Howard, that bit of writing at the end was straight from the heart.
I uncomfortably read it to my wife, and I don’t really know what she thought of it.
I know she thought of it as a good bit of writing but she would not comment on the substance.
And that I can understand too…
Semper fi, and thank you. For liking Marines too…
Jim
Now that I’ve broken out in a sweat, my heart is working overtime and I’m not sure if I caught a breath while reading this addition I think I may need to purchase a heart monitor before continuing to the next installment. Powerful Sir, just Powerful. Carry on
Wow. Now that’s a powerful comment of endorsement and support and I can’t tell you how that makes
‘my heart soar like a butterfly.’ Thanks for that and for being here to write it.
Semper fi,
JIm
Watching the Skyraiders taking off the deck of the USS Bon Homme Richard CVA 31 was a sight to behold, didn’t even need the cat and were usually airborne by the time they reached the Island.
Later on, anchored in Danang, watching off in the distance the bombing runs by what I think were Phantoms, brought the war a lot closer!
Well, you were there for the show and I am glad not any closer than you were.
Thanks for coming back on here to write more about it.
The Sandy’s were the aerial sight to behold, specially when I was in deep shit on the ground
and it was like I could reach up and touch them roaring by…but in reality it was God and his Skyraiders
reaching down to touch my very survival an soul…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great episode. Maybe now that fifty has been taken care of but if not at least you have real fire power right there with you. That damn thing has more lives than a cat. At least now you have some fire power with you and don’t have to wait for it.
I wasn’t married when I was there,thank god but had to stretch the truth to my poor parents many, many times. Thanks again from a old Army Grunt.
You were once a young army grunt and as you read you definitely get the idea of just how much
debt so many of us Marines owed to the Army…and how that story is basically untold in the modern world.
thank you, again, and again, and again…
Semper fi,
Jim
True love between you and your wife has endured and will endure all things. That is such a gift from God. Your deep love for her truly shows in your writing of this chapter.
I shall endeavor to persevere….and on into this night here, as I slept in that day there…
Semper fi,
Jim
As Josey would say, ” I reckon so”.
The Outlaw Josey Wales, like The Princess Bride, Little Big Man and a few more.
Screenplays written by experienced genius writers never to be recognized for what they did,
but oh so meaningful.
A modern entry would be The Gunfighter,
a short western on Youtube that literally takes your breath away for its brilliance in dialogue,
plot and theme in only eight minutes.
Thanks for the quote…
Love it,
Semper fi,
Jim
You better now forget Mother’s day either there Jimbo.
I am paying attention to that one J, although my mom is dead, as is Mary’s mom, and the real
kids come in and never ever forget that day. I am sort of along for the ride…which I am happy to be.
Thanks for the heads up…
Semper fi
Jim
Was referring to the mother of your children as well, lol.
Another excellent segment. Keep up the great writing and continue leading us on the journey. Semper Fi.
Thanks Hunter, I am all over writing a new segment on the 15th day.
Half way there coming up and half way home coming down…
Thanks for taking the journey, again, with me…
Semper fi,
Jim
WoW! Rescue was totally unexpected. When I first read one deuce and a half I thought “How generous, one truck for a reinforced Marine Company”. Then I realized that truck carried resupply of everything your company needed. Cowboy and his sidekick were truly your ‘guardian angels’ throughout your ordeal. When things got tough they called a Prairie Fire and Arc Light mission for you, were there for the .50 and I’m sure got the army in motion. Did you ever get to know who they were?
Nope. Cowboy, Jack and Hobo moved on into time, and, as with so many other relationships of
distant depth and care over there, they faded into the future, and now the past.
There is an association of Sandy drivers but with only nicknames it’s tough to find just those three,
if they made it that is.
They took every chance on our behalf and I shall never ever forget them.
Whenever I hear a prop plane I look up to see if my cover has come back…
Semper fi
Jim
OK. Whew!!!! Now I’m gonna breath. Of course it was the Sappers that got your beacon out of the fire. That’s what Sappers do. Even brought Big Willie. If you aint 12B you aint nuthin but a grunt. Still got mine. (.45) Although, now, He is in Alaska and I am in the Peens. He is a WW2 factory rebuild. Slide says Pat date 1897 so the slide is an 11 on an 11A-1 frame. He has held my six since I was 18 years old. Nothing, absolutely nothing in the world as comforting as Ol Sam (As in Sam Colt.) in the palm of my hand.
Polished rounded ramp. Barrel bushing so tight it takes a tool to take it down.
“Clark” punched into the side of the post WWII steel slide. Ball peen ticks up and down
the inside of the butt handle. Tight, non-combat, not built for the jungle.
But the jungle’s gone. Just me in the night with a Bomar sight and some
cold comfort….
Semper fi,
Jim
Hell of a story LT.!!!
As the song lyrics play…stand by me….and thank you most kindly Ron!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
Sweet merciful heavan!
Thanks Mike, for the compliment inside the meaning of your comment.
Thank you very much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fantastic work can’t wait for the next .I’m not a vet but have utmost respect for all you guys .
Thanks a great deal for that comment Billy. Means a lot…
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW – no answer required
Thanks
I second “WOW” No Answer required also!
A respit. Junior, call it whatever, sand, grit, or salt you’ve got and are a good shit.
Sierra Hotel! Just when you wondered if command had hung y’all out to dry help arrives.
Ck 6 Gomers still live in those hill side caves.
Keep ‘EM coming Junior this was another great one.
Doc
Like, “who are you guys, anyway,’ moment! Thanks for the comment and you are spot on in your
analysis. Appreciate you writing it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Dam Lt. its about time they sent you some real fire power. I know that the m50 ontos has some real fire power and the vc didn’t like that. very good reading keep it up
Got some reason, when the Ontos arrived, I remembered them as being smaller. The one they sent
was so high, although it was much quicker and more nimble in turning than a tank. The turret would turn
but not like a turret on a real tank. Anyway, thanks for the comment and time you took in writing it…
Semper fi,
Jim
I am enjoying reading your book very much Thank You!!
And I am really enjoying hearing from people like yuu about it! thanks most sincerely…
Semper fi,
Jim
Amazing day! I can only imagine how excited and relieved you were to see that armor arrive. I am almost finished reading your First 10 Days book. Since I started following you around the 9th or 10th day, the book has provided all the historical background I needed to better understand how you got to A Shau. Keep up the great writing!
Don (REMF Medic)
Thanks for the compliment written into the body of that comment Don. Much appreciate you appreciating.
I am at it working on the next segment right now…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey James you still got your 45? I still got mine.
Now, just how easy would it be to part with a Clark accurized .45?
You know, the real deal ones. Not possible on this planet if you have
walked the walk…
Semper fi,
Jim
Just finished Fifteenth Day Lt. The final paragraph, for some reason, left me with tears in my eyes. Nuff said..Take care Lt..Wes.
That single paragraph took me twenty rewrites to get it right and then on the final rewrite
I found and played the song from YouTube to get the emotion as close as I could when I went through
it back then. Emotion had become hard for me to generate or respond to at all in the field.
Thanks for noting the heartfelt presentation…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow Junior! Fifteen days in and you finally get to sleep. Good on you brother and Semper Fi!
Thanks for caring Skeeter. Yes, it was quite the run to some oblivion.
Relief from such an unexpected direction under such monstrous pressure.
Army combat engineers.
It was there first combat and they became Marines without ever signing up…
Semper fi,
Jim
Too young for Vietnam, but your story is riveting and well written. The hell you guys went through, served as the basis for my training. Your hard learned/earned lessons, stood me well in my career. Much Thanks for your troubles and now your memories!
Thanks Dale. I’m not sure I understand what you’ve written here but I like it.
Thanks for caring and thanks for thanking me…
Semper fi,
Jim
Awesome transition chapter, could feel the exhaustion hit and the relief.
Thanks SSgt. All of that…and more…
Semper fi,
Jim
The AD Skyraiders (Old Navy Designation) were a part of The aircraft at NAS Atlanta 1960 and in a squadron On The USS Shangri-La CVA38 in the mid 60’s. Great aircraft!!! I slept on the O2 level forward of the round down Just about where the aircraft touched down on the flight deck before hooking the arresting gear cables. I will never forget the sound of the AD’s landing. Jets would come in screaming bang the flight deck and power back up in case they missed the cables so they could take back off on the angle deck. The AD’s would come in with that humming sound touch down and and cut the power. everything would go quite. Wish I could have seen them in combat action but I left the Navy September 27, 1963. I supported all you people that served Vietnam
I lost friends and relatives in Vietnam. Still loosing them to PTSD, agent orange and taking their on lives.
Lot of guys burned up along the way. I wonder what the real body count was from that war,
as the suicides, and alcohol and drug and crime and agent orange deaths
are not added to the wall in any way.
And then those casualties like my wife,
never listed anywhere except here…
Semper fi,
Jim
The number of homeless Vets on the streets is unreal and uncalled for. Our vets deserve more help than they are getting. Stop all hand outs to all the foreign countries until our homeless Vets are taken care of!!! Thanks to all the Vets of all the wars since 1776.
Charles. Can’t thank you enough for that comment and the courage that it takes to write the straight hard truth.
How a vet can ever be homeless is beyond me in a country that will pay four billion dollars for a new destroyer,
or three or four million for a cruise missile.
Semper fi,
Jim
That elephant knelling on your chest starting to give you a break! I find myself constantly looking forward to the next part, Brilliant writing James
Thanks for the accurate observation James. It did indeed feel like that more than once.
Having the A Shau described was no real preparation for what was down there and how it would
continue to work away without almost any break at all. Fight all day, fight all night, nothing of play,
all of it bite.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn!
That’s all I can say….
For the edit, Sir
I didn’t know where the laugh or not so I did nothing, simply shaking his hand before releasing it and moving a few steps back to wait.
“whether to laugh”….out
Thanks for the edit and the compliment of that one word…I get it
and I hope I’m giving it back…
Semper fi,
Jim
I think that you’re inside the wire now Sir. SF LT.
Only a guy like you would know to read and truly understand, my brother from that jungle…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt.
“And I’d stand there, looking at her, and then I’d lie straight-faced, and she’d cry. She’d know, and we’d live with her knowing, that I lied. She wouldn’t leave me because of who she was and who she thought I was. And I knew I could never tell her the truth, unless I wanted to lose her.” It’s what we do, only another warrior could handle the truth of the hell we lived in then and now. Every smell, sound, taste, sight you write about is alive, keep it coming Junior.
Thank you most sincerely, James. I don’t know what to say.
That last part of the segment was the hardest to write
and I had to sit there and do it over and over again.
Finally, what worked was that I found the song on Youtube,
stuck my earphones in and listened my way back to the way it really was and felt…
I had Chuck add the rendition I heard back then to the bottom of the segment because of that.
Semper fi, and thank you…
Jim
“The song played, like it was being strummed on the damaged instrument of my soul”…. even today…certain songs come out of nowhere…usually unexpected, and they just brush by, just reaching inside to caress the memories..and you can keep going on with what you are doing…you can just taste it but it’s ‘ok’…….and then other times..it hits you so hard that everything stops and the sounds and the smells and the fear just grab you in unforgiving clutches that won’t let go until you are all wrapped up with never enough air to breath…..yeah…some days are like that….some songs will always ‘strum our damaged souls’…..Semper Fi “Junior Flash”….
Loved the ONTOS!!! Had them with us in Hue City in Tet of 68’ Get Some!!
Hell, Larry, I could hear the song playing while I was reading your brilliantly and poignantly put together words and
hearing the beat of the melody while you played, my soul and indeed, some others reading along on here.
Thanks Larry. Nice not to be the only talented writer…
Semper fi,
Jim
I am so glad that I have read everything up til now. As I know it was the toughest thing in life to do and not tell love ones it was bad.I’m ok, really, then go hide everything in the dark hole of my mind. Occasionally losing control of the lock on it and having to lie again that I’m ok.
Unfortunately the way I’ve read “you” is you are mad at God. I was but not anymore. So, God bless you Jim and I pray for you to be healed with Him.
Jurgens, I think, is still out to lunch. Can hardly wait for the next episode.
Jim F
Yes, I faulted God, and I guess I still do. If it was all my responsibility and all my doing
then how in hell am I supposed to handle that? What is God and how can He be what so many say if
He thinks such life events are those that we should be thrown into and then try to make something of?
Why all the “Sophie’s Choice” decisions that just cut hearts in half, killing now but letting life
continue until later?
I don’t know but thanks for your observations and your prayer.
Semper fi, and God bless you too…
Jim
I apologize if it sounded pointed. Wasnt intended. I had all those same feelings and did blame Him. It took 45 years to make peace. Still, during flashbacks my doubts return.
I enjoy reading this. I feel myself being there. Your writing ability is surpurb and continues to draw me in.keep up the good work!!!
thanks for you unspoken blessing James. Appreciate that.
Glad you are reading the story as I lay it down and thank you for being so forthright in your comments here…
Semper fi,
Jim
About time you got some “good” news!
Gear head that I am and aviation centered I like how your photos are always germane to the story, almost like they were taken at the time.
I was wondering when you would turn the sobriquet Junior to your advantage.
Well, yes, and thank you for saying so. I am not sure I ever was able to use Junior
to my advantage. Fear is not a great leadership trait, either the possession of such massive doses
of it or the application of it upon subordinates…even when they do not see themselves as subordinates.
Semper fi,
Jim
I said it once before Brother and I will say it again. Like Junior or not. He was there for you. Love him? No I think not but from what I read he was no meaner that he needed to be. Shake his had Brother and tell him your Brother Bud is glad he was there. Got my book. Thanks Sat down and read it. All of it. Jonesin for the next installment. Stay low, keep movin, pull the fucking pin and change your socks.
Hey Bud. Great advice all the way around. Rain here, but cold, not like there at all.
But writing away like it was there again but not really. Nothing can generate that kind of fear
so I can write a lot of it with no expression or a smile. Looking around. Nobody knows what’s going down on paper
except the guys reading here. Thanks for putting that comment up here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Finally caught a break, LT!
It would appear so Terry, although appearances were tough to evaluate down
that mess of a rabbit hole. Thanks for the thought, the support and the writing of it on here..
Semper fi,
Jim
Just finished first 10 days. Been running and gunning with you from the start. Great book and am waiting for the rest.
Thanks Jerry, really appreciate the support and the dedication in following the story and then reading and writing on here.
Means a lot to me, and probably the other guys reading this too.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well, hot damn!
Some long awaited GOOD things are happening for a change in the A Shau theatre of war in this episode. I am sure the wave of relief that swept over you and your troops when the mobile friendlies arrived in the valley to lend a hand was palpable. Praying and pulling for you to get everyone over the river, resupplied and then get the hell out of there. But I have a feeling it ain’t gonna be painless and simple…Hope the Skyraiders are hanging around on station.
Some things worked and a whole bunch of them didn’t. I had more plans that
a centipede had legs! I just kept trying one after another…and getting from
one segment of a day or night to another. Thanks for the comment and care Walt…
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
In 1957-1959 we were stationed at Kaneohe, Hawaii. My dad (Gysgt. R.P.Herberich,USMC ret. dec.) was in charge of 20 of the Ontos which the Corps. was testing. He HATED the MF’s. He did give them a fair and balanced evaluation but was less than satisfied with it’s results. Thanks for another great installment! Herbie
The Ontos carried six in the guns and 18 inside and were able to handle a lot of the
mud strewn about on the jungle floor.
I heard that they pulled a lot of tanks out of muck and junk.
Anyway. I loved the thing.
Semper fi,
Jim
M50 Ontos
Developed by the Army
Rejected by the Army
Purchased by the Marines Corps
Abandoned by the Marine Corps
A few remaining units given to an Army Brigade.
Guess where.
Guess when.
Hope they have extra ammo on the truck.
Interesting discussion on FB Vietnam Veterans Photo Club
Search ‘Ontos’
You mean to tell me Steve, that we ended up with one of the last Army Ontos series?
Now that would be something, right there. The funny thing was that I remember the Marine
Ontos as being smaller. But maybe that was something magnified by the place and conditions
in the A Shau. Thanks for the data.
Semper fi,
Jim
You just made my day LT.
Thanks tony because you helped mine a bit with your comment too!
Semper fi,
Jim
Finally some rest time and resupply. One has to wonder how long the new and improved Jergens will last. An AVLB showing up. That sure wasn’t something I expected. I devour the new installments as soon as you post then regret read it so fast. Like a fat kid and a chocolate bar.
. I jerked (by) head back and forth. (my)
“I’m a second lieutenant. (The) call me Junior…” but I didn’t get to finish my own explanation. (They)
“No offense,” Tex said quickly, backing up a few steps. “Came all the way down (her) to help you fellas.” (here)
Thanks for the edit and the neat comment Peter.
Love hearing from you after every segment..
So noted and corrected
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, just found this one. Glad to be of help. Please keep at this effort despite difficulties. Welcome Home. Dave.
I pushed the jack toward Fusner, shaking myself into my gear fastening the belt clasp and feeling like I was me again()
Fusner took the headset and tried to reach Cowboy, or any of the air group that had saved us again. => needs either a period (.) or a (while). Looks like it may have an extra carriage return too.
Thanks again Dave…
We are now in formatting for print.
Corrected.
For now, you’re just going to have to know that I’ve read this. When you open yourself up to the knowing of what it’s going to have to be like when you get home, it’s too much to process for me. So much of what you’re doing with this writing is at the heart and soul of that issue. It’s heavy stuff, Marine. It’s the part I would not have been able to deal with either. I can imagine your pain, but, thank God for this, I can’t feel that pain.
SF,
PFJ
Well, John, I sure thank you for being along for the odyssey here. Some of the writing is harder than other parts.
the last paragraph in that segment was a really hard one to get right. Went at it over and over again,
trying to remember, trying to find the right version of the song on Youtube…
thanks for caring enough to write what you wrote on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
And it was totally obvious to me, and many if not all of your other followers here, to see that anguish in those few lines. I knew they would be the hardest you have put together so far. I don’t trust myself to say much more either. It’s straying into that zone where mind and heart and soul and love are locked in an embrace but don’t know if they are lovers or strangers. It’s scary. It says a lot about you that you venture there.
Well, John, you are putting words together well this night.
Thank you for the consideration and yes, the appreciation
of the expressive display of long held angst for the conditions of my return…
a return that was in name only…and any so many of us cannot come home.
We lost our home. We came back but our home of memory, holding all the characters like the house
below the twister in Wizard of Oz, was of another time and dimensions.
Rod Serling could not have dealt us a more different and bitter
arrival set upon our return. And we had to make believe it was all like it was before…
and most of us could not hold ourselves together to do that.
The rare and lucky had loved ones who stuck it out and in not understanding,
never understanding, gave in to trust and confidence instead of demands for truth and divulged memories of that other place.
That other time.
Thanks for understanding. You are among the few.
We are not the legion of the damned for that legion died under our command or care,
instead we live on, like Private Ryan of that movie…
trying to make it in some fashion because that lurking unmarching legion will always be there
like the silent drill team of our nights and dreams.
Semper fi,
Jim
“Rod Serling could not have dealt us a more different and bitter
arrival set upon our return. And we had to make believe it was all like it was before…”
I came back from the other side of the world in Sept’ 72 from Germany after a two year stint there. Had spent a year at Bragg before. Got out at Dix and flew to Texas. Walking through the airports in my class ‘A’s and on the planes I got the feeling I needed a shower or something. More like a stray dog in a park. Had a layover in Dallas and got a room. The next day the world was different when I was in jeans and a shirt. Only the last decade am comfortable being a vet around those who never went.
Yes, it took a long time to get comfortable. Now most of my friends are non-vets, and some of them
even refused to go. Long time in adjusting to that. Thanks for writing about your own feelings and experience here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow! That’s all I can say. Great stuff James.
I am glad you are enjoying the story Jack. It’s kinda special to me too!
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn! An Ontos! You are living large now! A great weapon – as long as you aren’t the one who has to get out of it to reload it and you can move around a bit to avoid RPGs. Saw an Ontos unload on an NVA 12.7 in the near jungle that was raking our artillery position up at Con Thien in May ’67. Two spotting rounds – ping, ping – then KABOOM. All barrels at once. No 12.7. No NVA. No jungle. Semper Fi LT.
Thanks Jack, quiet a compliment and I much appreciate it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding. Rescued by the Army. No matter it was a Godsend.
Any port in the storm. They didn’t operate like the USMC but they somehow had
ways of getting things done…and man, did they have the gear…
Semper fi,
Jim
Well it was about time that your company got some round eyes in town! One has been wondering all through the story, where were the other companies that you were supposed to meet up with? Were they being chased and pinned down as well by Charlie? Doesn’t look like you had command coordination, until the aviators got involved.
One wonders if those Army engineers had not been involved building that strip for special forces previously? They seemed to know exactly where it was. Those guys are unsung hero’s, who have always done a great job for the military in all of our wars. One can just imagine how all of the troops in your company felt, seeing that heavy artillery coming down that road.
As far as Jurgens is concerned, one imagines he had a lot of time to think while he was bobbing up and down out there in the river by the tank. It was time to pray and to promise God, that if he ever got out of that predicament alive, he would change his ways. Then too, he knew that both you and Barnes came back specifically to save his sorry ass. That fact, apparently brought about a change in his thinking and a desire to change course in his relationship with his CO. God works in mysterious ways and man reacts without even realizing it.
Nice detective piece work, as usual J. Jurgens isn’t done yet.
The whole affair just keeps on rocking and rolling up through that valley.
The wonder of daily survival and the fright of nightly survival…braiding
back and forth and around to create the next know…
Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, Jurgens had his moment of remorse, but the ego is always there and the pride must go before the fall of the ego. He is a noncom and has shared his animosity over you, with his platoon and the Gunny.
To admit he was wrong about you, would be a dent in his armor. However, the whole company is aware that you saved his bacon. His offer to make peace with, was tempered by his continual use of the name junior, when you asked him to refer to you as sir, which indicates that he still did not wish to accept you as his superior. That fact infers that there will be further challenges ahead from him and for you. Nice writing and character development.
Another excellent segment…the skyraiders saved your bacon again…and Jurgens is proving to at least be a little humane with his treatment of Barnes, but I still would not trust him. You must have had a guardian angel on your shoulder or something…having an Ontos show up just when you were trying to figure out how to get the rest of the company across the river…and the beauty of it is most of the men probably think that you called for it earlier since you have pulled them out of the fire several times already. It was nice to have armor and some other big guns especially when you’re not really sure how effective the napalm was and the NVA seem to be able to pull a 50 out of their ass anytime they need it…and your ending…man how “spot on”…war is also hard on those left behind…and you do have to lie to them because you don’t want them to know what you’ve done and seen or what you are capable of when trying to survive…and they know you’re lying but they also know not to ask any questions…man, you sir are excellent at this whole writing thing…putting us right there with you and bringing back all the memories…and getting to the heart of the matter too…as always, I am in awe, and anxiously await the next instalment…
Well, Mark, again, there are no compliments bigger than what you just wrote…not because of what you wrote but because of what is inside you
and working there to allow you to write it. You too. Up the hill. All the way. Fist to heart and hand to .45.
Thank you brother, I reread your comment twice…it is that good and I care just like you do…
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s funny the things you remember…music was an escape that took us back home…helped us remember the smells and sounds of home…my poor mother had to endure her first three sons, with me being number 3, all getting drafted and we managed to overlap about 3 or 4 months between all of us…but I still can smell her strawberry cobbler cooking, just like back then…some songs brought back the good and some told the truth of how we felt, like a knife twisting in the heart, even though the feelings were pushed somewhere to the back of our souls to lie there in waiting…
Too true Mark. Hearing and smells have as memory of their own, and in fact,
are run by different parts of our mind rather than regular memory or other things.
Thanks for the comment and the accurate rendering here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I always read all the comments to your segments, and I have come to a realization…you are, by telling the truth of the matter, holding “church” for all Vietnam era vets…some come to the alter and bare their souls because you are a safe harbour and some stay in the crowd without coming forward but still have that knot in their souls, but we are all in the sanctuary…I truly think your writing is helping so many…many that couldn’t or wouldn’t open up about it before. Like we’ve discussed before, war and its effects are still the original “don’t ask, don’t tell”…but its effects will always have hearts, minds, and souls wrapped together like a childhood game of twister…force ahead my friend…
Well, Mark, I sit reflecting on your comment. Deep and searching. What am I doing here, really?
A little late to become Hemingway. Early enough to be hurt by repercussions, although not as much as when
I was younger. I am moving ahead, as I write this, on the next segment. I can no more stop than some of the
guys reading along!
Semper fi,
Jim
Didn’t mean to make you question anything…just an observation…and I can’t stop reading each instalment either…you make it hard to put down…especially when it strikes such a cord for so many…
That chord for so many. Of us. Are we special or are we merely the refuse of humanity that pieced out our souls
in a belief that we could defend all that we loved and cared about in family, state and country? Were we really
the boobs, as many treated us when we came home, or is there merit and honor to what we did and what we’ve had to
carry through the years with us?
Thanks for your comment and that compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
There IS merit and honor in fighting for and helping the men you were with survive. Some gave the ultimate sacrifice for their fellow man…and for love of country. I don’t think anyone understood what was going on and why…they fought for each other…it don’t mean nothing referred to everything else…and people carried things because society treat us like lepers and made us ashamed of what we had done or at least they tried to…but enough of that…I anxiously await the next segment.
Thanks Mark, for the compliment and for writing it on here. You are correct in making the points you make.
Thanks for the sharing and for the caring.
Semper fi,
Jim
Totally unexpected conclusion to this chapter! You get to sleep and all your readers get to take a breath. Excellent as always, many thanks.
Real life coming at you William, almost always stranger than fiction and almost impossible to predict.
Thanks for the comment and the compliment inside of it…
Semper fi,
Jim