I lay in my hooch, dug into the side of the hill through the effort of using Fusner’s entrenching tool. The hill was too slanted to lay against without a step being carved into its side. Fusner was just down from me, while Stevens and Zippo were over to my right. How the scouts had managed to get away from being under the direct eyeballs of the new officers I had no idea, and I wasn’t going to ask. I felt a depth of rotten care toward the new officers. Rotten because I knew I would trade their survival for my own in a heartbeat.
I knew that was not right. Not just very few months before I’d gone to Basic School with men just like them. I’d liked them better back then. A lot better than they’d liked me. I smirked at the thought. At least I didn’t have that problem now. But I knew there was going to be trouble from them, and more trouble from Jurgens and Sugar Daddy. Men like them did not take coming to anyone like a Mafia Godfather, with their hats almost literally in their hands. There would be a price, and it would be one I could not want or be able to afford. I realized, shifting around on my poncho uncomfortably, that I didn’t want to kill them. But I did want to kill them. Not kill them exactly. Just make them gone away to somewhere else. I didn’t care where.
I took out my pen and doodled on the back of my map. I liked my Kamehameha plan. It was simple. I knew the 122’s would come in at some point. The enemy battery had to be holding its fire, waiting for the tattered outfit we’d tangled with before to get ready for their attack. Again. So that part of the plan should work, depending on timing, which I had no control over. There had to be some guy on the other lip of the valley staring through his own lenses at our position, waiting. He’d walk the artillery fire inland once he confirmed that the battery was dead on target with the registration point. That part was simple logic unless the hardscrabble band of Vietnamese was too beaten to counter-attack. If I was a laughing man anymore, I would have laughed. The NVA were tough as French snails, and about as prolific too. They were everywhere. They’d come. My own use of Cunningham Firebase to drop rounds behind the attacking force was simple too.
Cunningham had proven its worth. If they had about sixty High Explosive rounds laying around, then bringing the fire down and walking it into the rear of the attacking force would be child’s play, with my guidance. That left only where the NVA could go. And that was my weak point in the plan. They could only come down the slopes in either one direction or the other, or both. If the company was properly set up, with two lines of machine gun arrangements, then it would be a slaughterhouse if the NVA advanced down either side. If the Marines in the company believed me enough to be really on guard and ready. If the blacks and whites, and God knew whatever else we had, could get their shit together long enough to act like a real Marine company. I knew how unlikely that eventuality might be. I could only do so much, though. I laid down, with the backs of my hands crossed over my forehead. The sun was penetrating through the double canopy of trees but there was still a little wind making its way through the bracken close to the ground. The wind held the mosquitos off and provided some cooling.
“Sir,” Zippo whispered from near my right shoulder, just as I heard footsteps squishing through the jungle muck near my feet.
I sat up and rubbed my face to clear my head. One of the First lieutenants stood like he was some sort of Civil War statue, one hand behind him at parade rest and the other holding out my binoculars.
“The captain says these are junk and would like the real ones,” the lieutenant said, before tossing the binoculars into the mud near the left edge of my poncho liner. I retrieved the binoculars and tried to brush the mud from the lenses, before setting then down to pay attention to the man in front of me.
“Jappo specials that don’t focus properly, the captain says.”
“We don’t have any real ones,” I replied, wanting to defend my Japanese binoculars, but figuring it wasn’t worth it.
I could see the man’s name, printed in black over his left breast. Keating, it said, in big black letters printed in bold. Against the bright green, gold and brown of his new utility blouse, the name looked like a perfect aiming point. I thought about being at a distance and holding the front sight of my .45 just above the line of letters. Perfect.
“What’s going on with the company?” Keating asked, looking around nervously. “Why is everyone down here and not up on the high ground? You don’t look like Marines, he said outward in a loud voice. You look like a load of tacos stuck into the side of a hill.”
Fusner started to laugh, and than tried to stifle his giggles with a fake coughing fit when Keating glared over at him.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“I’m a First Lieutenant”, Keating replied, instantly. “You don’t call me sir.”
I just stared up at him, wondering what he would do if I said ‘yes, asshole.’ I shook my head. ‘Never give warning’ was becoming an applied mantra in almost every situation I was living through.
“We’re going to get hit on the high ground tonight, Mr. Keating,” I said, as patiently as I could. “The company’s set in on both sides of the high ground because the landing zone is going to be alive with enemy cannon fire walking itself west while I’m going to be bringing in artillery east behind the NVA and driving them into their own falling rounds. Or our own. They can take their pick.”
“But the command post is encamped on that high ground,” Keating said, showing a bit of fear in his eyes.
“That’s probably a bad idea,” I replied, and then waited.
“You know all this because you’re Svengali, or what?” Keating demanded, getting control of himself by becoming aggressive.
“Is he an officer?” I asked, innocently.
“Who?” Keating asked, his voice almost cracking.
“Svengali,” I said patiently. But I didn’t give him a chance to answer because I was bone tired and didn’t want to banter further.
“The captain wants to see you,” Keating said.
I stretched and clasped my hands behind my head.
“Ask him when he wants to come down and see me,” I replied.
“I don’t know who you think you are or who you think you’re dealing with,” Keating fumed. “Casey’s going to chew you up and spit you out when I tell him what you said.”
I breathed deeply in and out a few times and closed my eyes, hoping the irritating lieutenant would be gone when I reopened them. But he wasn’t.
“At least I know where I am, Keating,” I said, softly. “I’m about four hundred meters from the edge of the A Shau Valley. Marines who’ve gone in there call it the Valley of No Return. The reason it’s called the Valley of No Return is that the man who goes in is not the one who comes out. Tonight you’re going to experience your first full contact combat. You don’t seem afraid, and that’s to your credit. Tomorrow morning I’ll come find you and if you’re not huddled in a puddle of terror then it’ll be because you’re dead.”
Keating stood wavering a bit in front of me, maybe from the slight wind, I thought. He didn’t say anything but he didn’t leave either.
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, so trot on back and inform Casey that he needs to haul ass off of the high ground if wants to avoid getting a Purple Heart and being bagged up in the morning. Seeing me is the least of his problems.”
I closed my eyes again and wished the lieutenant gone. Keating waited for a full minute before moving.
“Thanks for the advice,” he whispered in such a tone of sincerity that my eyes snapped open.
And then he was gone.
“Shit,” I said to myself. I didn’t want to feel sorry for the man, or worse yet, like him. But his last comment made him sound like a twelve-year-old, and a twelve-year-old in trouble. His tone had taken me backward ten days in an instant.
I wasn’t the Gunny. I had no time or inclination to teach an FNG officer how to survive under conditions I wasn’t really doing very well surviving in either, except on a wing and a prayer. Besides, Keating was too tall, too good looking and too much of what passed for a real Marine officer, while I was none of those things. I didn’t think much of myself for thinking that, either.
“That was pretty tough, sir,” Fusner said, from down below me.
I knew he was right but there was no response I could come up with that made sense.
I sat up again. I knew I was not going to be able to avoid the captain for long. Even though we were all tired, down to our very cores, I had to get cleaned up. We had extra water, and if we were headed down into what I’d seen of the A Shau it wasn’t likely we would get resupplied for some time.
“Zippo, get a bottle of water,” I ordered, getting to my feet after scrounging inside my pack for a crummy little bar of white surgical soap. I stripped down a bit away from where I was dug into the hill, making sure the five gallons of water poured over my head would not run into anyone else’s hooch. Zippo was perfect, being big and strong enough to hold the bottle firm in the air, even while I took a few moments to lather up. When it was done, I looked at my miserable combat gear. The only good thing about it was that it blended in with everything around me. I dressed, wearing the same sox for the third day and night. I was trying to get three days to a pair because when I was done the socks were too. If you washed your governmental issue socks in Vietnam, you had nothing but filmy threads left when you were done. I laced up my boots and felt a whole lot better until I saw the safari headed my way.
An entourage appeared out of the bush, with the three new officers in the lead. All three carried M-16s, which I thought uncommon, but certainly allowed if they wanted to add that weight and bulk to their loads. Except they didn’t have any loads. There were five enlisted Marines carrying all of their stuff. No matter how I felt about their near childish naïve behavior so far, I had to admit that they had enough leadership ability to at least get some of the company to do their bidding.
The three approached, with Pilson just behind the C.O., and felt nearly as much trepidation as I had felt when the door opened in the back of the armored personnel carrier ten days ago. I stayed where I was, thinking about how trepidation wasn’t nearly as bad as the terror I was accustomed to. I realized that I didn’t know where the Gunny was and that bothered me a bit. I’d seen him earlier, carrying a whole box of the mosquito repellant. I presumed that the nasty little monsters would be much worse an affliction down in the valley. The men started digging into the side of the hill nearby. I let my breath out slowly, as it came to me. The officers were coming down to stay where I was.
Pilson dropped his radio and went to work digging his own clam shell hole into the side of the mountain. I watched him work, liking the fact that, for the first time I’d been dropped out of the sky, the company was actually digging in. Underground was protection from so much, including the RPGs the enemy would have, and any stray rounds from either artillery battery. He didn’t make much headway before the captain stepped close and talked to him. Pilson put down his entrenching tool, strapped on his radio and headed in my direction. That he put on his radio first, before traveling only a few yards impressed me. I realized that a lot of the Marines in the company had learned and applied good survival skills and practical field experience.
“The captain wants to see you, sir,” he said, almost apologetically.
“I can see him over there from right here,” I replied, knowing I was being adolescent and irritating.
Pilson looked down at me, and waited.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, more to myself than Pilson, wondering if I wasn’t bringing the wrath of God down to join the wrath of Vietnam that had landed on my shoulders. I got up and put on my wet utility blouse I was trying to dry a bit. I’d washed as much mud off it as possible without more water and real detergent. I buttoned up and walked the ten-yard distance. The captain was sitting cross-legged on his poncho liner. I wanted to tell him to layer his poncho cover under it to avoid the liner getting wet for the night ahead but I didn’t.
“Forward observer, reporting in, sir,” I said, standing in front of him, and trying not to look like what I really was. In Basic School they had a phrase for what I had to look like. It was called a ‘soup sandwich.’
“That’s right lieutenant,” Captain Casey said, his tone flat and commanding.
“You’re not the company commander anymore. Certainly not when it comes to planning to respond to an impending enemy attack. What’s this Kamehameha crap I’m hearing about?” He pulled the section of map I’d drawn the outline of the plan upon. I’d given it to the Gunny so he could inform the platoon leaders.
“I’ve been to Kaneohe Marine Base on Oahu. I know about Kamehameha. What is this crap?” he finished, tapping his right index finger on the map laying over his thigh.
I looked up into the trees over my right shoulder. The sun had already set over the ridge so the light was beginning to die. I understood why the two lieutenants were back with Casey. They’d been sent packing by the existing platoon leaders and none of the three of them knew what to do about that, although they’d exercised good judgment in leaving.
“They’re going to hit us tonight and they’ll probably bring their own artillery fire onto that open area near the edge of the cliff,” I said, as plain and simple as I could sound. “The Kamehameha plan is to draw them into the kill zone on the map there, and then slam the door behind them shut with our artillery.”
“I don’t want you calling in that Army artillery shit,” the captain said. “It looks bad in the reports. Use our own artillery.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, wondering whether the captain had any knowledge of the codes used by the Marine and Army batteries to direct fire. My answer was given betting he didn’t. It was useless trying to explain that at the end of the An Hoa battery’s maximum range the rounds could land anywhere within a thousand-meter diameter circle, or worse, where they were targeted. We were in a situation where each Marine perimeter was only two hundred meters from the middle of the kill zone. There would not be any play available for inaccurate rounds.
“This will be the command post for our time here,” Casey said, looking around him, “and I want you in the CP unless I tell you otherwise.” He aimed his last sentence directly at me.
“If you want my advice, sir…” I began, wondering if he’d cut me off, but he didn’t, so I went on, “you’ll stay inside your hole here from now until the sun comes up in the morning. The Marines will shoot anything that moves in the night, the artillery will be impossible to judge where it is, and the enemy is going to be a bit bloodthirsty too. I have to adjust the artillery so I can’t go underground like I’d love to.”
Casey turned and began talking to the two lieutenants that huddled right behind him. Pilson looked at me, and slowly shook his head without showing any expression on his face.
“This is all bullshit,” Captain Casey said, pointing at me instead of the map. You expect the ‘kill zone,’ as you call, it to be perfectly rectangular?”
My mouth dropped open in amazement. The rectangle I’d drawn was a representation of an approximate area. Such representations had been used in every military text I’d ever read or studied. I realized that there was very little to say.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, wondering if the captain would see it as an answer as dumb as what he’d said.
“Whatever, carry on,” Casey said, waving one hand at me, and then tossing the piece of map down on the poncho liner next to him.
I noted then that all three officers had removed their boots, placing each pair neatly next to him.
“Ah, you took off your boots?” I asked, in more wonder. We never took our boots off in combat unless it was to change socks, and then we put them back on as fast as we could. There was no way to move along the jungle floor without boots. The bracken would cut regular skin to shreds in seconds.
“The Gunny said to air them out and dry them every chance we get,” Keating said, from his position off to the left of Captain Casey’s.
Once again, I was speechless. The Gunny had told them that? I struggled, attempting to understand. Why would the Gunny say that when every one of us out in the bush knew that night or day we might have to move fast and far on an instant’s notice?
I wanted to ask for the map plan back but realized I didn’t really need it. The combat company was amazing in that no five paragraph orders were needed to let everyone know what they were supposed to do, and when. They just somehow got the word and knew. Since we’d been engaged with the NVA, I also noted that our casualties had gone down.
“Anything else, sir,” I said, wanting to salute but knowing that might be over the top in expressing my disdain.
“Carry on,” the captain said, not looking at me while waving one hand as if to dismiss some sort of menial servant. The Marines digging the holes for the officers looked up at the same time but I looked away, not wanting to reveal anything of my feelings. I walked away into the bush and headed up the slope, hoping to run into the Gunny without having to ask around to see where he was.
Fusner, Nguyen, Stevens and Zippo trailed along with me, like no new officers had ever been sent in to command the company. The Gunny was not far from the more open area of trees and sporadic brush that comprised the top of the slope the company was divided down on each side of.
The Gunny looked back at our approach, then turned to await our arrival.
“I hear you’ve got a command post now,” he said, without a trace of a smile.
“Rittenhouse,” I replied, getting right to the point.
“Wondered when you’d get around to him,” the Gunny said, waving at someone I couldn’t see near the top of the ridge. “We don’t have a replacement you know, if you’re thinking about…well, you know…” his voice trailed away into silence.
I squatted down to wait. Fusner handed the binoculars to me with a clean sock he’d scrounged from somewhere.
“Thought you’d want to clean these yourself,” he said, with a smile.
The Gunny joined us, going to work brewing a canteen holder of coffee.
I began wetting the sock from some of the moist leaves flapping around us in the light breeze. I noted the lack of mosquitos that would return with a vengeance once the waning sun was gone and the breeze died out. I slowly massaged all the little pockets of mud out of the lenses, finally rubbing the outside of the worn outer coating clean.
Rittenhouse came through the jungle alone, carrying his clipboard, with a pencil stuck behind one ear on his bare head. He looked like a young clerk working at some stateside factory.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked.
“Do you have a daily form you use or do you just write something out in freehand?” I asked back, noting his complete lack of anything but a ‘can-do’ attitude.
“Of course we have a form,” he replied, slipping a sheet of paper out from some others on his clipboard.
I took the sheet and examined it. It was a piece of paper to be filled in, accounting for supplies, with KIA and WIA blank blocks for Marine and enemy casualties. There was one blank space, near the bottom of the form that was titled ‘miscellaneous.’
I frowned at the blank document, before handing it back. “And so how did the new crew discover that I was the evil genius behind all the company’s problems?”
“I don’t know,” Rittenhouse replied, looking a little perplexed. “I just fill in the blanks and use the miscellaneous box to let battalion know what’s going on as best I can.”
“So, how did my name come up?” I asked, beginning to wonder about the whole reporting process and who was being told what by whom.
“I never used your name,” Rittenhouse said. “The company commander is responsible for everything. You were the company commander, or so the Gunny said. Before that it was him.”
I looked over at the Gunny. He shrugged, his face a puzzled mix of frowning wrinkles and a smile.
“The miscellaneous box,” I said. “Do you have to put anything in it?”
“I suppose not,” Rittenhouse replied.
“Then leave it blank and make sure the Gunny or I see it every damned day before it goes on a chopper. And if those guys want to see it then make sure we see it after them,” I followed, pointing back to where the command post was being erected.
I sat checking out my binoculars after the boy-clerk was gone. It wasn’t Rittenhouse I realized. It was the war, Vietnam, the situation and a whole load of bad communication and piss poor leadership at all levels. I had no doubt that the name ‘Junior’ had come to Casey and his lieutenants from the daily report but Rittenhouse also had a point. Just who in hell’s fault was anything? Was I at fault if the whole Kamehameha Plan went into the toilet and we suffered heavy casualties? If it all came off as planned, then we’d simply move down into the A Shau in the morning. There would be no reward. If it went wrong, many of us would die and it would all be my fault. I stared at a bug sitting on a leaf through the right lens of my ‘Jappo’ binoculars. The bug didn’t know what was coming in the night and enjoyed a state of being at fault for nothing, no matter what happened in that night. I would not have that luxury.
Brother John came through with his last radio broadcast of the day. No homilies, no preaching, and no smarmy talk about going home. Just Jay and the Americans singing about this magic moment…forever, till the end of time…
Beginning of Book One | Next Chapter >>>>>>>
The subsequent reads are just as captivating as the first read. Few typos to look at. Sorry about adding to your load.
“I’m a First Lieutenant, Keating replied, instantly. “You don’t call me sir.” =Needs a trailing double quote after Lieutenant,
Underground was protection from so much, including the RPGs the enemy would have any stray rounds from either artillery battery. =Probably needs an (and) between “would have” and “any stray”.
The three approached, with Pilson just behind the C.O., and felt nearly as much trepidation as I had … =and (I) felt
It was useless trying to explain that at the end of the An Hoa battery’s maximum range the rounds could land anywhere within a thousand-meter diameter circle, or worse, of where they were targeted. =The “or worse” seems out of place in the sentence. Perhaps “… within a thousand meter or more diameter circle of where they were targeted.” “or worse ” has a certain connotation to it though. Perhaps “… thousand meter or worse …”
Appreciate your support as always, David
Semper fi,
jim
Jim, typo, Dave.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, wondering if the captain would see () as an answer as dumb as what he’d said() => (it) and (.)
Thanks for the help Dave!
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks again Dave.
Corrected
Semper fi
Jim
Typo
“Yes, sir,” I replied, wondering if the captain would (it see) as an answer as dumb as what he’d said. => (see it)
Corrected,
Thanks
Half the battle ..from withhin the unit and the other against …the vc and NVA…was commonplace …throughout I Corps and the war…changes in CO’s other officers from stateside ,sometimes just listening to a Salty Gunny and adjusting to battlefield as it exists could make a difference ..the NVA were no dummies and proved to be formidable ..marine corps firepower prevailed…semper fi
You have it by the stacking swivel Tony. Exactly. The most cogent part of the story deals with
just shocked and out of place it was to discover that everyone was not pulling together to the point
of terminal behavior inside the unit. That racial extraction mattered and that was a total shock.
Fighting for our lives, quite literally, and it mattered what color any of us were? Oh, please!
Anyway, thanks for the support your comment lends.
Semper fi,
Jim
Amazed how you can distill hours of boredom into constant moments of panic. I was medivaced out of op Mead River, A 1/7. . .your writing consumes my thoughts.
Semper Fi
There were many ‘tours’ in Vietnam and a ton of them probably involved huge amounts of sitting around
and boredom. That was not the case where and when I served. I keep repeating that. This is my story and that
is subjective to my opinion so many years later and also alone among many others. Thank you for allowing me
to reach your thoughts. It was my intent, since you appear to be one of us.
Thanks for the comment and the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s interisting Gunnys giving these guys advice on avoiding immersion foot. Take em off, dry em our, relax. Lol, there’s motive there. How does a Capt get a company and who’s obviously boot? My advice to my son before deploying, keep your rifle clean, and sleep with your boots on, keep your mouth shut and watch your Sr NCOs. You won’t have time to find shit or put your boots on when your getting hit.
Yes, the Gunny was one clear SOB, with me and everyone around him. Not your tough-talking
demanding Gunny type. More Like Jim Rockford in the Rockford files. Slippery and clever
and I think with a good heart. At least toward me when I got used to him. And his games
that were more than games. Thanks for the comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Reading your account makes me realize, at last, why my dad never wanted to talk about his combat experiences in WWII. He was a Marine, too – 3rd Marine Raider Battalion, Co. K. I wanted to write a book about his experiences but he passed away this past December without giving me the first person account of his battles that I thought I needed. I’m going to write the book anyway. But I’m going to stay as far away as possible for glorifying the war, even though I’m proud of his service in it. Anyway, thanks for writing so honestly. It is helping me understand my dad’s experience.
So many combat guys have no way to get any of it out because they don’t trust that you will believe them or forgive
them. There’s a lot of shame in real combat and almost nothing you do makes your feel like you thought you would.
And then there are everyone’s views of what you might have done and perspectives are all different.
Thanks for saying such personal things. I’m sorry he never broke open but he was worried and obviously loved
you to much to risk it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great read James obviously there was some politics going on with the officer’s around you that were inexperienced. I guess until they went through a fire fight they didn’t realize that all that posturing and politics really didn’t apply in the field, and that they needed to be on the same page for their very survival. The other thing that was in this read was about how the NVA alway’s pretty much knew where we were. At one point we were on top of one of those mountain’s and hadn’t made any contact for a while,so in an effort to try to raise our morale during re-supply of c’s and water hot chow was murmitted out to us for the first time ever and chaplins also came out to hold some brief services.I distinctly remember going up to one of them after the service and saying to him their’s something wrong with this war kinda offering it to him as a question,but he had no answer. They packed it in got on the chopper’s and flew off. We with full loaded rucksacks helping each other up as it was to hard to get up on your own with an 85 to 90 pound load and full belly’s started to hump down the trail and were immediately ambushed I don’t remember how many killed or wounded.
It seems they were watching the whole show and then getting ready to spring the ambush.I saw one of the platoon sgt’s he was new to the field, and was so scared he aimed his ar 15 at his foot and shot himself in the foot most likely in an effort to get extracted out of the field on a medevac. I couldn’t believe he did that to himself he was screaming in pain. I think he was sorry he made that decision.Of most of us did not wear underwear under our jungle fatigue’s on the lite side I was so scared I pooped the whole load of hot chow down my pant leg’s.I also remember not getting resupplied at times because of a low ceiling.
I remember we found a piece of fruit on a bush that looked like a grapefruit we boiled not knowing if it was poisonous or not. The squad also sat in a circle and opened up a few of those little tins of peanut butter and jelly, and passed them around each member of the squad taking a finger full and passing it to the next soldier we were a tribe for sure.Thank Sir for telling of your experiences and letting us add ours.These are thing’s from a now thank’s to Jesus healed perspective I have wanted to tell,but many still don’t want to hear it.
Oh, I want to hear. And many people reading what you wrote want to hear and read too. We have just been a really silent
group because that is what PTSD does. Don’t notice me, just let me slip into the woods and peer out, unseen…because that is
what most survivors were able to successfully do. It was about finding little places of relative safety until the sun came
up the next day. You fought when you absolutely had to and for no damned other reason. If you ran out into the night to save a
buddy it was because you needed what that buddy could provide to benefit your own survival, not because he was your pal. Another ‘pal’ would
be on the next chopper. The Gunny and I did not like one another. We used one another quite to our own advantage.
Thanks for that whole revelation. I loved the fruit shit! We did that down in the valley! It turned out to be something called breadfruit and was inedible. Should have been called shit-fruit!
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
Where is the next chapter?
You will be reading, if you read it, the next segment soon. It will be titled The Tenth Night Second Part.
That night is not over, as so many were not over when they damned will ought to have been over back then.
And then there’s the coming dawn. The warmth of the sun because of the life it seemed to always offer.
I prowl the night, like many of you, with sensors, cameras, and even a full blown Starlight Scope from the day
(found on Ebay). I don’t study the night or go on patrol. I just wait to see what might come next. I know there’s
nobody out there. I know it. Thanks for the short comment to get this long answer.
Semper fi,
Jim
Have you already posted the 10th night? I’ve been holding my breath since you went into the night defensive positions with a plan to inflict some damage on the NVA. And you are a helluva writer to keep so many of us hooked! Thanks!
Ed, 10th Night is up.
Follow this Link
Tenth Night, 30 Days Has September
Something is up with your web page. The tenth day chapters are not in chronological order and the link for the Tenth Night does not show up at all. I use the latest version of Firefox but I also tried Edge with similar results. I’ve also tried using F5 to force reload the page with no luck. Not complaining by any means, I just know that web pages don’t always behave the same for the owner as they do for the rest of the internet.
Thanks for taking the time to share your experience and be sure to post a link when the ebook is available.
Please call my associate Chuck,
what powerful writing you have shared with us. I am amazed/disturbed by the similarities of our experiences. Based on all of your hints/comments I know things are going to get uglier still. I have found the comments to be so moving. Today my wife asked me what I was doing and I replied I am crying. She said did he release another chapter? I responded in the affirmative and she let it go. What a blessing she is. After awhile I went out and she asked about the particulars and I said that your writings which are painful in their own way but it is the comments of the men who are still hurting 50 years later. I guess the monster that is PTSD will never leave us alone. Thank you, brother
You make the most of PTSD if you get to live long enough and can wrestle that bastard
to its knees. So you don’t sleep much? Find something to do that does not keep everyone
else up or have everyone worry about you while you are up prowling. Stay out of bars.
Watch out and stay away from the macho types. Pull off the road and go get gas or coffee
from road rage people. They don’t know you’ll kill them, thereby killing yourself in a different way.
Pack your guns away or get rid of them. You don’t need them anyway if you are one of us. You are absolutely
lethal all by your lonesome with a Mont Blanc pen and a napkin! I am sorry and happy to reach you so deeply.
My intentions are good but the delivery is a thing all of its own. I just write on into my nights.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT. great read brings back alot of memories I was with Alpha 1/4/3 in 66/67 We were the guys that made the nomans strip from Gio Linh to Con Thien, As per our Lts all of Alpha Co were xenlisted, except one who was a know it all who got shot in the butt and never came back to us. Our Co. was WIA 5 times, Our Gunny was awarded the Silver Star 2 times. Love your stories keep them comeing. Semper Fi.
Thank you for the compliment P.C.
It’s quite possible that ex-enlisted make the best officers of all.
I am not sure that any studies track them, but then how would one go about getting valid combat data?
When S.L.A. Marshall studied combat in Korea, to discover and write about most troops of the time
not shooting back at the enemy for fear that if they did they would be shot in turn,
was powerful in anthropology but sure as hell doomed him socially and eventually academically.
The truth about combat is not something non-combat males want out here.
At all. Thanks for writing in and also for the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
2022 Comments! And you answer every (expletive deleted) one of them! I’m like a couple of your other “regular” commentors in opting (painfully) not to add to your workload by replying to every segment. The comments would, indeed, make a book, of a type not seen before but of great value.
“I let my breath out slowly, as it came to me. The officers were coming down to stay where I was.” My “key phrase” always jumps out like a bad haircut at the Marine Corps Birthday Ball. You say so much without saying anything.
You don’t have to reply to this, Strauss! I know you’re reading it.
SF,
PFJ
Just finished the Tenth Night, maybe the toughest one to write so far, John. And, of course, I then
saw your usual brilliant communication. Admittedly, I don’t notice these key phrases you always pick up on
but the fact that you do and excerpt them in quotes always makes me smile. As it does now. In some ways, the comment replies
are relaxing. I can just be me in the here and now. Maybe that means something to those who comment and get replies or not. I don’t really
know. Most don’t comment more than once. Which is okay too. The real audience in general I am after is not the kind that finds it deft or easy
to express things in writing or even talking about the Nam. There are, however, erudite people in this collection of readers, both vets and non-vets
who I value most highly because it connects me real time, back and forth, with the story. Then to now and back. I just left the jungle and here I
am talking to you instead of the Gunny. Cool. That probably sounds a little schizoid, but what the hell, if I was truly sane I would not be writing
this at all!
Your friend,
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for writing. I have been reading non fiction Vietnam war books since the 6th grade. I had a Language Arts teacher who was in the Cav. My father in law was Rt California CCC DAK TO, KONTUM. He is a Montagnard Sedang tribe. I visited Vietnam with him in 1993. I was given a Visa and lived in the Central Highlands for 1 month. Thank you for your service in the Marines. I look forward to reading more. I met my wife in Jr High and
Hey, Todd, I never got the rest of your comment. I have a hard-bitten deep
respect for the Montagnard people, as you might guess from the manuscript.
My contact there was nothing short of tribally revealing with deep life
long significance for my conduct since. Thank you for your Dad!
Thank you for reading and commenting here too.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I remember the young FNGs and LTs-gung ho!! Sometimes I thought the bugs and snakes were worse than the NVA. Although the NVA weren’t dumb. I enjoy your descriptions of the coming action. It reminds me of the things that went through my mind when on the perimeter, listening to the R122s and R106s walk. I also think about the Montagnards I was with when I was near Pleiku. Anyway, my PTSDgets to me once in a while. Can’t explain it. I just start crying uncontrollably. My wife says what’s wrong. I just walk away…
Maybe your wife is a great candidate to read the book, Dick!
She might come to understand that only a few of us get to the point were we can or are
willing to go public with what happened there.
It was so very very personal and yet is not treated that way by the public or even the VA.
I had a VA doctor, years ago, tell me that I had to prove to him that I had PTSD.
I got arrested, of course, and he didn’t agree.
Fortunately, his boss said that I was “prima facia” and never would have to prove it again!
Thanks for the very personal note and glad you are here and one of us…
Semper fi,
Jim
You know LT, what you are writing is therapeutic for the many vets that went down range. It is even therapeutic for those of us that by the fickled hand of fate were not in country. It has helped as a Flt doc to understand where some of you guys are in your battles with PTSD.
Intense stuff sir. The military humor is not lost either. Brotherhood is the thread that binds us all that took the oath and answered the call.
Keep it coming. Let us know when the Kindle or printed version is available. We all owe you that ( the purchase of your book for the privilege of sharing our thoughts with you as you spine this yarn.)
As the the military goes the truth is usually bigger than fiction!
I’ve recommended your writings to some fellow vets that were in country. One of them being a Marine Rotorhead.
Ck 6
Doc
Thanks for the recommendation. Of course, it is the guys who were really in the shit that I am writing toward.
I know the rest of the society will remain incurred by the mythical stories that television, movies and even most literature
submerge them with. I am a small 2nd Lieutenant voice in a night where I am not to be referred to as sir. I can handle that.
Like I said, if I get a small fishing boat somewhere out of this then I will be most tickled. In fact, I might just end up with
a few old warriors who might teach me what to do with the rod, reel and line!
Thanks for the very bright and well-thought out comment. I read and then re-read three times to
reach its full timber and depth.
Thank you for that, and for the reading and liking the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
The thing I find most disturbing about movies is that many, maybe even most, people don’t realize they are created to entertain and turn a profit.
They often tell one of a few old stories set on an exciting new backdrop. A movie must have a certain authenticity if it is to successfully achieve it’s goals. For example, “Top Gun” captured the pilot’s absolute self confidence and the constant peril that accompanies military aviation. Was the rest of it an accurate depiction? I have no idea but I suspect not. There have been a few comments here, on the movie “Apocalypse Now”, saying it was a poor depiction of Vietnam. However, “Apocalypse Now” was Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness”. It says so right on the opening credits. The movie did a pretty good job of telling the “Heart of Darkness” story set against the backdrop of Vietnam. There was one “authenticity” point I wondered about but didn’t want to offend anyone by asking. This was Captain Willard’s “episode” (for lack of a better word) in the opening scene. Thanks for clearing this up, in your interview with Chuck Bartok.
There were more elements in Apocalypse than I mentioned, of course.
The darkness was the movie makers way of portraying fear.
The bizarre nature of actions done as a result of terror-based decisions.
The protagonist’s obvious self-loathing…
The movies are there to entertain, not reveal or explain history.
Sometimes it’s hard to graphically show a scene and get
the moment, the emotion and the meaning…and not totally alienate the viewer.
Writing is an easier genre to allow for lesser or
greater impact, depending upon the reader.
In my mind’s eye I still see Barnes body, blasted nearly in half by that single round.
I wrote about it and you, as a reader, can imagine it.
But, for me, Barnes stopped in time, seemingly lifted from his feet, the
red funnel showering out from his chest…forever. Do you want that image?
A really great movie-maker might be able to create and
give you that image…
but do you need it, or want it, or even want to make a decision about whether you want it or not?
I don’t know.
Thanks for the thoughtful comment and the conjecture.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’ve been captivated by your installments. I eagerly await the next one. I’m not your typical reader here as I was a draft baby constantly watching the lottery. I guess the suspense got the best of me and I went to the Marine Corp to enlist instead of awaiting a letter of induction. The Corporal there was eager to sign my butt up! While thinking it over, I saw something that changed me and my sister forever. The horrors of the war made it’s self present front and center. My younger sister and I were sitting in a car in a store parking lot. A man walked between our car and the one parked beside it. He turned and looked at us with a glance and my sister went crazy screaming. The man was a severely wounded/disfigured vet. His face was pretty much caved in on one side missing his eye and cheek bone. I could see the anguish on this young mans face as my sister kept screaming. Even with my shocked state I knew what this man was. I’ve since thought about him often and wondered how he coped. My soul ached that day (and still does) because he could not help his condition and my young sister did not know now to deal with it either. I know this only increased his trauma in life. I never returned to the recruitment office and I just sat and awaited my number if it came. It never came. I did have friends who served the Corp in Nam. A couple never came home, Nam is still claiming some. My lifelong best friend passed Jan 16,2015 Agent Orange related. Corp L.G. Kincaid. Thank you for your writings. It helps me understand more of what my friends experienced and not so much as what I missed. Looking forward to more.
Glad you missed the show to be able to write that rather poignant and revealing comment on here.
Much enjoy reading such stories because these are the stories that are almost never told anywhere.
Also, I want to thank you for using the word ‘captivating,’ as I an unaccustomed to that compliment.
I am sorry about the rather dreadful experience you had, not only with that vet’s appearance
(I can only shudderingly imagine what the vet himself was going through!) but with losing some
people you really cared about. That war ‘trimmed’ so much from the quality youth of the time
and created so much needless controversy.
Thanks again and,
Semper fi,
Jim
Our Stg.s were old guys and they were a lot of help to our new Lt. I had 4 new Lt. in my time in nam. The first one was the best. I don’t like being on the first chopper all the time with him .l was the M60 gunner and we were first into LZ and last out when it was all over .
Non-coms were the blood of life in the Nam and recognizing that the Gunny
was so capable and so great saved my life more than any other single thing
while I was there. Thanks for the reminder.
And the comment. And the reading in the first place.
Semper fi,
Jim
Can’t wait for the next segment.The airing out of the feet brought back some memories.Lot of Marines in my co. took boots of when we set up.But not this kid . Our Gunny said that I would get jungle rot.I heard of it from training but kept my boots on .I got rot so bad that when on R&R in Tokyo I had to pry the sheets off both feet. Got back and an officer confronted me cause boots were unlaced.I showed him and he said get your ass to sick bay and get them fixed.I swear the corpsman used a kitchen scratcher on them . I scronged me up a few pair of dry after that. Semper Fi
The jungle boots brought into existence in around 1968 helped
resolve some of the foot issues so prevalent with the use of solid
leather in combat boots. Today, there are no all leather combat boots
except for some show units, at least not in America armed forces.
The canvas sides did wonders for helping.
Thanks for the detail and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
This is so unique, we read just half a step behind what you write. There’s comments and interaction and then the awaiting of another chapter. I’m really enjoying this experience, if this is doable I’d far prefer this to settling in and reading from cover to cover. The personal anecdotes are about like sitting there in WI with you reading then asking questions and making comments. But it’s not intrusive because you can turn it off when you choose. I could read books like this in the future given the nature of things and its non fiction. Unlike any Nam book ive ever read, I’m still bummed that Company grade officers could care less whether I’m bagged, it’s shocking they could give two shits. What they preached to us is bullshit, they were concerned about their careers first and foremost.
Dale, thank you for your forthright comment. I am thinking about what you’ve written.
Company grade officers were mostly scared shitless once they got to the field and found out
what was going on and then they could not get back out and had very high probability of getting killed from both sides!
The officers in the rear with the gear knew better and those that came into country with friends
already there stayed in the rear.
Back at my battery there must have been fifteen officers but forward observers out in the shit, maybe one to a battalion!
This form of writing is different, I will give you that.
Partially, because making money isn’t driving the effort.
Note the lack of any ads and the book in the future,
but you get it all for free if you want to come on and read the installments.
And these rather unusual comments and my responses.
Out of 2022 comments over the last few months I’ve answered all of them and
only denied two real nasty fellows access.
Now, I have to go and finish the Tenth Night, which is the third segment of the second book, as things are turning out.
I did not start out to publish a book at all. I started out because my I.T. guy and old friend wanted
some original stuff and I had this old manuscript kicking around for forty some odd years.
Thanks for your thought and your expression about all this.
By the way, this is sort of a fun way to write and encounter readers along the way.
Semper fi,
Jim
One small typo in this installment.
“The Gunny said to air them out and dry them every chance we get,” Keating said, from is position off to the left of Captain Casey’s. (is/his)
Impressed that you type 100 wpm. Had a Sgt., instructor at Ft. Huachuca that tested at 110. He copied Morse Code on a typewriter! My meager typing skills earned me two ranks at Ft. Bragg before I shipped out to Nam.
Another great chapter, ready for the next one.
Thanks for your sharp eye, Richard. Fixed. Our esteemed editor is also going
over with a practiced eye before we publish
Very much enjoy the series. My war was different from yours. Two tours flying helicopters from ’68-69′ and ’71-72′. We always had an appreciation for the ground troops we supported and did everything we could to be there when they needed us. On the whole, I think I prefer flying to humping the jungle. Look forward to the rest of the tale.
Never had a bad chopper flight, not back then and not since. Funny, I rode a 1st Air Cav.
Looch on Kauai years ago. The chopper was a perfect replica of back in the days.
The guy who was the pilot wore all the right stuff.
He flew nap of the earth and then a performance course down through
the valley and falls in the middle of the island.
At the end I asked him if he’d trained and flown in the Nam.
He said no. He just liked the look! Thanks for the rides, sky pilot!
And thanks for the comment and the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
You keep this up Jim and you are never going to get the chance to write the next segment….Someone up the line mentioned “Caputo’s” work….I have always felt that the “Forward” he wrote in that book told more about the reality of it than everything else put together…”innocense lost’….Keep it up Lt…Semper Fi
Remember, I don’t sleep normal. One of the things you can do, with a lot
of effort and practice, is channel PTSD to your advantage. I don’t sleep much so
I get up and write. It’s more peaceful than television so I don’t bother anyone
else in the house. And I can’t do it adjusted on drugs or alcohol…so it helps
keep those monster ‘cures’ at bay. Thanks for the concern and your attention.
Semper fi,
Jim
Brings back many memories all bad. But I do recall moving around the NDP and pointing out to all the FNG’s to put your boots back on and donot ever take them off,both new LT’s and enlisted.
Yes, turns out the Gunny, being the crazy wonderful but evil master he was,
had some anterior motives I didn’t understand just then.
Thanks for the confirmation about the boot thing. We consequently had a lot
of foot problems out there.
Thanks,
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim
First thanks for relating your experience, I wasn’t there, missed it by 13.5 hours. So much respect for those I know or have known who were there. My college roommate is on the Wall, an old family friend was part of the original planners. AAMOF I am going to drop him a line to see if he is reading what you are writing. He writes as well. You have the editing covered pretty well with so many volunteers. That said Gunny had “ulterior” motives. I appreciate you are running on fumes, getting old is like that. Memories is mostly what is left
Yes, the Gunny, and rest of us had ‘ulterior’ motives, the chief one remaining alive.
Like I say about Sullenberger on that airplane. Heroism is fine about saving all those people.
But there was one life on the line he was primarily concentrating on and we all know which one that was
and remains. Like me. Like you. We do, occasionally, do what’s right for the many at the expense of the one (us),
as portrayed so excellently in that Star Trek movie. But it is uncommon as hell…
Thanks for the comment and support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Ahhhh the wait! Great stuff, keep up the good work!
Paul. I shall endeavor to persevere….the great philosophy taken direct from
the line in Outlaw Josey Wales….
Thank you for reading and commenting…
Semper fi,
Jim
You do what you do as best you can LT and so far you got me with ya. Semper Fi brother
In OCS I felt inadequate until about mid-way through. My platoon sergeant really
is the one that infused me with the Marine spirit by making me house mouse of the
outfit. It was well known that the house mouse had the D.I. stamp of approval.
I swelled and rose to be 2nd in the platoon, with the number one guy (who died
in the Nam) actually telling me I should have been number one. Now he was a class act!
In Basic School I was not well liked but I was the class jock and got that damned .45
even though my battalion commander was not a supporter of mine (he hated John Kennedy and I
loved him). Then there was the Nam where all that other stuff had to come off like a tight uniform.
And there I was, naked as jay bird starting all over again. And then god gave me the Gunny…
There you have it.
Thank you for the short comment which I answered a bit too long.
Semper fi,
Jim
I am riveted by each new chapter you write. As I sit here reading I feel guilty that I got to surf and have a wonderful life, while you guys had to suffer through so much terror from all sides. I graduated in ’74 and had a lot of friends that did tours in Vietnam. Some were shot up pretty bad but they come home.
Thank you for getting these memories in writing for us to experience.
Stop right there. We were over there thinking of guys like you and yes,
listening to the Beach Boys along with you in the Bush. The real deal guys
have no resentment toward those who did not go for whatever reason, unless you tell
us that we were fools for going and then go find cover. Thanks for the enjoying the trip
here though and you are most welcome to be among us…and you probably surf a hell of lot better than
any of us too!
Semper fi,
Jim
Hope the sucess brings you a fishing boat the size of the Valley Forge. What you write makes it worth at least that to me and from the comments a great many others. Lima 3/26 and Bravo 1/26 0311 66/67. Semper Fi
Well, hell, thank you Jim! I was thinking of something small but neat,
like one of those conservative ocean going things people park in Newport or
Dana Point Harbo and never go out on. It would be so cool to just sit
about a mile off with a line in the water and looking back at the country
that meant so much and now means even more. Thanks for that thought.
I shall endeavor to continue.
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt,
Thank you so much for your sharing of this glimpse of your life in country. However hard it is for you it has helped so many of us that needed to come to terms with our own demons that have been shoved to those dark recesses of our own minds, left to haunt our thoughts in the dark of the night and still evoke tears of sorrow after so many years, will we ever really come home?
Thank You my Friend,
Stephen Lucas
Define home, Stephen. I too am up in the night more times than I care
to relate. And I roam my home here and then around the lake here that is the
extension of that home. Finally, I consider the US of A and all of its
faults. Where is home? What is it? vietnam is not going away and it
slips into spaces left open around these versions of home I carry, and I sense
you carry, around, depending upon the day, the time and the occasion.
You sure as hell aren’t alone though. Just read what these guys say and you come
to know that. You are always home with us.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
Don’t feel bad, even the Army stole from the Army! We raided the warehouses a couple times during my tour with the 11th Cav. in 70-71. Am enjoying your story. The dropdown shows the second ten days but when I go there I get days from the first ten. Did I misunderstand you saying it was there? And people think “Deer Hunter” and “Apocalypse Now” are inconceivable. The truth is stranger and scarier than the fiction. Keep going it is a story that needs to be told. Only those of us who were there will understand and believe!
I love that! The Army stole from the Army. Like in MASH the show.
I recall them stealing a jeep and repainting it. Funny how that small
stuff was so damned enjoyable. If we had known that the Army guys were
deliberately letting us take their stuff because they felt sorry for us
that would have ruined everything. And they somehow knew that too.
Thanks for writing that and for liking the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter James
Thanks Donnie. Appreciate the attaboy as It’s about all I have to keep me going these days.
Life tries to draw me to go down other paths but I am staying the course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hello Mr Strauss
Names Bob Reagan and I to was in Vietnam 67/68. Just turned 70 and there’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about that time being 20ys old in a hell hole with people trying to kill me for a reason I never under stood. Love your story keep them up.I live in Fletcher NC.
Here there Bob. There are a lot of guys out there now, since I began this rather surprising odyssey
that I now know that I share nights with, sort of like back then but different. I got in trouble at home
the night before last for using my big chop saw in the basement at one of those horrid hours.
My wife was not pleased. My cat thought it was okay, but he’s more the night prowler like me.
Thanks for sharing that we are side by side out here on some nights.
Semper fi,
Jim
I got to get my hands on a copy of your book,don’t want to miss the big fight tonight when you give the NVA, the dirt nap thats coming to them. I’M A navy veteran, I chose that route rather than the draft. As I read this I think of one of my closest friends, a marine that served in Hue and did recon up and down “Charlies ridge” My friend is no longer with us due to agent orange exposer. Hoot Gibson is doing his thing in the words you write. Hand salute to you Sir……..
Fighting the battle of Kamehameha right now using Word.
Should be done tonight.
Then off tomorrow to the site on here after I edit as best I can
and find a proper photo to go with it.
Remember that chunk of jungle up above the A Shau like it was yesterday.
Funny, from the bottom of the valley the cliff face looks a hell of a lot like that big cliff at Yellowstone,
except smaller, of course.
Thanks,
Semper fi,
Jim
Note that you were commenting about publishing difficulties. WND/ Worldnetdaily.com, has been looking for writers to publish. As you may know, they are a world class news organization, with a good reputation, you may want to checkout their capabilities!
Thank you most sincerely. I am not publishing this story as news.
I am not publishing it as non-fiction, although it certainly comes for
a substantial base of that.
I am publishing it as fiction because I have taken the liberty to ‘fill in the blanks’
what I think I remember but do not always.
Thank you though.
There will also be some bitter critics of what I’ve put up here.
Semper fi,
Jim
With every episode I read, I realize more and more how blessed I was in Vietnam. #1, by the time I got there in mid-’70, you guys who went before had done the really tough stuff. #2, shortly after I arrived in 3/1, the CO and S-3 were replaced. The new CO, LtCol (later MGen) Marc Moore was a breath of fresh air. He called a meeting of all the Lts and told us to be bold, he would have our backs, he knew we would make mistakes, because we were inexperienced, just don’t make the same mistake twice. His boss, Col (Later CMC) PX Kelley had his back on that as well. #3 Also shortly after I arrived, the Bn had an influx of 2nd tour Capts to lead the companies. #4 I had and industrious Sgt as Guide, 3 great Cpls as Sq Ldres and two great SSgts as Plt Sgts, the second made GySgt in the field (meritorious combat promotion) on my recommendation, which was backed by my Co CO Capt John Short, as well as Moore and Kelley. #5 Before arriving in-country I had about 5 1/2 months in Oky and on float with 3/9, so I had a bit of experience with troops.
The bitter joke among Lts was that our chief purpose was to provide fall-guys for the mistakes of the brass. That was definitely not true with my Co, Bn and Regt COs! Semper Fi! Thanks for writing this.
Thanks for the long comment about your own experience. I think most company
grade officers were afraid of field grade types and what they might command next
and then how you could bend those demands to allow Marines in the field to stay alive.
There was a deep disconnect between what was happening in combat and maybe only ten clicks away.
Thanks for the care and for the reading of the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
I read this and got my fix but wasn’t going to say anything to add to your workload by way of answering me. I had to say these books you are in the process should be required reading for all. Granted the keyboard commandos it will never sink into but it could help some others to survive once they got their eyes open to the reality of war. I know a few with the PTSD that if they would sit down and read these it might help just knowing others were in the same crap. Thanks for all you are going through for all.
Yes, I would hope guys who’ve come home ‘different’ might be able to point at the story and
say “see,” and maybe be better believed about how they got to be a bit different in life.
At least that’s part of my goal.
Of course selling a book successfully and buying a fishing boat would be most cool too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, that advice for airing the feet by the Gunny made me smile. Still haven’t figured out the Rittenhouse mystery, but I commend you for digging into that before making any further decision, and also allowing those shoes to dry out at the command post.I use the interim to read all the new comments and your replies. Excellent work, sir. Keep it up.
Oh, read on, and you will have some help with that mystery and with the complex character that Rittenhouse was.
And the boots. And the subtlety of the Gunny.
There were some real special guys in my screwed up company
but man there were some terrific ones too.
Thanks for the comment and the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just like letters home, a redact in process. Plenty of twists and turns going on. No need to spoil any hands by showing what’s up, but I can still appreciate the heads’ up. Thanks, Lieutenant.
You are most welcome Ron. I better get back to the Tenth Night before everyone
starts yelling at me…
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
I must say I am hooked and look forward to each installment. I can see Gunny in myself at times. Your war and mine were many years apart. I away knew I was going to be a Soldier when I got out of school. I joined the Army in 78 as a crew chief on a UH-1H. I wanted to go to war when I was 18 (young and dumb) I did my hitch and got out. 19 years later I joined the National Guard. 40 years old and back in uniform.
I was 45 when I went to war. Now that I know what it tastes like I would not wish that on anyone. I know it was harder on my family than it was on me.
In 2012 my son deployed to the “stan” I had never been so scared in my life. I lost so much sleep from worrying all the time. Things worked out and he came home safe but changed. Combat does that to you.
I am a 2 digit midget 3 weeks until my retirement. Poor leadership, all about the numbers game, and lack of concern for Soldier welfare caused me to pull the plug early.
Thanks again SIR! for sharing your war, makes mine seem really tame.
SFC J
Not lame, in any way. A family effort to take care of your country and your people.
You sound exactly like someone I would have wanted on my scout team right nearby, and your son too.
Except for the deadly danger, of course. You are here and your son is here. If he has troubles then they are probably
linked somewhere in what you are reading in this story. Thanks for writing and doing so in such a personal way. I hope I will meet you
one day out here.
Thanks a ton.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks again Jim, another great chapter. This has gotten my oldest son to see (understand) why I have never talk about my time in VN. We have talk some since he has been reading along with me some chapters, asking me if this is really the way it was, I can only say yes. “Deeds Not Words”
Mike
This benefit, in having your son understand better those things you cannot articulate, I did not understand when I began this odyssey.
And I have no real idea of where it is going, other than writing another segment every few days. I appreciate the fact that you can
have him read and then you can point at a part. You don’t have to say a word. He will likely only say two; “oh, shit.”
It was that kind of a war. And we weren’t well received but we didn’t come easy either.
Thank you so much for you personal sincerity.
Semper fi,
Jim
I never got off the concrete, Takhli RTAFB Thailand.. loaded weapons on F-105’s.. but you’ve brought to life some of the stories I’ve heard from a ’60 gunner friend of mine from 1st of the 9th.. AKA The Walking Dead, **slow hand Salute** to you & all of your men Sir..
Kind of like those Silent Drill Team guys. I always loved them and that slow salute.
They used it when my brother was buried at Arlington (Army) too. Thank you for that
courtesy and I really appreciate the note and the support. I expect it will be a bit rocky along the way
because this whole thing is getting a bit too popular.
Semper fi,
Jim
James I served with the 11th Armored Cav “Blackhorse” 70-71 I had two friends I grew up with that served in the Marines and were in Vietnam 67-69 time frame. A Richard Anderson and Buck Ashcraft thought you might have known them..enjoy your stories and like you I believe our story needs to be told..thanks for your service and God Speed..
Thanks for the comment and the support Jerry. Whether the story gets told
largely depends upon exposure and who wants to read it. The publishing world
is totally upside down, not that any publishing house would take it on anyway.
They are all about the mythology not the reality.
Semper fi,
Jim
I know a warrior, who fought at the frozen Chosen, was a POW in Korea, fought in Vietnam, earned 5 Purple Hearts, and transferred to the USAF, and became a Chief of the AF. He has twin grandsons, one in the Navy and one in the AF. They have been on him to share his experiences, but he doesn’t want to, said it’s of no consequence. I will share yours with them, then perhaps they will understand why he doesn’t want relive them. Your story should be required reading for all combatants.
That’s really neat, that transference through the generations. So many of the real guys
just don’t want the headache of disbelief they might see in their relatives and friends faces.
Why bother, they think, since you are unlikely to understand anyway. I hope I can bridge some of those gaps.
Thanks for the most kind compliment, reading the work and also in taking the time to comment at all.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, you keep us waiting like “boots” in a chow line. Thanks for doing what you do. Semper Fi!
Doing my best to consistently grind out the segments so that they will remain a part of
the continuous whole. The saga continues this night as I work on the Tenth Night. Book II is
under way and I am not stopping to ‘lick my wounds’ but moving right on while some friends
put the first book together and get it out on Amazon.
Thanks for the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for your writing. Can’t wait for every new chapter. A paratrooper salute to the globe and anchor men.
Some of you Army types simply demand respect, like you somehow got stuck in
the wrong uniform. But, in truth, there were some damned fine Army types in
Vietnam. I know you guys let us steal your shit, because it was better than
ours and you thought we would use it properly. Thank you. And thanks for liking
the writing and caring enough to comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I am now reading about the horror you survived, its been a long time, only in that I know my emotions as screwed up as they had become were shared by the majority regardless of rank or age and still are. I am now an old man, i was a fortunate one, and your situation was different than mine, but I do respect you sir, door gunner ch-47s
Sticky prickly job that door gunner thing. Always vigilant and never ever knowing where
anything was going to come from or whether you’d see it in time to lay down fire and save
the chopper. The power of the 47 most people don’t know about, as it remains one of the fastest
production helicopters of all time. But no good it it takes a lot of hits. You went through
some shit yourself. Thanks for the support and writing here.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, “let us steal”, my family moved onto a different farm about the time I became aware of what stealing was. The farmer told me not to steal his watermelons and immediately stated that they would taste better stolen and where he kept a knife for cutting same. Exact same thing, different circumstance.
I love that farmer! Adventure. We men, and a good number of women, are simply built for it.
That’s why I’m such a giant fan of space exploration and travel. We need that adventure out there so
we don’t have to get it doing bad things to one another. Anyway, Walt, the usual class stuff from you here.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have enjoyed reading your stories…You went though hell..I had orders for vietnam in Jan. 1969…orders changed to DMZ in Korea because of USS Pueblo..Army 2/31st Inf. 7th Inf. Div. 15 months of memories stored up in my mind. Agent Orange has its grip on me now..Take care brother and thanks !!
I am so sorry about that Agent Orange crap. It seems to come in and invade guys
bodies so many years later. Awful stuff. I’m sure its done in a lot of civilian Vietamese too.
Thanks for writing and our hearts are with you Roger.
Semper fi,
Jim
I got in late on your postings, I think it was day 6 or 7. I was not a Marine, Army. I served with the 101st abn 71-72. I was a crew chief/ door gunner on a Loach. Flying over what you guys had to walk through humbled me. I could only guess at how much harder you Infantry guys had it than me. Anyhow, I certainly enjoy the reading of your posts. Is there anywhere I could catch up on the first posts you did? Thanks, Welcome Home
Yes, right here on jamesstrauss.com. Just click on Thirty Days Has September
and then when the box opens below it, click on The First Ten Days. The Second Ten Days
follows that and the third segment is being written just as soon as I finish with answering a few
of these most deserving comments.
Semper fi,
Jim
Would have been proud to call you my CO. Good common sense, the kind they can’t teach in OCS. Keep cranking Em out. Thanks for sharing. George
Thank you George. I’m honored by that comment, although the writing tends to favor a bit more than
I probably deserve. The Gunny was so much everything in my life during that run, and the Marines around me
became just everything. I am working away.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I was drafted in the Army and was a remfer in 68. I was stationed at a base camp of the 1st Infantry Division. We were mortared and I pulled a lot perimeter guard but compared to you guys I was living in the Ritz Carlton. I love reading your story. God bless all Infantry guys and God bless the Marine Corp
Thanks for the contribution here. Pulling guard over there when things got hot of incoming was coming
in was no picnic either. It was a bitch in the bush during the tougher times over there, as I write about,
of course. Thanks for the note and for caring enough to write it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Makes me remember things I had forgot. A fight between two SFC’s one black one white. Never knew why. Never cared.
Don’t know how you managed to retain so much detail.
The detail comes from this re-emmersion back into the time and place
that has probably been kicking around in my cerebellum for many a year.
Just laying there waiting or maybe not, Hell I don’t know. When I sit down later
tonight and write the Tenth Night I will be there doing it again. My wife was a bit pissed
last night because I ended up in the basement cutting wood for no good reason at one-thirty a.m. with my most wonderful
DeWalt chop saw. I know I was making something but damned if I know what!
I dutifully went to bed and was able to come home again.
Thanks for the comment and the reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, You should have started a 30 day ‘Short Timers Stick’ when you began this series.
Use that saw to notch the days off as you write.
Pretty funny. You know, the guys out in combat mostly didn’t have those. They were plastered all
over the rear areas though and extremely imaginative. I wish there was a collection of them somewhere but
probably most guys threw them out when they stepped on that plane.
Thanks for the thought though and making me smile.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, To be completely honest, I’ve not been able to read ANY Viet Nam stories or watch the films/movies….(especially watching the films!) I’ve tried but NO. Even after all this time, and usually after reading one of your installments, I go back at night. I cannot stand to read any others…yours is the most honest and true (damn you and thank you). My heart is out there for this young LT AND all the others. I’m thinking your book(s) could become required reading, certainly highly recommended reading.
That’s an honor. I mean, seriously. That my story and the say I am writing it could reach you at that level.
What can anyone say about that? I guess I’m both awed and humbled. What will happen to the books I don’t know.
Richard Marek, the editor of Ludlum’s work has agreed to edit the whole thing. That alone is impressive, but not as
impressive as you and what you just wrote Roy. Nothing is more impressive than that. You’ve reached me and that’s not
the easiest thing to do. Thank you is not enough.
Brother.
Semper fi,
Jim
I go to facebook every day to see if you have a new episode posted. I’m hooked hard and deep. Please keep up the good work Bob
I will keep them coming to feed you addiction with a smile on my face. It’s not always easy to sit down and begin a segment,
even this coming one that is quite a piece, but you, and these rare men on here like you, make it a hell of a lot easier than
that first segment.
Semper fi
Jim
Your story keeps triggering memories of Viet Nam. An event that make me laugh at the time & that still brings a smile happened after I had been in country about 14 months. I was with BLT 3/1, coming into a semi secure after about 40 days in the bush. As we straggled by a pile of supplies on the LZ I noticed a squared away Gunny getting off a chopper. I recognized him as one of my Drill Instructors from Parris Island. I dropped out of line & approached him as I yelled loudly enough to be heard above the chopper “Hey Gunny, Welcome to the show, glad you could make it” The contrast between us couldn’t have been greater. He was parade ground spit & polish and I was 40 days of salt sweat & bush crud carrying a full combat load- 6 m26s hanging from my web, 100 rounds of m60 ammo, m16 with ammo, a ’45 on one hip & a k-Bar on the other. I told him my name & recruit platoon #. He said not a word & I noticed his right hand drop to the butt of his ’45 & the corner of his eyes tighten slightly. At that point I backed away slowly & yelled “OK Gunny, Maybe I’ll see you in the bush”, an left him standing there.
Maybe the Gunny had already seen enough to know. And was unable to
keep the fright from seeping in. As you know, we are all predators in some
way or other and the Gunny’s movement to the .45 was not dissimilar from
my own at times. Like automatic, and you know how grisly we looked after only
a few days out there…
Thanks for the gritty and true story.
Semper fi,
Jim
You’re killin me LT…
I was wondering how the LT’s were going to handle Jurgens and Sugar Daddy. Oddly as much as I can’t stand either and would have put a bullet in either had I been you. I was glad in a warped way that both LT’s were sent packing. I would like to have been a fly on the wall to see how that transpired. I think reality is beginning to hit the command staff. Of course the CO is a proud man..But the fact he moved and doesn’t really make command decisions without consulting his LT’s. I’m sure that Keating scared the bejesus out of him when he got back to him. Obvious by the move.
Curious if he was a ringknocker?
It’s funny we spent soo much time learning how to construct operations orders, defensive positions, communications and all that training crap goes out the door in combat…..With the exception of calling indirect fire or air support.
I know you had to feel a bit gratified when you realized that Jurgens and Sugar Daddy sent them packing…LOL
I wonder how they explained that situation with the CO.
I suspect from the comment that you weren’t the CO anymore might shed light on what they thought how or why they’d been treated by Jurgens/Daddy. At least by their perspective. Not admitting they were intimidated out.
I’m ready for the shit show now LT…LOL
Funny, but I got told I was not the C.O. more times than I can recount.
I came to see it as an admission that I had the qualities and abilities to be C.O.
even if I wasn’t in name. Kamehameha, after the Chesty Plan sort of helped a ton
with the guys doing the humping and real work. But the management on site and back
in the rear was devastatingly dense or uncaring….right up to the point where terror set into
any of them. Terror is a terrible teacher, using death as its only motivator.
Thanks for the perceptive and intelligent comment, and your support, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
As an Army grunt in I corp in 69-70 so much of your story has made me remember and think about things I haven’t contemplated in years. Your knack as a storyteller is awesome! You are not afraid to bare your soul and inner feelings! People should hear the truth about combat and the conditions we faced over there. I salute you!! Keep it coming!
The verification from people like you makes the whole thing worth it.
Not going to be a Pulitzer Prize winner or a best seller. Not that many
vets out there! But I’m sure appreciating guys who went and even those who did not, who
understand and maybe can better deal with just how screwed up those of us who made it came back.
And are back! Thanks for the commenting and reading.
Semper fi,
Jim
outstanding, keep it coming Semper Fi Alpha 1/7
Thanks for the topmost work in Marine Admiration. Outstanding. That one goes right up
there with ‘adapt.’ I am working away on the Tenth Night in a few minutes.
Semper fi,
Jim
You learned in a very short time that right trumped rank. It took me almost a year of mostly no excitement to figure out that they could “kill me but not eat me”. Things were a lot easier after that, I even got to keep E-5 for a little while. Your story gets better with each installment.
Thanks Walt. They could kill me but not eat me. I ate some of that local
food later and I’m not sure they weren’t eating us! Anyway, thanks Walt for being
such a great reader and commenter. Like seeing your name on here from time to time.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I flew with a special detachment out of Phu Loi.We only flew at night and our UH1M was equipt with closed circuit infra red equiptment and a starlite scope mounted on the nose of a Huey gunship.There was a few times we would geta call to go raise hell for the Marines that had gotten out of Arty range.Thank You for letting me see and understand things from their perspective.
Sometimes we got support from the wildest of areas, like Puff or the other
gunships of the air. Much appreciate although one hell of a mess trying to communicate.
Thanks for what you did back then as night was one fearful place in that country, with or without
a scope.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fascinating work/read, LT. I cannot count the number of books I have read on the Vietnam War. Until now, Caputo’s was probably my favorite read (I’ll not insult your intelligence by mentioning the title). Riveting. Thank you for sharing. CPL R.T. Mattingly 0331 ’74-’77
Could not agree more about Caputo’s work. Hell, everything he wrote was great.
Thank you for being entertained and also for the intelligent comment. Means a lot to sit here
and read stuff from real guys who have real brains and real emotions.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your work is great also , ive read nearly every book or novel on the war your story is incredibly deep and well written .its also incredibly and brutally honest ! Well done ! I cant wait to read more . Me USA 75 to 78
Thank you Ron. Truly reaches me when people of quality like you have something so sincere to say like that.
I am reaching way down and continuing because I think it is a good PTSD explainer
and maybe will help some people closer to me to figure out the flaws
I’ve demonstrated over the years in between.
Thanks for having my six.
Semper fi,
Jim
What an awesome read. I have been following for a few months now.. Can’t wait for more. It is truly amazing how stupid we at home and fresh from school think we know how smart and clever we are. When that first shot comes at you, you find out all to fast what we were never taught.
Keep writing Jim.
A colossal ignornance is more like it. And it’s an ignorance that is deliberately fostered, fanned and
made ever the deeper by a media that still to this day has boys going off to war and returning as heroes and men.
Like really? Oh fucking come on!!!
Thanks for following the story as it continues to play out.
Semper fi,
Jim
Perhaps the saddest part of this is you apparently dont have any of those guys to be your “brother” today. The men I served with and found years later mean the world to me. Very sad for you to have gone thru that and not be able to share with them.
We’ll talk of that at another time in another place Terry.
Part of the crushing of the spirit in real combat is the toll of
lost brothers who lived, cried, suffered and then died at your side.
What can I say that has not been said before about that.
Thanks for caring. Really appreciate…
Semper fi
Jim
Jim, you’ve mentioned more the than a couple of times, the agony and anguish of writing this award winning piece. As an Army Dustoff pilot I am awash with guilt, saddness and deep emotional pain every time I see that wall with 58,000 of our brothers on it. I couldn’t save them all. But let me tell you, if only half of what you did over there is true, YOU Sir saved countless lives. You said so yourself, “The KIA counts for the Co. had gone down”. And the profound cathartic effect of your writing is helping many of us. Keep it up. I’m proud of what I did and I’m proud of what you did. James Webb’s “Fields of fire” was the most powerful writing I’d seen, …until you came along. Thanks from so many of us.
Dan, thanks for sharing that. The KIA rates were hard to figure out when there was so much
internal violence going on. Until I could get control of body bag data and the time to do
anything but stay alive and figure out what the hell the NVA was doing I was not as effective
at controlling anything as I might portray. Those were uncertain times with uncertain
data all over the place.
Thanks for pondering over that and giving me the benefit of the doubt.
Semper fi,
Jim
Everyone right and no ones wrong. Seems to say it all LT
Chiefs and Indians kind of a thing. Unfortunately, lives are constantly at
stake, and the hugest mistake of company grade leadership is that new leaders at
that level do not understand that their lives may be the first offered up on the altar
of terror and deep coiling fear.
Thanks for the reading and the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Another great read. I’ve been amazed at your dedication to respond to each email. It really drew me in when you responded to my comments.
No need to respond. Keep up the good work!
Jack. Thanks, man! Working away on the Tenth Night, as the action comes again
fast and furious. Will always repond to you Jack, in some fashion. You guys are the only
war buddies I have!
Semper fi,
Jim
Man, You bring back so many memories, Yes Flying every day unless the bird was down for maintenance, Dealing with dickheads who didn’t realize how far up their fourth point of contact their heads were, and that it could get them killed, Yes that captain who they dumped on you so he could check His next career box for advancement, He reminds me of one we received into my flight platoon for career development, I was lucky, I survived the my day fly with Him, My sister bird 298 didn’t, He wouldn’t listen about flying the same route, You didn’t ever go to the same LZ the same flight route twice, If a single bird flight, It was either low level as you could get, balls to the wall, or 1000 feet or above, in and out, to do log and resupply to the grunts, He was hogging all the stick time he could, well His HU4PC, cost him, the problem is it took 4 other men with him……….
The cost of company grade officer ignoring and downright incompetence was
huge to everyone concerned in that conflict. It was damned hard to get any experience
at all without getting killed to get it. I am glad you are getting something from the story.
If nothing else the public and vets are getting to see the kind of heater skelter mess we
all tired to organize into some kind of entity we could work with. Thanks for commenting in the detail
you did here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your fingers must fly across the keyboard to crank this stuff out like you do. Good stuff and am enjoying every bit of it. In my four years in the Corps I got to see a few guys like Casey and fewer guys like yourself.
Butch. I’ve been writing for a long time and took three years of typing in high school (to be close to
the girls instead of the guys in shop!). Today I lay down about a hundred words a minute and that’s pretty fast.
This whole comment will have been written in less than a minute so it’s less of an imposition on my time than
many who don’t type so fast might think. Thank you for being such a great supporter.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I was sure you had the latest electronic readers and voice recorders to keep pace with your writing the story and responding to each and every comment.
Apparently we need a few Marine Recon readers to find the Army supply warehouse where that equipment is just lying there unused when it is needed elsewhere.
Then a Marine Recovery squad to ‘acquire’ the needed supplies.
Stealing from the Army again. Why do I think they would not be so forgiving back here?
Hmmmm. But the thought is a terrific smile thought.
Thanks for that and the reading, of course,
Semper fi,
Jim
Waiting for your next installment is worse than waiting for a new season of NCIS. Now I’m off to work and hoping a new chapter pops up soon.
Working on the Tenth Night this very moment. Seeming to just pour onto
the pages as that old Kamehameha engagment surfaces again in all it’s bizarre
glory and horror. Thanks for wanting more.
Semper fi,
Jim
I look for your story every day when I get on here, Mr. Strauss. Growing up as kid during the 60’s, I had no idea what our men went through over there just to stay alive. I’m 56 now, and every time I see a man wearing a hat or other item distinguishing him at a Vietnam Vet, I always thank them for their service. Hell, I do that for any Vet I meet, actually. It’s the least I could do. And thank you for your service as well, sir. We are in your debt.
And Thank You Tom Gray, as well…for the support these days when so many have departed or simply forgotten.
It’s like having military decorations for valor. In my basement. Nobody really knows what they are and if you
bring the out to people who don’t know they just look at you funny…and back into that basement they go.
Thanks for looking for the story every day. That makes me want to write it every day although I’m not that fast.
Really, thanks!
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter, I must check you site 3 or 4 times a day. Looking forward to the 10 night!
Some of those ultimate compliments come in, like your own. I am working as fast as I can
to get it all down. Thanks for making it easier, especially this night.
Semper fi
Jim