Two 106 rounds went down range, both visible from the distinctive contrails they left behind as they barreled through the thick rain soaked air. The guns were fired from outside the Ontos by the crew. I didn’t know why they’d fired two instead of all six or only one. The crew was outside and fully exposed to the tremendous back blast the 106 produced behind it. The guns were not truly without recoil. They simply used a brilliantly designed hot gas escape at the back of the guns to allow the rounds to be launched without a heavy recoil mechanism, but those gases were deadly to anyone standing within fifty yards behind them when they were fired.
I adjusted fire by adjusting the physical angle of all six guns using the reticle cross hairs and twisting the metal wheels. The process was much faster than calling in for artillery adjustments. The crew fired the guns as I called out to them, with only a few seconds’ delay for everyone to get clear before two more rounds exploded from the barrels outward across the river.
“They’re coming,” Zippo yelled into the back of the Ontos.
By that time, I’d gotten into a groove. I could adjust the guns in about twenty seconds to guide the big rounds in, and then it took about another twenty seconds to give the order for the crew to get everyone out of the way and actually fire the weapons. There was no more firing from across the river so I adjusted up and down the bank, losing track of the number of rounds we’d expended.
“Let’s go,” a voice shouted through the vehicle’s open rear doors.
I knew that voice. The Gunny was back. I wanted to remain inside the Ontos and fire as we retreated upriver but I knew it wasn’t my place. I pulled myself regretfully from the fold down seat, but the Gunny was gone when I turned around.
“Load with the flechettes and cover our move,” I instructed the remaining crew as I lowered myself from the back of the vehicle and out into the rain and down onto the riverbank mud. Zippo helped me strap my pack on and then get my poncho over my head.
I looked up river to see Marines lying flat atop the mud, lined up and facing the river.
“Why aren’t we moving out?” I asked of Fusner and Zippo.
The Gunny appeared from around the side of the Ontos, Sugar Daddy at his side. Between them a wet and miserable looking Lieutenant Kemp was guided and semi-dragged along.
“Put him inside,” the Gunny ordered Sugar Daddy, stepping away and then turning to face me with a strange expression.
“You were right,” he said, shaking his head instead of nodding it. “He found himself a hole and was going to wait it out.”
I remained. There wasn’t much to be said. I could have asked him what he meant by ‘waiting it out,’ but I realized it was pointless. The phrase was a general one and needed no real explanation. We were all waiting it out down in the A Shau. We were all hoping to live while waiting to die.
“We’ll move slow, backing our way upriver, as the Ontos withdraws,” the Gunny said.
I realized the wisdom of his comment immediately. I’d only thought of me riding inside the Ontos in safety and not about how the feared armored vehicle could be used to protect the entirety of the platoon in its retreat. I looked at Kemp, who sat huddled into the back of the small quarters provided by the interior of the Ontos.
“He only responds to one thing,” the Gunny said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting two, one right after the other.
He handed one to Kemp, who reached out greedily before pulling the smoking cylinder to his lips and inhaling deeply.
The Gunny held his own cigarette out toward me. I took it and inhaled once, as was my custom, this time exhaling without coughing.
“Seems we all respond to that one thing,” I murmured.
A crewman must have gotten into the driver’s section on the forward front slope of the machine because the engine kicked over and started with a quiet roar. The sound was that of a large Jeep engine, which seemed pretty small to me for a heavy armored vehicle. Another crewman saw my expression and commented.
“GM six-cylinder,” he said. “A hundred and twenty-seven horsepower. It’s not much, but dependable as hell. Almost out of gas though.”
Gasoline, I thought. Where in the A Shau Valley were we supposed to find any gasoline?
“Tex’s truck,” the Gunny said, pointing at the twisted wreck of the truck Tex had come down the valley in along with his portable bridge.
The Gunny sent one of the Marines ahead to check and see if the fuel tank of the Six-by, which also ran on gasoline, still had anything in it, while the rest of the platoon moved slowly before the retreating Ontos.
Fire once more erupted from the far bank and everyone went down into the mud. There was no missing the deep rolling thunder of a .50 caliber machine gun. Even the Ontos could not absorb that kind of directed fire. I crawled toward the back of the Ontos but knew before I got there that I wouldn’t be effective in time. The 106 guns were loaded with flechette rounds, which were too short-ranged to reach across the river and do any real damage.
I went straight down into the mud again as the sound of monster engines passed a few feet from me. I tried to look up, but my brain processed the sounds before I could get my face out of the mud. It was the sound of Skyraider Wright Cyclone engines. But I’d never heard that many together before. I got my eyes up and saw the planes descend down so low it looked like the lead two would strike the old bridge. But there weren’t two of them, there were six, flying in three packs of pairs. The front two flew in and opened up with their six twenty millimeter cannons each. The wing mounted guns left lines of gray smoke, visible through the rain, as the powder burned out from expending thousands of rounds. The next two pairs of planes did the same thing seconds later. With their strafing runs completed all six planes climbed steeply before starting a left wingover to fly back between the valley walls and make another run.
There was no longer any fire from the jungle, including from the fearful fifty.
The quiet that followed the Skyraiders on their first run gave me some comfort, as it likely did every Marine with me in the valley. It also rather assured that I wouldn’t need to call any supporting fire before we made it safely to the end of the old runway.
Four Huey Cobra attack helicopters came sweeping over our heads. They flew four abreast, extending from one valley wall to the other. It was a sight to behold. All four had their shark teeth painted noses angled toward the jungle below, and all four flew at a much lower speed than the Skyraiders could ever hope to manage.
I could not stop to watch the show, as the Cobras opened up with rotary guns and Zuni rockets. We had to get away from the open and exposed field of fire the area all along our side of the river presented to the NVA forces taking so much fire. I glanced back to see the deadly looking helicopters slowly rotating around and around the entire area, selectively opening up and then shutting down their nose-mounted cannons, unlike Puff when it had delivered its load in long continuous bursts. I also felt relief that I might not have to call in the 175s again. Being under the gun target line of those giant rounds, launched beyond accurate range limitations, would have been terrifying.
The good news kept coming, as the Skyraiders came screaming down the valley once more, while the Cobras literally backed their way up above the eastern lip of the valley cliff to wait their turn when the fixed-wing were done.
The Ontos backed slowly, well beneath the maximum speed of motivated Marines getting the hell away from fifty caliber and smaller machine gun fire. But there was nothing to be done for it. In spite of my sleep-deprived fatigue I felt like going to double time to finally get to some relative safety. None of us could afford to outrun the Ontos, however the cave-like safety of the hole eaten away under the edge of the runway appeared in my mind like it was a mirage just up ahead. But we weren’t there yet. I physically swept one hand across my eyes to brush the too comforting image away.
I heard the sound of deeper turbine engines ahead of us. As I cleared an area of brush and bamboo I saw the source of the new sound. Three tandem-rotor supply choppers were coming at us head on. I breathed deeply. Three of the huge things, not one, or any number of the much smaller Huey machines. Finally, we could lift our bodies out. Finally, if the air stayed on station we could send an empty chopper to get the remainder of the dead we weren’t dragging along with us.
The Gunny appeared before me, moving slower to allow me to catch up with him, I knew.
“Three choppers, Gunny,” I gasped out in my enthusiasm.
“Yeah, three,” the Gunny agreed, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice.
“What gives?” I asked, wondering about his lack of expressiveness more than why we were getting three choppers.
“They don’t send three to a unit our size, even with Kilo added on,” the Gunny said, his eyes fixed on the approaching machines just like my own. “If they don’t send three, but they did, then what’s coming next isn’t necessarily good news. And two of those three are Army 47s that can carry as much as twelve tons each.”
I couldn’t believe the negativism of his attitude. How could three choppers, no matter what U.S. military service owned them, be anything but the best of news? It made no sense to me.
Jurgens, Sugar Daddy, Obrien, and Charlemagne moved toward where the Gunny and I walked, just ahead of the noisy backing Ontos. Their facial expressions mirrored the Gunny’s dour look.
I felt myself change inside, like a switch had been thrown. These were my men, my Gunny and my platoon commanders. I had seen and known them to do terribly violent, unethical and even murderous things since I’d been in country. But I’d also remained alive by being fully aware that they were experienced warriors compared to me. If my Marines were worried then I was worried, even though I couldn’t fathom what there might be to generate such concern.
I pushed my right fist straight into the air and stopped in my tracks. The Ontos stopped immediately, probably more to keep from running over me than because of my silent command to halt.
The word went forward through and past the Gunny and the other non-coms. Everyone stopped. The Gunny turned and covered the short distance between us.
“We’ve only got a couple of hundred yards to go,” he hissed, “what in hell are you doing?”
“We’re not going in blind,” I said, squatting down to the mud.
The others gathered around the Gunny and I, along with Zippo, Fusner and Nguyen.
“What the hell’s going on?” I asked, not knowing what else to say or do.
“We go in, nothing else,” the Gunny said, not squatting or going to his knees, instead standing with his hands on his hips like he was impatient with a small child.
“Alright,” I replied, rising up to join him. “The frontal attack. I get it. I was looking for ideas or recommendations.”
I knew I sounded weak, and I knew part of the problem was that I was dog tired with my mind and body trying to decide between fall down fatigue and seemingly irrational fear. We were headed into our own position and people, so why did that seem like such bad news?
“Silence,” Jurgens whispered, in a tone almost too soft to hear. “We keep our mouths shut and listen until we figure it out. Go along. Get along. This is our valley.”
For some reason I couldn’t quite fathom, his words gave me hope and strength. Worse than any of what I had been through were the times when I was alone, or felt totally alone. In his way, Jurgens, of all people, had given me what I’d stopped the unit to get. I was not alone.
We moved out again, although with the Skyraiders and Huey Cobras working over the jungle area, I had a lessening fear of danger coming immediately from that area. The big utility choppers were coming in and, just as the thought entered my mind that the Cobras should have returned to add security for their touchdown, four more Cobras appeared behind the tandem engine supply birds. I watched the show ahead, as we were getting beyond visual of the show behind. Whatever was happening was big, at least in the miniaturized world I’d been driven down into since coming upon the A Shau Valley.
We made it back to the runway at almost the same time as the three choppers touched down. The Marine CH-46 was in the lead, looking like an exact
A CH-46 helicopter
miniature of the bigger Army 47s, but very distinctive with the big Marine letters painted onto both sides of its light body just above very bright and distinctive WWII star and bar insignia. The bigger Army choppers were painted in jungle camouflage with no letters or identification anywhere visible.
The back doors of the choppers dropped to the earth but supplies did not flow out. Personnel did. I stood at the edge of the runway, holding my helmet on with one hand and guarding my eyes with the other, as the hundred mile an hour prop wash pounded over me. The Cobras rotated slowly around and around the area, as the big choppers engines unaccountably began to slow. I realized in surprise that the helicopters were spooling their engines down. I couldn’t believe it. Had none of them been to the A Shau before, I wondered, while at the same time thinking about how to get any supplies they might have out of them before they were blown to hell and gone?
A large contingent of Marines formed up roughly, bent over at the waist, and made their way toward us. Both my company and Kilo’s remnants had automatically formed a cordon perimeter around the whole landing zone but the men coming toward me and my small group neither joined in the establishment pattern of that security activity or seemed to take notice of it at all.
A tall Marine with a large black oak leaf painted onto what appeared to be a brand-new helmet cover led them. A veritable flock of lieutenants came behind, like baby goslings following their mother. I presumed the major to be the battalion executive officer but when he walked up to me I remained silent and motionless.
“You’d be Junior, I presume, lieutenant?” he asked, the sound of chopper turbines finally dying out enough to allow speech and only mild buffeting from the still turning rotors remaining.
I was surprised. I hadn’t heard the two words junior and lieutenant used together before, any more than junior and sir. Again, following Jurgens advice, I only nodded, although the situation was so odd I was prepared to salute the major if he saluted first. In combat nobody saluted, but back in the rear areas or in training lower rank officers always saluted higher rank, except lieutenants never saluted one another.
“I’m Major Charles Whittier, and I’m here with my team from Stars and Stripes,” he said, waving his hand backwards at his collected gathering of what seemed to be twenty or more Marines, half of them first and second lieutenants. “We’re here to cover some combat, and we’ve heard that you’ve seen some.”
Sugar Daddy burst out laughing, and was quickly joined by Zippo and Char.
All I could do was stare and wait.
Three of the lieutenants walked around the major and stood between us, setting themselves into some kind of formal triad I hadn’t seen before. They were quickly joined by two Army lieutenants. All of them were First Lieutenants. The entire collection of officers in front of me wore not only the blacked-out rank on their helmet covers but also small silver bars on their collars.
“You can stand down,” the lead lieutenant with the blackened name of Clews painted over his pocket said.
“Stand down?” the Gunny asked, next to me on my left.
“Stand relieved,” Clews said, “and please call me sir. I’ve heard there’s some informalities that need to be handled here.”
“Informalities?” the Gunny asked.
I was happy the Gunny was asking, because my questions would have been exactly the same, although I certainly knew what the word ‘relieved’ meant. I was no longer company commander of either my own unit or Kilo. I didn’t know whether to be sorry or happy or both.
I noted the second CH-47 unloading more men, all Army. Only the 46 was beginning to have its supplies hauled down the back ramp and stacked on the nearby tarmac. Marines from my former company and Kilo ran toward the supplies to get them under some sort of cover and off the flat exposed concrete.
“Have you got a secure area we can establish a CP and talk?” Clews asked, his face unable to hide an expression of distaste.
I wasn’t sure whether the new company commander was angry with the Gunny for not calling him sir or whether he was finding that our combat operation wasn’t run ‘high and tight’ like a barracks outfit. I held to Jurgens’ advice and said nothing.
“This way,” Fusner said, surging past me, and then angling off from everyone still standing there.
I knew where he was going, and my spirits fell a little bit further. The cave. The eaten-out hole under the concrete I’d been dreaming of ever since I’d left it so long ago. The new brace of officers was going to see it and take it over instantly. Why was Fusner leading them there, I wondered, of all places? We could have all crawled under the Ontos and done quite fine, and saved the cave for ourselves.
The entourage began to move. There were at least twenty men, I realized, gathered into two distinct groups. The Army crew looked rough and tough. None wore helmets, instead they used the flat wrinkly brimmed bush hats favored by some of my own company Marines. Or what had been my company. The Stars and Stripes people looked uncomfortable, all wearing utilities and new helmets, mostly without covers. It was good to view so many clean human beings and I suddenly felt bad about my own appearance, from black fingernails to leech wounds and the misery of ever present dirt I’d once more accumulated in layers.
I caught the blackened names of Clew’s two accompanying first lieutenants and quickly looked away. My eyes ran into the Gunny’s. He smiled a deep but faint enigmatic smile, and then looked away. He’d seen the names too. Lieutenant Johnson and Lieutenant Johnsen.
The cave was as before, a welcome haven. It gaped open on the edge of the Bong Song river that was still sweeping by with a depth and speed so great that nobody was going to cross it to attack. It was a cave fortress the Germans in WWII would have been proud to occupy, I felt. Only the officers entered the opening, as if some cue had been given. I motioned my scout team away. Fusner took up a position near the entrance with Zippo stationed on the other side, both resembling very disheveled and young Palace Guards. The Gunny was the only non-com who came inside the hole. The afternoon sun provided plenty of light. I was about to squat down until it became apparent that nobody was going to sit or squat on anything. The hole was muddy, all over. I could read the distaste on all the other officer’s faces. I stayed standing.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Clews began, paying no attention whatever to the fact that the major outranked him by a considerable degree.
I nodded, having no reason to say a word.
“Johnsen is going to take over Kilo and I’ll command your company,” Clews said, pointing at me. “Johnson will be my XO until we get platoon commanders in here later in the week. The mission’s scrapped. You and Kilo were unable to provide the security for an ARVN unit to come in and form the firebase. And then there was the incident with the engineers you were supposed to protect. None of that happened. So, because of that, the mission’s changed.”
The man stopped talking for a minute to look between the Gunny and I, but we didn’t look at each other. I nodded again, not knowing why, but I felt it seemed to be the right thing to do.
“We’re going north up the A Shau twenty-four clicks from here. Once there, we’ll establish a communications center to direct a coming attack near the DMZ to squeeze off the Ho Chi Minh Trail.”
I liked the sound of heading north, where supporting fires were much more plentiful and the narrowness of the southern valley would be a thing of the past.
But Clews didn’t stop there.
“Right now, we’re not making any changes to your structure,” Clews went on. “Junior, you’ll hold the fort right here while we’re gone and until we get back.”
“Gone?” I said, finally opening my mouth only because I was surprised.
“We’ve brought elements of the Army’s elite Special Forces to conduct a combined operation.”
“Combined operation?” I asked, knowing how stupid I sounded, but unable to stop myself.
“Yes, we three are going to fly up there with the Special Forces, secure that hill and then bring in the engineers while you advance both companies up on command along the river. All we have to do is hold the hill until you arrive. Once we get there, I’ll call down and give the order.’
“So, I’m to be company commander again?” I asked, in shock.
“No,” Clews answered, uncomfortably. “Or yes, at least temporarily, until you get the men upriver and join us. Meanwhile, when we depart in a few minutes, after mid-day chow, you’ll cooperate with Major Whittier and give him your gear and weapons so he can film some combat and get out of here before dark. The chopper crews don’t like to fly after dark down here. Thanks to Stars and Stripes we got all this extra cover and support.”
“Mid-day chow?” I whispered, my initial shock worn off only to be replaced with more.
I didn’t know how to ask Clews about my company or Kilo giving up weapons and gear. That was insanity and I thought he’d had to have misspoken himself. Just then Fusner turned on his transistor radio and musical lyrics began to play in through the opening to the outside: “Bend me shape me anyway you want me, as long as you love me it’s all right. Bend me shape me anyway you want me, you got the power to turn on the light.”
“What the hell is that?” Clews exploded, angrily.
“Brother John,” the Gunny answered, before I could say anything.
“Well, tell Brother John to turn that damned radio off. This is a combat zone and combat situation.”
“Would you handle brother John?” I asked the Gunny, my mind roiling with stunned turmoil and twisted humor.
“You got the power to turn on the light, sir,” the Gunny said, his voice so low as he passed me I wondered if any of the other assembled officers heard.
“Have you been to the A Shau before, sir?” I asked Clews, using the sir honorific even though it wasn’t required except possibly by his iffy command position.
“First time,” he responded, again sounding faintly uncomfortable. “Special Forces just came out of intensive training though back in the States, and they damned well know what they’re doing.”
“Don’t go, sir,” I said, the words coming out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“What did you say, Junior?” Clews asked, his uncomfortableness quickly converted to anger.
“Don’t go, sir,” I repeated. “This is the valley of no return. You won’t come back and you won’t understand until you, well, don’t come back.”
“One more word out of you and I’ll leave Johnson or Johnsen here with this motley collection of filthy Marines, if you can call them that,” Clews said, his voice set in a deadly tone. “Your conduct out here is legend and you’ve been here what, three weeks? Everything you touch turns to shit and everyone around you is worse than that.”
I snapped to attention in front of him, bringing up my right hand to salute smartly.
“You’re the commander, sir, and I don’t know what came over me. I haven’t slept in days and I apologize for my conduct and that of these Marines. I’d like to stay and get our bodies aboard the 46. Is there any chance, with the pounding your people are giving the enemy, that I could use the chopper to pick up Kilo’s dead downriver?”
Clews did not return my salute, so I held it, the other officers in the cave growing visibly embarrassed. The Gunny hadn’t quieted Fusner’s radio. I gritted my teeth, my guts in a fearful uproar of terror. Crews had sent me into a panic and I was having a hard time controlling myself. If I went up the valley with the men in front of me, and their FNG Army Special Forces I knew I would die. There was no doubt in my mind. I could not shoot everyone else in the cave and push their bodies into the river. I could only stand and listen to the song, with my hand stiffly frozen half way through a ridiculously out of place salute. I waited, trying to breathe in and out and not show my inner terror. The song played. It was Merilee Rush. “There’ll be no strings to bind your hands, not if my love can’t bind your heart. And there’s no need to take a stand, for it was I who chose to start.” I see no need to take me home, I’m old enough to face the dawn. Just call me angel of the morning…”
I waited while Clews considered my fate without knowing he was considering my fate. My wife’s song played on. I knew I could do it. For her. I could stand saluting, and wait for his decision without making any more mistakes.
Merilee Rush
<<<<<< The Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>>
Forgive my ignorance. Maybe the USMC subdued the rank of major differently than we did in the Army. Wouldn’t a “black oak leaf” be a light colonel instead of a major? Maybe I’m just getting old and forgetful.
I only saw the major. I never saw a Lt. Colonel wearing a combat utility blouse over there.
The major’s leaf was black. Good question though because how did they distinguish between the two?
I don’t know!!
Semper fi,
Jim
That is strange about the insignia color! I was in the 101st about a decade or more after your experience (1979-’82). Light colonel was black and major was a really ugly ass flat brass color. It’s probably apples and oranges. Different services and a decade apart.
Now that I’ve binge read the book and all online postings, I look forward to the next installment!
JP
Jerry, I have tried to find information about this on the Internet but have been unsuccessful.
Much of what happened back in that place and time seems to have stayed right there.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just a correction if I may – if you will permit an old EOD guy to comment. If memory serves, the Zuni Rocket was a 5″ ground to air rocket fired strictly from fixed wing platforms…big, heavy sonsabitches. I helped destroy & demil some when I worked for the Navy as a Civilian…they were being phased out. The 2.75 in. rocket, kept in ripple fire pods up to 18 if memory serves, was standard on Cobras (still in use today) along with the minigun you mention, a slow firing 40mm auto cannon in the nose, and the 5.56 minigun pod (may have been 7.62) you mention. The 2.75s & miniguns were also used on Huey Gunslicks and other airframes. I once saw a Cobra duck out of a valley, shake like hell, smoke like it was blowing up, & download most of its ordnance lighting up an whole hillside, and pop back down after just a few seconds…being in the valley we could not really hear it approach. You must have learned a lot in that artillery course at Ft Sill (there TDY in 71 clearing the same range you trained on) because your description of Army ordnance is spot on and gives me visual pictures of fuses, hazards, etc. learned by a 19 year old kid almost 47 years ago. I may have had a bit of metal flying around me at times, but I would not have lasted a couple hours in the hell you and so many grunts endured. Thanks for serving and saving so many lives.
You are correct here Tom.
We used the term Zuni rockets for any rockets fired from helicopters or planes.
It was just such a cool name and we had no clue as to what real ordinance was up there.
We knew that 20mmm sounded a whole lot more different than .50 caliber,
and that five hundred pound bombs were distinctive because they had those slowing fins
so the planes could get away in time.
But that was about it…thanks for the comment, and yes, I really did ‘enjoy’ that school at Fort Sill….
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter. Thank you for being so generous to share it with us in this form.
I tried to post this from my phone yesterday, but it did not seem to go. I don’t recall you mentioning the ages of Gunny, Sugar Daddy, or Jurgens. Except for the earlier chapters I don’t recall you mentioning a medic, were you without one during these few days? Also, you have not mentioned the morphine in the last few chapters and if you or someone else had to administer it again?
Great read, thanks again.
The morphine ‘option’ was always there, but not always mentioned in the story. I cannot list everything that happened
under every circumstance or this becomes like a recipe list instead of a story. I Didn’t know the ages of many of the man
because we didn’t have a T.O. list of everyone out in the field and nobody asked. I thought the Gunny was in his late thirties or early forties
but not sure. I though Jurgens was late twenties. Sugar Daddy the same. Approximations though. Thanks for reading so closely and caring that much…
Semper fi,
Jim
Gotta say this Lt. You seem to get all the “real Winners” when it comes to officers. I spent a year and a half in II corps as an Engineer enlisted. I only met one officer (a Major) who came close to being as messed up as these “Replacement” officers you seem to inherit.
God bless you for not pulling a pin on all of them.
You were with the engineers in the rear. The pressure was off. Into the pressure cooker they came and you could not be in command and wrong.
Wrong one way and they killed you, wrong the other and we did.
That created an intensity of life and death like almost nobody on earth is ever exposed to.
Semper fi,
Jim
Not all Engineers were “in the rear”. Opn Bolling in the Central Highlands lasted 45 days outside the wire. 1 Engineer plt. 1 Abn. Mech infantry company. 1 S.F. led Montagnard plt.
No, the engineers and seabees were combat guys, so many of them. Unheralded for that mostly.
Thanks for making that comment here and honoring those guys…
Semper fi,
Jim
I couldn’t help myself Jim but I have to respond to all those vets out there that had to deal with guys like Clews. From the beginning up to this point I have been awestruck on how you have been treated by fellow officers. I worked with a LT, junior to me in grade but was acting in capacity of a Captain, who berated me in front of enlisted continually. I told him where he can put his attitude and ended up immediately in front of the battalion Cmdr(LTC) being chewed out and told as punishment I wouldn’t make 1stLT for 3 months.
My happiest moments in service were with my NCO’s, they were respectful,professional with combat experience and you listened and learned from them. I don’t know what today’s officer corp is like but I think I am right in saying from Westmoreland(read stories about what a prick he was) on through field grade and it was all about getting your ticket punched. What’s even more pathetic is many officers I knew who spent time in country were given decorations for outrageous reasons. No wonder we struggled in Vietnam, the war of attrition (Westy’s idea) and draftees became expendable including 2nd LT’s(look at the numbers in 1968), while REMF field grade and on up could care less as long as they “got their whatever to advance careers”. Sorry about this long message Jim, but I just can’t help feel for you.
Great message of great merit Fred. You are so right. Field grade just didn’t come to the field unless it was to flit in and out by chopper and nod and wink a bit before going back to the rear to be put in for a silver star and more.
Semper fi, my brother,
Jim
Hi LT,
Read again in my Deer Stand, See correction suggestion below.
I didn’t read all comments yet so this might have been discussed. Its Gunny and me (NOT I).
The others gathered around the The others gathered around the Gunny and I, along with Zippo, Fusner and Nguyen,
Thanks David. Great image of you up in your stand and editing away!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
Wasn’t that long held salute in a combat environment the equivalent of the finger. Like calling in the thunder on the REMF Clew(less) Major.
Yes, but only if the receiver of the salute understood it. I actually stood there frozen, frightened to death that I had signed my own death warrant.
My act was one of terror for my own survival and not a macho display of aggressiveness. Thanks for the intereseting comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Towards the end of the chapter….you call “Clew’s”….Crew’s”….twice.
Charlie Mike, Sir!
Thanks Joey. We corrected…
Semper fi,
Jim
Write faster, I’m a waiting on the next one
Thanks for the compliment of wanting more faster. I am on it right this minute when not answering comments.
Semper fi,
Jim
Having followed it all to this point it is now as tho I am watching the action take place while you somehow stand beside me explaining..Some day, I hope to shake your hand and offer my “thank you”. You are now on my bucket list…You represent friends who came back and those who did not and you represent well….
Represent. I thank you for the use of that word. It has a nice ring to it. I don’t represent on purpose.
I am simply relating what happened like maybe nobody else has been able to do up to this point. Thannks for that compliment though.
Semper fi,
Jim
Some one commented that the build up to Veitnam in troop strength should have eliminated ” deferment’s” for the ” protected species”, probably would not have been a war,
Hard to say. It was a whole lot more complex than that.
They wanted that war and they, the military complex, got their war
and it worked. Got rid of old inventory. Figured out what worked of the new stuff and what didn’t.
Figured out how to handle the media. Came home and figured out how to repeat and repeat and repeat…
Semper fi,
Jim
With all the corrections rolling in, I can envision some REMF saying shut down this Ho Chi Minh trail as if were a path he could just walk over because he is there to mop up.
Can’t wait for the next installment LT.
Thanks with a smile, Steve.
Jim
James, clarification on my last note Zuni’s are a 5” diameter rocket and are in rocket pods, which were about 5’ long, which hold 4 rockets, where as 2.75 came in rocket pods, that were about 3’ long, that held from 4 to 36 rockets. Riveting story, keep it up.
Probably not Zuni rockets, but I did not know at the time and am just finding out now!
Thanks for the help.
Semper fi,
Jim
Zuni’s on a cobra? You sure about that? Maybe 2.75 rocket pods.
Nope, I was not sure of that at all. Had just heard the name. Rockets to guys on the ground were just rockets.
Thanks for the comment, and the clarification…
Semper fi,
Jim
After noon Jim, Being a rotor head in Nam, Even though I was Army, I do know you could be correct about Cobra’s especially the Marine Cobra’s carrying Zuni Rockets, and the Marine snakes, carried shark mouth markings…. 5″ Zuni is like a 155mm howitzer round, moves a lot dirt and make the VC go deep. Many the time I wished our guns had access to those Zuni rockets, We were limited to 2.75″ 7.62 miniguns, and 20mm Vulcans when I was flying, The wildest bird I saw had 2 – 7.62 mini’s in the chin, and 4 minigun pods on the wing stubs….. Yes talk about a smoke and fire light show….
Semper fi/This We Defend Bob
I was on the ground over there and am writing most of this from memory. I remember Zuni rockets but I sure could have been wrong.
They were just rokects to us and Zuni was such a cool name!
Thanks for the comment and for what you did over thre….
Semper fi,
Jim
Black oak leaves = LTC, not MAJ. MAJ wears brown. At least that’s how it was when my Dad was AD. I’d bet that the bars on your uniform were brown.
” but those gases were deadly to anyone standing within fifty yards of them. . .” I think “50 yards behind them” may be the correct phrase here.
Small homonym issue: “leach wounds” should be leech.
Thanks for the sharp eye.
Items corrected, except “Black oak leaves”
In Vietnam seemed all wore black in the field.
Semper fi,
Jim
Agreed James: When starched and pressed at times it was hard to tell the cloth brown oak leaves from the black and especially in low light. At least for me in 1969 it was that way. It seemed some of the 0-4’s wanted it that way. REMF’s! Semper Fi
In the field in my time all rank on utilities was invariably flat black.
The wearing of small silver bars was the first and only time, as I have reported in this last segment,
that I ever saw anything but the black.
But, remember, it was a long time agao.
Semper fi,
Jim
“But there weren’t two of them, there were six, flying in three packs (or) pairs. Suggest changing “or” to “of”.
Thanks again Steve,
Corrected
Semper fi,
Jim
I wasn’t aware of the monumental disjoint between the rear and the field.This should be required reading for newly commissioned officers in order to reference themselves in joining the ranks.I can nearly wait to find out how you got out of there.Till the next segment…….
The disjoint was monumental…for me too. My most brilliant survival tactic of
my entire tour was on that first night when I got dumped into combat and was so scared
shitless that I actually asked the Gunny what to do and then did what he told me.
Semper fi,
Jim
And who would wonder why you shot up an officers sport car. Semper fi Lt.
For the record, I deny shooting up that asshole’s car.
Semper fi,
Jim
Now this must be a good story the rest of us want to hear.
Well, this part of the story coming is, indeed, a good story, as stories went back in the day.
Thanks for wanting more and being there to get it…
Semper fi,
Jim
HaHa
Well, I can’t find the old comment that generated your expression of humor!
Shit.
Semper fi,
Jim
“I denied shooting that assholes car”
Well, I did…
Semper fi,
Jim
That probably will be a funny story to hear , great writing keeps me worked up.
Thanks Bob and I hope you like it, of course….
Semper fi, on this special day….
Jim
Flew gunner into the valley with Marine HMM 364 Purple Foxes CH 46s in May 68, In country Oct 67 to Nov 68.
Hurry the fuck up. I’m holding my breath here.
All right. I am on it. These don’t just come out like toothpaste out of a tube, you know.
But thanks for that wonderfully ‘Marine’ compliment….
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Been a while since I posted on here. I have been following you through this whole story . MAN I’m wet muddy skeeter bit, leech infested and dead for sleep and hungry! GOD, How did you or any soldier make it out of there. I know the answer to that is coming and I stay scared to death all the time. Great God, you paint a very real picture of what I’m sure combat was like. I said it before and I’ll say it again, THANK YOU GOD FOR NOT Sending me to that fetid green Hell called The Nam!
I agree James, in that God was kind to you.
Thanks for the support by your writing on this site.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, another great segment.
“What the hell’s going on?” I asked, not knowing what else (to) say or do.
“We go in, nothing else (for it),” the Gunny said,
Keep low and get some rest!!!
Thanks Mike
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
(“We go in, nothing else for it,”)
“We go in, nothing else”
“We go for it, nothing else,”
Jim,not sure witch way is best.
Thanks Mike,
Corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
All this new brass, gonna get interesting.
You have that most correct B. Thanks for the analysis and the deep predictive reading…
Semper fi,
Jim
After reading this installment I realized how tight my solar plexus had become. Intense!
My experience was a Six-by aka Deuce-and-a-half used diesel fuel. Anyone know different?
“What the hell’s going on?” I asked, not knowing what else say or do.
Suggest add “to” before “say” what else to say or do.
I saw the source of the new sound. The sources. Three dual-rotor supply choppers were coming at us head on
Suggest “The sources.” is redundant.
An authors prerogative is to name his characters. I see “Clews” and think “clueless.” I don’t know if it was intended; but neat choice.
The man stopped talking for a minute to looked between the Gunny and I
Suggest change “looked” to “look”
you’ll hold the fort right here while we’re gone and until we get back.” So first Clews is saying he will return. Then he says you will march to the hill.
we three are going to fly up there with the Special Forces, secure that hill and then bring in the engineers while you advance both companies up on command along the river.
If I went up the valley with the men in front of me, and their FNG Army Special Forces
Yet earlier Clews says the SF will accompany him to the hill via helo. Or are the SF acting as two groups – one with Clews & one with you?
When I saw the photo accompanying this installment I thought these guys look like they have it together. Apparently not the FNG SF troopers you saw. FWIW SF was put into impossible situations that had no connection with the reality on the ground. Bet those in pic are SEALs.
The apparent total lack of concern on the part of Battalion and Clews for the men in the field is heartrending. I have read of similar events in other Vietnam memoirs.
Hang in there.
Thanks for your detailed eye, DanC
Corrections have been made.
Semper fi,
Jim
Love the line, “you got the power to turn the light on”, to bad no FNG’s can see it. Everything you touch turns to shit yet Clews puts you back in command of both companies to move up the valley. Interesting. Gonna need some more body bags shortly for FNG’s but hopefully not others.
Great story that just keeps getting better. Keep stomping.
It was a time. The universe seemed to focus itself down into one narrow valley
filled with every assortment of fauna and flora enemies. Thanks for the encouragement…
Semper fi,
Jim
Stay were you are and let tfng go you are better off with your guys.
I believe, Fred, that I established at the end that, indeed, that is exactly what I wanted to do and so feared
I would not be allowed to do….
Semper fi, and good analysis…thanks….
Jim
all I can say is Whiskey oscar Whiskey
Thanks Bob. Working at getting it all down on paper. I know it is one wild ride, as it was, and that
reality can be so much crazier than fiction….
Thanks for the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sh*t from above LT, hated to have REMFs to come out for foto ops, and put everyone else in danger, where were the NVA dragonovs when u really needed them, FYI, only firing two at a time always left hot rounds available, usually beehive rounds for close in, nasty stuff, even in a M79. Keep it coming JAMES.
Hey Felix, I did not know they made a beehive round for the M-79!
But, yes, the coming of the media was simply another invitation to death.
Semper fi, and thanks for the compliment.
Jim
Wait a second, this collection of officers arrived unarmed, without supplies or troops to commit and expect your crew to supply them?
Bright shiny boots gave my Uncles who served an instant distrust of anyone.
The resupply was being unloaded from the 46, which could only carry three tons. The 47’s with massive
lifting power only carried personnel on that drop. The reality going on in the rear area was completely
unlike anything in the field and mostly unknowing and now I believe I have come to understand they didn’t really give a shit either.
Semper fi,
Jim
This weight has to be immense, It must be good to get it out, particularly to those in this forum that can directly relate. I never really see anything to edit, I can tell this is you, looking out from inside, so the story flow does not necc follow the regular written phrase. Semper fi
Thank for your insightful comment, J
But I do appreciate the editing detail.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn – should have sent the 101st
I have a hard time bending down and touching the ground now, but I still vividly remember my ability to flatten and crawl faster then I can run now. Thanks Lt.
Not Ken Burn’s Vietnam….Alexander would have loved your Warriors in Marrza!
I really do not get it why you were getting a bad rap. back in the rear, you pulling miracles out of your ass and making them work, to save who you could. Fucking brass sometimes don’t know shit from there ass. They send you out there as a FNG brown bar come on. Don
It was all pespective. We see and hear things we tend to be set up to see and hear, and want to see and hear.
What was really happening in the true fields of combat was similar in dramatic impact to what happened in the
concentration camps during WWII. Today, many people still don’t want to believe that stuff happened.
Semper fi,
Jim
FNGs with the Stars and Stripes! Not one inquiry as to your present position. You could not dream up a bigger cluster if you tried. It is a shame most will leave the valley in bags. Excellent installment Lt, thank you.
They just kept coming at me, and the company. One giant screw up after another form the rear area.
I wasn’t ready for that. None of us really were.
Semper fi,
Jim
Kudos to Junior for hanging that undeserved salute. I could feel the anger and frustration and just total hopelessness that he was feeling. Great chapter James.
And the fear. Don’t ever forget the fear.
Thanks for picking up on that stuff and the compliment inherent in your writing about it here…
Semper fi,
Jim
James I have been waiting for this one. Maybe get the 46 to leave a few extra body bags. Semper Fi.
Thanks Tim, and yes I understand that expectant waiting.
Many of the real veterans on here can predict what is likely to happen next.
Thanks for that great comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
This chapter leaves me as concerned as the last chapter in the First Ten Days. I name my op “Ketchup”. Reread first book, then start the second the same day. My gut says another well intentioned bunch of FNGs gonna get theirselves eat up before they have time to learn the reality of what it takes to live 20 days in The Valley. I’ve had some time in and out of medical issues lately, but find your story telling so very compelling I will drop it all and, catch up. Poppa J
It was so hard for men to come out into immediate combat without
not only no experience but sometimes worse by ‘training’
and false information given out in the rear areas.
Thanks for the great comment and putting it up on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Two sentences need another look:
1. We versus were:
But there weren’t two of them, there we six, flying in three packs or pairs.
2. Looked versus look:
The man stopped talking for a minute to looked between the Gunny and I, but we didn’t look at each other.
Thanks Bob..
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
Air Force terminology would be “three flights of two aircraft”
Thank you for your input and support, Gary
Semper fi,
Jim
“But there weren’t two of them, there we six, flying in three packs or…”
There were six
Appreciate your eyes,
We fixed it.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have enjoyed your saga since the beginning. It has the real feel of the country with the miserable conditions and constant irritation and distractions interrupted by the shock of battle. I especially enjoy the interpersonal dynamics within the company. Nothing is ever perfect or goes the way it is planned. I look forward to each new installment keep up the good work,
Thanks ever so much Rod, coming from one of the real deal guys…
Semper fi,
Jim
“But I’d never heard that many together before. I got my eyes up and saw the planes descend down so low it looked like the lead two would strike the old bridge. But there weren’t two of them, there we six, flying in three packs or pairs”
Should read “there were six”.
Thanks again..
Got it Fixed.
Semper fi,
Jim
This is a story worthy of Tom Clancy. You set the hook and, oh my, how the story runs. One small critique, it’s goslings, not gooselings. Keep up the excellent work.
Appreciate the comment and we just ‘goosed’ the goslings…..
Jesus! The same fate awaits many a ground pounder today! Something definitely wrong with the way officers are trained. I know a young man with a college degree, who enlisted in Navy Special WarFare, and they were excited, because he could become a “Mustang Officer”. It’s good to know how enlisted feel. My cousin, a Lieutenant in the Navy, Vietnam, said you treat your men right, like pull them out of a Saigon bar, get them back to the ship, and they would have your back. I had almost forgotten, looking forward to the next installment
How do you train officers for what I have written about?
If you sent them through ‘reality’ training or let them talk to guys like me
before they went over than they wouldn’t go into combat if at all possible.
Nobody should go if at all possible. Vietnam; 2.7 million went in country.
375 thousand went into combat in country. 362 thousand were killed or wounded.
Thirteen thousand came through unscathed except for the mental
fucking up of all time. Who would go? Who from the rear areas, once they did know, would go?
How many did? Few.
Do the math.
Semper fi, and thanks for the cogent comment…
Jim
It’s unfortunate we still have War. I suppose there will always be malcontents and Dictators until the end of human’s. Vietnam, was preventable on so many levels. It’s ashamed our soldiers had to pay the price. I am especially upset at the way Ho Chi Minh’s Letters to Our Presidents were never delivered. Diplomats really can screw things up.
Diplomats did not screw things up.
The military industrial complex got that war and they were not about to be stopped.
They have only made about twenty trillion more by playing the same rotten filthy death-dealing games.
Semper fi,
Jim
Edit: The man stopped talking for a minute to (looked) between the Gunny and I, but we didn’t look at each other. I nodded again, not knowing why, but I felt it seemed to be the right thing to do (look)
Which of the Arch Patton series do you recommend as first read?
Fixed it Tom……
Intersting question.
The Bering Sea has more Action.
Down In The Valley is in third person and has a ‘lighter approach’
Nothing like a FNG who knows it all, he must think he’s back at Pendleton! Semper Fi!
You got all that right, and thanks Tom,
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, as “the senior corpsman”, more than once, I’m thinking I don’t have any more stuff in my unit-1. I got your back, though.
Thanks James. Having one’s back is a pretty big deal, over and back there and even today.
Thanks so very much. I see you back there…
Semper fi,
JIm
Hotel Oscar Lima Yankee Sierra Hotel India Tango LT. All I got Sir. Semper Fi.
I can see why it took you so long to get through this chapter, so unbelievable and yet in NAM, believable. One wonders whose idea it was, to bring in all raw officers to do the fighting? It makes no sense at all! Apparently the marines considered new lieutenants as expendable issue.
Sounds like all of your previous CO’s in the valley, used you as the primary excuse for failing the mission. The fact that they were all dead and you were still alive, apparently had no bearing on that issue. Actually the briefing given to you by Crews, was the first explanation of the mission you were supposed to be on, as I don’t recall any mention of you receiving any other briefing from the time you touched down in the valley. As one recalls, none of the officers that had previously arrived to your unit, took you in for an on the ground briefing.
Since the Green Berets had been present in the A Shau previously, it is likely that those officers felt safe with the Green Beret on board. They had a new mission, so it was unlikely that they would ever listen to anything any one said, that had supposedly failed the previous mission. Yet, you told them what experience had taught you and that is all one can do in a case like that.
One can imagine what went through the minds of the men of C & K companies, when they saw the Stars and Stripes crew coming to re-inact the war front in the bush. Then to hear how the new officers thought about them as a dirty rag tag outfit, had to be the highlight of their day. Talk about morale boosters, whew.
The phrase ‘street urchins’ comes to mind J.
That’s how we felt and how others looking at us must have felt.
And urchins in extreme emotional shock, living through wave after wave of an intensity
of fear that would not fade for the next fifty years.
Thanks for the great comment, which I will reread later tonight…
as is my custom.
Semper fi,
Jim
What is the over / under number for their lifespan. Can it be measured in days, or hours, or minutes.
I suppose command only sent FNG officers because anyone that had any experience would have been so damaged they would have been useless too.
Crews and the assembled batch of replacement officers weren’t FNGs, per se.
They’d spent some time in the rear but were obviously the kind of officers that either nobody
could talk reality to, about the bush, or they didn’t believe it.
So many in the rear thought the failing of our efforts was brought about by bad leadership out in the bush.
That wasn’t it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Such a waste.
The only replacements that could be sent that truly knew enough to help those stuck in that hell were those too damaged to be sent back.
No veteran replacements ever came back into combat in my time. None. Not one. Nada. Nichts.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I have recently read a book by a guy, James M. Dixon”Things I’ll Never Forget”. A Marine doing perimeter at Da Nang till he like they all did, got sent to the field. Late in the book he mentions a Marine wounded, evac’d, and coming back. Only to be in a poncho his next time out. I have a friend who served as a Marine radioman humping the DMZ in Tet. A round through his radio sent him from hospital ship to Japan. Was sent back to the field and had one other evac for Malaria to base camp for RX and then back to the field. But like you have said many times, he still isn’t made whole. A very good man, and I know you would like meeting him. For me, I still stand amazed at the resiliency of every one of you guys. You haven’t let the “bastard” win.
Thanks Poppa. Of course I would love to meet the guy. Actually, meet very few veterans here. Only two who have come through on purpose to see me.
They were both outstanding men. Thanks for thinking of me.
Semper fi,
Jim
Read the story of Sgt Freddy Gonzalez…He like so many of us kept volunteering and returning.
Thanks for the referral Gary.
Semper fi,
Jim
SHTF, and all great comments, big time cluster F
Thanks, Bill
sempoer fi,
Jim
Einstein said the best knowledge comes from experience. Bet before the night is over the new officers wish they had listening to you.
Good call, Jlb.
Thanks for your input.
Semper fi,
jim
Great story , love your writing style. Sadly your telling it how it really was. Do you think the military learned from these past mistakes?
You don’t read any other combat novels like these I am writing.
Why? Because they are not popular with the mythology the military needs to continue
to present in order to get guys and gals to go.
I don’t get to go to command and staff college to speak, or back to the Basic School.
Truth is a mother fucker.
Semper fi,
Jim
Military intelligence a true oximoron. Not to nitpick, and this minor but rear door on a chinook is called the ramp, you got it right a couple paragraphs later in reference to the 46. The wind down force from a helicopter is rotor-wash. CH 47 A&B models of your time in Vietnam only had a load capacity of 10,000 lbs. Just wanted to lend some accuracy to your Excellent story.
Ex 67 U 20 flight engineer CH 47s, just trying to help. Can’t wait for next chapter.
Dan
Just wanted to add one more thing, it’s “tandem rotor” not dual rotor.
You are most correct in this reference Dan. You can tell that I was not an airdale.
I did learn to fly rotary later on in life but never flew tandem at all.
Thanks for the help…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for the help. About the 47s. You are right but I was writing from memory.
I checked on the Internet and the ten thousand is valid, but I’d written the seven tons so I left it.
I wonder if my memory was good about that in recalling that use.
Today the 47 can carry 7 tons.
Did I get that subliminally later? I don’t know.
Thanks for the help.
Semper fi,
Jim
Latest model Chinook payload is in excess of 14 ton, 28,000lbs+ and nearly twice as fast. That’s Boeing’S advertised capabilities. You can add about 10% to that will give you what they can be ‘pushed’ to. I apologize if I came across a little too blunt, tact is not one of my strong points. My intention was honorable. Heck I couldn’t tell you the difference between an azimuth and compass point. Keep up the good work Sir.
Yes, the Internet is wonderful with data. You are correct. I looked it up too. Man, they re-engined those things and created a real wonder of a beast.
Semper fi,
Jim
But there weren’t two of them, there we* six, flying in three packs or pairs (were)*
Stars & Strips ?? Are you f*^k kidding me ?? WTH ??
SF Army guys were green too, looks like a bad situation was just going to get worse by a desk LT!!
Once again on the edge of my seat, thanks James for telling the story and also how dumb and dumber things could get. SMH !!!
It was a stunning unbelievable incident, the Stars and Stripes and god knew who else was along.
A strange moment in a strange time. And then they were gone. In the segment coming up tomorrow, you will read…
Semper fi, and thank you…
Jim
Hey Jim,
I’m still here with you, although silent for awhile….very minor point, but we Cobra drivers never got to load the Zuni’s but more likely you saw the 2.75 ffar with a variety of warheads…..10lb and 17lb warheads….he, wp,at, and flechette…..I had one Remf CO for a little while, he wasn’t even Cobra rated……led from the distant rear…
Above the best,
Bill
Moderation coming ?
Moderation of what? There was no moderation in the A Shau Valley of the time…
None.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, I have been corrected. We called the rockets Zuni rockets, probably because it was a cool name and it was all we knew.
Like calling the Bong Song the Bong Song when it was not.
Thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
We wished we could load and shoot the Zuni rockets. The Navy Black Pony squadron on OV10’s used them in the Delta, and they were awesome !
Bill
Yes, the Zuni rockets packed a tremendous punch. I think we got the smaller ones.
Thanks for writing on here about this…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow, this chapter was good- real damn good. I read it three times.
Would you please explain the significance of Lt Johnson and Lt Johnsen. It went right over my head.
I would have assumed they had “different” european heritage…
or they just wanted to mess up records?
~~smile
Thanks for your input, Shines in Texas.
Semper fi,
jim
Yep, Lt. Johnson and Lt Johnsen, Johnson would be Swedish and Johnsen is Norwegian …….. Both in Europe would be paternomes the custom of the Nordic culture…… Son of John……
Semper fi/This We Defend Bob
Yep, Lt Johnson and Lt Johnsen, Baby powder fresh newbees, Still sweet smelling fresh in the bush…………
Names ending in son vs sen – one is Norwegian, the other Swedish. Not sure which is which. Both pronounced pretty much the same – so in the case of the two LTs, unless qualified in some manner, impossible to tell which one is meant. The possibility exists for miscommunication.
I did not know about the name thing. I had heard of both spellings but only run into the ‘son’ one.
Thanks for the Illumination.
Semper fi,
Jim
possible edit “….my brain processed the sounds before I could pull ‘me’ face…” – “my”?
I stand as junior….in salute James, even as the metallic taste of bitter reality slowly rolls off my tongue; like a boulder unleashed, its massive weight crushing out life itself with every touch of the earth, before coming to rest…as hope expires…in one, final, agonal gasp…
I’m not exaggerating sir, I commend your ability to write the taste of despair in the open mouths of your readers…semper fi
Thanks Dennis,
We caught it and corrected.
Your wordsmithing is stellar!
Semper fi,
Jim
Crap! What a situation!!
Edge of the seat writing! Keep on cookin’
Semper Fi
Bill
I am laying the segments down with one coming out tomorrow,
as we come to the end of the second book.
thanks for being there right with me…
Semper fi,
Jim
Afternoon, One simple question for Lt. Clews, Where were the ARVN’s he was claiming you failed to protect?
If they were like most of the ARVN I knew and loved, They were still in position, doing the rice paddy squat, Shooting the shit, and waiting until the mission was canceled because they failed to show up.
ARVN was no dummy, He spoke the language, and all he was worried about was a full belly and not getting shot, I knew of a few ARVN units that were hardcore 1 out of 4 maybe, But most of the rest were scared shitless of the A Shau and the NVA.
Yes, The reaper is going to fill the ledger big time, New meat for the grinder, and they haven’t a clew one…… Brother John, cue up “The Green Green Grass of Home”…… Then I awake and look around me
At four grey walls that surround me
And I realize, yes, I was only dreaming
For there’s a guard and there’s a sad old padre
Arm in arm, we’ll walk at daybreak
Again I touch the green, green grass of home
Yes, they’ll all come to see me
In the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me ‘neath the green, green grass of home……….
Only the Padre is smart enough to not be there….No last rights in the valley of the A Shau, Just dead meat.
Thank God Clews didn’t have a clew, and believed what was the common scuttle butt about you, and Your Unit, I commend you for big brass balls, Yes something standing pat is the nest call, Courage is doing what is necessary for survival of Yourself and Your Men, Live to fight another day, Let Clews meet the elephant he is so willing to believe is an inferior enemy, Let Clews believe that You and Your Unit are a walking cluster, A common failing of those who have never seen the elephant.
The old home town looks the same
As they carry me from the train
And there to meet me is my Mama and Papa
Down the road there stand Mary
Hair of gold and lips like cherries
Yes, they’ll all came to see me
In the shade of that old oak tree
As they lay me ‘neath the green, green grass of home
Semper fi/This We Defend Bob.
The ARVN were supposed to come in after we secured the area
and the Army engineers came down and built the artillery base in.
We never got that far. No ARVN forces at all.
Thanks for the lyrics to that great song.
Vietnam, like that prison, but mentally…
Semper fi,
Jim
Looking forward to the (eventual) final chapter so I can buy the book and give it to my son so he can read it and understand.
Has he read The First Ten days, Roy?
It is available Paperback Amazon and Barnes&Noble
and digitally in a couple formats here on site.
I look forward to every installment. Best Vietnam history available. Kerp it up Marine
Thanks, Ron.
Share with your friends and family.
Some of the younger generation have little real knowledge of the circumstances
Just when it appears your situation can’t get any worse, it does! Hope you don’t take too long for the next episode, it should be an interesting one.
Yes, I believe you will find this one going up tomorrow interesting.
I hope so and thanks for the compliment of you being and writing on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m in awe. The courage to relive what you went trough. Seared into your mind and soul forever. And the songs to transport you back to those very moments. Thank you LT for your service and for the courage to let us join you in such a horrific experience in the Valley of Death. “We were all hoping to live while waiting to die.” What a quote!!!
I guess the quote is sort of a tag line for the whole experience.
Those are the thoughts changed into words as I sit up every night putting the story together
like a big puzzle spread out on a kitchen table.
Thanks for the compliment of being a reader and now a writer on here…
Semper fi,
JIm
Damn….I sit here, having read this twice now…and am so angry that you had to deal with this…..I was there, one Company away from you (Lima) while this was going on with you and Kilo…Two buddies of mine, that I joined up with, were there in Kilo with you….(I just saw them both a couple of weeks ago)……it enrages me to learn that you guys were going through this..we had nothing like it happening in our Company…We were fortunate enough to have a Command team that we loved and respected…While you were up in the Valley, we were preparing to rescue the Special Forces guys at their Thoung Duc compound..just at the south entrance to the Valley……I mentioned before that “they’ were following your movements up and down the Valley…”they” all knew what was happening, but I figured that surely they would begin to see and understand just what you and the Companies were going through….but, I guess not…at least not yet….sorry LT….wish we had been close enough to help…..
Thanks Larry.
I know now that there were other companies around that did not suffer the same fate as our own.
I don’t know exactly when you were there but I know it had to be around
the same time from the way your write.
Thanks for being on the flank here as you were back then.
Semper fi,
Jim
SHTF big time, dumb and dumber!! More casualties await!!
Looks that way
Appreciate your support Leo
Semper fi,
Jim
Charlie Foxtrot! What a mess. This story keeps getting better. Great writing LT.
Kimball
Thanks
Appreciate your support Kimball
Semper fi, Jim
More Please sir!
Just about finished the Second Ten Days…
Thanks Richard
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
A few corrections:
DMZ to squeeze off this Ho Chi Minh Trail.” this to the Ho Chi Minh Trail”.
I went straight down into the mud again as the sound of monster engines passed a few feet from me. I tried to look up, but my brain processed the sounds before I could get me face down.. my face down.
Really appreciate your sharp eye, James.
So noted and corrected
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s ruff regardless which side the river you are on. Never did like seeing the brass ride in,reguardless their rank. Got a feeling Gunney is going to come through one more time. Watch your back!
It will be getting a bit tense.
Thanks for your support, W.
Appreciate your sharing with friends.
Semper fi,
Jim
Ding-danged arrogant REMF’s!
Green troops into this situation is insane but very military unfortunately. You and your men were the experts, not the arm chair toy soldiers. Countless men have died because of amateurs egos and arrogance. Hard lessons that are avoidable. Semper Fi Marine.
So true, James and thanks again for al of your support.
Semper fi, Jim
You remind me of a young “Junior Lt ” I had leading me in 68 B1/9 , he went on to be a ” Full Bird ” , may God bless you sir , Sgt E-5
Thanks Don, much appreciate the compliment!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
Before the song ends, I was instantly pissed at the audacity of the incoming officers. I know the bottom of the barrel doesn’t need to know anything, nor are they needed in any discussion. My problem is the lack of respect shown to survivors of a situation they surely knew about. To be so arrogant and still be clueless at the same time baffles me. Eleven more days, Lt, it won’t be pretty but it’ll be over. Wishing you critically wounded and this over doesn’t sit well unless you add in the end of what I see as torture. Oh, and the song, dance with your wife to it for me, give her my thanks for propping you up and her strength to do so. Breathe.
There were afraid too. The new officers coming in were more disadvantaged then the green ones
from the states because they had been misinformed in order to get them to volunteer
or accept their new role out in combat.
So they came out with bluster thinking that what was needed was more authority and discipline….
and not having a clue what they were walking into.
I hated them then but not today. I understand so much better.
Men also do not want to show their fear as you will note in today’s segment, The Nineteenth Day
Semper fi, and thanks so much.
Jim
Wow!
Rank and stupidity outweigh wisdom and experience ever time doesn’t it? I can understand it in the rear but not in this situation. Junior went through it with the Gunny, why can’t these idiots see it? The old adage of some senior officer in the rear having a brain fart of an idea and no one questioning the consequences of that idea…….
And Stars and Stripes? In the A Shau? Uh huh….
Another great segment.
James,
I wanted you to know that I just ordered all 4 of your books from Amazon.
Keep them coming.
Ken
Ok, James.
As an update I just cancelled my order due to a bit of deceptive verbiage on the Amazon website.
No reflection on me wanting the books. I will still buy them just a little ticked at Amazon after all the stuff I have bought from them.
Is there another way to purchase them without going through Amazon?
I understand your frustration, Ken.
And value your support.
My books can also be ordered from Barnes&Noble stores for home delivery
or Directly online
Barnes&Noble-James Strauss
Appreciate you and all of the the other fans.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you, Ken
Semper fi,
Jim
All 4 books ordered through Barnes and Noble.
Thanks Ken, that’s the preferred source right now since Amazon is a bit screwed up.
Thanks for that compliment!
Semper fi,
Jim
There was a huge barrier between the reality of what was going on in combat
and what was going on in the rear.
They had alcohol. They had a lot of drugs.
They had air-conditioning and shelter.
Who in hell wanted to go out camping in the monsoons with the NVA
in a riddled, animal and plant infested hell? Think about it.
The guys in the rear weren’t so dumb. I know. I wanted to be one!
Semper fi,
Jim
Just read it LT. Wow, the tension. Company acting as one right now against the interlopers who just flew in. Gotta wonder how battalion gets the idea you guys are FUBARd. I can’t figure it out. SOMEONE is telling them that’s the case.
Jim
It’s not that they thought we were fucked up, Jim. I don’t believe that. It’s that they didn’t care and didn’t want to be shipped
out with us. We were more abandoned than anything else.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just when I think I’ve read it all….there you come…AGAIN!
Thanks Paul, for that compliment. Here’s nother segment today…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sounds like the Gates of Hell are about to be opened wider.
Just as I was trying to get the hell out of the hell of the southern part of the valley,
the hell of the north part opened up…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another outstanding segment…I didn’t see that one coming…all the choppers and support…you do seem to have the horseshoe stuck in you somewhere…and now another group of FNGs to deal with…not sure what freshly trained special forces guys from stateside will be able to accomplish…stateside training could not simulate jungle combat…it’s a shame they didn’t send a special forces unit with several tours experience…but that was the army way…I anxiously await the next segment…
There were no special forces units, or any other for that matter,
that had several tours of combat behind them.
That is mythology. That is wishful thinking.
If you had one tour most of your men were dead, the ones you started with.
Or so badly fucked up they were sent home. Multiple tours were mostly spent in the rear areas.
You went to the field and you got the number one learning tool of combat…
Death.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well…I obviously wasn’t special forces but I had a friend that was there as a sniper on special forces LRRP team for 3 tours…I just assumed there were others like him…and yes, he is that one that drank himself to death a couple of years ago that we spoke about it months back…
Three tours does not mean three tours in combat no matter what your MOS or assignment.
First tours were 13 months. Second and third would have been for six months each, if memory serves me.
I am not here to demean returning vets who did multiple tours. I am just indicating that in my experience and my
experience only, there was almost zero likelihood that anyone could survive more than one tour in actual combat.
Semper fi,
Jim
One of the best novels I’ve read in my 70 years…
I consider that a great honor.
Thank you James.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir ,I like reading your story ,Had two brothers ,uncle and cousins in Nam ,I served in the Seabees from 72 -75 and didn’t have to go .My dad was in the Navy in WW2.Reading your story makes me wonder how they all survived .Great read .
You survive by avoiding contact with the enemy. Each contact shortens your odds that you will survive it.
Even our own supporting fires were pretty indiscriminate when it came to who got hit.
On a real battlefield modern weaponry is so vicious and penetrating.
We are such delicate sacks of water.
Thanks for the comment…and your family service…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great drag us along through the mud chapter. Can’t believe they decided to send Stars and Stripes for a photo op into a combat zone like that. Anxiously awaiting the next installment.
They sent the media out all the time, apparently. They’d fly in and mostly film themselves
shooting into the bush and then they’d fly out.
Semper fi,
Jim
You could always expect to be put down by idiots that had not ben there. So after a while you just let them kill them selves and their men. Another great segment. Don’t Mean Nothing. I don’t know where that statement came from but it did help after it was over.
Yes, the depth of that phrase is something again. And they weren’t so idiotic as they were inexperienced and unknowing because there was
no Thirty Day for them to read before going in. And if there had been they probably would not have believed it. The comments here are what give credibility to the story, not the story itself.
Semper fi,
Jim
That my friends Is why they call it a DOG AND PONY show and in the military that is not good!
Too true Dan, and I appreciate the comment on here about it.
Semper fi,
Jim
use gots to be kiddin me— Wrong song!- shoulda been Fools walk in!!
Good point Russ,
Here you go.
Every one comes new & are an know it all. Bunch of a – holes?
They were just trying to survive and could not or would not see what was in front of them.
Pitiable, so many times.
Semper fi,
Jim
Spent 6 years there, this story bring back a lot of memories…
Thanks Warren, for your comment and the compliment buried in them…
Semper fi,
Jim
Check your spelling Clews vs. Crews. Love the writing, been onboard since the start.
Noted and corrected,
Thanks Brent.
Semper fi
Jim
Jim, spelling typo, Dave.
The good news kept coming, as the Skyraiders came screaming down the valley once more, while the Cobras literally backed their way up above the eastern lip of the valley cliff to wait their turn when the (ffixed-wing) were done.=> (fixed-wing)
=> Three choppers arrive: 2 army 47s and 1 marine 46. Will re-read next chapter, regarding choppers..
Noted and corrected, Dave
Thanks