The monsoon day wore on, its rain relentless, the river mildly rising in the volume of water passing, and in sound, but nothing we weren’t used to enduring down in the bottom of our own private hell, known as the A Shau Valley. The new guys weren’t ready, of course, just as the FNG’s before them hadn’t been either. V.C., and his Romeo Oscar radio operator had died only hours earlier.
I wished that the wind would stop or at least die down. I wished that there was some contact with the Army special teams up on top of Hill 975, but there was nothing. They had not pulled the yellow ropes back up to the top of the cliff. The yellow ropes, cut by the RPG explosives a little more than halfway up, blew up and then dangled back down as they danced against the wet surface of the cliff face. I wasn’t concerned with the safety of the teams, as I’d already consigned them to death, I just couldn’t stand looking up at the blowing ropes or trying not to look up at them, peering out from under my poncho cover and looking up at them until I couldn’t do it anymore, which didn’t seem to help.
The NVA had fired the three RPG rounds to great effect and then disappeared under the clouds of debris I’d rained down upon and around them. Whether they were dead up on top of the opposing valley wall or had successfully run off, I knew I’d never know. In real combat, I’d learned, if there was any risk to it all, nobody went out to check and see what the body count was from the effect of our fire. If forced to file an after action report I simply lied about it. It was like learning about ‘confirmed’ kills a sniper might make. Who was going to go out there, a thousand meters or more into Indian Country, to confirm anything? The sniper took the shot and his sidekick confirmed it. End of story. Dismount and move on to set up for the next shot.
According to Fusner, listening in to the combat net traffic, our company was verbally ordered down valley three times before the Gunny couldn’t take it anymore. We hadn’t moved an inch.
“We’ve got to move back down the valley,” he said to me, kneeling like some sort of unwilling supplicant on the edge of my exposed poncho cover. His own poncho was being peppered with rain. The Gunny didn’t wear any kind of head cover, his jet-black hair, with a few gray sprigs, looking almost like a helmet of its own.
“How long do you think Kilo is going to last with those children as their leaders?” I asked, sidestepping the fact that we had not responded to the battalion orders.
“You were one of them three weeks ago,” the Gunny shot back, with a note of derision in his tone.
I stared into the man’s dark eyes, hooded under his thick, even darker, eyebrows. The man seemed oblivious to the water running down his face. Occasionally he’d wipe his eyes with the back of one of his brown hands or swipe his hair back, but that was it.
I wanted to comment on the fact that he’d said I was special, earlier, but thought better of it. In truth, I was frozen in grief and terror. The grief was not over the death of V.C and his radio operator. It was over myself. It was Alice’s letter and the premonition. I touched the outside of my helmet. The letter to her from V.C. that had so unsettled me was only micro-millimeters from my brain. I felt it was an omen, a premonition, and I was frozen in terror. In spite of the fact that I knew it was stupid, I felt like that if I didn’t move then nothing could get me.
None of any of that could be discussed with the real warrior in front of me. Without that man’s goodwill and help I’d have been long dead, and I knew I couldn’t possibly go on without him. Another thought had struck me, the only thought that gave me any impetus to obey battalion’s shitty orders at all. If the Gunny went with Kilo to help save them like he’d save me, then I would be alone and lost, and probably quickly dead.
I could see that the Gunny was just about reaching the point where he’d either say something really crummy to me or quite possibly hit me with some nearby object. I broke from my trance and moved.
“Head em up, move em out,” I said, quoting the character Rowdy Yates from the television show called Rawhide.
I stood up, for the first time in hours, my body feeling like it had been put through one of those manual washing machine ringers.
“Those guys cut the Kilo Marines out?” I asked the Gunny.
“Still a mess,” he replied. “Everyone wants to claim they’re part of Kilo, of course, since they know where the rest of us are going.”
I felt so relieved that my shoulders actually sagged. The Gunny was coming with me. He’d said the word ‘us,’ not ‘you.’
“The bad news is we’re going back down into the valley,” the Gunny said, stepping back to allow me to gather my things. “The good news is that we can’t go far because we’ve got the problem of those guys up on the hill.”
The Gunny was right and I was cheered a bit. I could place artillery rounds all around the base of the hill, except for the hillside directly facing south, and for that, we had the fearsome Ontos, no doubt filled to the hilt with 106 beehive rounds from the morning resupply dump. I immediately began to pray that the guys up on the hill would last for a while up there. The longer they lived, the longer we got to hang around in the better part of the south valley. Moving further down would take us back into that killing hell where the snaking Bong Song, the predatory animal life, and the NVA waited with panting breath and drooling lips, whispering ‘come my pretty’ through the weeping jungle bracken.
I strapped my pack on, but not before pulling a can of Ham and Mothers out and working the tiny P-38 can opener around the top edge. The cans were dark green with black writing, no doubt designed for maximum camouflage, but making it impossible to read the writing in anything but the brightest light. I squatted down and poured the unheated greasy mess down my throat, gulp after gulp, knowing I was somehow being reduced to a lower order creature on the animal scale. I also knew that I wasn’t thinking clearly. Not caring one whit about the lives of the Army troopers stuck up on top of Hill 975, but being badly hurt about losing V.C. on the cliff wall, didn’t make sense, and I knew it. How had I become so calloused in such a short time, and would I change into the old me again if I made it back to the world? I finished the meal, not wiping what was left from the lip of the can for fear of cutting myself on its rough edge. I wanted to walk over to the river and throw the can in to watch it float away, like when I was a kid, but I knew I couldn’t. I was the company commander. What I did might be copied and the company couldn’t afford to have hundreds of C-ration cans floating downriver to reveal how many of us were left and where we might be on the river. Not that there was much mystery to our position, as far as the enemy was concerned. I put the empty can back into my pack and prepared to move out.
I followed the Gunny, and my scout team followed me down what vaguely passed for a trail. I looked at the fairly beaten mud path, putting one wet boot after another, making sure not to look back and up at the swinging blowing ropes I knew were still hanging down from the top of the plateau. I would have to write my wife about Alice, but I knew I’d have to write in such a way that what really happened hadn’t happened at all. My wife was in San Francisco and Chance’s wife was in San Diego. Five hundred miles separated them. Even if they were next door it wouldn’t matter, I realized. What possible good could come if the two women met one another? My wife had our baby girl. Did Alice have anybody? I brushed the side of my helmet with the letter inside it like I was brushing aside a cobweb.
“You have to let them go, each and every one, like prying bad teeth out of your mouth,” the Gunny said, turning his head slightly so only I could hear him, as we walked.
I grimaced at the image. The captain didn’t fit into it. It was a terrible analogy, but I understood exactly what the Gunny was saying in his rather crude and brutal way. Prying the bad teeth out would end that never-ending pain and replace it with a duller throbbing thing that would eventually go away. But would it go away? I knew the Gunny was telling me, because he was so much older and more experienced, that it would. Was he saying it to make me feel better in the moment, or was he telling the truth about the way life would be if I made it? There was no way to know, other than the simple fact that the Gunny never seemed to say anything at all to make anyone feel better.
The Gunny stuck one hand behind him, holding out a dull metal object. I automatically reached for it.
I held the object up in front of me, as I walked. It was a climbing tool, although I’d never climbed or been around the serious technical equipment. Climbing during training had involved obstacles, rope nets and thick hawsers with knots, but no equipment.
“It’s called a carabiner,” the Gunny said. “Used for clipping on to ropes. Found it down at the bottom where they fell. You can use it as a key ring back home. Remember the ring and the climb and the fact that you did not die, and let him go.”
I slipped the strange oblong object into my right thigh pocket where I’d kept the morphine I was blessedly out of. I didn’t like the thought of replacing the captain’s memory with a ridiculous keyring object. I was already a walking museum of the dead. I carried Tex’s Colt, wore Keating’s watch and a previous company commander’s damaged helmet. My boots were from someone else, identity unknown, who’d died, courtesy of Macho man, and now I had Chance’s carabiner, for keys I didn’t have.
“They’ve got three Prick 25s up there. There’s no way they can be out of communication with us,” I mused to myself, knowing Fusner, close behind, was hearing every word I said.
“Dealing with recon is that way, sir,” Fusner said, keeping his voice as quiet as he could, given the sliding thunder of the nearby river and the irritating patter of rain impacting on our helmets. “They don’t communicate unless it’s deemed vitally important. They don’t want to be spotted or triangulated or have their transmissions translated.”
“Brilliant,” I said, not bothering to turn my head. “Like the enemy does not know where they are. Like they had at least a tiny chance of staying alive before. Now they get to die in silence.”
Fusner didn’t respond again, or if he did I didn’t hear him.
It took only half an hour to reach the fork where the tributary running down into the Bong Song slanted and curved around the promontory of the plateau that all of us referred to as Hill 975. The tributary had been waist deep, and although running strong enough in the days before it had still been fordable without equipment or assistance. The monsoons had changed that. The level of the water, as we hunched down and back from it to keep our exposure from the hillside rising up behind us to a minimum, had risen about two feet. Fast moving water traveling at armpit level was no longer fordable, as before. Whether the Ontos could enter the water and serve as a mid-point stepping stone to get everyone across was questionable, at best. We could not afford to lose the Ontos, or even have it out of commission once we got across the water. The only security available would be digging in just beyond the jungle line on the other side of the tributary. Even that would provide more camouflage than a true cover. There was no reason to believe the NVA weren’t set up in force further back inside that thick, nearly impenetrable, jungle and it was a given they were established in force inside the tunnel complexes they’d dug into the side of Hill 975. The drums continued to beat, as they had since the dramatic execution of Captain Chance earlier, somewhere up and just over the lip of the cliff face.
The Gunny, and his radio operator made his way through the light scruffy cover to my side. We peered down at the moving water together, the wind picked up and was now blowing the rain nearly sideways down the tributary and out over the Bong Song it joined nearly in front of us.
“There’s that,” the Gunny said, nodding out toward the moving water before lighting one of his cigarettes, the tinny snap of his lighter sounding familiar but out of place in our exposed position.
“We’ll be trapped between two forces again,” he said, matter-of-factly, “and how in hell are we supposed to get up that hill again to claim another crop of dead bodies, much less back down should we accomplish the mission?”
“Lightner and Kilo took off north, I presume,” I said, having no credible answer to the Gunny’s questions.
“Yeah, they headed north,” the Gunny replied, and then laughed a derisive laugh before inhaling again. “Those lieutenants sat the non-com platoon and squad leaders down and gave them an hour of the five-paragraph order. I stayed for five minutes. It was just too funny not to have missed.”
“A whole five paragraph order?” I asked, in surprise.
The ornate battle planning presentation, drilled by memory into every Marine Officer, detailed every bit of an attack operation. It was effective in training, especially when delivered to other officers who were acting like grunts. The reality of combat was way different.
“BAMCIs and SMEAC, and the whole Kit-in-Kaboodle,” the Gunny laughed, taking in and blowing out more smoke. “You should have been there. Never seen so many living Marines with unblinking round eyes and nothing at all behind them.”
“Who are they attacking?” I asked, not being able to quite take in what had occurred.
“Who the hell knows?” the Gunny said, not as a question. “They’re headed north, attacking a direction, the river, the crocodiles or maybe a water buffalo or two. The NVA are down here, comfortably living among us, and they don’t give a shit about those lucky bastards led by those young fools while they jabber on meaninglessly.”
I waited and watched the Gunny smoke his cigarette down without offering it to me. The Gunny was mad as hell. I knew he wasn’t mad because he’d stayed behind. He was mad because Kilo was going north and it had no chance of making it on its own. The smallest under-equipped NVA forces would take it apart piecemeal, probably in one night, unless there was a Gunny-type among the non-coms and unless those four matching second lieutenants were somehow taken out of the equation. The Gunny had stayed, I realized, not because he was loyal to me or the company. The Gunny had stayed because his chances were better with the racially divided, embittered and embattled elements of our company, and he had someone he could mostly control who called accurate artillery (most of the time) and could read a map.
“You have a plan for all this?” the Gunny asked, his tone indicating that he knew I didn’t.
“You won’t like it,” I answered, knowing my wispy idea of about the only thing we could do to survive had about as much chance of being implemented as it did of being successful if it was undertaken.
“I haven’t liked any of your plans,” the Gunny replied, his voice flat and seemingly filled with bitter truth.
“The company crosses the tributary using the Ontos,” I said, thinking fast. “The Ontos is set to fire up the slope with plenty of rounds to reload. The beehives at maximum range adjustment of the fuses can scour that whole hillside. Two or three Marines go up the chute we slid down. They move wearing cut down trousers, and nothing else, not even boots. We carry our boots around our necks for the trip back down and if we have to move up there to get the bodies. The chute doesn’t look like it but it can be climbed. Just under the ferns and tea leaves is thick tough mud, interlaced with sticks and debris. We dig in with bare feet and toes and climb, with any slip being, of course, a nearly instant sleigh ride to the bottom again. We reach the top of the hill, grab the Army idiots and toss them down the chute, dead or alive. You and the company grab them and us at the bottom, and then we make it across the tributary. After that, we get the hell back down to the airfield and get ready for the assault.”
“That’s it?” the Gunny asked a slight tone of awe in his tone, however.
“Jungle Junior and the Lost World. Where do you come up with this shit? What then, we still all end up back here in the same shitty old airfield. We make an assault on what after that insanity, if anybody’s alive, I mean.”
“The assault on the river,” I answered. “The old bridge is probably still there. The tanks gotta be there. We cross the river again and retake about the most secure area we’ve been in ever since we’ve been down here. We hold the area under the lip of that cliff. I use the 175s red bag, up and down the valley, plus Cowboy and his Skyraiders pack a lunch every day and orbit our small world. And we wait, taking every bit of heat the NVA can throw at us.”
“What about our orders?” The Gunny asked.
“We wait for new orders, I replied.
“They’re not going to put up with this make-our-own-rules bullshit much longer,” the Gunny forced out in frustration.
“What about the plan?” I countered.
“So, we’re going to do the usual and ignore battalion,” The Gunny said, unable to let the formality of our command situation go.
“Like this is becoming normal? That can’t go on, you know.”
“We get the Army guys off the hill, and maybe even save their lives,” I replied. “Then we hold up and survive. They’ll want us to go back down the valley at some point, and at some point, we have to decide on that. But we’ll be alive.”
“The Army gives its own orders to those guys,” the Gunny said, trying to poke holes in my plan, “and those recon types may not want to abandon their post no matter how much trouble they’re in…that they may not know they’re in…until they are dead, anyway.
“They stay up there and die, or they’re dead already, or they come down with us,” I replied. “Three doors. Pick one. The rest flows from there. We do the same thing no matter which door they pick. We make contact and get the fuck out of Dodge as quickly as we can.”
“You think they’re going to let you come down that sluice again?” the Gunny asked.
“Hell, they probably don’t know where we went or how we got down,” I replied. “That hill is a rabbit warren of holes and tunnels carpeted over with a jungle almost too thick to move around in.”
“We can’t get the Ontos across the river and we can’t leave it unprotected unless we spike it,” the Gunny said as if that was a deal breaker.
“Really?” I said. “How about if we use the Ontos to drag a bunch of trees and bamboo across the bridge and dump it between the far bank and the bridge. The Ontos drives across the dumped debris and there we are. The Ontos serves as our base of fire to protect resupply coming in on that open area between our protected positions at the base of the cliff and the river.”
“This whole thing is beginning to sound way too complex,” the Gunny said, scratching his head before pressing his hair and brushing the collected water from it. “We don’t have any clue about the deadly silent Army teams on top of the hill, we have no idea whether the Ontos can ford the river, and what’s the NVA supposed to be doing while we’re trying to pull all this off, not to mention that battalion is going to want us to return all the way down south to welcome another bunch of idiots they’re no doubt planning on sending in from An Hoa.”
I hadn’t missed the small part of his presentation wherein he’d used the word ‘you,’ instead of ‘we’ when it came to coming back down the sluice. The Gunny wasn’t going back up the hill with me. I had no choice in the matter if anyone was going at all. I was the only one who knew how to navigate up the twisty slippery mess of layered debris, using the semi-solid mud just underneath to dig into with bare toes while staying so low anyone viewing the scene would think they were seeing thick brown snakes creeping up the mountain.
I didn’t need the Gunny for the hill. Fusner and Nguyen would do. Zippo was just too heavy and thick. There was no way he could sinuously imitate a sidewinder to get up the muddy mess of 975’s sluice.
I looked over to where Fusner sat, fiddling with his private radio, a very low version of Proud Mary coming from its ridiculously inadequate speaker. My wife’s name was Mary. The song had to be a good omen.
“What do you think?” the Gunny said toward Fusner, lighting yet another cigarette in the rain by cupping both hands over it, as he somehow used the Zippo to ignite the thing.
I couldn’t believe the Gunny was asking Fusner anything. The kid was way old beyond his teenage years, but generally, radio operators and low ranking enlisted were only ever asked about things that directly related to any specialty they might have.
The Gunny waited for the few seconds it took Fusner to turn his radio off, indicating just how important the kid felt it was to be asked his opinion about anything by the Gunny.
“I like that part,” he finally said, after taking a few moments to rub his chin and give the appearance of thinking very deeply.
“What part?” the Gunny asked, as perplexed as I was by Fusner’s answer.
“The Three Doors Plan part,” he said with a big smile, before going on, “Jungle Junior and the Lost Word is cool but too long.”
The Gunny made no reply, and neither did I because there really wasn’t one to make.
The drums beat on, and only at that moment did I realize I’d gotten used to them. The powerful deep jarring vibrations through the air and coming up from the ground 
didn’t bother me in my very center anymore. The drum beats had become like the leeches. They were just another part of my strange dangerous world. The grunting whiney sound of the Ontos moving slowly toward us from upriver, the tracks being carefully supervised so they wouldn’t bog down in riverbank mud, was also becoming part of my life. I didn’t’ have to turn to look at it. I knew where it was and how it was doing in the mud just by the sounds it made. I pulled my canteen out for a drink of hot water, and for a brief few seconds, the fetid liquid washing down my throat, I thought of home. I didn’t think of my wife or our baby, or even my used up, so precious, GTO. I thought about a coke. A cold coke in one of the hourglass-shaped bottles. No ice, the dark liquid just so cold it was almost ice.
I snapped my canteen back into its holder, hearing the second distinct snap at the same time as the cry of “incoming.” I heard the thudding ‘thupe’ of mortar rounds being launched against me for the first time. I’d been very briefly trained in our own sixty mm mortars and also the 81s Kilo had earlier, but for some reason, the sound of the cheap light munitions launching into the air was much more threatening and foreign when it was heard from a distance, and you knew the rounds were intended to kill you.
My body hit the Gunny’s side as I went face down into the mud. I bounced slightly back up and then a bit away from him. I hadn’t counted the launch sounds, as they had been very rapid and the rushing fear again was scattering my brain. Everything was silent except for the beating of the distant drums and the rushing waters of the Bong Song. I pushed my face into the mud, not caring about leeches or anything else. The mortar rounds were coming down and death would be dealt out mercilessly from above.
“They’re only eighty-two millimeters” the Gunny whispered almost jauntily from nearby. “Not the shitty 120s.”
I didn’t have time to evaluate just how that was such seemingly great news. The Ontos, before the explosions, began to rip across the unprotected course of our travel.
One hell of a good read.Keep them coming.
Thanks Tim, I’m all over the writing just now and catching up…
Semper fi,
Jim
Here’s some history plus maps of the A Shau.
https://www.cc.gatech.edu/~tpilsch/AirOps/AShau.html
Larger format map
https://www.cc.gatech.edu/~tpilsch/AirOps/Maps/AShau_area-lodens-remarked.jpg
One can click on the image to zoom in for greater detail.
James, At your own pace. Be Well.
Much appreciate that reference help Dan. It’s hard to find this stuff online and then make it all work
against the backdrop of such a long time gone by…
Semper fi, and thanks a load…
Jim
James…you have my fb response and that was for you. This is for all my brothers and sisters,including myself.I do so at my own discretion and because I know the drums are beating and the river is rising!
On Wings of Diamond Light
It’s only water, brother…
That beats within your core,
That flows below the surface…
Between the Sky and Shore
Which patters as rains falling,
Then knock upon our door…
The drums beat out the rhythm,
As windshield-wipered purge…
By cocooned hearts half-broken,
Chrysalised, now emerge…
This ain’t our Last Dance, brothers…
Nor first-timed…rodeos,
No rivers there meandered,
O’er tear-stained stone Will flows…
From beating drums haul anchor,
On water’s calm do sail…
By Eagles wings fly freely,
Our veteraned Light shan’t fail.
As dragonflies awakened…
No more by blood be borne…
As family unforsakened,
By body counts forewarned.
We shook hands with our duty,
As beating hearts, once there…
Of pirate’s treasured booty,
We knew we’d never care.
Be free we heard and honored,
As prisoners once to roam…
On wings my sister’s brother’s
In Diamond Light…Head home!-ddh/Raj
Semper Fi
Thanks Dennis. Wonderful writing here…
Sempeer fi,
Jim
“I slipped the strange oblong object into my right thigh pocket where I’d kept the morphine I was blessedly out of. I didn’t like the thought of replacing the captain’s memory with a ridiculous keyring object. I was already a walking museum of the dead. I carried Tex’s Colt, wore Keating’s watch and a previous company commander’s damaged helmet. My boots were from someone else, identity unknown, who’d died, courtesy of Macho man, and now I had Chance’s carabiner, for keys I didn’t have.”
Sir, That one paragraph right there is one excellent piece of classic literature… Regards and respect!
Thanks Bill. That was such an outstanding compliment. I am humbled by your ability to display, quote and write it…
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
I want more! Where can I buy! I’m an infantry Afghan vet and had a lot of family in Vietnam
Thanks for your support and enthusiasm, Matt.
The paperbacks, autographed and personalized, are available on this site, along with Digital versions.
Order Here on Website
Digital and paperback are also available on Amazon and Barnes&Noble
Call Chuck if you have further questions
530-824-3893
Still lovin’ It man!
thanks Mike for the great compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
jim] put the scotch down; you sent a new picture without the new chapter. ol’ om
I got tired of the ‘old’ picture because nobody would understand that I picked it for the drama
and grief it transmitted and not because it was Marine Corps or from the A Shau or any of that.
I’ll do getter in selection as I go along here…thanks for the scotch comment though…
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Understood the picture and the message within it completely. Very fitting for the situation you and your men were in. Glad I’ve been archiving as I follow your remarkable your through the unspoken past. You were there first hand. I would keep with what only you see fit for the situation. It’s a large part of what brings life and death into your adventure. Well done.
Semper fi
Thanks Jack. Big stuff in your words. Neat compliments.
I thank you most sincerely…
SEmper fi,
Jim
LT That picture did represent drama and grief. But alas, there seems to be two memories of the Viet Nam War. The Army’s and ours carry on Sir.
Thanks for the comment Cpl, and you are most correct in your analysis.
Thanks for making it here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Good answer keep up the keeping up.
Thanks Bob, from the heart…
Semper fi,
Jim
jim] was glad i found your interview that you had with crane.i was schocked by your review board in that your wounds were not being rated at a high rate.i was lucky to be in a large ward and the older guys would come back to the ward and give are groupe a heads up on what to exspect from the board.they let us know we had to cover our own ass.the only medical language i knew was my arm; my legs my ass my balls.they gave us a navy ensign to represent us and spent five min. with us before we met with the board.my board was two marine capt. with the navy capt.doing all the talking.i stood in front of the board as best i could while the capt.read off my med.record.he finished by stating i would get 60% and did i have any thing to add.i looked over at the ensign who looked more scared them me and i told the capt. that i had intended for the marines to be my home. with a 8th grade education with legs blown to hell half my ass gone my right hand looking like it belonged to frankenstine with my left nut still lying over there in some rice paddie 60% of 97.50 a mo. didn’t seem like a good deal.the ensign never said a word and the capt.ask me if i wanted to drop my trousers.just like forrest gump i droped them for all to see. we arguded about the left nut the capt told me you only needed 1 and i assured him i enlisted with two and they had been used very little.he had us to leave the room while they review my record for about 10 min and called us back and settled for 90%.my buddies back at the ward laughed there asses off about the nut thing.the va uped me to 100% unemployable and i went back to school.ok enough about this get back to your writeing. semper fi omer
Thanks for so much more of your life Omer! And your support, as usual.
Semper fi, my friend….
Jim
James,
Could I have your first and last day that you were in the field. Even better would be a place I can go to get the names and loss dates of the men from your unit that you lost while there.
I would like to honor you and your men on Run For The Wall this year.
Thanks
Ken
1st MAW
MACS4
I,m sorry they took your souvenirs. I was fortunate to bring back a Chinese pistol I took off a dead NVA officer, and a sks that I got shot with in a one on one encounter.
Yes,
I heard those stories and believed the all when I found about the ‘spoils of war’ thing,
that has been going on between armies for thousands of years.
It’s hard to believe, but the U.S. forces in the Nam got to keep all the stuff
they ‘won’ from those they killed over there.
A lot of guys got boxes of stuff with automatic weapons taken out.
Astounding, really…
Semper fi,
Jim
Ah the good old REMF war stories – thanks for pointing this out
It was part of that big game we played without knowing the rules back then.
Thanks for the comment Bob…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m just learning to not get ahead of the story or try to wish another outcome. It is unfolding at its own pace. It is as it happened.
A small editorial comment – this is your second mortar attack not the first. “I heard the thudding ‘thupe’ of mortar rounds being launched against me for the first time.”
https://jamesstrauss.com/eleventh-day-third-part/
Four loud and distinct “thups” echoed back and around the sunken area of the sandbank.
“Incoming,” shouts came in from all over.
… I’d never received mortar fire before
IIRC For close rounds one can hear it just before it impacts. Those with more experience can comment.
P-38 was an Army name for a C-Rat can opener. Some said it took 38 cuts to open the can. Maybe. Second or third hand info said some Marines called them John Waynes. I still have mine.
Be Well. God bless.
Thanks for the much needed editorial help Dan. I’ve learned a lot I did not know from all the comments pouring in here.
Interesting and enlightening…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wondering about the top of that hill with no communications from the Army troops. Were they or weren’t they still alive. Now I’m wondering how the Ontos is going to play out in your next days story. Can’t wait !!
Thanks for the telling James, and keep on keeping on!!
SEMPER Fi brother
There was certainly never a dull moment in the A Shau.
Thanks for caring and thanks for waiting for the next segment…
Semper fi,
Jim
How long do we have to wait for the next segment Jim?
Thanks for the compliment of impatience here J.
Semoer fi,
Jim
Well it is difficult waiting two to three weeks for a chapter, when we have normally been getting one every week.
These delays seem to be costing you readership numbers and that is not the way to promote your work.
There is nothing cynical in asking about when the next chapter will be coming, so don’t take offense.
J. I have not been about building readership numbers or taking the books into mainstream publishing production.
I have been around too long to go through that expensive pursuit of a brass ring that is not there.
The general public is never going to find my books ‘acceptable’ to its tastes.
So I work at the best pace I can to lay down the story as definitively as I can…for the vets.
Although I participate and respond on here I do not write these books for or with anyone else.
Chuck and some of the guys on here do the editing. It is really difficult to do ancillary things
like select the art or format properly or get it all up on the website and then carefully linked with Facebook.
So, this is my apology and also my excuse for being slower than before.
I can only control so much at a time. Finally, the story has been tougher to tell in its later stages than I thought it would be.
Sometimes I just back away from the laptop and go take a break and then avoid going back on for days,
although I’m not fully aware of avoiding that until one of you guys writes and complains.
Thanks for caring enough to write from the heart about it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks again James .
Thank you, Bill D.
Semper fi
Jim
James,
Please don’t rush or change your process because of some complainers. The preceding chapters have been riveting. It has to be supremely difficult to get your memory to release its most closely guarded pain in such detail. This is an important record of what really went on over there and I hope and pray that you can continue to walk the trails to their end and listen to the ghosts until they are finished speaking to you.
Dave. I never thought of the ‘important record’ part of this thing. I have considered myself that important, no matter what strange stuff
I’ve been involved with through life. Thanks for understanding. I do not look upon the demands for more speed and more accuracy as being
hurtful. It’s sort of a compliment. I don’t know any authors who get the kind of comments that are written on here and I am many times
simply amazed that so many will take the time to say anything at all…and I will go to the grave shocked the number of other guys who went
through similar versions of the same shit and I had no clue….
Semper fi,
Jim
James, do you have information on the picture for this chapter>
According to one of our fans on Facebook:
“The man standing in this photo looking up for the chopper is still alive. He lives in Georgia but comes from Europe. He was also in the French Foreign Legion before joining the US army. I believe that is the 2cnd Bat of the 173d Airborne Brigade (Sep). A very famous photo. The Trooper looking down at the body wrapped in a poncho was killed in action a short time after this photo was taken.”
thanks for the reply James. I have followed your narrative from the beginning. I was SF commo 68-70, I Corp. Not 100%, but was told by reliable sources that this is indeed the 173rd. The troop is a friend that I went through SF training with 67-68 time frame. The picture is on his 1st tour (66-67 ??). He later returned to VN (with SF)in late 68 and died (non-combat drowning). Daniel Spencer (Bend,OR). Thanks for telling your VN experiences. I only wish more Americans would read and understand what we endured.
Thanks Phil. I used the photo from the Internet for the drama it radiated. Thanks for the data.
Not likely the general public will read the books. It just isn’t in them.
Semper fi,
Jim
yes it is the 173rd airborne, this was called “death Watch” but has been publuished withother names this was the first man killed in the newly formmed 4th battalion and it was a motar attack. I ws with the 173rd 2nd bat.503 in the expeditionary force from Okinawa in april 1965, elements of the 3rd marines had left camps buckner and shwab in march
Thanks Don, appreciate the knowledge….
Semper fi,
Jim
This man looking up is Bobby Jones he was my 1sgt HHC 3rd BDE 101st ABN Division I was there from Feb 1979 to June 1980 He retired several months before I left.he had this picture over his desk.he was a good man.
To add to this for verification Company Commander was capatain John Laurich AKA Marathon John.BDE commander was Col Peter Dawkins the 1958 Heisman trophy winner who also made the cover of Life magazine during his tour of Vietnam.
Thanks for the data Kent. I got the photo off of the Internet because it so described the drama of the segment.
I was unaware of who the men were in the shot.
Semper fi,
Jim
I believe the man looking down is Dennis Wetherington from Valdosta Ga.
thanks for that data Ron…
Semper fi,
Jim
“The Three Doors Plan part,” he said with a big smile, before going on, “Jungle Junior and the Lost Word is cool but too long
Hi James, is it supposed to be word or world? It’s world in the original statement… great read.
Thanks Mike. I loved Fusner and his ‘Yogi Berra’ kind of moments…
Semper fi,
Jim
I guess I fail to understand the individuals “correcting the spelling, the verbage, the punctuation or the paragraphs in your writings..this isn’t about proper English, it’s about the “way it was in nam”. If you were there you could care less about proper anything, nothing was proper there that I can remember,,and if you weren’t , then you have no dog in the hunt so go back to your feather bed …just keep the story coming Sir, helps jog the memory, bad as it was.
Thanks, Darrell.
I do spend time in the details, although it seems some of the details were one way in part of the country and another in a different part.
All I can do is relate as best as I can and then get the guys and gals on here to help me with the editing.
Thanks for the compliment. I am working away…
Semper fi,
Jim
So you fail to understand that Mr. Strauss is self-publishing his books, and therefore does not have the luxury of a professional editing and proofreading team? That every fixed typo or word suggestion brings his amazing works one step closer to being all they can be? That creating the best work of prose possible is what every true writer strives for? How exactly is that difficult to comprehend?
Thanks Scott. That is all true to the last detail. And thanks so much for the compliments.
Semper fi,
Jim
jim Endure’to tolerate suffer survive.For us that god picked out to survive owe it to the next generation to give them the truth.I am empressed with these kids marching on Washington for some common sence gun regulation.It does amaze me how articulate they seem to be.My only concern about them is how much character do they possess.When the shit hits the fan well they have your back.Ive got the nurses up at st lukes reading your works and looking forward to quizzing them.Judie had a operation as a out patient Thursday.Got her to the back door an she fell.It took us a half hour us two old fat people but got her in bed and all is well.We endured.Have a great sunday. semper fi. omer
So happy about your wife and her getting slowly but surely better. The children of today have a cause
for right now but they have no idea how much endurance and grit it takes to stay at it. The old guard wears you down by simply not
changing in the face of obvious change…
Semper fi,
Jim
My war was as an aircraft electrician in VMFA 115 from May 1968 to June 1969. They missed me with a 122mm rocket my first night in Chu Lai and again in the revetments at the end of my tour when I turned right to go in a bunker and the rocket hit outside the entry of the bunker on the left.
Looking at post strike photos of the trail in Laos it was obvious that the orders from on high were getting us no where. For better or worse the military learned something from the fight when they responded to Iraq – shame we had to do it twice – and to a lesser extent in Afghanistan. Some political leaders learned nothing!
Keep up your narrative.
Maybe, Bill, we will one day learn that you cannot go into another culture,
society, or country and expect to win a guerrilla war.
All of the indigenous people are opposed to outside forces.
Either make the decision to commit genocide or stay the hell out and do damage from afar.
My take on it all, anyway.
Semper fi,
Jim
Could not agree more with your take Jim, but one doubts mankind will ever learn that lesson. One only has to look at what is happening among the nations that are trying to deal with this one world government movement. Nationalism and sovereignty, will always define the nation.
Thanks for the comment J. Always good to get your wisdom. Very large baboon troops.
It is amazing to study the higher primates and realize after awhile that there’s not all that much
difference among the species other than appearance….
Semper fi,
Jim
You used the expression “kitten kaboodle”. I believe the actual expression is ‘Kit and kaboodle”. Just a suggestion. Btw, I am of an age where it could have been me in the A Shau valley. You’re writing makes it so vivid, so alive but terrifying at the same time. I’m an old Navy vet. My hat’s off to you, sir, and everyone of you who served in such a manner. I find myself thinking about it during the week. I live near a USMC Marine base (Camp Lejeune). Every time I see one of those young Marines, I think of your story. Then I think about what they must be going through today. All of you have my utmost respect. Thank you for your service.
I really appreciate your support and your suggestion is corrected.
Yes, there are a lot of untold and hidden stories.
Thanks for being here,
Semper fi,
Jim
Caught basically in the open with no planned fires or air cover. Bad news for sure. The slaughtering of human beings, oh god. Maybe the Ontos will save some.. so much for the good omen.
Things will be heating up,
Thanks for your support, JT
Semper fi,
Jim
I kind of got the feeling that things will be heating up. I’ve been scratching my head for a few chapters now as to why the NVA did not RPG the hell out of the Ontos on day one, let alone after they saw what it did to the peasants.
The NVA were spooked by the appearance and by the awful beehive rounds it carried and fired.
Emotion and mysticism had a powerful role to play in that intensely personal place and war. Note the
feeling of the drums. It was all about feelings and beliefs and fear…
Semper fi,
Jim
66 Olds 442 400 3×2
First time piping up…your writing exposes a phenomena of the human psyche, in that one part of the mind can be saturated with terror and dread…an yet another part of it can operate on logic and reason pulling clues about what to do from the slighest, sometimes consciously imperceptible information available.
And, if you would like, I am extending an offer of pro-bono proof reader.
Keep up the good work sir. Your tales are gripping to say the least.
Thank you Terry. For the editing help. It is hard to catch one’s own errors, particularly when one writes at the rate I do.
And thanks for the great compliment too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Shouldn’t this be the 21st day “Third Part”?
Great writings. Brings back memories long forgotten. Always looking for the next part.
Nope. The 21st 3rd is being written right now.
Thanks for trying to keep it all straight though.
Semper fi, and for the reading in the first place and commenting on here…
Jim
Outstanding as usual. Semper Fi
Thank, David.
Share with friends if you think they would appreciate the story.
Semper Fi,
Jim
Dear Sir, I am captivated by each chapter recalled from your time in Vietnam that you have posted. Each new daily account reads like an Evisceration from the wrought-substance of a stalwart soul. It is hard to fathom that you have nine more days of writing to share with us. You have my upmost respect and encouragement for what you must suffer in order to share the rest of your thirty days.
I am very ignorant of how Marine rifle companies operated in Vietnam. My only other reference (aside from yours) was an account by Colonel Richard D. Camp called “Lima-6”. It too was captivating. As I have read your account Sir, out of ignorance, several questions pop up in my imagination about your daily procedures.
Food: Why were you not issued complete meals…forced to live off the MCI-B2-Ham & Lima Bean component? It seems you were living off pilfered MCI units…no crackers,John Wayne Nickles,etc.,and Accessory Packets?
Cigarettes: Having embraced the joys of smoking a Chesterfield, could you have procured your own smokes? I loathe the way Gunny handles the cigarettes…and coffee.
Communications: Were you in daily communications with your Battalion? It seems that you were often denied information from a Battalion level.
Again, Sir, thank you for sharing “30 Days has September” with us.
Yes, Scott, each segment is a bit of wrenching thing and each is different from the one before or after. The ‘in between’ segments where there is not so much action are actually easier to write. The segement before last, where we lost the guys on the wall (as stupid as it was to climb it in the first or last place!) I rewrote time after time. I could not make it just right until the very last version. And I read comments on here to help me. Not with the material but with handling the emotions. I am not alone. I am writing for others not just myself….or I’d quit. I will finish. I will finish because of people like you.
Semper fi, and thank you…
Jim
I wonder if or how many times a book has been writin like this? Instant feed back from your fans. People worried about u when u disappear for extend amount of time. Fellow vets chimming in with corrections an suggestions. I’m just glad I get b part of it and wish I could talk my ole man about his part in it. I remember he used Btch about “my war was only a conflict” they never considered it a war. Not sure when they finally did start reference it as Vietnam war??? We went Washington DC for the opening of the wall…it was a sad vacation. Me and my brother was excited to see the whole mall..and he stood there an read names and cried. Being a typical small town farm boy I used love sitting around bawn fire listing to stories of war.his buddies all had great 1s but my dad never spoke of it. Just get a vacant look in his eye. I used dream about my turn was coming.im embarrassed by the treatment u guys got when u got home.right or wrong war had nothing do with u r soldiers. Thank u for doing what u did over there an I appreciate you telling us the way it actually was
I have never heard of a book being written like this. Each segment is written as I read the comments you guys and gals are writing about the one
before and evaluating what has happened. The details are quite arcane and sometimes, although not very often, my memory has been off. I much appreciate
being brought up short on those and having to rethink them upon occasion. Like the use of Composition B all the time instead of C-4. Was it really Comp. B because I remember it that way or is my memory off? Seems like it would be C-4, that that writer would be correct as I have looked it up online. But man, I see those brown wrappers with Composition B written on them in my sleep. Interesting stuff. One guy was upset and called me a phony because I did not call the can openers P-38s. We didn’t. It was just an opener to us. I heard P-38 when I came home. Just the way it was. In real combat there was not ton of dialogue either. We were silent a whole lot.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your comment about there not being a lot of dialogue among the troops during a tour on the front lines, brought me back to those months in Vietnam.
It is true, there was little meaningful discussion when we were not talking about the next plan of attack or defense. Seldom did we ever make close friends or lasting friendships and I have often thought of that reality. When you are confronted with your demise at any moment, you don’t think much about the future or lasting friendships and I believe that is why there was never much interaction between the troops on the battlefield. We were brothers and yet not brothers, how odd.
Project transition hurt the hell out of communications too because it assured
that there were new people all around everywhere.
In WWII and even Korea units that were hit hard were pulled back to recover and restore.
Not so the Nam.
Semper fi,
Jim
10-4 on the P-38’s. They were just can openers to us whilst in country. Now “Church Keys” were another matter. Comp B did come in brown wrapper paper in the demo kits but we busted up the claymores to get C-4 to heat C-rats.
Thanks, Donald and all of the other readers supporting this
‘journey’
Semper fi,
Jim
Once again hanging on every word. Almost as bad as the movie theater when I was a kid and the “to be continued” screen popped up.. Glad I was a Pilot in Vietnam and not a grunt, gave too many of them their last ride back to base camp.On April 14th in Arlington Cemetery at 1600hrs, there will be a dedication of a memorial to the nearly 5,000 Aviators and crew members who died in that war, Close to 10% of the fatalities in that conflict. If you are in the neighborhood stop in, you will never meet a finer group of people.
I cannot go to the wall. I went twice. The first time I could not go to the stone where the guys are all up there but I did check the directory for my own name, stupidly. The second time I went with other veterans and pissed them off because I just walked by like I didn’t care and got the hell out of there. I much preferred the sweeping ponchos in the rain of the Korean War Memorial. It is just not humanly possible for anyone to care more about the guys who did not make it than I do. Not in my mind. But I can’t represent. I can write about it here, but here is not real life. Here, physically, in my little world of Lake Geneva, nobody has a clue, and that is just fine. In this coffee shop they don’t identify me that way. I’m just an old guy, mostly smiling and nice. That’s better. So, I won’t be going to the memorial on the 14th. Thanks for the revelation and the offer. I really don’t belong there. I won’t be going back to the A Shau or Vietnam, either. I really don’t belong there. I know the dead guys know and understand…because they are all here with me.
Semper fi,
Jim
“The Wall” is a very personal experience. I went twice many years ago with my wife and kids as a tourist and did much like you just walking by. Then I started making the yearly “mission” with a group called Run For The Wall.
rftw.us
It was with other veterans and supporters that I was finally able to take in The Wall. But, what I also learned and heard stories about was that The Wall has a completely different impact on some. I 100% understand your take on The Wall. You cannot force someone to get what you got at The Wall.
There is a story of a man that made the ride across country every year to The Wall but always pulled out on the last leg into D.C. to avoid going to The Wall. The fourth or fifth year he finally made it to The Wall. Each year he got all he could handle and the desire to keep coming back. It is just not for everyone.
Semper Fi
Ken
1st MAW
MACS4
68-70
Thanks for your approach to handling the grief Ken. We are all so different about it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Passed the Wall in D.C. one time and all I could think of as I walked the full distance of the wall, was how many young men lost their lives for absolutely nothing!
All I could feel at the time, was the betrayal of our government and how they had let our troops down in so many ways.
James, I visited the “Travelling Wall” when it came to Henryetta, OK, a few years back. I had thought that almost 50 years (52nd anniversary of departing for Nam was yesterday) would have been enough time to lay my demons to rest. It wasn’t, and I doubt that there ever will be a time when I can be comfortable with the deaths.
First brother-in-law, a good F-8 Crusader pilot, took a SAM in the cockpit on the same day in ’66. Good cousin Monty on the day I left to return to CONUS. Richard’s remains were recovered about 5 years ago, now interred at the naval Academy. Monty is still listed as MIA – he went down over south China, and will never be recovered.
Long ago times – and you bring them to life in a way that touches all of us – and we appreciate the work that you did, and the work that you are doing. Semper Fi, my friend.
Thanks Craig. Thanks for writing what you did pm here too…
Semper fi,
Jim
GTO???? Had a 66 with a 396 and rock crusher. What happened to it? God I loved my Goat.
It was an awful car. Three carburetors I could almost never get to work right. Every weekend under that hood. Changing apart plugs back when they cost 29 cents each. I must have had a hundred of them.
The four speed in which the linkage would always catch or be out of alignment. Under the car gain. The terrible fuel consumption, as bad as six miles to the gallon. The tires that would spin until I could
afford M&H slicks which were worthless in the rain or on wet surfaces at all. My wife always complaining about how hard it was to push the clutch. The radio worked but the speakers were tinny and bad.
What air conditioning? Sporadic heat, mostly form the fire wall. God, I loved that car!!!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
1966 when I got home – damn thing came as close to killing me as the Bad Guys in Nam. And it was a great car!
Yes, my 66 GTO became the E-Stock Eliminator at the Half Moon Bay Winternationals when I got home.
I traded it for a Volkswagen. That’s marriage for you…and good sense, of course…
Semper fi,
Jim
Funny my GTO was replaced by a VW Beattle – keep up the very helpful work (at your own pace).
Thank you, Bob,
I have a mental schedule to follow but am finding it difficult at times to stay the course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Rolling on the floor laughing! Sounds like you teally “loved” that car!
Well, I did, but it was like that line in the movie Outlaw Josey Wales, when Josey asks Chief Dan George if he has anything to eat. The old Indian
takes out a piece of rock candy but then turns it up to look at the sun: “…but it’s not for eat’n, it’s just for lookin’ through…”
That kind of a car.
Semper fi,
Jim
Loved Chief Dan George, was just thinking about him this morning, when he was planning to die, declaring it was a good day to die, in the movie Little Big Man with Dustin Hoffman, I believe.
He was a very good actor, one of his own kind.
That Little Big Man scene…yes, thinking of you, and he wasn’t ready yet when he laid down
and expected to die, if you will recall….
Semper fi,
Jim
Well I am ready, but I have put my fate and life in the Master’s hand. When He says it is time to end this journey, I will not be leaving kicking and screaming. I have lived a blessed life here and expect the same in the next one.
Glad that you are in such a great place with your mindset J.
Much enjoy your commentary for as long as I have it…
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
I guess there’s more than one way to “Embrace the Suck!” I never did the Muscle Car thing, because I never liked playing mechanic. I could do it, just didn’t like to do it, and couldn’t afford to pay someone else to do it for me.
Yes, it was interesting to learn to be a mechanic on a GTO. Hard with no money.
But there was a certain pride when the thing ran at all. Cars today are simply a godsend….
Semper fi,
Jim
66 GTO had 389cu not 396, good top end engine. 396 Chevy Chevelle was the true beast, torque + top end. All worth fortunes now!! Alas,why did we tear them up ?!?! Jim
So many things fall into the same category of “should of”.
Maybe best not to ask?
Thanks for your support, Jim
Semper fi,
Jim
Didn’t the GTO have a 400 cubic inch? My ‘69 did. Also I think Chevy had the 396.
Thanks Lt,another great read . I got a little emotional on this one,brought a few memories back.Of course they never leave. Semper fi
No, Roger, the burned in memories are there like old scars. Not red and livid anymore, but definitely to remain scars for the rest of our lives.
Thanks for the comment and the compliment inherent in your words…
Semper fi,
Jim
“They’re only 82 millimeters”
What powerful descriptive writing! The reader is THERE, in all it’s terror.
How I hope this assists you in exorcising the demons.
Well, Steve, I do work at it. Never expected this to be one of the ways to do that. The comments are more meaningful than the work, to me.
Thanks for the compliment and for being part of the exorcism!
Semper fi
jim
Just curious Jim. I questioned whether one could ever go back to normal. Thanks for what you do even with the pain it brings you. Jim
One could come back to the world, as we saw it. There was no normal left back here when we got here though. It’s like it looked the
same but was all changed. And the people back here, they looked at us funny, which they didn’t but we saw it that way. Now we live
better but we also know that they don’t know and that’s okay…as long as reality does not come along and replace the wonder of a phenomenal
world we’ve all created back here. They think it’s reality they are living in…and it is our job to let them keep thinking that…
Semper fi,
Jim
Those drums are incredibly ominous. Your brain must have stopped listening to them to keep you from going mad.
I don’t think you ever stop listening to them. Not when they are dedicated to your being dead…and there is now question about that.
I remember years later on Oahu. I actually went to a midnight mass for Christmas Eve at the Waikiki Maryknoll Church where I graduated
in 1963. The ceremony started and the a long line of drummers came down the center aisle. I was up and out of there so fast it was
unreal. I just could not take it. I started walking fast up Kalakaua until the sounds of the street and people overwhelmed the drums.
They are emotional and guttural and elemental. And the NVA somehow, being closer to the land the elements, knew that…
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn LT keep up the great work, each chapter wrings out with such intense emotions, I read on the edge of my chair!
I am unaware of the emotions the work generates, except the emotion it creates inside me.
Hard to go on sometimes. This segment was easier than the last and easier than the next.
I rewrote the last segment before this one seven times. Over and over again. I am not sure
whether that made it better or not.
Semper fi,
Jim
More great writing. I continue to be amazed at your ability to come up with plans. Something seems to be missing or extra your the last sentence “….great newsOntos before the explosions…”.
Yes, the plans. They just kept on coming. Created out of well of fear
mixed with spoons and forks of wildly hopeful shit nobody else might be thinking about.
There was nothing in the combat mix that I could bring to bear from training. I don’t know where
so much of it came from and usually it was last minute because the Gunny and the guys were staring at me
just knowing I had something up my sleeve.
Semper fi,
Jim
“I didn’t’ have time to evaluate just how that was such seemingly great newsOntos before the explosions began to rip across the unprotected course of our travel.”
This last paragraph needs a fix. Please keep writing.
Regards and respect,
Bill
Thanks for your sharp eyes, Bill
It is corrected.
Semper fi, Jim
“There only eighty-two millimeters” should be “They’re only eighty-two millimeters.”
Born in ‘56, the Vietnam War consumed my formative years. Your story has taught me more about the returning combat veterans I have known and worked with than they have been willing, or able, to share themselves. For which I thank you.
Yes, thanks for the editing help Mark! And for the compliment and thanks.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT
In the next to last graf, shouldn’t the Gunny’s quote be “They’re only eighty-two millimeters. . . .” Instead of “there”? Thank you so much for your continuing courage in sharing your story with us. It’s hard to believe it’s been 50 years or so since those days.
Dan Taylor
Santa Fe
Ex-Navy/APA-messin-around-
in-small-boats-with-Marines-sailor
Thanks Dan,
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, thanks. Typo. Welcome home, Dave.
I was the only one who knew how to navigate up the twisty slippery mess (of of) layered debris, … => (of)
Thanks for being part of the editing team Dave! Much appreciated.
You guys are all I’ve got…
Semper fi,
Jim
Right there with you throughout this ordeal, sir. Your writing is spell-binding, and as I’ve previously mentioned to you, cathartic. Keep up the good work, sir. You have no idea how much this means to so many of us who were over there too. Semper Fi, sir.
The cathartic word means more to me than anything.
It means that I might be helping and I did not intend to help anyone when I started.
But now, it is so pleasing to read so many of the guys like you who get something out of it.
And I do too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Not sure if it matters but it wasn’t Rowdy Yates who said the, “Head em up Move em out” in Rawhide. It was Gil Favor the trail boss.
Gil Favor said it first in the series until he was replaced by Clint Eastwood.
Gil died by drowning down on a movie he was doing in South America. It gave
Clint his big chancel…
Semper fi,
Jim
Not clear about what the Gunny’s orders were from battalion. To go South in the valley is evident, but where south? Where were the new troops supposed to come in at? You cannot go much further south then the old air strip or you would be out of the country and across the border.
One also wonders why headquarters would order one company to go North and the other to go South, while leaving the Army troops stranded on 974? Apparently no one talked to one another at battalion headquarters or in the field. No wonder we were losing the damn war.
You are still alive. I think about that. I got this latest segment off in toot sweet time because of you!
That one before I had to rewrite so many times.
The next segment I am on is kind of tough one too, going back up that damned hill again.
There was plenty of the valley running south down from the old airstrip.
And then the valley crimped in and turned to head for the ocean.
Steep rocks and heavy jungle down there…
Horrid shit.
Our shit.
Semper fi, and please stay the tough old coot you are…
I pray for you and that has to have some effect…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you Jim for taking the time to respond and for your prayers. Believe me when I say, that God loves to hear your prayers as He does all of the rest of us fleshly sinners. We are all His children, even when we go wayward now and then, like the prodigal son.
I am still hanging in there, waiting for the rest of your story. Old soldiers never die Jim, they just fade away. While I am fading a bit, I am still here and kicking.
Were it not for your persistence, I doubt that anyone would go back up that hill to save those troops or retrieve their remains. It is and was an honorable act on your part, as a marine and as a human being. It is good that you are writing about it, so that you can finally put it to rest in your mind. Keep going and stay focused as you are doing a great job in writing about your experiences as well as those in your company. It is a story that needed to be told!
Going back, the times I did J, was just automatic. It is what we had to do. I never got resistance from the guys.
More like how we were going to do it. The Gunny had reservations on occasion but he was only that way because he did
not want to lose more Marines. I never saw that any of us were going to make it anyway once I was there for a bit
so my perspective was different. I was more right than the Gunny about that part. I have my little prayer list.
You are number four on that little card. In truth, I don’t have real prayers, like when I was a Catholic. I talk
to God in my car and I have agreed for both of us that he is the co-pilot because he makes me drive. So, with the radio
blaring and driving above whatever speed limit it is, we have this one sided conversation which you are in…
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
I am always grateful for any prayers on my behalf, because I know my Master hears them all. I have a great true story that I could tell you about that fact and it extended world wide.
As for special prayers, there is no set prayers that God requires, with the exception of those taught by Jesus. I don’t pray in repetition, but speak from my heart, when communicating with my maker.
I am sure that all troops who are fighting on foreign land, consider being left behind on foreign soil should they lose their life. None that I know of, ever wished to remain on the battle field of another country. I doubt that any of your men wanted to be left behind in that situation, so they respected your actions in that regard and that was the honor I was referring to.
I can also respect the Gunny’s mentality about losing more men, trying to retrieve those who had been lost by enemy fire. No doubt he had the same thought process, when having the loss of K company, at a time when he needed every man available.
I have been at the point of death on several occasions, when nothing seems to make any sense, yet I still lived on to see another day.
Thanks J, as you live on this very day! Thank God!
Semper fi,
JIm
Hey Jim, great chapter so far. I think “kitten caboodle” should be “kit and kaboodle” FYI. I ordered (and received) the signed copy of the second 10 days a couple of weeks ago…then yesterday, I received another copy (I only ordered 1). What do you want me to do with the copy that I didn’t order? Semper Fi!
Well, give it away to a deserving veteran. Or maybe one not quite so deserving! Hell, how deserving am I?
It’s all perspective when all the shit is done. Thanks for ordering and reading and I am glad you are on here making comments..
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m giving my two extra to the local library. I looked at their pathetic Vietnam section. Ten books total. I have more on one half shelf at home. Thanks Lt.
Local libraries are not like they were before. Most are not much into books anymore. Video disks, computers, magazines and so on. The regular book publishing business puts out so little in the way of hardcover original stuff anymore the libraries across the land have to change or die. Like bookstores. In your lifetime you will more than likely see the last bookstore in the nation close (those that have sold new books).
Semper fi, and thanks for helping me out.
Jim
Crazy question …did you keep the carabiner…..my father in law came back n he burned everything of his ..except for a few things his sister went and grabbed out of the fire
I was only able to get the tattered muddy address book. They took everything else at 1st Med. in Da Nang.
Never saw anything again.
Thanks for asking…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hated to hear that the Danang RMEF Medics raided your stuff. All those things were part of the people who helped you make it back. Low life scum, stealing from a warrior.
Glenn, I think they saw it as saving my life and the small price charged for doing it. Life’s little surprises.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m not sure it was stealing, per se, Glenn. Maybe just junk discarded while they were busy saving my life…
Semper fi,
Jim
LT. You are much more generous and forgiving than I. Thank you for being so.
Thanks Glenn, at least I sound that way, don’t I….
Semper fi,
Jim
James, please keep writing! I know it is painful and that the battle raging on inside is enough to make a lesser man quit. But you are helping many brothers that read and realize they are not alone! We never realized surviving would bring so much pain! But it does! God bless!
I am keeping on keeping on Tommy. Thanks for the motivation and the loyalty.
Semper fi,
Jim
Riveting as usual. The word Ontos in last paragraph seems out of place. Regards, Bob Hudson
Yes, it was out of place. Thanks Bob, and for the compliment too…
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
You have consistently struck the note throughout your writing that this war, like those past, are squalid, tedious, often with order breaking down, and death lingering at one’s door…creeping closer with each passing moment. There is a certain stasis (if that’s the right word?) of being hemmed in by war- within the unit and its racial overtones, to the faceless, enigmatic enemy rarely seen, the near inevitability of dying FNGs. And then the battle within, waiting for death in its fickle manner and delivery…how to employ one’s skills to minimize the oppressive and stifling anticipation of the event. Raw stuff you tell of. You have succeeded in making ‘Ares’ palpable and it is no wonder that many choose to avert their eyes. A very strong drink to throw down. And yet the Siren song of conflict seems irresistible in some manner to the human condition. What a Gordian knot your writing signals. I am humbled by your survival and all who served in Vietnam, during and after. Again, well done all around Sir.
Best,
Lee
Thanks so much for that complex explanation of a complex phenomena. Yes, there is genetics involved. We have been at this
conflict thing for a long time. It’s one of the reasons I’d like to see females in more positions of leadership. They do
not seem to turn to the sword as a solution quite so quickly. And getting experienced at handling the ‘sword’ seems to get you
dead rather than experienced.
Semper fi,
and thanks!
Jim
I totally agree what you just said. Women are needed for their particular characteristics. Maybe it has to do with giving birth to all of us. The mothering yet professional ability that a lot of the have.
I look forward for the rest of your book. Take care.
Mike B
Thanks Mike, appreciate your agreement on that point and also your support in the reading…
Semper fi,
Jim
Again, a great episode… and a great surprise by email that it was available. Really enjoy it. The only thing i don’t enjoy is seeing the Grammer Nazi’s in the comments section correcting you… read the read and stfu.
The Grammar Nazi brigade helps me a lot. I can then take their corrections and send them to Amazon to modify the
new books coming out! I can’t see the errors when I reread the work because that is not how our minds work.
Semper fi,
Jim
I write a great deal as part of my work. I’m horrible at editing my own work. What helps, if I can’t get a second set of eyes, is reading what I’ve written aloud.
Too true, it is very hard to edit one’s own work. Thanks for the comment Jerry…
Semper fi,
Jim
So, rather than “Grammar Nazis” they are actually midwives helping you through a very difficult birth. Thanks for bringing to life in such detail the true nature of this terrible war for those of us who couldn’t be there. I was 4F. Many of my friends and classmates didn’t make it back, and the ones that did couldn’t talk about it with such clarity, if at all. Our debt to you can never be repaid….
Thanks, Dave. You guys are a gift, and the few women who write on here too.
It has meant a lot to me to go back and then come forward, but
this time with all of you.
Thanks for the way you put it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Jungle Junior and the Lost Word is cool but too long.” “World” vice “word”? The honesty and intensity of your writing is much appreciated.
Thanks so much for being a part of the editing team.
And also the compliment!
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, you write great stuff, simply great! I was back there the other night, escorting the bus convoys in 1975, people trying to climb up and over me to get inside. I re-broke a bone in my hand I used to remove a really persistent ARVN that was trying to pull a young mother and her two children out of the way. Those dreams don’t have the terror they used to, thank God.
Thanks John. Yes, ‘back there the other night’ describes it so well. The dreams are better, no question
and the rest too. Thanks for writing and enjoying the work.
Semper fi,
Jim
Why didnt VC go up the moutain like you intend instead of being pulled up the cliff?
Because they were dead set on doing it that way.
The guys would come in new from the rear and have pre-set
ideas about how things were and there was no talking to them about it.
We just said ‘fuck it,’ go do what the hell you want.
I know it seems cold and calloused but we grew awful cold and callused.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just about what i thoufgt they sure payed a price for doing it their way.
There was so much of that that went on. In the rear with the gear they would really believe they knew what was
happening out in the shit but they did not and their decisions were as downright weird as Chance coming to the valley
and expecting he could just climb up the side of that cliff like he was in Yellowstone…
Semper fi,
Jim
I still can’t get my mind around the Army guys being pulled up the hill. There were some at the top already to drop the ropes down and pull the others up. It’s just inconceivable that they all wouldn’t have gone up the same way. It not only doesn’t make sense tactically but it borders on the ridiculous.
There was a lot of purely ‘ridiculous’ stuff going on over there, especially when
combined units were working together and also so many were shipping out to the bush
with no idea what was really going on…
Semper fi,
Jim
No let up Jim, you keep it coming, my friend. Thank you! Drive on!
Wil not fail.
Thanks for the support, Joe
Semper fi, Jim
Lt. I have frequently wondered if this endeavor of yours is a catharsis as mentioned above, or if it is waking sleeping demons.
I hope the prior of course.
This is excellent writing (as usual from you). I admire the folks who catch the tiny details for you.
I get so wrapped up in the tale that I neglect and/or ignore syntax, spelling, and structure.
Also, to be honest, I have never been all that great at them.
I hope you are taking care of YOU in all this.
Glenn.
It is a two-edged sword, Glenn.
Please know I really appreciate all of the support.
Remember to share with friends who may have an interest
Semper fi,
Jim
seemingly great newsOntos before the explosions began
You have a stray Ontos in the middle of the last paragraph.
I think we set it straight ~~smile
Thanks for your input, Matthew,
Semper fi,
Jim
I believe the saying is “kit and kaboodle”, although I can envision Gunny saying kitten. I appreciate you battling your demons and recounting your story.
Another sharp reader caught that.
Thanks Tim
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad you made it through James. Memories are worse than the reality
Appreciate that Don, and you are 100%
Semper fi,
Jim
“There only 82 mm”.Shouldn’t it be “they’re” instead of there
Noted and corrected, Thanks Buck
Semper fi,
jim
I’m so into the narrative that I can’t do any of the editing that I did before.
I’m just curious about Gunn’ys age and experience. Did you ever learn of either?
Yes, obviously I became close to Gunny in the short 30 Days.
More of his details are in the first Chapters.
Semper fi,
Jim
Very last paragraph. Take “Ontos” out
Another great segment!
The following sentence seems a little awkward,
had since the death of dramatic execution of Captain Chance earlier
Thanks Again for your service and all the men with you!
Thanks for the editing help Jerry. Much appreciated…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another emotionally riveting chapter. Two suggested edits.
You wrote: “You have to let [the] go, each and every one, like prying bad teeth out of your mouth,” the Gunny said, turning his head slightly so only I could hear him, as we walked. Suggested edit: change “the” to “them”
You wrote: “[There] only eighty-two millimeters” the Gunny whispered almost jauntily from nearby. Suggested edit: change “There” to “They’re”
Thank you, Corrected and noted.
Really appreciate everyone lending a hand
Semper Fi, Jim
Edits:“You have to let the(m) go, each and every one
BAMCIs and SMEAC, and the whole kitt(ten) and caboodle
or even my used by(but) so precious GTO
Not bad considering the angst!
Noted and corrected.
Thanks, Michael
Semper fi,
Jim
Reading at work again…at least this one didn’t make my eyes water like the last one…another great read…as always…
Thanks Mark for the sort of upside down compliment!
Semper fi,
Jim
Fantastic writing as usual, especially the buildup to the “sluice” and pulling teeth out.
A couple suggestions:
1) Should “the” be eliminated in the following sentence-“You have to let (the) go, each and every one, like prying lost teeth out…”
2) Should “of” by changed to “by” – The drums continued to beat, as they had since the death (of to by) dramatic execution…..
Thank you again, Bill, for your sharp eyes and loyalty.
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I commend your continuing efforts to put those dark times to paper. Must be a little like seppuku. I do not enjoy your going through it although without it I cannot sense what it was like. I pray it provides catharsis commensurate with the effort required to recount it.
Edits: and would I change into (to) the old me again if I made it back to the world?
I appreciate the sentiment and suggestions, Michael
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
No good options James. One seems as dangerous as the next. Now the mortars may force your hand. As usual can’t wait for the next installment! Semper Fi my friend! The writing and the tension you create is memorable!
Thanks Jack, forcing my hand, so to speak was day by day, night by night and hour by hour over there.
I never felt I was doing anything other than reacting…
Semper fi,
Jim
“You have to let “them” go, each and every one…”
“The company “crosses the” tributary using the Ontos..”
Not sure what’s missing here in the last sentence… I didn’t’ have time to evaluate just how that was such seemingly great newsOntos before the explosions began to rip across the unprotected course of our travel.
Always there to help.
Thanks, Mark.
noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
39th indentation/ “from it to keep our exposure form the” should be “from the”
and one more/ “by so precious GTO” shud be “but so”
How I could spot those while reading another chapter, I will never know..Maybe like Gunny appears to be, I am becoming immune to the devastation in your situation..You have us there with you…
Again Thanks, Chrly.
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
It never gets easier. You have to risk your and fusner life to rescue some dead army recon guys.
It was not the best of times, as short as it was.
The results linger forever.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you or whatever force is guiding you in these days for getting back in that wet nasty saddle. Ya know some of us worry about you from time to time. A well written explanation of where you are, and the plan sounds good to me. What a thought, a sissy old AF medic passing judgement on anybody and their plan facing such a feces filled situation. Hope it works, Poppa
Thanks Poppa. Gotta finish the damned thing and bring it all together as the south of that valley consumed us
like some Game of Thrones dragon. But I will continue and much appreciate the support of the old hands from the old days…
Semper fi,
Jim
LT…you are hitting on all eight cylinders with this one….so many different thoughts, emotions, memories….”sensory overload’ would be an apt description….it has to be a relief to get it on paper and out of your head..I know it is that way with me…sometimes it’s just what others might call “minor things, small recollections, snippets of memory’..etc etc…but damn, do they trigger so easily….. Our term for getting up and moving out, or preparing to hit a hot LZ was..”let’s Rock and Roll”……and away we would go… Question…do you still have the carabiner?……That fear that freezes you in space….I’m safe right now…if I don’t move, I’ll live another hour…maybe…..and back home Alice is crimping the crust on a cherry pie..thinking of her husband, knowing he will be so happy to put a spoon full of ice cream on top a piece of it when he gets home… he always liked to do that…..but of course that won’t happen now…. You could sit there in that pouring rain, deep in the heart of the A Shau fukkin Valley and have a complete conversation with yourself about home…and not even hear the drums any more.. but you will always hear those 82’s……once you live through an attack by them, with no place to hide, no cover, laying there, wanting to rip the buttons off your shirt just to get you that much closer to the grond….actually “feeling’ the mortor round dropping from the sky….headed directly for the middle of your back…and feeling their concussions as they walk among you, picking and choosing their victims at random…..knowing that you are next……Fear?….Terror?….let me describe it to you…………Welcome to the War Lt….Semper Fi..
Mortar fire is truly terrifying, because of the delay in the rounds arrival, those special sounds and then the strange selectivity of
where they hit and who they hurt or kill. And the Gunny was right about the distinctiveness of the sounds difference among mortar sizes.
Like rifles. Never forget the sounds of M-16, AK-47 or even U.S. Carbine and Springfield fire. Burned in, so to speak.
Thanks for the depth of your comment and the usual wonderful writing of it…
Semper fi,
Jim
THANKS JAMES I realize how hard it is for you to relive the story. I look forward to having all three books to pass on to my sons to read..
Appreciate your support, Nelson
Semper fi,
Jim
Another Great segment Sir. Well worth the pause. Hard to imagine living in those conditions but we did it. Now I will watch the snow come down – it is daylight again.
jim] I’m beginning to think your stalling a bit because you don’t want to take the hit again that you know is coming.what I can best remember in my own case was the hit was no big thing I can rember being in the clouds woundering ok god where are you. this aint but a thing. I belive what screwed it up was my black squad leader hollering hadsall you lucky son of a bitch your going home . I cryed likme a baby was told to shut the fuck up .I fianaly regained my composure and asked for a smoke . I saw some villagers on up ahead and wanted to get my m14 back so I could geta little revenge now so thankfull no
..
.one would give it to me.i don’t no how to use this fucking machine an its starting to piss me off so ill call it a day and get judie to her dr appointment. hang in their jim omer
Thanks for more of your own rendition of what happened to you. You are doing fine in your semi-broken way
in using the machine. Love to Judie, of course, from all of us….
Semper fi,
Jim
When I turned the drums on, the timer said 3:39. I made it to 1:20 before I HAD to turn them off. And I was on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. Is survivor guilt a thing if you weren’t even there?
Again my friend,
You never have to have one moment of guilt of those times.
I so appreciate your friendship.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for pumping another one out for us James. I just can’t seem to wrap my arms around proof reading for you. I keep getting too wrapped up in the story line. Seems unbelievable that head quarters keeps wanting patrols up and down that river. I know that B52 drops were expensive but what about just obliterating their general area of operation to keep them off of you?
Another great segment. No pressure but how is the next segment coming????
Ok, just kidding……
Ken
1st MAW
MACS4
68-70
Ken, you could not obliterate the A Shau. B-52 strikes only dropped 35 tons of ordnance on target.
The size of things on the ground is often overlooked. The jungle foliage is also much deeper and thicker than
most people can imagine from watching movies and such. The jungle floor eats bombs and explosives like no tomorrow.
Thanks for the comment though and the question.
Semper fi,
jim