I knew that our real registered position was known to the two Army batteries we’d used for fire, and Cowboy and Hobo had to have our position fairly well marked, but the jets coming in would not be quite so accurately informed. I was also concerned about the company’s position up across the drying river bed, as the fast airplanes would carry a lot of ordnance and probably drop it all on one run.
I reached for the AN 343 headset and called Cowboy’s A-1 Skyraider.
“Have you got an ETA?” I asked.
“Ten out, over,” Jacko shot back.
Their response was coming fast. Ten minutes out meant that the planes had been in the air for just under half an hour already, which was fast response for any air support, no matter what.
“What have you got to mark us with, over?” I sent. “I don’t trust the map readers on those planes.”
“Well, Flash,” Cowboy said, coming on the radio himself, “We’re gonna make a pass across the river from you, and do a little suppression fire there. Hobo’s got a couple of napes but you shouldn’t have to worry. You’ve got an upside-down tank sticking up out of the river and those kinds of water features are kind of hard to miss in this part of the valley.”
I moved, staying low, working my way back toward where Zippo lay, still prone on his stomach. Fusner moved with me, holding the radio. I was thinking of Zippo’s unmoving when he was steadying the Starlight the last time I looked through it. We were still under sporadic fire from the enemy across the river, although nothing much was coming from the company any longer. It was like they were out across the open area just beyond the water, and hiding out in the jungle to await whatever pain it was the Skyraiders were going to administer. There was enough light to see the two dead Marines halfway back to the company perimeter, both laying face-down with their LAW tubes nearby. I stuck a finger into Zippo’s side and he jerked back.
“What?” he whispered, scrunching back defensively.
I looked at his eyes. No wonder he’d been so still. He’d nodded off into sleep, I realized. Impossible as it seemed, in combat and under fire with the threat of a tank attack only yards away, he’d gone to sleep.
“Pack up the scope,” I ordered. “We need to get ready to get the hell out of here. Our only chance is to run for it when real air support arrives.”
A wave of my own fatigue swept over me, which wasn’t there only because of having no time to rest. Some of it was relief that Zippo hadn’t been hit, as I’d feared. I was so beaten down I wondered if, when I finally got some opportunity to rest or sleep, it would work to bring me back to a feeling of real life. I handed Casey’s helmet to Fusner without saying anything. I could tell by the look he gave me that he felt the same way I did, like we’d both lost a friend we hadn’t really known we had. I realized that Casey, so far, had been the best company commander I’d experienced in the Corps. He sure as hell wasn’t Major Kramer back at the Basic School.
We were finishing getting our stuff ready for the move, when Cowboy and Hobo came roaring in, less than fifty feet above the river. Their pass was incredibly fast at that low altitude, but their strafing and bomb-dropping so devastating and close that the attack seemed to go on for minutes. Nguyen, Fusner, Zippo and I huddled together, peering over and through the berm foliage to see what we could of the other side of the river.
The tank lay upside down in the very middle of the river. The passing current heaped up one side and then broke in half to slice around it before reforming as if the big chunk of dead metal was anything more or less than some misplaced glacial boulder. I wondered if any of the crew had gotten out of the thing. Maybe it had one of those trap doors on its bottom like I’d seen in war movies when I was a kid, but even using my binoculars I couldn’t see any evidence of that. Maybe the crew was still in there, trapped to await a slow death by suffocation. I shuddered physically at the thought of being trapped to die like a rat in a sealed can. But there was nothing to be done by either the NVA, being scattered and battered by the Sandys, or by us to save them without heavy equipment, not likely ever to see its presence made in the lower part of the valley we were in.
Hobo dropped his two napalm tanks in passing. The twenty-millimeter strafing run had been loud enough, but the concussion of the nape going off was deafening. It wasn’t the loudness that caused all four of us to clutch our hands to our ears. It was the force of the giant thump. I shook my head, trying to clear my ears. My fingers were too filthy to stick them in the canals.
The Sandys pulled up further down the valley and swept off toward the east. I tried to spot them coming back around with my binoculars but it was useless. The glasses were too powerful, which meant they had a very limited view area. I was just bringing the lenses back down when the fast movers made their pass. The jets, four very distinctive Phantoms with funny markings all over their tails, came straight down the river, just like the Skyraiders had, except they were side by side, their wingtips nearly touching. I didn’t see how many bombs they dropped because I quickly buried my face in the bracken and plugged my ears. I couldn’t afford to be deaf on the battlefield again or we’d have no radio contact at all. The four of us clustered like four frightened little kids. The bombs went off in a rapid string of huge explosions, jarring us inches apart from one another and then slamming us back together. The roar of the plane’s huge turbines whined in octaves above the sharp rumbling shocks of their bombs, and then they were gone.
I breathed out in relief. The bombs from the Sandy and the Phantoms were falling no more than five hundred meters from our position, which was closer than even ‘in contact’ and ‘danger close’ rules of engagement allowed, unless our position was uncertain, which I hoped was not the case.
I put my hands down and pulled up the binoculars to review the damage they’d inflicted across the river, but never got them all the way to my eyes. Four more Phantoms came in hard and fast. I saw the snake-eye’d bomb fins spinning as their ordnance was released. Before I could get my face back in the mud and my hands back over my ears I’d also caught sight of more planes. The new planes were weird ungainly things that seemed to be floating along slowly compared to the Phantoms they followed in. I scrunched back down, weathering more penetrating concussions. I wanted to see the planes. I’d never seen the A-6 Intruders in the air before, only once in a static display at Travis Air Force Base the day I flew out from the states. The things flew half-pancaked in the air, working their way down the river and loaded to the wingtips with bomb after bomb on their many pylons. I was in too much pain and fear, rocked by all the explosions to rise up and watch them slowly sweep over, causing more explosions. When their strange ‘whistling’ jet engines were gone I finally surfaced to view the carnage. The whole jungle on the other side of the river, more than a mile of it that I could see, was a mass of fire and flattened bracken. There was no longer a triple canopy or single, for that matter, covering the churned up mess of what used to be a jungle.
“Sir,” Fusner said, his voice tense, pushing the air headset next to my head.
“Tango Tango Charlie,” a tinny voice said just outside my deafened left ear. I pressed the small round plastic piece into the side of my head as hard as I could.
“Buff run begins in four point two minutes, south running north, fifteen hundred west of your registration. Flight of twelve, glad we could help.” The line went dead. I pulled the headset off, stared at it, and then looked at Fusner’s concerned face, only inches from my own.
“Buff? I whispered.
“Arc light,” he replied softly. “They sent B-52s. 84 five hundred pound bombs each, maybe more. Twelve times 84 in four minutes. How many is that? What do we do, sir?”
My mind raced. More than a thousand five hundred pound bombs were about to come down. Over 250 tons. Cowboy had not been kidding about the world coming. The 52s had to have been flown from Thailand because Guam, their only other base, was five hours away. There was nothing to be done, except for our ears.
“Get something in your ears,” I ordered all three men, as I grabbed my pack and searched for the tattered sock rag I’d used days before. I found it and ripped pieces from it; licking , twisting and then inserting them into my ear canals. “Lay flat on your stomachs,” I said, noting that Nguyen, for not speaking or understanding English, was following along with the same speed as Zippo and Fusner. “Cover the radios with your poncho.”
We lay face down, hands covering our ears, as if we were doing one of those atomic attack drills from my childhood. I tried to listen through my hands and the rags but I could hear nothing. I could feel the vibrations of the close-by river water swishing but nothing else. I’d heard that the B52s flew too high to hear and too high to see from the ground, anyway. Waiting for something I knew was coming, and with the most minor of course mistakes, could blow us all to eternity, was more scary than awaiting the arrival of ‘who knows where’ artillery rounds from the 175s.
I didn’t have to check my watch, because I’d started counting my breaths as soon as the air radio guy had told me how much time we had. Four point two minutes was four minutes and twelve seconds. About sixty-seven and a half breaths. It took ninety-three. I didn’t have any more time to think about the fact that I was breathing too fast, because the rolling carpet of the concussion waves started coming through the ground. They didn’t come from across the river where I knew the bombs had to be hitting. The waves came from the center of the earth, or so it seemed. They struck upward into my chest, stomach and legs, tossing me a foot into the air before I slammed back down. The waves came in waves. After the fourth set of waves I suddenly knew I had eight more I had to get through. The planes were lined up and dropping in succession, not all at once like I thought they would.
Finally, after what seemed to be about five minutes, but had to be much less, it was over. I checked out my scout team. I realized my offhand comment to cover the radios had been a good order. Our backs were all covered in water, mud and jungle debris, like someone had mixed a very fine mess of a salad and dumped it from the sky. Fusner pulled the debris covered poncho off the radios. All of us had to find our helmets and get re-oriented mentally. I could see the shock in Zippo’s eyes, and I knew he had to be able to see the same thing in mine. I pushed forward to view the other side of the river, only to discover that it had moved. The strike had changed the course of the mighty river. Low whitish smoke covered the entirety of the distance from the river to the far canyon wall, which had to be at least a mile away. The water no longer flowed heavily around the sides of the tank. The bombs had come a lot closer than fifteen hundred meters to our position. The tank now lay in about two feet of barely moving water. The river had somehow gone right into the mess of churned and battered foliage the bombs had fallen on, jutting in just before the tank’s unlikely bulk, as if the tank had something to do with or served as a marker for the course change.
“Sir,” Fusner said, again, handing me the headset I’d discarded to hide from the bombs.
“Shit,” I replied, pulling the rag from my left ear and pressing the handset to it.
“How about that shit show, Flash?” Cowboy said, laughing. “Man you better ‘đi đi mau’ your asses out of there right now cause the planet Mongo is going to be taking a few more hard hits.”
“Man, I can’t thank you, Jacko and Hobo, enough,” I said, wanting to get off the radio and back to the company’s more distant location just as quickly as I could.
“How many?” Cowboy asked.
“Five, including the six,” I answered.
“Shit,” Cowboy replied, “we got more guys orbiting, just waiting their turn so those guys won’t be standing at that gate alone.”
I felt bad for our losses and wanted to thank Cowboy some more for saving us but my fear overrode all of that.
“Where are you?” I asked. “We’re about to make a run for it and we’ve got like two hundred meters of open ground to cover.”
I didn’t want to make the run back to the company. I’d thought of calling the Gunny on the combat net and telling him to bring the company down to our position. I knew in my heart of hearts, however, that it was the wrong move, and the Gunny would find a way not to do it, anyway. I also knew that I’d not been exposed to the naked open-field position of being a defenseless target for Jurgens and Sugar Daddy. One M-16 bullet or M-79 round, and I was done. But I had nowhere to go. I could not go forward or back and the flanks were covered. I could not remain where I was. I breathed in and out a few times to gain control and get ready. I wished I was sitting in the mud up along the broken path by the Gunny, with him taking a puff of his cigarette, and then handing it to me. The enemy wanted to kill me, but could not. My Marines could kill me, but did they still want to?
I tried to put my pack on, but Zippo grabbed it from me, with a smile. “Gotcha covered, sir,” he said, climbing to his feet, the rags still sticking out his ears and Casey’s helmet under his left arm.
I waited in a crouch. I was ready. I’d channeled Captain Casey and gotten his take on what I had to do. “High ho Silver,” I felt him whisper into my ear. I smiled to myself. The Sandys came screaming back in, then pulled up abruptly, like they’d hit a giant air wall, before bending back to curve around and cover the open area we had to cross.
Springing to my feet, I straightened. I could do it. “We’re going to run balls out,” I announced. “High yo Silver,” I said to the team, my smile gone, wondering if the secret of having Casey on my side was noticeable by them.
I ran. I would lead from the front, not the back, just like Casey would have.
There was no fire from either the enemy or our company. I stared intently at the line of jungle we were headed for, my eyes sweeping from south to north, and then quickly back again. I wasn’t afraid of enemy fire. I was afraid of Jurgens and Sugar Daddy and how much of a needful presence I’d made on the company. In Basic School, I’d failed to be popular. If the other officers in my class had had their choice, I’d never have stayed on as an officer in the Corps. Now, I was running a gauntlet which was nothing more or less than the most important peer evaluation I’d ever experienced, or would likely experience, in my life. The Basic School had been a game. Not real. The southern small section of the A Shau Valley I was trapped in wasn’t a game, and the reality it dished out was in measured doses of death. It had taken five members of my patrol and, even though those members had not been fans of mine, they’d been Marines of mine.
I felt a growing ember of anger that was beginning to burn inside my belly as I ran. “High yo Silver,” I shouted, pulling ahead of my three younger and tougher scout team members. If I died I’d die at the hands of Marines and not some hiding, underfed and under-armed mess of local militia. I realized that I hadn’t even checked my .45 before we’d taken off. It didn’t matter, I knew. The Colt wasn’t going to save me if one of my Marines fired.
The Sandys flew in sharp arcs around us as we went, pulling such tight turns that I would have sworn I could see the entirety of their cockpits, like I was looking down inside them. The Skyraider’s wingtips seemed little more than a few feet off the broken rough sandy mud of the old river bottom. There were no shots fired from any weapon I could hear, and I realized that my own Marines might be just as intimidated by the giant outrageously-noisy aircraft as the enemy had to be.
I reached the big berm our patrol had come down from the night before. I was up and over it in seconds, literally jumping down on the other side between two perimeter guards, and then crossing the few meters to where the path ran north and south.
I went straight down to the jungle floor, falling into a crouch to begin catching my breath and getting my bearings. The relief at making it alive to be where I was made me giddy with some kind of strange fractured joy. I tried to settle down, as first Zippo, then Nguyen and finally Fusner settled beside me. I knew I wasn’t quite right. I knew that I’d been very serious with myself in wanting to be killed by my own men rather than the enemy, which wasn’t a sane way to think. I took off my damaged helmet, now precious to me because it had been Casey’s, and placed it gently between my ankles. I rubbed my face and bowed my shoulders to inwardly stretch. I needed to be clean again. I needed rest.
The Gunny came trotting up the path, followed by Sugar Daddy and Jurgens, with members of their usual entourages in trace. The Gunny crouched down next to me, as my scout team automatically withdrew a few meters. I noted that Stevens was back with us, like he’d never been gone. I hadn’t noticed his approach. I waited for the Gunny to say something, absently thinking about how Stevens might have the best survival strategy going of any of us. He was visible and then invisible. Available but not around. Right in the middle of things but not there at all.
“I spoke with command,” the Gunny said, “and we have to get across the river, somehow by the end of the day. Where’s Casey?”
I watched him go through his ornate process of cigarette tamping and lighting. I motioned toward Zippo. I pointed at Casey’s helmet, which sat by his side. Zippo stuck it out toward the Gunny.
The Gunny took the helmet in one hand, holding it out gingerly before pulling it closer to look inside. He jerked his head back, but then caught himself and slowly lowered it to the ground next to his left thigh.
“Casey’s dead?” the Gunny asked, holding his lit cigarette out over his knees in his right hand, without taking a second puff.
“Casey and the four LAW operators,” I replied, looking over to see Jurgens reaction. He stared back for a few seconds, and then looked away.
“Casey blew the tank,” I said, matter-of-factly, “The fifty took out two and the other two were hoofing it back to the company when they went down. We ran by their bodies. Hard to miss, really.”
I knew all of them had to have seen the bodies, because they were visible from the company perimeter and the Marines manning the perimeter would not miss anything out on their open killing field of fire.
We paused in our discussion when another squadron of jets flew into to make of a mess of the jungle across from our former position down by the river. The extra five hundred meters from the explosions made all the difference in the world. The explosions still thundered and reverberated, making conversation impossible, but they didn’t induce terror or cause any of us to burrow as deep into the jungle floor as we could get. Both Sandys still flew in huge circles, looking for more stray victims, but apparently not finding them, at least not finding them, at least not by firing their 20mm cannons.
“So you lost Casey,” the Gunny said, glancing behind me at Jurgens and Sugar Daddy.
“You sent him out with me,” I replied.
“You led the patrol, Junior,” Jurgens whispered, his voice barely audible.
I didn’t like having my back to Jurgens and Sugar Daddy, so I stood up and stretched. I moved in front of the Gunny until I was between where Fusner and Zippo sat. I turned and squatted down, facing the Gunny to my left and Sugar Daddy and Jurgens to my right. Only members of my own scout team were behind me. I presumed Nguyen was there but wasn’t certain. If he wasn’t there I knew that he was back in the jungle watching from afar.
“We’re going to cross the river in broad daylight,” I said to the men in front of me. “Air has softened things up nicely but everyone here knows what we’re really dealing with. There’s no quit in this enemy and no end to his resourcefulness. How did that tank get there?” I pointed down toward the river.
“First platoon and fourth are to move down to the patrol’s former position, secure it and form a perimeter to await the rest of the company.”
“I don’t think my men will go down there,” Sugar Daddy replied, as soon as I was done.
I watched Jurgens shake his head while Sugar Daddy talked.
I thought about Captain Casey and what he might have done in the same situation. I wasn’t an FNG anymore. I was seasoning into becoming a gruesome entity stuck inside a horrid Dante’s Inferno version of a guerrilla war, and the ‘entity’ was learning fast.
“I don’t have any problem with those Marines,” I replied softly, trying not to rest my hand on the butt of my .45. I wasn’t ready to shoot Jurgens and Sugar Daddy just yet, and I’d learned that when I was ready to shoot them it had to be in a place and time where and when they didn’t expect it. “If they don’t want to go, or you can’t make them go, then let me know. But you’re both going down there, with or without your platoons.”
“What’s he talking about?” Jurgens responded to the Gunny.
The Gunny used his cigarette to delay his response. He stared at the ground in front of him, taking two full inhalations, and then blowing the smoke out.
“Take your platoons down there and do what he says,” the Gunny finally said. “Our orders are pretty clear and we can’t do anything from where we are, except become sitting ducks again when the enemy recovers…which won’t be long. Junior’s company commander until further notice. Check out the inside of Casey’s helmet if you want to know why.”
“Pick up the dead along the way,” I said, “two down by the brush and two up on the bared river bed.”
Jurgens and Sugar Daddy got to their feet.
“What’s to keep Junior from calling in artillery on us once we’re down there?” Jurgens asked the Gunny.
“Nothing,” the Gunny replied, before getting to his own feet, and walking over to me. He dropped his cigarette and stepped it into the mud. I stared up at him, but got no reading back from him at all. Was he still in my corner? Had he ever really been in my corner? Was I some commodity he used to his own advantage and then might cast aside for something of more value at any instant?
“That leaves the river in flood, a tank strewn in the middle of things and damned mess of mangled bodies and jungle on the other side,” he said, holding out one hand when I tried to interrupt. “You may be God’s own personal gift in getting supporting fires to rain down from the heavens, but those aren’t going to get us across that river by nightfall. Whatever you figure out, let me know before we move out with Second and Third Platoons. Whatever it is we’ll call it the “Moses Plan.”
<<<<<< Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>>
Hi Jim;
Thanks for all the “work” you’ve done sharing part of your life with us, there are times when I’m overwhelmed.
I started in Jun 64 and retired the day before my 57th birthday in 2004 to explain any part of my journey to anyone would be impossible, but you make it look like a “cake walk.”
I intend to be at the KS event, my family is Chickasaw and my Great Great Grandmother was the Clan Medicine Woman, I have a lot of her intuitive healing gifts so I intend to spend some time out in KS with the Natives. Many have lost their “Medicine People” so I’m almost always welcomed. Speaking of Medicine, for you the Bear Medicine would have much to help you to sleep, as does Bear who sleeps when the Winter comes upon the land. During the Winter sleep Bear reflects back on the past year and then goes forward in it’s dreams into upcoming Spring walk. This is to understand the things that has or will happen to it. It is why Bear Medicine is so strong with the Native.
Tonight I intend to buy this Warrior book from Amazon. Does this book come from your Lodge and does it have your mark or autograph?
Remember to keep your visions clear and your heart strong … there are many of us who sit by our fires listening to your Warrior stories. Of a Warrior who has gone out and come back with many horses and coups.
In these times the Warrior is not honored, as they always have been in the past, they are “taught to be silent and strong” We are taught no one wants to hear our stores.
Thank you for taking us into your Lodge and lifting our hearts and clearing the vision of many who eyes have become darken with fears and anger. You are a “Medicine Man” to many.
Well, thank you for that doesn’t quiet get it Randy. What a really neat paragraph to read.
I waited to respond to it because I wasn’t sure as to what to say. It would seem to me that we will be meeting on the 4th of July
and that’s going to be a special occasion indeed. I kind of expect to put up a folding card table and have six other guys show upon up
in a corn field but I guess it’ll be a little bigger than that…especially with guys like you coming.
What an honor.
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
Hi Jim, Here is my review anything else that I should add? I’d love for as many of your books to be sold as possible. This last week while at Fort Riley I had breakfast with a Sergeant MAJOR who said the Army was becoming a Millennial Army where people question HIM. OMG are you serious? Yes, it’s bad was his response.
This is what I intend to leave about your book:
Having retired from the Army (entered active duty 1964 retired 2004) I can tell you this is about as real as it gets from a young Second Lieutenants first hand combat experience. A true Warrior in his conduct of leadership, determination, and vision. Like a Sioux campaigning against an enemy that seemed everywhere and determined to destroy you and just getting through that day was a big deal. Unlike the Sioux this Warrior had to face the reality of the racial divide, support or “rear” personnel who were never in touch with the field, officer fratricide, and last but not least the unpredictable events of daily conflict (coffee as a bright part of your day) to leeches or soldiers throwing away equipment to make a forced march doable, or refusal to obey orders in combat.
This book will leave you in ranges from lifted or ready to weep …. or any other ranges of emotion in between. There is NEVER a dull moment in this book… the horrors, stupidity of superior rear officers, exhaustion (emotional or physical), the simple pleasure of a hot cup of coffee with the authors NCOIC (who was infantryman in WW2 and Korea), and the last but not least of what lie to write in this daily letter to his wife to make her life bearable. If you are in the “almost joined” or the “been there and done that Vet” crowd this will bring insight and some relief to you. One of my favorite experiences is in an email to the author from a Vet who said..”I get the question often, when were you in Vietnam? My answer.. last night, I’ve never left there.” Today on Memorial Day weekend … it’s a good time to take the time to read the book about the guys who were never met at the airport or never acknowledged for their service or sacrifice and see the daily trials our Vietnam Soldiers faced.
Best book you’ll read this year, period is how I’d summon it up.
I don’t know what to say about a critique that is so wonderful.
I am working on the next segment of book II and reading something like what you wrote Randy gives me a big lift.
The books are not always the most uplifting write for the writer himself.
Last night. Last night. What an answer of revelation and accuracy.
Thanks your for the great writing here Randy and thank you for making my day.
I put this up on my Facebook site and nothing could serve better on this Memorial Day…
Semper fi,
Jim
My wife and I are attending the Rendezvous also Randy.
It will be an honor to meet you
” Attention all aircraft, this is Ramrod on guard…..avoid WR2168 by 5nm, for the next 05 Mike’s…..Ramrod out “
Fucking “A” Bill!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
Hi James
My husband Richard just read your thirty days has September, the first ten days and liked it very much, as he was in Vietnam late 60’s. He would like the next ten days. I wanted to get it for him for his birthday in June. Is it for sale yet?
Sorry Christina, I am writing the second ten days right now but am only on
the 14th days third part. I expect it will be August or so before that one is done and ready to go.
Maybe a bit sooner.
Thanks for asking! And for buying the first book…
Semper fi,
Jim
The only drawback to one chapter every 5-7 days is I re-read each several times while waiting for the next. In the chapter about the Buff, I’m not sure if it’s me or if the wording here that I can’t seem to get to flow right.
<<<<>>>>
Is it supposed to be the ‘waves came in waves’? Kinda of a cool emphasis but required me to stop and sort out what was being said. If that was the intent then it was just me.
Hey, SSgt, it takes a lot of time to properly research. It’s not like I don’t have to
go back and forth to the maps, and I make mistakes even then. Plus I have my shitty little diaries and
the letters home to my parents and then to my wife to reread and annotate and then finally the
script I wrote in 1970. Whew. I want to get it as right as I can.
Thanks for caring enough to complain!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
I like the conveyance of the sensation of multiple 500lb impacts. Like even the waves had waves. My goosebumps even had goosebumps
Thanks a lot for that comment Ssgt. Sometimes I am reminded to reread what I wrote and then
chuckle at the description I didn’t remember I wrote!
Semper fi,
Jim
On 28 April 1973, 2000 250 pound bombs destined for Southeast Asia lit off at the Roseville railyards in Northern California. I don’t recall how close I was but close enough to knock a skinny 13 year old kid to the ground and then some. Those explosions went on for 32 hours. I can only imagine the absolute terrifying hell that air strike must have been – 500 pound bombs at a much much closer distance. And that’s after surviving the artillery barrage up on the ridge! Eagerly waiting for the next chapter. On another note – I went on Amazon to write a review and order the first ten days. I got a bit frustrated when it wouldn’t let me write the review. By reading the comments I realized that I need to order the book first. Getting on that. Very much looking forward to reading it straight through.
Thanks so much Monty for ordering the book and leaving a comment.
Means everything in these early days. It was an intensively dangerous time
even for a series of combat situations and it’s a long way from over.
Thanks for writing on here and your continued support…
Semper fi,
Jim
I can sill hear the arc light’s. Being on the Cambodian border made them easy to hear. When you could see what they did, as it happened, could take your breath away. The captain turned out to quite the man. Good for him. Keep up the good work, and as always…WRITE FASTER!!
Never seen or heard of any pyrotechnical display like it Mike. Something so stunning and shocking to behold
that the fear was minimized somehow. Thanks for the comment and for being here to write it.
Hope you have the book by now and left a comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
In reference to the Arc light strikes, I was with 3/3/3 in late summer of ’67 and operating out of Payable, near the Rockpile, and I believe we were in the valley that led to Khe Sanh, but really can’t remember for sure. But we had just gotten an arc light strike and we were scouting around the huge holes looking for evidence of casualties, and in the bottom of one hole, a good 15′ deep was a hand, still clutching a ChiCom potato masher grenade. Fifty years later, I can still see that hand and marvel at the fact it was laying there at the bottom of the hole, still clutching that grenade, and everything else about that man was simply gone!
Thanks Chris. The power of modern weaponry is staggering to experience first hand.
Few really do and even fewer come through to even discuss it…to an audience that has no
clue and no ability to believe. In the movies and on television small underpowered revolvers
almost always are at least equal to or greater in effect than machine guns and assault rifles.
That’s the mythology laid on us. The reality is totally different, as you know. Try telling someone
back here that if you stand up a full quarter mile away from a 750 lb bomb going off on flat ground that
the shock wave will likely kill you on the spot. Not the movies.
Semper fi, and thanks for the comment,
Jim
Salina,Ks sits immediately on the sout side of I-70 and is close to midway ‘tween Denver and KC. Not far east is Junction City (Home of the Big Reed One) and Junction City, being a military town (as in Salina is highly supportive of military. Salina was once home to Schilling AFB. The KKOA at Salina is one of the best you’ll see, Many anniversary yearly drag races held there. MANY nearby hotels there as well. I am attempting to get local press and TV to be present. Hope this helps? Semper Fi
Junction City has an outstanding Viet NAm Veteran Memorial there right close to I-70 Worth a look see.
I think the final decision is Winfield, Kansas. They have a small version of the wall and
great accommodations for everyone and would be really happy to have us. At least that is what Chuck Bartok, putting
the whole things together, is putting up on the Internet right now.
I don’t know how far Whitfield is from Salina but I don’t think it’s that far.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, Winfield and Whitfield are 2 different places. Winfield is in southeast Ks, along ways from Salina. Good luck finding your way.
Greatly enjoying you writing. Although not being infantry but Army Combat Engr attached 3rd MarineAmphib Field Force in 68 at Hai Van Pass with a. cLear view of the A Shau
Yes, Dan, but this thing seems to have a life of its own.
I’ll go where the hell they figure out I should go and be proud to
have helped form the gathering. I don’t think there is a gathering of
combat Vietnam guys anywhere…and so it will be…anywhere.
Thanks for the comment and for the support and hope to meet you on the 4th…
Semper fi,
Jim
Winfield, Kansas is southeast of Wichita. When I was active duty I pulled alert at the old Titan II Missile Silo that was close by. It’s been awhile since I was there, but it is convenient enough to larger towns for eats, and lodging, too.
PS Got my book in the mail today. Thanks for the autograph. For others that don’t have an aotographed copy: Nyah, nayh, nayh, nayh! 🙂
thank you Ed and I am glad you like your autographed edition.
Yes, Winfield works simply because it’s an adventure. Is the cause
good enough to hit the road over? I doubt it, but the adventure itself
I cannot help but look forward to…
Thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
I know what you mean about fucked up sleep. (It’s 0330 as I write this.) All this time later, I’m awake from dusk to dawn, checking the perimeter. I postponed a lot of my PTSD by staying in the Corps. I went on to do some stuff in the Middle East as an intel officer, then Desert Shield/Desert Storm, Operation Provide Comfort in Turkey and Northern Iraq, Somalia, the Middle East again, Haiti, Bosnia, Kosovo, Iraq, and two tours in Afghanistan. I hit mandatory retirement at 40 years (10 enlisted and WO, 30 commissioned service) and realized that my mandatory retirement date and my body’s expiration date coincided. My new duty station is Bethesda, where I get parts replaced. It’s all caught up with me now, but I can’t tell what is from Vietnam and what is from the other shitholes. I’ve given up on a normal sleep schedule. No matter, I’ve got a good dog and a house with clear fields of fire. Keep up the good work. As I noted in my Amazon review, if the reader wasn’t there, your book is the closest they can ever get.
I read your comment and then reread it and started laughing. I much enjoyed the way you put things here.
Your duty station is Bethesda for parts replacement. Yes! Retirement and expiration dates. Thanks for the morning smile.
Thanks also for reviewing the book after buying it in the first place. And the compliment means a lot too.
Semper fi,
Jim
Ordinance about 15 paragraphs from the beginning should be ordnance. Thanks for all you are doing and all you have done.
So noted and corrected.
Thanks Gus
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow…Another gripping installment. Thank you again for sharing. A few thoughts come to mind:1) My friend Mark Shiels (1st Cav 2nd & 7th Pleiku 68′-’69) always credited his DI at Fort Benning for keeping him alive in Viet Nam. He said the DI drilled into him that if you equate Viet Nam with a herd of 100 cows, you want to be cow number 52. Not too far in the front, not too far in the back…reminds me of Stevens. Able to adjust (visible and invisible) as the situation dictates. 2) Mark always said, “I was hired to do a job by the US Army, good or bad, that’s my job. That’s the work ethic I was brought up with and I am happy to have a job, maybe not happy with the job, but at least I have one”. 3) My brother was a SSgt in the Air Force (’67-70), stationed for about 9 months in Thailand. About 6′ 4″, 225 lbs., tough guy from a blue collar neighborhood in Queens, had nothing but praise for you guys on the ground.
Thanks Al for that neat comment. I was not angry with Stevens for the way
he conducted himself. I was more amazed at his ability to pull it off, even with me being
on to him! But then, survival strengths come in all kinds. I was as different from Stevens as night to day
but I respected what he was and how he was going about cleverly thinking his way through…
Semper fi,
Jim
In my day with the 101st we called Stevens a “ghost”. The procedure was called “ghostin”. It was a survival technique. Always available, never visible.
Interesting comment here Vern. I, like with most of the rest of my story, never thought that any of this stuff might be
experienced by other men in combat. Here you guys not only knew of conduct like Stevens pulled buy you had a name for it!
Astounding. Thank you for that and for the other comments you have made.
Semper fi,
Jim
I asked a coworker who is a Amazon Prime member to help me leave you a review since I hadn’t spent money there myself. He bought me the book instead, you’ll see it in the near future when I send for the autograph. I already asked them to get that review in. #oneveryhappycamper
SSGT. You are the man! Thank you, and that was a cool thing for that person to do.
Thanks so very much. It seems small at this point but we are small at this point. Growing but small.
Hopefully, we will be like the Corps, small but oh so effective…
Thanks brother,
Semper fi,
Jim
James – Possibly the most intense chapter yet. So many unknowns – the NVA and your own troops pale small in comparison as to where the hell is all that high altitude ordinance REALLY going to land? I’m still having a very hard time thinking that you actually had Marines who may still want to kill you after all you’ve brought them through. Total shitbirds of the lowest form in my eyes!
Here’s something else I’d like your input on. I have a daughter who is very close to signing the papers for OCS in Quantico (May 2018 class). Are the instructors that ignorant AND that shitty to the “candidates” as you describe Major Kramer in Basic School? Has their own feeling of self importance overshadowed their professionalism that REQUIRES them to train and mold these highly motivated, very bright future leaders of our beloved Corps and country into lean, mean fighting machines? It disturbs me that someone as qualified and obviously successful as you were in OCS would be ostracized by fellow candidates (and commanding officers) who were jealous of your accomplishments rather than being proud to have served with you.
Semper FI
They weren’t that jealous. I was a bit of an asshole to many of them.
Kramer was a bad C.O. but those can be worked around as time goes by and through the combined efforts of everyone in the command.
The Corps is a definitive life-changing thing in anyone’s life who joins it at any rank or level. It is, in my opinion, the finest training
operation in the world and leaves its positive can-do attitude stamp on all who enter its portals. Also, OCS is tough and when you do tough successfully
it leaves its mark. I whole-heartedly support her going to OCS and coming out as a great officer. I have not written much about the great ones I met because they came after…and hopefully I’ll make it to write that book after the other three are done….
I love the Marine Corps, all the way…up the hill…oooooorahhhhh!
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Just read first 10 Days. Great job.
I am a specialist in sleep disorders.
You mention in several places loosing time but not really sleeping.
Stage I Sleep is hard to tell from being awake. You can still hear things and maybe think scattered thoughts. Of the 4 stages of sleep, it is where anxious people mostly sleep. It is not very refreshing. It can be easily interrupted by brief arousals.Some people will drift from being awake to in Stage I sleep and out again. Very sleep deprived people can lapse into it unknowingly, even while standing up.
I really appreciate your writing down your experiences.
Frank
Now that’s some neat shit your talking about Frank.
I did not know there were sleep specialists around.
I guess I’ve never considered my strange state at night a ‘disorder’ before.
It must be, however. I am very alert through all the days of my life. All day long,
from around six until around one a.m. the following morning.
I sleep but not sleep during most nights. I get up and then get back down.
I go in and out all night long but I am not discomforted by the process.
It’s become okay as long as I don’t bother anyone else in the house.
I hunt with my cat through the house, from window to window to cover all the fields of fire.
But I do not do so armed anymore.
If periods of actually being out of it come then the loss of some decent hours
of being down does not seem to bother me at all during the next day. I do not nap and I do not nod off.
I could not be more alert or on top of everything mentally.
I do not multi-task well but I task really, really well.
I probably have a disorder though, as I can’t see where my night life is at all normal.
I don’t drink or take any drugs at all.
Thanks for caring enough to ask.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hypervigilance , insomnia and poor quality sleep is seen in some veterans. I think my Grandad had some of this left over from WWI.
There has been quite a lot of research in this field. You might google American Society of Sleep Medicine for more info.
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/m/pubmed/16800716/
A good review.
Frank
Thanks, Frank
Morning “LT”….sitting here and smiliing at the small coincidences that just can’t be explained…This segment arriving for us to read on Easter Morning..as you leave us waiting…for the “Moses Plan”…..just doesn’t get any better…. In order to have received all that air support, Cowboy had to have declared a “Broken Arrow” for your situation….and everything that could fly was given to him to use for your support..Those B52’s would have been diverted in flight from another predestined target area…and that never happened unless it was of the utmost importance…Somebody had your back… The closest we ever got to an Arc Light drop was about two clicks..and I can still feel the earth shaking today..we would stop and stare at each other..and speak quietly, almost in reverance for the hell that was being delivered upon those under the rain of steel….the phrase “Get Some” could be heard up and down the line and we were just grateful that Buff was on our side….. As for Casey….he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way…he had enough wits left to know that he was finished…but by God, he was stll an Officer of Marines….to the end…”Hi Ho Silver… Away”….. will raise a quiet cold one to Him…and all the “Sandy’s” Semper Fi…
Wow Larry. Just wow! You write your own form of poetry in this last entry.
Your story braided so neatly into my own, like we were both there together
and now old Marines sitting around the camp fire and talking about it.
The Vietnam Combat Rendezvous is going down outside Salina, Kansas on over the 4th of July.
You just have to be there…along with the organized wisdom
you so adroitly express in your writing.
Thanks for that. A quiet cold one…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim another intense segment. Loved the fast movers (F4s) they were there then we needed them. Sometimes to close for me. Your descriptions of the explosions bring it all back for (to) me, the radios asking for our positions to the sounds are spot on. We had some big bombs (don’t remember how big) dropped in Cambodia that turned the triple canopy to tooth picks, we stayed around them at night for field of fire if we could.
Keep them coming Jim.
Thanks Mike, and I mean that from the depths. It’s hard to associate sometimes with the far journey from there to here,
and bridging that huge gulf, a gulf I wanted to make wider as quickly as I could. But here I am, on the far side of that
valley of life, wondering if that distant height and edge near the far horizon of time really happened at all.
Am I really here? And if I am then what exactly is here? Thanks for the depth of your comments, all of them, and this is just
another fine example…
Semper fi,
Jim
Remember shrapnel swoosh swooshing and then the thud as it hit close by every time we called in HE…some way to close…those times I found that I could get everything but the end of my toes under my helmet 😁
God yes. The sound of that flying metal, and sometimes the mysterious thuds when it hit, never to be seen, gone in the mud or jungle mash.
I concur without reservation. The sound of the low-flying artillery rounds moving right over our heads when we were on the gun target line or
that weirdness of the illum cannisters….
Thank you,
Semper fi,
Jim
You did Good LT. I have not been saying much you know how it is. I lost my James on the April 14 67 just can’t get it out of my head. There’s a lot of Day that come back every year. I do like your book you are telling it like it was. Thank you James
Thank you Fred. You lost your own James back in 1967 and I feel bad about that too.
There is nothing like that…nothing on earth. What is really deep grief, anyway? It’s like
a little clock inside you starts ticking…and you begin waiting until you die. Thanks for sticking around Fred
and know that a lot of people reading this share a good measure of loss about and for your loss….this very night.
Semper fi, my friend, and brother….
Jim
-For several years I wondered why the D-Day Invasion in Normandy was made on the beaches, directly into firing machine guns. We might have taken an airfield somewhere in France, and flown over the coastal defenses. It was the German tanks that prevented any such plan. You could locate them and take them out during the daylight, but not at night. At that time, you needed a tank to do battle with another tank, and tanks are not so easily moved around by aircraft.
It has always been extremely difficult to take tanks out from infantry positions.
Other tanks make it one helluva lot easier but anti-tank weapons have always been at a disadvantage.
If the shot misses or hits and does not do the job the infantryman can pretty much be assured the tank is coming for him.
And tanks come fast and hard, and throwing forward a ton of tough ordnance. Thanks for the comment. Hope you bought the book and
left a comment on Amazon.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hi Ho Silver LT. Keep em coming….
Roger that, Al. Hope you are buying the book and leaving a comment on Amazon, or wherever!
Thanks for writing on here…and spelling the Hi Ho Silver more correctly than I did, apparently.
Semper fi,
Jim
O.K. enuff with the spelin already. enuff with the gramar lesins. No mor god damm shoulda ben too e’s insteda won. Read the God damn book. I don’t pay much attention to any thing the Editor takes care of. But I can feel my blood pulse when I read it. I live in the moment. Just as my Brother did. Git back to that keyboard and start bangin on it. I need my next fix.
Working away n it Bud…in fact, later this day and then into the night.
Hope to have it up by tomorrow. Thanks for the note of encouragement. Hope you bought the book
and left a comment. Means a lot to me in wherever this thing is going.
Semper fi,
Jim
Dammit, Jim, I was squatting back behind the RTO trying to catch my breath when, all of a sudden, I was reading comments! How do you do that? What’s up with the Gunny? His anger about the loss of Casey is probably aimed inward, he’s about done all the damage to you he can get away with.
Got The First Ten Days, read it, loved it. It’s different than segments, for some reason it flows better. I guess being able to ease back down between contacts (all kinds) makes it smoother. I’ll be passing your info around among friends and family.
As usual Walt, you keep sneaking up on me with your comments. Outlaw Josey Wales style!
Glad you like the book format. I made sure to be certain it was in proper novel form with decent
font and presentation. Harder than most people might think to do and make happen.
And it takes so much time! Anyway, here I am back writing the story just as soon as I can make some way through the comments.
Got 66 today and I’ve only answered 31 or so…oops a few more. 35 to go. Whew, but they are great to answer, like your own.
Semper fi, my friend…
Jim
The sights, sounds and smells are as vivid in your writing as it was back then. What was remarkable to me was the silence after the shelling and weapon fire stopped. The only thing a person could hear was the electrons racing through your body at hyper speed. This has me riding the Dragon again, the one I rode there and followed me home. Keep it coming, your story about Vietnam is one I get inside. Your insight and command of the human elements makes it real. Thank you for sharing your story.
Yes, the sound of that silence. I guess why I love that Simon and Garfunkel song so much, especially he version
by Disturbed! Thanks for the writing on here and the support that writing indicates. Riding the Dragon is a perfect expression
for what we went through and now life with…here’s the song…https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9Dg-g7t2l4
Semper fi,
Jim
The best version that I’ve watched, back ground images go with this version to the max.
Mike S. I always have to read between the lines to ‘see’ what you may be saying…
and seeing…
Thank you for that thought process…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great read. Got your book, left a 5 star review.
Americal Division 70
David
Thanks a lot David. I have no idea where the books are going or even where this site is going.
It all seems so surreal. I began writing about five months ago…and had no intent or any clue. I did not know I had
so many brothers out there and I had even less of an idea that they might read about what happened to me and understand, associate and
ride right along with me for the whole tale. It’s an odyssey… and maybe the most compelling and satisfying of my life…and I did not expect that.
I think I am beginning to understand though, just a bit at a time, each portion I get to know delivers on little plates called ‘comments’ here…
Semper fi,
Jim
And thanks a ton for buying the book and leaving a review…
Dam LT took the right hand of God to get you out of that one.know that rumble and you’re right you can never forget. Hang in there my friend, great work.
No, I never forget. I survive, as I survived, converting those abrupt entries and retreats from deadly violence to
economic and low threat and hidden intellectual thought, again, back here, to survive. And I have done so, again.
Now I write about what it means to run for life, to hide for life, to kill for life and hate so you can again love…
Whisper in the sounds of silence…
Thanks for the ‘right hand of God,’ because I truly think He was there… and I did not understand His presence,
any more than I do now…
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, God was there with you and He is with you now as you write your story helping so many. You have great purpose.
Thank you Nancy. It is always good to read your positive and lifting
words. I shall endeavor to persevere as I write 14 Third and continue the company’s
odyssey up the A Shau inside “Indian Country” which was called that for
reasons never really explained. Thanks for your support.
L,
Jim
I was thinking about that tank crew when it got flipped over. What a gruesome and horrifying way to go. I almost hope they did get out of it.
So you guys were basically bait, to lure the NVA out so the Air Force and Navy could maul them with air strikes?
I tell ya, you got some big hangin’ down things LT. Laying on that river bank with all that air power pulverizing everything a few hundred meters away. I believe, if I were the platoon Sergeants, I’d start doing as you say.
I have always wondered, Daniel. Did command back there have a whole lot better idea about our situation
than they let on by their silence? Were we indeed bait, as you mention? Even though Cowboy stood for us and
command had to know we were in deep shit I cannot tell you how stunned I was to lay there and watch the kind of
air power appear, as if from almost nowhere, and turn that part of the valley into a charnal house so quickly.
The grand orchestra of magnificent violence was played like a blasting symphony of ungodly deliverance and I was
the audience. I could not have moved under almost any circumstance. Strange times I reflect on.
Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
And please buy my book and leave a comment. I need your help.
Jim
“Mongo is going to be taken a few more hard hits.” Think you mean taking. Can’t wait for the next installment.
Thanks for the correction Steve. Got it and thanks for the compliment!!
And writing it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I’m leaving a comment even before I read this segment of your story, The fourteenth day, part two. I believe you’ll get your 122 comments in one month and more. I have no doubt. Seems the older I get the more being a part of the brotherhood of Veitnam vets mean more now than ever before. Being a vet back the ( 60’s,70’s, or 80’s) was a disease. No one much wanted to touch you like you had leprosy. Maybe not all vets felt that way, but we felt withdrawn, keeping an ugly scar from view. Yes, a little jealous of the reception our Iraq and Afghanistan vets got but truly deserved. I bought your book and left a comment in the best way I could. Though I’m not gifted as you are or dare claim to want to be, I tried to leave a heart felt commit on what your story is saying on what it was truly like being in the valley. Having been there myself, I admire your williness to bare your inner soul. You do tell it like it was. Do you have a chance to read those commits? If so, I think you’ll need a long,long vacation from writing, committing, and reading commits that are going to blow you out of the water. Take a bow. Great read from a great author.
Yes, Paul, I have been reading each and every comment, just like I do here.
I don’t sleep that much, as I’ve written.
Taking advantage of my own PTSD. And the comments are like the one you just left on here.
They reach me at the very core and I feel undeserving because I am just telling it
like it went down as best I can. I don’t see it as a good story.
I just see it as another bit of the whole experience. And then I go to the comments on Amazon and I sit there,
listening to old rock and roll of the times in my earphones (if this book makes money
then I’ll get a set of those ungodly expensive Bose things!) and being amazed at the writing.
Your writing, and the mean like you.
That paragraph you just wrote is a piece of veteran’s poetry and it comes
from a place inside you that normal humans don’t get to see and never have.
If I have had the ability to reach inside you and bring that forth then I am very very happy and satisfied.
I never intended it. I didn’t know. And the other guys. You must read their stuff too.
I do, and sometimes I think they are better writers than me in how they can reach inside
and then state broken-hearted dreams and busted-open longing for the things they might have had,
the thoughts they might have generated and people behind they’ve left strewn along the path of their own PTSD odyssey.
You give me that power that I don’t really understand. They, right here, and on Amazon, are giving
me that power and I am holding the course steady and true. I answer all the comments here
and I write into the night because…it is a good thing…as I’ve come to believe…
Thank you for being you and for writing here and helping me through this very night…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt. “Hi Ho Silver” should be Hi Yo Silver, the parting salute of the Lone Ranger. Other than that I think others have pretty well covered it. As usual, mighty fine writing.
Thank you.
Glenn.
Thanks for the compliment Glenn and the help, of course….
Semper fi, brother…
Jim
Another fantastic part! I find myself reading these episodes. The comments that came about those days ” don’t mean nothing ” reminds me another one , along with the blacks hand bumping handshakes was ” don’t be anybody’s fool “
I remember the ‘don’t be anyone’s fool’ but I don’t recall where I first heard it.
Thanks for the compliment you began your comment with and the support behind it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Nice parlay of aircraft from the A.F. and Navy, apparently the boys at headquarters were definitely at work for your company. Someone had to do all of that coordinating and it sounds like Cowboy was hard at work, making it happen. He knew all of the ETAs of the different aircraft support.
One wonders how much of the coordinating Gunny was involved in with HQ? He seemed to know what was coming. He also seemed reluctant to support you as CO, but had no choice after the death of Casey. He took his time letting Jurgens and Suggardaddy know that you were now in charge. Until that point in time, he apparently felt in control of the company. While he grudgingly relinquished that control, nonetheless he did by informing his NCO’s that you were in charge until further notice.
What remains puzzling about Gunny, is that he seemed like he did not know where to go, from where you all were situated. He knew that you had to cross the river to set up an LZ, but was reluctant to do so and complained about what was ahead, this after just having his butt saved from the aircraft still circling above. With the rivers’ course changed, low fording and a considerable area already cleared on the other side of the river, what was his problem?
One would guess that Gunny’s relationship with you, was one of convenience.
As they say in the real world of today in describing some characters; the Gunny was an enigma wrapped
up in a conundrum of mystery. What was really going on inside the Gunny’s head was about as easy to figure
out what was going on inside a Tiger’s head. The tiger might let you live and even act like it cares for you…
but alway there is that wildness just laying there right beneath the surface. I was an easier read for the Gunny than he
was for me. I was young, scared but multi-talented. He could use and manipulate that package and hew as quiet good at it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Those B-52 run’s made the pucker factor x10. It was the only way to get ordinance on the Ho Chi minn trail ! Ears would bleed after getting bounced around !
The Ho Chi Minh Trail wasn’t well understood but you are correct about the Arc Light runs.
They could reach all the way down to the bottom of the valley with a shit load of ordnance.
And that was hard to do with other supporting arms.
Thanks for your analysis and care. Please get the book on Amazon or B&N and leave a comment…I need the help.
Semper fi,
Jim
We didn’t call them ark light in 1964. Calling those sweethearts was our job. As a young 19 year old kid I expected the world to split. I was always surprised when it didn’t. My fire team Pathfinders 508 0f the 82nd worked the trail in Laos an Cambodia mostly. made a lot of fish ponds. All in perfect rows.
They still called them arc or ark lights when I was there too.
I heard they also used Rolling Thunder but I never heard that until years later.
They were rather singular events. Probably very few vets heard or saw more than one.
Thanks for your comment, again, and staying the course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Gotta love the fly boys! I’ve heard the rumble of the 52’s and felt the earth tremble from afar. You must have really taken a pounding from a few hundred meters away. Already anticipating the next chapter. Wondering how things turn out between you, the Gunny, Jurgens and Sugar Daddy. Suspense!
Here are a few edits:
I didn’t have to check my watch, because I’d started counting my breaths as soon as the air radio guy had told me how (much) time we had.
Low whitish smoke(d) covered the entirety of the distance from the river to the far canyon wall, which had to be at least a mile away.
I didn’t have to check my watch, because I’d started counting my breaths as soon as the air radio guy had told me how time we had.
Our backs were all covered in water, mud and jungle debris, like someone has mixed a very fine mess of a salad and dumped it from the sky.
Low whitish smoked covered the entirety of the distance from the river to the far canyon wall, which had to be at least a mile away.
“How about that shit show, Flash?” Cowboy said, laughing. “Man you better ‘đi đi mau’ your asses out of there right now cause the planet Mongo is going to be taken (taking) a few more hard hits.”
The Sandys came screaming back in, then pulled up abruptly, like they’d hit a giant air wall, before bending back to cur(v)e around and cover the open area we had to cross.
I knew all of them had had to have seen the bodies, because they were visible from the company perimeter and the Marines manning the perimeter would not miss anything out on their open killing field of fire.(not sure the second had is needed; your editors can figure it out)
“We’re going to cross the river in broad daylight,” I said to the men in front of me. “Air has softened things up nicely but everyone here knows what we(‘)re really dealing with.
Thanks for the edits Richard. I will get right on them. As always, it’s the guys on here in comments who are the real editors. And also the experts on detail.
I just learned that most all tanks have an escape hatch. Didn’t know that. Too bad they weren’t big enough for a bathroom. The guys could have just lived
inside them. I think the Abrams has air-conditioning and heat now too! Anyway, thanks for the help and the support too….and your writing about it.
Semper fi,
Jim
My old tank had a driver’s escape hatch. Supposedly waterproof sealed to let me out and keep water out while floating. I never found out if my tank doubled as a boat. I knew it wouldn’t.
I always thought all tanks had escape hatches but I remain unsure to this day.
Although tanks don’t float most of them can ford pretty damned deep water and that’s without
a snorkel. Without the close 175 that damned T Soviet thing would have made it through about ten feet of rushing water!
Thanks for the comment and the care…
Semper fi
Jim
Another great segment from you. Jurgens and sugar daddy still don’t get it but maybe they will before its their turn at the end of the barrel.
Thanks Tim. Hope you bought the book and left a comment on Amazon. We’re doing pretty good but
somewhere along the way need to vault upward somehow to reach more of the public. I don’t know how to
do that really…but much appreciate the help and the compliments…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir, James, I had to come back. Reading your book and then the installment had be confused going back to the day you are experiencing in the book. In some ways it helps because my nagging questions gen’d up in the first 15 of the book have been answered. Strangest experience I have ever had in reading a book I wanted to store information it contained. Last form today, when I personally heard chickenman the first time he was a mild mannered hairdresser from Muncie Indiana. And I was very frustrated that I might miss the next installment because he didn’t always appear at the same time, or we would be humping litters as gently as we could because of movement not planned for the day. They always made me smile. But then I was clean and dry most of the time. Later LT
I love Chickenman but didn’t always care to hear him over there.
He rankled me sometimes with left wing Hippy pinko crap. I understand better today
but so many of the Vietnam protesters were wrong…and really wrong to foolishly take out the war on the warriors,
like we all chose to be there…over even knew where or what there was before getting there.
Thanks for the deep comment and the support…as well as really caring..
Semper fi,
Jim
James, finished the book last night. I was so involved in your min to min story I had forgotten that Capt Casey needed to show up. I have read many personal accounts of experiences in Vietnam and have lived with many veterans of the last four wars including the present, but your fictional account has changed the way I look at “combat” stories. Yours has been more real and is as real as the telling I have been privileged to hear from a Marine who finished his tour even after two separate evacuations for wounds and a bout of malaria. A radio operator at platoon level trained by the company radio guy after arriving in country. I have heard your story told live, as it was relived, several times, I can’t give too much more detail, it wouldn’t be fair to my friend, I would hope that your story is read by anyone and everyone who lived those years at combat age so if you don’t mind I will be hawking it wherever i am. Will start at a nickel dime card game today.
It has changed me, I had determined to not be mad about the waste anymore, I have to start working on that again after finishing every word of your book last night. Poppa Joe
Poppa Joe. I never intended for anyone to be angry over the story. I intended that people read it to understand
about some of the fundamental aspects of what it was really like and to reflect on how much life parallels a lot of
what happened back here at home. I didn’t expect a lot of combat veterans to read it and then find it a study of experience
very very close to what they went through. I just thought I had a really tough tour. So, I am sorry you are angry
all over again. I will make it up to you if you attend the rendezvous….if you want to and can..
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey LT, being mad as hell about the war and the bullshit at home is my problem and I will get over it again. You bear absolutely no responsibility for how folks intrepret your work. I am upset at myself for not being clear at all. I am still in awe of the talent and brass balls it takes to write and finish this work. Nothing has held my attention in reading a work of fiction since the first book I finished in one day. In 1987 my brother brought me a copy of “Red Dawn Rising”. I think you know the guy and his work. Yours is better, man, much better. I was 47, and about third day postop from by-pass surgery, so it wasn’t like I didn’t have the time. As for bulls&&at at home, I had one child 18 months old and one 8 weeks old with a birth defect being evacd on a C141 with wounded. Doing life as a new E5 keep me busy while still active duty, I noticed the fires, riots, politics, but they just pissed me off at the news anchors. South Carolina was quiet, then to Nam two years later to return then to South Georgia. And more visits to San Antonio with baby girl for surgeries and follow ups. Military life.
Your invitation to the meeting in a field in Kansas honors me. Thank you.
Today I loaned my copy of your book to a former Navy Flight Surgeon of the correct age to,appreciate your work. He by the way had his jaw broken by a Marine trainer when he got his Escape and Evasion course. From now on I will highly recommend friends buy your book. Hot dang it James this has been the most fun I could have with all my clothes on. Poppa Joe
Poppa Joe…you seem like one helluva man to me, my friend.
Thanks for what you wrote and what you have become today.
I would have been proud to walk that valley at your side…
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
James, I fucked up yesterday. I sent a news story to my son about the shoot down cover up that took a large number of seals. You may have seen it, female AF Capt opened up and it was published. It opened a thin scab on his heart and I hurt him. He has covered his pain well for nearly 10 years, and he asked me to never mention this stuff again. Any advice would help. Poppa
Mythology is a powerful force. What is real and what is not are not nearly as important as what is perceived to be.
I am writing about my own experiences here and I expect to eventually take a lot of heat for writing what was, instead
of what mythology supports. You are taking some of that heat right now from your son. There is absolutely no reason
for you to stick to your story about the losses in that raid, or the lack of them. Your son’s relationship is much more
important. So, recant. Take it back. Tell him you bought into some really questionable information from questionable sources.
Throw your source under the bus…even if that source might be me. Over time, a lot of the reality bleeds through, as with what
I am writing about, but you notice that story had to lay there collecting lint and dust since 1970 because I would not pay the price
for getting it out. Now that I’m old I don’t have that much to lose and I don’t care anymore. Those citations that back up my medals for
valor are not what really happened, but for years I’ve back them up completely because to do anything else was to be seen as unpatriotic,
selfish or just stupid. Tell you son that you are sorry and that you love him, and then get his take on the subject and believe it.
Fuck reality, it’s the phenomenal world over here we all fought in the Nam to get back to…reality kind of sucked, along with the mud…
Semper fi,
Jim
Your last transmission came thru loud and clear. I have already begged forgiveness, and pray I can slowly get back to my relationship. I had been told he was PTSD by my daughter but took that with a grain of salt because he has been so successful at hiding it when the sun is up. He is a successful sales guy because his customers are guys he rode the beast with pulling triggers and ending the fights as quickly as they could. I am going to try to figure out how to get your advice onto hard copy so I can read it when I get the urge to talk stuff that will ruin my relationship with my son who has given much, too much already. All of you guys have been in bad shit and still would cause earthquakes if you tell the real situation we are still in. As for citations, for those of us who have seen your faces after they happened know the toll whatever happened took on you. And at our age eventually it don’t mean nuttin and let the story be told. I feel you are doing reveal every night when you return to the keyboard instead of sleep. Take care of yourself, all of you guys are a precious resovior of truth. We can’t lose you.
Thank you James your advice was spot on and I would not have had the sense to approach it the way you laid out. God Bless Poppa
Here’s a song that just about says it all…about you, your son and your heart…
Listen to Your Heart
Semper fi,
Jim
PS You are one good man and a class act on top of that…
Thank you Jim. I have shared the Roxette song with all of my family with only this note, “back in school we would have been told to read this poem”. Generations ago. I received a response from my son responding to my apology and he was very gracious, but, still, he included a word that he was responsible for dealing with his own demons. My prayer for every one who shares the experience to be able to find the heart to give someone else a chance to listen. I just remembered, the first combat death of a crazy he saw was in Mogadishu. I hope it hasn’t been below the surface that long. On the plus side, he just caught a large crab and turned it into a crab pizza for his wife and mother in-law. He does do lots of stuff in any kitchen he is allowed to work. Now I am able to see that it is a way to get away from noisy crowds sometimes. He sent us a pic of the pizza and it looks very tasty.
Thank you LT, you are where you are now for many reasons just like this. Thanks for the therapy. Poppa Joe
Your ‘being’ in his life means more to him than your talking. He can’t tell you because he is afraid
of what might happen to his relationship with you if he told you…and so he carries the burden all on his own,
and he is real man for doing so, and he is right to do so. Sometimes the best way to explain it is in using UFOs.
You can talk to people about seeing a UFO, meeting a little green man or whatever. The person or persons you are telling
the event to are enthralled when you tell them but later, when they are not in front of you anymore, they talk or think about just
how whacked you are and they would rather not be around that. Now, multiply that effect ten times and you have an idea. It’s not
ALL going to be in the Thirty Days Series. You see, I can’t write it all or I’d have to mention the aliens and then that would be
it! He’ll only tell you the whole thing if he doesn’t care about you anymore. So, it’s a good thing. He loves you and so let him
protect you…and him…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I am very happy I asked your advice. makes perfect sense now. He is not a grandfather yet, but a Warrior friend has a beautiful daughter about school age. She came to visit one day and saddled up next to him and started calling I’m, Poppa Joe. You can see the smile on his heart when they see each other. He will do well, thank you is all I can say. You opened my eyes with this last very kind response. Now back to waiting for the next installment. P.S. My doc friend told me in referring to your book, “I like it” in a tone you would recognize as genuine compassion. Chill and enjoy somebody today. Poppa Joe
Thanks for the compliment Poppa Joe, and for making me sort of a distant member of
the family, as you have. I hope I am of value to you and to as many other vets on here as I can be.
I am about the work today, trying not to let so much time pass between segments.
Semper fi, brother and friend,
Jim
James, if we expressed interest in the gathering are we on a contact list? I am researching hotels near Wakefield Ks and looks like Junction City is a possibility. Hope I am upright then. Poppa J
Well, yes you are Poppa Joe. Chuck is keeping and assembling that list. There are now sixty people going
and I expect that number will go up a bit. It would be great if a hundred or more showed up, which would really be a couple
of hundred when you consider family and/or friends. The details and organization and all that has to be done on this end.
Chuck is in contact with the memorial people there, the VA, the Legion and the city leaders. Fortunately, Wakefield is home to
the largest blue grass festival in the USA once a year so it’s not like the place isn’t used to some crowds.
Thanks for asking and we’ll be announcing and back at you…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you will be watchfully waiting, like birthin a baby
You got it, all the way, up the hill Poppa….
Semper fi,
Jim
What a dose of reality!!! Surprised that they sent in the B52s…Gunny and the rest must have had a show from their vantage point…you were saved cause that’s what guys did…they saved each other…it wasn’t really about politics…it was about survival…Jurgens and Sugar Daddy are “surviving” better with your skills so you survive in spite of them…but most of all I think you were saved for this…to tell the story…my favourite line in Saving Private Ryan is where Tom Hanks’ character tells Matt Damon’s character to “earn this”…you’ve earned whatever success you have and will have…great writing as always Jim…
I was as surprised, in fact shocked, by the 52 strike and the effect of it.
Jungle mulch and more noise and crap flying than I could ever imagine. I still see it in my mind.
Thanks for the comment and thanks for the backing and the compliments….Helps into the night…
Semper fi,
Jim
<> Awesome, great lines!
Thank you Mike for the laconic compliment. Taken and taken well, my friend…
Semper fi,
Jim
“bending back to cure around and cover the open area we had to cross”
to curve around
Thank you Michael for the correction. I am on it right now…
Semper fi,
Jim
I loaded bombs on A-6s Dec 1969- Dec 1970 at Danang, VMA(AW) 225. 23 of us in ordnance were loading 6-7 thousand mk-82 500 pounders a month. Most were conical fins not snake eye.After action reports are declassified and available from http://www.recordsofwar.com/vietnam/usmc/USMC_Rvn.htm web site.
What is missing is our Sgt Maj’s hooch getting fragged for holding uniform inspections. Our CO sent him to Japan the next night.
Personally I thought he did it himself to get out of country.
thanks for the report and that link Reg. I really appreciate guys like you who have the good stuff on all the detail.
I missed some when I was living it and then it can be hard to find, even on the net. Appreciate the help and the thought.
Semper fi,
Jim
“Close Air Support” does NOT have a price tag when it’s an imperitive to have a CHANCE to survive. All bets are off. Heart in throat here reliving . Do I want to live,or do I want to die? If I live, the insanity will always be with me.. Normalcy has long been gone,never to be found again and I knew it then.
Bought three books, and ordering 4 more. WILL be in Salina 4th of July! My copy demands a signature, apologies?…
Don’t know whether to wind my ass or scratch my watch. Yer doin’t it Lt! Xin Loi!
Someone! Yes, Thank you so much for Salina. I will go. Or come. I wonder if we’ll be a very small
band in old American Indian Country! Thanks for what you said in your comment and just for being here.
Fortifies the soul, kind of thing…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thought you might have earned more respect from 1st&4th platoons but apparently not. Another great read as usual. Got the book in the mail yesterday Jim. Beautifully done. Amazing how the troops who wanted no part of your mission to the tank are so critical of you now. As if you could have somehow prevented the loss of Casey and the others. Semper Fi Happy Easter?
Real life Jack. Come home and corporate life turned out to be a bit like company life without the mortality.
But the same attitude about taking credit and the critical natures of man.
Thanks for the Easter thoughts and more.
Semper fi,
Jim
A mean ass Tornado Alley Thunderstorm can, to this day, dredge up memories and fears more felt than heard, in the pit of the stomach, setting nerves on edge for some time days at a time. Leaving one to wait for the heaving and quaking of the ground beneath to set in. Buff carpets are anything but soft. As before Lt. Take care…
Man, you laid that paragraph down real nice Wes. I read it and then reread it again.
The depth of the feel. Like somebody who’s lain through some of that shit before.
There’s nothing else like it on earth, not that I miss it…
But still…
Semper fi
Jim
I stared up at him, but get no reading back from him at all. Was he still in my corner? (Tense shift)
Nah, just a screw up in writing. Thank you Bob and I will get right on it after I finish eating some of the eggs I colored.
Without grandkids they’d lock me up for doing some of the stuff I like to do.
Semper fi,
Jim
Without grandkids, they’d be locking a LOT of us crusty old farts up, much to their chagrin, I’d wager. (What are they gonna do? Cut off our hair and send us to Nam. Remember that oft used phrase from the past?) I don’t know what your hearing must be like now, after the battering you gave your ears in those 30 Days of September. I spent most of my 13 months blowing shit up with C4 and shaped charges, and I was a helluva lot farther from the explosions than you have been. My most used words today are “What?” and “Say again”. Another great segment. Today’s key phrase “I felt a growing ember of anger that was beginning to burn inside my belly.” We’re going to see what kind of conflagration that ember turns into, I’m sure of it.
SF,
PFJ
Well, Conway, you are back. I have begun planning the great Vietnam Combat Rendezvous with you in mind. The 4th of July somewhere around
Salina Kansas, although I’ve heard there is a fabulous Viet Vet memorial about sixty miles from there. I am planning away.
Hope you are most excellent and enjoying the last bit of your Charles Kuralt type trip. Thanks for your comments, as usual…
Semeper fi,
Jim
Another fine read, James. Seems Captain Casey earned that Silver Star after all. The twists and turns in this story are phenomenal, bringing the reader into the fray and showing what men in combat, under heavy duress, are truly capable of. Thanks for sharing.
Yes, Casey got his star. Thanks for the thought about that and going along with me
when it comes to trying to write the reality and not just some hero crap.
Combat was such a different and unexpected place and time. Thanks for supporting me
through this odyssey.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great addition! About 1/2 through book 1. Never really paid attention to your exact wording or spelling while reading as I get the message. Keep on keeping on. Fantastic.
Well, my exact wording and spelling are pretty good….after about ten edits! Man is it hard to write
straight stuff without going back and editing. Plus, now there is this word spell crap as you go along.
The machine will change crap to carp and it’s really hard to pick up the induced error. And now the most
advanced printers are coming out with their own wordspell built into the printer! You give the printer final
copy…but it’s not and you don’t know it until later! Thanks for your comment and allowing me to go on about
more writer stuff that so many people don’t know about…until it’s too late and they are a writer..
Semper fi
Jim
agreed I am not a big fan of robot editors. Sometimes I want to misspell on porpoise. For affect I mean. Nonstandard speech is certainly spoken.
Thanks Tom, and that is too true. My biggest problem in in trying to get the edits
right for the stuff I didn’t mean to misspell. Once you write something your mind sees it the way your wrote
it as being correct. I mean like “what’s the problem” is the message it is sending to the other side of my brain.
Thanks for the comment and for liking the work. Please buy the book on Amazon or B&N and leave a comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
You concentrate on getting the action on paper, let your NCO’s worry about cleaning up the debris. It’s the only way we can join you at this point. We get to support you, And we get to enjoy the read too.
I have one ‘NCO’ and that’s Chuck out in California. He’s great, by the way, but just a bit overworked
in about every area. Maybe, when we go to Salinas in July I’ll find some willing NCOs here and there…
Semper fi, and thanks for that sentiment and the compliment inherent in its words…
semper fi,
Jim
“Air has softened things up, (etc.), but everyone knows what we(,)re dealing with. Hope this helps. Really surprised that they called the B-52’s in so close to your posit. I had heard friendlies had to be a mile from drop zone. Concussions alone would kill a person. You keep us on pins and needles after the postings. It’s amazing that your recall is so vivid after all this time. My own time there is bits and pieces, the down time almost non-existent, the extreme times are most vivid. Waiting for more.
The 52s dropped five hundred pounders, the same as the fighters and ground support craft. The succession and volume of them
was higher but there was no real amplified CEP of those bombs because they were never going off as a tight cluster (about twenty
to fifty meters apart on impact). No, they did not usually drop anywhere close. That was an exception. Why? I have no idea, as with
so many things that happened back then.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your B-52 Arc Light strikes were directed by a USAF operation called Combat SkySpot. It consisted of small auto track radar units that computed the B-52’s position, altitude,airspeed and guided the aircraft to the exact bomb release point. Quite a feat considering that the B-52’s were traveling at 35,000 feet 350-400 mph. and hitting so closely to friendlies.
I had no idea. I’ll say. We had to be about a thousand meters away,
although the bombs hit in heavy jungle and that had to suck up some of the energy.
Still, to throw us around the way it did and for the planes to be there in only an hour.
Wow. Thanks for your work! And for commenting here.
Semper fi,
Jim
The air support sounds a lot like the “Prairie Fire” that was called during operation Dewey Canyon, but LT,that would put you with the 9th Marines, not 3/5. I know, its a novel, wink wink.
Thank you Ron. As you know, I am caught in between the restrictions of writing reality versus the necessity of writing fiction.
As with most everything in our culture today, the ‘wink wink’ rests there at the foundations. Thanks for the comment. Working away.
Please leave a comment on Amazon if you buy the first book.
Semper fi
Jim
You’ve already got a name for the plan!! That’s half the battle! Great read as always, Jim. Thank you.
It was humorous (not then) that we somehow gravitated to the drama of having all these names for plans. It became quite a big
deal with the Marines and they’d argue over the merits of one name over another and even lobby for certain names (almost always
using nasty words!). I still remember some of the rejected names to this day because they were so awful. Things like “Sucking the
Liquid Fart” were beyond comprehension and forgetting. Hilarious…now. “Fuck Your Mother’s Hemorrhoidal Ass,” was another. I shudder to
even write these down because I’d hate to have them associated with me all over the Internet! Thanks for the comment. Please leave a comment
(without those titles!) on the Amazon site and I fight to ‘self-promote’ as one critic said. He was right, even if a bit of a prick.
Semper fi,
Jim
it would it work to bring me back to a feeling of real life. Need to drop the first it
“Gotcha covered, sir,” he said, climbing to his feet, the rags still sticking out his (hears) and Casey’s helmet under his left arm. Should be (ears)
No rest and cross a flooded river on top of that. Hope don’t have their reinforcements headed down that road toward you.
Thanks again for your sharp eye, Pete.
Noted and corrected
Semper fi,
Jim
Sweet Mary’s ass, Junior went and spent a Million Bucks.
Is that what an ARC Light cost? I had no idea. In thinking about it I guess you would have to be right.
Thats a lot of bombs, fuel, crew and planes. Well, it was worth it. That single run of crashing orchestral bombing
music has stayed with me all my life. I hear it some nights upon waking in the dark, and it stupidly makes me smile. Like
I’m not alone. I never met so many men who saved my life and I always wonder what they saved me for…other than that they were those
kind of guys, no matter what service or rank…hope you left a comment on Amazon.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT,
I have been anxiously awaiting this episode for days, and to devour all the comments that follow. You just made my Easter an extra happy one since the air boys came and delivered a whipping across the river. I wish you could post an episode each day! But I KNOW the mechanics takes much longer than that, and you have other important and necessary things to attend to (grand kids, etc.) and devote your time. Really looking forward to more. While you may only have X number of Marines there with you in this novel, rest assured there are thousands of us readers invisibly hovering there with you throughout every treacherous mission and situation. May God bless you, your loved ones and all those with whom you served with on this Easter Day.
Thank you from the depths, as usual Walt. Your well thought out comments take more time to think through
but I love to do that kind of evaluating and thinking. thanks for the Easter comment and blessing…
Semper fi,
Jim
Amen, still trying to understand how the tank got turned up side down in the river. Did Casey run into the river to deliver the B4 underneath the tank? Like the million dollar delivery! Somebody thought the company was worth the expenditure,glad they spent the bucks. Ordered two books on the way to you. Dropped my two cents at Amazon 5stars. Keep the cards and letters coming.
W. The tank was pulling up the steep embankment coming out of the river at us.
I did not see the throw. I saw Casey run, swinging the burning fuse wildly as he went.
I presumed that he was able to throw the pack under the front part of the tank because if he’d thrown it further
in then the tank would not have gone over, just up a bit. All my conjecture. The charge went off, Casey was killed
and the tank ended upside down in the river. Those facts happened. Just how it happened in detail is a tough one, and I wrestle with
many such mysteries. It’s hard to keep your eye on the ball when there are half a dozen or more in the air and you don’t know where the
hell they are going or are going to land.
Thanks for the in depth comment and analysis.
And leaving a comment.
And buying the book.
Semper fi, brother,
Jim