Picking out who was who or what was what from the cluster of men who hit the end of the bridge was impossible.. I worked the focus knob on the side of the Starlight scope to no avail. I couldn’t get a decent enough resolution to allow the green wispy moving creatures to have any identity. I prayed that Jurgens, being as close and highly positioned as he was atop the Ontos, would have a better ability to determine friend from foe. The flashlights screwed everything up because the diffused light blanked out key portions of the scope’s ability to reproduce an image. The image I was looking at was not reality. It was an interpretation and then enhancement by the addition of interiorly generated photons to make a picture on a very small television screen. The flashlights waving about created a bunch of what seemed like giant fireflies batting around all over the place. The Starlight Scope, probably without enemy intent, had been rendered all but useless.
Jurgens opened up with the Browning, firing one long continuous stream that had to consist of a complete belt. How long could Jurgens maintain that kind of fire, if it was Jurgens, I didn’t know? I wasn’t fully convinced that the totally self-serving man I’d had to deal with, to the point of sociopathic action, was capable of standing to face down the enemy and then stick it out. Could the unrecognizable Marine on the Ontos be someone Jurgens had paid off with the Thompson to stand in for him? It would be just like him.
At first, the volume of fire was spattering until the enemy .50 Caliber opened up, and then the Marines began hammering the entire area, from the end of the bridge to both mudflats on each side. A minor berm would allow for just a bit of cover on the other side if someone laid totally flat and pressed himself into the soft mud. I’d done it several times myself.
The M-60 fire streamed yellow tracers, with the first four dedicated 60s opening up, and then just about every automatic weapon in the company. The M-16s fired all tracers to the point where there was almost enough light to see the other side of the river without the Starlight Scope. I wondered about a cease-fire to save Kilo’s men but there was no stopping anything. Kilo still had men over there, including Carruthers. There was no ability, with the confusing, near carnival strangeness, of the whirling flashlights, the beating of the big fifty and then all the supporting fires from both sides. The AK-47s didn’t fire tracers, for the most part, except for the special ones the NVA used that had drum magazines. Their white streams were crossing the river, but not many of them.
The Ontos opened up, firing three rounds, all together, into the position occupied by the .50 caliber. The range was nearly point-blank and the initial blast of all three timed distant explosions, setting loose the many thousands of flechettes they carried, allowed for a flash of light that illuminated great fan-shaped furrows that ran out from where the flechettes did their work. It was hard to see what was going on, as the AK fire was beating up the entire face of the much higher berm on our side of the river.
Jurgens opened up again from the Ontos, the Browning’s red tracers distinctively different from the other weapons.
I reached for the scope and studied the end of the bridge. The Gunny had told me earlier that one of the Marines had found a letter on the dead body of an NVA soldier, and that we were facing the 206th Sapper regiment, one of the most elite units in the entire North Vietnamese Army. The word sapper had caught me then, and I tried to think about it. Explosives. Sappers carried satchel charges everywhere, like the ones we’d used to clear the tunnels so many nights earlier, not far from where we were fighting this night.
I studied the other side of the river, but it was hard to make out anything. The flashlights were gone. Most of the men were gone. What had been the route of Kilo to get across the bridge, combined with a full-frontal attack by the enemy was over. The intensity of the fire from both sides had been so high that nothing could live in that maelstrom of a nightmare that the bridge end of the area had become. I could not see them but I knew many men had died in the last few minutes. I could only hope that not many of them were from Kilo Company and that Carruthers was not among them.
The drums still beat, as if to let everyone know that the action wasn’t over. What more was coming? What had the flashlights been for? A force attacking at night did not use flashlights. It was almost entirely suicidal, given the modern weapons of warfare that everyone on the battlefield was well aware of.
DRUMS
And then it came to me.
“Get everyone off that bridge and move the Ontos to the very edge of the back of it,” I said to Fusner, wrestling the Starlight Scope around to look upriver.
Fusner got on the radio, calling the Gunny and the Ontos crew. It took no time for the Gunny to reach the hole. He dived right in, causing my leech bitten back to arch in agony. The leeches were still there but their pain-deadening symbiotic serum was fading away in effectiveness.
Where and when was first light, I wondered. Cowboy might come with friends at first light, and the enemy would know that too. So, what were they doing? Why the near-suicidal attack? Unless the attack was a diversion. Unless the sappers had not been trying to cross the bridge at all but hauling heavy satchel charges to blow the thing up? The NVA wasn’t trying to come across and kill us. The enemy was trying to deny us any place to retreat to when the attack came from the forces ensconced inside Hill 950.
I explained the situation to the Gunny.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” the Gunny asked, but not in a tone that called for a reply.
“They’re sappers,” I replied, “that’s what they do.”
“What kind of force can they have up there?” The Gunny went on.
“They brought a tank down here before,” I noted. “They have to have some pretty extensive infantry units holed up, spoiling for a fight.
Khe Sahn and Tet had come and gone. There was no firebase left where Khe Sahn had been, and the Tet offensive, although a failure tactically, had only made the resistance of the NVA that much stronger. Plus, the troops dedicated to taking Khe Sahn had to be roaming around the upper part of the A Shau Valley, as only about twelve miles separated the upper flattened end from the valley, where the hamlet and now closed base were located.
“They’re not in the jungle behind us,” I said, trying to think my way through the problem. “They crossed the river to attack us on the other side. When we moved, that left them over there with no way to get back, not without going a whole lot of kilometers south and then crossing. If they pull that off then they have to come upriver again and attack across that high ground or use the narrow gap between that and the river. The Ontos will eat them alive if we still have an Ontos.”
I could see nothing to the north, so I swung the tripod back around to stare at the bridge. The Ontos had no choice but to turn again, which meant that if it had not taken out the fifty it would be exposed to that fire and not be able to fire back. With armor-piercing bullets, it was not inconceivable that the Ontos might be taken out with that weapon alone. But there was no choice. It was either go along with what I thought the NVA was up to or likely lose it all and not have the Ontos to hold off any enemy soldiers when and if they came down the river.
The Ontos turned. I heard the ripping of the boards that were layered over the top of the bridge rather than saw it. After only a few seconds there was nothing. The noise had penetrated through the sporadic fire still going on, the sound of the drums and those of the river too. But the bridge was still there. The Ontos backed slowly, its rifles again pointing across the river. Jurgens was done with his frightfully effective work using the Browning and was directing the machine so it could get as close to the lip as possible. There was just a little bit of light. Enough for me to tell it was indeed Jurgens doing the directing. I wasn’t sure about whether I was happy or angry about that fact. Jurgens was the easiest man to hate I’d ever known.
Marines were running the length of the bridge, back and forth, to carry wounded men who’d been hit by either the M-60s, the Browning or enemy fire. I watched through the Starlight scope, wondering if Carruthers would be among the wounded. There had to be bodies on the other side, and how many of the wounded would die was anybody’s guess, what with medevac and resupply having to come in on our side of the river, and with an imminent attack expected to flow down through that very position. We needed air, as fast as we could get it, and then we needed more suppressive air to halt any enemy in its tracks from attempting a daytime attack.
The small arms fire died out completely. Jurgens climbed off the back of the bridge and made his way back. I wonder what Fusner had told the crew of the Ontos because they were obviously staying with their tracked vehicle. The Ontos could be protected from being taken by the enemy by the M-60 fire on our side of the river so there was no need for the crew to be inside when and if the sappers set off their charges.
The drums stopped beating.
“What’s that mean?” the Gunny asked, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.
“We’ve got to get to the dawn,” I replied, which was really no reply at all.
If I was right, then the drums had stopped because the NVA were going to blow the bridge. There was likely no time to get the crew out of the Ontos, and I couldn’t imagine how big an explosion we might expect. Until it came. The bridge was clear of Marines, bodies and just about everything else when the far end blew sky high. The entire bridge could be seen with the unaided eye as the end rose up into and then immediately fell back into the raging waters. But it didn’t go anywhere. They didn’t wash it downriver where the tank still lay upside down. The Ontos was still on the close end, although the bridge had been pushed backward by the force of the explosion, to the point where the top of it was only a few feet from the edge of the berm. The Ontos would not need a ramp or any propping up of wood to get off the thing.
I studied the Ontos with the scope.
“Get them on the radio,” I said, without turning.
The concussion wave would have been stopped by the armor, but spalling might have occurred, where everything inside the tank that was not welded or screwed down could fly around and kill or badly injure the crew.
“They’re okay, but they want to know what you want them to do,” Fusner said, holding the microphone out.
I didn’t take it. “Just tell them to back off the bridge and reload. I can’t see what kind of a mess the other end of the bridge is, although I no longer expect company from that direction.”
I studied the other end of the bridge through the scope. It was a blackened torn up mess, with metal peeled back and broken boarding everywhere. I was amazed that the whole thing stayed together. Once more, thanks to the pushing effect of the explosives and the severe damage to the end of the thing, there would be no equipment or men transitioning from the far bank onto the end of it. It was a pleasure not to have the drums, although it was more likely that the coming of dawn caused them to stop rather than to put an exclamation point on the sapper job. The drums had to be located up on the cliff somewhere, and it would be a turkey shoot for either Puff or the Skyraiders, or anyone or anything else we could raise to help, so they would need to hide and abandon them until nightfall again.
“Have you got the AN-323 up?” I asked.
Fusner went to work without answering
I noted that the Gunny remained quiet, and had been since the drums had gone silent.
“You going to talk to Jurgens?” I asked, waiting for Fusner to reach our air support.
“More to the point, are you going to talk to him?” the Gunny said back.
“And say what?” I replied. “Tell him he did his usual great job of mowing down Marines and enemy alike…a sort of ‘one for all and all for one’ Browning murderous magician?”
“There was no choice, and I know you know it,” the Gunny replied, blowing a puff of smoke out into the night. “You just can’t stand him as a person.”
There was no argument from me. He was right. I was being unreasonable because it was Jurgens, and I did not want to praise him at all.
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” the Gunny said, his voice very soft.
I’d read Sun Tzu while at the Basic School. It was impossible not to see the brilliance of the old Chinese general, and how he’d neatly laid out not only how to use war tactics and strategy but also how to apply a philosophy of life. I understood, but I could not take Jurgens into my heart and soul at all. What did it mean if we were merely animals ripping and shredding each other to death so that we could live for another day?
Was I going to end up the way the Gunny had talked about me during my first day in combat? I’d conquered the terror, as the Gunny predicted I would. I no longer felt the paralyzing fear up and down my interior when the enemy fire came pouring in. I could function. Was I nearing the point where I would grow to like it? I felt that Jurgens had. And the Gunny himself had said that there was no coming back from making that adaptation or passage.
“Cowboy’s coming and he’s bringing friends,” Fusner said.
“ETA on target?” I asked back, instantly.
“Twenty-three minutes,” Fusner replied.
I smiled sincerely for the first time since I could remember. I would never see or hear a propeller plane again in my life, I knew, without a great welling-up of gratitude and joy. We were going to get to live, at least for another while. We could make it through the twenty-three minutes.
“Get the Ontos swung around, loaded for bear and aimed up the river, just in case,” I ordered.
“You want me to get down there?” Dobbs asked, “or stay with the scope?”
“You’re a sergeant now, Dobbs, so get down there,” I replied. “You’re my new scout sergeant. Let the men know that we’re expecting an attack from up north while you’re at it.”
Dobbs didn’t move. He stood staring at me.
“Well, you just got promoted corporal, so you might celebrate a little,” I said, looking at the Gunny, who wore one of his enigmatic almost nothing smiles, with his signature Camel sticking out the side of his mouth.
“Your scout sergeants don’t seem to do too well, think the new sergeant means,” the Gunny responded, wryly.
The first light of dawn was beginning to slowly brighten the gloom at the bottom of the valley. Jurgens appeared out of the darkness and knelt by the side of the hole. He’d unstrapped the Thompson and carried it just like Macho Man had before him.
I didn’t get a chance to comment, however.
“They’re bringing Captain Carruthers up on a poncho liner,” Jurgens said.
I climbed out of the hole without saying a word. I could see the four Marines, each at a corner of the poncho cover, hauling their load.
By the time I reached Carruther’s side, it was too late. I didn’t need to examine Carruthers, because the corpsmen had quit working on him before he got to me, more likely to move to triage and help those badly wounded who might have a shot at making it. The expressions on the faces of the Marines around me were also telling. Carruthers had not been like me. He’d garnered some sort of strange respect from his first day in combat. He’d also led Kilo company, a company not so seemingly ferocious, inbred, and racially charged as my own.
“He took one in the lights, Junior,” the Gunny said, approaching me from the side. There’s no way any evacuation can get him to a lung surgeon in time.”
I knew the ‘one in the lights’ meant that the captain had been hit in both lungs. There was no hope for survival after such a wound, as there was not enough time to reach a surgical unit, even if the captain had been aboard a chopper at the time of his getting hit. But he was still laying in the mud alive, refusing to give up, to die or to even admit that there was no hope. His blinking eyes told that story, as I bent down over his prone body. His eyes focused and drilled into my own.
I leaned down, somehow knowing he wanted to say something, but lung shots didn’t allow for much in the way of verbal communication.
“Get me back to a hospital,” he whispered, “and it hurts so much more than I thought it would.”
I looked at his left lapel. One morphine syrette was sticking out of the material, its short needle buried in the weave of the tight cotton. I knew he’d received one syrette. There were no markings on his body that I could see, however. If he was going out in the coming medivac then the corpsmen who’d given him the shot would have written down a time, probably on the back of his hand or right across his forehead.
Suddenly, the captain and I seemed alone, as all the other Marines had pulled back, including the Gunny. Only Nguyen knelt by my side, looking slowly around instead of at the captain. I pulled the single syrette from his collar and tossed it away, before reaching down to the cargo pocket located on my right thigh. I hadn’t gone into that pocket for some time. I made sure the captain could not see what I was doing, even if he might no longer be able to understand.
I got out two syrettes and took no time in punching them right through his trousers, just below his hip. I squeezed twice and then threw my own empty syrettes after the first one.
“I’m taking you all the way home, captain,” I whispered, leaning down so my lips were only inches from his right ear.
“Thanks, Lieutenant, you’re a good man and I wish I could stay to do my part,” Carruthers murmured, but his eyes were already closed.
I waited. There was nothing else to be said. I didn’t know where the captain was from, who his wife was or whether he had children or not. I assumed from his wedding ring that he was married. I felt a great loss and a sense of guilt for not knowing. The captain had treated me with respect and friendliness while I hadn’t had the time or inclination to spend any time with him. I was all about trying to survive myself and for those who might help ensure my survival.
I placed my left hand on Carruthers gently moving chest. There was no drama. His chest simply started to move less and less, each breath just a tiny bit smaller than the one before. I looked around me. The Marines were there, Fusner among the closest, but they paid no attention at all to Carruthers or me. Before coming to the Nam, I would never have believed that most humans die alone, even when they are doing so among other humans. I wondered if there was a natural, likely genetic reaction, that almost all humans have about death. My ‘taking care’ of Carruthers, and others mortally wounded, no longer bothered me. It was simply something that had to be done, as the occasional cleaning and oiling of weaponry, and it was one of those rare jobs that was my own and no one else’s.
I looked over at Fusner, the morning light just bright enough to allow me to see his features from ten meters away. The scene was uncomfortable and strange, even by A Shau standards. Fusner pointed at his private radio, the one he’d taped to the Prick 25, and then carried everywhere we went.
I nodded at him. The battle was over, at least for the time being, and we had to try to move on. I pulled my hand from Carruther’s unmoving chest, feeling like I was pulling what life was left in him with me.
Fusner’s little transistor radio immediately came alive. Brother John’s comforting deep voice introduced a song ‘coming at you’ from Nah Trang, a place I knew I’d more than likely never see or ever hear of again, should I survive, but it didn’t matter.
The song that began playing was ‘Don’t Worry Baby’ by the Beach Boys. I’d heard the song for the first time when I was having coffee in the student union of St. Norbert College in West DePere, Wisconsin. The Beatles were a really big deal at the college but I loved the different surfer groups better. Back then, and all the times prior to landing in country, I thought I’d worried a lot. I worried about tuition, about whether I’d ever get a date, about my appearance and more. After less than a month in Vietnam, all I could do was to wish fervently that I might get home to have such ridiculous worries again. A single line of song lyrics seemed to leap across from the tiny speaker to where I’d risen up to stand over the captain’s body: “She makes me come alive, and makes me wanna drive, when she says “don’t worry, baby, don’t worry, baby, don’t worry, baby, everything will turn out alright…” and my mind once more went back to thinking about my own wife and small daughter.
I looked for one last time down at the body of Captain Carruthers. Two Marines from the company stood nearby with a black body bag. They waited for me to move on, which surprised me. I took only a few more seconds to wonder about the song lyrics. Was Carruther’s place now, where there was no worry that anyone knew about, not in fact the best place to be?
There was no answer forthcoming to that unspoken question, and I knew there never would be.
<<<<<< The Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>>
Jim,
There was no drama. His chest simply started to move less and less, each breath just a tiny bit smaller than the one before.
This line has me writing here though I feel unqualified to comment as I was never anywhere near the military or war. Born in ‘60 I could only witness through TV and print the horrors you and the other men and women on here were immersed in.
I am writing to let you know that after reading the line above I cried for the first time since my father died at 88 almost 5 years ago.
I’m a doctor and the last week of his life he was in diapers and confined to bed crying out for the police to come save him from his forced confinement. He was home, on hospice, with my sister, mom and I.
The last 24 hours he was comatose but, alive. Though he was dying, I hastened his death by giving him the hospice supplied morphine (not injected but, under his tongue as he couldn’t swallow) as by his rapid breathing, fever and facial expressions it was obvious he was not comfortable. Hospice was not there (as we were in rural KY) so I had to withdraw to my “doctor” self to do what I did for my dad, my mom and sister.
Though I haven’t grieved as a son (until reading your words) I have on occasion since, in the quiet early morning hours, awaken with panic that I killed my dad.
Thank you Jim for brining me, with your words, to a place I could finally connect with the son in me. And cry for the first time since his death.
I now work in a prison. And several of my patients are Vietnam Vets. I am going to purchase your books so they can read them.
Though hesitant to post a comment I wanted you to know how much you have affected me, and I’m sure countless others, though I’ve never experienced the horror of combat.
Thank you for opening up your wounds so I could open mine.
Chris
Those of us who are given the Hand of God to move at His direction…are specially chosen
and not to be understood at all. To carry the load after that is also almost impossible for any ‘regular’ person to understand.
You did the right thing. I did the right thing too. Now, I pray that my ‘right’ is also God’s ‘right.’ I believe so.
Thanks for saying what you said here because that helps me immensely, as well.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m taking you All The Way HOME Captain! A Hell of a Resume you came back with Lt!
Yes, they said that I could be a surveyor…so I said okay. They said there were no surveyor jobs
available. I said okay. That was it. Vets from the shit should never ever be treated like that again.
A job, a good job, and some respect would go a very long way when a vet comes home.
Semper fi,
jim
I sure know what ya are saying. Was a Guided Missle Destroyer Sailor and not up to my eyeballs in the Heavy Shit but did have some close calls. TET of “68” was pretty lively. I wasn’t aware of the, don’t come home in uniform unwritten rule. I did experience, first face saliva thing from a cute little flower girl at the S.F. Airport after she asked me aside to speak to me. Another awakening! Last flight coming to the airport in Sacramento. I was pissed off and took a year off, drinking alot and spending time at the river until I had to find a job. Folks didn’t believe so many of us got spit on! True it was! Thank-You Lt. and Welcome Home
Thanks for your own personal experience written here Rand.
Many guys got poor treatment when they got home,
although most didn’t get literally spit upon.
Sorry that happened, of course, but here we are…better times
and vets are being considered much better partially thanks to how bad we had it…
Semper fi,
Jim
A gut wrenching chapter of death and it just continues on. So powerful I’m amazed you can continue on but you must as you lead us to the end. Thank you.
Was in Kentucky couple weeks ago. Went to the hotel bar to get a bite to eat setting down at a long narrow table with a family at the other end. Noticed the man sitting there was wearing a baseball hat with Vietnam veteran on it and two red A’s next to each other, 82th Airborne. So I said hi and introduced myself. We talked about our time in Nam, where we were etc. Discovered this vet could not talk about his time there until 1990. I ask him what changed and he responded “support groups”. He said as he talked about his time there in the support group it became easier each time to talk about. As we talked I discovered he had lost both feet was diabetic and on kidney dialysis thanks to agent orange. Yet he talked with a big smile on his face and I ask him why. He simply said “i’m still alive and I spend my time trying to educate people what our mission was there and how we accomplished it. Discovered he gives talks at schools and groups whenever he can. We shook hands, thanked each other and he headed back to his room. How lucky I was that our lives crossed if only for a brief moment.
Thanks so much for that gut wrenching comment you just laid down JT. I love to read the additions that people offer on here that involve their own lives
and how the story and returning home effects us all so deeply. Thanks for pouring your own heart out here and thanks for having the confidence to do that.
The men and women on here are an amazingly accepting and supportive group, all on their own.
Semper fi,
Jim
Defines the actions taken under horrid conditions leaving internal scars unseen by others quite well LT.
By the way James, standing in line at the pharmacy the other day I noticed a man about my age with a certain ball cap I’d never seen before. Asked him about it and come to find out he was one of those fly boys just like Cowboy making gun runs for the troops on the ground !!!
I thought of you and your Marines and damn near hugged the old fart, but I did shake his hand and give him a profound thanks from the Marines !!
Keep ’em coming sir as I’m on the edge of my seat once again.
SEMPER Fi
Sgt. Bob, much appreciate the anecdotal addition of your own experience being written out here.
The books have taken on a life of their own in many ways.
Thanks for illustrating that and being with me all the way…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow, sorry but this sometimes brings tears to my eys in reading not only the story but some of the comments. I was a 2533 when I got disharged and was also the radio jammer. But my company commander had picked me for his radio operator so I understand a little. However I got out when they were just sending people from the 3rd division over there as advisors. This is a very powerful reading and I wonder about myself over there. Thanks for this writting!!!
SEMPER FI LT
Very powerful commenting that does not get much in the way of commenting…like your own on here. Effects me daily and deeply and the guys and gals on here like
you got me through this last depression…not anything I did on my own, and I can’t thank everybody enough…
Semper fi,
Jim
SEMPER Fi Lt. brings tears to my eyes also.
Thanks Alex, I am glad that you are reading the story in depth and commenting about it here.
Yes, there were such emotional times back then and they, of course, transfer down through the years.
Appreciate the heartfelt nature of your words…
Semper fi,
Jim
The reason for the delay in the writing of the horror in that valley becomes more obvious with each chapter James. Peeling back the scab and sharing with remarkable emotion and detail is not easy. Carruthers never had a chance, a good man. And Jurgens, court marshall or Silver Star? What a character. Another great chapter James! Semper Fi!
The ying and the yang of human interaction down in the A Shau Valley where inhuman conditions and situations prevailed. How can
men be judged? How can the actions of others be properly put into perspective in light of our own? How do we evaluate the past,
where inhumanity was required to survive but survival is redefined upon coming home? These are the questions that plague mankind
when it becomes involved at the forceful intervention among lives with weaponry and deadly intent. Jurgen’s? What about Junior?
The Gunny? Hard stuff.
Thanks for the usual intense and thoughtful comment Poppa…
Semper fi,
Jim
Whew, what a night. Cowboy will be around in about a quarter of an hour, and then it hits the fan again.
Masterfully written, and masterfully led too on that terrible night Wow.
That segment you write of is being laid down as I write this reply to you. You are indeed astute or prescient. Thanks for the
comment and the one great compliment word at the end of it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Could not stop reading this chapter and the previous one. A couple of questions. Marines could not get air at night? We saw Puff at night only. Two you say M-60s yellow tracers? We only had red. They had green. Hanging on for the chapter.
Thanks for the great support and compliments. I too questioned the tracer data much later on, only to discover from another vet friend that there were six tracer colors produced for the 7.62 Nato rounds.
Four companies produced the rounds and at any one time one could get yellow or red tracers quite commonly…I have laid down what I saw and sometimes I question that but not real often. The memories are
like crystal clear…
Thanks for the comment and care…
Semper fi
Jim
sir i was a medic and your story takes me back there i smell the jungle the blood after your done i am going to purchase your book and share it with the men in my ptsd group thank you and by the way there is nothing junior about you slow salute SIR
You were there. You know. Few among men were there and know. We are two. We are one.
We were there. Now we are here. We were grounded to the earth over there, but now constantly try to understand
where we are here…and wonder how that came to be. Thanks for being one of the two…and the one…with me…
Semper fi,
Jim
Reverence among the chaos Sir
Great phrase Darren and so applicable to that situation…
Thank you…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow.
Great one word compliment. Very Marine Corps!
Semper fi,
Jim
Again, powerful writing, riveting action and marvelous humanity, all in one voice.
Thank you. I believe we all have many different qualities and characters inside us.
Combat can bring out ones that we have no clue about then, and even later on.
Thanks for the meaningful comment and the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sad, 1983 burned visions like that into my head.
Sorry to read that Patrick. I presume you were in the Middle East…
Thanks for your work over there and writing on here now…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim/LT —
I had thought to wait until after the last chapter was published before commenting, but I can’t hold back any longer. You book has been the MOST riveting read I have EVER had (and I have read many, many a tale, both fact and fiction), bar none !
I have been a student of leadership for 40+ years (25 in our beloved Corps), and I have NEVER seen the hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute, day-by day HELL described as you have so MASTERFULLY done. I’m not ‘blowing smoke’ — I wish I had had THIS to read at the beginning of my journey, rather than at its sunset.
The typos have probably all been caught/fixed — the STORY will stay with me and everyone who has had the good fortune to read it LONG after we have done so…
THANK YOU.
There are those who only believe that certain things in history could have happened a certain way. YOU are proof that it is (and ALWAYS will be) the one in the middle of the story that determines the outcome.
THANK YOU.
For sharing your story — it’s deepest truths and most gut-wrenching moments.
THANK YOU.
Semper Fidelis,
Lefty
I hope you don’t mind Lefty, but I put your comment up on my Facebook sites.
It is just too…hell, I don’t know, too fantastic, wonderful.
What author would not tap dance across the top of his dog house to read that compliment?
An African kid once told me “you make my heart soar like a butterfly,” and that it is.
You make me able to continue on into some pretty tough nights where I am sitting up alone.
But not alone. I have you guys and gals and I never now forget that…
Semper fi, and thanks so very much…
Jim
For the first time you have left no doubt about what slice of eternity you and your Marines were in doing what you could to stay alive. The very short segment about Firebase Khe Sanh and its abandonment. In my minds eye I can imagine where the combat experience of your leadership Marines had been experienced. Now I know you are up against an enemy bloodied in villages towns and cities along the coast, in their base camps again nursing wounds and losses. Maybe these are the guys pursued when they retreated.
They were cornered and angry and you show up on their turf.
The way you have given us the story of Capt Curruthers also has given me a peek into your wounds. I am still in awe of your willingness to give the”world” a true look at the Vietnam combat survivor. Thank you. God Bless you and your fellow survivors. PJ
Wow, Poppa, you are on fire this night and I cannot but smile and persevere into the next segment with your backing, and the backing of my other ‘Skyraiders’ flying cover for me as I proceed,
in this the most uncommon and unbelievable writing adventure of my life…I always thought writing was so solitary and it was…but not anymore. I do it with you guys and I don’t have a clue
as to how that happened here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for the compliment and I too do not know how this happened either, but the benefits of your struggle here have opened many doors for men who have the same experiences and pain. I wish you well as you push on in an amazing effort. Poppa
I am half way through the next segment, which I plan on having up on Saturday as I hope to settle into a ‘routine’ if this story can have a routine,
of one or two segments a week until we get to the end of September…together….
Thanks for being a big help to me Poppa…
Semper fi,
Jim
Ironic that now, “SAPPER Leader” Is an U.S. Army leader course. I too remember when the term Sapper was dire warning of things to come. Now that French word for “undermining walls and barriers” “sapeur” represents excellence in engineer training for our combat arms.
I had hoped that Kilo and especially Carruthers would make it past the Ontos before the shooting started.
ESSAYONS.
Glenn.
Funny how the language and meaning all changed in so many things. The phrase booby-trap became I.E.D. and so much more.
Thanks for that informative comment and the support you lend in your words…
Semper fi,
Jim
It came back after 51 years! I just read the last 2 chapters one after another. About 6 months after I was released from the hospital and discharged my younger brother asked if I was ever afraid over there. I told him I was almost always afraid. The only time not afraid was when the shit hit. At that point my balls seemed to crawl into my belly and adrenaline ran. I was more alert than at any other time. I stayed in that condition until the wounded were taken care of and said a prayer. Then I was afraid again. He never asked another question and I have avoided all others.
We are kin, combat kin and the feelings and fears were the same for all of us if you lived in that shit for any time at all.
Funny, how we all thought it was just us and how alone we really were…when we’d been led to believe how group oriented and brother driven we’d be…
and then not…everyone was simply too frightened and not wanting to die…not matter what. Thanks for adding your own life experience here and I am glad you
are with me this night and into the tomorrows we both have ahead…
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
Where words become pictures,
Of memories stirred…
When pain falls as raindrops,
As echoes made pure.
The drum of our heartbeat,
Beats on to assure…
The songs of our lives although written,
Should be felt…
In as much as are heard.
I feel you, Lieutenant…as does your radioman.
Well done,
Semper fi
As always you are so on the mark, Dennis.
Thank you for being you.
Semper fi, Jim
That poem touched me, Dennis. I recorded it.
Here is link to listen and download
https://thirtydaysvietnam.s3-us-west-1.amazonaws.com/DennisHayes2.mp3
Thank you so much, Chuck…For the depth of your compliment beyond words, I’m moved!
As said by all.. Another Great chapter, hearing the drums, gunfire,explosions by reading what is written..
Tough to lose another Marine and friend.. better to go easy than suffer..
In Saving Private Ryan, they did the same for a fatally wounded after attacking the radar/radio tower.. Didn’t realize till reading these chapters what they had really done in the movie and likely actual combat..
Like you said.. Keep putting one foot in front of the other..
look forward to next day when your ready..
Saving Private Ryan was totally fiction, and the power of fiction to tell the truth because the truth, as the line in that movie with
Jack Nicholson said “You can’t handle the truth.” The world does not deal in truths….it deals in survival and that’s a long way from truth.
Hopefully, some of the ‘fictional’ truths I am telling can help those who want to go charging in like the NFL guy. They might just hold back
and try to apply some of what the Gunny and then the Marines taught me. My Marines did not want me to lead them to the point of killing me, but
then they changed when I’d made it long enough and I became an icon of leadership to them although I will always look back to Carruthers and Tex and the Gunnyas more leadership
qualified then I…
Semper fi, and thanks for the great comment and the compliment to go with it…
Jim
Thank you again for having the courage to format the nightmare as “entertainment”, for lack of a better word. Strange that some of us might consider a description of horror that way. Good work sir.
It is interesting. Reality is always interesting, although we don’t always want to participate in it or live it as reality.
It was Lord of the Flies with a whole more violence and a whole lot more equipment…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Your scout sergeants don’t seem to do too well,” I think the new sergeant means.
Should be: “Your scout sergeants don’t seem to do too well, I think the new sergeant means.”
Yes, and thanks for that bit of help…and the meaning behind making it too…
Semper fi,
Jim
What a powerful read James…all the emotion of losing men for “the good of the many”…how did you all survive…and what a powerful statement when you reminisced about your petty worries back home…I told my son when he volunteered for airborne combat infantry that what he would experience would make the rest of his life seem like gravy and that the minor issues would be nothing anymore…and after he got out, he actually agreed with me when he laughed at some guy complaining about the gravy not being hot on his biscuit at breakfast…those who have never been in service will never understand and will always take everything for granted…probably one of the toughest segments to read yet…and I am sure it was a tough write, but once again you show the characteristics of a true leader…and NO ONE conveys the combat experience and how the minds swirls like you do…Great Work James…
What a wonderful read Mark. The depth of your comment deserves rereading again and again. It was tough to write and it’s tough to
go on into the end of the last three days and nights. But, I have your guys and gals, like the Skyraiders of old, up there backing
my every move. Thank you most sincerely,
Semper fi,
Jim
When I “shared” the last chapter on my page, a Veteran I know (101st) tried to read it, said he avoids the movies and books. “Not good for the noggin”. he said. I didn’t really think that one through until I saw his comment.
I fully understand that veteran’s feelings. It was hard for me to see Full Metal Jacket and also Platoon…Saving Ryan a bit less and
the rest, like Deer Hunter and Apocalypse Now I found to be funny as hell…’Pirates of the Caribbean’ compared to the real deal. But, denial does
not lead to acceptance and then an inner peace. I have found that writing the books has provided a lot of both of those for me, and a lot of
that has come from the comments on here by people like you. Thank you most sincerely,
and Semper fi,
Jim
Well, you’ve reached back into the depths and twisted just a little bit more LT. As always, thanks for sharing your story with us. Semper Fi Sir.
You are most welcome for that thanks Mike. It’s all in there and coming out, as the action and everything else
going on in that valley was such high drama at just about every turn of the river. Thanks for helping me along by writing on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
For what it’s worth LT Carruthers was gonna die either way. At least he didn’t die an
excruciatingly, agonizingly painful death.
Yes, I agree with that statement Tony. I have written my work partially as a primer for those who might be going into
combat…especially conditioned and trained officers. You cannot walk right in, erect, correct and applying training
principals and demonstrating your courage and bravery…and live. Thanks for the depth of your comment and your courage in
writing it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another moving chapter, brought tears to my eyes. I agree with the earlier comment the NVA commander was cussing up a storm since his plan to destroy the Ontos blew up in his face. Stay strong and focused out there James. Hope that the NVA .50 is toast.
Only at the last minute did I figure it out…and that was simply because of the fluke of the name of the sapper regiment.
Then it was only logic. They sacrificed guys with flashlights to see where to place the charges and also to make sure we
might not figure it out…thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
The dawn is drawing nigh and your friend Is on the way. Emotional read. Not sure I want to know what is on the horizon.
Thanks for the comment sir, and all I can do is lay it down the way it went down…the rest is up to you…
Semper fi, and thanks for writing and saying something…
Jim
To do or die!! Awesome chapter
Yes, it was all of that Ron, and thanks for coming on here to comment about it and thanks sincerely for the great compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
I was going to nit-pic you about the turret of the Ontos not being rotated to the target vs rotating the the whole body. However, this chapter is not about tactics. It is about life and death. About sanity and insanity. About survival of the body and mind. How you mentally survived this to finally write about it today is nothing less that a miracle. IMHO your strength to mentally survive is testament to the human spirit and a faith to a higher order, whether you understood it at the time or even now. God Bless you, James Strauss.
Thanks so much for the depth and meaning of your comment Bill.
I had to go back and put in the turret thing…
because I had not added that the crew had replaced the pins for changing its orientation
and hammered them down to the point where they could not get them out again.
A few picked up on that omission. Thanks so much for the rest of your comment and the thought you put
into writing it on here. God bless you too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow, such a moving read.
THANKS Claire, means a lot to read about such support…
Semper fi,
Jim\
Powerful , makes me wonder how many just gave up to be in that better place, I know some
Yes, I agree, although I think Carruthers was just leading in his way until the end.
I wished I could be like him at the time, but would probably have ended up like him and so many more
officers that I went through in only a month….thanks for the care in your writing.
Semper fi,
Jim
Woof,
One word kinda says it all, Edward….thanks
Semper fi,
Jim
Hard to comment JAMES !!!!!!!!
Yes, it has been a tough run of four chapters through this latest mess down in that valley.
Thanks for the depth of your short comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
that was a tough read, tearing me up. how did you make it through that? Your a tough man with a heart of gold
One foot after the other. The horror was partly staved off by a deadening of the mind and also
the amount of non-stop stuff that had to be done. Thanks for the thought…
Semper fi,
Jim
Noticed a couple of (sic’s) , para #4 M-16 fired all tracers; and Marines were running the length…………. Line #6 medivac (medevac).
Had me seeing the action and waiting for the Ontos to carve a path through the oncoming forces.
As usual, the story had me riveted to my computor and vivid scenes of years ago came back for a few seconds. Very well done, Lt. Waiting for the next episode.
Thanks for the help in editing here and then being there…and being there here again.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir, thank you again for being able to muster up another riveting read. I can only imagine the battles you face with each paragraph.Rest assured however, that your work here is a salve for many. Glad you made it home. Semper fi
Thanks for that great complimentary bit of writing Lonnie.
Means a lot to be to have guys like you on my six…
Semper fi,
Jim
Just intense. I can picture some NVA commander swearing up a storm that his action inadvertently provided the means for the Ontos to exit the bridge.
The fate of captain Carruthers was sealed by his decision to cross last. I expected that he would die on the far side. At least his body can be sent home. RIP.
According to some religious beliefs no one dies alone. There are helpers from the other side (even if we can’t see them.)
Some editing suggestions follow:
I haven’t fully convinced the totally self-serving man I’d had to deal with, to the point of sociopathic action, was capable
Maybe change “haven’t” to “wasn’t”
I wasn’t fully convinced the totally self-serving man I’d had to deal with, to the point of sociopathic action, was capable
At first, the volume of fire was spattering until both the enemy .50 Caliber opened up, and then the Marines
“both” seems redundant
At first, the volume of fire was spattering until the enemy .50 Caliber opened up, and then the Marines
The M-60 fire streamed yellow tracers, with the first the four dedicated 60s opening up, and then just about every automatic weapon in the company
Could be “first of the four” or delete “the” to get “first four”
The M-60 fire streamed yellow tracers, with the first four dedicated 60s opening up, and then just about every automatic weapon in the company
The M-16s fired all traces
Change “traces” to “tracers”
The M-16s fired all tracers
Plus, the troops dedicated to taking Khe Sahn had to be roaming around the upper part of the A Shau Valley, as only about twelve miles separated the upper flattened end from the valley, the hamlet, and now closed base were located down in.
Just reads hard. Maybe:
Plus, the troops dedicated to taking Khe Sahn had to be roaming around the upper part of the A Shau Valley, as only about twelve miles separated its upper flattened end from the valley where the hamlet, and now closed base were located.
If they pull that then they have to come upriver again and attack across that high ground
Maybe add “off” after “pull”
If they pull that off then they have to come upriver again and attack across that high ground
… then they have to come upriver again and attack across that high ground or use the narrow gap between the that and the river.
The “the” before “that” is redundant.
… then they have to come upriver again and attack across that high ground or use the narrow gap between that and the river.
It was either go along with what I thought the NVA was up to or likely lose it all and not have the Ontos to hold off any enemy soldiers when and if they down the river.
Maybe add something before “down the river.” “came down the river.”
It was either go along with what I thought the NVA was up to or likely lose it all and not have the Ontos to hold off any enemy soldiers when and if they came down the river.
Was I going to end up the way the Gunny had talked during my first day in combat?
Maybe change “talked” to “said”
Was I going to end up the way the Gunny had said during my first day in combat?
We could make it through the twenty-one minutes.
twenty-one or twenty-three?
We could make it through the twenty-three minutes.
I was all about trying to survive myself and those who might help ensure my survival.
Maybe add “for” before “those”
I was all about trying to survive myself and for those who might help ensure my survival.
The Marines were there, Fusner among the closest, but they paid no attention at all to Carruthers or I.
Change “I” to ‘me”
The Marines were there, Fusner among the closest, but they paid no attention at all to Carruthers or me.
Blessings & Be Well
Thanks a ton for that edit, my friend. Need all the help we can get. On it and thanks for the compliment you made
in spending that kind of time to help out…
Semper fi,
Jim
I learned early in my life / VN experiences to ” Never give up ” , your story shows that many of us shared them same belief ! My respect keeps growing for you LT.
Thanks Don, there was really no place to go. You either stayed in or were taken out.
No need to be suicidal since death was right there every second of every day and night, just waiting.
Thanks for the kind words…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow …another great chapter filled with excitement and inner reflection. So appreciate your writing, which gives the pictures of combat life to the mind, and I share it with my veteran friends and family to help them understand combats its many impacts.
We all have different experiences and ways of sharing them. Many say nothing and move on, but a lot of us never get over the ever hovering memories and experiences.
Thank you for helping veterans to know that someone lived and experienced it, and can write it for us so others can feel the experience.
You are most welcome Barry. I’m not sure how all this came to be but the comments on here effect the writing deeply,
and that is something that’s very uncommon I think. Thanks for ‘helping me along’ so to speak…
Semper fi,
Jim
Riveting story, James. Good work.
Some editorial suggestions:
The M-60 fire streamed yellow tracers, with the first of the four (not first the four)
The M-16s fired all tracers (not fired all traces)
as only about twelve miles separated the upper flattened end from the valley, where the hamlet (not valley, the hamlet) and now closed base were located. (not located down in.) (if you just got to have “down in ” put it in front of “the valley” not at the end of the sentence)
thanks for the help Matthew, I know Chuck will be all over fixing the story today…
Without you guys and gals to help I’d never make it …
Semper fi,
Jim
Holy shit! Powerful !!
Thanks Bill, much appreciate that supportive comment…keeps me going…
Semper fi,
Jim
“After less than a month in Vietnam, all I could do was to wish fervently that I might get home again to have such ridiculous worries”.
Wow!!! What a powerful sentence.
James thank you for your service, and thank you for so eloquently putting combat into perspective. I am hooked on your tour (this book), and can’t wait for the rest. Thank you.
thanks for the help here jon, and the compliment in your words…
Semper fi,
Jim
Semper Fi Marine , Semper fi .
Right back at you, Marine…
Semper fi,
Jim
powerful!
thanks for the sincere one word compliment Doc, much appreciate…
Semper fi,
Jim
What a heart wrenching chapter!!! thank you sir!
You are most welcome Jerry, and I am continuing with the help of guys and gals like you…appreciate…
Semper fi,
Jim
another good chapter LT. it is like we are there with you .brings back a lot of memories waiting on the next chapter
thanks for the great compliment, Robert, and that helps to keep me going…
Semper fi,
Jim
It was an act of charity.
Yes, combat is such a son of a bitch for stuff like that. Thanks for understanding…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jergens seems to be like a cat and has 9 lives at times.
Yes, Jurgens was a successful player all the way through…thanks for picking up on that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sorry for another loss and what you had to do, Jim.
How about recasting…The cluster of men that hit the end of the bridge was impossible, when it came to trying to figure out who was who or really, what was what.
Picking out who was who or what was what from the cluster of men who hit the end of the bridge was imposssible.
Thanks for the help here Michael…means a lot to me and also the caring evident…
Semper fi,
Jim