The Sandys came sweeping down the river, obliterating all other sound, the roar of their engines and propellers lifting my spirits in spite of my being trapped at the tank with a dead good kid and a living bad noncom.
I hugged the edge of the tank’s right tread, the metal warmer than the cool water slowly dropping my body temperature into one of discomfort. I knew the intensity of my fear would allow me to function no matter how cold I got. Jurgens had managed to maneuver around me to place my body between him and the crocodile. The reptile hadn’t move a millimeter since the fifty had opened up again. The Sandys hadn’t seemed to bother it a bit when they came over, nor the thunder of their twenty millimeters when they opened up again. The planes gave me hope, particularly when their remaining bombs fell into the nearby jungle again. Maybe they’d get lucky and put a five hundred pounder right on top of the fifty.
And then they were gone. Except for the sound of the water, things got quiet again. My hearing was half way back, because I heard Fusner, from over on the bank, trying to yell and whisper across the water at the same time. I stared into the eyes of the crocodile, pushed up against the track of the tank not six feet away from me. I slowly removed my .45 from my holster, gripping the butt hard for fear of losing my only weapon to the powerful current swirling around us. I could shoot the animal from under the surface. The Colt would function, and not too much energy would be lost by the bullet’s short travel through the water. I could also clear the weapon above the water to fire, but I’d have to make sure some of the water filling its barrel didn’t remain. A partially full barrel would explode, with devastating results for any flesh and bone nearby. I decided to hold the gun under the surface, pointed at the crocodile’s head from below. I stared for a full ten seconds into its unblinking eyes, until I noticed it had a smaller third eye.
“Oh, thank you God,” I whispered, moving a few feet closer to the animal while awkwardly replacing my .45 in the holster, making sure to snap the thin leather thong over the hammer tang. I carefully pushed Barnes’ dangling arm and smiling head back up over the mildly arced edge of the tank’s sagging treads, as I moved, never letting my eyes leave the reptile for more than a second.
The crocodile was dead. It’d taken a single round right between its real eyes. The thing’s eyes never blinked because there was no life left to blink them. Barnes had fired. I hadn’t heard his 16 go off, but the evidence was floating there right in front of me. The hole between the reptile’s eyes was small, about the size a 5.56 or .223 caliber bullet might make. Barnes had gotten one round off, and thereby saved Jurgens and my life, or at least taken one very deadly risk out of our life or death equation.
“Thank you, Barnes,” I said out loud looking upward, before turning to face Jurgens in the dying light. Although the crocodile was out of play, Sergeant Jurgens and I were still stuck in the middle of the river, growing colder by the moment. Had the .50 been silenced for good or would there merely be another momentary respite before the NVA got it up and firing again? The night was on our side. The NVA couldn’t see in the dark, even if their big gun was up and working. First Platoon couldn’t cross the river in the night either, so there would be no reinforcements from our side.
Fusner called out again from the closest part of the river bank in his barely suppressed yell. The team had brought the other end of the rope down river, having no need for the angle necessary when Barnes and I’d gone in.
The sound of the Sandys was dying off in the far distance. They’d been wonderful to have on station, although bombing and shooting down into triple canopy jungle was always a poor toss of the dice when it came to hitting intended targets.
“It’s dead,” I said to Jurgens. “Barnes took it out with one round between its eyes,” I waved at the crock’s body pressed into the side of the tank behind me.
“Thank God,” Jurgens replied, “can we pull it over to the bank so the guys can see it tomorrow?”
I looked up at the outlined form of Barnes’ body, the falling sun glinting off the wet surfaces all around it. I pushed my anger at Jurgens down into the depths of my heart. I knew, in some way, his cold objectivity and total selfishness were advantageous to survival in the circumstances we’d been thrown into. There was no place inside the man for sympathy, compassion or honor at all, but he was alive when many Marines were not.
“Nope, that’s not going to happen,” I said, moving around to the very edge of the tank’s body, where the current angled by most powerfully. I fought to hang onto the rope and the steel track surface, squinting my eyes to see Fusner leaning out from the bank over near the flow of passing water. Zippo and Pilson were barely visible down and behind him at the very edge of the jungle undergrowth.
I couldn’t free up a hand to cup it against the side of my mouth in order to be heard better, so I yelled over to Fusner at the top of my voice.
“When it’s full dark. I’ll shoot the forty-five. Pull us across.”
Fusner waved back in assent. Our best chance would be to make the attempt in the dark, I knew. I wasn’t going to risk being taken apart by the .50 if I could help it.
The image of what had happened to Barnes was so vivid it superimposed itself vaguely over everything I saw, and worse when I closed my eyes. I could only hope the image would fade quickly over time. I didn’t want to think about the night problem ahead. How were we, a very small under-armed patrol, with no supporting fires and cut off until morning, supposed to survive along the edge of the river alone? We also had to be occupying a position known to just about every NVA soldier in the entire area. Every minute that went by made it more likely that some NVA patrol would be dispatched to reconnoiter and report back, or even to simply attack upon contact.
I stared over at the bank and noted that Zippo and Pilson were building some sort of barricade, no doubt to fortify the terribly vulnerable position. Nguyen was nowhere to be seen. I presumed he was somewhere inside the jungle area nearby, probably posted to make sure no one came out of the bracken by surprise.
I turned to see where Jurgens was, as I no longer felt him at my back. I felt the rope, gripped tightly in my left hand, jerk spasmodically.
Barnes’ body fell from the top of the tank into the water between where Jurgens and I cowered, the head of the crocodile bobbing up and down gently just behind Jurgens’ back. Jurgens was bending over, working on the knots I’d used to tie the rope to Barnes’ waist.
It started a heavy rain again. Heavy dense sheets of impacting drops swept from upriver right down into us. I couldn’t see them coming in the near dark, and they came in predictable waves. Fifteen seconds of heavy rain, so dense it was hard to breathe, and then about half a minute of misting blowing light stuff. I watched Jurgens work, Barnes body being jerked around and under the water like it was going to disappear under the tank’s body. Jurgen’s back was to me, as he worked and I noted that his M-16 was nowhere to be seen. Had he lost it somewhere along the way or was it stuffed into some crevice among the tracks?
Another dense wall of the rain came down, obscuring my view, but I didn’t need to see any more. I didn’t have to see to know what Jurgens was doing. In spite of my order, he was detaching Barnes’ body and was no doubt intent on tying the rope either to himself or the crocodile so he’d have a trophy to show his buddies in First Platoon the next morning. I’d told him that that was not going to happen, either event. I waited for a misting wave of rain to follow the thick stuff before carefully taking my .45 out and pointing the slide and barrel downward to get rid of as much river water as possible. It was almost full dark, but I could still see what was going on.
I moved forward two or three feet, having to lean under the taut rope, almost submerging my upper body in the water, but holding the Colt clear. I stood, bent forward and placed the .45 near the left side of Jurgens’ head. I made sure to pull the automatic about six inches back, and then about four inches from his left ear, before I quickly clicked off the safety and squeezed the trigger.
Jurgens leaped upward, left hand instantly clutching his damaged ear.
I waited for him to turn to face me, but something else happened first. The rope pulled, throwing me off kilter so I had to use all the strength of my one hand to hold on. I stuck my .45 into its holster with my right without having time to strap it properly down. I grabbed the rope with both hands, as the rope was pulled away from the tank, dragging me out into the current with Barnes’ body sliding along behind me on the surface. I’d forgotten about my order to Fusner about shooting the gun. The guys at the bank were pulling for all they were worth.
Jurgens screamed from behind me. Without looking back, I figured it was because of the damage the shock wave had done to his eardrum, until he shouted.
“Don’t leave me!”
I looked over my shoulder, but couldn’t see him because of the night, and another dense falling sheet of monsoon rain. I turned my attention forward, realizing what had happened. Jurgens had clutched his ear, and let go of the rope he’d been trying to untie. The guys had pulled at the sound of the Colt going off, and almost instantly Barnes and I had been jerked from behind the tank and out into the current. We were being pulled across the raging current without Jurgens, who was still trapped behind the tank, just like before.
There was really no need for the scout team to pull at all, once our bodies got out into the current. We swept downriver, the other end of the rope acting as a fulcrum to the point where we automatically skated along and then slid right onto the low berm of the river bank.
I laid at the bank, my body rolling slowly back and forth for a few seconds. The Moses plan had gone wrong, just like the one, I’d put together to occupy the downriver side of the hill earlier.
I heard Jurgens’ anguished scream again. In spite of being a perfect asshole, the man was a Marine, a Marine in my company, and a Marine in serious trouble. I crawled up on the bank, as Fusner leaned down and grabbed my upper body to help me to my feet. The mud and sand covering me was cloying, but the rain was coming down so hard I knew if I just stood in one place long enough I’d be clean again. The river had been a wonderful relieving bath, if not a whole lot more.
“Untie Barnes’ body, or cut the rope, and get him situated up to the edge of the jungle. We’re moving upriver so we’re going to have to leave him until morning.”
“What about Sergeant Jurgens?” Fusner asked as Zippo and Pilson worked to free Barnes’ body.
Jurgens screamed his plaintive call once more, as if on cue. “Don’t leave me, Junior. I’m so sorry.”
My first responsibility was to the patrol. Jurgens was going to get a lot more anguished before things changed for him, but that couldn’t be helped. I didn’t think I’d lose much sleep over Jurgen’s demise if that was to be the eventuality of what was happening.
A short period of driving mist replaced the driving rain.
“Give me the Gunny,” I said to Fusner.
“The radio’s under plastic, sir,” he replied. “Come on.”
I followed Fusner in the dark, back to the semi-hooch/barricade area they’d been trying to make something livable out of. We couldn’t stay where we were, however, and live through the night. The weather was awful, but the enemy would be implacably worse.
I stuck my head under the plastic sheet Fusner was using to cover the electronics and held the handset to my ear.
“Gunny, it’s Junior,” I transmitted, holding the little button down before quickly releasing.
Although the advanced Prick 25 was a two channel radio, with the transmissions on the same frequency were separate for sending and receiving. However, if a sender transmitted at the same time the receiver was trying to do so the power of the instrument would blow out the receiving signal. It was still necessary to use the word “over” to effectively and curtly communicate. Not that it mattered when nobody was following such effective procedures.
“Jurgens still out there,” the Gunny came back.
“First attempt failed,” I replied, wondering what else to tell the Gunny, what with the whole of First Platoon probably listening to every word. “Barnes bought it.”
“No shit,” the Gunny replied, his tone indicating sarcasm. Obviously, the entire perimeter had seen everything that transpired behind the tank. Or almost everything.
“We’ve got to reposition for the night,” I said. “I’ll be back for Jurgens in a few hours.”
“Like before, it’s your call, sir,” the Gunny said.
Sir. He’d called me sir. That stopped me for a second or two. And then it came to me. He was laying the responsibility for Jurgens’ likely death at the feet of the conveniently and newly labeled company commander. Me. There was nothing else to be said, so I shoved the handset back toward Fusner.
“You’re coming back?” Fusner whispered, his voice so quiet no one nearby could hear.
I instinctively felt he wasn’t asking the real question on his mind. Was I coming back to save Jurgens or had I lied to the Gunny about that?
“Think it through,” I replied, before going on. “Let’s get our shit together and get out of here. We’re heading up river to just beyond the old airfield. We should be able to find that even in the dark. Unlimber the Starlight scope Zippo, and we’ll stop along the way and see what we can see between the bouts of heavy rain. Where’s Nguyen?”
“Here,” Pilson said, pointing into the jungle.
I looked up, as Nguyen appeared as if summoned by Pilson’s response.
We all got strapped into our packs. I was wet through. I knew I couldn’t move far with my utilities rubbing away my skin, plus the added weight the falling rain added to everything. I walked over to the rushing water, which had to be rising again to higher levels with the return of the rains. Jurgens had to be out of his mind with worry, and he had every right to be.
I cupped my hands to yell toward the tank, which was only visible because the current heaped up and splashed white foam around it a bit…which I knew it hadn’t been doing only moments before.
“Jurgens,” I yelled across the water.
“I know you’re there,” Jurgens yelled back. “Fucking Junior blew off my ear. I can’t hear. Are you coming?”
I wondered how he could hear if he couldn’t hear, but it really made no difference. He was stuck where he was until I got back to get out there and rope him in, again, unless he did something stupid. Or I did. I could have placed the .45 round in a better place, but my own anger at the man had overcome me. I moved upriver to join the team, waiting for me twenty yards away.
When I got to them I motioned for Nguyen to join me. I explained to him what we were looking for. Something close to the old airstrip yet easy to fortify for the night. We couldn’t use flashlights because the enemy had to be about. I knew, without saying anything to the men, that if the enemy was up there ahead of us in force then we were dead men no matter what we did. Our chances were far better if the enemy had to figure out where we were, and then find a way to engage us. The NVA didn’t necessarily know our patrol had no supporting fires of any use.
We moved slowly, walking fast for twenty meters, and then stopping for a full minute or so to wait and listen. It took a good hour and a half, according to my Speedmaster, for us to reach the cleared surface of the airstrip. Once onto the hard flat concrete, there was no point in moving slowly or stopping at all. Nguyen disappeared earlier at a loping run only to reappear once we were halfway across the exposed, but mercifully dark, expanse. The moon was nearing full so shone just enough light through the heavy invisible clouds to see him point back toward the direction he’d come from, which was back from where the river bent around the airstrip. The water went partially under the lip of the overhanging cliff on the far side.
I led the team behind him without checking the Starlight scope. We’d tried to use the scope three times along the way, but the momentary respite of the misting breaks had not been long enough, and I didn’t want to risk the thing shorting out completely. Another ‘layer’ of rain poured down and all moonlight was lost. We bent forward and forced ourselves through the heavy density of pounding water. The concrete under our feet was running two inches deep in water by the time we got across. I noticed that the water coming down was as cold as the river had been. But the air it was coming through was hot. Hot air and cold water together. I’d never have been able to imagine such conditions, much less experience them, back home.
Nguyen led us down a steep defile and into a sort of grotto that had been carved out by the river before it changed its course. The living snake of a river roared a short distance away before it dropped crashing distantly down and under the cliff. Going in the river at that point, I knew, would be almost a certain death sentence. I worried that the river might change course again, but there was little to be done for it. That danger was minimal, I thought, compared to the hunting NVA in the night.
“Stay off the radio,” I ordered Fusner. “I want no chance that the gooks will pick up any traffic. I’m going back with Nguyen for Jurgens. Everyone else stays here. We don’t need to be pulled back over. The rope, secured to a tree, and the heavy current, will take care of that.”
“You’re leaving me here, sir?” Fusner asked, in surprise.
“You’re my radio operator, not my wife,” I replied, wanting to make sure the kid didn’t follow us out of loyalty. “You stay put with Pilson and Zippo, and get some waterproof hooches built so we can get out of this shit.”
Fusner didn’t reply. Instead, he gripped the wrist of my utility jacket and pulled me toward the airstrip we’d just come down off of.
“Your flashlight, sir,” he said, letting go after a few yards.
I dropped my pack and pulled out the little light. I had to take the tape from its lens, as the batteries were all but dead. I pointed it ahead turned it on, and lit up a cave. I marveled, staring. For twenty feet or so, the concrete had been eaten away, forming a perfect cave about six feet in height. The bottom of the man-made cave was rough packed sand. The gaping hole looked to me like a five-star hotel room. I turned the light off and put it back to into my pack.
“Get us situated while I’m gone,” I ordered. I thought of sleep, and almost passed out when an instant wave of fatigue swept over me. I breathed deep and got control. I stripped off everything I had except for my crummy green undershirt, trousers, belt and boots. I kept the morphine, just in case. It was waterproof. Nguyen was at my side when I stood up.
“Nguyen and I are going back to where we left the rope. I’ll go in and he’ll stay on the bank. We’ll pluck Jurgens off the tank, get him in and then get back here.”
“You should take a radio,” Fusner replied, his voice very quiet, as if he was pouting.
“This is a quick one shot deal,” I said. “Either we’ll be back in a couple of hours or we won’t.”
I turned and took off at a run, not waiting for an answer or to see if Nguyen was following. I’d left Jurgens in the middle of the river that ran through the bottom of hell. I was going back for him I knew, not for him but for me, and for Barnes. Barnes had saved the two of us, not just me.
<<<<<< Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>>
Jim, there may be a missing word here. Welcome home. Dave.
The bottom of the man-made cave was rough packed sand. The gaping () looked to me like a five-star hotel room.
Noted and corrected.
Thanks again, dave
Semper fi,
Jim
Took the family to see the Traveling Vietnam Wall in Bpt.Ct.,one week after reading this.Still cant process the emotions felt that you helped bring out with this account.To hear the losses chapter to chapter doesn’t seem much to the “observers” who watched it from afar,but to stand before that memorial and to try and absorb the loss we faced is truly a shock.God bless every loss,every survivor and every person affected by this insane time.
We went to the little wall they have in
Winfield, Kansas yesterday. Similar experience. Makes it all the more real.
Real boys and men. Thanks for the unspoken compliment about the work. Thanks for writing what you wrote on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
I try not to write here. I know it takes time to answer and your answers come from the bottom. You take time because you know how deep this all goes into our souls. The monster? He will protect you. I don’t think any of us were there alone. Our monster was right there with us. He took no shit and no prisoners.
Don’t know how many of us had a name for him but I think they would be slighting the truth to say he wasn’t there.
The “Trick.” was to get him back in the box. Mine, never, went willingly. I was accused of being Boocoo dinky dau.
You are a blessing to a lot of us. You are a strong willed individual. You and Junior were a tight team. I am glad you had a name for him. And I am glad he was there for you. I don’t know if you have, or not, but even if you don’t like him he had your six and you should at least shake his hand. They did so much to protect us, they really did deserve a name. Shave with out a mirror. Damn. I still do and I didn’t know why. I will check the old fart out the next time I shave. My dog tags and P-38 still hang on my neck. I can’t put them in the box. They have been there since 1962.
I did not name that darker side. The Marines in the company did. I sought to extinguish the name but it followed me to Oakland
Naval Hospital to rather dismal results. I finally got transferred down to Camp Pendleton and was relieved to discover that the
stateside older officers didn’t much believe any of us coming back from the Nam experienced real combat…not that they had.
That they did not believe was a relief… Junior died there, only to be resurfaced here in the story in memory only….
Semper fi,
Jim
Do you know how many or what percent of your casualties were fratricide vs enemy action
There is no real data on friendly fire deaths because the data necessary would have to come
from the unit itself…and most combat units are not going to report friendly fire mortality
inside the unit. Thanks for the intelligent question…
There were no autopsy reports or inquests or any of that in Vietnam that I knew about.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great chapter Jim! What a selfish prick Jurgens is! You have to go back, I get that, tempting though just to leave that asshole. I do think you should’ve taken the radio though.2 hours round trip to Jurgens a lot can happen! I would have proudly served with Junior! Semper Fi Jim!
Thank you Jack. You too! I have met some others like you on here…good for the long haul.
There were some good ones in the company but it sure as hell took some real fishing to get them to surface!
Thanks for your support and writing about it here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jurgen should have used his m 16 and shot the crock like Barnes did and saved junior and Barnes from having to go out to rescue Jurgen and Barnes would not have died.
Poor old Jurgen’s. LOL.
A .45 by the ear. Oh my goodness that’ll deafen ya for sure. Like a handgun being fired in a car or a shotgun going off next to your head
Then left to hang on the tank in a rising river with crocs. LT, you’re a mean old cuss. LOL
Did your Colt cycle?
Yes, the Colt cycled and worked fine. For some reason it seemed to love that river water bath every once and awhile.
I could not have made it without the Colt and have watched Magnum on the Hawaii show with his…and I wonder about the
background of the real screenwriters for that show. They sure knew something…like me.
Semper fi,
Jim
One of the finest handguns ever made in my opinion. I think the service lost out when the went to the Beretta 9 MM. I don’t know how the Beretta is as far as functionality, but the knockdown of that big .45 would have been worth the fewer rounds in the magazine. Like getting hit by a 900 fps bowling ball 🙂
The .45 was perfect. I was designed for mud jungle and attack warfare at close quarters.
The 9mm, as we used to say in the CIA, is a weapon intended to piss off people who’ve been shot by it rather
than put them down or take them out. But, it’s more of todays genteel weapon of a supposedly more discerning officer and NCO crops. Thanks for the comment and the accurate analysis…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another exciting episode! I can’t wait till the 2nd book comes out so I can read them all on paper! Times change, music changes, different wars for different times, but some things were still the same in 2003 when I (we) invaded Iraq. You had Skyraiders, we had A-10 Warthogs. You had AC-47 Spooky, we had AC-130 Spooky. You had a M1911 Colt, I had a Beretta Model 92. Ya’ll had the M-79, I carried an M203 (same 40mm launcher made so it is mounted under the barrel of the M-16)
I was in the 122nd Combat Engineer Battalion of the South Carolina National Guard. When we deployed in 2003, we were attached to the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment. The average age in the unit was 29, and I was 32(SSG/E-6), so not only young bucks go to war these days…..Also, we had 2 Vietnam Vets in our unit that deployed to Iraq with us. Also Myself and many of the men had served on active duty for years before we joined the Guard.
Shit, I am rambling…. BUT, here is something…those worthless flak vests they gave Ya’ll in Vietnam?? They gave us those same worthless pieces of shit when we went to Iraq in 2003!! We also had alot of other Vietnam vintage equipment.
Anyway, enough of my rambling thoughts, as always I have nothing but respect for you and all the men who came before me. Thank you. Ya’ll deserved better than you got.
Always nice to hear from the veterans of the more recent wars, and how combat is so damned similar when
it comes to really being out in the field. The shit that works and the stuff that does not. Why is the stuff that does not
just passed on down? Unknown. Thanks Andrew, really appreciated the comment and your writing it here…
Semper fi,
Jim
It has slowly dawned on me that what is going on here, in this “totally-read-before-it’s-ever-published-book”, is history in the making. Thousands, yes tens of thousands of books have been painstakingly written, and many of those had to fight tooth and nail to get published. But never, has a book been so thoroughly discussed, analyzed, criticized, praised, and examined by so many before it has ever been off the press. What manner of author subjects him/her self to such scrutiny? Has it happened simply because the technology now exists to allow it to happen? I’m sure there is more to it than that, and I think it’s because this author, you, James Strauss, are indeed, one of a kind. And besides, I feel kind of cool just being able to be a tiny, small part of this historic event.
Write on, you history maker, you!
John, you are right. There is this effect that is going on with the readers and other veterans with
their own experiences effecting the flavor of the story as it comes out. The action is the same but my presentation of
it is entirely effected by what I read every day and and night here. Is this something really special or just another
new electronically allowed occurrence this new technology created? I don’t know. I don’t tend to think of myself as that
special, or than I’ve fucked up in life a whole more than most and also been exposed to parts of the planet and life more than most.
Thanks, as usual, for being on this rather strange Quixotic adventure right with me…
Semper fi,
Jim
well Jim I was going to ask the same thing that j did why you put yourself down but after reading what you wrote I do understand. you had said who would want to go back to Nam I did I have always thought that I could of saved some lives. I lost my a gunner Lyle back here in the states I blamed my self for going to LA with this WM that I met with the idea I was going to get some. anyways when I got back to Oceanside to our apt. their was cops and medics all over the parking lot I parked on the street and went up to the lot and I saw why they where there Lyle was on a stretcher and they were trying to figure what hospital to take him to I said he’s a Marine take to any hospital the Corp will pay he died on the way in. the cops wrote that he was a drunk Marine that commited suaside my spelling isn’t the best what had happened was he went into the bathroom will in their he started having flash back about getting over run by Charlie in Nam he was yelling don’t let them get me and went out the window. they didn’t know about PTSD.i have always said that if I would have been their he would still be here. it still pisses me of about what the cops wrote. so what i’m sayimg is I too have put myself down
That’s a helluva bit of a burden you’ve been hauling around Dave. I sure as hell
understand and sympathize with it, however. How can any of us not? Those who survived have been
given short shrift time and again, plus those of us who really understand are very limited in number and
not homogeneous. In other words the real combat troubled vets are not exposed to others who might have worked
through exactly the same kind of problems. Maybe, because of technological advance, this kind of site, where the vets are lead
through that valley of death…not their own…but like their own…to find being part of the resulting rag tag refuse in company can be damned
curative. I am with you brother in carrying that load this very night. I am thinking about what you wrote and you yourself right this minute
and a lot of others right here are doing so too.
Going it alone is the hardest part. Not anymore…
Semper fi,
Brother,
Jim
Jim I agree with your comment to Dave whole heartily. Your writing has brought so much back to me and others I am sure. Like Dave I don’t know if I help a fellow vet or made him in worse shape by talking to him about VN. All I do know is after talking with him about our time in Nam two weeks latter he took his own life. He told me about killing a boy that was trying to pull a pin on a grenade to throw into his chopper, I knew he was having a hard time telling me about it. Keep up the good work Jim.
Jurgens was definatly a self centered, dangerous asshole. But I understand your risking it all by going back for him. You can look in the mirror when you shave, and not be troubled. You’re a man’s man, Jim!
I shaved without a mirror for quite some time. Now, it’s okay. I did some good things in my time but there always
lurked that fear and knowing I would, and sometimes did, the worst of things at the snap of my fingers or the slightest
provocation. Thanks for that comment Gerry. I would be such a better lieutenant now.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim this far along in our lives we still have so many questions and very few answers
but we made it home brother never to broken to belong ,stay the course my friend.
Semper Fi
Thank you Stephen, I really appreciate the kind words and encouragement.
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
Thanks James for your response. It would appear that your Junior is defined by you, as the ugly side of mankind that resides in all of our species. By now, I am sure that you understand that those who have gone to war, have all met their junior and very few want anything to do with acknowledging, that he lives within the dark crevices of their mind. That would be a prime reason for vets not wishing to discuss the details of their activities while in battle.
In the minds of many, survival instinct becomes your junior, when it is a life or death situation, your life or the other, becomes the choice. Unfortunately in many cases, there are innocent lives involved, especially in war. We have all had to deal with that aspect as well. Perhaps that is one of the most difficult sides of human nature, that mankind must deal with. Killing in self defense is justifiable, killing for pleasure is never acceptable. One seriously doubts, that the majority of soldiers go to war for the pleasure of killing. That is a serious misnomer, emanating from those who have never served in uniform for their country.
Understanding and accepting those facts about the tragedies of war and the survival instincts of man, can be very helpful for those returning from the battlefield, even though the scars of war will always be present when reflected upon. Those who suffer from PTSD have difficulty reaching that point, the safety zone, in their thinking about the horrible actions of mankind. As you have noted, no two people see things the same way. In most cases, they have awakened to the dark side of mankind for the first time and find that it becomes very difficult to accept the reality of it. They often deal with this realization in many different ways, whether through anger, guilt or to just plainly try to escape from all of the demons that have surfaced in their minds.
Bottom line James, if it were not for the survival instinct that resides in the minds of mankind, there would no longer be a human race to deal with.
There are survival instincts and then there are survival instincts. It is the direction and the volume
of action-oriented response that is really in question. And also the capability of some to be diminutive
or excessive…and then have that action reflected back in developed social discourse. As here.
My comments about myself and Junior take me to conclusion, and have for a long time, that I was so over
the top it was astounding. Where did that come from and, although it is now tamped down and diminished to
manageable, why is it still in me and here?
Thanks for your comment in depth, as usual…
Semper fi,
Jim
Why do you still deal with Junior and where do his traits comes from, is a question that would most probably deal from your very foundation as a child? It could be a question of emulation or frustration, from your childhood. Society has a way of suppressing certain instincts and desires, until one is beyond the restrictions of society, such as on a battlefield or living a covert life.
From your discussion about your other escapades after leaving the military, i.e., the CIA, it would appear that Junior was again a driving force within you. Could be the rush you experienced, from being able to escape the bounds of society. Then too, the thrill you seemed to enjoy, when dealing with mental anguish and fear. You claimed to hate the fear factor within you, but continually placed yourself in situations that would create fear. Were you trying to master your fear or where you pushing it to the limit and relishing the high, that some get for taking unusual chances? One cannot dismiss the answer to that question and only you could succinctly answer it.
Growing old and acknowledging less ability to take chances, often brings Junior’s urges into a manageable situation, especially when it is a question of acceptance and survival.
The CIA. I needed the money. I wanted to travel. I wanted to be ‘somebody,’ because I felt like
nobody. I wanted to be in the Marine Corps, of sorts again, that I was no longer deemed fit for.
I don’t seek high risk but it is occasionally there…and I know I deal with it rather well.
Does that mean I seek it because we all like doing those things we are good at?
I can’t answer that, but only speculate. I don’t think so but would not stand against a professional
conclusion that that was, indeed, the case. If I wasn’t some form of a basket case I would not be writing
the story as I am or on here telling the truth. There are safer roads to travel at my age.
Semper fi, and thank you most heartily, as usual.
Jim
James the most successful conclusion that you can draw, would come from you, as you are your own reality. There is no one else exactly like you, therefore you become your own expert in concluding why your life has turned out the way it has. If you were a basket case, you would not be trying to analyze your life, because the reasons for your action’s would not matter to you.
One remembers you stating that when you were in the hospital, you asked God not to let your life be without action and cause. That shows that you thrive on the excitement of life and therefore would naturally seek out more then just a normal existence.
As an author, you are telling a story that has not been fully and accurately described, under the circumstance that you lived it. That is the impetus for many writers. In doing so, you are not only helping yourself work through that experience, but many others who were seriously impacted by it as well. That is a worthy goal!
J. it is hard to gauge the impact on here or in the writing, for me.
It’s just talking to the veterans on here like the kind of veteran that they mostly are.
I don’t have a profile or crib notes. I just write away on here trying to explain life as I’ve
found it to be in my own way and then analyzing the lives of others to try to comprehend and comment.
The book writing is effected because at the writers on here effect my thinking. The occurrences stay the same
as they were but the presentation of them is definitely modified by what infuses me here.
Not the clearest explanation, I know. I’m trying.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, I accidentally found an article published April 29, 2017 in the Washington Post about a reunion of Marines from the Marine Corps Quantico, Va, Basic OfficerCourse class of 1967. The losses from that class are chronicled with names and events. If you think it ain’t gonna hurt you may see important stuff. Poppa
Link it up Poppa. I cannot believe, for example, that there are active groups of guys who
flew those Sandy’s overhead and I might even end up shaking Cowboy’s hand, or Hobo or Jacko.
If they made it. Now thank God for the Internet and all it has brought us if I get to do that.
Semper fi,
Jim
I am on it, by that I mean, I will try to get it done with limited skills involving hardware and where do I put it. I will return when I figure it out and let you know where I think I posted it. Poppa
We have time! Thanks Poppa Joe. We weren’t born into this shit like the kids today but
at least we don’t deny it’s there like the generations before us.
Thank you,
Semper fi,
Jim
Okay, don’t know how or if it took but I believe I posted it to Janice DeCarlis’ “what’s on your mind” page.
The burdens of command, especially in combat, are heavy indeed aren’t they, Jim. It’s hard to see one of your men die, even if you don’t particularly like them or they you. Stay strong and get the job done, LT!
On another note, those monsoon rains were a real bitch at times, weren’t they?
All of that Jim. Yes, command is so very different in training and back at the barracks.
When I got home and waited for the board to dump me out I had command of a HQ Battery, actually I was
the XO but the commander was much more fucked up than me. I found it almost impossible to command men, half
of whom had come out of the Nam and the other half that had not gone yet. Talk about bifurcated and split!
Thanks for your comment and support…
Semper fi,
Jim
1st day in country you question command and a little later you were on your way to this company. where would you have gone if you had stayed silent James?
I have no idea. My first battery assignment, which I never got to was
very top heavy with company grade officers while the field was denuded of
forward observers. I presume to the battery but who can know now. I have speculated
all my life. I had no contacts, family or Marine history in my background.
I was just a 2nd louie.
Thanks for the penetrating question though…
Semper fi,
Jim
If you get the company to the airstrip you should get at least some re-supply. If choppers can’t or won’t land,C130s might be able to do touch & go pallet drops. Stay clear of the drop zone though, as I once saw a perfectly good Ontos turned into a pile of scrap metal during a touch & go drop at Duc Pho.
That was my idea Ron. You are spot on. Get me somewhere I could get resupply and
medevac. Anywhere but further down that damned valley. Thanks for caring and sticking with the story
as we go along..
Semper fi,
Jim
Your description of the heavy rains brought back old memories. I remember gasping for a breath because the rain was practically solid. I’m one of them that are still fucked up in the head 50 years later. Was shot down in a Chinook going onto a 2300 foot mountain. Bullets coming up thru the floorboards got me and we went flopping thru the air to the base of the mountain. Got medivaced back to Long Binh where in a couple of days Tet 68 kicked off. Charlie was in the wire 50 yards from our hospital ward. Absolutely terrifying being there in my nightie and IV for defense. Can’t wait for your next addition. I check facebook 4 or 5 times a day. I,too, was a 2LT when I got over there.
Jesus Christ Harvey. You have to tell us more! Please! Your defense was your IV and your nightie!
For Christ’s sake.
What happened? How did you make it? Who defended you? What is your situation now?
My story has brought other unbelievable stories like you own. Really solid true stories but without an audience
that accept them. Well, we sure as hell can on here Harvey…..give it to us with both barrels!
Semper fi,
Jim
I was at Long Binh , MACV 67-68 !! Our “reactionary force” was assigned to bunker #2 in the ammo dump !! Saw & felt the 1st explosion !! We grabbed rifles. ,ammo , my 60 !! Got in a deuce & 1/2 with other troops and headed for the gate !! It was being held by 2 MP’s that I saw !! Bunch of gooks laying about but not far inside the wire and the rest were dispatched !! Went on to our bunker & all hell broke out very quickly !! These are the facts based on fiction , or fiction based on facts !! That’s about all I can share as I spent 7 days in Oakland being told I didn’t see , hear , do , or remember anything !! Thanks James !!
Way cool reactionary move on the part of you guys Tex. I’ll be those guys at the gate
would like to shake your hand today if they made it. Fought times. I was in Oakland too,
mostly being told between operations, about how fucked up I was in the head. Which, in retrospect, I kind of
was. But not in the way they thought. Glad my actions against them somehow became day and night dreams.
Thanks for the rendition of your own tough time…
Semper fi,
Jim
Ok Jim, You asked me to fill you in on what happen so long ago. On Tet’s eve I was laying in my hospital bed around 2300 hours listening to the locals celebrating their holiday with firecrackers. All of a sudden I thought geez that doesn’t sound like fireworks any more. Then all hell broke loose. The VC were trying to come through the wire to attack the hospital. Bullets were flying thru our ward and god knows what was clanging off the tin roof. Our nurses were scrambling to get us under our beds and covered with our mattresses. To this day I admire their bravery and total disregard for their own safety as they struggled to protect their patients. The perimeter guards held the VC back until the Charlie Model gunships arrived and started working over the wire. I don’t remember how long this went on but all of a sudden I woke up to this eerie silence. It was daylight and I made it to the screen window to look outside. There were bodies laying everywhere and hanging in the wire, They were already bloated, turning black and starting to stink. To this day every once in a while I smell that smell. I don’t know where it comes from. Must be imprinted in my mind. After 7 years in the Army I got out, hung up my uniform and didn’t tell anyone for 20 years what I had done or where I had been. Then one year long ago I decided to attend the VFW’s memorial day ceremony. I dug out my c***cap with my CPT’s bars and Glider patch on it and attended their ceremony. I did it only because I wanted to render a proper military salute to my fallen comrades. After the ceremony one of the Post’s Officers came up to me and asked me if I had served overseas. I told him that I had done 2 1/2 years in Vietnam. He invited me to join their post and I told him that I didn’t mix with people very well and that I was kind of messed up in the head. He then told me that what used to be known as battle fatigue, shell shack and battle rattle was now known as PTSD. I’d never heard of it. I went over to the Post and he gave me some VA literature. When I read it I got paranoid because I thought they were spying on me. With the VFW’s help it took about 2 years for VA to declare me 100% permanently disabled. I’m from Alaska and now lived on the Kenai Peninsula about 16 miles, back in the woods, from the nearest town. I love the peace and quiet. I have 3 dogs and a cat for company. I love it here. Thanks for listening to an old man babble on. Welcome home Jim.
Wow. That was something indeed. I so remember the care of the medical staff in Vietnam and Japan
and your description of their conduct is so spot on. Being trapped in there just waiting for the enemy
to come in and kill everyone. Man, whom would have thought to have any weapons on hand in a hospital?
But in a war zone you are in a war zone and anything can happen. Thank God you made it. And now there you are
up there in Alaska and you’ve found a peaceful life. Hand salute, my friend…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey LT Harvey. Charlie in the wire and no defense. You were completely naked because no doubt weapons had been banned on the inside of those wards. I visited a troop there Christmas Day 1970, nice and calm then. My guy had been ambushed somewhere in the Delta when he went to visit a school buddy. Jeep left the road but he made it out and a nearby Dust off brought him in. What in noticed was young girls, all Army nurse LT grade, moving all over those wards. Same age as their patients mostly. My wife’s brother was head NCO in Medical Triage emergency room at Chu Chi 25 Fifth Infantry Div base camp in 68. Now we know that those little buggers were under the base all the time. He says they were saved by the Spooky. They tried to get all Americans under cover and the sky was filled with streams of bullets all night. Bodies and pieces were everywhere inside and outside the wire, but it broke the attack and units in the field could return when they could break contact. I was told in 1970 by the Army when they gave this old AF medic that I wasn’t allowed to exit the wire with my weapon, Cholon I think. Legend then was that the 25th cleared Charlie from Cholon, Saigon with ferocious attack in Feb 68. You sir have opened many memories, I was moving patients from Nam at Clark PI on the same litters they were evacuated on from their Battalion Aid with the same red dirt you guys had been eating and smelling. At one time we moved 1000 guys a day in and out to the World when they were stable. Then in 1969 1970 you guys went to Cambodia and I got a ride to MACV.
Turned thirty while there. You guys cleaned it up good. We moved Thias, Koreans, GIs, ARVN, whoever wherever. Some to and from Army Third Field Saigon. Then my year ended with minor,very minor events to remember and going back to being Daddy took some time. But God blessed and one of those blessings even at 76 is seeing what James Strauss has done for so very many combat veterans. You are a member of a very exclusive group of men. Thank you and LT Strauss.
Poppa Joe
Thank you Poppa for beginning to put down into words your own trail of tears.
I am reading deeply between the lines and I know you are thinking between those lines
as you lay them down along the streaming surface. Thank you for what you are writing,
and many others I am sure are reading your words with the same depth I am. On this site, strangely,
you and I and others like I really can be heard and read with people paying close attention.
The detail I write with is amazing to me but even more amazing to the guys reading this. Not so amazing that
I am writing it but that they are going “fucking, yes, that’s fucking it,” while they read. I’m writing it and you guys ‘are reliving it,
but not to talk you back…but to let you be here…and be whole…and be that mythical warrior returned with the scars and
the experience…and to be that and be wanted and valued.
It don’t mean nuthin is all about that.
What a pleasure to be among these men and women.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you Jim, guess you pegged me and I have needed this. Poppa
I believe you are a most difficult man to ‘peg’ so to speak. But I am sure happy
you have come here to root around in my back pasture for awhile…
Semper fi,
Jim
Harvey, what Jim said. If talking helps, there’s a whole bunch right here that’ll listen. Hate that you went, glad you got back. Korea 66-68.
LT. James, I recently received the book and following each online chapter. The sound bytes online bring memories into sharp focus. My area was rice paddies and rubber plantations. But the combat was combat. All the fear and feelings and sights and sounds are the same for us all. Army 25th ID.
Thanks!
Thanks Stephen, yes the sounds bring it all back more than anything except the smells.
Rock and roll songs from the ear mean something different to us and I never fail to notice when
one plays from Armed Forces Radio…but not, just out of the car or home radio station.
Thanks for the great comment and for writing it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Goodbye Jurgens, if the rising water don’t get you the NVA will. After all they know your there.
Marines are amazingly tough, resilient and just plain mean when it comes to
pulling through. Can’t say anymore without writing the next segment though.
Thanks for the comment and the writing of it on here..
Semper fi,
Jim
Would not want you to spoil the story. To damn good to let that happen. When it comes down to living or dying most people will fight to live and their animal instinct will show itself.
I cannot disagree with you at all JT. Thanks for writing it up on this site for all to see.
Semper fi,
Jim
My six man fire team was about as tight as any six men could be. There were four Blacks and two whites and I still like to joke that I forget which was which. My F.T.L was a “Blue gum.” His words. Not mine. Any one of us would have followed him through hell in a gasoline suit. We clicked like a machine. We spent most of our time watching the bad guys waiting for them to bunch up so we could call a sat strike on them. After we were dropped at our I.P. we tried to make no contact. If we did we were extracted. We were rarely under fire.
It is so gripping to read what you and your people did. What you had to face everyday.
An entirely different situation. In 1964, there were no large actions We still had the attitude that we were participating iv an advisory role and the real war was between the Vietnamese.
We saw our share of ugly.
But it’s the little things you write about. I can smell that rotting jungle and feel the water coming down in buckets. I can remember the smell of hot blood and taste the fear.
Religiously, I have stayed away from Nam war books. They bring me to a place I would rather but can not forget.
That stated, I have to tell you you have me spellbound.
A movie? Oh hell yes.
It must have been an extremely interesting time to be in Vietnam, and the retrospect for you
must be pretty amazing. Thank you for being glued to the story as I take it ever deeper into that dreaded valley.
I need your support now to tell it as I needed guys just like you (and some not!) to be here at all to tell it.
Semper fi, and thank you!
Jim
I don’t know what you were thinking when you fired the .45 next to Jurgen’s ear, but it could have been like the medic that you shot in the ass for using the morphine, you wanted him gone but not dead. If Jurgens has a blown ear drum he is out of combat and your hair, his men should be okay with him leaving alive, Sugar Daddy will be happy, maybe enough that he will lighten up on you some more and hopefully with Jurgens out of the picture the race issue will go with him on the next resupply chopper, provided you get him safely off the tank and back to your new cave. The croc’s won’t eat him, after they shake the shit out of him there won’t be enough left to fill a can of ham and mothers. Great writing Lt. can’t wait for the next chapter. Over.
Short of death. I became obsessed with solving problems ‘short of death.’
I hated the killing that would not stop or go away, and I didn’t care whether that killing
was being done by the NVA, my Marines or me. I hated all of it all the time…and still do today.
I got axed as a cop in San Clemente (just after winning their highest award for valor!) because the shrink
said I would not commit the violence that might be necessary to save another officer or a civilian.
I wanted to kill her, but we know that that didn’t count!
Thanks for what your wrote and for the support by coming on here. Not easy.
Semper fi,
Jim
Had a new Sgt. that would come around the guys at night trying to see if they were asleep. He came to wear I was . I was the 60 gunner. I let him put his hand on the 60 and then I pulled the hammer back on my 45. I don’t say anything. He did not come back any more LOL
Loved the .45, since my Dad taught me how to shoot it at nine years old.
Then I fired the ‘kiddy’ course they had at Camp Perry and Cape May
when dad shot in tournaments. Takes a while to get good with that rather
old and rough instrument but once you do, man oh man…
Semper fi,
Jim
I was in the same AO, received support from Ripcord, Barnett an Oreily, the NVA took Ripcord. As a member of the 101st out air support was great “God’s Lunatics” provided us with ammo when we were low even if they could not land they would fly over under fire and kick it out. They came in out out our wounded an dead also. God Bless the Airborne.
Jim, I cannot agree with your more. The Army units and Marines, in general were
a bunch of great wild and kick ass units that went the extra mile every time.
The political results of that conflict have done such a disservice to all that.
I illustrate in my own experience how these other units, and even my own with great difficulty, kept me
alive in ways difficult to describe. Thank you for that comment.
Semper fi,,
Jim
What a rush ,my minds eye was all over the place ,I could here sounds I have not heard for years and I know I don’t even with hearing aids.
Thank you Bill, I’ll take that as a compliment.
You had to kind of be there to hear those sounds. But, like aromas,
you never ever forget. I wonder when the Huey will pass from the U.S. inventory.
Still hear them when I’m in Hawaii. They still fly a few out of Kaneohe And I always
follow them. That sound.
Semper fi,
Jim
I got the first 10 days book and even though I had already followed every word online, It still seemed new and fresh. Left a good review and eagerly wait for the next chapter. Thank You Lt. Junior, Sir.
George
Thank you George, much appreciate you buying the book and liking it.
I am coming up on the half way point soon of the whole affair.
One of my true old Marine friends called this evening and asked me
how my tour could have been packed so full in so short a period of
time, and his, in combat too, was filled with breaks and time in the rear.
I laughed and said luck of the draw, which it was, but also if you stayed a whole
year and one month tour over there then your mind would ten to fix on the times away
from the combat just to try to heal we both imagined.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,thanks for clearing up the part about the gator. I couldn’t figure out why it was just sitting there. It didn’t add up to me,now I know why. I know you have to go back for Jurgens for your own peace of mind but damn it would be a hard decision to make for me.Although I’m sure I would of done the same thing. He is the king of assholes. Wanting to cut Barnes body loose for a fucking gator.After Barnes lost his life trying to save his sorry ass.I understand the part of being so cold even though the air was hot. I froze my ass off at times during the monsoon staying wet all the time. Once again thanks for your writing. I never really had the patience to sit and read for very long but I have been glued to ever episode. Semper Fi, Brother.
Having to live in a tropical environment where the mountains surround lowland triple canopy jungle
is odd, to say the least, Gordon. The mountain highlands, seemingly not that far up in the air, can
be shivering cold and then the rain that flows down from them can flow right down into steaming hot
jungles but the water in the heavy run off river is cold as up on the mountain where it fell!
Strange messages shoot back and forth, especially for kids fresh from the states who’ve never
encountered or heard any thing like it. Thanks for picking up on that. Sometimes I write on into
the night unaware of how spooky and weird it really was.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your company was blessed too have you. Crap hits the fan. Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. But if you’re going to go through the crap better to do it with guys like you and Barnes.
Thank you most kindly Joe. It is easier to find approval of my actions in retrospect this far along.
Earlier I was a bit harsher in that judgement. Thanks for your approval. Means a lot as I continue on…
Semper fi,
Jim
Just a quick question. Why didn’t Jurgens go back the way he got to the trunk? Was that rope gone?
Tank
That rope was strung down to the tank through the current.
You could never pull yourself back through that current as the water was
moving at about fifteen miles per hour and lets say you made it.
Then you have that long flat expanse of sandy river bed to cover
to get back to the company, where two Marines died the day before trying to cross.
Plus, so many men are simply bad and frightened by
the water, particularly fast deep water filled with god knows what.
Thanks for the question though. A good one.
Technically, if the rope was freed from the tank it might allow a person tied to the end to be pulled into the bank,
like we used on the other more protected side in defilade.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well Jim…let me say again…how you paint the picture and plop our asses right there with you so that it all becomes real…you are a master of story telling…you made some comment about not knowing if how you are putting it on paper makes it believeable…I would not waste one thought on that piece of this puzzle again…Jurgens is lucky you were a decent human being and at least went back for him…and didn’t blow his brains out to begin with…it would have been very easy…Barnes was the hero saving two lives and that asshole was ready to let him float down river…I think it was quite appropriate that you forgot your order and shot at Jergens and were pulled to safety along with Barnes and left Jergens to ponder his actions…and gunny is still playing the game but he’s an old vet and has been at it much longer…I will say that you are a fine example of the “adapt, improvise, and overcome” concept…keep it coming…
Thanks Mark. I guess the adapt part of the Marine philosophy I got in spades!
Nothing is going go as planned. I had 37 ‘missions’ in the CIA and I cannot think of
one of them that went as planned. More of Junior’s converted planning to make it work.
Thanks for the deep comment and the deeper meaning. Means a lot.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim…I’ve been reading a lot of the responses on here and I guess it is easy for me or anyone else to judge Jurgens but to anyone that has not been there I would say that the military is just a microcosm of the general population…you have good and bad…how you react and deal with the bad ones has an effect on your survival…whether it was there or back here…I remember a “60 Minutes” series in the late 80s that was about the homeless. There were several things that I remember but the one glaring statistic that was stated was that 75% of the male homeless population under the age of 45 were Vietnam Vets. They talked about it but nothing was ever really done. Some of the interviewees just said that they could not cope with “normal” life after being there. I hope that you know that your stories are having a positive effect on those that read them. You can tell from the responses on this page that they are…didn’t mean to ramble but just wanted to say thanks again for sharing and for taking the time to answer all of these comments.
Can’t thank you enough for the high compliment Mark. I am doing me best to get it all down on
paper and also to respond to the vets who come on here to help us all better understand and deal with
the effects of what we all went through. Appreciate what you wrote here and your support, of course,
Semper fi
Jim
Take a fucking salt pill and drive on Lt.
Still had slat pills over there, and the damned Halezone tablets, of course.
Shit water in a country filled with water everywhere, like Africa is a shot bunch of countries
filled with animals but not decent leather!
Thanks for the comment and the support…
Sempeer fi,
Jim
I can imagine that you felt the absolute need to get Jurgens off the tank, just as you needed to get Barnes to shore, and it doesn’t come off as selfish on your part, unless you knew the guilt of shirking the duty to your men would be too much. I enjoyed the interview that was posted. You came across as a very humble spokesman for your writing and your Corps.
Thanks for the compliment on the interview Mr. Jones. I just went on and on
about whatever. Poor Chuck had a bunch of questions he never got to ask.
Thanks for writing what you wrote on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
As I told you earlier I only flipped the safety off once on my M-60 on another G.I. but never had to pull the trigger. Like you that asshole genie is had to put back in the bottle sometimes.
Marine companies must have been a lot larger than Army as I do not think we had more than 80 guys at any one time and we did not hump with our mortar crew. Just three platoons and the C.P.
Amazingly difficult to count all the guys in the company in the jungle we were in.
Supposed to be a T.O. roster, but like so many of the written things, from resupply request forms, to after action
to even the dailies…things fell apart in the thick of real constant and never-ending combat…
Thanks for the comment and the observations…
Semper fi,
Jim
Again not disappointed, your vivid description of every detail is hypnotic. Your ability to survive the enemy as well as your fellow Marines speaks volumes about your survival instinct and your scout team. Bringing Barnes back over Jurgens objection tells me that you really are the company commander. Your story is like a chess game only in this game “checkmate” means your dead.
Thanks John. Trying to be a commander when nobody wants a commander at all but needs one badly is a pretty
tough call. I worked at it and still think about the problems that were inherent in that dark situation.
Thanks for writing about it here and the compliment in your writing…
Semper fi,
Jim
I had to laugh when the guys began pulling you and Barnes in. Selfish asshole Jurgens is I get it when you say you’re going back to get him for yourself though. Fusner finally showing his youth a bit but you probably should have taken the radio. Guess we’ll see. Thanks again Jim! Already looking for the next one. Semper Fi!
My iPhone died yesterday. The Apple Store gave me a new phone and all my info came back to the new phone thru the iCloud. Wow! Turns out they were right, except for my email. Sorry
Still hanging like a rust fish hook LT. That waters cold … And deep too. Jurgens needs to learn to swim. Now would be a good time.
Contacted Red River Rats concerning Cowboy and Hobo ID’s. They want a picture of the book cover and a review. Started to be an ass and tell them to read the reviews on Amazon but will do one for them. They will then post it to see if there are any takers.
On that same note I saw the A-1 Drivers are having a reunion so I have reached out to the POC for help.
Doc
LT.
Need email address to forward feedback from the SPAD Net concerning your three A-1 drivers. The ID request has been deciminated.
Ck 6
Doc
Thank you Roger. I am at antaresproductions@charter.net
I much appreciate your help in this matter. Completely unexpected.
I never knew that the guys in the air might have a whole network
following the war. Kind of really neat.
Thank you and
Semper fi,
Jim
Copy. We are a pretty close knit group as an ol’ farts Mafia with reunions and all. Intell inbound.
Doc
You guys were such a class act up there in Vietnam. It’s really nice
to see that your relationships came together like that and then you brought them
back home. Terrific! And thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
Could not appreciate it more Roger. Too bad there were so many nicknames over there.
I’ll be most who encountered me only knew me as Junior, sort of like Cowboy and the air guys.
Really appreciate the work and assistance….
Semper fi,
Jim
I marvel at your descriptive writing that has me back in the “bush”. I can feel and smell the rain, the jungle, and the fear. Thank you for this story and Thank You to all of us that made it by using our heads, our strength of of mind and our “brothers” . Also a big thanks to our fellow soldiers that gave all. Semper Fi, Sir. Great job!
Thank you Don, for the supportive comment here. Yes, there are those who did give it all and we should never forget them.
We were all so totally out of place in that mess of a war. The vital difference between regular life in the USA and then
in that jungle of mud and snakes was stunning. Thanks for writing about it and supporting here in your comment…
Semper fi
Jim
Never met a person when doing an assessment of themselves that was happy with all the actions they had done. Our toughest critics are usually ourselves. We run the gauntlet of life where we met the Nguyen as well as the Jergens and Gunnys and is up to us which we turn out like. We all have the 2 wolves inside us like the Cherokee story.
I love that Cherokee story Peter. And you could not be more accurate in what you just wrote.
Thank you for that and for the inherent compliment in your words.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fuck, LT, can you make it a little more exciting? The .45, six inches the other way and oops-sorry Jurgens my bad! All kidding aside I’m transfixed. First thing I do every day is look for another chapter. I would of followed you to Hanoi.
I didn’t hit his ear. Somebody said that. I just ‘attuned his hearing’ to the moment and the situation…a bit.
I shot next to his ear so he would stop what he was doing. What was I going to do? Kill him and then have to explain that
little problem to First Platoon? Try to push his body out and hope it didn’t end up on the bank? A lot of it was about
me and not him. So, I chose something short of that kind of terminal solution.
Thanks for liking the work and the support…and now I have to get back on the night mud trail back to the fucking tank!
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn. There wasn’t an easy second, was there? I would say that I would have shot a little closer to Jurgens but the one time I took the safety off up close and personal I was scared shitless (Signal geek in peacetime Korea), still don’t know. How you could go back for Jurgens is beyond me. He’s pushing that “brother” thing out to the limit. I’ve quit speculating, just enjoying now, keep on keepin on.
Well, Walt, now old friend, I don’t know what to say except Marines are definitely people and they come in all varieties.
Can you count on them? Yes, and no. Always? Almost never? When you need them terribly? Almost certainly. Jurgens
wasn’t pushing the edge of the envelope with the ‘brother’ shit. I was. And I do today. A therapist told me once that
I was trying to rebuild my company around me again after losing so many. My ‘poor judgment’ in letting many in was a
direct result of that. I didn’t tell him that if I was indeed rebuilding my company around me, that it had to include
a bunch of losers. We were such losers, and command was right. The only thing we were really any good at was killing one
another and certainly the enemy. And being mad at the unjust universe that had set us there and then given up on us.
And there you have it as best as I can state it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Seems like every conflict has the enemy within, those that will not do the right thing which will kill you as.quickly as the actual enemy you are trying to elliminate.
You have gone and defined combat for what it is, and the conversion process in learning that is usually called death.
If you luck out and make it then anyone who has, reading your words, knows that they are carved in stone and made of iron.
Semper fi,
Jim
From the Signal geek that learned to know one when he saw one, YESSIR.
Hell, Walt, do I really have to reply to you? You read my mind…
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, another song That I remember from Brother John, It showed up occasionally, Not really rock and roll but said a lot about the way things were, and was popular in my unit …. Yes I think you will understand…..No matter what you had to go….. Yes every morning ….. or when ever the call came………..
Every mornin’ at the mine you could see him arrive
He stood six-foot-six and weighed two-forty-five
Kinda broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip
And everybody knew ya didn’t give no lip to big John
(Big John, big John)
Big bad John (big John)
Nobody seemed to know where John called home
He just drifted into town and stayed all alone
He didn’t say much, kinda quiet and shy
And if you spoke at all, you just said hi to Big John
Somebody said he came from New Orleans
Where he got in a fight over a Cajun Queen
And a crashin’ blow from a huge right hand
Sent a Louisiana fellow to the promised land, big John
(Big John, big John)
Big bad John (big John)
Then came the day at the bottom of the mine
When a timber cracked and men started cryin’
Miners were prayin’ and hearts beat fast
And everybody thought that they’d breathed their last, ‘cept John
Through the dust and the smoke of this man-made hell
Walked a giant of a man that the miners knew well
Grabbed a saggin’ timber, gave out with a groan
And like a giant oak tree he just stood there alone, big John
(Big John, big John)
Big bad John (big John)
And with all of his strength he gave a mighty shove
Then a miner yelled out “there’s a light up above!”
And twenty men scrambled from a would-be grave
Now there’s only one left down there to save, big John
With jacks and timbers they started back down
Then came that rumble way down in the ground
And then smoke and gas belched out of that mine
Everybody knew it was the end of the line for big John
(Big John, big John)
Big bad John (big John)
Now, they never reopened that worthless pit
They just placed a marble stand in front of it
These few words are written on that stand
At the bottom of this mine lies a big, big man
Big John
(Big John, big John)
Big bad John (big John)
(Big John) big bad John
Yes got my copy of the first book, Bow I am trying to post my review……… 4-O all the way
I cannot thank you enough for that terrific compliment.
I don’t see myself the same way others see me but then that is a big part of life
for all of us. Thanks you ever so much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well James, You deserve it, I was there, I fought my own back war with the soba’s just as you did, Day in and day out, I did my God Level Best to Deliver and provide, against stupid rules, remf’s, little kingdom keepers and Charlie, Always with the specter if that joker Murphy, always ready to stick His fingers in the game and flip a spade into a straight diamond royal flush………. Why was it always the shitty ended up having to grab hold of? But we did and in the end it saved lives………Yes, Welcome Home.
Semper fi/This We Defend.
Thanks, Robert, as usual. You writing is invariably uplifting and I am so happy that you have come to a place of
understanding and some kind of plateau of peace with the stuff. I never know whether I am bringing up stuff that should
stay buried or helping by revealing. Tough one.
Thanks for your every present care and support, though…no matter what…
Semper fi,
Jim
Beginning to look like doing it yourself suited your outlook at the time. I see a young man with more responsibility for human life than freakin Eisenhower in ’44, and bringing them home was your only job. Benefits being a few more dead NVA and Nam gators. Been looking for a couple of days, now back to the wait for the night’s extraction run. Poppa Joe
Doing shit was easier than fearing shit in the Nam. I was always afraid, but when I could bear down and then go
at it physically I could kind of disappear into the moment, so I tried to act instead of wait if at all possible.
I think that was my mindset at the time, and I still don’t see the way I acted as any kind of selfless heroism.
It was all about me, and even though I resented that in myself, it was all about me….
Thanks Poppa for the comment and kind words…
Semper fi,
Jim
I am beginning to enjoy this back and forth more. I had you in my mind as you just described, and, I think your radio stud did too. Thank you for coming up with this way of helping your brothers. Later. Poppa
It’s kind of different to sort of take some people along while the books are being written, which this has kind of turned into.
I am two pages into the third part and I think about what the guys on here say, like you, as I write, wondering what the hell you will
think of what’s going down on paper now. Not that you will like it or not or even find it believable, but whether you can see yourself
in this mess of a mess (or return to it if you were there) as me, or at my side. I see silent unseen company from the guys writing on
here, like there was an audience watching and listening intently and then having an opinion different from my own. Strange development only
allowed because of the existence and immediacy of the Internet…and the willingness of people like you to participate…
Semper fi, my friend, brother and fellow traveler..
Jim
LT, I have had long memories of the men I had a part in treating for their injuries. I saw the wounds left open, amputations, surgical incisions, open skin that needed to heal from the bottom up, burns, W.P. wounds, and the ever present leech wounds. What haunted me was the eyes of each one of you guys. They were the same, that to me explaines your brotherhood. You are doin’ good LT, real good. Poppa
I have read every instalment. Excellent read. It has been 46 years since I left SEA. I understand how the memories creep back in from time to time. I feel you are writing this for those who were there and still, in some ways , still are. Definitely a life changing experience. When I was discharged and went back home, all I heard was “my have you changed”. Little wonder. No one understands that war other than those who experienced it. there is not much use in telling “war stories” to those who did not live it. You are doing a great job. Keep up the good work.
Thanks a million Charlie. I am trying my heart out to get it down as best and accurately as I can.
It’s fiction for protection and because I must admit that I have to fill in gaps where I can no longer
recall and the research material I have doesn’t cover. Thanks for supporting and taking the time and trouble
to write on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Your humanity and your sense for doing the right thing has you going back for Juergens. I don’t know if I would have done the same thing when given the chance to kill a neanderthal. On the subject of your first Book, I got it and I’m rereading and it holds it’s bite as it was the first reading. Thank you Lt.
Like what else could have been done? You can’t hear Jurgen’s heart-rending screams in the story, but I still can.
Anybody with half a heart, or less, and the circumstance, would have gone back. That’s the way I see it even today.
And I was moving and doing something instead of just waiting for the fucking enemy to attack again, and again, and
again…
Thank you for thinking better of me than I did…or do, really.
Semper fi,
jim
I’ve heard those screams, sometimes far into the night. As we Marines always say, “No man left behind”, but it goes deeper than that. Next time, it could be you or me. We always went, no matter how shit scared we were.
Crocks aside, I’ve seen and heard about everything you’re telling about in the Ashau. There has never been a plausible way to tell anyone about things we saw and did in that part of hell, but you are telling it well enough.
Thanks for that, Jim
Thanks Andrew. I am using a fictional form of waltzing Matilda across an impossible improbably
landscape to attempt to get the reality and flavor from what I can glean from myself and what little research I have.
Thanks for the neat comment and for putting it up here…
Semper fi,
Jim
wow awesome
Thanks Richard, really appreciate the compliment and writing in public on here too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Forgetting your signal was shooting the .45, I laughed out loud when that happened. Man I hope someone makes a movie out of this, that is a priceless scene.
It sure wasn’t funny at the time. How stupid can you get? And the instant understanding of what I’d done and not
being able to do anything about it. And, once again, life played out all on its own, with me the butt of my own
unintentional humor.
Thank you for laughing. I can laugh out loud at it today, but back then, not so much.
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW!!! SHIT!!! That is all.
Thanks William. Succinct and laconic but heartfelt I am certain. Thanks for the support and
the big compliment…Semper fi,
Jim
Counting the rain, and the several trips to and from the tank, crossing the river, you must have been waterlogged as heck, with wrinkled toes and fingers!
Jurgens had every right to be shot in the head instead of removing an ear. He is a coward, hiding behind Sargent stripes. I really do not know what to call him, but he ain’t no Marine!
Once again, an exciting, well written chapter. Almost halfway through the thirty days, and each episode leaves me with elevated pulse.
Thanks for firstly, taking notes while you were there, and during your recuperation, and secondly, for making the time to organize the notes and your memories, and relating them to your readers.
Thanks for the thanks Craig. I don’t miss comments like your own and although there
have been many more than I ever expected when I began, I treasure every one!
Thanks to you and the men like you for keeping me going.
I am in Kansas checking out the site for the coming 4th of July Rendezvous, if it is to become real.
I don’t want to disappoint the guys if we make it happen.
Thanks for the caring comment and thanks for the writing you do on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Crazier by the minute LT, probably the same monsoon we had to deal with at sea!! Good luck with Jurgens with the help of Nguyen!!
Thanks Leo, I am deep into that valley as I write this and I much appreciate the assistance your kind of support
provides!
Semper fi
Jim
You ran back for Jurgens. In the dark?? Hell I have no idea how you could walk with balls that big. I am sure I would have waited till morning. To be sure though getting him off that tank and out of the river will take the “bait” factor away from the NVA.
Interesting thought about that ‘bait’ game that they did indeed play. We were almost always
exposed and they were almost always hidden. That created conditions allowing for such brutal circumstance.
Semper fi, and thank you!
Jim
What a sorry POS Jergens is. He deserves to be lunch for a croc. Sure hope that 50 has run out of the 9 lives. Then the ever present chess game by the Gunny.
We were all assholes. Really. I am writing from my perspective so I don’t seem so much like one, but read between the lines.
I do not like at all the character (Junior) that I most assuredly became. I don’t like that Junior still lurks about in my soul
reminding me that I’m not exactly whom I portray I am or really am. I deny Junior. I deny him again and again. But I cannot kill
him off, anymore than I can kill off any of the guys who ride along with me, back there, just off the edge of my right shoulder…on
the flank. I’m okay with that now, but it was a rough rocky road for a bit.
Thanks for the accurate analysis. Jurgens, I think, was a bigger asshole than me….the Gunny, not so much. I loved
the Gunny, in my way.
Semper fi,
Jim
You needed the Gunny more than you needed Jorgensen LT, regardless what the Gunny said. As we the readers follow you farther and farther down the rabbit hole, we can only hope that some light is shed on their deal, whatever it might be. Still outside the wire Sir.
Thanks Mike. You are so right in each conclusion. Thank you for taking the time to write here
and to give me your thoughts about my thoughts.
Semper fi,
Jim
Which air strip were you close by? Was it the A Shau special forces camp’s that had been destroyed a few years earlier? I love your work and can’t wait for the next segment. I’ve read a lot of Vietnam war books and this is one of if not the best.
Modern maps are tough and not many of the good old ones survive today.
The air strip was the one at the end of the developed road down in the south of the
valley. At that point the valley turned with the river, starting its decay to the east, following the river.
The old airstrip was right near the end of that road which had two angled runways. I don’t know
who occupied the runway earlier in the war and never did find out back then. We moved.
And then we moved again and what was behind was forgotten or we tried to make it forgotten.
Thanks for the question and the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I think all of us who were out a lot developed similar attitudes. It was what got us through the times. The problem is those feelings that got us through never really go away. They get put on the shelf. But, those feelings work themselves off the shelf once in a while. That is my problem. I know what I was like then, and understand it. I just hope that I never get that way again.
We all share your hope, which resides in us with the ‘dark side’ we know we have. Other men have
it too but they don’t know they have it and many seek to find out all of their lives. We, on the other hand
spend our time hoping that they don’t! Funny turn of events. Thanks for the great comment and you
support in reading and writing about everything here…
Semoer fi,
Jim
Morning Jim, Yes introspection and perspective, Like you There was that side of me that came out because of combat, a real bastard who did the necessary things required of those who become the magnificent bastards from the dark side, The one who do the job because it needs be done, Who do the job because we are the only ones who will answer and rise up to the challenge to survive, The sad fact being Murphy and his loaded dice that get dropped into the game, and you still have to play with all the odd’s against you, Yes like Big John, When everyone else is shitting yellow, You do what is necessary for survival……….. Yes, No matter when the shit hit the fan, It was always better to do something anything rather than drowned in the panic ………… Yes, My Brother from that dark side, One Bastard to another, I have learned to finally make peace with my Bastard, He saved my life, and the lives of many of my brothers, Well Come to Survival, Welcome Home, May Peace reign in your life forever………..
Semper fi? This We Defend Bob
Nicely written. Nicely thought through and very nicely received. Thank you Robert.
Yes, is about the best word I can use in thinking about it. We are that and my wishes for
you and others like us remains unreservedly the same as your own. That dark side, when we
were different and then the rubber band let go and we sprang back….but so hard and slow…
Thank you brother,
Semper fi,
Jim
Forgive me for asking, but I have read between the lines and still cannot figure out why you hate Junior? Was it because Junior was always looking out for himself? Every troop I met in Vietnam, did the very same thing!
From the start of your story and throughout your story, you respond with remarks about what caused you to do what you did and your actions were all justified, one way or the other. None of the officers in your story, came on the scene knowing what the situations were in your company. Therefore you were forced to take the bull by the horns and act accordingly, not only for your own safety, but that of the company.
Did Junior make some mistakes in judgement? You continually admit that you did, but name one troop that you served with, that did not make mistakes in judgement or in deed! You claim you made you decisions mostly based on fear, but was that not the case of everyone else in your company? While under fire, I witnessed more officers breaking down in cold fear, then the enlisted men that I served with. All of the so called heros that I served with who were willing to talk about what they did, did so always out of fear for themselves first and then for the rest of the company.
Junior first and foremost, had the much needed instinct for survival and was willing to use that instinct, the best way he knew how. Thus far in this story, had he not been been able to put that instinct to work, his company would have been wiped out by the ever pursuing VC. Yes, Junior lost some men in the process, but that happens in every company, no matter who is leading it and many times those loses, came about because of foolish troops who did not pay attention to detail.
As you aptly describe and continue to state, war is hell on earth! However, when the war is over, you leave it on the battlefield. In your case, you have refused to do that and brought it back home with you, thereby inviting the ghosts along with you. Those ghosts only truly exist in your mind, they are not the spirits of them men who were lost in your company, thankfully they now rest in peace. You carry them in your memory, because somehow you feel unjustifiably, that you were the cause of their death. You make yourself out to be, the very God who you constantly complain about, because it is you who believes that you ended their lives needlessly by your actions.
Junior was a good marine who loves the corp and he fought like a marine, so again, my question is why do you hate Junior?
Well, J, you being the deep introspective and investigative branch of this TDHS brigade,
I don’t know. I guess I must ponder that long expression of what your take is on my take and also
how logic is a wonderful thing but constantly runs into the much larger motivations and storage chamber of the brain
called the Cerebellum, where emotion resides and reigns. “Just get over it,” is an expression many of us who have
arrived home in psychological difficulty have heard from friends, family, amateurs and also professional therapists.
We don’t say it to each other though. Not now, not here and not never. I did not bring Junior home. He stayed there
and I have proven that time after time back here. There is not trail of dead bodies strewn behind me across America, there
has been and is no intent to leave such a trail. But in that fucking valley and in the Nam I could not even answer the question of
how many men I killed without it turning into a John Travolta kind of Phenomenon movie question. You mean with area weapons or personal?
You mean those I killed with own hand or ordered it done right near those hands? Do you want to count woman as a whole or a part, and then there’s children,
and how you might want to count them. Do you mean their guys or our guys? I left Junior there. I did not raise him up. He just came up on his own.
He performed and I am here. I am not sure I wanted it to be that way. I will die not being sure. Yes, I hate Junior. I believe for my own sanity
and moments of happiness now and in what I have of a future that my hatred is healthy.
I fully and deeply and without a shred of misunderstanding comprehend what most people don’t get about what Chief Joseph said: “I will fight no more, forever.”
Semper fi,
Jim
I still forget to breath sir!
It’s that good!
Thank you Bubba, much appreciate that ‘straight form the shoulder’ kind of compliment..
Semper fi,
Jim
Even though I wasnt there when I read this I am. You sir are a hell of a writer!
Thank you Chris, much appreciate the compliment and you writing it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Some of the best first person experiential writing about this war that I have read. Thank you for allowing yourself to open up about the many challenges and dangers you faced from “friendlies” as well as the accepted enemy.
I have an aunt that spent time during the war living with the Montagnards. She was working with them as a linguist to give them a written language through a missionary NGO group. US and Australian SF types would stop into her villiage from time to time to ensure all was well with her. When combat started to heat up in her sector, she was extracted by small helicopters and airplanes that she later learned were part of ‘Air America’. She spoke so highly of those tribal mountain people and would tell me stories about them while showing me beautiful crossbows and other items they had given her. She was on one of the last orphan flights out as South Vietnam collapsed in ’75. Unfortunately many of her Montagnard friends were imprisoned or killed by the VC and NVA after our exit.
I really enjoy the picture you paint of Nguyen. I plan to send my copy of The First Ten Days to my aunt in efforts to get her going on her own memoirs from that time and place.
The Montagnards did not do well in surviving the war. Hell, they didn’t do well in it when it was still going on.
Proud, enigmatic and such wonderfully honorable men and women. Thanks for the compliments and the care in writing
about it on here too…
Semper fi,
Jim