There was nothing to be done but sit with Keating’s body. I’d wanted to carry it myself but the guys would have none of it. Surprising me, Stevens said it all with a strange statement, coming from a non com in a unit that hadn’t tolerated officers well, to say the least.
“He was our lieutenant, too,” Stevens said, as if the dead officer, so new he hadn’t had time to experience one resupply, had been shared by all.
That Keating hadn’t even been allowed to assume command of Fourth Platoon was, apparently, no longer a part of the company’s history. I sat among the smoldering ruins of the jungle I’d brought about by dropping tons of white phosphorus down from one end to the other. The Gunny hadn’t said how many men we’d lost in the NVA attack, but I knew the number was not good and I also guessed that a lot of the men had died because all artillery was indiscriminate when it came to killing, with its large flying chunks of twisted metal. The 105 rounds could generate shrapnel as small as the head of a needle and as large as grapefruit. The grapefruit-sized tumbling nightmares could travel more than a mile from the impact area.
I walked back to the command post behind my team that was carrying Keating’s body. There’d be bags aplenty when dawn came, I knew, but in the meantime Keating would spend the rest of his last night in his hooch.
The night was quiet for the first time, I realized. The smell was of burned vegetation. Pungent and smoky but not acrid. Whatever wind there’d been had gone away in the night, so the smell hung down like a layer of invisibly annoying fog.
I moved to Captain Casey’s hooch, and knelt down on the poncho cover sticking out from under his closed shelter-half. I didn’t understand why he was still inside, if he was. The death of Keating had to have reached him.
“Skipper?” I whispered, my lips almost against the rough canvas.
As before, the canvas was immediately brushed aside, and Casey sprang forth. I fell on my back, before recovering into a sitting position. Casey turned on his flashlight and shined the beam down on me.
“What the hell’s wrong with your face?” he asked.
My left hand went to my chin where I felt the beginning of the big cucumber like lump that was my leech. I put the captain’s .45, that I’d been clutching since before Keating’s death, down on the poncho next to the shelter-half’s opening.
“Turn off the light,” I said, slowly getting to my feet. “Keating’s body is in his hooch until the choppers roll in at dawn. Your Colt is at your feet.”
The light went off with a click, but not before I saw Billings come out of the hooch behind the captain. I wondered what kind of parlay they’d been having, while the world above them volleyed and thundered, or of they’d simply needed one another’s company to get through it.
“Body?” Casey asked.
I knew then that the captain didn’t know that Keating had gone down. The Gunny came in behind me, put his right hand on my right shoulder, and then gently pulled me back.
“Fusner’s going to heat up a cigarette and take care of that leech,” he said, easing me away from the stunned company commander.
“Keating’s dead?” the captain said, his voice going hoarse with emotion.
“Yes, sir,” the Gunny said, now standing between me and the two officers.
“He was on the perimeter with me, and caught an AK round in the chest. Heart shot. He was gone in an instant.”
Fusner lit a cigarette, puffed on it for a few seconds, and then motioned me down to one knee. He put the burning end against the tough carapace of the thing’s head, and held it there.
“Keating’s dead,” the captain restated in a quieter voice, before going on, “just how many other Marines died in this Kamehameha plan?” he asked, his tone growing softer as the question ended.
“Ten KIA on our side, mostly from Third and Fourth Platoons,” the Gunny answered. “About the same number wounded. We won’t know for sure until it gets light. Might be a few more, and there’s probably NVA out there in the bush still so there could be more before the night’s done.”
“Ten percent casualties in one short action?” Lieutenant Billings asked.
“How in hell did that happen, and how many of the enemy did we get?”
“The artillery drifted a bit to the south,” the Gunny reported, keeping his tone low and flat, as if delivering a bored lecture to a bunch of college students. “The rounds strayed across our perimeter there,” he pointed toward where Marines, invisible from our position but probably still gathered, were no doubt getting their stuff together and getting ready for the next move. “It’s either that or the enemy 122’s bit too far beyond the open area at the cliff face and moved up slope toward our own positions.”
“Why didn’t our men retreat down the avenues guarded and left open for that purpose?” Casey asked, his voice going up in tone and sound for the first time.
“What avenues are you talking about, sir?” the Gunny said.
The leech fell from under my chin and struck the mud in front of my knees with a faint thud. I turned my head from the position I’d been holding it for Fusner, took the still burning cigarette, and put it between my lips. I sucked in some smoke, my lungs not making their usual protest. I breathed out and then back in, waiting for what I knew had to be coming.
“These avenues,” the captain stated, dragging the rough plan I’d drawn on the back of one of my old maps from behind his back. “These avenues here in Junior’s Kamehameha Plan.” He thumped his forefinger down at the two arrows I’d drawn, indicating the areas the company could retreat into if my plan failed.
The Gunny looked down at the map, barely visible in the low pre-dawn light, and then turned his head so he could look back at me.
“Your thoughts about that, Junior?” he asked me. I watched his normally shiny but opaque eyes, and saw life in them. The Gunny not only didn’t know what to say, I thought, but he was giving me some reason to think he thought he’d be entertained by whatever I came up with.
“The boots,” I said. “Did you bring their boots back?”
The Gunny’s eyes went big for just a brief second, before he recovered himself, and then he smiled a very brief fleeting smile, as he turned back to the captain.
“Your boots are dry and next to your shelters,” he informed the captain, who received the information with a questioning frown. “The men got them dried out and oiled up so you don’t have to take them off for a while.”
I waited for the captain and Billings to pursue the subject of the avenues I’d made up that didn’t really exist, but neither man did. Both went toward their boots, while I wondered what kind of oil the Gunny was talking about. The company’s small arms required lubricant, small arms, or LSA, as we all called it. But LSA was for metal lubrication and never used on or in boots. The boots, particularly the new cloth jungle boots both the captain and Billing wore, were not supposed to be exposed to any oil at all, that I could think of.
I backed away from the scene and went to work getting my things together before laying down on my poncho. It was getting light enough to write, so I took out my pen and went to work writing a third letter to my wife. I would not miss sending my stuff out when the choppers came in this time. After the letter I got out my clogged up Colt and took it down to clean it as best I could. When it was done, having used my government pen as a cleaning rod, I knew it would work, although it was a long way from passing a Basic School inspection.
“How many guys can a Huey hold?” I asked Fusner, while writing about the new officers relieving me as the leader of the company. We had a lot of wounded and dead and I wondered if command had been notified that we’d need some rugged carrying capacity. Fusner didn’t answer. I hadn’t mentioned Keating’s death in my letter, or just how new the new guys were. It was almost as if both the captain and Billings had been more harmed by their time back in the rear with the gear than if they’d come to the company directly from one of the flights to Da Nang, like I’d been on.
I folded my letter, jammed it into one of my crumpled envelopes and put it into my pocket before looking up to see Nguyen squatting nearby. Nguyen never squatted nearby. I looked at Stevens, who stood next to the Kit Carson Scout. I shrugged my shoulders and nodded toward the scout. Stevens approached me, and then leaned down so he could speak quietly into my left ear.
“There was nobody in the listening post,” he said, before standing back up.
I looked him in the eyes, my mind trying to take in the information.
The Marines manning the listening post, and responsible for warning the company as to the enemy’s approach, had left their posts. Without Nguyen’s warning of the NVA coming I would not have brought the artillery on line soon enough, and we might have been overrun and killed to a man.
I stared at the side of Nguyen’s head. I knew that he knew I was looking at him. The man was a human and cultural enigma. He’d lost his family to the revolutionary cause, whether it was VC or NVA that had killed them I didn’t know. I felt that he was somehow in contact with other Montagnards who worked for the enemy. But he’d clearly saved our lives, and probably not for the first time.
I didn’t know what to do about him or with him, but I knew I needed him as much as I could not understand him. I pulled out my wallet, which had almost nothing but some worthless military pay currency, my military identification card and a few photos of my wife and new daughter. I took out one of the pictures, looked at it closely to make sure it wasn’t my best, and then held it out to Stevens.
“Ask him if he will carry this photo in case something happens to me,” I said, not really understanding what I was doing, but knowing I had to identify with the man on a tribal level, as well as one where we were both warriors of equal stature.
Stevens leaned down, spoke a few words to Nguyen, and then handed him the small photo. Nguyen held the photo and stared at it for a full minute before finally turning his head to look at me. I used the fingers on my left hand to tap the elephant hair bracelet on my right wrist. Nguyen made no move, nor gave me any indication he understood. Finally, he took out his tattered version of a billfold from his back pocket and tucked the photo into it before turning to stare blankly out into the jungle again.
Captain Casey and Billings went back into their hooches to get ready for the dawn. Either both men were in total shock over being in such close proximity of the night battle and Keating’s death, or they were much tougher Marines than I gave them credit for. I went over to Keating’s hooch and opened the flap. He lay just as the guys had left him. The Gunny was as good as his word. Keating’s boots were right near the opening. I went to work to strip the bloody socks from the lieutenant’s feet and then carefully and laboriously put the Marine’s boots back on.
“Size ten,” I said to Keating. “I’m an eight or I’d put mine on you and steal these neat new ones. I know you wouldn’t mind. You’re going home and you aren’t afraid anymore. That’s something,” I said, not really knowing what I was talking about but the words seeming, to me, to be important. I backed out of the shelter-half and got to my feet.
“You were doing fine,” I said. “You were going to do great.” I looked around. Only Fusner was close by, and he was making believe he was finishing the final adjustments to his pack with the extra Prick 25 batteries strapped to the outside, and not listening to me. There was no chaplain in the unit and nobody to say any words, nor even a gathering of Marines to send off one of their own. That was only in the movies. I was it. I made the sign of the cross.
I knew the scout team would take care of packing the lieutenant out and getting his body into one of the gray black body bags that would come in on the chopper. There was no way that the company had enough for the awful butcher’s bill from the results of the Kamehameha Plan. That plan had worked, but the price had been high. I could only hope that my anger in bringing down the white phosphorous had not caused some of that price. I somehow had to control myself better. There was no place for real, or any, emotion in combat.
When my gear was ready, and the scout team assembled and prepared, I headed for the kill zone to see what havoc the combined fires and enemy interaction had caused. The scene was a scene like nothing I’d ever experienced or thought about. There was a carpet of destroyed jungle that lay like a thick mottled blanket over the entire area. Atop the mass of jumbled and torn vegetation was a mess of blackened and burned bracken, leaves and ferns, smoking in places and all of it smelling like some sweetened can of stale artichokes mixed with mushrooms way too old. My nose turned up, and I began to breathe through my mouth. My ears popped from time to time as the sounds of the night fires were finally worked out through my Eustachian tubes and ear canals.
And there were bodies. Plenty of them strewn about.
The enemy bodies were the first I’d seen. The NVA was expert at dragging their own wounded or dead away with them into the night, and that included their ammunition and equipment. I bent down to examine a Vietnamese solider laying on his back. A slick brightness attracted my attention. It was like the man’s chest and stomach area were made of chrome plate. I knelt down and looked closer.
“What the hell?” I exclaimed, in surprise.
“Saran wrap,” Stevens said, softly from off to one side.
“Saran wrap?” I asked, my surprise not fading.
“I saw it before, down on Gonoi Island,” replied. “They hard wrap their bodies with the table ware wrap to contain the pressure and keep going.”
“What pressure are you talking about?” I said, not understanding.
“The M-16’s and M-60’s have such high velocity and unstable projectiles that they tumble when they hit something soft. That tears an attacking soldier apart.
The Saran Wrap, put on real tight, makes the bullets go straight on through so the NVA can keep right on coming.”
I marveled down at the dead NVA soldier. The man’s dedication and courage could not be faulted, but he hadn’t died from small arms fire. He’d been run through with shrapnel from the exploding artillery rounds. Big chunks had gone through the soldier’s body, with no need to expand or tumble. They’d been the size of golf balls.
“Where in hell do these guys get Saran Wrap from back home when we can’t get new boots or jungle utilities from our own rear area?” I said, knowing the question was rhetorical.
I walked around what had been the kill zone, which had gone from being that to a dead zone. There was nothing living anywhere in the still smoking area. Even mosquitos were giving it a wide berth. The soldiers killed by artillery shrapnel had all been penetrated from the back, fleeing from the flying debris and angry hot metal. The ones who’d remained were burned beyond recognition by the white phosphorus. Every once and awhile a blackened lump could be spotted like a small island protruding up from a sea of brown and black burned jungle. No tree had withstood the onslaught except one giant located closer to the edge of the cliff. That tree would not live, every bit of bark and branch burned to a crisp, but the trunk too tough to have been knocked down or shattered to the point of collapse.
The Gunny came over to where I was gently making my way among the bodies and the bracken. Billings was at his side, with Rittenhouse next to him taking notes on his clipboard. Rittenhouse’s presence reminded me of the daily report. I knew the after action report, about what had happened, would be meaningless because it was never in writing unless they put it in writing back at battalion, but I was determined to see and influence the daily no matter what else happened when the choppers came in.
“The daily report,” I breathed across the distance to the Gunny. He nodded. I knew the daily was not something he was going to let get past him again either.
“Twenty-nine KIA in this area alone,” Billing’s announced proudly, as if there was a satisfactory score none of the rest of us knew about. “By the time we’re done and out of here there ought to be forty. I’ll bet that’s some kind of battalion record, I mean for having real bodies to count, rather than estimate.”
Neither I nor the Gunny said anything in reply. I thought, just from the small bit of knowledge I’d learned so far, that the death toll for the enemy would run in the hundreds eventually, although we’d never know it. Torso wounds and deep limb injury wounds were invariably fatal without rapid helicopter evacuation and then very fast and efficient emergency surgery performed by trained trauma surgeons with the right equipment and medications. The NVA had attacked, or been attacked, three times in less than three days. Each time they’d taken serious casualties, these last being near catastrophic in number for almost any sized unit.
Sugar Daddy came striding out of the jungle, his flat bush hat back in place, and his purple sun glasses once again balanced across his nose, making his eyes invisible. His transition back to platoon leader was apparent from his appearance and his stride, making his previous appearance only a few hours earlier seem like it hadn’t happened at all.
I squatted down, and Fusner squatted with me. My old habit of dropping my right hand to the comforting Colt returned. The Gunny stood back. Stevens and Zippo were nowhere to be seen but Nguyen, as usual, hung around the edge of the jungle that had not been tortured and destroyed. I did not make eye contact with him.
“You lost a lot of my men,” Sugar Daddy said, standing over me, his two large ‘minion’ Marines back on duty, one just back from each of his shoulders. “Your Kamkam Plan was a disaster and what did we gain? Nothing. Today we have to go down into that stinking valley of death anyway.”
I waited, my face expressionless, for him to run down. Finally, he did.
I expected the Gunny to step forward and make the meeting into a group powwow like he’d done last time, but he didn’t. He hung slightly back, as if only there for witnessing or being available for advice or questions.
Sugar Daddy squatted down, finally, although his Marines did not. In spite of the threatening presence of the three men I did not feel much of any fear or even trepidation. Keating had taken some of that out of me. The expression on his face when I’d gentled him back onto his poncho had been relaxed, as if he had been trying to tell me that it wasn’t so bad.
“Your men left their posts and the company was defenseless,” I said, my voice low and soft.
“Nobody wanted to be out there,” Sugar Daddy bellowed. “My Marines are not nuts and I can’t be responsible for putting their lives at risk just because you think the enemy might be doing this or that.”
“The sentence for abandoning a post in combat is death, in this man’s Marine Corps, and it’s not a court martial decision,” I said, staring into the purple sun glasses.
“Now, wait a minute here,” Sugar Daddy said, fidgeting back and forth from one big boot to the other.
“The sentence for ordering your men to abandon their posts or allowing them to do so is death,” I added.
“You’re not the company commander,” Sugar Daddy said, but his voice cracking and became unsteady, as he said the last two words.
“You’re as much a platoon commander as I am a company commander,” I said, my voice held as flat as it had been since we started our dialogue. “If I ever see or hear of conduct like that again then I will come for those two men and for you. I’m also fully aware of why we don’t threaten each other out here in this nightmare world where none of us want to be and that’s why the Gunny’s here.
Sugar Daddy and his two men looked at the Gunny, as did Fusner and I.
“What he said?” Sugar Daddy asked.
A full ten seconds passed.
“What he said,” the Gunny murmured.
Sugar Daddy and his men left without saying another word, and so did the Gunny. I walked over to the edge of the cliff and stared down into the A Shau Valley, thinking about the problems of getting a fully equipped Marine Company down the side of a cliff that only possessed one narrow path, and that path run right below a fully known and measured enemy registration point for calling in deadly accurate artillery fire. I knew it was going to be a hell of a day.
I noted on the book, before I started reading that it said “fiction”. After reading it while baby sitting with my oldest son(47 yrs old) in the hospital, and I was explaining to him, and said “Maybe a little fiction, but not much. He knew too much for it to be fiction”. Anyone who was there could see right through the “fiction” crap. As an old Corpsman who did about 8 yrs with the Corps and my own time in the Nam, I have to say thanks–not only to you, but to all the Marines who tried their damndest to take care of me, even when I could be so damned stupid at times.
It is my hope that vets like you, the real deal, get it. Writing some of this stuff is hard enough
without a full time worry that my conduct back then will come into review by some authorities somewhere.
Thanks for the compliment and the support…
Semper fi,
Jim
The saying of it don’t mean nuthing and better him than me got most of us through at that time. But like everything else over there those words will always haunt us. Can’t quit reading,thanks James. John
Please go to Amazon and write a review of Thirty Days Has September, as it means a whole lot to have
a significant number to be noticed at all…
Thanks John, for the comment on Amazon in advance.
It’s hard to get comments on there. Jeez!
Anyway, obviously you are one of us…those that were out there.
Yes, it is haunting.
Semper fi, and thank you,
Jim
I have been reading each segment with great anticipation. I keep wondering if I would have had your patience at the opposition from my fellow officers. In the peacetime post Vietnam era we had noncombat leadership challenges with our soldiers, which thanks to a core of very experienced NCO’s allowed us to overcome some of the more dicey situations. I did have the advantage of being prior enlisted and knew to listen to my NCO’s and men, although in doing so, one had to tread a very fine line and it did not always endear me to my peers. I have always and will always wonder how I would have reacted in actual combat, having never been tested like you were. You Sir, are an outstanding writer. Semper Fi.
There were extreme problems for the guys coming home.
They were forced back into a system they had passed by and knew
better. Thank you for waiting for the coming segments and liking the story, and
also for caring enough to write about those experiences on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Corrections for Tenth Night Third Part:
Paragraph: “Turn off the light,”…Correction:…choppers roll in at dawn.
Paragraph and Correction: Stevens leaned down
Paragraph: Captain Casey and Billing went back Correction: …put the Marine’s boots back on.
Paragraph: I walked around what had been the kill zone. Correction: The ones who’s
Paragraph: Twenty-nine KIA in this…” Correction: …Satisfactory score none of the rest of us…
Paragraph: “You’re as much a platoon commander…Correction: Gunny’s here.”
Got it! Thanks so much for the help.
Semper fi,
Jim
I am wondering why earlier you were calling the radio man “Fessner” and now you are calling him “Fusner”?
The difficulties of putting things up on the Internet and then getting to final print in print
and the areas in between. It is awful hard to publish books all on your own out here and therefore
the editing gets damned infernally difficult. My apologies.
Semper fi,
Jim
Prick 25 batteries were a bitch to carry! Not to mention the radio itself. Easy to “fix” if the bullet holes were in the right place…or wrong place. Thanks for the stories…I think. Brings back things better not relived.
Carried a few of those myself and yes, they were ungainly and heavy.
The batteries, I mean. Fusner had a way with that damned radio and it seemed
like a feather the way he treated it. He also knew what side of the hill it worked
best on and how to put up a temporary aerial if we could not get commo.
thanks for writing in about this and carrying one of those rigs.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was at con tien dec. 67 with 1/1 the nva had 190’s they would hit us with from north of the z, you never really get use to heavy incoming, no matter how long you take it.
semper fi
No, Tony, artillery is horrid to receive. In movies it’s kind of cool or even awful but only in combat when
it is coming in is it driven right into your core that those rounds are huge and
they can land absolutely anywhere and there is no safe hiding place.
Terrifying does not quite describe it.
Thanks for that knowledgable note.
You almost have to have been through it at least once to really know.
Semper fi,
Jim
I served in an Army artillery unit in the Central Highlands that provided 105mm support for an infantry battalion…We were always ready to provide timely and accurate fire for these units especially in close contact missions…We were highly successful in accomplishing our mission because of the professionalism of the F.O team,(forward observer), FDC,(fire direction control) and the guns…I am proud to say that we never had a “friendly fire” incident during my time in country and hopefully we helped save a few American lives…Thanks for the stories Jim
There is no question that one of the silently amazing things about
the Vietnam war was the performance of the artillery. Astounding is
the only word that comes to mind. With these new wars all being fought on
wide ranging desert sands the supporting fires of air power have been lauded
above all. Good luck in a jungle in bad weather!
Thanks for the support and for writing about it here,
Semper fi,
Jim
I was a forward observer for an infantry co. I never hit any friendly troops even though I called rounds in close at times. Being in artillery, I am not 100% sure I ever killed anyone, but I am 99% certain that I did. That one percent has kept me alive
Well, Terry, there was hitting friendlies and then being told you’d hit friendlies. The ‘reports’ from the field
were notoriously filled with deliberate holes. But thanks for that arty. Saved a lot of men and myself included.
Semper fi,
Jim
So afraid to say I am reading this unable to look away. I was having babies and no tv or outside communication to know of the horror.
At 63, I met a grumpy vet who talked as if his memories must be spilled from his mind. I listened for hours feeling guilty for not knowing or understanding what young men had faced.
I got this link from one of those Ft.Sill grads.He never talked.
I now thank every military person for giving service to their country but I can never give enough honor and thanks for all of you who came back.
Hi there, and welcome to this site. You are in pretty rare company here. Not many women read, or at least comment, on the site.
A whole lot of vets who served in combat though. So, your words will reach many ears and those ears will find pleasure in what you have
to say. Thank you from myself and all those guys reading out there…
Semper fi,
Jim
The oiled boots, and not having to take them off for awhile. I see where that is going. Get them out of there alive, at least!
The advantage of having old salts around like you is the verification of authenticity the work carries.
You guys can spot bull shit a mile away. The bad part is that you can also spot developments in the story coming
before they happen! You’ve seen this shit before! Damn! Thanks for you comment. I’ll just be quiet about
it so those not so astute will enjoy some element of surprise.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m hangin’ on every word,Lieutenant! Can you write any faster?God bless, and I’m so glad you made it home, however, to see that wife and baby daughter!
I did indeed Bill. The surgeries and hospitals were another adventure but I got through
with help, and with a ton of work on the part of the Navy Medical Corps I might add.
I should not have made it a couple of times but they would not quit.
thanks for the comment and reminding me…
Semper fi,
Jim
Evening Jim, I was reading the last installment of your story, Having been in aviation I transported more than my share of FNG to the bush, and carried out more than my fair share of FNG nagged and tagged, It was my experience that the first 2 weeks were the most deadly, The learning curve was like a atlas missile launch, and from what I see you were ahead of the curve, Yes, If you made the first 2 weeks you had a good chance of making it out, Unless Murphy the Mother Fucker decided to intervene, From some of the other post you have made, sound like you had it going forward until Murphy stuck his ugly hand into the deal, But then Murphy was always a mother fucker…..Lost friend when because of Murphy and HUAS …. Bob.
Hey Robert! Thank your for that rather accurate assessment. Yes, you had to learn very quickly indeed, and also have some luck.
Maybe a bit better if not in a command position but not necessarily because of the point.
Anyway, thanks for the experience and application of true intellect.
Semper fi,
Jim
N. Koreans and Chinese would tightly wrap their torsos with silk.
I had never heard about the silk thing. Was it for the same effect because
I don’t know much about the ballistics of the weapons of that day.
Thanks for bringing that up though. And making a comment here…
Semper fi,
Jim
I have read stories from writers of the Mongols of the Khan dynasty telling of warriors wrapping their torso with silk. It said the tightly woven silk was strong enough to prevent many arrows from penetrating deeply into the body.If true, it made removal of the arrow much easier since all they had to do was to pull the embedded silk, along with the arrow, out of the wound.
That sounds interesting. I’ve never read to it but it also sounds somehow
rational, although I’m not sure about the properties of silk used for that purpose.
Some of those old records are quite something.
Thanks for bringing it to everyone’s attention here, including my own.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just a comment about silk. Many layers of silk were known to stop a bullet sometimes back in the old cap and ball days and a bit later, black powder era. There have been some rumors and speculation that Wyatt Earp wore a crude bulletproof vest of the many layers of silk, some others definitely did.
I have heard comments over time about the use of silk for stopping bullets.
Of course, the old black powder balls were big and much much slower than high velocity bullets.
A 16 bullet will go through a telephone pole at close range!
Thanks for the comment and the interesting nature and material of it.
Semper fi,
Jim
The Captain had a flashlight? Never saw one in the Bush my entire tour. To cut one on in the jungle at night would have caused people to die.
A lot of my people had flashlights in combat. And, if security was
a measure of being careful, then the stupid transistor radio would never
been out there, much less in total proliferation. The enemy had flashlights
too and used them around our positions at night. I loved the enemy lights because
I could call in artillery on them, although always having to adjust too close because
the enemy was never far. I don’t understand your experience but then there were a lot of wars
fought in that theater. Thanks for your own insight in commenting and the reading of the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Was a member of bravo co 3rd recon team 2b2
in 68 our six man team carried a flashlight with an infrared lens it was great at night
Yes, I heard about those flashlights but never saw one.
You guys in Force Recon were something and so many paid the ultimate
price. Thanks for reading the stuff here and liking it enough to comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
“Run Through The Jungle”.
Did Fusner’s transistor survive? Don’t think this one was on Brother John’s playlist yet.
Never had to run through the jungle. Always rode atop a tractor on the bed of a ten ton low boy. Stupid, I thought. But that’s the way we did it. They all waved and smiled as you approached and saluted with their middle finger as you passed.
My deepest respect to those that did.
I&O
I think that song came through later. But then, there were a lot of songs I don’t remember.
Some stuck in my mind and others just faded away. Thanks for the usual deep-thinking comment Steve…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir,
I was up to be drafted in 71. In the lotto for the draft my birthday was one number shy of making me go, which I would have done if drafted. I thank All Mighty God that I was not sent to that green hell that must have been Viet Nam!!! I admire anyone who was brave enough to go and thank God that there are those that carried the load. God Bless you Sir!!!!
Well, J.E., a lot of us went without really having a clue about what was therefor we
would find there. Unless you had a vet in the family who’d already been there was little
reality dribbling back home. Thanks for writing here.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
I have read every one of your chapters and it scares me to death! Man you put me in the mud and leeches right there with you and your men! You Sir are a natural born writer of much talent! I hear the small arms fire, I hear the Artillery Rounds coming in and exploding. How did you keep your shit so tight and hold on to your sanity? I know that being young you can take a lot of punishment, but that constant fear eating at your guts must have been hell!!! I thank God all the time for not putting me in that awful place!
You carry me with you into every chapter and I read and re read every line! Peace to your soul is my prayer for you. … Jim
Well, thank you most kindly James. Fun to read a critique like that one!
And motivating, of course. I am not sure I’d have gone on so far without the comments here.
Some wonder at my answering them at all, but actually that’s my favorite break when not
working on the story. No matter what kind of comment it is. Most have been pretty fantastic, like
your own but some are more analytical, like missing some analytical part or describing something
not quite correctly. But great, nevertheless.
Thank you James for making my morning.
Semper fi,
Jim
I read every comment. One above mentioned Ben Het. In 69 I was at the B-24 SF team in Kontum, I was supposed to fly up to Ben Het to deliver an intel report to the team. Another Sergeant who had never been there took my place on the bird. As it was landing, it took a mortar round, my replacement on the flight ended up evacuated to Japan.
Thank you T.L. for commenting and liking the story. Sounds like
you had a good day when that chopper got hit. Funny, how the vagaries of
life and death played out over there. So much less our own action or thought.
It just was.
Semper fi,
jim
Was in the highlands with 173rd Airborne in 69 to 70. Remember being terrified when first arrived. Reading these stories really brings back how it was, so thankful to have gotten home mostly in one piece. Hope all of our young in this country can read your stories and learn to be grateful for our warriors.
Not just grateful Bill, but wary of they themselves going on some wild adventure
spun from the lips of a recruiter or taken from the reels of some old war movie.
If you are going to war then you need to read work like this to get a good idea
of what you are likely walking into…or not…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks L T. Always a treat to see a trainer from Vallejo arrive in country for PBR duty. Same “deer in the headlights” look we had months before. can read each chapter a dozen times and get something different each time. Too much to absorb in one read. Respect to you.
Thank you Bill for that comment. The real world over there was so difficult to grasp
because of just how imbued we were with the one we’d just left. That is where I faulted
training the most. Those guys who came back from the Nam at the Basic School and didn’t tell
us shit.
Thanks for the support, too.
Semper fi,
Jim
Bill,
I was in the 4th ID from 67-68. The 173rd was involved in quite a few heavyweight fights during that time, hill 875 is forever burned in my brain. I understand it was well before your time but my hats off to all you 173rd guys.
You know then Al. There were some very stunning and hard fought battles in that
war, especially back in the hills and mountains at night. The A Shau was particularly
bad because of the resupply the NVA could pack into the end of it up near the DMZ.
Thanks for your comments.
Semper fi,
Jim
I really enjoy your writing and look forward to the next chapter. I was there the whole yr of 1968 and then again in 69-70 in the army but had served under some good officers but saw a lot of stupid ones also.I would have liked serving under you sir because you listened and learned and that is how good combat officers are made. I salute you you and keep up the good work.looking forward to the continuing story.
Thanks for that compliment Robert! It was either learn or die in that situation,
and the situation went on for some time, as you will read. Thanks for saying your serve with
me. That means a lot to an old vet.
Semper fi,
Jim
Young guy here , born during this war.
I always wondered why my family or family of friends, who had been involved in this conflict, never wanted to tell “War Stories”.
Now I can see why.
I’d try to forget also.
Can’t wait for the next installment.
Great read
Thank you
different take on reading the work. I never expected that non-veterans
could read the work and then possibly figure out why combat veterans
seldom want to talk about the experiences.
Thanks for sharing
that here and thank for liking the work.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
Humbling story to me and I was on the line for a year in the 11th Armored Cavalry. When you talk of leeches I get the shivers I hated them; you couldn’t go out to set trip flares or claymores without getting at least one or more. It seemed the country was as much against us as the enemy and just as implacable. It amazed me the punishment those little guys could take and keep coming. Learned wounded and down was never good enough… I’m rambling. Do we start the second part now? Can’t wait.
this is the second part. The first book ended after the first part of the Tenth Day. Tomorrow’s segment
will be the Eleventh Day and it will follow Tenth Night Third Part. Thanks for following and liking the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I was not in field combat as you were. I was a machinist with the 67th Maint Co in Camp Eagle and later, Dong Ha in 1970-71. I only went into the field 5 or 6 times, for various reasons. Guard duty and those trips in the field scared the h___ out of me. Rocket attacks nearly every night in Dong Ha and out to reinforce the bunker line. Sleep deprivation to the max! And yet, my primary job was to keep the 1st Cav tanks operating by making parts they couldn’t get in I Corp. I can’t imagine the fear and sleep deprivation you and your company experienced. When we came home, you either went to the bottle, the needle, or your faith to survive. No help for PTSD. As a result, I never uttered a word of my experience for over 35 years. Now, the older I get, the more proud I am of my service. You have my utmost respect, and I look forward to your writing, while sharing your website with my Vietnam brothers and sisters. Pastor Tom
Pastor Tom! Thanks for the glowing compliment about the work. I never expected compliments.
To me it just comes out every night and then I put it together and throw it up on this site.
thanks for reading deeply and caring even more deeply.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim as you know I am a fan of yours. my complements on anther good segment. Id like to ask is Down in the Valley also about your experience in country. Don
Down in the Valley is a fictionalized version of a story that has been put together
based upon a mission gone off the rails in Hawaii. All the Arch Patton series novels are based
on missions I was on in one form or another. Fiction must be used because it remains very dangerous and risky
to write anything agency related that has a whiff of classified documentation or revelation of current or past working
in the field. The Bering Sea is coming and that is set up between Alaska and Russia on that sea when I was ostensibly
aboard an expedition ship as an anthropology lecturer (and other things). It was 1993 is set on the Hawaiian Islands of Kauai, Maui
and Oahu after i’d been fired from the agency but could not escape being ‘touched’ by results of earlier work.
Semper fi,
Jim
Strauss you poor poor bastard. I cannot imagine the weight that you carried and carry on your shoulders. On point I knew being on point, one fuck up on my part & 2 maybe 5 maybe 10 guys were fucked. You, on the other hand had a whole company, including FNG Lts. Nothing dumber than a new Lt. I cannot imagine the responsibility. I cannot imagine the weight. It is too much to contemplate. Please allow me sir, to express my gratitude & sympathy ( although I know you don’t want it ) for the responsibility that you must feel. One grunt to another, Don’t mean nothin’ Bro. Don’t mean nothin’.
It was a difficult time and an impossible patch of life to try to get through.
It was amazing to be so frustrated by FNG behavior after being exactly the same way
only a few days before! Intimidating is a word that does not do that justice!
Thanks for the comment and your liking the writing and the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
Intense SH£# LT. Oiled the jungle boots…those pesky boots…he he he…my Gunny is subtle. Y’all are confablating Charlie. Suspect they will be waiting outside your cover. Hope the zoomies bridge that CAS gap.
The intensity can be cut with a knife. Sugar Daddy is on notice.
Chk 6 LT,
Doc
The Gunny is one of the most subtly slippery characters I ever ran
across in life. Kind of like the sergeant in Stalag 17 but with a better
heart and intent. Thanks for the compliment and the comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
James hope you have a good night. I put salt on then sucker and they would fall off all of the blood looked like you had been shot. You could hear a lot of rounds not go off when they came when I was pinned down for three days. Our KIAs were all black and looking like roadkill after the three day and night. seep will my brother. Fred
Thanks for those hard forced out revelations here. Yes, the jungle had a way of making death
even uglier than it is back here. People say the word war and then discuss it as being hell but they
don’t really have a clue that you get up and bring the hell home with you….it’s just that nobody else can see it
and won’t really believe it.
Thanks for being here, my friend.
Semper fi,
Jim
Do you get the night sweats
Used to, many years back, but not anymore. Sleep is much more controlled for me because
I don’t fight being awake at odd hours anymore.
I just get up and then stay up until I can go back down.
Like back in the day…and night.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fantastic,I can’t wait for the next chapter.thank you.
My pleasure Dean. Glad you are enjoying what you read.
I will get back at it this very second.
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding! Semper Fidelis
Dave Coup 3/7/1 1969
Nice word, Dave. Just about the top word of excellence in the corps.
Appreciate that sentiment and your conclusion after reading.
I shall get back to work…
Semper fi,
Jim
During this last battle, where were the Cpt and billings? I know with my unit , 9th div. the LT. Was right up there in the shit. Great reading. As your talking, I can picture the whole battle. Welcome home my brother.
There was no place for any of the new officers in the kill zone or near
it. As it was we took one hell of a hit because the battery gun target line
was a little off from form the fake position I called in. The line of
fire I drew up ended up being consequently angled in and that took
our southern perimeter too close. It wasn’t my fault but it was my fault.
Leading, or trying to lead, in combat is fraught with errors that cost people
their lives or being fucked up for life. Keating got to the ‘front’ anyway
and died there. Shit.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for your writings James. Your ability to write is second to nun, and move one to see, hear, and smell where you were. Waiting for your next chapter. Thank you again for sharing.
I shall endeavor to satisfy you need for another segment. I will be working on it into this night.
Thanks for motivating me to endeavor to persevere….
Semper fi,
Jim
As you write the memories come back and in some ways those that were not there, will understand what it was like. Some green lts did some things that did not make sense. An example was an officer who Sid to us I worked hard for this bar and I will not take it off. Enough said.
The lieutenant had a point. I wonder if the bars, those blackened stains that served as officer rank over there,
stayed on him when they put him in that bag. FNG enlisted or non-coms were never as bad as new officers because the
enlisted and non-coms knew they were in the shit and not plopped down in some jungle finishing school for a brief visit.
Semper fi Walt…
Jim
I almost like reading the comments as much as the story…I said almost.
The comments on here are something else. I am always surprised and gladdened, even to see the ones that
are not the most complimentary in the world, although there are not as many of those than I would have ever thought.
I answer them all because I can’t help it. They are more real than just about anything else in my life.
Semper fi,
Jim
It seemed almost as if the captain and Billings had been more harmed by their time back in the rear with their gear….nailed it. S/F.
Thanks Ron, very astute of you to pick up on that small detail.
It was amazing that they’d both been in the rear for some time and then
come to the field with some kind of weird idea of what it was like when
it was not like that at all. It speaks to how deadened and zombie-like
the vets were coming in out of the field for brief respite or to wait to go
home. They didn’t tell the guys in the rear their stories at all.
Thanks for the astute comment and liking the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
I read this and travel back in time to 1969, guess part of me is still in that place. I know the people in the story all to well just different names.
Thanks Jerry, coming from another guy who went and came back and now remembers.
Many guys don’t come home with my kind of detail delivering ability but so many on this site
deeply identify with parts of it. And that’s enough. thanks for writing and liking the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have always felt blessed that by a fluke I ended up “commanding” a company of II Corp Mobile Strike Force yards. The American SF and the Aussies were all professionals; I believe I was the only one without a prior tour. Body bags, for the most part, were not filled with Jim, Joe, or Dick and thus did not impact as deeply. NCOs knew the jungle, the enemy and their troops. Then in the spring of 69 Ben Het took a chunk out of our units.
As I finish each of your sections, I find myself giving a prayerful thanks once again for my blessings. We lost our youth and innocence there.
James, I am happy that you made it to the theater but missed the show.
You are correct in thanking your stars for that one. At least we are having this
dialogue and you probably did not have to drink and take drugs until nobody wanted you
around in life anymore. Thanks for coming here and saying what you said.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, the FNG came in all ranks. On a resupply run on QL-1 from DaNang later in my tour, I was stopped for speeding by a new arrival Cpl MP. Meanwhile, I had just taken rounds in my deuce and a-half where they were using my red crosses as targets. Got a ticket for 35 in a 30. Good thing he caught me on a hill and I was fully loaded.
(Something a little lite for you after writing this segment). I know that had to be hard. We had fellow soldiers and that, but we didn’t really make friends…harder to lose friends and those you know. And, I think that stayed with me the rest of my career and maybe still today.
A speeding ticket? Now how in hell did you keep yourself from not locking and loading on that guy?
The friends thing was as you describe it. A lot of guys did not want to grow close because they did not
want to take the pain when they lost you. Another casualty of that war was the terrible loneliness in the field.
You were truly on your own many times and in many situations…and you were too young to be alone like that.
At least I thought I was. Thanks for being here and saying what you said…
Semper fi,
Jim
Payback on the speeding ticket. Cpl visited a sic-a-lo girl and needed the shots. Came to our clinic to visit me. Gotcha. Fun In Phu Bai. Was more fun than drawing down on him, I shot him four times in the ‘end’.
Outstanding. There’s so little payback in real life. I can’t even imagine
what ‘medications’ you put into him. Thank you for that humor this night.
Semper fi,
Jim
Know one ever forgets stuffing pieces parts in bags. Then when a few years later a friend wonders how you can eat a sandwich and change a dirty diaper at the same time, You just look at him and say “IT DON’T MEAN NOTHIN!”
It don’t mean nuthin’. Who really understands what sounds like such a dumb thing to say?
Somebody who’s been there and walked in those boots, in those paddies,
in those mountains and back down into those valleys.
Thanks for repeating it here John.
Semper fi,
Jim
I would walk in to hell with you. we did not have a Lt. I think we had a Captain, if you could fine him .. Semper Fi
Well, that’s a compliment. I got that and thank you. I must admit that I do not want to go
back to hell, even with a class act like yourself! It would be hard to want to go back although
I don’t think I’d mind standing atop that windswept point sticking out over the valley.
I don’t know if I’d ever be able to find it again. I have old maps but not my old maps.
Thanks for the great compliment and for writing it on here!
Semper fi,
Jim
o hell the shit going to hit the fan, I am glad you said what you did about the listening post, Semper Fi all the way Lt.
Thank you OB. I would say that the ‘shit has already hit the fan’ in this story.
It’s just not going to stop because there are a lot of blades left on that fan.
Thanks for he comment and liking the work.
Semper fi,
Jim
I can feel the tension. But now it seems you’re going thru this surreal metamorphosis in the power struggle and coming out ahead.
I suspect that Casey and Billings will soon be leaving soon after wearing their boots in a few days if that long.
I sense that things are about to step up in intensity soon.
You’re doing a fantastic job in bringing me into the battlefield with you..
You, my friend, are a bit of a wizard in being able to figure some things out
well before I could out in the field. I was so smart and so stupid, all at the same
time. The intensity was tremendous and maybe that fact alone defined it so deeply into
memory. That and my youth and my lack of life experience. I was an open book, so to speak.
Thanks for your close attention to detail, writing it here and liking the work.
Semper fi,
Jim
Easy to from my end and after the fact….
Not so much for a young Lt going through it real time, but I do think that young LT is coming into his own. I loved the way you handled Sugar Daddy..
I think you shook him.
I can’t wait to see how this all plays out
after morning resupply and movement into the Valley of No Return.
Thanks Brad. Glad you are enjoying the telling of the story.
That chapter was another hard one following the battle but then there are
no real easy ones. My life changed when that door slammed down into
the mud in that first day and it has never retreated back. Thanks for liking
what you are reading and I’m happy that you are commenting about it here.
Semper fi,
Jim
After the loss of Keating you did what? Become numb to the fear? Decide it wouldn’t matter one way or the other? Waiting for the next part is good for old hearts that haven’t had much exercise for a while. You surely do put us in the shit. Thank you.
Hod do I properly describe just how big the fear was and how it overwhelmed rational thought so
often in almost every circumstance. Doing my best there. There were pockets when I could actually kick back
from its cloying leeching grasp and right after Keating went was one of them.
Thanks for noticing and thinking about that. Deep dark thoughts during a deep dark time.
Semper fi,
Jim
I see the Gunny beginning to have belief in you running the company and not wasting lives. I figure Casey’s and Billing’s are well oiled in mosquito repellant, which in a couple of days has them on a helicopter to the rear with bad feet, which keeps them from getting killed. Nguyen…big medicine.
The Gunny played the game like a chess master and I went from being one of his pawns to
his Queen on the board. But it was and remained the Gunny’s game. He was simply that
experienced and that good.
Semper fi,
Jim
Giving the photo of the wife to Nguyen was a powerful moment, among several others.
It was more powerful than I knew. I was unaware that the Montagnards considered a
photo of something as possessed of the spirit of that person. I was to discover that
later, of course. It just seemed a way to somehow build the bond between two men from
such different cultures yet traveling side by side together through the jungle.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’d heard Charles used Saran Wrap but never saw it or knew anyone who had. Amazing what they came up with. I can’t imagine Marines abandoning a listening post in that environment! Infuriating and sad at the same time. Of course I hoped the Kamehameha plan worked better than it did but without it I probably wouldn’t be reading this. Thanks Jim and Semper Fi!
I did not truly believe Nguyen about the listening post either. In fact,
my comment to Sugar Daddy was not meant to threaten him. It was meant to find
out if it was true. When it was true I didn’t know what to do. The fact of any
Marines ever abandoning such a position and then that abandonment being defended put
me into a form of shock.
Thanks for that comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I just found three or four Marines for point until such time as someone else wants to involuntarily volunteer.
Hayhurst, you are just too much! Thanks for your comments zinging in and out of this site.
You are a great piece of work.
Semper fi,
Jim
How do you remember so much? I came home, went to college, got married, had a great family. Worked a great career, retired. I remember faces, a few names, units, and incidents but not to your detail. It must be stuck in some corner of my brain somewhere. Enjoy reading your experiences but how do you remember?
The burning coals of bitter experience layered onto a young mind that had
little in the way of life experience to reference or deal with it. Those coals
laying still lit down there after all these years. And an ability to intuit over
those areas that have faded in order to stay true to the story as much as is possible.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fred, I left for The hospital in august, 1968,to this day, I can recall each and every day that I was there. I close my eyes and I can stll feel the saw grass, the taste if insects and leeches. The rain, the heat. The smell of that damn river. The scent of death. Both fresh, and several days old. The panic when the ammo was low, and there would be no resupply. The strange rumbling, rattling as the rounds from the MO passed over head. The numb feeling when a round passed through the wrist, and glutes. Being in a very unflattering position as nurses picked splinters out of those same glutes, chattering away as though this was an every day occurrance, I suppose they were used to far worse. I wasn’t
The wrist was nowhere as embarrassing. No, there are few things that have gone to rest. Most of all, I recall that I was not supposed to even be there. My billet was in Japan. But when one is present, and the big brass have a need….you know the rest.hell, I was not even given acknowledgement for being there. And my pay piled up waiting for me.
But who needed money, anyway? I survived on ears.
The pay being backed up was so common Art. Some guys would wait six or seven months
for it too catch up when they got home. In combat, of course, all you got was some military pay currency
that was basically useless because there was no economy in the bush.
Black market Tiger Piss and some weed and that was about it.
Thanks for the revealing long comment.
And for liking the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was with A Co 1/4 the second half of my tour Sep 68 to Mar 69, we have a unit reunion ever year. We have a few Guys that still know every aspect of our venture there. Names, places and actions, I can find bits and pieces only. It amazes me how they can recall all the events. These reunions are refreshing. Being with the men, Marines, that went through with the same crap and had our backs. Semper Fi
Some of this stuff is simply burned in, not to mention how much memory
is enhanced by constantly recalling parts of it through the years.
You toss and turn and rotate the stories around in your head,
which also means that some of them can be off by a small or wide bit.
Thanks for the comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
As always can’t stop once I start reading your trials by fire. Sounds like maybe the Captain is finding out combat is a whole new thing from the parade grounds. The Lt Billings sounds like he hasn’t taken in any reality of war though.
Thanks Peter. It’s really nice to field comments like your own. I find myself re-reading the words when i edit and then I get stuck in them myself,
thinking about what happened and then wondering if I got it just right. Sometimes little details come to me too late and now i try not to go back
and ‘fix’ anything. The story has a life of its own and I must let it wander and live…
Semper fi,
Jim
I never served. The depths of my limited understanding of what you and your men endured is limited by my lack of knowledge and perspective. Throughout my years I have read dozens of books from those that have been in combat; mostly glossed over “stories” with little actual depth. I have read many journals and diaries of men serving in several wars and engagements—they contained an added realism, a depth and understanding. Diaries don’t (often) lie; they are personal core reflections and wanderings of men in physical, emotional and spiritual turmoil.
I have smelled things burning in my life that no person should ever smell, seen things up close that no one should ever have to see. The surface scratch of my experiences are enough to open up the imagination of more. I do not enjoy it, I do not want it…but I must, must go there to understand it to the best of my abilities. I thank you for an honest recall of a period in your life that caused such a schism both in the corners of your mind, as well as the lives of others.
As others have mentioned, we repeatedly re-read everything. There is always a thought we missed, a nuance that garners a truer (for some of us) understanding or recall of each moment. With each paragraph you, as a soldier, have begun to let go and allow the writer to pen the pain and the dank, fetid memories that surface a little more each night; the varied colors of that small corner of war that was, and still is, among us.
Thank you for your service, as well as so many of you that are ready this. I have no real way to quantify what your service has really meant to you or our country.
Yes, Keith. Well thought out and very well written comment here.
It was their war and although this is my story it is about their war, not just my own.
That should always be remembered. Only parts of it come into focus I am certain when vets read the segments.
They had other stressors and motivators and experiences similar but not the same. Thanks for describing the process some
go through in reading the text. I try to think about that when it is pouring out onto paper but then the story grabs me
by the throat and I just go. Thanks so much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Took a break from work when I saw there was a new post….. then read it thru three times. Hoping I don’t get called into the office, but it was worth it !!
Lots of emotions there, and the gunny hanging back to allow you the opportunity to take command, brilliant on his part. He knew it was time….. and he was right.
It all left me breathless. Great writing LT, I had high hopes for Keating, and know you did too. Sorry it didn’t work out.
I still worry about your own frame of mind as you write this, your stress level is climbing too…. it has to be. Be careful the monster doesn’t consume you.
Now Joel, I’m going to get a big head here. That rendition of reading through a segment is
damned high praise. That any writer could grab you from the office and then
have you secretly reading away hoping not to be called back…
well, that’s about all I needed to read to get me through this night!
Thank you from the bottom of the nib on my fast moving pen…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hi James,
Saran Wrap ? I never saw it in use down in the Delta, but I know them to be skillful and tenacious fighters….great fire discipline as well.
They also had a least one guy with a .51, our CEOI, and perfect command of the English language on our FM push….not a good combination.
Thank you for exorcism demons that have long been hidden away in a dark place.
Above the best,
Bill
Bill, I was not so shocked by the use of the Saran Wrap as I was
to discover that the enemy was that savagely and self-sacrificing
committed to beating us. It was the first time, really, that I gave
that proper consideration and i don’t think I did a good job
portraying how surprised I was. Before that, except for the grace
and the obvious tough elegance of the Montagnards, I had considered
the Vietnamese as beneath contempt as warriors. I lost that feeling on
that battlefield. Thanks for the comment…and the analysis.
Semper fi,
Jim
Crap, I’m shaking from being extremely pissed at a man who allowed post abandoning by troops. Deaths are on his ass.
I know he knows his shit is weak
Jim
Terror transforms human beings. One of the hardest things for me to accomplish was to
admit to myself just how compromised I was by that very terror I thought others should be able to overcome.
Sugar Daddy, like the other guys in the company, were literally fighting for their lives every day and night
and they were young and ill equipped emotionally and afraid of everything, including the brutally inexperienced
leadership that sent out to them on a regular basis. But they were my men in my mind and I would begin to
feel less like sacrificing them for weakness as time went by…because of my own weaknesses….
Semper fi,
Jim
it must be like the hell you lived through for all of you to be out there with no true leadership coming down from HQ ,as you well know you were all hung-out way too far with no leadership and not much support
The rear area was filled with officers staying the hell out of the field.
Turns out that they were right. Most of them lived and that is the bottom
line in a combat zone. I worked at it day and night and still can’t believe
I’m here writing this tonight. It feels amazingly good and satisfying to be able
to tell the story of the guys who didn’t make it and the agony of the ones who did.
Thanks for coming on here and understanding.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn!
Tense; intense; soul grabbing. I see it in my minds eye.
So when does the Captain take over?
Thanks Ed, for that big compliment. It is never my intent, when writing the segments, to draw the reader in. It just happens as
I sit and reflect on the old scene and how it was playing out at the time and in my mind now. Those two things have to be a bit
different, I know, but somehow I don’t perceive them that way until afterward and mostly after reading comments either correcting
mistakes or those directing attention to areas I’d not concentrated on until the re-reading. If that makes much sense. I am
happy with what you wrote about the reading though. What author would not be? Thank you so very much.
Semper fi,
Jim