The shelf running just down from, and alongside the top of, the mountain’s descending ridge eventually played out. The company once more trudged through the jungle under a barely seen double canopy of heavy brush, bamboo stands, hanging vines and cutting saw grass with umbrella-like layers of tree foliage. The moon glowed distantly above, hardly visible through the mess of foliage and flora.
My body and mind were run through with deep fatigue. If I had been hunting alone, headed back to my car or truck in the real world, I knew I’d drop my pack and belt and leave them behind, intent only on making it back to safety. But I was bound for the A Shau Valley and if any, even one, of the reports I’d heard about it were true, then it was one of the ugliest and most perilous destinations on the planet for a human being to go and attempt to survive. When I’d read Dante’s Inferno in college, I’d laughed at the old English language descriptions of gargoyles, devils and demons. What I’d never felt was the reality of a fear so deep that it was powerful enough to drive back the brutal fatigue, and even reason itself.
“Not so bad…it’s not so bad,” I whispered to myself, thankful that I could hear myself again following the hours-old artillery barrage I’d brought down further up the mountain.
“Sir?” Fusner said, scurrying up from behind like an eight-year-old kid trying to take care of his dad.
“Nothing,” I said, making sure there was no bite in my tone.
My armpits hurt from the old layered sweat dried, and re-wet in my utility blouse. My crotch hurt the same way. I was covered in old oils and mud, and we were coming down out of the cooler air accompanied by slight, but oh-so-welcome, winds. The mosquitoes were back, although not in force. I’d had no food or water all night long and what passed for rest up on the plateau, waiting to be attacked, could not be defined as rest at all, no matter how it might have looked. Every time I thought of myself as a miserable mess, I knew I was soon to become more of a miserable mess just by thinking about it.
The Gunny appeared in front of me, easing back, probably to see if I and the scout team were still there. The Gunny was herding his chicks along, I knew, which just added to the feeling, or lack of one, that I’d ever command anything in the Nam.
“Do we have flank security out on the left?” I asked him. Small patrols of Marines were supposed to be extended out from the main unit along the line of travel of any moving combat unit.
“Right,” the Gunny said, across a few feet of passing jungle, as we moved. “Nobody’s going out there. This isn’t the open wooded and pastoral Virginia land of your training. Nobody’s going out there to die.”
I looked behind us, realizing right then that there was no rear security either. If the angry half-mangled enemy had sent out a party to attack the rear of the company while we traveled toward the A Shau Valley, the place they had to know we were going, then I and my scout team would become the first very vulnerable targets of their attack. I wondered how it was possible to put into practice any of the principles learned in training, principles there because of bitterly hard-learned lessons of the past, if the Marines could not be ordered or commanded. If survival considerations were only applied to the present instant, then what of the future, even the near future? I determined that I would attempt to not only make future moves in a different place deeper inside the company, but would find a way to make sure that flank security was always out. Without flank security, warning of an impending attack, the entire company could be totally wiped out.
“Probably less than an hour out,” the Gunny said, before moving ahead to check on the rest of his flock, or so I thought.
My spirits began to lift as I moved, the waning light of the partial full moon fading to be replaced by an invisible dawn diffusion of light coming from up ahead. We were heading due east into the rising sun, toward a dead end that would be defined by the lip of the river cut A Shau chasm.
“The A Shau can’t be as bad as this,” I murmured to myself, only to draw another inquiring “Sir?” from Fusner.
The mosquitoes loved perspiration. They had no problem biting my face and hands while I moved. I pulled my repellent out of my helmet rubber band and ‘cleaned’ my face and neck with the awful stuff. I looked at over-burdened Zippo, lumbering along not far from me. He didn’t use the repellent. He slathered on the mud from under our feet. He claimed it worked better, but he looked like some creature from the Blue Lagoon movie. Whatever discomfort I got from wearing the utility blouse in the heat was returned in some comfort by the fact that the mosquitoes couldn’t bite through the tough cotton of its manufacture.
Dawn was breaking by the time we reached the natural edge of the jungle. A clearing extended out from that broken line all the way to the edge of a great cliff. The Gunny set up the company’s first security perimeter since we’d left the position up on the mountain. I was relieved. I’d already learned how hard-bitten tough the Vietnamese enemy was, and I didn’t doubt at all the capability of its leadership or ability of NVA units to take hard hits. The company had only escaped taking heavy casualties by pulling bizarre and unexpected moves, and getting some perfectly fired artillery. How long that might be continued was anybody’s guess.
I shed my pack near the tree line, and threw down my poncho before walking over to the lip of the cliff to stand next to the Gunny.
“Holy shit,” I breathed out.
“Looks are deceiving,” the Gunny replied, cupping his hand to light a cigarette against the light wind rising up over the edge.
“Holy shit,” I said again, the scene so stunningly beautiful that I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I’d been raised in Hawaii, and because of my father’s Coast Guard position, I’d traveled to all of the islands. There were some beautiful valleys on those islands but I’d never stood at the top of one of them and looked down the expanse of the whole thing at one time. The river below was a brown and blue ribbon, glinting occasionally as the water shifted and moved. The walls of the great gently sloping sides of the the valley were covered in green growth of all kinds and hues. There were little canyons feeding into the main canyon in many places, and heaving round-topped mountains rose up from different points along the valley’s entire length.
“Resupply is going to roll in,” the Gunny said. “It’s a weird run because command said our mission to enter the valley will be on the chopper. Usually they just tell us. What shitty crap do they have up their sleeves this time?”
“It looks empty down there,” I said, having nothing to add about the coming resupply drop.
“B-52’s have dumped hundreds of thousands of pounds of bombs down into that,” the Gunny said, blowing smoke out to let the wind sweep it back over our heads. “You see any evidence?”
I ran my eyes slowly up and down the valley, and then did it again, even slower. “There’s no evidence at all,” I answered, shaking my head.
“The A Shau eats everything that enters,” the Gunny said, snapping the butt of his cigarette into the air. Unlike the smoke, the butt went up, out and then plunged down, like it’d been grabbed by a small invisible hand.
“ A Shau is a dead valley predator and it wants more dead for company, except mosquitoes, snakes and crocodiles.”
The Gunny turned and walked back toward where the company was setting up to receive the hoped and prayed for resupply chopper.
“Crocodiles?” I whispered into the wind.
“Crocodiles?” Fusner repeated, from just behind me.
I didn’t know there were crocodiles in Vietnam, but I didn’t want to let Fusner know that so I let it go. Each day in the Nam was like getting a barely passing grade in some arcane and painful college course.
“If you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes back at you.” I quoted from some philosopher I’d read somewhere.
There was a delay of a few seconds before Fusner replied. “What’s an abyss?”
I felt the throbbing beat of distant helicopter blades working their way toward us. Even at a great distance, I could already tell that there was more than one chopper, and that one of them was a big CH-46 or 47. The welcome resupply was about to come in. I pulled myself away from the gorgeous vista and hurried toward my stuff, to secure it from the hundred-mile-an-hour winds that would blast out from under the big chopper when it landed.
For the first time since I’d landed in country there were no body bags stacked and waiting for the chopper, and I smiled a very faint smile of pride. The giant twin-rotor helicopter came gliding in, moving a lot faster than it seemed. Two Huey Cobras flew shotgun, the crews obviously enjoying diving down into the valley and then screaming upward to veer in low and fast over the landing zone. Debris flew about, as the CH-47 flight engineer set his crew to work running boxes and other gear down the rear ramp that had flopped down on the hard lichen-covered rock surface below. The twin rotors kept spinning at high speed. The process of unloading only took a few minutes. At the end of that time three Marines in rear area utilities, including flak jackets, walked down the ramp before ducking down as the monster chopper spooled up and lifted from the flat surface at the top of the cliff. In seconds all the choppers, plunging down into the valley, were just fast-fading blade-slapping echoes.
I stared at the three men, my eyes going wide. The first real smile of my tour began to stretch its way across my face. The black bars on the Marine’s helmets were clearly visible. A captain and two lieutenants. The company was getting real officers. I didn’t move. The Gunny came out of nowhere, strode past me, and went out to greet the new officers. I heard Captain Casey, and First Lieutenants Billings and Keating, introduce themselves. The Gunny pointed back to where I stood, still gaping, with Fusner, Stevens, Zippo and Nguyen lined up next to me.
The three officers walked toward me. I inhaled deeply. I didn’t know what to say. Would they want the company’s condition explained, or knowledge about the night’s countering of the NVA attack or even the state of our supplies?
“You’d be Junior,” Captain Casey said, his face hard and his tone even harder. The first lieutenants formed up behind Casey, spreading out slightly, like fighter planes supporting the leader of a combat squadron. I noted the Gunny slowly backing away, until he disappeared from my focus.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, almost coming to attention, but not quite.
Casey turned his attention to the scout team. “You’d be Sergeant Stevens, I’m told. Stand at ease, Sergeant. You’re now my Scout Sergeant, with your little assistant there.” The Captain pointed toward Nguyen, before turning back to me. “You can keep the radio man, Junior. The Gunny won’t need one anymore so I’ll take his. And you,” he pointed toward Zippo, “you’ll be heading for one of the platoons just as soon as we take care of this racial thing. The Captain scowled at me again. “How in hell you managed to get a race war going in this company, Junior, is the kind of stuff that’ll be written up for future training commands.”
The Captain pointed at me with his right index finger extended.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, nearly struck dumb, my mind having gone blank as he finished the last few words about the problems with First and Fourth platoons.
“We need to talk,” Captain Casey said, approaching to within a few feet of me. I had to lean back a bit to look up at him. I was a little less than five nine, which put him at about six foot three, or maybe a touch more, I calculated. He wore the new jungle utilities and boots I’d only hoped to one day acquire, as did his supporting lieutenants. “Step this way,” he ordered, and then walked back toward the edge of the cliff.
I had already assumed that my place was to say nothing. I walked next to the captain, knowing I wasn’t going to be asked any questions. I was going to be told what to do. That was the way it was supposed to be in the command structure of a regular Marine unit. There were no excuses. You did what you were ordered to do or paid the price.
When we came to the edge of the abyss he stopped and turned, staring deeply into my eyes. He said nothing, instead pulling a pack of Camel cigarettes from his blouse pocket and a small box of C-ration matches. I waited, glancing surreptitiously down the face of the cliff. I figured it was about four hundred feet down to the forest bracken below. It was not a survivable fall. I looked back at the Captain and figured he probably weighed about two-twenty, or so.
“You fucked up your first, and probably only command, Junior,” he said, facing out over the vastness of the valley below. “Now we’re going to run this company by the book. You disobeyed a direct order to take Hill 110. You refused a direct order from Captain Mertz by ignoring it, and you’ve used up about a quarter of all the artillery supplies in the whole damned area, plus calling in the Army to do Marine Corps work. How can I say this? You haven’t even had a decent kill ratio. Your company has more casualties than all the other companies of the battalion put together.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, not knowing what else to say. The Captain inhaled and blew out smoke three more times, before going on.
“Finally, this whole war is being fought using the rules of engagement. Have you ever even heard of the rules of engagement?”
“I heard that there’s a copy of them on a special podium in Division Headquarters,” I replied. “I think I saw them there on my first night.” Unlike the Captain, I kept my voice flat and emotionless. I looked at our relative positions on the lip of the crevasse. I was just to the left and a little behind him. I knew I could handle his two-twenty fairly deftly. I looked back toward where I’d tossed my stuff and saw almost the whole company making believe it wasn’t watching the show at the edge of the cliff. What would happen to the company if Casey took a fall?
“You’re now the forward observer,” the Captain said, turning to face me.
“And that’s all you are. You can have your radio operator to reach the artillery net but you don’t fire a single round without my pre-approval and you don’t fire on anything or anybody I don’t order you to, and that sure as hell includes our own men. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, wondering how many times I’d said the only words I’d spoken to the man, and how many times I’d have to say them again.
“You’re dismissed,” the captain said, but I didn’t walk away because he kept talking.
“I’m going to separate and blend in the blacks with the whites in all the platoons before nightfall. The two problem platoon commanders, the shake and bakes, are reduced to squad leaders or even fire team leaders if their new commanders so choose.”
I stood waiting, again not knowing what to do or say.
“Any questions?” Captain Casey said, although he didn’t say the words like they were a question, or that he welcomed any.
“How do you know what’s going on in the company, sir?” I asked, truly befuddled. The radio contact with battalion command was extremely slight, and controlled up until now by the Gunny.
“The daily reports, of course,” the captain snorted. “Rittenhouse has filed very accurate and detailed reports on all of this crap.”
I was stunned to silence, once more.
“You’re dismissed…again,” the captain said, with a wave of his hand, which had to mean he really meant it this time, I guessed.
I walked over to my gear, which had been blown about ten feet by the chopper’s down draft. I gathered my stuff together, aware that Zippo and Stevens were getting their own together. I didn’t know what to say to them so I just made believe I was working away setting up my own hooch. When I looked up both men were gone. I felt an ache inside me I could not quite place. Fusner built his own little hooch next to mine, placing it closer, like he’d done when he was afraid of the snakes. Nguyen sat on one edge of his laid down poncho in his tight cross-legged pose that only natives could pull off for any extended period of time. I wondered if he’d gotten the word that he wasn’t my Kit Carson scout anymore.
I finished building my hooch by myself. I laid out my poncho cover like it was a little flat porch. I was thankful that the ground was not wet mud for a change. For some reason, possibly because of the wind coming up over the edge of the cliff, the mosquitoes were all but gone. I could not see where the Captain and his two First Lieutenants had gone off to bivouac, and I didn’t much care either. It was daytime, but the company wasn’t going anywhere without some kind of rest. Fusner hauled in a big plastic bottle of water and a load of my ham and lima beans. I had water but was no longer thirsty. I had food but was no longer hungry. And I could rest but I could not rest. I sat with my legs up and knees spread, with my elbows lying on my knees. Fusner’s transistor radio played some blues piece: “…sittin’ here resting my bones, and this loneliness won’t leave me alone, two thousand miles I roam just to make this dock my home…” while I stared out over the beauty of the A Shau stretching out below.
The Gunny came striding through the bush behind me, and then sat down on the other edge of my poncho liner. He immediately went to work making a canteen holder of coffee. He tossed a packet of the instant stuff at my feet. Fusner appeared next to him with a holder filled with some of the new fresh water. I didn’t really want coffee, but I wasn’t going to interrupt whatever was going on. I began to make a cup for myself, using the Gunny’s flaming explosive chunk when he was done with it.
“Rittenhouse,” I said, softly.
“Yeah, I heard,” the Gunny replied. “That’s a problem that’ll be taken care of post haste.”
I knew then that the Gunny hadn’t thought about the potential of daily reports going back to command and the necessity of making sure of what was in them before they went off. It wasn’t the Gunny who’d filed the reports. I tried not to show my relief.
“The three knights of the orient look real good,” the Gunny said, between sips of his too hot coffee.
I checked out the Gunny’s gear, taking a sip of my own coffee. He looked a bit more tattered than I did, if that was possible.
“Nice boots,” I commented.
“What size do you wear?” the Gunny replied.
I laughed out loud for the first time since arriving in Vietnam.
“Jurgens and Sugar Daddy want to see you,” the Gunny said, after he stopped laughing himself.
“You’re kidding,” I said, with a sigh. “Now what? Are those guys ever going to lighten up, or do I have to climb into a body bag to make that happen?”
The Gunny lit another cigarette instead of answering right away. I waited. In only a few minutes I’d lost my whole scout team, been reduced to even less of an officer than I’d been before, and then blamed for every misstep of the company, past and present. On top of that, it was all on paper back at battalion, not that it mattered much with my lousy prospects for continuing to live.
“There was an old Chinese general who once said that the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” the Gunny said, blowing a big cloud of smoke out toward the lip of the A Shau.
I drank my coffee with my right hand. My left started to shake a bit so I reached down to massage my thigh with it. I felt the letter inside the pocket. I’d forgotten to send my letter home when resupply lifted off. For the second time. I looked out over the beauty of the A Shau and became afraid again. I was afraid that Vietnam was claiming me. Slowly, ever so slowly, back home was being pried loose from me like one narrow board after another in the disassembly of an old farmhouse.
End of the First Ten Days
Moving on to Second 10 Days>>>>>>>>>
LT,
If all the “actual” combat vets could sit down for a discussion of what they saw and what they did, there would be a lot of common denominators. What would also happen is that there would be a lot of never heard of that!no S)&it!! I’ll be damned!
We all fought a nasty, brutal war that we never had a chance at winning. Some incredibly inept officers, and some out to make a name for themselves.
I think those of us who made it home, left part of our selves there. I live under the flight path National Guard helicopters, invariably as they pass over and I suddenly hear them, I’ll have a flash back. Instantly I’m back in
Vietnam. Your writing does the same thing, keep it up. Slowly but surely I will be able to have a day or two when I don’t think about the war or the horror.
Funny, I spent 13 months at war
46 years ago, and it’s affect has never left, I am still learning how to deal with it.
Ps, don’t worry about the editing,
We know what you meant!!
Dave, you will always be at war, in one way or another because of your nature.
This is a hard planet to make it on. What with the three and a half million years it’s taken
humans to just get this far, you get an idea. You are genetically set up to fight the hard fight and
there’s no quit in you. I’m sorry for you and happy for you. You are a real mover and shaker or you
would not feel the way you do. And telling you that isn’t going to bring you closer to acceptance
and peace either because there’s neither of those things inside you. But there is intellect, understanding,
knowledge and humor about the whole fucking rolling thing of this life. Glad you are on my bus….
Semper fi,
Jim
MORNING SIR, As a VIET NAM ARMY r.t.o. 1965-66 i have a nagging question. Was the fear of your own troops real or imagined? ALSO,did your thinking on that change after leaving the bush?
Any leader who is not afraid of what his or her troops might do to them, for them, and
wth then in combat, is going to get exactly what he or she deserves, or inexperience serves up.
And all units are different, from one another in many respects. When I got home I was still afraid, and that was after damn near a year in
the hospitals, away from them. I had to return to command while awaiting a disability board, and my fear of
my own men back in barracks caused me to treat them in ways that were not good for any of us in the real world.
My 1st Sergant took me aside one day and said: “You’re not in Vietnam anymore, sir.” Only after I got out did what he said really
sink in. Thanks for the sincere comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding.. A great help to better understand my younger friends whose experiences have formed who they are today.. As a “peacetime” sailor of the 50s, I have nothing to draw on when trying to understand . Your writing lends a basis for the conversations we have had regarding their time in country..
It took me awhile to understand that ” it dont mean nuthin’ “
Thanks for the big compliment and also for gaining an understanding of what it was and is really like.
Hard to bring people in on that unless you tell the whole story with all the nits, pits and details, which is what I
am trying to do. thanks for the encouragement and writing this apropos comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
USMC. 0311. Of 39 months in country, I found myself staying one day for over a years at a place they said God had forgotten about, Few clicks south of the DMZ. Khe Sanh Fire Base…7 Feb. 67 /March 68 The red clay dust just couldn’t be, believed. It seem to get in everthing we had. Even threw our screw on lids of our canteens… Been threw the A Shau Valley a few times on my first two sleep overs in RVN. LOL.. Love your story,, A belated Welcome Home, Brother As Alway; Just Sgt.
Thank you most kindly James. It is certainly good to be living in the land of the round eyes, as we used
to refer to it before more politically correct language was called for. Thanks for liking the story
and for making that known on this comment section….
Semper fi,
Jim
When I was young a few vets I knew came home and now I understand what the little sticker on his window meant , it read ” yea,though I walk through the valley of death I shall fear no evil because I’m the meanest muther fucked in the valley ” and I guess you had to be to survive.
You had to be lucky Scott. And you had to be very very intensively aware of the
slightest nuance or change. Paying attention was so hard what with the insects, the weather,
the mud, and so much more.
Thanks for the comment,
Semper fi,
Jim
I really like your writing style James it’s like two old buddies sitting down and talking about the shit
Nice compliment Donnie. Much appreciated. I guess it is me telling the tale to you guys every night.
Thanks for reading me and taking the time and trouble to say something.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, is this book for sale? I didn’t see a place to purchase it from your website. I’m currently writing a gritty young adult fiction novel. One of the main characters is a retired Marine Master Sergeant who refers to his time in Vietnam often. I’m looking for resources to help me tell his story accurately. Thank you.
We will be publishing “First 10 Days” within the week (hopefully) In Kindle and Paperback.
Always FREE to to read on-line.
I was a part of the very first evac of A SHAU vally air strip air field in 1965. It was HELL flying in there on HUEY’S M-60 running so hard the barrel’s began to bend. It is still all in the back of my mind where I hope it stays!!! (VMO-2 MAG 16 USMC Air wing)
Changing barrels on that M-60 after the glove has been lost was a bitch!
Thanks for your report on your 1965 entry into that place.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I enjoyed your publication. I was in Vietnam from August of 68 to Jan 70. I was not a grunt on the ground where the hell truly was. I served in MAG-16, Marine Air Group 16, with several squadrons in, around, & out of Marble Mountain. I won’t discount my efforts or actions. But I knew for the most part if we could survive the insertions & extractions supporting these guys. We felt like we were lucky, because we weren’t going to be there in that hell on the ground. I’m not saying there weren’t many anxious, scared as all hell, heroing, moments of hell. It was the going into & picking up the aftermath & remenets of an operation.
I couldn’t agree more about the beauty of the country from the scenic view of a helicopter.
The photo with your article is a Marine CH-46 Sea Knight. I think it may be from squadron HMN-263 Purple FOX’s
Keep up your good work. It is one way this “Old Vietnam Vet” can reflect on mine & others participation & part of a “Brotherhood”
th wore world has told us about the CH-46 confusion. One of my people was not a veteran and
took that photo off the Internet to illustrate a chapter. Wow. Do the guys on here know their shit? Yes!
Anyway, thanks for commenting and liking the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Am enjoying your writing. Spent my time in II Corp 1967-1969. U.S. Army. Keep writing, it has the making of a good book.
Thanks Terry, I am all over it, putting up another segment right now and then
getting back to it as I spend this weekend getting the first novel “The First Ten Days,”
ready for publishing. Thanks for your interest and the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
The “Captain” in your story very much reminds me of a story I heard many years ago….
I’m not a vet, however I was taught my trade by a vet, a tough vet who fought his way across Europe in the second world war.
He was a sergeant.
During the few years I spent with him (40 years after the war when he taught me my trade), I heard a lot of “War stories.”
Sometimes after a story or two, he’d say “Can’t talk about this anymore, still get nightmares.”
Once, driving to one job or another, we saw a torn-up rabbit with it’s guts strewn along the road. I said “Ugh,” he said, “Imagine seeing a man looking like that.”
He talked of snipers and shelling and utter exhaustion; I got the picture.
When the war in Europe ended, he was at one base or another with rumors that plans were underway for redeployment of troops for the coming invasion of Japan, but we know how that ended (Some people today question the morality for using “The bomb.” I remember asking him what he thought when news came that the bomb was dropped. He was elated, he said fighting the “Nazi” was enough. He used that word, “Nazi.” He said the German was “Friendly,” the Nazi, “Fanatic”).
Back at the at the one base or another at the end of the war, he was approached by a snot-nosed Lieutenant, the smart-ass with polished boots and a starched uniform who hadn’t seen combat, the one who carried an attitude like some sort of medal he’d earned. The lieutenant said something a smart-ass would say, and since there wasn’t a nearby cliff to push him off, the sergeant crushed the lieutenant’s face with his fist.
After surviving the battlefield of Europe, the sergeant now feared court-martial by his own government. The way I remember the story, nothing became of it, he mustered out, returned home, married, had kids and taught myself and a few others “Tricks of the trade….”
Sergeant Martin F. Bohla, WW2, United States Army
He was buried with full military honors, he is not forgotten, he was my friend and I was his student.
As I continue to repeat, Macsone, the non-coms were and are the backbone and very fiber of the corps.
Putting up with new officers can be a most trying thing to go through as so many times in life experience
triumphs over textbook learning in spades. Thanks for the lenthy and meaningful comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was in the A Shaw 1969 with the 101st Airborne. Your accounts of the war experience are right on. After awhile with fear and exhaustion, and not knowing if you where going to make it through the day, seeing death all around, the only thing you can say is, “it don’t mean nothing” It was a way to deal with the insanity of it.
That is a very true comment, Gene. I remember that phrase well.
Of course it all had meaning and that meaning moves with everyone who lived right through
the core of their lives. Thank you for taking the time and trouble to comment and for reading the work,
Semper fi,
Jim
For you, LT… It Takes strength to remember
it takes a different kind of strength to forget,
It requires heroism to do both.
To remember is to court the madness
of too much pain;
to forget is to court the madness
of the denial of pain.
The world is full of madmen
who remember too much…
and madmen who forget too much.
Heroes are rare.
You again. Hmmmm. With a touching and thematic poem, no less. A brilliant short piece
but then you had to be that to come out of that program and vault to the heights of intellectual achievement.
Now you sit, retired, and write poetry…and what else. Those with PTSD never know true rest, like the remainder of
unbloodied humanity. Thanks for the writing on here as it makes more than just my day. A lot of the guys read these
comments along with me. These comments have more credibility than my story by far and I do not deny any of them because of
what they might say.
Semper fi
Again,
Jim
It’s difficult to explain what’s in my mind now, but I’ll try…
It’s shocking how the brass knew (or must have known) what kind of mess you were ordered into, yet they assigned you the blame anyway. Sad to say, same thing happens today as well.
Thank you for sharing the history with us. My wish is that future generations know if what happens in the event of command failure (you were not that failure of course), and the importance of the higher ups taking responsibility for their actions.
SEMPER FI
Not so shocking, as you see from the comments how many other men who served in that
war suffered at the hands of terrible management and command. Catch 22 caught me in
years later when I read it and saw the movie. It was so spot on but different because
most of that took place in the rear area. Thanks for your comment and the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
Spent 68-70 with the 173 rd. Lz English and other places. Tough shit. Reading this and the problems encountered almost makes me chuckle. I know, it was no joke but, shit, there were days that if we didn’t laugh we’d cry. I mean. The “c” , camels. I use to hide just hearing a chopper. Knowing it would draw fire. Your writing is good and knowing.
You could not be more correct Jorgen. Now, in writing it I get the gallows humor in the experience
too although I have to admit I could find little humor in it at the time. Thanks for writing what you think
here and also in hanging around to see how the story is playing out.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jorgen, the 61st Assault Helicopter Company has built a Library in Bong Son. We have visited the LZ English Airstrip a couple times—-a still in tact and well-built landing strip by American Engineers.
I have a couple pictures (1967-68 & 2015 and 2016) to send you if you are interested. Thanks John for this monument to the guys of the Ashau Valley. We have made 23 “Returns to Bong Son” on the Library Project funded by Vets, family & friends of the 61st. The 173rd is well known and appreciated, sited as a supported unit of the 61st in a small self-published book, 2nd Edition recounting the Citizen Soldiers of Vietnam and LZ English, of which you are one. We will publish this 2nd Edition in the next few weeks. If you have a few pictures of the 173rd ‘back in the day’ we sure would appreciate being able to incorporate a few in the subsequent Editions, with the name of the person who took them recognized of course.
Thank you for the compliment and I would love to have whatever you send but I have
not photos from the time. I had no camera during that time, but I really appreciate seeing
the work of others from then in that place. Thank you and I look forward to hearing more from you.
And thanks for reading my story and commenting here.
Semper fi
Jim
When I was in the Air Force I met some good officers and I met some bad. The Lt. Col. of my supply squadron was a good officer. He put me on the snow removal team because that entitled me to a superb cold weather parka and he must’ve looked at my skinny self and figured I could use a warm coat. The captain of the company, on the other hand, was a jerk. We used to call him “Roger Ramjet”. He never lifted a finger to help any of his enlisted men, but was always quick to give us grief when he had the chance. From you writing I figure you were like the Lt. Col.
James: please keep telling the entire story and don’t pull any punches. Americans need to hear things like this.
A typo? “The Gunny was herding his chicks along, I knew, which just added to the feeling, or lack of one, that I’d ever (should it be “never”?) command anything..”
Actually, both of those uses would be acceptable, I think. Both speak to the issue
of never commanding anything, although using ‘never’ might be more definitive.
Thanks for taking the time to bring it up and I will be sure to be reminded when
I go through for the final edit for Amazon. Anyway, thanks a ton for the encouragement.
If it was not for guys like you writing in I am not sure I would be where I am in the story.
The next segment is a particularly difficult one and those take extra effort emotionally.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
I was there in 69 and part of 70 with the 3rd Marines up around the DMZ and later when they were pulled out in September/October, I was transfer to the 1st Marine Division south of Da Nang. My purpose in writing is to let you know that the units I was in was much different that what you were dropped into. All platoons were integrated and we did not have any problem in the field. We knew we needed each other to survive. I do no recall any problems with race. It was different when we got back to the rear. The RFMs had the time on their hands to engage in this type of activities. Back in the rear I did hear rumors of fragging, but not in the field.
I did not enjoy my time in Nam but did love my brothers who helped get me back. I am sorry that you got dropped into a bad situation with such a dysfunctional unit. I’m glad I did not. By the way I was an 0311.
Thanks so much for sharing your story and glad you made it back. Semper Fi
I do not expect that it was the same everywhere. It was so vital as to what unit you pulled, where and what was
going on at the time. So many little wars inside the big one. Fragging in the field was almost never listed as that because who was going to list it?
In the field it was all KIA, WIA, or nothing. No daily report discussed friendly fire because no clerk wanted to die over the data transmission.
Not that I knew, anyway. Rittenhouse wrote shitty enough stuff without that. I can’t presume that things were the same everywhere though.
Thanks for the straight shot across the bows. And thanks for liking what I am trying to write.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was a Cavalry rotor head, I flew slicks, B-227AHB 1st Cav. Div. 70-72 I flew some support for you Jarheads, Some very good people, some not so good, Flying gave me a very broad sample of the war, and yes, There were some units that had some very serious trouble, Both Army and Marines, Some outstanding officers, and some who needed a course in the real deal, Yes, There were always some rumors, With some actual experiences…. But not so much in the field, But if some one was really stupid, it seemed accidents happened.
You guys in those Huey choppers, especially the slow slicks, were something else.
I so remember how the pilots could make those things jink, jerk and dive at will.
Astounding skills demonstrated under the most dangerous of circumstance. Thank you,for myself
and all the guys who you resupplied and then pulled their bacon out of the fire.
Semper fi,
Jim
We took great pride in supporting you guys on the ground no finer men than you grunts in the dirt, Semper Fi!
Love your story, I can vouch for everything you have described, I saw the results, To many were carried out in the back of my slick.
Bob
Thanks Robert. It was a meat and mind grinder and I thank you for your support.
The way it is going in the story’s development it would be hard not to buy into it, I think.
Too many details to be fictional but who knows once the trolls get a hold of it.
Thank you for being true blue, now and back then when it really counted.
Semper fi,
Jim
They promised us that the best flight in the world was ‘leaving the jungle with a door seat while flying ‘NOE’ on the way back’. Never got my promised ride…
Roy. I got your ride. Nap of the earth doesn’t even cover it. We had the hydraulics shot out
of our Huey and they could not get any altitude. We chopped jungle shit all the way down the mountain until
the clearing before An Hoa. I, of course, was way screwed up so didn’t enjoy the ride like you might have.
Thanks for missing out on that ride. The other guys “saved” that day didn’t make it.
Semper fi, and thanks for the sharing….
Jim
Check, “Creature from Blue Lagoon”, should be “Black Lagoon”. Brooke Shields never did Mud, just sandy beaches. Enjoying your book, endeavor to persevere.
Yeah, it should have been black lagoon but my brain changed it because of the passage of time.
Man, just using a photo of a CH-47 instead of a 46 caused a lot of guys to short out. The friend of mine
who did that was not in the military or the Nam. Oh well, you can only check so much. Hell, I have the guys to keep me straight!
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I think the comments you get on your story speaks volumes and your answers are as great as the story. I am craving more. I must be one sick sob. For your record and for your readers there is a great website for info on Marine Helos in Vietnam, http://www.popasmoke.com
The squadrons are broke down by Aircraft type, typical missions, designation, and call signs. ie, CH 45, HMM-364, Purple Foxes, call sign “Swift”. H means Helicopter, M means Marine, M means Medium.
HML, Hueys and Cobras…Helicopter Marine Light. CH 53’s Helicopter Marine Heavy or HMH.
When I came back from my Vietnam Tour, I was assigned to 1st Bat, 1st Marines, 1st Mar Div at Pendleton, Camp Horno. This was my only time in 6 yrs that I would actually be with a Marine Infantry Unit. Since the 1st just returned from Danang itself, we had a year of Court Martials, almost all drug related, race related, and some frag related. I saw the way things were. I am sorry you had to endure what you did. I know we all had higher ideals coming out of Quantico.
I was with 2/13 while I was processing out. I too sat on court martial after court martial
for the same problems coming home. I would not vote for conviction on any case. Period.
So I got transferred to a Civil Affairs unit where nobody could find my office until they dumped me
finally at the Nixon Compound in San Clement to be Marine liaison. They didn’t need any Marine contact
really though so I began my odyssey there working beach patrol…
Training was wonderful at Quantico and Fort Sill but the real world we entered into afterwards
only had a place for some of the analytical skills we learned and polished. There was zero preparation
for the rest of it.
Semper fi, and thanks Pat…
Jim
snafu fubar shit rolls downhill..etc etc etc….never ceased to amaze me that some dick in starched clean clothes and shined boots struts up..points a finger and tells you everything you have done wrong…having never put his shit in the wind….imagine it still is the same today..
Much more common over there then I expected and not too uncommon back in the states
either. I wonder if they should not do away with enlisted and officer being separate corps some day.
Just a smooth transition or branching off into specialties. I don’t know. I don’t know about today
because I am so long out. Thanks for bringing up the subject so well and so succinctly.
Semper fi,
Jim
You can get a lot of help from the old guys that have been there they know what’s going on . It’s hard for a new guy cameing in .
Try impossible for new guys to know anything. New guys are pre-set up not to be aware. Even guys coming in from the
rear area who might know some of it, can’t know until they are in it. And then it is too late. They get lucky or they get
dead. Simple. Thanks for your spot on comment. And the support and reading, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT,
I’ve written to you before, I am the submarine sailor (ex) whose Dad was a platoon leader Marine 2LT on Guadalcanal. My purpose in writing isn’t for a published comment on your writing, which, by the way, is mesmerizing. If this were in a book, I would read it straight through without putting it down.
The dysfunction you write about keeps making me wonder if this can possibly be true. I know it is presented as an accurate portrayal of your service but it is so far out from any kind of normal military operation it beggars the imagination…
My father eventually got around to telling me some of his war stories – I am now certain he was very selective about what he told me – and they included some rough events, but nothing like your experience.
When Dad got into his 70s he attended a reunion of the 1st Marine Division Guadalcanal veterans with my mother. Mom told me that his sergeant sought her out to tell her how much the men respected Dad and that “he got us safely through” their 5 months of combat on the canal.
Dad was 24 years old and had been through Platoon Leaders training during his college years at Ohio University before going through OCS after graduation. That was in the 1930s and he was a PFC in the USMCR so he proudly claimed he was part of “the old breed” prior to being commissioned.
After the war he stayed in the Reserves, made Major and finally resigned his commission just prior to the Korean war – he by then had three boys and figured he had done enough.
Dad won one of the first Navy and Marine Corps Medals for saving a downed F4 Wildcat fighter pilot who was shot down off Guadalcanal and unconscious, floating beside his plane. Dad rowed a rubber life raft 4 miles out under Jap machine gun fire to save the pilot.
I appreciate what you are writing both for the quality of the writing as well as the content.
Bob
Bob. Hey, I got one of those very rare Navy and Marine Corps Medals too! In fact, it is the one I am most
proud of. I actually deserved that one. Too bad they made the colors the same as the Combat Action Ribbon
and the medal is so rare (and the CAR so prevalent after Vietnam) that I could not wear the ribbon without
officers back in the states accuse me of having my ribbons in the wrong order! I finally gave up wearing
any ribbons at all. Can this story possibly be true? That you have to decide. It is probably best that I
waited so long to write it. Now, well, I just don’t care anymore. I just write the damned thing. Let God
sort out the rest. Thanks for the history of your Dad and writing so intimately. Means a lot.
Semper fi,
Jim
thanks, glad I found this site. Semper Fi
Thanks for finding this site Andrus. It is hard to get something out here and find anybody
to read it. Most people come over from my Facebook page and that is okay too.
Thanks for the read and the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
Thanks for writing this down for us. I served in the Air Force during your time in Viet Nam, but was in Italy, doing intelligence work. This was actually in support of you guys, but the two experiences certainly do not equate. I was not in danger. You have confirmed a lot of rumors I heard. Thank you for your service.
Bob
Thanks Bob, it was a little hard back in those days to think about anybody else anywhere
working on our behalf. Seemed like, except for artillery, air and some surrounding units, we were out
there all on our own. Thanks for you work, just about as unsung as our own.
And thanks for writing here and reading along…
Semper fi,
Jim
Excellent detail. I have no difficulty believing you at all. Clear as truth can get. Thank you, sir.
Thank you Ron. Hopefully, it is a story that gives some veterans out here the opportunity
to know they are not alone in what happened, nor are they alone in what they came home
to. Thanks for the comment, however short.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for the reply, and also for providing a clean description of the action without the actual profanity involved. Your realism and veracity in this dilemma both now and then, by taking us there with you, is much more helpful and healing than hearing conversations laced with the poisonous ‘F–‘ words that I am sure existed. Your literature is superb due to this, and the emphasis when used sparingly is better appreciated. Thanks for that especially.
You noticed! Yes, that word pre-dominated so much of all communication over there
and it got more prevalent the more intense things became. But its use in literature, as over there
at times, gets in the way of transmitting real emotions and the details of combat that help make it
so much more understandable and believable. I have used profanity a lot in my life and I used a lot of it
over there, but do we really need the reminding and constant repitition. I thought not. Thanks for noticing.
Semper fi,
Jim
James I was in a forward depot at Camp Holloway Sept66-67. Even though we were not in the field the loss of friends still hit close. My office was blown up with the loss of two men working at night stacking construction supplies. Must say our sergeants were incompetent in their job and in combat. Captain and the officers sat behind their tent and smoked pot all day. Our Lt. went to the depot to get away from the junk. Met a lot of guys from the 4th Div. became goods friends. They talked about their experiences in the field and your experiences sound so familiar. Great read and the replies are just as enlightening. keep writing can not put it down. Thanks
Thanks William. Another of those out here whom I knew nothing about.
I kind of always thought that my experience was so different that other vets
would think I was just full of it.
Not so.
While I a glad about that part I am also sorry that so many guys got screwed up, like me,
but this bizarre crap that occurred over there that didn’t have to occur.
In many ways, we did it to our own guys!
Thanks for the comment. And liking the story!
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great reading of the fact’s. The book soldering did not apply out there we had to adapt to overcome and survive out there. Your story remind’s me of a 1’st lieutenant that took over the leadership of our platoon A co. 2/nd 327’th inf 1’st bde 101’st ABN. 2’nd platoon. When he 1’st arrived with us those of us that survived 6 month’s he was quite arrogant. I can remember we all just kinda chuckled, because we knew he would be humbled once we got into the shit. And he most certainly was 1’st few fire fight’s a few buletts parting his hair gave way to his respecting the lower enlisted so well that when he questioned us about something happening he called us by our 1’st names and of course we still called him sir with even more respect than before as he respected us as individual’s knowing that are soldering skill’s honed from time in country would help save his ass. Thank’s for the format to join our experiences with yours. Most people in our society including family don’t want to hear it still.
You either formed up as a tribe, or a group of tribes, in the shit or you died out there
with nobody to know why. Tribes are loose on authority but fierce on working together, as strange as it
reads to have written that. My story is all about that and, of course your own.
Thanks for the spot on analysis and your own experience. Semper fi,
JIm
You were blindsided by a company clerk. That really suxed in addition to being extremely hurtful. I enjoy reading your segments (typos and all) and always am eager for the next one. Keep ’em coming and thanks for your service and “WELCOME HOME”
Rittenhouse was not a bad kid but living under brutal circumstance and reporting
quietly to people whom he thought could keep him alive. Hard to judge such service
even when the result is counter to my own survival or at least comfort.
Thanks for your thanks and for reading and commenting here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you Sir its an Honor to join you in this commentary.Thank you for making decision’s with your fellow Marines lives in the balance, and im sure out of great lead by example as all Marines do and instinct’s you saved many lives.
It was a strange sort of leadership, if you want to call it that.
More like trickery and skullduggery highlighted by a good deal of
disguised bully violence. Thanks for what you wrote and reading the manuscript.
Semper fi,
Jim
Operation Dewey Canyon 2/9 3rd mar div we went on Company size op into laos when Nixon told the American people we weren’t
There what stuck in my head was in the Mountans of Laos we humped down this mountain on stairs carved out of the side of the Mountainwith vines for hand rails at the bottom was a r&r lncampment no Nva hooches everywhere we left it to be destroyed by the demolition team and kept on the hunt Semperfi
I heard that Dewey Canyon was a total bitch. Sorry you were bloodied in that one.
Interesting stuff back then, especially some of the “this is not Anthony Bourdain shit” stuff!
Thanks for commenting and thanks for some of your own experience.
Semper fi,
Jim
I felt the chopper blade wash over me again. And yeah crocodiles. Shot a 14 ft one with my M-14 sniper rifle in the perfume river. Day before we were swimming in the same spot. The “snake drivers” loved to scare the shit out of grunts.
That river. Those rivers. When I saw them I thought of Rocky Mountain streams of clear
clean and attractive flowing water. The rivers of Vietnam were anything but that.
More places of death facing more predators waiting for the unknowing and unwary.
Thanks for the headsup, once again.
Semper fi,
Jim
Let me add upfront that I’m home sick with pneumonia and not much to do so my apologies upfront.
Not a question just an opinion. I always thought that judging a wars progress on Kia ratios was insane. Who’s going out to do a BDA when your outnumbered within spitting distance of the A Shau? Do you count blood trails , or add up pieces parts and divide? It must have been a drag to hump the same hill that you sweated up 6 months ago, just to return it to the NVA. I suppose the Army and Marines are fighting their way up roads and into towns over and over again as well, I suppose it’s something to do. We couldn’t kill our way out of Vietnam you can’t kill your way out of Iraq or Afghanastan, you couldn’t beat an idea then with bullets, and you can’t do that now. This deep into Afghanastan were killing the sons of a son of a son. We’re a recruiting tool. Small unit tactics make it hard to achieve dramatic results, it’s just a grind that’s not winnable in any logical sense. The days of large scale battles and keeping territory are long over. You could Nuke the place of you want a Win , but the bugs just move across a mythical border somewhere.
I say this without one lick of combat exposure, I was strictly in a peace time Marine Corps. Guess what It sucked, I raked lines neatly into the sands at 29 Palms on a windy day because the Gunny liked it thst way. My unit called in Naval Guns and Air support. I was merely a HQ plt Sgt who went to work everyday, didn’t do much, didn’t accomplish much except make E5 under 4, and then there’s the Parris Island experience that’s gives a common bond of misery.
Sorry for the ramblings but I suppose what I’m trying to say if this was was not winnable without genocide being the goal. I think Iraq and Afghanastan are the same. Are we ever prepared to kill everyone?
Well, there’s something to being home sick. You’ve written a lot on here and most of it
comes straight from your gut and then to the gut of those reading. There’s a lot of waste and
inconsequential crap in the military, peacetime and war. My time back in the states after being
hit is another novel at the end of these three. Guys coming home had no patience for that crap.
And a lot of DD and BCDs came out their inability to adjust. Too bad and those should be rectified but they
never will. Coming home is not understood by those one is coming home to. If you give my story to most of
the people who never went or even close most of them will simply toss it and consider it the ravings of a fool
or someone seeking attention by writing outrageous junk.
I am glad I wrote it because of these comments and being able to talk truth upon occasion instead of the usual.
Semper fi,
Jim
All I can say is “Thank You”. Not only for writing this but for your service as well. My brother (1st Cav 2nd/7th ’68-’69) spoke of some of his experiences in bits and pieces. To see it laid out like this in day to day detail fills in so many of the parts he preferred to or painfully couldn’t share. Thank you again.
If the story helps you better understand what happened to so many of us and why we came home ‘different’ then
I have accomplished something of my rather unknown reason for writing it. Thank you for coming on here and writing
what you have, and your own thanks…
Semper fi,
JIm
I still replay in my mind, “yeah though I walk through the Valleyof the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, cause I am the Baddest Mirherfucker in the Valley” Amen.
I wish that had been true, although I loved the sound of it Thomas.
Mean was the valley itself and the ‘small’ actions that went on there
all the time with huge casualties on both sides.
Thanks for your comment and reading the story,
Semper fi,
Jim
Calling in the Army to do Marine Corps work, and not even having a decent kill ratio. Silly ass me, I’ve read every word in this work multiple times and damned if I had ascertained that you had committed not one, but two, Command and Control mortal sins. You could go to Hell for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re already in Hell.
There was a guy in my TBS Class (9/69) who was an ECP (Enlisted Candidate Program). He’d already done two tours in Nam. He was the least Gung Ho I guy I ever met in all my training. He had two PH’s and was missing a good chunk of his left shin. He had a helluva limp and was as tough as whang leather. The closer we got to graduation, the more time we spent talking to him trying to find out “what’s it like?”. “Not like this”, is all he’d say. “You’ll learn”, he’d add. Or you’ll die, he didn’t say, but implied at 100 decibels. I admired him immensely, but worried that I was so unlike him in knowledge and intensity.
John Conway. The man. I wrote that last chapter and my son did not want it to be the one
that ended the first book. But I chose to end that book there and then begin the second book with the
next segment that will go up in a day or two. Yes, I will just continue on with the segments while the books fall behind
me like Mike Curbs burning bridges. I did not end. I went on. Therefore the book did not end. It merely goes on.
I had Nulty in my OCS class. ECP. The D.I.s did not like ECP. Nulty was so squared away but also so silent. He knew
but he also knew we would not believe him and maybe word of that would get back and he’d be in trouble. So he would just clam up.
Nulty died in his first two weeks back as an officer and I always wondered why and how, but I’ll never get to know.
Thanks John. Oh, I lost twenty seven percent of my Basic KIA and over 50% WIA. I was told later at the reunion (where nobody liked me still!)
that that was some sort of TBS record. Those guys, mostly those who were in the rear over there,celebrated that. Only a few of us definitely did not.
They guys thought I was a life insurance agent that dinner night. The next afternoon I had lunch with the Vice President of the U.S. at the White House!
They had and have no clue.
Semper fi,
Jim
Rules of Engagement in the jungle of Nam, what an ass. We(I)experienced a CO, a Navy LT(Captain in Marinespeak) that was a complete ass, to the other officers and to a certain extent, the enlisted. We heard rumors that he was hitting the other officers when the did something to raise his ire. He was unceremoniously relieved of Command in Da Nang Harbor when we returned for one of our resupply missions to I think, Chu Lai.
I hope you get a chance to reunion with your Gunny and I am sure you’ll be correct about your assessement of the better Commander of your Company.
Thank you Leo. The incidence of piss poor leadership in Nam is becoming well known.
There should have been a pre-deployment training center right there in Da Nang, but then
whom would have done the teaching since most of us in the real shit were left out there to die?
Nobody wanted to come out and play unless it was a pre-set deal where they thought it would help
their career. thanks for the real comments and liking the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well Jim, I must say this passed me off. Here’s a FNG with less than 10 days in country with no visible audio support from HQ to try to guide you on what to do and the REMFS show up and chew your ass.
I love your writing and know first hand how beautiful the Ashau is, and how deadly. Thanks for writing this.
Thank you Steve. Yes, it was as astounding to live as it is to write about, not that I thought I ever would.
Could not write it to my wife, except for one letter that damn near killed her. It wasn’t a sharing time.
Now here I am, writing away into every night and wondering what the hell I’m doing. I’m too old to get famous
but with enough energy to keep on laying it down as best I can.
Thanks for the comment and for reading and liking what you are reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
The situation you describe reminds me of situations I’ve observed and experienced in the corporate world, a major news organization and during a brief stint in a federal government job. That is,take a young and inexperienced supervisor or manager, or in your case a 2nd Lieutenant, “punish” him/her for objecting to or speaking out against an obviously unfair and unreasonable situation and place him/her in a position where he/she is not prepared for and has such little support that failure is guaranteed.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but with no field experience you were whisked off to this officer-less company at night, after raising objections about the conditions where you were located during your first night. Didn’t most companies have more than one officer? And if not, wouldn’t it make sense to place an experienced officer to lead a company that’s engaged in regular combat? If so, shouldn’t upper management (command) share some of the blame for placing the young officer in an untenable situation? Not to mention the lives command endangered by preferring to hand out a “punishment” instead of considering the complaint.
Then, as in other workplace situations I’ve observed, there’s the backstabbing, kissass (in your case Rittenhouse) who is rewarded by tattletaling to management, or in your case command. In swoops a manager, Capt. Casey, who places blame on you for a problem he knows full well you couldn’t possibly have created in ten days (the race issue) and that he knows already existed. Casey also blames you for seeking assistance (artillery support) when your training in this area appears to have saved the lives of many of your men.
Casey will then be guaranteed to look good by “fixing” the problem blamed on you, that was actually created by command,
by “demoting” you to the position you were trained for in first place — that is forward artillery observer.
Casey’s superiors will also look good for sending him to “fix” the problem, which they created in the first place by sending in a lone and inexperienced officer to command a combat company.
Good God, is there a secret and universal manual that the military/corporate America and bad managers everywhere have been sharing to place blame on others and cover their asses — or am I just getting paranoid as I get older?
Great writing by the way — have greatly enjoyed reading your saga.
John Marshall
John, just how do you expect to answer such a multi-phased and well-written critique?
I guess I could take it apart and tell you what happened in each instance from retrospect but I’m
not going to do that here. I have to write it and reveal as I go along. I came to know a lot after I was
shot and in the hospitals, plus on arriving home, but that will be shared later. There is a universal manual of
survival in management across the board. It’s called friends, family and relatives. Those people are favored and
you only really know about them if you are one of them or somehow gain great perspective before you die. Three of General Abrams
sons become generals in the Army? Both Masters brothers are generals and the third is an Admiral? You see it all over.
The guys in the rear with the gear had friends. I did not. Many artillery Fort Sill guys went straight to the Nam and then straight to
a battery where they stayed for their whole tour. There were so many officers in every battery it was ridiculous. My battery had 13 officers for
six guns! But they did feel sorry for me out there and I rather appreciate that. You are paranoid because you managed to make it to ‘olde,’ as you put it.
Thanks for the intensely in depth analysis and also the compliment of taking the time to make it.
I am up in the night to answer comments (42 today) because I am driven to not be able not to. Strange, no?
Semper fi,
Jim
I missed a chapter. I believe it is the one where you lost 7 men in battle. Is there a way to dial back and pull it up? I do not want to miss a chapter.
This brilliant writing that you are doing, is it a book or just this narrative on FB?
The book should be up on Amazon if I can stay up working into the night like this.
January or early Feb. First Ten Days, then Second Ten Days and finally Third.
Thanks for asking and reading. If you go to the website itself you can get them all
by clicking at the top on Thirty Days Has September. They are all in order.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks. I was a Second Lt. out of PLC in Quantico. Worst stinkin’ rank in the military. The enlisted had no respect for you and all the officers treated you like shit. Thank God for the Gunnies on up to Sgt. Major. Finest Marines, Finest men I will ever meet in my life. Semper Fi
Like I said before on here, if I had it to do over again I would have chosen to be a Non-Com
like the Gunny. Or my First Sgt. back in Camp Pendleton, or my Staff in Quantico. Absolutely the best
and two of them were black! Not like the Nam at all. Being a Second Lieutenant sucked.
Thanks for the comment and the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I had 4 different (CO) captains in my 11+ months with 2/22 mech, 25 Inf. 2 were on top of everything and all the guys would go anywhere with them and do what ever we needed to do, they cared about their men. Now the other 2 were there to get the Combat Infantry Badge, if it was dark they were nowhere to be found.
Jim, I would go and do what ever was ask with you. Much respect. Mike S
Thank you Mike. There are a lot of men who’ve come forward in these comments that I would
have with me under such circumstance, like you, except for the losing them part. My losses,
yet to really appear in the story, were pretty damned terrible. The A Shau ate us up like a big shark.
Semper fi,
Jim
REMF’s, looking for a “car” and back to HQ, saw a lot of those, then the ones with a new better mission to replace the one that was working. CAP’s got a lot of “ticket punchers” wanting a “CAR”, possibly a heart or a BSM-V if the ambush produced a lot of bodies and radio action. Some were cool, let us do our job and run the ambush while they just followed along. The others were the scary ones, wanted to control and lead the ambush. They had no noise discipline, got lost, listened to no one, walked into an ambushs, and blamed the whole f**kup on the Cpl or Sgt dead or alive. After Vietnam found two kinds of officers REMF’s and leaders, before I got out the REMF’s had won control of the Corp.
REMF’s, looking for a “car” and back to HQ, saw a lot of those, then the ones with a new better mission to replace the one that was working. CAP’s got a lot of “ticket punchers” wanting a “CAR”, possibly a heart or a BSM-V if the ambush produced a lot of bodies and radio action. Some were cool, let us do our job and run the ambush while they just followed along. The others were the scary ones, wanted to control and lead the ambush. They had no noise discipline, got lost, listened to no one, walked into an ambushs, and blamed the whole f**kup on the Cpl or Sgt dead or alive. After Vietnam found two kinds of officers REMF’s and leaders, before I got out the REMF’s had won control of the Corp.
Well, they were sure over there in numbers Butch. I sure did not blame my guys as time went
by for wanting to take me out. The previous officers had killed the shit out of the ones they hadn’t scared half to death.
Bad leadership so abounded in the Nam and part of it was the ‘glory’ that had been built up about war and all that after WWII.
Thanks for telling it like the way it was, brother,
Semper fi,
Jim
James, seeing that Shit Hook up against the hill brought back some memories that I would have been happy to have kept buried. Different continent, same shit.
I did notice some “editing” items, and recall offering my services. Still available!
I think all branches of the service had their “Capt. Casey’s”. I kept wondering if he was going to fall that 400′ to the bottom.
You do have a very wonderful talent for “telling the tale”, and I am sure that not a lot of your memories of the ‘Nam are not pleasant to recall. But you keep plugging along, and doing a damned good job of it. Can’t wait to keep reading. Thanks ever so much for including all of us on your journey – we are all brothers, and appreciate someone who can write as well as you do.
I am plugging along, as you put it Craig. Yes, it is difficult at times
and sometimes just flows on out. I was not truly aware that most of it was still
there. I’ve told vignettes to my family but they are kind of shocked reading this
to know the depth and width of it. Thanks for the offer. I may be taking you up on that
as I have a whole bunch of work here to keep at and I can’t stop relying to the comments because
they demand that I answer them!
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m wondering how long it’s going to take the NFG’s to find out how useful arty is and why Junior made it through the first ten days with low KIA’s?
Low KIAs. Well, lets see, there were five at my own hand. There were
the Marines shooting one another at night (like twenty). There were those killed by
the enemy (maybe seven) and then there were those killed by my indirect artillery fire
(probably sixty to a hundred). What kind of body count were you looking for?
That was heavy duty shit to start my tour….
Thanks for the comment and the reading though…
Semper fi,
Jim
in country 6 months and commanded mine sweeps for 4 months when the brigade commander full bird and his command sgt major flew over our mine sweep and dropped in at the worst place on the road. got in my shit because we did not wear pots and flack jackets on mine sweep in July when he started threatening me with punishment I asked him if he was going to send me to Vietnam and make me dig up land mines He said I wasn’t going to make it very far in the Army and I answered that I knew that since I managed to get commissioned with only a high school diploma and not a college degree. he got on his chopper am
nd left and I was still there
Like back here sometimes. So many people with no experience at all telling everyone else what to do,
or those with experience not sharing anything. Everyone trying to stay alive or live in any comfort at all.
Thanks for the comment, caring and reading the story, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
The same command problems while my Army recon unit was getti g ready to shop out from Ft.Lewis to Vietnam as it was called in 1963. Gonna go do some training over there they said. So we painted every piece of rolling stock we had. Nobody shooting yet yho.
Thanks Frank for reading along and making a comment.
I think there are a lot more guys identifying with this story than I would ever
have believed.
Sempre fi,
Jim
Bad enough you were tossed into that shit storm then to be saddled with a snitch to boot. To survive one must learn to adapt. The jungle isn’t a parade ground. My bet is Casey and the two LTs are in for a heck of an education or they will be gone. Some of those rules of engagement made for a hell of a handicap.
This is great we’re reading about as fast as you can write , what a unique way to read a novel. Keeps you on edge wanting more.
Love the new Capt, wanting to do things by the book with a dysfunctional Company. Can’t wait to see what’s in his future , but I might make a guess.
The landing of the three amigos was pretty dramatic in so many ways.
I wonder if I should tell the complete truth about them and the circumstances of
their ‘command’ of the company. I fear reprisals from being that truthful but then I feel
nothing but obligation to the guys reading this stuff too. You have rights, and those are often never
mentioned or followed. One of them may well be the right to know what the hell was really going on around
you because we all left there with these huge mysteries. I am resolving some, I hope!
Semper fi,
Jim
I don’t understand why he was being such a hard ass, surely he knew you were an Artillary Officer dumped into a company command. Hell even a Plt command would have been hard enough without some semblance of infantry training. Even though you sandbagged taking the hill you managed to get where you were supposed to be without taking heavily casualties and inflicted many taking the hill apart on your way out. Maybe you should have inflated nva kia to up your ratio to keep them off your ass. All a game for lifers.
I’m not sure how there would be reprisals , your using fictitious names to protect yourself, I’d like to hear about the 3 Amigos,,and what brought them there. The fact that a Ltc on orders from a Gen. stuck you in that platoon at that time I find to be disturbing. I always thought our command was in the business of keeping me alive not spending me like Monopoly money. They should have been brought up on charges and dismissed from the Marine Corps. The saving grace was your ability to orientate to a map and call in fire. If you can’t read a map you get everyone killed, what I find curious is your Gunny couldn’t read one.
Relatives of those who served and are not with us anymore are not necessarily out
of the loop or stupid. There are things that happen in combat that kind of have to stay
in combat because coming back to the real world is coming back to a place that is not the real world.
and that real world back here has not patience for that combat world and no forgiveness whatever.
Danger Will Robinson, Danger! My wife does not want me to write this but I am compelled.
Thanks for your comment, concern and liking the read…
Semper fi,
Jim
When I finish reading this little tidbit I always say oh crap what next. You have.captivated your audience and are now dragging us through the valley of Death one by one. Keep it up.Again I have to say, what next ? Thanks you. My Dad had horrible nightmare when I was a kid. I only know a few things of what happened to him. WW2.Battle of the Bulge wounded in the Ardennes.
Battle of the Bulge was like the A Shau. What a nightmare of an unexpected
slaughterhouse, just when the allies thought Hitler was done. Glad your dad
got out of there no matter what his condition. Thank you for being captivated.
Means a lot to me.
Semper fi,
Jim
The use of ” fresh” 2nd Lts. as scapegoats in the Army existed in Korea also. By no means as deadly as the Nam but the same career killer. The RTT Platoon, Co. B, 304th Sig. Bat. 8th Army Support Command was a rather rowdy bunch that needed a bit of a kick in the discipline area. No “good” Lts. were available because no one cared. A new CO brought a plan. First was the ROTC 2nd. Lt. that we chewed up and spit out. We didn’t know that that action allowed the CO to get his man in, a 1st. Lt. with a love for the Orient grown in the Nam. He survived an extended tour there, came to our little paradise and chewed us up and spit us out like pistachio hulls. That you’ve survived so far in this must be like you said, Artillery, that your Gunny was in survival mode only must be testament to previous command. I’ve not heard of a Gunny taking any kind of shit from anyone, you were well,and truly screwed before you started.
Walt McKinley. You write like a man named John Conley. With your own set of literary gifts. Compelling, as you too
are. “Spit us out like pistachio hulls.” Shit, that’s Hollywood tag line good and I may have to steal it and make it my
own! Gunnery Sergeants, First Sergeants and Sergeant Majors are all tough son of a bitches. My Gunny too. But my Gunny was also
whip smart and well experienced in combat. He knew where he was and it wasn’t a training command. He knew. And he kept me alive
along to make me know.
Thanks for the erudite and well written comment. And for caring enough to write it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Steal! From me? Had to go outside so the drywall wouldn’t crack! My ego is alive and well. Let it be my gift to you, our little secret. My respect for what all of you did increases every time I read any vet’s comment.
Thank you Walt, for being the Walt you are! Funny, yet serious. Funny but smart as hell.
I appreciate every comment you make and your following of the story, as well.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your Captain Casey exists everywhere. Have experienced the same unwarranted berating. My reactions were the same; go silent and take it. It’s the best defence among just a few poor options.
For a laugh: my Casey actually later tried to get me to re up. “Nah, I’m going home.” Didn’t even know I was 29 days and a wake up!
Yes, Vern, you are right. There are a ton of Captain Caseys out there and there were over there too.
To meet him and the lieutenants so soon after Mertz and find them so similar was shocking. My officers
in training had been pretty damned classy and bright. Thanks for that addition about your own Casey
trying to get you to stay. They don’t like you, or me, but they sure as hell come to need competence
in some form.
Semper fi,
Jim
Should this be a body bag instead of body back? “do I have to climb into a body back.”
Words and story is enthralling….Looking forward to the book coming out.
Yes, of course it should be bag. Thank you for helping with the editing.
Sometimes the editing is harder than the writing! And my brain sees it the way
I wrote it instead of the right way! Thanks for reading and caring enough to say something.
Semper fi,
Jim
Nguyen sat on one edge of his laid down poncho in his tight cross-legged pose that only natives cold pull …….
could pull……
Just so you can fix it…waiting on the next install….
Thanks Paul. Most sincerely.
I am working away and appreciate the help.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fixed.. and thanks
Damn. I had partly read this series as theme on overcoming adversity, which you had done every day, and night -even though it was everywhere & always. Am fairly old & experienced to still be so naive. Irrespective to such, this series is totally compelling. You sir, are gifted!
Thank you Bill. Yes, the story does ring down through the times with
our response to adversity. How to survive it and then how to live with the things that
might have had to be done to survive it. Not always things that were honorable, good or true.
Life, but with an intensity and accompanying death so very close together.
Thanks for the comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
I think, Bill, that my gift is getting this old through all that shit, and more.
Now all I have to do is remember it and put it down before it’s too late. I write to
an older audience simply because this stuff is not believable to younger men and women.
They probably have to stick their own hand into the flame to discover what flames do to skin.
Anyway, thank you most kindly for the compliment and reading my story in the first place.
Semper fi,
Jim
James I was not in the corp I was a signalman with the forth division at Camp Enare 1967/68 south of Plaku. Still enjoy reading you story.Thanks for sharing with us.
Thanks for the comment and really glad that you like the story.
It’s kind of a hard one to tell and maybe for some a hard one to read.
But I have tried to lay it down the way it went to the best of my ability.
Thanks for liking that effort.
Semper fi,
Jim
There it is Lt. ! When I first came in country we had a SSgt. for a platoon commander, did a great job without a lot of chickenshit. Around Feb. 70 we moved north to Hai Van area, got a new Company Commander, a new Gunny, new 2 new Lt. ! They thought we were back in Legune. Looks like you’re not the only one who landed in a shit storm. Keep up the great writing! Semper Fi! K 3/1
Interesting Tom! Only here and now am I finding out that my story wasn’t wildly exceptional.
There appear to be a lot of guys who had to somehow get by without decent leadership. If the Gunny
and I were to have a discussion today it might be over who really was the best commander of that company.
And I would love that. I’ll bet he would argue that it was me and I would argue that it was him!
Thanks for the neat comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,the gunny was an old salt and you was a FNG with brains.You had a good command of your mos.I know back then you probably thought it was a cluster fuck but you two had it together. So far so good .Carry on. Semper Fi
Yes, Roger, the Gunny was the man. Like the good Dad I did not have.
Hard but soft inside in many ways. A dead certain killer but only of things
that needed killing. I was worse than that and he knew it and was worried about me.
We made it work somehow together and he did not have to save me to allow that, or had
he been waiting for me all along. I don’t know. The Gunny will not share that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Keep writing; It really does help with the rest of us.
Wally, I don’t know if I am helping or not. It is good to hear some of you say that
and I can’t tell you how much the support in these comments alone has not only kept me writing
but made me feel pretty okay with myself. Thank you and also for liking the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
IT DOES HELP,LT. I WAS SENT HOME DUE TO MEDICAL REASONS, I WAS RA AND WANTED TO GO. STILL PISSED ABOUT THAT. YOU WERE DEFINATELY THE SCAPEGOAT, THINGS HAPPEN IN COMBAT. DOESN,T ALWAYS GO BY THE RULE BOOKS. DID WHAT YOU HAD TO DO? THANK GOD FOR GUNNYS. US ARMY 1967.
You are here with us Larry so your medical reasons might have then God sent.
There were a lot of scapegoats in that conflict and a hell of a lot of them were
second lieutenants. Thanks for the comment and the understanding.
Semper fi,
Jim
God scent won of my favorite things and believes. There Is a really good short book with that title. Don
Short book? Is it short? I don’t really know anymore. I used to think that the Count of Monte Cristo,
at twelve hundred pages, was of decent size. Now I see stuff at B&N that’s a hundred pages and sells for thirty-five bucks.
Jeez. How is one to know? Anyway thank you for commenting here and supporting this effort.
Semper fi
Jim
DO MUCH FOR THAT.THANKJ YOU
I think you are thanking me Jerry. I want to thank you too.
Not everyone has the motivation to write something on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great story, I came in a little late, is this a novel you are writing based on your deployment?
Thanks for joining Pete,
Yes this is a 30 Day Journey in Vietnam.
First 10 Days is now finished and readying for Kindle and paperback publication.
Second Ten Days following immediately.
Sign in for updates and don’t miss any.
I will, was in I Corp, Phu Bai, Hue, Dong Ha, Quang Tried zero close to but never made the Assault, worked a lot of intelligence from that area. Welcome home
A big body of life experience in that shot but telling comment! Thank you brother.
Contact was a funny thing out there. Sometimes it wasn’t contact at all, like in the
Ninth Night Third Part, but man it was hairy. Thanks for sharing and reading…
Semper fi,
Jim
WAS IN GITMO. SEEMED LIKE THINGS HAPPENED BUT NO DEAD SOME BEAT UP PRETTY BAD TRYED TO GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE. TRYED TO HELP ALL THAT I COULD. WAS AT MONTFDORDF POINT THOUGH. DIDSTUDY MY MOS 3051. SECOUND MOS. MADE IT HOME AND THE LORD SAVED ME AFTER BEEING IN AWFUL PLACES DFID MY DUTY AND WAS HONORABLE WHICH MEANT A LOT TO ME. DAD WAS IN WW11 BROTHER STEVE WAS IN VIETNAM. I WAS IN 1972-1973 STEVE WAS IN FOR 7 YEARS. HAD A UNCLE IN MARINES WHO WENT THROUGH GERMANY. HAD A UNCLE WAS IN DURING KOREA. MOM GOT BLEW UP IN A POWDER FACTORY. SHE WAS CRICAL WAS IN HOSIPTAL AT THE END OF VIETNAM WAR FOR 5 MONTHS.LOVE OUR HOME LOVE OUR PEOPLE JOVE EVERYBODY GOD BLESS AMERICA
Well hell Jerry! You been around a bit, and your family too. Thank you for writing that in the comments here.
I’m not sure that I understand all of it but what I do understand is pretty powerful stuff. Thanks for writing on
this site and also reading along. I assume you are liking what you are reading or you would not bother.
Thanks…
Semper fi,
Jim
My God, how I have disdain for the back stabbing bastards of war. They carry that crap around in their tiny brains until they get toasted. LT. Keep up the good writing. I’m still in your corner!
Jim
I can’t imagine being in such a position. The commanders must have known the condition of the company before you arrived. CYA at its best. It appears you were placed there as a scapegoat. Such an emotional read for a former recon seargent. Can’t wait for the next one! Thanks James!
Of course they knew. Other guys on here have mentioned being without any officer at all
for extended periods. Back in training the structure of field units was so sharp and tight.
It was shocking to see that that part of the corps was so fluid in the actual field of combat.
Just one of the shocking things I write about, of course.
Thanks Jack for the observation and comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
When I was at Bragg processing guys back from Nam, I picked up chatter about fragging an officer who wasn’t fit to lead. I didn’t believe it until reading your account. And in my opinion, you were fit to lead and did a damn good job with what you were given.
Well, Bill, I wasn’t exactly fit to lead because I knew jack about almost everything.
Without the Gunny I could have done nothing except get myself and the people around
me killed. He threw as much of an umbrella of protection over me as he could, which
came back to him as I finally started to catch on. I have a tendency here to write about
my own conduct a bit better than it most probably was.
Thanks for thinking good thoughts about me and reading my story.
Semper fi,
Jim
It seems to me that all you really needed to do was to give an order to the gunny and take suggestions from him. It’s his fault if anyone’s that the company had a racial problem.
Having not served because of medical reasons, but wanted to, I still think that once you knew there were problems like this, you would have had the gunny put an end to it.
Personalities aside.
But then again, what do I know. I wasn’t there.
And so, the question becomes and Arnold question. “Do you feel lucky?”
Have you live with fear like that just beyond teen age years?
I hadn’t. These ‘kids’ out in the bush were not taking orders like
Marines and neither was the Gunny. Everyone had a stake in living
or dying and nobody, but nobody could be counted out until they are dead
and bagged. Just the perspective I was handed or made for myself. I don’t really know.
Thanks for the straight opinion.
Semper fi,
Jim
James. I think you said it long ago, but let me re-state it: “If you ain’t been there, you don’t know shit”. I found it amusing that a “gentleman” who states, “I wasn’t there for medical reasons. but I wanted to be there” has a huge amount of gall telling you what “you should have done”. Just one of the reasons the war was so divisive – everyone thought they knew the answers and had a right to an opinion. Right after you have been down “The Valley of Death” you can then offer your opinion about what should have been done. I’m an old Nam Army Vet, but I surely do salute all you Jarheads – you mostly has your poop together.
It is hard to have a real perspective of what was going on over there, as I write it, for people
who have no clue. Credibility. Why should regular people believe this stuff? Maybe the most credibility comes
from the comments by others who went through so much that was similar.
Thanks for the support, the comment and the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
I served in the Army it was Vietnam vets who trained me my brother was a Navy seal in Nam i’m proud of you Vietnam veterans you took all kinds of shit and still stood strong thank you for training me
Thanks Mark. Vietnam Vets are overlooked for how peacefully they accommodated all the
crap and shitty jobs when they got home. I know a bit about that too. Had to finally take the military
part out of my resume to get a job that paid anything.
Thanks for caring about the Vietnam guys and for writing about it here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim
No one knew what was going on
You me Didn’t matter. Just go and kill someone before they get you
I understand your position
They always were looking for something like this instead of fighting the war
Thank you for your service
Yes Ken, you’ve got it exactly. I was as nothing described going in. When you got there you
stepped into a different world and you were not given a set of instructions or a how to manual.
Fighting the war was a lot of that since the enemy in war can certainly be from friendly environs.
Thanks for replying to the story in this way and the reading, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Most of the fraggings were from reprimanding burp bags/disciplinary action, busting drug rings. Was there 68-69, things were not too bad. 71-72 far more hard drugs and horrible racial divide, many more fraggings.
The racial issues were deadly out in the field, where they existed. Some of the best Marines
were black but some of the worst troublemaker’s out there were too. Just like real life!
And wherever there is a lack of accountability some are going to take advantage of it and
violence is going to erupt. So many humans do not have the intellect to understand situations
where their very life may be at stake.
Thanks for the comment and for reading the story.
Semper fi
Jim
We had two such incidents in my unit. Fortunately both attempts failed. One night a bunch of folks were out partying at a guard bunker behind the engineers houches. The engineers took offence to the noise & came out to kick some ass. The Sargent of the guard grab the M60 up in the bunker & ran them off, the party continued. Crazy shit.
Crazy shit. That is exactly what I am writing about Bill. My time was mostly all
crazy shit and so much of it is not truly believable unless you were there and some of
it happened to you. I’m not ever sure a lot of guys who never left the rear area every understood.
I sure didn’t when I looked at the fucked up men that first night. I sure came to understand, as I
became one of them. Combat zombies.
Thanks for the straight comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m just blown away. I can’t imagine being a 22yr old 2d LT and thrust into that hellish situation. Thank God Gunny scooped you up from the get go.
Dropping into that company race war in Indian country in the middle of the night like that was a living nightmare. Almost as if you were watching Friday 13th in the theater and transported real life into the scenes to deal with it.
Says a lot about you at that age dealing with it.
Surviving swimming in the ocean in the middle of the night with blood in the water and sharks circling.
The whole thing has me shaking my head.
You showed great restraint though in much of it. As I read the encounters with Juergens and Sugar Daddy…I felt myself pulling my own 45 and killing them myself. I doubt I would have withheld
* Just my emotional reaction as I read *
I can’t wait to continue this……
I’m really curious as to how it affected you after the war emotionally.
When I was in the hospital I was certifiable but fortunately under the spell of morphine every three hours for almost a year.
I’d surface and the back under I would go. Lots of time to be drug-addled but thoughful. When I got to Oakland in the hospital there
they treated me like shit but I did not kill anyone, which I thought of doing. I healed more, mentally, by having to take it. Then I got out
and was thrust into the civilian world. I went to work for an insurance company as an auto underwriter. I worked almost 14 hours a day and then
worked on weekends as a reserve officer on the police department. My intensity kept me from committing violence or drinking or taking drugs.
Those things would come later when my adjustment was further along. Meanwhile, I was married with one child. My wife was and remains a saint.
Thanks for the deep thought of your comment and for asking about the time later on…
Semper fi,
Jim