I went to work on my stuff, just outside the exposed rock area where the choppers had come in. The area wasn’t that large, having hardly the footprint of an average small home back in the real world. The jungle that sprung up right near its edge looked like it could have been put together by a Hollywood set-building team. The Gunny finished his coffee and headed back into the bracken. I presumed he was going to talk to Jurgens and Sugar Daddy. I couldn’t think of anyone I would like to see less of, but then the three officers getting their stuff together at the edge of the stone landing zone came into focus. Rittenhouse was taking notes among them and the supplies while some of the company Marines were going through them.
Fusner caught my attention with a small wave of one hand that he held down near his waist. I frowned, thinking he might be ready to shove the radio handset at me. From behind him stepped Nguyen, who stopped and seemed to be waiting for something.
“What does he want?” I asked Fusner.
“Oh, well, it seems that the new officers don’t want him as a scout,” Fusner said, squatting down while he talked.
Nguyen squatted with him, both men looking me straight in the eyes.
“They don’t trust indigenous gooks, or so Stevens said,” Fusner whispered, as if there was someone around to hear or care if they did hear.
“So, I have my scout team back,” I said with a big sigh. I didn’t mention that my scout team was one seventeen-year-old kid and a local Montagnard that didn’t speak English.
“How are we supposed to talk to him?” I asked, in exasperation, knowing Fusner would not be able to answer the question, but letting my frustration force me to ask it anyway.
“Sign language,” Fusner said, with a big smile. He turned to Nguyen and made an okay sign with his right hand, and then pointed at me. Nguyen held up one finger before closing his fist again.
“He says you are number one,” Fusner said, laughing, before pointing out to where the new officers were having Stevens build their hooches. Stevens was hunting around trying to find some way to put pegs into the hard stone.
Nguyen flashed ten fingers up very briefly. I didn’t need Fusner to translate the hand sign. Number one was the best, in pidgin Vietnamese, and number ten the worst. I knew some of Nguyen’s differential analysis was based on the fact that I’d already survived for ten days and the other guys were FNGs. Some but probably not all.
Stevens looked back at us and beckoned with one arm. Nugyen took off at a trot. He knelt by Steven’s side, and then got up and loped back.
Nguyen went to work brushing the jungle cover from atop the ever present, but mostly dried up mud beneath. He drew two small circles far apart. He connected them with a line forming a long arc. Then he put a big “X” next to one circle, and pointed out where the officers were getting set up.
I looked out at them and then back at the diagram. While I was thinking, the back of my mind marveled at the officers bringing full canvas shelter-halves to the bush. Shelter-halves were like partial tents, but weighed about three times more than the simple structures we generally made using ponchos. I knew it was unlikely that they planned to carry the equipment themselves when the company had to move.
Suddenly, I stood up.
“Shit, I got it,” I said to Fusner, looking down at Nguyen with even more respect. “We’ve got to get away from here. Come on, we’re moving deeper into the bush. I don’t give a shit about the perimeter or the enemy that might be there.” I began to quickly gather my things.
The Gunny showed up, stepping out of the jungle like he’d been close by all along, or been called.
“What’s going on?” he asked, staring out at the supply pile being worked over, and the new officers standing around and looking out into the A Shau valley.
“Registration point,” I said, throwing my stuffed pack over my right shoulder and carrying my binoculars in my free hand. “The landing zone is pre-registered for range. Stevens and Nguyen spotted the marks on the stone.”
“That’s gotta be for mortars,” the Gunny said, “but we don’t have any infantry around here, at least not that we know of. It’s quiet as a church, except for a bit of wind, and that valley is good six miles across, maybe more. We’re out of range of their stuff.”
NVA Long Gun, barrel is long, thin, low angle shot, which could allow a range of 27.5 km when used to increase the range artillery, muzzle velocity large indirect fire capability
“Out of range for the 105s. Howitzers have way less range than cannons. The NVA have 122mm long guns,” I replied, beginning to work my way into the denser part of jungle. “Those things reach out to seventeen, sometimes eighteen miles. That lovely open area of rock is registered and everyone in the world can see us. The only reason we got away with the resupply is because they didn’t know we were coming, but they sure as hell know now.”
“Junior,” the Gunny said to my departing back.
I stopped, and waited.
“Aren’t you going to tell them?” he asked.
“I’m not in the command structure,” I said, not turning to face him. “I’m staff. Forward observer. That’s it.”
“We can’t just leave them out there like that,” he replied.
“A man’s got to do what he thinks is best,” I said, wondering about whether the Gunny was right. But, was it my responsibility to warn Rittenhouse and the new officers?
I knew in my bones that Stevens was out of there too. The wily scout knew how to weasel his way out of danger, rather than confronting it directly. He’d probably figure it out. There was always the chance that the NVA wouldn’t fire on the location, as well.
“You can’t kill officers just because you don’t like them, Junior,” the Gunny said, his voice low.
I finally turned, lowering my pack to the jungle mat at my feet. I looked the Gunny straight in the eyes.
“What am I, the example? You didn’t kill me because you didn’t like me, so I shouldn’t do that either?” I asked.
“I still don’t like you,” the Gunny said, and I knew from his expression he meant it.
“What do you want of me, Gunny?” I asked, my shoulders slumping. “You want me to order you to go tell them that they’re as ignorant as they are?”
“You’re an officer, when it’s all said and done,” he replied, his eyes unblinking. “They’re officers, like you, except they haven’t been lucky enough to run the table for ten days.”
The Gunny hiked off, his own pack bobbing behind him. He didn’t head back out to the exposed area. I knew he was leaving it to me, and I resented him deeply for that. I was only a commander when the shittiest jobs had to be done, and only an officer if it meant someone had to be blamed for something.
“Come on, Fusner,” I ordered, letting go of my pack and heading back. “I’m not doing this one alone, but there’s no reason for Nguyen to risk his ass. Sign him somehow to stay here.”
Fusner held one hand up to Nguyen, with his two smallest fingers bent while spreading the other three. Nguyen sat down atop my pack to wait. I walked toward the landing zone, wondering why I was complimented by the Montagnard sitting on my stuff, and also wondering how Fusner knew so much about hand signs, and Nguyen too.
We got within ten feet of the group before anyone noticed us.
Rittenhouse looked over one shoulder from the supply pile, and said “Sir?” when he noted my approach.
I looked the young man in the eyes, feeling strangely detached. It was like I was in chemistry class looking at an interesting specimen, except none of those had been alive. He looked away, and then back. I bent my head a bit to one side in examining him from top to bottom, my expression turning to one of question. Who was this boy and why was he in my life?
Rittenhouse backed up four or five paces but I didn’t move.
“What is it Junior?” Captain Casey asked.
“You’re making camp on an artillery registration point,” I indicated, pointing at the strange carvings on a chunk of nearby stone. “The 122mm rounds from NVA guns can reach out all the way from Laos, across this valley. The mark means that they’ve fired on this position many times before and know exactly where it is.”
“I know what a registration point is, lieutenant,” Casey replied, his tone one of irritation. “I don’t know why any of this should be of concern to you.”
I took a long deep and slow breath. “It’s not really, except I know artillery, and with Rittenhouse being killed with you I’ll have to write the letters home about how you died.”
“You know, Junior, you have a real smart mouth.” Casey said, glaring at me. “What Basic Class were you in, and who in hell was your battalion commander back there?”
I just looked at all three of the officers and waited. Rittenhouse seemed frozen in place next to the supplies, his pencil not moving on his upraised clip board.
After a few seconds of the sound being the wind coming up over the edge of the cliff the captain spoke again.
“There may be some merit to the registration thing,” the captain agreed, after conferring for a few seconds with his two lieutenants. We’ll move over to the edge of the LZ.”
“The company’s moving half a click inland and setting up a perimeter,” I replied. “You may want to be inside it when darkness comes.”
I turned to go. Fusner was already gone.
“The company moves when I order it to move, Junior,” Captain Casey said, his voice going hard again.
“I understand, sir, and you have that right,” I replied, knowing I was going to walk away in a few seconds no matter what else was said. Any inbound artillery would not announce itself. No ranging rounds were needed in firing on a pre-registered target, and the rounds would be traveling beyond the speed of sound.
They might even already be in the air, I realized uncomfortably. I looked beyond the clumped officers, and out over the valley, as if I might be able to see something coming in.
“You’re aware, of course, since you’ve obviously been briefed, how the officers who served before me died.”
The captain pointed down at my left hand, where my binoculars dangled.
“Let me have those,” he ordered, holding out his hand.
I reluctantly handed the Japanese instrument over. My need for them, as long as we remained up on the ridge high on the wall of the valley, would be greater than it had ever been if I had to call in artillery support.
“You’re dismissed,” Captain Casey said, turning back to stare out through the binoculars over the wide expanse of the valley to its other side.
I left the four of them standing there. I’d followed the Gunny’s advice, against my better judgment, and felt no better about having warned them, even as minimally as I had. I walked fast, almost breaking into a run. I passed one stack of boxed ammunition, mostly gone through, and the other of C-ration cases and water bottles. I hefted a box of C-rations from the stack Rittenhouse had been accounting for.
“Put that on my account, Corporal,” I yelled over my shoulder, to where Rittenhouse had retreated from the center of the landing zone. “Put it down with the rest of the stuff we’ll go over later.”
I moved away from the area as fast as I could, with the heavy case of C-rations on my shoulder. I didn’t know what circular error probable was for a Soviet 122mm round but a slew of them coming in would have to take out anyone alive. There was no cover on the open rock area.
By the time I rejoined Fusner and Nguyen, my hooch was up and waiting. I plopped the extra box of rations down next to Fusner’s poncho liner. I noted the company forming and setting in around us, all of them moving deeper into the jungle. Our position, about a thousand meters in from the lip of the ridge should be sufficient unless the NVA had a competent forward observer with a decent radio lurking nearby. I was fast discovering, however, that trained forward observers were about as rare in the field as decent company grade officers were serving in the chain of command.
I laid on my poncho liner and tried to rest, before taking some of my ratty stationary from my pack and beginning a second letter home. The beauty of the A Shau Valley was the substance of the body of the letter, and I didn’t have to lie about that at all. Completing that task, I went about setting up defensive fires on the west side of the perimeter, in case the night was active with NVA troops coming from that direction. I knew their commanders would be suffering from the two past run-ins they’d had with our company and Kilo.
Fusner leaned near, his too-close hooch almost touching my own.
“Where’d you leave the binoculars?”
“The new C.O. is keeping them for me,” I replied, not looking up from my map, while continuing to make small notations with my grease pencil on its plastic covered surface.
The Gunny forced his way noisily through the foliage, and squatted down to make coffee, not far from where my left boot stuck out from where I lay on one side trying to work with the map and marker. I only looked up when two more Marines came straggling along behind him. I sat up and put away my map very quickly, and then turned to face the men with both hands free.
The two Marines were Jurgens and Sugar Daddy, but neither looked like either man had looked before. Jurgens’ face was a study in saddened worry and Sugar Daddy looked entirely different without his flattened bush hat and purple sun glasses. Neither man had brought along bigger enlisted men to serve as protection or for intimidation. They were so non-threatening that my hand did not automatically fall to sit atop the butt of my Colt. Both men scrunched down by the Gunny, who was busy heating his water.
Suddenly two more Marines appeared from behind Fusner. It was Stevens and Zippo. They stood uneasily at the radioman’s side.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with the C.O.?” I asked, looking upward to Stevens. I was putting off the coming confrontation with the two former platoon commanders and I knew it.
“He said to go scout something, so we’re scouting this location,” Steven replied, as both men settled down to squatting positions.
“What do they want?” I asked the Gunny, who was working on sipping at his coffee with one hand and smoking a cigarette with the other.
“What do you think?” the Gunny said, not looking at me or the two former commanders.
“I’m not the C.O. here, but then they know that,” I said, although my curiosity was piqued.
“So what is it?”
“What do we do?” Jurgens broke in.
I noted that he didn’t use the name Junior in talking to me, plus the tone of his voice was actually almost polite.
“What do I get?” I asked, almost enjoying myself, not really expecting an answer.
Jurgens and Sugar Daddy looked at one another for a few seconds, and then both looked at the Gunny, as did I.
“They’ve been to the A Shau before,” the Gunny said. “A number of times, like me.”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” was all I could think to respond.
“We’re going to get hit tonight,” Jurgens said, his voice quiet and low. “They’re going to hit us from the west on the ground while the arty shit comes pouring into the landing zone in the east. We got nowhere to go except maybe down into the broken valleys on both sides, and they’ve probably mined those years back.”
“Why would they hit us tonight?” I asked.
“Ask your ‘yard’ over there,” Sugar Daddy said, pointing at Nguyen, who squatted just beyond our circle. Nguyen allowed no expression to cross his facial features. I looked at him, and he blinked.
“Okay, so we know that,” I agreed, part of my mind already beginning to design a plan to handle the expected attack.
“You’re right in the middle here,” Jurgens pointed out. When they hit you’ll be among the first to go down.”
I looked at the man, wondering why he’d terrified me for so many days and nights. He didn’t look terrifying. He looked like a tough kid on a high school playground, which he was not long from being on.
“So, for this warning you want something,” I stated, flatly. “What in hell am I supposed to do?”
“The Gunny said you did that Chesty trick,” Jurgens said, looking down at nothing in front of him. “We need a trick like that to get through, and we want to be the leaders of our platoons again. Breaking up the platoons won’t work. The guys won’t do it, and there’ll be nobody to fight the NVA tonight.”
I massaged both thighs with my hands. They weren’t shaking but I didn’t want to take a chance of showing weakness in front of the two dangerous predators. My left hand clutched my two letters home and my right the deadly morphine packet. I had to come up with something but I had nothing. I was now more of a nobody officer in the company than I had been before. With Rittenhouse writing the daily report, added on to by the three real officers, I was likely to end up in Leavenworth if I somehow lived through my tour. I thought of the magnificent cliff I’d stood next to once again and how far down the cliff face extended. A kernel of inspiration ignited in my brain, fanning itself into a fire, the more focus I gave it.
“Okay, here’s what you get back,” I said, clearing the bracken in front of me until I had a small section of flat mud to work on. I smoothed it with my hands, and then reached in my pocket for my cheap government pen. I didn’t click it to allow the point to be exposed.
“First, you two go back to your platoons and ignore the captain’s orders,” I instructed. “Run your platoons just like before. If the new lieutenants show up, you ignore them. You’re good at doing that to new officers. What are they going to do, make you go down into the A Shau?” I thought about the rest of my developing plan for a moment.
“Well, what about the attack?” the Gunny asked, as if reading from my special script.
“We’ll use the King Kamehameha plan,” I said, quickly leaning forward and making a drawing on the mud in front of me.
I drew an elongated oval around the landing zone, then a rectangular box running back and forth across the swell of mountain edge we were currently on. Finally, I drew arrows running outside and back and forth from and to the rectangle, reserving one giant arrow for the incoming sweep of the NVA that would attack from the jungle toward the landing zone.
“Soon to be King Kamehameha used this to capture Oahu and become the King of the Hawaiian Islands. He had his troops make believe that they were trapped between his bigger enemy and a giant cliff edge. The enemy thought they had him. But in the daytime Kamehameha allowed his forces to sneak away to each side and when the enemy attacked right up the center of where they thought his forces were Kamehameha had his men drive them over the edge of the cliff.” I looked up and pulled back from my diagram with obvious enthusiasm.
“Pushed them over the cliff?” the Gunny asked, skeptically. “The NVA have AK-47’s, not spears.”
King Kamehamha was a Hawaiian king. He conquered most of the Hawaiian Islands, formally establishing the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi in 1810. By developing alliances with colonial powers, Kamehameha preserved Hawaiʻi’s independence. Kamehameha is remembered for the Kānāwai Māmalahoe, the “Law of the Splintered Paddle”, which protected the human rights of non-combatants in time of war.
“Oh that,” I said. Their artillery’s going to open up and then walk itself right into where they think we are. But we’ll be holding them there from the sides. We’ll force them right into their own artillery barrage since it’s not likely they have a forward observer with a radio that’ll reach out that far. Finally, we come in right behind them with our own artillery. It’s perfect.”
I waited as everyone present sat thinking. I had no idea of when or even if the NVA would use their artillery. I also had no idea about whether we would be attacked from the exposed western flank located at our front. Finally, it was a complete toss up about how the new officers would react to being told to go screw themselves. That last part forced a grim smile out of me.
“You heard the man,” the Gunny instructed, rising to his feet and snapping his cigarette into the bush. “Junior has a plan.”
In seconds the only Marines left at my hooch opening were Fusner, Nguyen and the Gunny.
“Get the hooches moved,” I ordered Fusner. “We want to be a bit down that northern slope before the fun begins.”
Fusner went to work, while the Gunny finished cleaning out his canteen holder.
“What were you thinking there, when you smiled?” he asked me, quietly. “About Rittenhouse?”
I didn’t answer his question, as there was no point. My mind was already on the other problem I knew I was going to have before sundown. Captain Casey wasn’t going to like implementing any plan that wasn’t his own, and his two officer lackeys might become difficult to deal with.
“Flank security. Part of the price is that these two clowns send out patrols to find out what’s down there, where we have to go,” I said. “If it’s mined, we have to know.”
“They’re not going to like that,” the Gunny replied. “Who are they supposed to send?”
“FNG’s, of course,” I said, flinching inside, but not letting the Gunny know.
“And what was that Kamehameha shit?” the Gunny came back. “Does he even exist, and if he did then did he really do that?”
“The place is called the Pali,” I replied. “He existed. What he did up at that pass is anybody’s guess.”
“Again,” the Gunny whispered, before moving back into the jungle.
I sat on my poncho cover and reflected on the simple fact that I was in the rotten position of having to hope that the enemy hit us.
Reference: King Kamehameha I (read section on Maui and O’ahu)
Jim, hope your return to the doctor this week goes well. In rereading book 2, this minor typo popped out. Welcome home. Dave.
I noted that he didn’t use the name (in) Junior in talking to me, plus the tone of his voice was actually almost polite. [this first in isn’t needed.]
Thanks for the support.
Which Chapter and where did you find that typo, Dave?
Found it and corrected, Thank you.
My pleasure. This is a fantastic addicting book and a decent editing methodology, even if forced. Glad your eye surgery eventually worked out.
One tiny continuity thing in this chapter. When Junior goes out to inform Captain about the registration point, he directs Fusner to accompany him which the arrival narrative indicates he did. Later on, Fusner wants to know what happened to the binoculars, as if he weren’t there when Captain borrowed them. But Fusner never had an exit from the C O conference. Perhaps he went off to hump extra supplies like Junior does during his exit.
I’ve found some things in a few chapters of The First Ten Days which I will write up at a lower priority in anticipation of a second edition of TFTD.
Thanks Dave, for helping with the edit. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys picking up stuff I’d never catch!
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, Welcome home, Dave.
==> a few more typos:
“The company’s moving half a click inland and setting up a perimeter, “I replied. =>trailing double quote needs to be after the comma and before the space.
Rittenhouse looked over one shoulder from the supply pile, and said “sir,” when he noted my approach. => “Sir,” S in Sir needs to be capitalized as the beginning of quoted sentence. may need a question mark instead of a comma.
Our position, about a thousand meters in form the lip of the ridge … => form should be from.
“And what was that Kamehameha shit?” the Gunny came back. “Does he even exist, and if he did then did he really do that? => needs a trailing double quote after the second question because the next speaker is not the Gunny.
“The place is called the Pali,” I replied. “He existed. What he did up at that pass is anybody’s guess. => needs a trailing double quote because the next speaker is not Junior.
I left the four of them standing there. => probably should be clearly a new paragraph.
==> Fusner’s lack of an exit is still bothering me. The Casey versus Junior confrontation is very intense and your writing makes it so. But I’ll make this suggestion which I think doesn’t introduce too much distraction to the scene because Junior is moving at this point.
“You may want to be inside it when darkness comes.” I turned to go. => perhaps this is a good point to have Fusner exit the intense scene so he can be waiting at the hooches later on. If you add a simple sentence after ‘I turned to go.’ such as ‘I turned to go while Fusner went to the supplies pile.’ or maybe ‘I turned to go. Fusner trotted to the supplies pile.’ or even ‘I turned to go. Fusner was already gone.’
WOW, David that was a lot for this feeble brain to change…..
Thanks again for your wonderful support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Met You in Winfield, didn’t get to visit with you very long. gave you my card. Had a good chat with some of the fellows.
Myself, Vietnam vet 1969, Phan Rang AFB, jet engine mechanic,
retired USAF CMSgt, 32 years.
Bought and read your book, loved it. do you have a wag on when your next book comes out?
Still sorting out feelings, for what that’s worth…
Keep up the good work.
The next book is hoped to be out in mid to late August, depending upon my ability to
finish the chapters and segments here.
Thanks for the visit in Winfield. Maybe we can spend more time next year.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have a very close friend that I am trying to get to read your story.
He was ROTC then Joined MC . FO school Ft Sill .
68 in Nam . Wounded after 3 mo . Okinawa ,then state side to finish out enlistment.
I think reading this would be a catharsis for him .
My service was 6 years 7 months and 3 days with MNG.3
years artillery unit. Trained at Sill in 60 . The rest in an AC unit .
Have great respect for your writing. Thank you.
Thanks ET. Artillery is a fascinating study, not just about projectiles about physics, weather and the earth itself.
Thanks for the comment and putting your friend ‘in harms way’ by foisting the story off on him.
Thanks for that and your support…
Semper fi
Jim
2nd Lt.strauss you have me hooked on your stories they take my mind somewhere else and do me a world of good I haven’t missed a story yet and can’t wait for the next… just wanted to let you know I’m still reading and will be till the end..god bless the Vietnam combat vets!!! thank you for your service I hope you cause others to write about their experiences… WELCOME HOME TO ALL THE NAM VETS READING THIS GOD BLESS YOU AND YOURS!!!!
Uplifting to read such comments. I write on into this day finishing the next segment and
working to get the detail of the first book perfect. You guys are terrific at finding the most
minute of detail. I think almost a hundred guys have pointed out the misuse of a CH-46 photo
when a CH-47 was called for. Thanks for the reading and the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Reading your commentary with interest. Your mention of Capt. Casey brought back a few flashbacks that I wish didn’t occur. I was with the 3rd Bn 7th Marines in Chu lai in 65/66 I was a radio operator in H&S Co and attached to L Co. In the Comm section we had two enemy’s to deal with, first and foremost, the vc/nva, and second, a comm chief,an E-7 gunnery Sargent.We had operations on a monthly basis and deep patrols in between.Then on return from operations or patrols we had to deal with the gunny. All that he wanted to do was find some reason to have you court martialed and sent to Leavenworth. I have seen several Marines have him in the sights of their weapons at one time or another. After a 12 day operation and dodging lead almost every step of the way, he immediately calls for a weapons inspection as soon as we arrive in the Bn CP. If anyone had a dirty weapon he submits them for office hours. I even had him threaten me when coming in from patrol with rice patty mud on my radio. I had him in the sights of my 1911 A1 when he got ten feet away from me.I was pretty determined to squeeze the trigger when I heard the Bn Commander say “I think the gunny is about to have a bad day”. I turned and saw who it was and snapped on the safety and holstered my piece. He just continued walk on by. After being on patrol and seen some of the carnage the grunts suffered, then having to face this S.O.B.,it was no wonder some of us were wishing to be hit just to get away from him. Fortunately, we had a Comm Officer with common sense and most of trouble the gunny caused was thrown by the wayside. I don’t need the nightmares and flashbacks that this man caused. In 1979, I started to organize a reunion of our unit and sent out letters and made phone calls to everyone I could find. We had our reunion later in the year and I never looked for, or even tried to locate the gunny, for fear of someone killing him if he attended. I’ve read every one of your excerpts and will continue to read them with great interest. Brings back many memories. Thank you Jim, welcome home. Semper Fi !!!
I don’t write much of the rear area because I was not back there for very much at all.
I have heard other stories like you own though. I know now that if I had come out of
where i was in the condition I was in then a Gunny would have been dead and me going for
life. That’s a shit exchange to make but when your a dead man walking you are all of that.
I am glad you exercised your judgment to be writing here and I am glad you had a good C.O. because
they were as uncommon as hell over there.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey Jim. Great read. Love it. Were you a 2nd Louie over there to begin with?
The editor, and chemist, in me thinks you should change the “chemistry” looking at a specimen to “biology”. Just saying.
Yes, ej, I came through OCS, opting out of ROTC at graduation to try to become an officer in the corps.
I then made it through (#2 in my platoon!) and went to Basic School at Presley Obannon Hall when it was still there.
Off to Fort Sill and then hit the Nam before the end of my first year as a 2nd.
I like the editor in you, by the way. That is a substitute word for brain.
Semper fi, and thank you…
Jim
I had the privilege, for want of better word, of seeing the entire conflict up to my draft notice in ’72. In other words I knew what a sham it was by then. Your depiction of every man for himself rings so true. Anyplace I was a newbie was hell. The short timers were the worst yet the most likely to re-enlist. I suppose avoiding the scrutiny of the U.S. population was worse than Nam. I’ll never know. Fortunately I had the rare opportunity of sending officers off to face poor odds (MOS 6614). Surprising how respectful brass is when you control their aircraft. At any rate I am always faithful and In hoc signo vinces. That should clue you in to one of the four squadrons I served with.
In this sign you will conquer. VMA 533. Presuming I am correct at being able to
track your outfit down using the Internet.
Over there, on the ground, I never knew any of the outfits.
On the air radio we would get to hear the units sometimes using their air call sings
but we never put it together with who they really were with.
Air was such a rare and blessed thing to get in the jungle.
More effective when the air can see from above.
Anyway, thanks for the thinking and caring comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I don’t think the average citizen realizes how tough it was for a soldier over there. WWI, WWII, Korea, Nam. Very tough. Here we were the technological giants of the world and yet constantly over matched. Well…so be it. I thank you for your service and by all means NEVER feel guilty about it.
Dave
I was not ready for command. I was ready to be a good forward observer, but
then found out that without some kind of hinting sort of subversive pressure
I, and the whole unit, was dead…and even then. So all I could do to
moderate the fear and ride its awful surging waves was to try to come up
with whatever I could. And that about sums it up. Guilt later is funny, like
telling the story now. I’m not sure I’m getting down just how self-centered I
really was and not thinking about taking care of the men unless it was taking care
of me first and it isn’t supposed to be that way. So, hence the guilt.
Anyway, thanks for making me think and thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Excellent writing James. What books did you study to get such knowledge of tactics? I have read many books about the military and your knowledge as a 2nd Lt. was awesome. Thank you for your service and for your writings. John Stebe Esq. Maj CA Ret – USAR, Ret Detective NYPD
I was 23. I’d been through ROTC at a small liberal arts college and had an ROTC professor named HRNCR. Yes, that’s the proper spelling!
He was terrific and we studied war games and reconstructing battles through three courses. I got loved it. And him. I loved Fort Sill because out side of Marine Corps OCS and The Basic School it was one of only three absolutely fair educational institutions of my life. And I knew I had signed up to play for all the marbles. That was it, and a young man’s interest in war novels and study of WWII. I just made up the rest as I went along. None of it was real but all of it was real. None of me is real but all of me is real. You know, for Christ’s sake, you were an NYPD detective. And still are. Thanks for coming on the site to check things out and give me a compliment. High praise from a man like you, I am certain.
Semper fi,
Jim
I went through State OCS because I did not have the hooks to get to Federal OCS :). We did not learn tactics, we learned D&C Map reading, how to be treated like shit, etc. I hear it has gotten much better. I am a retired detective now. Retired from the Reserves as well. Many ups and downs, but what a great life. What great experiences. I returned from Kosovo with the Reserves just in time to return to the NYPD for 9-11. The unfairness you point out is everywhere. On the NYPD they called it the theory of relativity, If your relative is a chief, you get the great jobs. I love the fight that you had in you. I think you may have been a bit of a hard ass before this experience. God bless your tactics instructor. I want the book, but I want you to sign my copy. John
Yes, I think I was a bit of a stickler for the rigidity I took to. I was
raised by Maryknoll nuns who’d just come back from the prison camps in Japan
following the war. They were tough. I mean they were bone deep tough and
violent as hell. Great prep for the Marines. I could spit polish shoes like
nobody’s business by the time I got to OCS, which impressed the hell out of my
D.I. Anyway, thanks for the nice note about your own background. So many of us
went into one form of law enforcement or another after the corps.
Thanks for writing and reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was a Spec 4 in the 12th Engr. Bn, 8th Infantry in Germany in 1960-1962. I was finishing my 3 year enlistment about the time Kennedy was putting Green Berets in Vietnam. (Also, the Berlin Wall was being built.) I’m interested in your writing because I remember people who were saying we shouldn’t get into a jungle war over there. I’m 81 now and I have wondered about the fate of my friends who were enlisted lifers or career officers some of whom were surely deployed to Vietnam later. Some had already served in WWII and Korea.
I think the jury is about in on Vietnam, as it will one day come in on all such
guerrilla efforts abroad. Without considering genocide, it is almost impossible
to defeat indigenous peoples on their own turf, and genocide is hopefully never to be
considered. The problem with Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan and the remainder still waiting
out there to grind up and kill wonderful young men and women, is that the entire population
is against the U.S. and they don’t care how good your motives might be in representing it.
Just the way it is and has always been.
Thanks for the well thought out comment and your support in reading the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Don’t know how you are able to recount your experiences with such detail. I have put mine away for the most part. Is bringing them back to life. I religiously watch for your next postings. Will this eventually be put in book form? Semper Fi ! 11th Cav., The Blackhorse, ” 68 “
Thanks for visiting and the comment, Larry
My wife saved my ‘daily’ letters and I took notes when I was left the corps
after being released from Hospital.
Shared the story with close friends in 1970 also.
We will be publishing 3 Volumes
First, Second, and Third 10 Days
First 10 Days should be available in Paperback and Kindle by end of month.
Thanks again
Semper Fi!
Larry, it is in editing (the First Ten Days) right this minute
as we go up on Amazon. Thanks for asking, reading and troubling to comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
For me, I think the horror of the VN war hit me in the shower. Having to take showers with other men, mostly the ones whose tour of duty was about over, I saw the wounds on their arms, legs, back and all over their bodies. Up until then it was something seen on CBS news. Then it became real for me.
Even after what I’d been through in the Nam when I got to Tachikawa
Hospital in Japan I was barely conscious on a gurney and will never forget looking around
and seeing all these totally destroyed men around me. Destroyed in ways I could not accommodate laying
there. Even after what I’d seen up to that point it was stunning because it was out of the war and
back in some semblance of the world not supposed to be that way….
Thanks for the truth, right here and right now…
Semper fi,
Jim
I was in the Coast Guard . We worked with the swift boats in Gulf of Siam. We were known as the Brown Water Sailors. Like you at times we were led by new Officers who didn’t know what they were doing. Luckily our senior Enlisted managed to get them on track. The Combat Missions we were involved in, required the Enlisteds to get the mission done. I admire your. Story. After all that I saw, I still wonder why we didn’t win that war. I always wondered why we didn’t invade Hanoi. With most of their troops down South. I believe it would be a success.
My Dad was in the Coast Guard for thirty-five years but he never saw
any of that. The Swift Boats are truly cool. Fast and well armed and
manned by some pretty wild characters, John Kerry aside.
We didn’t invade Hanoi because we’d agreed with China and the Soviets not
to if they would not support Hanoi’s effort in the South. Of course those two
lied and supported the North in every way possible except for troops and planes.
There was a never a contest if it had been war. It was pacification, which can never work.
tried again in Iraq and Afghanistan and more. Never works.
Thanks for writing on here and reading the stuff.
Semper fi,
Jim
Where/When is the next chapter …..
Kent Roberts