Nguyen moved ahead of me, as we departed the perfect overhanging concrete bunker-style encampment the others would be preparing behind us. The mild wind, rushing water of the nearby river, and the mud sand under our feet would all be pushed into the background once we returned, either with or without Jurgens in hand. The rain came down, pushing at our backs, when it pressed down in sheets, and then suddenly stopped for a few seconds to merely blow past the sides of our bodies, like a fine garden hose spray.
It was going to take longer than a few hours, even if Jurgens had been overwhelmed by the strengthening current of the storm-driven river water or died of hypothermia because, over time, the human body could not take immersion in cold water, even if that water, as in the Bong Song next to us, was only running at about sixty-five or so degrees. The distance we had to cover, back and forth in the night was great. Another factor was the storm. I considered the time and hypothermia factors after we were a full half hour into our difficult traverse through the night. The stronger the rain, the quicker it would gather and flow down the streams from high up in the mountains that fed the river. Although the temperature of the air had to be in the nineties, the water was growing colder because it was taking less time to get to the bottom of the valley. Nguyen stopped abruptly, pointed at the sandy mud at his feet, and then slunk down into a native squat. I joined him immediately, wondering why we’d paused. I knew it wasn’t because of the darkness, because Nguyen moved in the night almost like he did in the day. His night vision had to be incredible, compared to my own.
Nguyen pointed back toward the way we’d come. I turned back, slinking lower down into the mud, in preparation of facing some new threat. Fusner and Zippo came out of the night like they were coming from behind a curtain.
“What the fuck?” I whispered, the words coming out of me unbidden.
“It’s us, sir,” Fusner said, unnecessarily, both men going to the sand right beside me.
“No shit,” I replied, almost asking them what the hell they were doing there against orders, but then realizing I already knew.
“You won’t be able to see Jurgens out there without the scope,” Zippo said, using the Starlight scope as their weak excuse for coming along. We would probably not be able to use the thing because of the rain, anyway, and both men had to know that.
“The company’s spread across the other side of the river, sir,” Fusner said, like somehow that was new unknown information. “You’re going to need to talk to the Gunny about what they might be able to do if we get in trouble.”
I stared at the sixteen-year-old, his eyes wide with excited wonder, as if he was on some nineteenth century jungle expedition, instead of in deep deadly trouble at the bottom of a valley that was doing everything within its power to kill him. Trouble. We might get into trouble.
“In case we get into trouble,” I breathed out in exasperation, although I was unable not to feel an internal glow of emotional warmth kicking inside my seemingly dead heart. They cared enough to be there, even against orders.
“Where’s Pilson?” I asked, having decided I wouldn’t mention my previous orders or how flagrantly they’d been disregarded, again.
“He’s building the hooches,” Fusner replied. “That place is so cool. Our own bunker at the bottom of the dreaded A Shau Valley,” he went on.
I stood up, without replying. We were a long way from being able to lay down on soft sand under the concrete runway overhang.
“We’re about an hour out,” I said, turning toward where Nguyen stood, but he wasn’t there anymore. He’d heard the conversation and was moving down the bank of the river before Fusner’s last words were out.
The rain changed from mist to a near solid form, making blinking and breathing hard, unless I tipped my head down and my battered helmet took the abuse. I knew we’d arrived when I ran straight into Nguyen’s back. I careened off to one side and went down onto my right knee, glad there were no rocks on the old flat remains of the former river bed. I thought I saw a small smile flash across the enigmatic man’s face, from my lower position, but he turned to look out over the river before I could be certain.
There was no sound making its way across the top of the rushing water to our position on the bank. Jurgens was not screaming. The tank was difficult to make out because the white water formerly visible even in the dark was no longer there. The water was going right over the bulk of the heavy metal beast.
“Is he out there?” Fusner asked.
I didn’t answer, because there was no answer to be given without more information. I motioned to Zippo. Although the misting was heavy, our position laying down on the sand just back from the very edge of the river bank, was fairly protected.
Zippo’s excuse for their coming along might prove to be more valid than I’d first thought.
I settled the scope across Zippo’s poncho covered back, pulling my own wet poncho over my head and the instrument before removing its front and rear caps. I switched it on, listening for its comforting, but annoying whine to build up, like it was powered by some sort of tiny turbine instead of a battery.
“Okay,” I whispered, knowing that Zippo knew the drill. I waited a few seconds, until he stopped breathing, to peer out across the water. Jurgens wasn’t behind the tank, and the crocodile’s body wasn’t there either. The rope was there, still visible in green contrast, bobbing up and down atop the tank. I knew it was tied to the downriver track. The attempt to save Jurgens was a bust. I almost pulled the scope off Zippo’s back when I saw strange movement on the side of the tank, protected from the direct current. A roundish object bobbed upward, and then sank down again. Zippo breathed, and I had to wait a few seconds.
“Jurgens,” I said out loud, knowing that the river was covering any possible voice tones unless they were shouted at the highest level.
Nothing was coming from Jurgens. He was bobbing his head up above the edge of the tank every half a minute, or so. It took a few seconds to figure out that the sergeant was trying to breathe. The water in the river had risen. It was now coming over the top of the tank. The down river side of the iron beast had to be a roiling mess of white water, even though I couldn’t see it from my slightly upriver position.
“What’s he doing?” Fusner asked.
“Bobbing up and down to stay alive on the other side of the tank,” I replied, trying to figure out why Jurgens had gotten himself into that position.
The water traveling across the top of the tank didn’t seem deep enough to have shoved him up and over it. I looked upriver and down, but there was nothing else to see. I swept back to take in Jurgen’s position again. And then it came to me. He’d gotten on the tank in order to untie the rope so he could, with luck, swing back to the other side of the river. He’d fallen off the tank and was stuck on the downside of it because of the current. I slowly shook my head, as I watched him bob his up and down. How the man had survived as long as he had, what with the cold water and the tortured mess of a situation he was in, was beyond me. The nasty hard Marine was made of true grit and old shoe leather.
“I’ve got to get out there in the next few minutes or Jurgens is a dead man,” I said, pulling the scope form Zippo’s back.
Zippo rolled over and took the heavy object from my hands, but my hands didn’t remain empty for long. Fusner pushed the Prick 25 handset into them.
“You’ve got to talk to the Gunny so he knows we’re back,” he said. “They might shoot us thinking we’re the enemy.”
I called on the command net and asked for the Gunny. Fusner was right. There was no chance, in the rain and mist, that anyone from the company was going to see me go into the river again and make my way down to the tank. But if the enemy from our side of the river opened up for some reason, and the jungle edge was only a few meters away, then the company might catch us in a deadly crossfire. The Gunny came up on the radio.
“We’re back, Gunny, and Jurgens is still out there,” I informed him.
“First platoon will be happy to hear that,” the Gunny replied. “What are you going to do?”
“Leave him there to rot or drown like a rat,” I replied, not absolutely certain I was kidding.
“So you’re going in to try again?” the Gunny said, as if I’d not said a word of what I’d said.
“Got to before dawn,” I replied. “They can’t see shit in this shit but by dawn, if Jurgens is still out there, then they’ll use him for sniper bait. If that happens then what can we do?”
“We’ll stand by,” the Gunny finally said, as if he was consulting others which I didn’t think he was. “Not much we can do from here in this weather shit until morning though. You’re right, we can’t leave him out there as sniper bait. We’ve got to go get him.”
The NVA were famous for wounding a Marine in the open, and then using that wounded Marine to draw others out to pull him back. The snipers would then wound the rescuing Marine, and so on. If nobody came out to help the wounded Marine, then they’d keep shooting the one they’d started with. It was an impossible position for any Marine commander to be in, because if the wounded Marine was cared about by those around him, then the commander’s quite reasonable and required orders not to send anyone out, could have devastating consequences inside the entirety of the company itself. In Jurgens case, First Platoon would probably go nuts if he became bait out in the middle of the river in front of everyone, as dawn broke. There was no “we,” as the Gunny had mentioned, to go out into the river. There was only me. I looked at the black rushing water in front of me, and thought about the crocodile Barnes had saved us from. The river had to be filled with the beasts, or so I thought. Swimming out to the center of the river wasn’t a problem. I could do that in seconds. Catching the tank, as I went by in the swift water, was not going to be as easy as it was the first time. There was almost no light. The white water was now on the far side of the tank, not heaping up and around its tracks on either side. Once in the water, and being rushed down the river, the tank would be all but invisible until I was past it.
I gave the handset back to Fusner. There was no point in further discussion with the Gunny. His ending comments indicated that he was, indeed, speaking to me with others present. There was no “we.” There as only my small band of scouts on this side of the river, and nobody but me was going into the water to retrieve Jurgens, if that was possible. I’d thought of calling in some 175mm illumination rounds but then remembered that the 175 only had high explosive rounds, and nuclear. Nuclear wasn’t likely to get clearance, even if there were any of those rounds within five thousand miles of Vietnam, which I doubted.
“Zippo, get the rope from where we left it by Barnes,” I ordered.
Zippo, with Nguyen in the lead, started crawling toward where we’d left the body earlier.
“We’ve got to tie the rope off upriver, pace down to where the tank is along the riverbank, and then go back upriver to slip me in. If I get to the end of the rope and haven’t caught hold of the tank, then I’ll just coast back in and we’ll do it all over again.”
“Yes, sir,” Fusner replied.
I knew there was nothing else for him to say so we waited for Zippo and Nguyen to retrieve the rope. My shoulders hung down as I sat with my butt flat on the muddy sand. Fatigue was overpowering me. My plan to get to the tank again was good, but terribly flawed. I didn’t have more than one go at the thing left in me, and I wondered about that. I hadn’t had what passed for sleep in so long I couldn’t remember when I’d last gone down. My hands rested on the mud next to my hips until a big leech tried to attach itself to the outside of my right palm. I didn’t jerk away. I was disappointed to discover that I was becoming accustomed to the things. I bushed it away before it could attach and pulled my hands out of the muck. There were no leeches in the fast moving water. I’d been shocked to see the crocodile, since I would have guessed that such large lumbering reptiles would be holed up waiting for calmer waters.
It took half an hour to accomplish the preparations necessary for me to enter the water again. The first time I’d gone in willingly, with a bit of relief at being able to swim and get somewhat clean again. This time was different. I squatted at the side of the rapidly passing water. I calculated that swimming a bit further out toward the middle of moving mass would almost assure that I encountered the tank as I was pulled downriver. I just had to make sure I could grab on as I went by, and then maneuver around the beast’s upside down body to grab Jurgens. I sent all three members of the scout team back downriver to lay in wait. Fusner would watch the action through the Starlight scope on Zippo’s back. When I had a hold of Jurgens all three of them would run back up the bank, untie the rope, and then pull the two of us to shore, rather than gamble that Jurgens and I could push off from the tank and have the current sweep us in.
I waited to make sure enough time had gone by for them to get in place. I watched the water, for once glad of the misting rain. The sheets of near solid stuff falling earlier, making even breathing difficult, hadn’t returned. I hated my new plan. It was a mismatched mess of impossible-to-confirm conclusions followed by poorly observable speculations. Would Fusner be able to see me at the tank when I got there, and conclude we were ready for extraction? Would the batteries on the scope last that long? Would I be able to access the tank, as I was swept by, and then grab and hold Jurgens, and then wait long enough to be pulled away again?
I pulled off my boots and what was left of my socks. I pushed them up the bank with my battered helmet and liner. I last parted with my web belt, my .45 and canteen attached. I shoved the K-Bar combat knife down into the front thigh pocket where the last packets of morphine rested. I was just too beaten down to be able to make it, laden with anything except what was rapidly becoming my scrawny thin body. There was simply no time of convenience in combat to do much of anything, including sleeping and eating. Every Marine in the company reacted. We only acted in accordance to what came at us, and so much came at us it was almost impossible to do anything but race from one vital response to another. I got myself ready. There would be no signal. I had to go out there, but I didn’t want to get in the water. Checking the knot around my waist one last time, I stood up, breathing in and out in big deep breaths, like I was going to stay submerged for the whole swim. After a dozen breaths I dived out flat onto the surface of the flowing water.
As soon as I hit the water I felt much better. I was moving instead of being still. Anything was better than being still and enduring the frightful waiting. I used a frog kick to push myself forward, breast-stroking out into the main flow. I felt the coldness and the power of it, and both felt good. There was no treading water to wait. In seconds I slammed into the body of the tank, and was pushed upward and over the top without my being able to do anything about it. I slammed down into the water on the other side, and had the air jerked from my lungs. I was at the end of the rope. Our measurements had been almost exact, I realized.
I had no immediate thoughts about Jurgens. The mass of water coming over the tank was heavy and smashing down upon me. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to get the rope loose. I had used two square knots to attach the rope end to my waist. I reached down as my body squirreled around trying to fight the waterfall whooshing down onto my exposed head and upper body. There was no standing in the cauldron of roiled water pool formed on the back side of the tank. I knew I would not be getting the knot loose in that mess. I worked to get the K-Bar out of my thigh pocket to cut myself loose. I was better off taking my chances of being flung downriver on my own than I was to stay trapped behind the tank like Jurgens had been, to die of hypothermia or drown. And where was Jurgens? The thought no sooner crossed my mind when, suddenly, what seemed like a giant leech, attached itself to me. It was Jurgens. There was no possibility of speaking under the effects created by the tank waterfall of mind-bashing river water. No communication was necessary, however, from his standpoint. Jurgens was clutching my body like an abandoned baby attaching itself to its mother.
I tried to disentangle myself, but it was no use. The man wasn’t letting go and I couldn’t talk to him over the sound and jumbling mash of the powerful falls.
I pushed my hand deep into my right thigh pocket and got hold of a morphine syrette. I pulled a small tube out, wondering if I’d lose the others in the roiling water. I realized I didn’t care and it didn’t matter if I was dead. Jurgens’ panic was going to kill both of us. I pulled off the syrette’s small plug, and then punched the small needle point into his side and squeezed. I fought to breath.
The rope was saving our lives only because we were at the end of it. We bobbed up and down automatically, Jurgens and I melded into one. Jurgens hadn’t been bobbing up and down on purpose, I realized. He was at the end of the other rope. I went back into the pocket and pulled out my K-Bar, discarding its covering sabot into the passing water.
The K-bar was sharp. Getting the knife’s edge under the rope around Jurgens’ waist, however, was harder than I thought, with both of us being bounced about, and his clutching terror. Finally, I got it in, or hoped I did and began sawing away. The rope parted almost immediately, at the same time as I lost hold of the knife, and Jurgens went limp.
I almost panicked myself. There was no way I was going to get out of my own rope, what with the pressure of the water pushing down and around our swirling bodies. We were trapped together to die in a strange fatal embrace.
And then we were out of the charnel hole and into the river. My relief was so great I almost loosened my hold on Jurgens. They’d been watching. I’d forgotten about my team, and the scope on the bank. They’d seen what they could of the action, made guesses, and then gone back to the other end of the rope and were pulling us in. I hung on to Jurgens and let myself be powered away from the tank. Jurgens and I moved together downriver once again, like I had before, with Barnes attached. I knew we had to be angling in toward the side of the bank.
What sounded like a huge drum began to rapidly beat, as my feet found purchase on the sandy bottom. But I knew it was no drum. The fifty was back, and the reason was fast becoming evident. The protection we’d enjoyed from the night and rain was passing. I could seek the shadow-like figures of my team pulling away on the line, like members of a rope-pulling contest. My eyes swept back out toward where the tank lay, now visible because of the white water falls created on its lee side, and also by the gouts of white water spewing up, as fifty caliber bullets impacted all around it.
The enemy was coming alive in the dawn, but they didn’t know where we were. I dragged Jurgens through the shallows, Zippo running to pull him onto dry sand. I’d given Jurgens only one syrette of morphine. He couldn’t be unconscious from just one, I thought. We had to move or we were dead, and we couldn’t move carrying anyone. Barnes was staying where he was. If Jurgens couldn’t be brought out of his stupor then he was staying with Barnes. Fusner worked on getting my knots untied while Nguyen dragged Jurgens all the way to the edge of the jungle, and laid him out next to where the dark hump of Barnes body lay. The light was fast coming and only movement could save us before detection and death.
I crawled toward Jurgens, who lay sprawled on his back. Before I got to him Fusner got to me.
“They’re calling Flash, Sir”, he said, trying to get the headset of the air radio onto my head.
Hope reached into me like a hot poker thrust into my chest. Cowboy and the Sandys were back? Could God be that kind? The fifty opened up again, and I shrank back down, the front of my body flat in the sandy mud. Cold terror joined the warm hope roiling around at my very center.
“Cowboy?” I whispered into the mic, hitting the tiny transmit button. “Is that really you?”
“Five by five,” Jacko replied, his voice crackling with its usual expressive abandon. “Thought you boys might like a little breakfast fire.”
<<<<<< Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>>
Wow was like withdraw!! Computer craped out been reading for HRS. to catch up. Keep it coming.
Hope you got back up Harold. Thanks for the compliment and the writing of it on here for everyone to see…
Semper fi,
Jim
For those interested I think I have located the destroyed air field on Google Earth. To find go to the valley and locate Ka Non. Airfield is approx a mile SSW of the red dot of Ka Non. Air field appears as a undeveloped area with a road on the SSE side of the field. Across the road is 10 are so red roof buildings.
LT finished reading the book. Interesting that in reading the book I descovered details that I had forgotten after reading on line. Probability from reading late at night. Keep stomping LT. Great writing as always.
Thank you.
Interesting to check out what’s happened over time. The complete
turnaround of this backward country due to only one fact…it went through a hellish war
with us. Today, it is doing fine, in fact it is thriving….go figure…
Semper fi,
Jim
James: While reading about another marine company being beaten up during an operation in Laos I read the old airstrip has been removed and a new village built on top, it even has a convienience store. The road is now a 4 lane all weather concrete road with a suspension bridge across the river, built to international standards. Do you think going back would be helpful?
You know, I have thought about going back but it has never been in the
forefront of my mind for taking action.
Yes, I have seen Google Earth of the valley and the change is quite dramatic.
Astounding, really, compared to what we lived with and through.
Funny to think of fighting and dying under a bridge where nobody
remembers those events at all except me.
Thanks for the comment and the thought on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt., I need you to make me a 3D scale model of this area so I can keep the ef up. I already cleared the garage out.
I lost Pilson. Thought he was left behind by himself. Who does that. I had to go back looking for him and then remembered Stevens and Abraham Lincoln Jones. Hope one of them is wide awake.
Had a WWII Marine Colonel history teacher in HS, mid ’60’s that was damn near blind from whatever kind of glasses he had to wear while constructing models of Pacific beaches aboard ship when they were planning landings.
Maybe Chuck can set up a program where we can all print our own A Shau Valley on a 3D printer.
Go to this site. I just got sent this map and it is now the best one I have of the valley.
If you look closely (you can magnify) then you will see the old airfield and the end of the
road where we are right now in the story. My memory and other research was pretty good but not
as good as this map. Check it out and let me know what you think….
http://www.virtual.vietnam.ttu.edu/cgi-bin/starfetch.exe?Sm5svP0bbt2.W5x8xChh0q4iPzRo5U.5RQKwF8QOzm1zAEwJHXEqSbgRqpnJkjuD7qQn5t4kMNdchpWdox7v6rZv7QpI5MIz/6441-2.jpg
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s the old special forces camp correct? What’s the grid numbers where the road ends?
50 vertical and 83 horizontal, that’s almost spot on at the end of the old runway…
Semper fi,
Jim
While once again reading through the comments I find the link for the map. It’s a great addition to your story. Being able to “Be There” heightens the reading experience. Is it possible to get the grid coordinates for where you were dropped in? The extras learned from the comments are priceless. Thank you for sharing this experience
I wish I had one of the maps of the Ganoi Island area that was as classically
illuminating as the A Shau (or A Sap, as it is written in Vietnamese) one provided here
Online. I don’t know he exact coordinates along the way until I get hold of one
and can reorient myself to it. Thanks for the question though, because it
will be interesting to follow the course of travels along the way…
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, if you go to this site http://www.lib.utexas.edu/maps/topo/vietnam/ the map to the east of your Ashau map is map Non truong Nam Dong map 6541-3. The map to the north is AP Lai Bang map 6441-1. The map to the NE is Hue map 6541-4.
Hope this helps,
Semper Fi
Ron H.
Thanks, I am studying them now!
Semper fi, and thanks a million…
Semper fi,
Jim
I have to look back in some of my old papers – but I believe this is the same area I was in around May 1968. Great Job – I may even be able to find the set of maps I was carrying at the time.
Now that would be fantastic Bob. The valley ate most of my maps like it did part of me.
My moth eaten mess is put together with Elmers, clear packing tape and and dirt….
Semper fi,
Jim
What is the approx. grid for the destroyed tank and the location of the company?
51332 X 81767
Semper fi,
Jim
Funny that so many Marines were weak swimmers or couldn’t swim at all. We all had to swim the seven laps at the MCRD Olympic indoor pool. I made the mistake of showing off by trying to set a speed record. The damn Drill Instructors pulled my “smart” ass out of the pool slapped me around and made me the new swimming instructor of the recruits who not only couldn’t swim but couldn’t even float. …
Bought your book James, brought back a lot of memories. Keep up the great work we all are with you.
Truth is a funny thing. It’s hard, as a great swimmer, to understand why so many people can’t learn
pretty easily. But the fact is that they can’t. Just a part of the human condition. Some of us are set up genetically
to be closer to that old ‘from the sea’ heritage than others. Thanks for writing about it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Good morning”The first ten days”. Took one to the “Doc” who moderates my PTSD group meetings. I have found such a catharsis in reading this story I wanted him to Read and hopefully share with the others in my group. If he does so, I will be getting their names in it. And send it back to you for autograph. Not all the PTSD workers are “Pat you on the hand” types. I got luc.ky with the group I am in. All branches represented.
And once again. Thank you for this read.
Glenn.
Thanks Glenn. I don’t know what to say. It will be interesting to get results back from your group.
Most counselors for PTSD do not look at the results the way you do.
Most counselors have not walked the walk and most don’t want to deal with the real shit.
The best way to do that is to simply brush block things aside and avoid.
I would bet that this will be the case…or flat out denial.
You are about to find out how many guys in your group are the real deal.
Are you certain you wanted to know?
Semper fi,
Jim
I am about to find out and separate the chaff from the grain.
I will find your results most interesting.
The book has not gone to a counseling group to my knowledge before.
What the take of the counselor and then the men might be should be fascinating,
no matter what they have to say.
Thanks for pursuing this and reporting back!
Semper fi, my friend.
Jim
DAMN!!!
!st. platoon, A Drowning Man, Man Eating Reptiles,And An Active Fifty Cal, While being stranded on the far side of the raging river! I dare anyone to outdo that CRAZY EXPERIENCE !!!!!!!! Irregardless to your reason for being out in that damned river, You’re A BRAVE SON OF A GUN! And I mean that No Pun Intended !
Brave and scared are very easy to confuse when in combat.
I tend to go with scared shitless more times than not, but I certainly thank you for
your compliment and for writing it on here for all to see.
Semper fi,
Jim
Think I can make it to Winfield in 5 hr. I will be there. If everyone who questions PTSD were to read, really read your 1st book, maybe they could begin to understand. Semper Fi.
My audience is really the veterans who do have PTSD and the guys who were really out in the bush.
I have taken, and expect to take, many more shots from all the other groups in the world.
It is hard to comprehend the incomprehensible. Learning is tough…while going along with current
mythology very relaxing and easy. And there it is…
Semper fi, and thanks for your comment here about it…
Jim
Gave you 5 stars on review. Wish you had not changed Fusner’s name in the book. Confuses me. Carried a prick 25 but never had a .45. Didn’t want one. Never went to the A Shau, and did not feel discriminated against. My brother was crew chief on a CH-46 and he warned me to never volunteer for any op in the A Shaw. Those fuckers with the .50 must have 9 lives, but their cup should be nearly empty. Semper Fi.
Thanks Joe and I am sorry about the name change. I probably would not have bothered, in retrospect but it seemed
like a good idea at the time. Thanks for the nice comment and I’m glad you liked the book and left five stars…
Helps a lot!
Semper fi,
Jim
Well lets see now, you had the Sandy’s, heavy artillery, the B-52s and the Sandy’s again and you still have not taken out the 50 cal yet. It would appear that there were several 50 cals in Charlie’s camp, why not in your company? From the sound of the story, your company was facing a whole damn battalion of VC’s as they have been chasing the hell out of you guys, every since you arrived.
Now that dawn is approaching and if Charlie is using some tracers, one would think Cowboy and the gang, could take out the 50 cal. If successful, then the company could come together on one side of the river if the rest of the VC are not waiting in that area. For sure there are some snipers left over. Then too, you are still an hour or so away from the landing strip. Sounds like another damn chapter before you get everyone across the river, let alone to your objective.
As usual, J, you are right on top of things. The new map I just got helps me immensely properly place
myself down there. It’s like looking down from a high flying aircraft and then zooming right down to that old air strip
and the ‘end of the road’ so to speak. thanks for the usual pinpoint and utterly brilliant conclusions…
Semper fi,
Jim
That new map is an excellent addition to your story and hopefully you will include it in the second thirty days book. Being able to see exactly where this story was taking place, makes a tremendous difference.
By the next time we get a new chapter, I will have forgotten most of what I read and I have run out of comments to read, while waiting on the next days actions. Time waits for no man!
Alright, alright, some are easier in the writing than others. Here is comes. I just sent it off to Chuck
to put up. Thanks for your compliments….and the meaning behind them..
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Thank you Jim, I am learning so much about comm and supporting fire details in active ops. Your tale is still impelling and so real, so it must be so. I have started looking at Winfield location thank you for posting the info. Rest friend. Poppa Joe
Thanks for another great and complimentary comment Poppa Joe!
It will be great to meet you in Winfield…needless to say…
Semper fi,
Jim
Skipper. We are having our annual reunion in Nashville on July 20 to 24th. A Co 1/4 VN. Your invited to attend. We have about 30 of us left. when we get together it’s like we were in VN yesterday. Semper Fi
I shall endeavor to attend. Thank you for the invitation.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow, Jim, just “wow”. Tired as you were, and the rest of your Marines, it is a surprise that you could function at all. Guess that boot camp, and the officer’s course at Quantico, really paid off – keep on going no matter what.
My mind is still with you, there in the valley, and happy that my body is here now. A lot of me is totally f’ed over, but the mind and the memory is still alive and kicking.
You have got thousands of us immersed in the Valley with you, and anxious to see what this new dawn is bringing. Hoping that Cowboy and crew can help you all keep going.
Bless you for sharing your experiences with us, for taking some of back to those dark, dark places.
Thanks Craig, and I am happy that you are along on this adventure odyssey…and at home to read it instead of living it.
I am always mixed in the writing, working back and forth between enjoying the effort and being offended by some of my own
portrayal of events. I think PTSD never allows you to reflect on being a good person under harsh circumstances. Self-loathing
is a big undiscussed part of it. Thanks for your detailed and complimentary comment on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Your comment on PTSD hits right on the money. And it does NOT go away. Ya learn to live with it. Or not – and that is probably a good part of the suicides among our returned troops. Bless you and keep you safe – always. You ARE a good guy!
Self loathing plays a major role in PTSD for sure, but SELF forgiveness plays and even larger role in combatting PTSD. Mankind quickly forgets acts of kindness, but will zero in on any and all flaws, in oneself as well as others.
Life is a constant learning process and mistakes are a crucial element of that learning process. The best teacher of all, is personal experience which enlightens one’s awareness of their inner soul. That awareness was not met to destroy, but to improve one’s awareness and encourage change for the good, where it is needed. When that change occurs, you become a better person from within as well as from without!
Jim, it is like going to confession and then doing penance, only on a higher scale.
Thanks for the expert counseling J. As usual, you are perceptive and correct in your analysis.
The constant part of the that light shit finally got me to a place of security where I could write this story.
Thanks for caring enough to write what you write on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Well Jim…the more the story unfolds the more respect I have for you and your abilities…the writing and the leadership…your team ignored your orders because they have found a true leader in you…one that leads from the front…does nothing that they would not do themselves…I realize that your reasons for going back for Jurgens were motivated by fear to a certain point but that was not the only reason…I am fortunate that I wasn’t exposed to anything near the shit you have described…I had a friend that served 4 tours in Nam in Special Forces, as a sniper…we talked a lot about it and his main concern was “having to answer to his maker” for all he had done…and some of it was pretty ugly but nothing that he wasn’t ordered to do…I wish he had lived long enough to purge all some of the demons that lurked in the corners of his mind…he drank himself to death at 63…again I’ve rambled but that’s what this forum brings out in us…excellent work again, as usual, I await the next instalment…
And indeed, the next installment will be forthcoming very soon Mark. Thank you for the revelations
in your commentary and sorry about your friend. So many guys with nowhere to go because the path to
where ever it is they need to go got all obscured and lain over by the uncaring warmly cold citizens
around them. “Thanks for your service,” being the civilian equivalent of “It don’t mean nuthin.”
Semper fi,
My friend,
Jim
I was drafted in 71…worked out of the Pentagon in special operations group…I was a satellite geek for lack of a better word…always had someone else covering my “narrow ass” as I was told…anyways I do think that what you’re doing here helps much more than you know…
Thanks Mark. I really appreciate the guys like you who write in and say so.
Writing just to be writing isn’t the most satisfying occupation in the world!
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt, if you hadn’t asked that question that first night in country, we wouldn’t have this great read that I for one look forward to. There is something on Facebook worth reading now. Keep it coming.
The question was one of the best dumb questions I have ever asked. In line with the monsignor who sat in front of my fifth grade class and
asked for any questions about anything we might want to have answered. I asked him why I had nothing. Why was everything already owned by the time
I got here. Same result. Coat closet. Thanks for the comment and for the care and compliment you wrote here…
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s morning light. A triumph in itself.
How many times was that true. That morning light. In the Nam, in the hospital, and then back home.
Still that morning light those mornings when I am up to receive it. Thanks for that…
And yes, I am smiling as I write this.
Semper fi,
Jim
I am still here and can’t imagine how anyone could have left after reading one segment..Again, glad you are home to write about it.
A big compliment Charley and I really appreciate and smile at reading it.
Thank you for that and for writing it out on here in front of everyone.
Semper fi,
Jim
Awesome read. Looking forward to the next installment.
Sgt. Harwood
D/3/8/4th Inf 70-71
You got it Ron. Writing away right this minute.
Semper fi, My friend,
Jim
Having been in the Navy, I was surprised how many guys did not know how to swim. In boot camp, the non-swimmers had to go to swimming lessons after our daily doings. We were told that if our ship goes down, “stay afloat as best one can, for soon many things should come to the surface that one could use as a flotation device, even a dead shipmate. Survival by any means.”
Swimming lessons did not mean that the sailors and Marines had to pass in order to stay in the service, however.
It’s amazing to me, from my rather skewed perspective, why swimming is not
made a part of every requirement for elementary school graduation.
Save a hell of a lot of lives and also provide a lifetime of fun and entertainment in
all sorts of circumstances for citizens.
Semper fi,
Jim
Reading Gen. Moore’s book, I’m in awe of combat. How some GI’s were there one second and just gone the next to the agony others suffered. And the ability to function while being terrorized, mercy! Then I get to read your work. Do we speculate on where THAT comes from? Getting Jurgens to shore was miraculous to say the least. Saving yourself from the 1st. will be good until Jurgens starts talking shit again. How did any of you function when the rock and the hard place were the same thing? I wonder how many of “us” really understand how blessed we are to have men like “you”. Semper Fi, Jim, to you and your brothers, Semper Fi.
Thanks Walt for the compliment. I haven’t read Moore’s book, but then I haven’t much read anything
since I started this writing. Part of the problem is that I don’t want to be influenced by other work.
The guys on here give me plenty of grief and also compliments…and much help with the editing and
keeping me straight about details…Thank you, as usual…
Semper fi,
Jim
Exciting as usual, James. Can’t wait for the next one. One spelling typo.
“You’ve got to talk to the Gunny so he knows were back,” he said. “They might shoot us thinking were the enemy.”
Should be we’re back and we’re the enemy.
Daniel
Thanks Daniel, for both the compliment written here and the editing help.
I am making corrections as I go today. Sure will help when I get to the end of the Second Ten Days.
Semper fi,
Jim
Literally forgot to breathe while you were taking your little swim down to the tank and then your rope dance with Jurgens! Just wow Jim! Thank God the team disobeyed your orders the increase flow in the river would make it difficult for Nugyen to pull you both in! God Bless the Sandys and damn that 50 to hell. Winfield looks “cute”. Looks like you’ve done some advanced scouting! Semper Fi my friend!
Checking things out down here or over here in Kansas. The people are terrific all over this
state. The martinis served at the Ambassador to my friend were small and cost $17.50 though.
I gave the bartender and waitress grief over that. In Hawaii, on the beach of Waikiki, the Royal
Hawaiian charges less than that for a triple shot Mai Tai. Well, they didn’t want to hear that
at all in the basement of a Wichita hotel bar. They stood at out table and said the magic goodbye
words “it’s been such a pleasure to serve you both.” So we left quietly. The rest of Kansas, although
flatter than a pancake, is pretty neat. Semper fi,
Jim
Wow 17.50$ is a lot for a martini even in NYC! Hopefully we’ll do better at the Shin Dig! Booked rooms today for myself and 2 guys I served with. Looking forward to meeting you and our online community! Semper Fi Jim
Yes, Jack, so I heard from Chuck, who’s also booked. I’m renting a motorhome so I guess I’m booked too.
Thanks for caring enough to come and I really look forward to meeting you and the other guys.
Semper fi,
Jim
Second paragraph: “immersion”. Great read, as usual.
Floyd
Thanks Fred, it’s the guys on here like you that make editing so much easier and immediate!
thanks for the sharp eye and the reading and the vigilance.
Semper fi,
Jim
This one really got me.I don’t know how to swim and I was taking those deep breaths with you .Saw a post of Sammy Davis Jr. –Metal of Honor winner It was said he took rubber bitch across to retrieve wounded , cause he could not swim.It blew my mind how many Marines in my boot camp platoon couldn’t swim. Later Semper Fi
It’s not common knowledge that you don’t have to know or learn how to swim to be in the military.
Drown proofing is what they call qualifying in the Marines. You lay on your back and float around for a pre-specified
period of time. Don’t think you can be in some of the more exotic branches of special outfits without being able
to swim though. Thanks for the comment and writing it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have to quit reading your great story before lights out as it makes it hard to sleep again. Helluva mess you guys were in, makes me even more glad I was an airdale..
Some of the veterans sites will not refer or allow the book on their web pages because they claim
the book and the writing will hurt those with PTSD. Obviously, those clowns who control those sites
have not walked the walk, or at least in my opinion. We are not cowards, running from what happened
over there. Yes, we got hurt and damaged but I will be god fucking damned before I will let any man
or woman pat me on the hand and do the “poor dear” shit over me. Fuck them.
Semper fi,
Jim
Oh, and good morning. Helluva thought to start Sunday with, and I apologize!
Semper fi,
Jim
Remember Jim, no apologies here. You spoke from the heart. I cannot speak for the others here but I for one respect that fact (and your statement). Peace.
Thanks Tim. I just do the best I can to answer the comments as straight
from the shoulder as they come in.
I’m not sure about what or how apologies might apply or even how they might be defined.
I am not sorry that I served but I am sorry about some of the shit that went down and my participation in it.
I don’t think that kind of thought process can be avoided if you’ve really been
in the shit at a young age and with no experience and done anything at all.
Now, that apologies are not necessary is quite true. That doesn’t mean we don’t feel
apologetic inside. Most of us do. Dealing with that is just another facet of surviving afterwards.
Thanks for the thoughtful comment and your support here in writing it…
Semper fi,
Jim
I would think all us vets carry guilt with the exception of those on the wall…
And I am not so sure about those on the wall….Yes, guilt is a big part of PTSD. There was simply
no way to make good decisions from such changing, dynamic, fluid and frightful foundations, but later on
the foundations appear less shaky and the fear is minimized. Still feel the fear at night sometimes.
Analytically, however, I know nobody’s out there and nobody’s coming unless they are friendlies there to
help me. I will die, however, without the thought of my open grassy areas on all sides of my home as
being anything but clear fields of fire, however. I didn’t take years to design it that way by accident,
although it seemed to develop that way, even to me…
Semper fi
Jim
Not sure the text will show here
Чем больше вы знаете, тем труднее жизнь.
Russians have a multitude of such sayings.
the more you know the more difficult life is
Fuggem with a rusty fence post Lt.
Good saying except for the part about needing to know stuff to make life less difficult…
Thanks for sharing and for the support in writing on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Perhaps you’re right about some of the other sites, I don’t know, I’m just glad this site allows your postings James. I keep looking forward to the read, and will once again state I’m glad I was just an airdale, bring grunts in, resupplying them, and extracting whenever wanted no matter what.
And a good Sunday to you as well!!
SEMPER Fi
The other sites. I am reminded of the Wounded Warrior scandal and the usual collection of non-veterans
who run many of those organizations, including the VA!
VFW magazine won’t publish shit from a real veteran. Pablum.
Thanks for your support. I will endeavor to persevere
in my pursuit in reaching as many veterans as I can.
I firmly believe that my story can help the real guys still suffering through the years.
I’ve always said that most others won’t care for it and I’m not far off in that analysis.
Semper fi,
Jim
PTSD? No doubt it is worse for some but I have suffered for near fifty years but somehow have been able to live normally. On the outside, anyway. Reading your (fictional) narrative helps me to realize that the mental trauma I live with today is actually much more common than I would have ever thought. As you say, “F” them. As far as I am concerned your story is very good therapy for me.
Hoping to see you in Winfield. If you don’t drink Jack Daniels, you will have to give it a try.
Thanks Paul. I look forward to meeting you in Winfield. it’s quite the wonderful small town
and I think it’s perfect and you and I both agree on the prevalence of PTSD among those who
ended up in the bush…and no doubt some of the newer vets having come in from parts of that desert
over there.
Semper fi, and see you soon,
Jim
You have that right as Gospel, The problem isn’t what we survived over there, The Problem is what they did to use over here, and not allow us to tell our story, The Real Story! Our own countrymen, Yes when we came home, Who spit on us, denigrated or dead, and put the blame of that screwed up war, That War the politicians would not allow us to fight as a war, Yes dumped all the blame on us, Well screw them, Don’t mean shit! But what I will not forgive them for is that every present excuse that I get after they ignored us, “I Didn’t Do Anything To Hurt You!” OK? What did you do to help? OK, Nuff of the pity party, Punched my chit with the Chaplain, I am still here and dammed Proud of Every swinging Pair who are My Brothers of that War…………
Semper fi/This We Defend Bob
This is why I want to emphasize that the guys who ended up in actual combat over there are different and need
different kinds of help. Even my newest doctor I was appointed at the VA for primary care looked at my file
and wanted to know if I was over my PTSD that was in her file. I’d been kept waiting an hour. PTSD does not
go well with that. I was a bit edgy. I told here that I would have answered her question truthfully an hour ago
but now, well I was over it. She probably thought I meant I was over the PTSD instead of telling the truth…
We need special attention and I don’t know any way to get it without hurting people. So the rendezvous and the story
to start…I hope…
Thanks Robert for the usual great comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
I hope Cowboy and Jacko are fixing to make Scrambled eggs of that damned 50. Time for it to be history…
Thank you for the comment Jack. Of course, that’s in the next segment so I won’t be commenting here about it.
Thanks for the pre-thinking though.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn it. I’ve lost track of the days you have not slept. The fatigue had to be overwhelming. To do what you just did to attempt to save a brother in arms (as self centered as he appears to be) is amazing. Then, to nearly take the both of you to doom from his panic stricken state of mind and you to be able to have a clear and decisive mind of how to survive by injective him him in all the turbulence…..shit, I could go on and on on this one. You Sir are amazing. How could anyone doubt your Integrity towards your men? But it ain’t over yet…
Jack, please do not forget that I am writing this and therefore I am looking a bit better in
retrospect than I did under the circumstance. I was terrified of being killed by First Platoon unless I gave
it my all to save their platoon leader. I still had been able to do nothing, except minimize actual friendly fire deaths,
inside the unit with the race war. Thanks for the kind thoughts and writing them here…
Semper fi,
Jim
“I pulled off the syrette’s small plug, and then punched the small needle point into his side and squeezed. I fought to breath. ”
breathe
and delete
Thanks for the editing help Jerry. And thanks for coming on here so immediately to help me out.
Making the changes.
Semper fi,
Jim
Last night I was in the restroom at the Salt Water Grille in Panama City Beach, Fl, and I heard someone come through the door on a walker. After I finished, I turned around and found an older man with a 3rd Marine Division cap. I told him that when I was in the Army in Vietnam, my Brigade, 1st Brigade, 5th Infantry Division, was under the operational control of the 3rd Division, and I had known a lot of Marines. I then asked where he had served, actually expecting to hear Korea. When he said Bougainville, Guadalcanal, and Iwo Jima, all I could say was “Holy Shit”. His son, who was with him, then told me he was present when they raised the flag. He then turned and said, “Oh, that was on Iwo”. I made some comment, and all he said was, “I went where the boat took me, and when it stopped, I got off”. James, all I can say at this point in your story is, “Holy Shit!”. Oh, and I had pretty well decided that there was no way you were leaving Jurgens there. He was just a marine, but as CO, he was “your” Marine, and as long as he wasn’t actively trying to kill you, you would try to keep him alive.
I wish that Jurgens being one of my Marines was the whole story there Joe.
I was not that great a Marine Officer. I was afraid of his men and what they would do if they thought
I did not try my best to save him. There was some thought about us being all in it together but
less of that and more of my own survival.
Thanks for thinking better of me though…
Semper fi,
Jim
Didn’t mean you wouldn’t have been glad to be rid of him, but there were plenty of opportunity to rid yourself of him while it looked like you were doing everything you could to save him. I think I’ll just keep my good opinion of you.
Semper fi,
Joe
The longer I stayed in the Nam the less inclined I was about solving intra-company strife and outrage with the death penalty.
Jim Webb was right when He analyzed me one day and indicated that I was ‘having a bit of a bad tour.’ Thanks for your observation and your
willingness to write on here about it…
Semper fi,
Jim
One often wonders if Gunny was not involved with Jurgens offing some officers before your arrived on the scene? He did assist in mistreating the boots of the three new officers that arrived after you did. Then too, he allowed Casey to strike off ahead of the company when returning to the old landing zone, with the help of Jurgens encouraging that venture. Those two have some devious connections, when paying attention to their actions in your story.
The complexity of intra-company relations was extremely difficult to figure out.
It should have been simple, or at least I was trained to think so, but it was anything
but. As you see laid out in the story…
Semper fi, and thanks for the thoughtful comment,
Jim
Editing needed : The water wasn’t traveling across the top of the tank didn’t seem deep enough to have shoved him up and over it.
Got it Steve and making the changes.
Semper fi,
Jim
All that rain and that river Bong Song the first time in a fire fight. There was a place called Bong Song in Central Highlands was like a R an R for the for the NVA in 1966 is this were you were?
The river wasn’t really called the Bong Song. I don’t know why we all called it that.
The maps have several names for the river but to me and many of us who served the river running at the bottom of that
valley will always be the Bong Song…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another spellbinding chapter. Read it thru three times. Now ready for more.
A few edits:
Fusner and Zippo came out of the night like the(y) were coming from behind a curtain.
The water (wasn’t) traveling across the top of the tank didn’t seem deep enough to have shoved him up and over it.
“I’ve got to get out there in the next few minutes or Jurgens is a dead man,” I said, pulling the scope form (from) Zippo’s back.
I b(r)ushed it away before it could attach and pulled my hands out of the muck.
Would Fusner be able to see me at the tank when I got there, and conclude (I) we were ready for extraction?
There was simply no time of (or) convenience in combat to do much of anything, including sleeping and eating.
We only acted in accordance to what came at us, and so much came at us it was almost impossible to do anything but race from (one) vital response to another.
And where was Jurgen(’)s?
Getting the knife’s edge under the rope around Jurgens(‘) waist, however, was harder than I thought, with both of us being bounced about, and his clutching terror.
I could see(k) the shadow-like figures of my team pulling away on the line, like members of a rope-pulling contest.
Thanks for the help in editing. I am on it this morning.
And thanks for the compliment too…
Semper fi,
Jim
at least you were doing everything you could under the conditions you had and the situation you were in.only people who have been through the trials that combat presents can understand what you were going through.saw a few officers there that would do that but a whole lot more that wouldn’t have tried I was in the army but marines were good people and most of them would do what it takes to help any other branch looking forward to the next chapter keep them coming
There were definitely a load of class acts over there but in the most unlikely places and units.
The air guys, although we never got to meet any of them. The battery guys sending out the stuff.
There were also plenty of assholes occupying guarded positions in the rear with the gear and that group
was rotten. Not all guys in the rear but some of them for sure. Go to the rear out of combat pull guard
duty and finally nod off and get courtmartialed kind of guys….many of them officers and Noncoms.
Semper fi,
Jim
Only people who have almost drowned, or were at least convinced in their own minds that they were drowning, know of the terror that it brings. There must be a uniform dread in all of us of that form of death. At the dawn of time, when we all crawled out of the primordial ooze, the fear was planted there that we should never go back. It’s pulse pounding, palm sweating time again the way you work that over, Strauss. Damn you, again. And Well Done.
Thanks John Conway, as usual. Sunday morning and working away.
Yes, the fear of drowning when in the water is overwhelming under certain conditions.
I have been thankfully pretty immune to that panic I’ve seen in so many other humans.
Served me well, time after time. Thanks for pointing that out and the great compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir, the previous comments were true. You have a big set. I would have been honored to have served with you. I enjoy reading your story. You are correct, Jurgens was an asshole, but he was still the company asshole.
Semper Fi Lieutenant!
Thank you Gunny! I have received comments from many wonderful Marines I’d loved to have served with.
Back the, however, as is typical of serving in the military at any time, we got the luck of the draw.
Where you ended up and with whom was almost total serendipity. Except for me mouthing off, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
The water wasn’t traveling across the top of the tank. Maybe change to: The water traveling across the top of the tank… Thanks as always, now I got my fix for the night. Yes I left a good review on amazon – it was well deserved.
Thanks for the Amazon review and the help here with editing. So hard to catch some of those things alone.
Semper fi,
Jim
Possible edits:
“even if Jurgens had been overwhelmed”
maybe had NOT been overwhelmed?
“the human body could not take emersion in cold water”
immersion
“They might shoot us thinking were the enemy.”
we’re
“My hands rested on the mud nest to my hips”
next
“Would Fusner be able to see me at the tank when I got there, and conclude I we were ready for extraction?”
I or we, probably we
No reply needed, just delete.
“Trouble? “We aint got no steeenking trouble!!!” We are in “Pound Cake Heaven”!! lol A lot of the guys that arrived in country had the habit of biting their nails….it didn’t take long for that habit to stop completely…What’s there to be nervous about….ya got a ready made hootch in the belly of the A Shau….You Numbah ONE!! Semper Fi “LT”…
You are pretty funny Larry, when it comes to laying the rather sardonic groundwork for what passed for life
in the bottom of that valley. Thank you for making me laugh on a Sunday morning, and for your usual support and care…
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn adrenaline is an addiction ain’t it Jim.
It is indeed, although when it is pumping it feels like anything but a drug.
More an intensive heightened awareness and then the torpor following it where allowed.
Thanks for the observation and writing it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Just cranked Lt. Why did we run into the caldron when others did not is the question that begs an answer. Had it been the case, I would have Riken every step at your side, you are my kind of warrior.
Thanks James. I don’t think that question, if I understand it properly, is at all answerable.
Circumstances. Background. I don’t know. Thanks for the warrior designation and the big compliment that went with it…
Semper fi,
Jim
You understood the question, plagues me yet. No room for indecision in combat, assess, plan, execute, do what we are trained to do. At these times, the luxury of time is not on our side. Uncommon decisive leadership always rules the day, you sir are uncommon.
I sure as hell was different and some might say I have not lost that quality or disability…take your pick.
Thanks for the compliment and writing it on here for all to see…
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding writing detail of this situation. Obviously your scout team respects the shit out of you or you would be dead. Jurgens survives and gunny keeps cha. Wow. I keep looking at the map of the valley thinking I may have you somewhat located.
You need the old maps that have the abandoned airfiled on them. The road ended at that field but later maps
left the field off. The river is also right there but changed course as time went by. Thanks for the compliment of
looking and commenting about it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Is it this one LT? http://www.virtual.vietnam.ttu.edu/cgi-bin/starfetch.exe?Sm5svP0bbt2.W5x8xChh0q4iPzRo5U.5RQKwF8QOzm1zAEwJHXEqSbgRqpnJkjuD7qQn5t4kMNdchpWdox7v6rZv7QpI5MIz/6441-2.jpg. And another sphincter tightening chapter Sir. SF.
That is the fucking map I did not have. It has it all!!! I CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH!!
Now I can use it to make sure my memory is intact. I was afraid I was getting some of the terrain
wrong because it was easy to get confused in the weather and down in that damned valley.
Semper fi,
Jim
The map I have (6441-2) shows 2 abandoned air fields in the valley, one up at the N end, and another about a third of the way up at 495835. I suspect that’s where you are after entering near the S end and only being there a few days. I await each chapter and always reread the last chapter to make sure my mind is focused before I start the new one! Semper Fi!
That map is a wonder and better than any I have. Yes, you can plainly see where I was down
in the south of the valley. The end of the road and the old abandoned airstrip are right there near
the river. Thanks for pointing that out…
Semper fi,
Jim
So your company was trapped between sector areas 48 & 49 of this map?
I could do that in seconds. Catching the tank as I went by in the swift (tank) was not going to be as easy as it was the first time. (water)
My hands rested on the mud (nest) to my hips until a big leech tried to attach itself to the outside of my right palm. (next)
Even though Jurgens is an asshole he is your company asshole so one has to save them. Knowing how that water can be it had to beat you pretty bad from slamming into that tank. Hope get him woke up so can take advantage of that hidey hole you found and Cowboy can finally silence that 50 or the last time.
Thanks for your sharp eye again.
Noted and corrected, Pete
About the leach bushed change brushed
Thanks for the editing help Keith. I am on it this morning.
Semper fi,
Jim
I felt the coldness and the power if it, and both felt good. There was no treading water to wait. In seconds I slammed into the body of the tank, and
“If it”. Great segment!
Thanks Bob, for the compliment and the help with the editing. I am on it…
Semper fi,
Jim
HOLY SHIT LT, that was way worse than a Typhoon, good teamwork by the others!!
Yes, the scout team was coming together and figuring out that by
actively taking a part survival could be more enhanced than by avoiding.
Thanks for the observation and the commenting about it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir: My time as an active duty Marine, I knew officers that I would follow to the gates of hell, because I knew they would get me back. I also knew others I wouldn’t trust to get me across a deserted country road because they would be me run over. You Sir are the former not the latter. Semper Fi!
Thanks Dave. That’s a big compliment indeed. I much appreciate it on this Sunday morning
as I work to get the next segment done and up here. Your support is important. They guys like you
on here are vital to this effort although many would not see it that way…
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn! I have to tell myself the words wont go away. Slow down and read it but I can’t. So I read it twice, or more.
Thanks for the neat compliment here Bud. It keeps a writing going!
Smiling my way into the next segment on this Sunday morning…
Semper fi,
Jim
I was holding my breath setting here reading, that says it all. Keep them coming Jim, another great segment.
Thanks LT. I just received the “First Ten Days” from Amazon. Can’t wait to get through that. Keep it coming and know we’re with ya. Still got yer six……
Thanks for buying the book. Hope you left a comment.
Appreciate the help in getting on along with this.
Semper fi,
Jim
AND BIG BRASS ONES AT THAT.
The power of it. Keep on writing. Waiting for each installment.
If Jurgenson doesn’t express public gratitude after this along with the gunny, game play changes, Jorgensen goes down next hot encounter and gunny gets a final warning…SSN…(s**t stops now)
One bets Jurgens will tell everyone that junior tried to shoot his ear off. What happens if Jurgens is evacuated back to the rear for medical reasons? Who does the Gunny recommend replace him as first platoon leader?
This story is full of surprises because real life does that kind of stuff all the time.
Only fictional plots usually have a directed and established winding of meaningful and logical threads
that come together at the end, or some along the way. You are about to be surprised again,
Semper fi,
Jim
I can’t stop reading this.
Thanks Kevin, the support of yourself and guys like you makes all the difference in keeping
up motivation to continue in a world that mostly is not very encouraging about real combat vets.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you brother. I can breathe again. I think im relating too much and have to thank you for this ride. Semper Fi lets get sone
Helluva compliment and I appreciate that a lot this morning.
Thanks for that compliment and support…
Semper fi,
Jim
Good job Lt now Jacko to save the day ,Holy crap batman.lol
as I look back always a higher power with a plan to help out, makes you wonder buddy.
somebody was always watching out for us right? just a thought.
Semper fi
Now that I have read to the end of this incredible newest episode of yours, I can start breathing again.
Thanks for the compliment Walter. I am working away on the next segment this morning.
With a smile from what you wrote…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, yall got the biggest balls in Vietnam.
That’s funny and kind to say at the same time.
Actually, I was afraid of what First Platoon would do to me if I didn’t go back for Jurgens.
Thanks for the thinking other things about me though, that are kinder…
Semper fi,
Jim
You wrote bushed instead of pushed the leach Sir love reading your story
Thanks Mike for the compliment and the editing help. You guys are about all I have in the way
of staff!
Semper fi,
Jim
This just keeps getting better. Keep it rocking LT
Thanks Ssgt, I’m working on it…with the help of people like you on here and reading it.
Semper fi,
Jim