The third time, I thought. The third time in so few days that our company had been called in to be saved from an attacking enemy, but in every case having to save Kilo Company, while they were being sent to do the same for us. The helicopters had flown an unlikely resupply mission at night and dropped in observers who quickly became dead bodies, but the intent had been to try to do something about the terrible mess we were in. I could not fault the attempts on the part of the powers in the rear back at battalion, and maybe above that level. But the results were proving to be similar in every case. Our Marines and those of Kilo, and anybody else they sent into the A Shau Valley, were being decimated by an enemy force nobody would believe was really there.
I moved through the waist-high jungle debris. The rain had come back with a vengeance. Our attack, or push south through the enemy, since the occasionally smattering contacts on both sides could hardly be considered classically conducted attacks, continued. I moved slowly but determinedly in the path left by the still advancing Ontos. The flechette rounds found on the mud flats had been delivered to the guns and the Ontos was loaded to fire on anything while it moved.
That it moved along the jungle floor at all was a function of its lightness and how well the tracks gained purchase to climb over instead of plowing through the jungle. I carried my .45 Colt in my right hand. I’d changed magazines, even though I hadn’t used up the first one completely in shooting the surprising, and surprised, NVA soldier. But it was dark, wet and a mess of leaves mud and my itching-irritation-under-the-blouse leeches kept me from counting how many bullets I’d used. It was easier just to change magazines than to try to count what was left in the used one. I didn’t know for sure how many men I’d killed with the .45, but I was willing to bet nobody back in training, where the automatic sidearm was considered more a decorative sidearm rather than an effective weapon, would have believed it was more than six.
The company moved for another twenty minutes without taking or giving any fire at all. The platoons on line along the base of the cliff didn’t radio in any suspicion of contact, much less real contact, and the platoon on line coming down the river bank of the Bong Song didn’t either. I was scared, but my fear was a controllable thing, living inside me and a part of every bit of my being, but it was like the Gunny had told me on that first night. The fear would never leave but it would become something I could accommodate and even perform well while holding at bay. The Gunny had also said that if I stayed in a combat situation long enough then I’d come to massage and enjoy it, and there was no coming back from that. He hadn’t said if, given that I somehow lived through it, that there was any coming back from the near continuous deep and core-affecting fear.
The Ontos moved ahead, it’s progress slow, while there were no more satchel charges to be set because Cowboy had gone for rearming, and even when he returned it wasn’t likely he’d get lucky enough to hit another underground bunker. If only the 105 or 155 batteries could reach the bottom of the valley. The 175 didn’t fire concrete piercing rounds. If it did then the safety of calling in rounds, even at red bag distances, would have been assured. The rounds would go off under the mud and higher jungle debris. But there was only the Ontos for supporting fires until the Skyraider returned unless some other air branch squadron was freed up to stop by.
I had no letter home. I had one but it was all in my head. The detail of the muddy river bed, the hole I was held up in, the Ontos and how it moved over massive chunks of the jungle by simply riding up and then grinding away until the body of the beast slid down to work its way up and do it all over again. For the most part, the thing could not fire its guns. Even the marginally useful movement of the turret could not be used to adjust to the steep unstable rises and falls, twists and turns.
Kilo was coming down the glacis they’d descended before, and took so many casualties while doing so. Fusner monitored the radio and it was obvious from overhearing the exchanges that the move was going well. Lima had been pinned down by snipers in its bid to move down the Bong Song. I was amazed that the entire company had not been wiped out because of the size of the forces occupying Hill 975. If we could continue our move down the valley then it was possible that the NVA forces between us and Kilo would go to ground instead of engaging.
The night had closed in and full darkness, along with hard rain, had descended on the valley. Moving was not nearly as difficult as it was uncomfortable, to the point of being downright painful. So much of the jungle debris was hard-edged and sharp. My hands and face were constantly suffering from small cuts. With my leeches still sucking on my skin under my blouse I was in a sorry state, but moving determinedly. There would be some solace when we made it and joined up with Kilo. The cleft formed under the edge of the nearby cliff face would still provide cover from the rain as well as from fire that might originate out from the jungle area.
I wasn’t commanding anything and that obvious fact bothered me, although I knew that communications were terrible under such conditions. The Gunny was out there somewhere, while Jurgens and Sugar Daddy commanded the flanks in their own limited ways. With Marines moving through the brush in heavy rain at night there was little in the way of instructions or directions to give. But the fact that I simply moved along behind the Ontos, my .45 out and ready, didn’t seem to be enough. I had no more M-33 grenades. There’d probably been a box in resupply but, except for the satchel charges and reload of flechette rounds for the Ontos, nothing else has been brought forward to add to what was carried into the attack.
The A Shau Valley was not a quiet place. The river’s rushing sound was ever-present, the rain beat down with drops of water bouncing about from everything they hit. My helmet was a constant background buzz of rain strikes and there was no hiding from it. Fusner made his replies to conversations unheard on the other end. And the Ontos ground ever-onward toward the cliff face where real combat was likely to take place. The fear in my belly did not dissipate as I moved along, although moving helped to hold it down.
The battle began only moments after I’d been thinking how loud the natural sounds of the valley were to anyone awake inside it at night. Small arms fire began to the front and then increased in crescendo. I went down and then got back up to move forward in a semi-crab half-crawl half-run. I could see the flash of tracers but not the tracer rounds or trails the flaming bullets made. Normally, the AK-47 tracers were green in color, compared to the yellow and sometimes red of our own, but the NVA didn’t always use tracers in the combat rifles. Either they didn’t have them or they didn’t want to give away their position. Muzzle flashes were more dependable targets but they were not distinctive in color, so many times muzzle flashes might be from friendly arms.
The battlefield began to light up, as the Marines on both sides of the jungle fired into the area the rest of us were approaching in the jungle center. The company fired all tracers, except for the M-60, wherein those gunners used one tracer to every three or five rounds. The enemy fifty opened up to my front and I saw real green tracers close up for the first time since making contact. The fifty was firing at the Ontos and getting hits because the tracers would bounce directly upward and then die out as their chemical deposits in the point of the rounds burned through.
I realized that my position, moving not too far back from the Ontos wasn’t a safe one. The fear that the NVA had for the little lethal machine caused some of the enemy to avoid it but attracted others like bees to honey. I went down again when several rounds screamed through the air over my head. I knew the rounds did not really scream but the faint whoosh of displaced air was emotionally disturbing enough. The .50 went through everything. There was no cover from it except inside the Ontos and that wasn’t truly safe either. The side armor was too thin.
There was no place to run. I got back up and started pushing forward again. There was only one direction I could go and staying close to the Ontos was vital simply because it was our only supporting fire. Without supporting fire being as outnumbered as I knew we had to be was potentially terminal. That it was night and raining down upon the NVA wasn’t something to be ignored, either. Water in tunnels, no matter how well formed in the dirt and rock under our feet, was a bit more than a bother when torrents poured into the entrances. NVA communications had to be as bad as our own, if not worse. The enemy had been in the valley fighting for a long time but our own experience was growing by the passage of every night and day.
The fire poured in from both flanks. The Ontos continued its churning forward motion. Suddenly, several of the guns on each side of the Ontos went off.
The sound overwhelmed all other sounds. I felt the back blast and knew I’d been lucky. I’d not been concentrating on the need to keep quite a distance from the back of the deadly beast. The backblast had reached me but not injured me, except for the fact that I was deaf again. Nguyen was on me, checking me out to make sure I was still alive. He pulled Fusner close. Fusner was trying to clear his ears with wet fingers but I knew it was hopeless. Our ears would clear for normal conversation over time. Nothing else would make any difference. I lay still for a brief few seconds. It was peaceful being deaf and the night flashes of bright light from muzzles and tracers had made me night blind too. I was deaf and dumb and a Marine Company Commander in real combat in Vietnam. The reality of that hit me but the humor, I knew, would take a long time to seep into my consciousness.
I climbed back to my hunched over feet. The Ontos was still moving. The attack was still going on and the fire was changing. I could see it in the distance. The green tracers were being redirected to the south. We’d come far enough in that direction to be close to the glacis where Kilo was attempting to descend down the wall, and they were taking fire from the NVA. I surged forward, as the Ontos did the same thing. I felt it in my core. The NVA were leaving their backs open to attack in order to inflict as much damage on Kilo as they could. The NVA were not covering their six and that meant we could have at them with abandon without taking true defensive fire.
I got up fully and ran, waving my Colt and running right past the Ontos.
I was hoping that others would see me, but I need not have had that hope because I saw other Marines running too. Running and firing their all tracer M-16s while they ran. It was a beautiful sight. Both flanks moved and opened up while on the move. The firing against the unseen wall in front of us subsided. There was no return fire because we were among them. Fusner was at my side, Nguyen was just ahead of him, as I looked for something or someone to shoot. But there was nothing there. I wanted to beat the bracken around me to find the enemy but I knew that would be useless.
The firing from the cliff-face died out but the firing by the Marines coming down the Bong Song on the right flank increased. I knew the NVA, those not down deep in holes turned into dangerous muddy havens of death were making a break for the right flank.
A blasting series of green tracer rounds raced in just above my head and struck the Ontos. I heard the rounds hit, rather than saw them. My hearing was coming back. I went straight to the jungle floor, flying spread-eagled to land flat on my torso. I’d almost been cut in half by the .50 Caliber. It had been a close thing. The NVA were firing it while on the move or I’d be dead, I guessed. It was very difficult, even for a very large man, to fire a .50 while on the move. The recoil was ungodly. A regular hunting rifle put out a bullet that developed almost two thousand foot-pounds of energy at distance. The .50 put out nearly seven tons of that same kind of on-site energy.
The Ontos crept forward again, passing me on the left. I rolled right, even though it wasn’t that close, my fear of being run over by a tank in the night nearly overcoming me. Fusner and Nguyen had stayed right with me. The rain continued to pound down and the leeches sucking the blood from spots all over my torso were beginning to cause me pain. My pack was weighing me down. I wanted to strip out of it but I knew that when I finally got to some protected cave under the lip of the cliff I’d need everything inside it pretty desperately, and I’d never find it again come the next day.
The Ontos went by and then turned to face the right flank. The brush was thick, I knew, too thick for the flechettes to penetrate. But then I remembered the fuse settings available on those rounds and covered my ears tightly. The guns went off and the boom of the after-blast shockwave rolled over me, and also drove the rain painfully into the skin of my exposed face. I let go of my ears and plunged my face into the wet mud under me for relief. As I’d guessed, the rounds were set to go off after penetrating the jungle growth. I never heard their detonation but presumed they’d done something to help.
Fusner was right next to me, his ears a mess, I knew because he kept his hands over them while laying still on his side. I could barely see him in the rain filled night without much of any light at all. Nguyen was fine because he was the one pulling my head out of the mud, and then wiping the chunks from the crease that ran between my helmet and my forehead. I knew I was a total wreck of a mess.
The Ontos was stopped, and unaccountably, its engine had stopped.
Although the battlefield was anything but quiet, that particular sound disappearing was unsettling.
The Gunny appeared out of nowhere, leaned over as he passed and then ran toward the right flank where the firing had been most concentrated. I wanted to leap up and follow him, but I could not.
I moved forward toward the rear of the Ontos with dread, the darkness coming over me on the outside but a deeper blackness creeping up to layer itself over my heart. Zippo had been hit. He’d been hit at the start of the attack. One of the enemy armor-piercing .50 caliber bullets had found a way in through some crack or imperfection along the front slanted angled armor of the Ontos’ forward plates.
“Zippo’s hit, fifty got through,” was all the Gunny had whispered as he went by. He hadn’t stayed to accompany me, as I moved toward the back of the Ontos, which had started to move again. There was no stopping the attack, so the Ontos would not come to a halt for long unless everyone inside was dead. A stopped Ontos was a target Ontos. The NVA had to believe it was still coming for them for the attack to succeed to the end. There would be no medivac until we arrived at our objective, and then quite possibly not even then depending on the amount of contact we might be under and the potential of a safe clearing big enough.
Zippo was hit. But he wasn’t hit in my mind. If he was hit and wounded the Gunny would have said he was wounded. I knew that in my heart, but I still had a small tiny edge of hope in my soul.
I didn’t catch up to the Ontos. A hand grabbed me from the darkness of the thick dense jungle I was making my way through. I knew that hand, that grab and I knew why I was being stopped in my tracks.
The strong hand wrenched my suspender strap to the point of breaking. I went down on my chest, to find myself lying next to Nguyen once again. How he’d gotten in front of me, far enough the work his way back and lay in wait for me I didn’t know. His powerful stringy arm pulled me close.
“Gone,” he whispered into my left ear, his hand still holding my rotting ratty blouse tightly.
The rain pounded down, striking Nguyen’s upturned face so strongly that it sent visibly little sparkles cascading away, back into the darkness around us.
“Hit. Before. Did not want you to know. Number ten hit. Gone now.”
The words came in whispered gasps, like delayed and individually gaseous expressions of horror.
“He’s dead,” I said, not framing the phrase as a question.
Nguyen let go of my utility blouse. I didn’t move away. I felt again, as in other times of dire danger and fear, like I had nowhere to go.
Fusner fell to my side, twisting his face toward me, only inches away.
“You hit, sir?” he asked the note of worry in his voice so great that I wanted to hug him close.
There was no point, I realized, in telling him that Zippo was dead. I knew by the brightness in his eyes and the expression of his normal exuberance that he didn’t know. The two of them had been close, like high school or college buddies, I knew. Or even closer, because that is what combat did. You became brothers or you became dead, and Zippo had become both. The Ontos would carry his body. I wondered if the Starlight Scope had survived undamaged but hated myself for thinking about it with the wonderful, out-of-place, black as night kid now dead. Not wanting me to know. Not wanting me to worry and possibly mess up the attack because of him. The kid who loved my plan names so much. The kid who accepted my plans, orders and everything else without question or doubt.
The Ontos was pulling away. I had to get up. I had to move. I hadn’t written my wife. I had to have a letter ready to go when the medivac that would be coming in for Zippo’s dead body touched down. I realized that my wife did not know about Zippo, either alive or dead, like she didn’t know about anyone else in the company except Fusner and the Gunny who were anything but the characters I’d portrayed them to be. Even Rittenhouse and Tex were known to her, but I’d never mentioned the black kid who’d treated me like a Dad when his own racial members in Sugar Daddy’s platoon rejected him. I hated the race war inside my company and Zippo was a glaring and perfect example of why it made no logical sense whatever that one could possibly exist in such rotten circumstance, but it did.
The Gunny was back. He grabbed me by one arm and jerked me to a standing position.
“Can you hack it, you weak little college wimp of an officer?” he hissed in my right ear, too soft for anyone else to hear.
“Zippo,” I tried to say, but he cut me off.
“Did you hear my question?” the Gunny asked, still holding my arm up near where my bicep joined my shoulder so tightly that the pain was palpable.
“Keep moving,” he said to the night around me.
I pulled as gently as I could from the Gunny’s grip. I knew what he was doing. It was what he always did. He was making certain that I went on, no matter what the pain, the loss or the sentiment. I tried to look into his eyes, to communicate just how enraged I was that he was presuming to somehow manipulate me once again, using Zippo’s now dead body as a tool.
I stepped forward, before realizing I’d lost my helmet and liner when Nguyen had taken me down. Nguyen wasn’t there anymore when I looked down, but the helmet liner slipped over my head before I could do a search for it. Fusner plopped my war-damaged mess of a helmet on the liner right after the liner settled in.
My .45 was still in my right hand but I’d accidentally stuck that hand into the muddy bracken I’d used to break my fall when Nguyen had dragged me down.
Would it fire? I didn’t know, but for the moment I didn’t give a damn. If the opportunity rose up then I’d fire anyway and worry about my hand or other body parts later.
I moved forward. The Gunny had disappeared in the night, like Nguyen, but not like Nguyen. I knew the Montagnard was close by, very close. He knew I was hurt badly and he was concerned. I’d felt the emotion radiate out of him like a long slow gust of heat. The Gunny was worried in his way and Fusner in his. Everyone was worried about me, but Zippo was dead. I vowed to write to my wife about Zippo and make certain he was not forgotten in my or her memory. Did he have a wife? Japanese was the rumor, but I had not paid enough attention to know. I had a little daughter who meant most of my world, that part not taken up by my wife, to me. Did Zippo have that? I hated myself for not knowing, and for not checking on him and getting him the hell out of the Ontos, no matter how much he loved the small tracked vehicle.
War machines killed men in combat and they didn’t respect one bit which side the warrior was on.
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LT, I just can’t believe that the NVA were firing the 50 cal. while on the move. The gun weighs in at about 84 pounds, empty. So this NVA the size of Rambo’s big brother is firing a 50 cal on the move with one hand gripping the barrel & the other the butterfly triggers. Nawww, no way. Even if the soldier fired the weapon (which I just can’t believe) the recoil would make him lose his grip on it. Not to mention how hot that barrel shroud is going to get on a “bare” hand.
The NVA did little ‘lone’ activity stuff, except to carry impossibly heavy loads. They manned the .50 like a bunch of ants, not individually like
our own Marines. And, where we had asbestos guards and pads they used tons of rags. They were masters of ground combat using whatever they could get\hold of
to fight us.
Semper fi,
Jim
The outcome of any situation of battle can be so unfair. For a man who has shown the selflessness by his actions to be taken by such an unlikely way certainly give proof of the unfairness. A man among men who would no doubt have given all to protect his brothers in arms. Sorry to hear of his loss. R.I.P Zippo
Semper Fi
Selflessness is in the eye of the beholder…and damned difficult to figure out when it is the perpetrator.
How selfless was I, or Fusner or Zippo or even Nguyen. I didn’t think the Gunny was selfless at the time but I sure do
now…thanks for the usual depth of your comment and implied compliment in your writing it.
Semper fi,
Jim
You have ensured that Zippo’s memory will stay alive with us.
Thanks Steve. It was not my intention in the writing but you guys on here have taught me so much…and I’m going with you on this one…
Semper fi,
Jim
That had to be a tough one to write, hang in there LT
Thanks Bob, yes it was and I appreciate a few people noticing that. It does help to have you guys out there waiting and
cheering from the sidelines…
Semper fi,
Jim
Loosing a Brother is never easy. You have done him a great honor to keep his memory alive. They never truly die, they are always with us.
You said in one of the earlier comments you wondered how many of the younger generation will read this. I have been here from close to the start, so much so I even bought the first two books as they were released. While I may not be as “younger generation” as some (I am 45, I was considered an “old man” in the Army when we went to Iraq in 2003) I can tell you that the younger generations of Soldiers and Marines have nothing but respect for you and yours.
I truly hope that your writing provides you with some solace and some healing Sir.
Thanks Andrew, I much appreciate the comment. One never knows, as a writer, what the audience out here will consist of or how big it will be.
Just getting the books in front of even the smallest audience (we reach on the Internet about 20,000 a week, but a lot are the same people) is a mind-boggling
task and requires a full time person and then some. Thanks for the adding yourself to that ‘collection’ and your words of encouragement.
Semper fi,
Jim
You had mentioned attending a reunion. We had a reunion of my outfit which I went to. All went well until an officer told me he remembered me.
I ask why, as I was one that tried not to be noticed by any officer.
It seems I was trying to save someone from having an arm ripped off from a 50 and he had helped me. I had buried that memory for many years. I don’t know if that Marine made it but we did get him on a medivac chopper. That night flash backs started again and I have not attended another reunion since. 50’s can do terrible damage. Be glad you didn’t go into the Ontos to see Zippo.
Yes, that remains a mixed review kind of decision.
The graphics of real combat are pretty awful stuff, what with the inability to clean up much of anything.
And also the gruesome wounds so many suffer.
Thanks for your comment and how great the officer remembered you for
something good!
Semper fi,
Jim
Great night of moving, so sorry for zippo, I know he was a good friend. Semper Fi Lt..
Thanks Walter. Yes, he was a great kid and really took to me at the time when most others were not.
That meant a lot to me and I was never able to express it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Breaks my heart for Zippo, as it does for all those men, those who made it and those who didn’t.
Not to be a dick, but,”about Zippo and make certain he was not forgotten in my or her memory.
Maybe should say , “my (mine) nor her, memory”.
Really trivial, forgive me.
Thanks Andy, it took a long time to get some balance when it came to losing some of these Marines.
Zippo was a special kid and I am always left with the wonder of what he would have become.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn it…
Yes, that was a tough segment and I was hard put to write it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Just made my day with this new entry!
Well, Phil, this was a tough segment. Not to write but to reform in my mind and to do justice to.
Damned ignominious death was so common. A bullet slipped through armor. Please! Another coming silently out of
the night here and there. So damned dangerous to be on or around the field of real combat.
Semper fi,
Jim
I still call the 1911 an auto or automatic pistol. It’s period correct to do so and we were not worried about anti-gun folks confusing things years ago. It’s also what the 1911 was named. From Wikipedia: “The pistol’s formal designation as of 1940 was Automatic Pistol, Caliber .45, M1911 for the original model of 1911 or Automatic Pistol, Caliber .45, M1911A1 for the M1911A1, adopted in 1924. The designation changed to Pistol, Caliber .45, Automatic, M1911A1 in the Vietnam War era.”
Awesome book.
Thanks Dave, for that clarification and the research, which I did not do. I am just using stuff and nomenclature as we experienced it at the time.
Not always technically or analytically correct. thanks for helping out here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Trieu Hai Hoang is truly gifted. Check out his fb page. Scroll down to see the similar stuff.
Hoang is a great artis and I love seeing his stuff. That he is from the Nam somehow makes it even better.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m sure it’s extremely difficult to bring those events out of the depths of memory and even harder still, with tears flowing, to put them into words.
Yes, these guys back there have never gone away and it took me years to come to understand that they never would
but that it could become okay. The detail of the scenes is revealed to me intensely as it happens on paper so, yes, the
dredging up can be a bit emotionally upsetting. My wife wanted me to quit. But I can’t quit. I have to go on, just like in real life…
Semper fi,
Jim
paragraph 15 or so: “I was deaf and dumb and a Marine Company Commander in real combat in Vietnam.”
according to the content of the paragraph this could well be “I was deaf, dumb, blind and a Marine Company Commander in real combat in Vietnam.”
Yes, that is true. Thanks for the help.
Semper fi,
Jim
I know it’s hard to see your man Die and then write a book about it brings back a lot of memories we’ll always have the memories of their loss for the rest of our lives
Yes, we do have the memories and that can be both a great and a terrible thing,
depending upon a whole lot of variables.
Thanks for the comment,
Semper fi,
Jim
second sentence …”had been called in to be saved from an attacking enemy,” then ” but in every case having to save Kilo Company,” hard to understand. called in to be saved? not sure what you’re trying to get across here.
BTW, shirts came in, TYVM.
You are welcome very much. And thanks for the editing help…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you sir for reminding the new generation of our war!!! I was not in Vietnam but a lot of my friends and family were!
Yes, there is that. I am not sure how many of this ‘new’ generation will read the work thought.
Television, movies and the mythology presented there are all too powerful.
Semper fi,
Jim
THAT WAS A INVIGORATING passage , it reminded me of a night along the DMZ in he rain in a all too familiar situation….a ferocious NVA battalion or more , 12.7’s and RPG’S being leveled at you, but through this fog of war and controlled chaos , you had moments of humanity ; humility and empathy during moments of suffering ….A MARINE CORPS INFANTRY OFFICER …the A Shau was a picnic …the terrain and weather didn’t help ….but you kept a patchwork of tactics and direction that MAKES THE CORPS STAND OUT !
I am never sure at all how anyone, or anything, is going to stand out when I write a segment. I am hoping the Corps stands out because
I have always loved the Marine Corps and almost all of what they try to do and how they go about it…
Semper fi,
Jim
James…..read as many of these that I can….was with the3rd Marine Division in 1969….I read some and frankly had to stop and regroup…You write the way that only a fellow combat vet can…you take me back to that place with each entry….Thank you…..Jim…Semper Fi
Quite amazingly to me at the beginning, real combat vets are among the highest incidence of readership!
I didn’t expect that. I expected a lot of criticism and derision….and came to discover through these comments
and laying myself naked in the field, that I wasn’t so bad. I much treasure that new feeling…
Semper fi,
Jim
Again great reading, I’d taken a break awhile back could not make a comment, or even acknowledge that I read the last story and I’ve missed some stories but hey it’s a heathy thing I think ,I hope so , memories are strange things know and again.
thanks Bill, for sticking with it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another chunk of your life thrown out there with really no promise it will return with something to salve a wound or maybe rub it raw again. I am waiting anxiously as so many others for the next reveal. I am going to miss Zippo a lot. He is a huge loss in the story of your time in the pit. Also watching the rest of the work you are getting out and it is substantial, so wait is what I will do. Thank you very much LT. Poppa J
Thanks Poppa, I think the other work is necessary to help me with Thirty Days, as that one isn’t a flight of fancy
or creative writing to me. Thanks for recognizing and writing about it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow Jim, what a difficult chapter that had to be for you to write. I wondered what might be impacting the long time between this and the last post. Writing about losing Zippo must have been a very painful process to work through. Thank you for your ability and willingness to share such painful memories with all of us. I hope this process has a healing aspect for you. As noted before, we all eagerly await each of your postings but we would much prefer you write them at your own pace to allow you to produce the best posts at a pace that is best for you.
Thanks Chris, and yes I do have to stay on it or it becomes ever harder to write.
The days go by, segment by segment, and the future of the story is right here with me, although only
being uncovered to the readership as I write it. Different but special in both ways…
Semper fi,
Jim
So very sorry to hear of the loss of “Zippo”….it always seemed to be the good guys that we lost….never the “Jurgenses” of the war…but that was the way it was…
“The Gunny had also said that if I stayed in a combat situation long enough then I’d come to massage and enjoy it….and there was no coming back from that”…… aint that the fukkin truth…… carry the day LT…Semper Fi..
Trying to carry the day, as you say Larry…and you are a good one to say that, as you are such a great writer yourself.
thanks for the encouragement…
Semper fi,
Jim
One chapter I’m terrified another l’m miserable, itchy and disgusted. I read on and realize l,m hungry and feel unclean. I keep going and start to feel hopeful. Then reallality jumps up and kicks me in the nuts. And weaving in and out is anxiety and depression. Great job writing emotions into every chapter. I hope for your sake and for your readers there’s a glimmer of hope soon.
What is hope in combat? Everything. I mean everything. Lost hope too.
Dogged survival. Self-centered rationality…with attempts to deny that.
And so on..
Thanks for the meaningful comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Your best so far…..all the pathos crammed into one chapter…..a culmination of everything that preceded……..WOW!
Thanks William. Funny how many segments have been called the best so far. A real series of compliments.
Thanks for adding to that.
Semper fi,
Jim
“I didn’t know for sure how many men I’d killed with the .45”. Does this include the 2 feamale VC in the first week?
Your writing is still riveting, keeps me on the edge of my seat right through comments and reply..
My guts wrenched when I read about Zippo.. Too many, way too many like him never came home.
Yes, it included them. I have counted. I know. I probably knew then but did not write it that way.
Thanks for pointing that one out.
Semper fi,
Jim
Reading this latest chapter on front porch in Canton N.C. and completely in Awe of your writing.
Will be back to Texas home in 3 weeks.
Lt.-
Great writing
50 years later, details as vivid today as if happened today.
War is BRUTAL.
Never look back, keep it coming and always going Forward.👍
I am looking forward except when I write these books. Looking back so intensely is not something I thought would happen
so graphically when I began the writing….but now I simply have to finish, although you might note I started writing other
novels at the same time. It’s not so much about time as staying sane through the endeavor.
Semper fi,
Jim
Excited to see another entry! Loved it!!!
Thank you, Brian
I appreciate everyone’s support.
Have you shared with friends?
Semper fi
Jim
Another one of those chapters that I have to stop and take a breath LT. And if Zippo would of had the chance, I’m pretty sure that he would have thanked you for giving him a shot to prove that he was a Marine. Semper Fidelis Sir.
Zippo was a class act in many ways, and I feel I did not do real justice to him in this work. However,
when I finish book three the three book odyssey will be over a thousand pages and nobody is going to read more than
that, or so they tell me. Hell, they tell me nobody will read a thousand either!
Semper fi,
Jim
I for one will read as many as you are willing to grind out!
Many Thanks
thanks John, here’s the next segment in the story, and damned hard to finally get out.
I finished it the first time three weeks ago and then just kept going back again and again until
Chuck made me stop the OCD shit and let it out.
Semper fi,
Jim
Looks like many of our friends already found edits to make, so I shall pass on that. Great chapter once again keeping us on the edge of our seats Lt.
Will Kilo make it through the night, and will your platoon, and where the hell did the Gunny go ??
Sorry about Zippo, but I hope for his sake that it was quick 🙁
What does quick mean when one is dying? Relative, and there’s hope to mix in with that.
So many in combat are terminally hit but don’t realize they are going to die. You had to be able
to live at least four or five hours to get the minimum air evacuation, and then only if there was no
continuing contact or incoming. Take a few bullets or even one in the torso and your dead. You just don’t know it
yet. Thanks for the comment. Deep.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’ve got to remember to not read this 30 minutes before going to bed when I have an early morning the next day. It will take awhile for the memories of the noise, fear, adrenaline, panic, brain firing on full automatic, to finally subside so that I can sleep, and then probably dream about it and be tired when I get up. Good job James. Had episode to project all that was assailing you moment to moment.
Hell of a great compliment there Joe. Yes, I have to put the stuff down and back off all the time
and also stop rewriting and rewriting to get it just right. I do not want to do the guys a disservice.
Semper fi,
Jim
Strangely, I didn’t dream of Vietnam, but senses were so ramped, I dreamed and practiced all night (in my dreams) for my upcoming November 17th annual qualification on my church security team, which will be with a .45 automatic. Regardless of semi-automatic, automatic, Colt, .45, or whatever you choose to call it, it just has a way of doing business when you need it. As for doing the guys a disservice…..it sure won’t be from a lack of trying to get it right on your end. Semper fi, Joe
Thanks Joe, for that every heartfelt and revealing comment. And the compliment you threw in at the end!
Keeps me going…and sometimes I need things to keep me going…
Semper fi,
Jim
Mother of Pearl it’s getting harder and harder to hold my breath between chapters.. well done Sir..well done..
What a great short comment Paul. Thank you for that one…
Semper fi,
Jim
james I must apologize In a previous comment i used the word adventure. having been in the nam 66-67 with engineers i stayed scared the whole year i was there. when i returned home i was lost and could not decide what to do with my life, i still had a short time on my enlistment so when it came down to get out time i stayed in and became a lifer.until recently i have wrestled with vietnam service and your books have helped me to do so. i in no way meant to infer any disrespect to you. thank you.
Did not take the word as disrespectful. Understand. Thanks for the clarification though and the support on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, You have the ability to grab us, those who served but not there, to grab us by the straps of our LBEs, and drag us along with you and the men you served with. To get just a sense of what you went through, just a sense of the horror, just a sense of the cost. A cost the majority of Americans were ignorant of, let alone shared. And for the vast majority of ‘today’s’ Americans, it is ‘ancient’ history, if it is history at all. Some say “Time heals all wounds.” – I think it is more like time only dulls wounds – Until they resurface with their full force, and the past again becomes the present. I thank you for that ability, thank you for your willingness to let your past wound you again. Most of all, I thank you and all that served there, for the costs, known and unknown, you all paid and continue to pay. And for those who have recently served and are serving today, for their costs as well.
I am presuming, and some of my motivation for the writing, is that real combat is similar to what it always was.
Lord of the Flies with everyone reduced to the status of frightened child but armed to the teeth…
thanks for the comment and your own revelations..
Semper fi,
Jim
James – we never fired tracers, with the exception of some of the M60 guys. Many of the M60 guys would try and replace the tracers with non tracer rounds if the had the chance. Great writing. Unlike some I don’t read as soon as I see a new chapter posted. I need to find a quiet time when I can digest it alone without interruption. Thanks for the grate job of documenting what some of us experienced.
Some hated tracers because it gave away positions. But at night, in the jungle, to be effective
and manage the units fire you have to have tracers. Your personal safety has to be sacrificed for the unit…
or the unit will be forced to sacrifice you.
Semper fi,
Jim
Very good JAMES very good
Thank you for your kind words, Harold
Semper fi
Jim
Great chapter. Your gift for putting us “in it” without getting muddy is unusual. Each chapter seems to get closer to the grit of gut of reality. Maybe it’s just the reality of the content. Thank you for sharing your story. It is captivating.
thanks Daddy, much appreciate the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sorry, wasn’t looking for typos, too engrossed. Someting in my eye there at the end!
Semper Fi Jim
thanks for the compliment Joe…means a lot…and the heart…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great work!
Thank you, Buck
I appreciate the support
Semper fi
Jim
Very well written…looking forward to the next segment…
Thanks John, I am writing away this night…
Semper fi,
Jim
War is hell..obviously a true statement..u guys were and are warriors
Thanks for the compliments. I sure as hell didn’t feel like much of a warrior most of the time!
Like reading it here though!
Semper fi,
Jim
another great chapter LT. you brought back the memories of the sounds and smells of combat in the jungle .looking forward to the next chapter
Thanks for the compliment Robert. Means a lot…
Semper fi,
Jim
Good morning Jim..
For Zippo, I know the feeling, For me it was Malone, So for Both;
Text
1 Day is done,
Gone the sun,
From the lake,
From the hills,
from the sky;
All is well,
Safely rest,
God is nigh.
2 Fading light
Dims the sight,
And a star
Gems the sky,
Gleaming bright.
From afar,
Drawing night,
Falls the night.
Yes, Falls the night, Yet the dawn will come as it always does, May they have all the rest and comfort of heaven they earned in their time in hell.
We honor them by living and telling.
Semper Fi/This We’ll Defend. Yes Brother from another Mother, Rest Well.
Robert Ecklund.
Thanks so much for the thoughts and the expressions of those thoughts, and the wonderful deep-meaning poetry…so well written…
Semper fi,
Jim
Very interesting! Glad your getting the chapters out. Write at a pace that you are comfortable with.
Thanks Jim. You are right. I must work at the pace I can and not try to force it.
Thanks for the kind words.
Semper fi,
Jim
Toughest man I’d be privileged to know had shared only a few aspects of his time in combat, with me. One of those times was in his description of his weapon, of it’s deadly power. He manned a 50 caliber as a gunner. He’d infer, exactly as you recount…the recoil was beyond incredible. He allowed it was his size which served as his greatest asset with his weapon. His low center of gravity provided him stability that his otherwise low weight could not. Ron said, once into his stance he could take down buildings with some well-placed short bursts…but that as good as he was at making use of that weapon, running while firing wasn’t gonna happen! I’m gonna miss Zippo…his memory now sealed within my own by the 50 caliber round that first had to get through the armor plate of the Ontos…before, it could get to him. For your loss Lt., which points again to the most significant dilemma of Vietnam still in need of a healing voice, which seemingly reserves the hatred borne of racism for the living, against only the loss of a brother. The color of one’s skin making no difference whatsoever, when you’re dead. And finally, for the truth that speaks to the machinery of war…which your style of descriptive writing sums up very neatly…as that cold, metallic taste left on one’s tongue as a reminder, to what once was and to who(m) will never be, again. Semper Fi, Lt…my respects and regard for you and for all your men, whether they made it back to the world, or not.
It was good to meet you in Santa Fe, as impressive in real life as your written existence on here.
Thanks for the usual depth of your thoughts put into words here. And the compliments you write about me without seeming to
write them about me!
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Per the last chapter daylight was just breaking and you and company were chasing the enemy south down the valley. Must be you moved all day without incident because it’s now night again and the hunt is on.
Always heard fear makes you sharp and a desire to live while in combat. Did you find this to be true?
I sure as hell don’t understand leaving anything behind from the resupply drop during the night the enemy could use against the company. Keep stomping. Thank you.
By and large the enemy was not interested in the leavings after our supply drops. Don’t really know why.
They had Danish C-rations and their weapons were not compatible with our own for ammunition. It’s best you fight with
what you have and know. I think, anyway.
Thanks for your comment and sorry the night and day thing got screwed up. We’ll fix that in the editing for the book
Semper fi,
Jim
To bad about Zippo… Been waiting for the end of this push…
possible that the NVA forces between us and Kilo would go to (under) ground instead of engaging.
Yes, the most extraordinary attack of my combat career.
And Zippo’s loss will never go away. It was kind of good to ‘consult’ with his spirit again, in a different way….
but hard too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Now I understand why it has taken some time for this chapter to appear. Your eulogy to Zippo is heartfelt. A good man we readers only know by a nickname; not the name on his dogtags. If he is on panel W-42 of the Wall then I read his name without knowing who he was. If there remains any unexpressed grief now can be the time to feel it and then let it go. Imagine all the men and women reading this book one at a time touching your back or heart holding space for healing to take place.
***************************
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
The battle began only moments after I’d been thinking how loud the natural sounds of the valley were to anyone up inside it at night.
Maybe “awake” instead of “up”
The battle began only moments after I’d been thinking how loud the natural sounds of the valley were to anyone awake inside it at night.
I’d not been concentrating on the need to keep quite a distance from the back from the deadly beast.
Maybe change the second “from” to “of”
I’d not been concentrating on the need to keep quite a distance from the back of the deadly beast.
The reality of that hit me but the humor, I knew would take a long time to seep into my consciousness.
Maybe add some punctuation
The reality of that hit me; but the humor, I knew, would take a long time to seep into my consciousness.
Running and firing their all tracer M-16s while they ran. It was a beautiful site.
Change “site” to “sight”
Running and firing their all tracer M-16s while they ran. It was a beautiful sight.
There was no stopping the attack, so the Ontos would not come to halt for long
Maybe add “a” in front of “halt”
There was no stopping the attack, so the Ontos would not come to a halt for long
I knew the Montagnard was close by, very closely.
Maybe change “closely” to “close”
I knew the Montagnard was close by, very close.
**************************
I hope you received the books plus the e-mailed PDF image of the Candle & Books.
Be Well
Thanks for the understanding and the great help in editing. Much appreciate how much effort this took you.
Semper fi,
Jim
In the third paragraph change “… climb over instead of plow through…” to “… climb over instead of plowing through…”
12th paragraph “… The company fired all tracers, except for the M-60 fire,…” delete fire.
Also in the 12th paragraph “…chemical deposits in the point of the rounds burned through.” just an FYI the chemical deposits were in the base of the rounds.
18th paragraph “It was a beautiful site.” it should be “It was a beautiful sight.” Another great chapter. I’m out of room.
Thanks for your help, Terry.
Much appreciated and corrected.
Semper fi
Jim
Once more, great stuff! I was wondering when another chapter was coming out!
Thanks for the comment. Getting a bit difficult to flow easily.
Semper fi,
Jim
James the sense is conveyed how difficult this is becoming to strike the keys for this story. Zippo! Ah Man!
I’d reach through the screen and offer a warm, comforting hand.
Semper Fi
Thanks Tomas. I take that hand firmly in my own. Thank you. Zippo remains with me through all of my days.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, this one was hard for you with Zippo going over. My hand to you.
Semper Fi.
Yes, Tomas, a tough one but it was also a bit okay because I never want to minimize Zippo’s effect on my own life
and helping me to come to terms with racial prejudice…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great segment Jim! I know this segment was very hard for you to write because you loved Zippo just like you did Gunny, Fusner, and Nguyen. I feel the lost of him to as I know all your readers will We are there with you on these 30 days because you have brought us along. Thank you once again for your service and for writing this Great Story!!!
thanks Mike, much appreciate your compliments and your willingness to write them here.
Helps me carry on…and Zippo helps in his way too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Brings back tastes,& smells, elements, & the stark reality of it all. About 1/2 way down “I knew would take a ling time to “sleep”? into my consciousness. (or “slip”).
Thank you David.
It now reads”The reality of that hit me but the humor, I knew, would take a long time to seep into my consciousness.”
Semper fi, Jim
What an emotional roller coaster…you have us right there with you again…and feeling your pain over Zippo…all the rush to judge yourself for the not knowing even though the not knowing most of the time was by design so you did not become close enough to feel the worst of the pain…amazing writing as always…
Thanks Mark for the terrific compliment and the care and loyalty you show by being here and writing your opinion.
Semper fi,
Jim
I too have a daughter. She was born a month before I left for Nam. I don’t think you had mentioned that previously Jim.I was 22 and having a child while serving was very difficult. As you know. It made the rare down time hard, I’d go home in my head to see my beautiful family. I think it made it harder to focus at least when the enemy wasn’t around. Another nail biter! You had me squirming from the leeches. Zippo will be missed! Semper Fi James!
Zippo is still missed. Coming home might not have allowed for a relationship, I know, if he had made it.
Now that I have been back so long I understand how hard it is for real combat vets who served together to get together.
Non-combat guys do much better. And that’s quite okay.
Thanks for your comment and your usual solid support…
Semper fi,
Jim
I pray for doors to open to support you in a movie project, if that is in your heart to do. I have seen every nam movie of significance, I don’t watch all, for many are just a bunch of blood, guts, fake heroes and hellywood crap. This is powerful sir…
Thank you so much James. From your lips to God’s ears, is the expression I immediately thought of. There’s a reason that this kind of combat stuff
is not out there in literature or the movies. The publishers and the producers do not want it at all. How they supposed to get military stuff and access
to make the movie if they don’t do the movie in the traditional mythological way? And so many men who did not serve (most men have not) don’t buy the story or want to
buy it. Just the way it is. And that’s okay.
Thanks for being a great buy and writing about this on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Let me take a breath. Avoiding death, slogging thru unbelievable terrain to hear that one of your best was lost and still functioning. Not too shabby for a newbie.
You are the man Walt, even if we don’t agree on politics. That’s what we fought for, that ability
to disagree. Don’t disengage. Engagement is more important than the beliefs themselves!
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Breath coming a bit fast, pulse up – yep! Ya got to me again! Don’t know how you manage to do it, but I am THERE, along the Bong Son, following the Ontos through the night, trying to keep up.
Thanks, LT, for towing the rest of us along with you through the mud and blood and pain and noise.
thanks for the compliment and so well written too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Gut wrenching Lt ,
thanks for the compliment and for your writing it on here Jim…
Semper fi,
Jim
Don’t know what to say.
That about says it, Harry, and quite succinctly and nicely, I might add….so, thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT he’s now with us as are Tex and the others We Remember
We remember in the rising of the sun and in it’s going down,
We will remember them; in the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
We will remember them; in the opening of the buds and in the warmth of the summer,
We will remember them; in the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn,
We will remember them; in the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We will remember them; when we are weary and in need of strength,
We will remember them; when we are lost and sick of heart,
We will remember them; when we have joys we yearn to share,
We will remember them;
So long as we live, they to shall live, for their memory is a part of us, and so,
We will remember them!
Thanks so much for that great poem Stephen. Thanks for writing it here and about the guys that fell over there..
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Had me hanging on the edge of the seat again, cautiously reading ahead, trying not to anticipate what will happen next.
the .45 is semi-auto; third para somewhere in the middle if you choose to correct.
Keep us hanging, anticipating the next days entry.
Thanks for your support and the sharp eye, Jerome.
Appreciate your sharing this friends
Core-effecting should be affecting
Thanks, Don
Noted and corrected
Semper fi
Jim
“Automatic” is fine and is correct for the period. The 1911 was often called the “Colt .45 automatic pistol,” probably because the cartridge was the .45 Automatic Colt Pistol (ACP). Years ago, including Vietnam, there was not so much worry to be technically correct about semi-automatic. “Auto-loading,” even when semi-automatic, was often shortened to “auto.” Old shotgunners still refer to semi-auto shotguns as “autos,” just as some old pistol pistol guys call their 1911s auto. I’d leave it as is since it’s period correct. Being old, I smiled when I read it. Anti-gun people are probably not reading this awesome book.
The funny think, Dave, is that I don’t really know the readers reading these books. The back chatter is not significant enough to know that.
I have the tens of thousands of comments, that’s true, and I would bet most are not anti-gun…but the website had 20,000 visitors averaging more than
ten minutes per visit on the pages for the past week. That’s a lot of numbers. How many are pro-gun or anti-gun, republican or democratize I have no
real clue except for the comments. Thanks for the depth of your comment and the great compliment at the end.
Semper fi,
Jim
That’s a lot of hits and time spent on your site! Your book deserves all this interest and more. It would be interesting to see some demographics on your readers. My last sentence was not meant to disparage anti-gun people. Today’s gun control debate demands preciseness between the terms semi-auto and auto. Using “automatic” for a 1911 in your book is not only historically correct, there is little chance of it misinforming anyone in regard to today’s gun control debate! That’s all I meant. Great job on the flying passages. I had 21 years in fighters and a short time as a FAC. I thoroughly enjoyed your descriptions. They also provided me some brief relief from the intensity of this story. Brilliant writing. I think this should be required reading for senior service schools. Really. We had to read “Killer Angels” prior to USAF War College. Your book would serve better.
It is hard out here to develop and hold a following.
It might even require that I remain stoic and not put anything on the net about my core feelings and beliefs.
Of course, I have not done that, and so my relative importance as a writer may be less because of that.
But, in order to be me I have to be me…as dumb as that sounds.
And some will not like me and have not liked me.
I came home very pro-gun for example and acquired 47 of them. My small home in Albuquerque was loaded with them.
I was waiting for the enemy every night.
My wife finally convinced me to let them all go eventually, as she did not want to lose me to some aberrant nighttime assault and then prison.
For years, our only night defense was an umbrella she kept under her side of the bed.
It took so many years to come to realize that the greatest defense
against attackers or predators, if they were to come, is my mind.
Thanks for the comment and your care…
Semper fi,
Jim
She let me sharpen the tip of that umbrella.
shit Jim that one hurt sorry my friend
Thanks Stephen. Really appreciate the short but meaningful comment.
Shit. Says it all about that segment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Gunny is trying to keep you motivated and focused. You still have a savage and well armed enemy to face. Keep your head clear.
The Gunny was something and there was no predicting him because I was 23 and pretty much
out of it so much of the time when it came to trying to figure myself out. I think the Gunny thought I was
a whole lot better than I did.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn it, another good man lost. Not your fault James. No words.
The fault in combat. Often played up in movies but seldom thought of over there, with
some exceptions. Zippo being one of them. Those small things in life that cost lives, but
back here not so direct or so much. Over there, ever damned day and night…
Semper fi,
Jim
Technical correction: Tracer rounds have the tracing mixture in the base of the bullet, to be ignited by the burning gunpowder, not in the tip or point.
Again, another riveting chapter…
That’s true about tracers Jon, but none of us knew that and I didn’t find out until I checked online after you sent the correction.
You are correct.
Thanks for the help.
Semper fi,
Jim
Kind of numb sitting here thinking about it all.
Thanks Peter, for that subdued version of a compliment. Thanks for writing it on here…Truth begets truth….
Semper fi,
Jim
It is hard to loose a man either in combat or peace time training. I’m sure they are still with you.
I keep looking for your next segment of your story. Can’t wait for the end, but will miss it when it is published.
Great work, keep it up!
thanks Richard, and I really appreciate the support…
Semper fi,
Jim
Powerful stuff LT!
thanks Jerry, means a lot to me…
Semper fi,
Jim