The Skyraiders broke the dawn, and everything else, apart, as they came in over the river at an altitude that had to be less than a hundred feet. First light was upon the valley, and the smoke coming up from the still-burning dried mud of the river bank could be seen, its pungent smell able to be inhaled all the way across the water. The four Skyraiders had come down from higher altitude to arrive almost soundlessly until their giant thundering radial engines became the only thing any animal could hear up and down the valley. Cowboy’s plane had to be among the four, but it was impossible to tell in the low light by trying to see through the canopies of the fast passing planes. And then, the sounds grew even louder with the roaring fire that came out of the Skyraider’s 20mm cannons.
I knew the pilots could not see any activity below them. The light was simply too bad for that. I also knew why they were firing anyway. The NVA would not only be diving for cover in the jungle beyond, but they’d now be fully on notice that airpower had arrived, and it was of the kind that was going to remain on-site for some time to come. Cowboy was merely giving the enemy a taste, and letting everyone know that nothing would happen in the valley that escaped any notice from the huge deadly aircraft constantly overhead or within seconds of being called to be overhead. That the enemy threat was no longer from the jungle mattered little, until I could get on the radio and advise Cowboy otherwise. There was no missing or ignoring the Skyraiders when they were down in the valley, and that applied to both sides and just about everything else wanting to stay alive.
Medevac and resupply were coming, I knew. Battalion could not have missed the frightened and emotional communications made on the combat net during the battle. I hoped they sent a CH-46, or preferably two of them, along with plenty of Cobra gunships. Hill 975, the hill that had so frightened me, to the point of never wanting to get near it again, was back in play. The hill could not be attacked and taken because our forces, even with total air cover, heavy artillery support and plenty of resupply, were not capable of penetrating deep down into the earth to root the NVA out. Aside from nuclear weapons, nothing in our current inventory I knew of could penetrate that deeply into the planet. There would be problems later in the day with the landing zone because of where it had to be. The only clear place for the choppers to put down was near Hill 975, not far downriver from where the old airstrip had been allowed to go fallow.
The Ontos backed through the remainder of mud and sand that was piled up behind it, almost up to its armored double doors. The raised and angled front tracks were much more effective in plowing through debris, and almost anything else, rather than the very low single follower wheel rear tread. Once fully backed into the outer layer of jungle behind us, the machine stopped, rotated toward the upriver area where Hill 975 rose in the far distance, and then came to a complete stop, although the engine continued to idle. I heard the rear doors slam open, and watched as Hultzer, its new self-appointed crew chief walked around the Ontos’ front edge. He saw me, although the light was still fairly dim and not very diffuse, bent low, and sprinted across the thirty or forty meters of distance to the top of the hole I was perched.
“Sir,” he began, making a move to salute but not following through. “We’ve got to have fuel and more flechette shells by the end of the day. Air can only hold them back so long. Fusner said the enemy would be attacking from upriver by the time nightfall hits. If we have gas and about twenty more rounds, we can hold the night.” Hultzer stopped talking, yet remained breathing hard as if he’d held his speech inside for some time before being able to let it all out.
“You got a gas can?” I asked, working to unbutton, and then get my blouse off. I slunk down a bit made sure I wasn’t exposed to potential sniper fire from across the jungle south from the damaged bridge.
Marine snipers were able to pick off individuals almost as far away as a kilometer, or more. I wasn’t certain, but I suspected the NVA had such long-range weapons and accurate death technicians, as well.
“Gas can, sir?” Hultzer asked, his face screwed up like one big question mark.
“The leeches,” I said, turning slightly to show him an angle of my back. “Gas is best and immediate,” I went on, although I wasn’t certain of the conclusion I’d presented.
I’d never used gasoline to get rid of the creatures before.
Hultzer didn’t reply, instead turned to run back toward the Ontos.
Fusner’s radio belted out another tinny rock and roll song, no doubt introduced by Brother John, although in the euphoria of being alive and sadness of the loss of Carruthers my usual reaction to night combat, I hadn’t heard him. The only improvement I’d recorded in that respect was that my hands didn’t shake as much anymore.
The song lyrics crossed the short distance from where Fusner lay next to Nguyen, not far from the hole: “You once thought of me, as a white knight on his steed. Now you know how happy I can be. Oh, our good time starts and ends without all I want to spend, but how much, baby, do we really need?”
“Daydream Believer,” I whispered, thinking again about my wife, as I looked back out over the now very evident damage to the bridge. It seemed too strange to think about sitting in a battered hole on the edge of raging river, not wearing a shirt, back covered with thumb and wrist-sized leeches, and waiting for a high school kid to come back with a gallon of gasoline I wanted to use as a beach tourist back home might use a container of Coppertone.
I slunk down in the hole and pulled out my stationary. The folded pack was secure inside the plastic bag I kept specially for it alone. My cheap black U.S. government pen still worked, as I pressed it into the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima envelope, intending to address the letter to my wife and home. Resupply was coming, which meant I could get an envelope aboard a chopper if I was aggressive and persistent. But I didn’t address the envelope to my wife. My hand moved across the blueish military envelope, but the address I put down was that of the colonel, our battalion commander, and not that of my wife. The effect Carruthers had on me could not be simply laid down like a second corpse next to the bagged one I knew was only yards away. I had to write something about him for whatever record might exist about him on into the future, even if it was unlikely that I would survive to see any of the effects. And then there was the company’s greatest enigma, after the Gunny. Jurgens. I hated him and wanted him gone, but I could not ignore him or, in truth, take action to get rid of him.
I pulled out one single piece of my precious stationery and began to write.
I wrote short passages about both men. I detailed Captain Carruthers’ decision to remain on the other side of the river to assure that all of his men were able to cross over under fire. I went so far as to state that the captain had no intention of crossing if even one of his Marines was down or disabled. With Jurgens I was not as generous, although there was no way to disguise the fact that the man had stood and fired under great danger, at great risk and without flinching or retreating to great success, possibly saving most of what survived of Kilo company, and also possibly preventing a much worse sapper-planted explosion that would have cost us the Ontos and its crew. The after-action report was my first ever, in training, or in actual combat, and although I was uncomfortable with doing it, I simply could not go on without responding to a certain sense of justice in life that I was afraid that I might lose forever.
I folded the amateur after-action report into a shape that was about the size of my right palm. I pushed it toward Fusner.
“See that this gets on the chopper and back to the battalion,” I ordered, making sure that the colonel’s name and identification were printed on the outside.
I hunched back over and went to work writing a letter to my wife. I wrote of Carruthers and the fact that he didn’t make it. I gave her no details, however, and also wished that I was strong enough not to have to mention him at all. But there was no avoiding the loss of the captain, and I knew part of that was because I now commanded Kilo company again, and also that there would be a new officer crew coming in with the resupply. What would that new crop of inexperienced company-grade officers bring, as far as my own survival and that of the company was concerned? I wrote on about the weather, the river and let the rest go. I finished and got the sealed envelope safely tucked into my thigh pocket.
I sat for a few seconds to think about our situation. My discomfort at constantly returning to the same positions we’d vacated not more than days and nights before had begun to bother me to the extent that I called the Gunny over to discuss it.
“We keep taking up in positions where we’ve been before,” I began, but got no farther.
“Yes, like we’ve had a choice,” the Gunny responded, lighting a cigarette and hunkering down by the side of the hole to begin lighting a chunk of Composition B with the same match he’d lit the cigarette with.
“My point,” I began, trying again, but getting nor further.
“Your point is that it’s dangerous,” the Gunny finished.
“I had a captain who taught me about what happened in other modern wars, like a couple you’ve been in. His name was Hrncr, and he was a real combat vet, as I’ve now come to understand. He said that to return to the same position was a form of willful and accepted suicidal behavior. No enemy, no matter how seemingly dumb, inexperienced or ignorant, would long miss the opportunity to mine or place charges under the ground or inside the redoubt of a key position likely to be reoccupied by a returning enemy force.”
“Like I said,” the Gunny concluded, blowing out a great puff of smoke toward me but not directly.
The Gunny was making his point in his usual way. Indirectly, without embellishment or wasting time.
“Yet, we keep doing it,” I replied, my voice showing some of the frustration and irritation I felt.
“Like I said,” the Gunny repeated, maddeningly.
Hultzer returned, lugging a five-gallon jerry can at his side, dragging it more than carrying it.
I climbed out of the hole, went down on all fours, and exposed my back. “Pour it over them,” I instructed the Ontos’ crew commander, “and Gunny, you mind getting rid of that cigarette?”
“You can’t kill them with gas,” he murmured but snapped the lit cigarette off toward where the river ran.
“I don’t give a damn if they live or die, I just want them off of me,” I replied, cringing with the pain, as he poured the gasoline liberally onto my back from my neck to my butt, and then from side to side.
The pain was so great that it felt like my entire back was burning up, but I held the screaming gasps inside.
“Man, sir, but you’ve got a case of them,” Hultzer whispered.
I slowly climbed to my feet, the fiery pain beginning to fade into an almost unbearably deep ache. I grunted and then coughed, but I began to feel the leeches dropping away. I stood erect, and the things feel in numbers, bouncing on top of the packed mud, but making no move to crawl away, stupefied by the gasoline, as I’d been told they would be by Zippo, seemingly so long ago. Next to the smell of the earth, mud, and mist, the sharp gasoline aroma almost felt healthy.
“We’ve got to provide a perimeter and ground support for the medevac and resupply,” I said to my small scout team, with the Gunny remaining standing nearby.
It wasn’t necessary to inform or instruct the Gunny about such things, although in looking at his languid relaxed state, leaning half-propped up by a thick bamboo shoot by the side of the hole, he was probably relieved not to have to order every Marine around that he encountered.
Hultzer came back, after returning the gas can to wherever it was stored aboard the Ontos. He squatted down in a manner that was almost identical to the Gunny’s usual resting position.
“You’re the crew commander of the Ontos,” I said to him, needlessly, but then went on. “You’re also now a part of my scout team, the one that Sergeant Dobbs is leading. I want your radio up on the net at all times.”
I had to pause for a few seconds, as the Skyraiders came down the valley low over the water once more. Cowboy was doing a flyby every twenty minutes, or so, and the effect was evident. No drums, no small arms fire from the NVA, and certainly nothing in the way of rockets or the .50 caliber, if it had survived the onslaught earlier by the Ontos salvos.
“Let’s get to a position closer to Hill 975, where we can see what’s happening when they come in,” I ordered. “How much time do we have?” I asked Fusner.
“Just about any time now,” he replied.
We moved, but we didn’t move far. The edge of the jungle was pretty much of a straight line along the western side of the almost non-existent path. A thicket of heavy brush with a bunch of bamboo shoots sticking fifteen feet out of it served as our new position.
Without any warning, other than that of a turbine’s piercing whine, a small OH-6 Hughes helicopter, called a Loach, came down fast, seeming to drop out of the air more than angle in, as was commonly done when arriving at landing zones, particularly those considered to be ‘hot’ or compromised by enemy fire. The Loach hovered ten feet off the deck, its tail slowly moving around to complete a full circle before starting the rotation again. All the choppers had a frequency on the PRICK 25, so I asked Fusner what the evacuation and resupply plan was since there’d been no pre-discussion before the mission. That they were coming with two CH-46 helicopters were coming was welcome news but I still had no clue as to their intent or the detail of any plans.
“What’s the Loach doing, sir, and where are the big choppers?” Fusner whispered
I watched the Loach rotate, and reflected about what I knew of it. It was very fast, able to hit over a hundred and seventy-five miles per hour, and it was very agile too.
But the thing was made out of very thin aluminum and had no armor at all. It was for observation only, no real combat.
“It’s waiting to take fire,” I replied, looking up into the cloudy sky that still bled moisture but now, in the thick cooler heat of the early morning, on misted down upon us. I could not see the Huey Cobras up inside the cloud cover, but I knew they were there. The Loach was their stalking horse. If it took any fire at all then a whole flock of killer Cobra attack choppers would descend and blast away. My admiration for the courage of the two men piloting the Loach made me think of Carruthers. I brushed the thought aside as best I could.
Hultzer had positioned the Ontos to aim its six weapons at the landing site, which would allow for short-range shooting at a gentle downslope that tailed off south along the river. It was a compact LZ because the rivulet that forked into the river wasn’t far down that slope either. At one time the company had set in that position for the night, but the looming enemy stronghold of Hill 975 had brought about a pre-dawn departure and a necessary move further south.
Small arms fire came from somewhere ahead, but the source of it wasn’t identifiable. The Loach jumped back, seemed to almost turn over on one side, and then took off so fast it was low and level crossing the river rapids before there was time to even blink. The blast of its single spinning rotor blew up dirt, dust, mud and then water spray as it flew under maximum power. I heard the Skyraiders thundering down the valley again but saw the Cobras first. Six of them came out of the clouds surrounding Hill 975 and went right at the southern face of it with their nose-mounted rotary cannons.
The Skyraiders dropped five-hundred-pound bombs on first the area right next to where the Cobras were working and then, minutes later, down on the jungle area across the river where the 206th Sapper Regiment had to be ensconced, as deep down under the thick jungle matting as they could get, without a doubt.
The two CH-46 choppers flew in low, not visible in the northern distance because of the low down-in-the-valley morning light, and also the heated mist that made everything beyond a distance of ten feet blurry and drearily depressive. As the two double rotor, big choppers came in, just over the top of the Bong Song’s rushing waters, one veered off to land on the planned landing zone just down from the old abandoned airstrip. Surprisingly, the second chopper headed toward the river until it reached the bridge. There it turned gently left and eased down onto the mudflat just beyond the blown up end of the structure.
The choppers had split up. One to deliver the supplies further north and one to pick up the Kilo dead across the river. The Cobra gunships split with them and very quickly four of them circled the resting chopper, it’s blades still whirling at a furious rate, but the aircraft going nowhere.
I reached into my pocket, not thinking about the clever resupply and medevac moves made by the airmen, but only of getting my letter aboard the only chopper that was reachable, and it would not be in position long.
“Let’s go, I said to Dobbs, Fusner, and Nguyen. I knew Hultzer was inside, commanding the Ontos, and making certain he had a flat enough field to turn and fire in the direction of either landing zone, with only seconds notice of incoming from either. He wouldn’t likely need any instructions or orders.
The run was relatively easy and quick, as the path was clear and we had dumped our packs back into the hole behind us at the berm. I’d replaced my blouse after Fusner had rubbed Weapon Oil, Number 01-58 all over my back. The green plastic container he’d found somewhere had “do not handle around food or keep in constant contact with skin” printed in yellow, on the reverse side of the green bottle. My back, after the heavy application, felt better immediately, however, just as Fusner had said it would.
The chopper sat there. No Macho Man stood by to stand guard. Two-door gunners, with hard-mounted M-60s, performed that chore. I pushed my letter into the hand of the gunner located on the choppers least exposed flank. After the few initial bursts earlier, however, and then the overwhelming reply by the Loach and the Cobras, there had only been silence from the hill.
There was no point in remaining in such an exposed position so the four of us ran back to where the protective hole waited.
The Gunny had come by, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, as Fusner was convincing me to try the healing properties of the gun oil.
“He’s just a teenager, you know,” he stated, between puffs, and wearing one of his smiles that wasn’t a smile.
“I suppose it’s probably as dangerous as smoking,” I fired back.
The Gunny had ignored my comeback, then, but reappeared a short bit later. “You put Jurgens in for the medal,” the Gunny said, without any preamble. “Sugar Daddy wants his shot at a medal too.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Only a few weeks back both men, and their units were killing each other without warning or mercy, and the only whispered talk there was about anything was concerning the fact that we were all going to die. I stared out across the river through the mist, barely able to make out the CH-46, located less than a couple of hundred meters distant. Was it a good thing that some of the Marines were actually coming to believe they might make it home, and a medal or two awarded for heroism might help them in some way or other back there?
“I sent that son-of-a-bitch out there to die, which he richly deserved,” I squeezed out, my voice very low so just the Gunny could hear, however.
“I know that, Junior,” the Gunny replied, puffing out more smoke. “He doesn’t know that and neither do any of the rest of them. We can send Sugar Daddy out on the bridge with an M-60 fire team, and then write him up, even if nothing happens. None of this has anything to do with truth, justice, and the American way.”
“Alright,” I said without bothering to give the matter deeper thought.
The only real Marine Corps thing I was doing in combat was beating the enemy while struggling to survive my own Marines and myself. The rest of it, and how it was playing out, was more akin to a single bad novel combining the most brutal and lying elements of Lord of the Flies, Voyage of the Damned and Dante’s Inferno. I could not conceive of getting any medals, having any that might help me in any way, or caring about having one or more of them, if I was so awarded. We were going to risk exposing a small group of Marines, by putting them out in an open position to cover a landing zone that was easily covered from the positions we held across the river, and by overwhelming air and fire support. I wasn’t going to deny the Gunny, however, and I still had not forgotten or forgiven Sugar Daddy’s attempts to kill me.
“If they take fire of any kind they need to get into the river on the north side and hold on for dear life so they don’t get sucked under the bridge,” I said, keeping the exasperation and frustration out of my voice.
“Baby I need your lovin, got to have all your lovin,” belted out from Fusner’s transistor radio speaker. The words were welcome until less comfortable lyrics strung themselves along: “Some say it’s a sign of weakness, for a man to beg, then weak I’d rather be if it means having you to keep, ’cause lately I’ve been losing sleep…”
I breathed out deeply, too long for it to be merely another sigh. I asked myself why I always felt like a beggar and weak, but there was no answer. It was just a song, I told myself.
The Gunny went off to inform Sugar Daddy that his fake medal expedition was on, and, no doubt, that I was aboard. Less then two minutes later, Sugar Daddy led the fire team out along the bridge, the sergeant himself carrying the M-60 with two bandoliers strapped across his back and chest, which no machine gunner in the company ever did. The dirt, rain, mist, and debris would jam a dirty brass cartridge quickly, and the jam, without special tools, was almost impossible to clear.
The team reached the blown apart end of the bridge without incident, giving me the idea that maybe the plan wasn’t so bad, after all. What was the harm? And then the NVA .50 opened up. A line of green tracers swept across the bridge from left to right. Sugar Daddy reacted instantly, and with the ammo belts still strapped around his body, leaped backward into the river. The fire team was neither so quick to react nor so lucky. The three Marines went into the river backward but not because they leaped. The power of the .50’s two-ounce bullets, traveling at more than half-mile a second, tore the men apart as they literally blew them off the surface of the bridge.
The Ontos was in motion behind me, making its turn. I only had time to press both my hands over my ears before the giant explosions of the rifles going off shook the ground, and blew debris up into my face and everywhere else. I uncovered my ears, hoping there would not be more rounds coming from the 106 barrels.
“Get Cowboy on this right now,” I yelled over to Fusner, as I crawled down over the top of the berm to move toward the end of the bridge.
Sugar Daddy was going to need help getting out of his current situation, and nobody was going to want to cross that exposed bridge with a .50 caliber registered in on a target less than a few hundred meters away. I wondered, as I moved if what had happened would mean that I would not have to write Sugar Daddy up for a medal unless maybe it was for the Purple Heart, which I knew the other Marines who’d had to accompany him would be getting.
I’ve been hanging with you close to 4 yrs now. Meanwhile had 2 Cancer Surgery’s & Quad-By Pass. After awaking from each one I ask my wife ” Has Jim Posted another Chapter Yet?”
What a grand compliment this is my friend and I cannot tell you how deeply you have reached me.
Thought specifically of you in writing the next segment. You hang in there will you…
Semper fi, brother,
Jim
LT, did the Ontos back thru the mud or go forward thru the mud? Or maybe I’m just not clearly understanding the story. Sugar Daddy has reappeared but maybe not for long. A tough chapter as they all have been lately. Read this chapter three times over the days just to understand. Keep stomping. Thank you.
It went forward through the mud, as the rear rotating track at the rear would not allow for much
in the way of depth in mud. Thanks for being so taken and for following so closely. You attention keeps my attention on the
work and I thank you for that motivation.
Semper fi,
Jim
Absolutely amazing Jim,
I have so appreciated being educated on the Vietnam war experience (just one of thousands of perspectives, I know). Your ability to write with excellence from a perspective of first-hand knowledge, with humility and transparency, is truly unique. I eagerly await each installment, checking many times per day, but empathize completely with what you’re going through to write it… so any wait for an installment is completed with patience and respect… and is always worth it.
I am an avid supporter and wish I could do more. I’ve purchased two copies of both 30 Days books, including the bundle of all of your books (and have read / enjoyed them all). What I really hope to have one day is all “30 Days Has September” in one hardback, that could include some of the graphics you’ve shared on the web installments. Would it be possible to crowd-source or fund it’s printing in advance through this site or a Kick-Starter / Go-Fund-Me effort so that a high quality book could be put out? I’d invest eagerly if I knew I could have one.
Chris S.
Thanks Chris S. I will look into Go Fund Me. I had not thought of printing the hardcovers using that as a source.
But some of the guys and gals on here might support that effort…Thanks so much for the idea and the compliments and the meaning you give me at my
very core.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
I wouldn’t be surprised at all if you were able to raise a substantial amount towards a hard back printing via a pre-funding campaign. The excellence and integrity of your writing has drawn people in but your fan base has been cemented by the relationships you’ve developed via the thoughtful, personal responses you make to each and every post. Even though I’ve never met you personally I feel like I know you well and consider you a friend that I would very much like to support. I’ll bet many of your readers would respond generously (especially if they knew they would be getting a personalized, signed copy from the first run).
Chris
Thank you for your insight and suggestion, Chris.
We will be looking into it.
It would be an almost 1500 page book, however, and that does bring the costs up in shipping
and if Illustrations are included, more added cost.
But worth investigations.
Thanks again
Semper fi
Jim
I’m in
Lucky to have you, my friend. Thanks for being here and commenting too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Chris, I see that James followed your advice and started a Go-Fund-Me page to raise a few dollars to get the Series completed and more important setup Rendezvous of readers across the USA as he did a couple of years ago.
Thank you for the Suggestions.
Here is the Go-Fund-Me Link
Go-Fund-Me-Thirty-Days-Has-September
This is the wonderful letter I received from Chris S a couple of days ago. The letter is the letter of a lifetime for any writer and hit home like a sledge hammer.
All I could do was sit back and glow…and then take the advice I was given and start the Go Fund Me account as Chris had been recommending for some time and I had been ignoring. I could not ignore this letter, so here it is in its entirety for you to consider too..:
December 11, 2019
Dear Jim,
I have been a fan for over two years since purchasing the First 10 Days book due to a reference I found on Facebook. I have purchased two copies of each of the first two 10 Days books in paperback and one copy of each in hard back (I gave away the paperbacks to friends to help build your fan-base). I have also purchased all your other available books sold on your website and have greatly enjoyed them all.
Just this past week I read “The Boy” while on vacation, it was a wonderfully written and well edited book. I am looking forward to reading “The Warrior” over the Christmas holidays (I’ll get started on the plane flight from Oregon back to Kentucky to see my daughter and her family).
I became an Arch Patton fan, having read “Down in the Valley” and “The Bering Sea” paperbacks, and the (partially written?) “Thunder Marine” segments online (it appears to end in mid story in the online segments). I enjoy trying to figure out which parts of the books are based on your (real) personal experiences and which are additions of literacy license.
I especially enjoyed and appreciated “The Fish Doesn’t Have to Be Real” book. Some people may overlook this one in favor of your more dramatic endeavors, but I found the depth of soul in the short stories to be very touching. A wonderful look into life through the eyes of a child, and if some of the stories are based on your life experiences (as they appear to be) they reveal your great compassion for children.
I have not yet started reading “Island in the Sand” but look forward to starting the book 1 paperback that I own.
But of course, my favorite series by far (and the one that I believe you will be known for by a much larger audience someday) is your “30 Days” series. Your ability to write so vividly and transparently draws in your readers and helps them to understand the terror, heroism, humanity, inhumanity, horror, and nobility of the war experience like no other movie I have ever seen or book I have ever read. Your dedication to reading and responding to the online posts has drawn a large contingent of your readers into feeling like close friends (or even family) to you.
In one of your on-line post exchanges this past week you said:
James Strauss on December 10, 2019 at 11:12 am
I wonder, sometimes, if it is as important to all the ‘brethren’ that the buy the books to keep it all going. I have financed this whole thing and I am running on full empty right now!
Well, the clear answer is that your work is of great importance to all your brethren. I was so concerned when I heard about your health scare this past month that over a two-week period I spent several hours in prayer for your health, and that you would know you are appreciated and loved by so many. We have interacted several times via posts (I’m “Chris S”). Awhile back I suggested that you consider a “go fund me” type of campaign to help with the final printing of the Third 10 Days or possibly an all-encompassing book (although I agree that would be a VERY large book and may not be feasible!).
Enclosed you will find a check for $500. This is a gift to you in thanks for pouring out your soul into your “30 Days Has September” books and all your other noble writing endeavors that I have so greatly enjoyed. This is a personal gift that you may choose to use to help offset the costs of preparing and printing the Third 10 Days book as an investment of your own (gifted) funds should you wish. Should you prefer to purchase something special for yourself or a family member for Christmas, that would be fine too. Either investment would bless me greatly to know that I have in some way shown you appreciation for the heart-felt effort you have made in pouring out your soul into your books.
Your friend,
Chris S.
I liked the reading the last two segments thanks LT. James, for getting back on it. Don
Dang, I have missed you Lt. , glad to see you are back in action. Great work !
Thanks Jim, means a lot to have the support of this group here…
Rough patches here and there…
Semper fi,
Jim
Absolute riveting LT. I can’t wait to see what happens to Sugar Daddy and I can’t wait to read The Cowardly Lion. Keep it up sir.
thanks William, and I will be certain to keep on writing away, as long as I have men and women like you reading the stuff…
Semper fi,
Jim
So Sugar Daddy takes a swim laden down with ammo belts. Will that pull him under ?? Hmmm…
I’m surprised they went for his fireteam instead of the CH-46, but I would guess they had their dope already set on that end of the bridge.
Riveting reading again James, thanks for the page turner.
SEMPER Fi
Yours was a very cogent comment that was taken up by me in the following segment. I thought exactly the same thing. There will be resolution to that question
a bit further on, although some mysteries over there were never totally resolved.
Semper fi, and thanks for the depth of mental penetration…
Jim
The bridge seems to be the center of some, if not many, of the segments. You have shown pictures of planes, helicopters, weapons, and of course of the priceless Ontos. Why not a picture of Tex’s bridge that seemed to be a truck carried one? It will give us a better sense of what it meant to go across it (how long was it, anyway?)
Great writing with attention to detail, though.
Will so do, Jose. Thanks for the comment and asking for the artwork…
Semper fi,
Jim
Mr. Strauss,
My dad was a 39 year old Pfc on Okinawa in the 3063 Graves Registration unit. As casualties mounted, his unit was moved up to fill gaps in the line. Your writing has helped me fill in the blanks of what his day to day existence must have been like. He never spoke about it, and he passed away before I could competently discuss it with him. I appreciate the detail, and the pain this can cause you to recall. Thanks for your service.
What a wonderful comment to make Joe. I read it three times. Handling bodies of other young men at such a young age…man it was brutal
and so fearful…and with so much guilt…
Semper fi, and thanks so much, for the depth and sincerity…
Jim
Hi – I am replying to Joe Kruth – My Uncle John McGuire was the Captain for the 3063rd GRS – I had no idea that they took replacements from the GRS to fill the gaps in the Okinawa line. That must have been a terrible decision to make – ,i.e.. which members of the unit would be sent into combat. My uncle rarely discussed the war. He was a mortician before the war (in Nebraska) but never practiced after the war – although he did renew his mortician certificate each year. His photos and records were donated to the WW2 Museum in New Orleans – and a curator from the museum used his file to help write this article about Ernie Pyle: https://www.nationalww2museum.org/war/articles/honoring-hero-death-and-memorialization-ernie-pyle
Jim,
Yet another amazing, heart-pounding, blood pressure elevating episode…
Much appreciate your getting these chapters out so quickly. I have been devouring each chapter, and your exceptional writing skills causes me to vividly see what transpires. While I have cut back on the commenting, I always pour over the comment section and learn so much from what others post.
Long ago, I thought about the danger of you guys moving back and forth and repeatedly reoccupying the same territory you had been in earlier–and if the enemy had taken deadly measures in case you did.
I do not know how you did it all back in the A Shau and I do not know how you can be such a prolific writer with juggling so simultaneous many writing projects.
I know this is one of the best books I have every read and I also know I will have a touch of emptiness when you write your final chapter of the third ten days. And I also know that not all that you will write will be “everything coming up roses” as you will suffer grave battlefield injury.
Praying for you and all the men who were with you during your horrendous time in the war zone.
Walt, you have been here from the very start and I much appreciate the fact that you are still with me. After the last Ten Days will come The Cowardly Lion which will detail my
return to the land of the round eyes and my going to work for the Nixon compound in San Clemente, just on the border of Camp Pendleton where I got out of the Marines.
And into more stuff that’s equally unbelievable…thanks for everything and for allowing me to know that you have my six even if I can’t always see you there…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another gritty narrative. Thanks for sharing .
My pleasure in many ways James. I don’t think I would have written that in the beginning but now, after all these comments and fellow travelers with PTSD, well,
it’s sure nice not to be alone…
Thanks.
Semper fi,
Jim
That double rotor CH-46 would have had .50 cal. Ma deuce guns
You may be right. I did not always see it right, but in my mind I still see pintel mounted M-60s with bungee cords to steady and allow for
rotation. Maybe they were M2 fifties, but I don’t think I would have missed the huge difference in size and mass. But I’ve been wrong on a few other things
in recounting from memory. Thanks for the heads up and the courage to write it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
James…according to all I have read about the CH-46 Sea Knight, which is what the Marines used in Vietnam, the M2 50s were not introduced until ’68…up until that time the 60s were used…just what I have read…
Yes, I write mostly from memory Mark. I so distinctly picture the M-60s on their tripod intel things
in the doors and the bungee cords to help control them. Thanks for the analytical support and help.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have been on board since day 17 had to go back and read up to that point. Also not looking forward to the ending of the combat you are releasing to some like me who has never been involved in what you are exposing us too.
I am anxious to see how you are treated by command staff at the end and if you ever have contact with the men you so eloquently describe to us.
You will find all of that extremely interesting, as we approach the end to the last ten days. You might also consider the follow on
novel which will be called The Cowardly Lion, from the Wizard of Oz, which will answer a lot of questions that can only be answered after the last ten days is done.
Semper fi,
Jim
Never used gasoline, only insect repellent to remover the little devils. Not only removed, but turned them to jelly, not to be a nuisance ever again.
We guarded our repellant closely, as we never had enough so we tried to use other stuff we didn’t seem to need as much.
Rio telling me that he needed gas for the Ontos and then bringing the stuff out wasn’t too smart on my part but sometimes I would
reach my bitter end over there.
Thanks for the comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another heart stopper! I can feel the stress and tension and smell the mud. Thanks
Thanks for the great compliment and for writing it on here for all to see…
Semper fi,
Jim
To paraphrase Lieutenant Colonel Bill Kilgore, “some day this story is gonna end”. Much to my chagrin, as it is so engrossing. Thank you again Jim.
Yes, we are indeed headed for September 30th and the final part of the final chapter…of the end of the beginning.
Semper fi,
Jim
The M-50 A-1 Ontos was a Bastard child
Mostly rejected by the US Army
It was Handed off to the Marine Corp before it was to be mothballd – if they didn’t accept it
But they did accept it!
My opinion of it is similar to the famous A-10 Thunderbolt II
THE WARTHOG
which is in a constant battle to survive
“ not fancy enough “
But
It does survive!! –
Just like you
Simper Fi
The Ontos was one of the keys to my own survival. The ability of that thing to cause terror, to deliver
right where you are when you area are and then get around in places a regular tank could not go…well, it’s all there
in the story.
Like the A-10. Purpose built and not built to win any beauty contests at all..
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow! With all the noise you all were making seems Charlie would know exactly where you all were at all times……
The enemy always knew exactly where we were unless we were on the move.
They also did not know when we would move or to where. They functioned on considerably
less in the way of food, ammo, weapons, explosives, and much more more than we did however,
so they could not always take advantage of knowing where we were…
Semper fi,
Jim
During WW2 we defeated the Japs and the Wehrmacht and it was brutal. Admittedly we had help but the US did a lot of the heavy lifting. Imagine if the Executive Branch had only stayed out of the way. So sad..
The executive branch never stays out of the way. It’s a common trait of humanity. Almost everyone gives advice all the time
about things they don’t know a damn thing about. I call it the Karaoke of life…
Semper fi,
Jim
What an incredible read ! What an incredible experience to live through ! Scars & memories have to be tough to deal with. I say this in all honesty, this is the best read I’ve ever seen on the Vietnam experience. Hell of a job sir !
Thanks Willis for a great compliment. Much appreciated on this end, in this night…
Semper fi,
Jim
The Skyraiders dropped five-hundred-pound bombs on first the area right next
Awkward wording. try “…bombs first on the area right next…
“The only real Marine Corps thing I was doing in combat was beating the enemy while struggling to survive my own Marines and myself.”
I started to edit this – and realized it expressed exactly what you intended: You DID have to survive your own Marines! And between the two main culprits, I am surprised that you did survive them.
Ywa, I was forced to be as honest with myself as I could under the circumstances. Not like I had much choice sometimes.
Thanks for the great compliment in your analysis and coming to that conclusion.
Semper fi,
jim
as usual the wait for another chapter was worth the wait well done sir much respect
Thanks Jerry. I am remaining right on it now up until it is done.
Semper fi, and thanks for sticking around…
Jim
Just completed 27Dat2ndPart. Only one comment Lt. Mercy. Nothing other than that of which there is not much, if any of. Just Mercy…Take care Lt…
Thanks for the comment and your support on this site Wes. Not sure I understood it but the word is meaningful…
Semper fi,
Jim
Now my jaws hurt from gritting my teeth.. Well written LT.. Truly Visceral.
Thanks for the great compliment Glenn…
Semper fi
Jim
Again Jim, you have me “looking over your right shoulder”, w/ no chance of being hit. I can’t imagine what writing this brings up, all the memories, up close again. It seems that it is helping others – I sincerely hope it is also helping you in some way. Regards, Doug
I am doing okay now. Some bad spots but okay and in the clear as I head toward the finish line.
Semper fi, and thanks for caring…
Jim
I can’t say enough about how real and how exciting this true story is. I know it will come to a close at some point. I hate to even mention that I will be disappointed. It brings me into a part of the war that I didn’t experience.
I was a USAF Ground weapons crewman for B-57 Canberra Bombers of the 8th & 13th Bombardment Squadrons, ’66-67. I know that we did our part in helping to destroy the enemy and also save the lives of a lot of our own troops. Still, in the minds of many of us there is that nagging thought the we just didn’t do enough because we weren’t “OUT THERE” where the fighting was. I know that after all this time that thought is invalid. I’ve had Marines come up and hug me and say “Hey Air Force you saved my ass”. That human contact and stories such as yours really bring things into perspective. Thank you.
Thanks for adding your own personal experience here John.
Yes, the supporting military units and men sometimes felt that they were not ‘walking the walk’ with us in the field.
But never forget, ever, the statistics:
7.4 million served,
375,000 saw ground combat,
362,000 of those were wounded or killed.
You would probably be among that 362,000 of us.
Not a place where you might want to be.
So, smile, and be happy, that you did your part and helped
a lot of us not quite so lucky.
Thanks again.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow I have never read them no, on such large percentage of ground troops KIA or WIA. Don
Oh man Lt. that gets the old pacemaker pumping, still setting here breathing hard. Not sure that Sugar Daddy is going to make it out of the river with the ammo belt around him. My best to you as I know this is getting hard to put this all in print. My best to you as you write the next three days..
Thanks a lot Ssgt for that veiled but apparent compliment. It was a complex situation and there was no predicting much of anything
with respect to human behavior…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great segment Jim.!!! Very intense. I loved the part about the Loach, I was a crew chief/ gunner with the 101st out of Camp Eagle. We flew a couple of missions close to where you are writing about. The LOH was quick and Nimble, but I think the 175MPH was a bit of a stretch, Ha!! Looking forward to your next segment.
I never flew a Loach, and only knew what they told me about it. I presume the later models were fast but I don’t know how fast.
It was an irritating craft for the enemy because of its speed, maneuvering and small size.
Semper fi,
Jim
Minor one, but the leaches “fell”, not “feel” in the paragraph where the gasoline was being poured on Junior’s back.
Every chapter leaves me with an adrenaline jolt. Every episode. I am so grateful that I became a FMF Corpsman in 73 so I was just a couple years too young to serve in Vietnam. You guys have my utmost respect. Welcome home.
Thanks for the editing help Hagar. Also thanks for the compliment and your writing it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Ah yes, saw and heard of more than a few leaders put themselves and their men in jeopardy so they could be eligible for a medal or award or whatever. Doesn’t sound good with Sugar Daddy falling into that water with all that ammo wrapped around him. Riveted to the page, as usual. Your writing gives us a front row seat as if we were actually there, but safe and comfortable from our air conditioned easy chairs. Stomach all tied up in knots now waiting for what follows. Good job.
Thanks for that great compliment of a comment Marshall. Yes, the vapid stupidity of it sometimes overcame me, as i mistakenly allowed that
stupidity on the bridge to play out. I knew better but sometimes I got so tired I just let it go, whatever it was. And that time three men
died needlessly.
Semper fi,
Jim
This tune is not from our time there, but:
Skyraiders in flight, afternoon delight!
Semper Fi
I like the play on words there William and I thank you for the humor and the fact that you are writing it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter! Thanks, James.
Thanks a lot Michael. Means a lot to me and helps to keep me going on into the night…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you, Sir, for your courage to share your time in the hell of A’Shau! And for the integrity with which you do this! Semper Fi!
I am not sure that the recitation of what happened has a lot of integrity to it. I just don’t care if anybody or everybody cares anymore.
I carried most of it like a secret because I was ashamed and not understanding about life. But I learned about life along the way and the men
on here have helped me understand that I was neither evil, stupid, or worst of all alone. So I lay it down as best I can, with the help of
all of you…great men and women, one and all…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow! Exactly! So very well stated, somewhere, sometime you must state this truth in your book. This is true of all of us that were there. Your sharing the comments and replies is healing for us too!
Thank you
Thanks Parker, yes…I reply to every comment myself, of which you are number 20,587 so far since the start.
Whew. I would not believe that figure if it were not posted at the top of this page every time I come here.
Semper fi, and it’s meant as much to me, these comments, as I hope it has meant to the men and women I’ve responded to…
Jim
Another outstanding segment James…this one proves that you still had the internal moral compass, even with all the carnage around you when you wrote of Carruthers’ bravery and command presence. It also showed when you wrote up Jurgens for valor even though you hated him….you had the command strength to know that he had saved lives…even though lives were lost….he saved many by staying on the 30 and not wavering under fire….and Sugar Daddy….what an opportunistic ass….I guess we will find out his fate shortly but I honestly believe the only reason the NVA opened up with the 50 was out of frustration….their plan to blow the Ontos and the bridge had been spoiled, they have lost many, many men, they had to know there would be a response from air support but they fired anyway….I think it was also just to let you know the 50 was still available….for later use….just this old man’s opinion….again great job and thanks for the turnaround time.
Great comment Mark. Thanks for the compliments built into it and also for the depth of your analysis and conclusions.
That’s a compliment all in of itself!
Semper fi,
Jim
Having followed this saga from the beginning my senses have been tested. The last last several days i’ve been running hard against the clock. The pace has quickened the players have stepped up regardless of the out come. Words can not express the emotions of reading about real men in real battles for their life.
I am so glad that some of the men and women on here get that I am still trying to understand, to this day, what might have
been going through the minds of the men around me. I have never come to terms with most of it, but got to the point over the years of not
hating any of the men I served down in that valley with. Thanks for appreciating my attempt to recreate them all as it was as opposed to how
some, if not most, think it should have been.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m going on 73 and I have an earned doctorate. Thus, I have read my fair share of books. Bar none, this is the most interesting book that I have ever read.
Well, Dr. Jackie, I don’t know what to write here, after reading what you wrote. I don’t think a writer could ever hope to receive such high praise
from a person of your education and background. In truth, I don’t know what to think of the writing, as I write it, or even after. I am always amazed that I make
so many grammatical mistakes because I like to think I am pretty good with the usage and understanding of the language. But there it is. The story is the story
so there’s not a lot to make up there…mostly just a lot to reassemble. Trying to get the lyrics to songs right, trying to remember what the guys did exactly around in reaction.
It’s all there but sometimes I have to write it first to work the memory and then rewrite again as stuff pours in as I lay in bed thinking about what I wrote.
Thanks so much for that terrific compliment. I shall smile into my sleep this night…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I am running out of superlatives to describe your writing. One question does come to mind, I thought Rio and his partner in the Ontos died after crossing the river in the beginning of The THIRD 10 Days? Those guys in the Loach must have testicles the size of beach balls.
You are absolutely correct Chuck. I mixed the names of the old and the new up, somehow. Now I must go through and fix this before it gets out of hand.
Thanks so much for the heads up…
Semper fi,
Jim
That first paragrap is so descriptive and epic.
Thank you for your service sir.
~~~
Thanks so much Sean, and I not only read these comments but they actually effect the work as I write it.
Semper fi,
Jim
I flew the Light observation Helicopters in 1967, but we still had the old Korean war style of OH-13,
An interesting job with interesting stories, that is if you survived.
Yes, observation stuff down low was extremely hazardous, but not many know that.
Thanks for your work on all of our behalf who slogged down below…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt:
Nice addition. Here are a few small typo’s needing correction:
pp 2: last sentence. Delete the word “missingor”. The sentence reads fine without the “non” word.
pp 4: last sentence should read “on top of the hole where I was perched.”
Further on in the narrative, the paragraph starting with the phrase “The only real Marine Corps thing” . . . In sentence 4 there is a typo: “then” should be “them”.
BTW, you are absolutely correct about the leeches. Never used gasoline, but used many an unfiltered Camel to burn them off. Had to get a buddy to burn them off my back.
Got those and made the changes. Thanks ever so much for the quick accurate help.
Semper fi,
Jim
DAM is best I can say JAMES DAM !!!
You don’t have to say any more Harold. Got it! Much appreciate the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
geez, if this gets any more intense, I’m gonna need a d fib to get my heart back in line.
Thanks Bob for the great compliment. Needed that smile this morning…
Semper fi,
Jim
Once again Jim you have me sucking up chair cushion….
Thanks Steve for the great compliment…and your words, and the words of others here, keep me going…
Semper fi,
Jim
Finally got a letter out to your wife. Hooray!
As a doctor would say, you had “off label” use for gasoline and gun oil. No joy there; but it worked!
Glad to hear you received beaucoup air assets. IIRC the Loach had one pilot. Saw them do low level maneuvers – like a sideways skid – that was a thrill to watch.
I laughed out load when the Gunny told you Sugar Daddy wanted a medal. Unfortunately his lark is not working out well. Bummer that it cost the lives of three Marines. Two bandoliers of M-60 ammo around one’s body and in the water is not good.
Some editing suggestions follow:
There was no missingor or ignoring the Skyraiders when they were down in the valley, and that applied to both sides and just about everything else wanting to stay alive.
Extra “or”
There was no missing or ignoring the Skyraiders when they were down in the valley, and that applied to both sides and just about everything else wanting to stay alive.
I slunk down a bit made sure I wasn’t exposed to potential sniper fire from across the jungle south from the damaged bridge.
Maybe change “made” to “to make”
I slunk down a bit to make sure I wasn’t exposed to potential sniper fire from across the jungle south from the damaged bridge.
although in the euphoria of being alive and sadness of the loss of Carruthers
nitpick – change “of the loss” to “at the loss”
although in the euphoria of being alive and sadness at the loss of Carruthers
That they were coming with two CH-46 helicopters were coming was welcome news but I still had no clue as to their intent or the detail of any plans.
Extra “were coming”
That they were coming with two CH-46 helicopters was welcome news but I still had no clue as to their intent or the detail of any plans.
I replied, looking up into the cloudy sky that still bled moisture but now, in the thick cooler heat of the early morning, on misted down upon us.
Seems “on” is extraneous.
I replied, looking up into the cloudy sky that still bled moisture but now, in the thick cooler heat of the early morning, misted down upon us.
Six of them came out of the clouds surrounding Hill 976
Should be 975
Six of them came out of the clouds surrounding Hill 975
The only real Marine Corps thing I was doing in combat was beating the enemy while struggling to survive my own Marines and myself.
Maybe add a verb and change word order.
The only real Marine Corps thing I was doing in combat was beating the enemy while struggling to ensure my own Marines and myself survive.
Thanks for including us in your continuing saga.
Blessings & Be Well
Edit my own comment.
I laughed out loud
Well, there is that! Thanks for being here and doing what you do to help so much…
Semper fi,
Jim
As always your input is so valuable, Dan.
Along with so many other Fans.
I think all is corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
“I had a captain who taught me about what happened in other modern wars, like a couple you’ve been in. His name was Hrncr, and he was a real combat vet
Hrncr ?
Excellent work.
Yes, real person real name. He was from one of the Russian area countries. No vowels. Looked funny on his name tag too.
He liked the question it always put on people’s foreheads.
Thanks for the comment and the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Envy is a mean mistress.
2nd paragraph last sentence. There was no (missingor) ignoring the Skyraiders when they were down in the valley, and that applied to both sides and just about everything else wanting to stay alive. (missing or)
I slowly climbed to my feet, the fiery pain beginning to fade into an almost unbearably deep ache. I grunted and then coughed, but I began to feel the leeches dropping away. I stood erect, and the things (feel) in numbers, bouncing on top of the packed mud, but making no move to crawl away, stupefied by the gasoline, as I’d been told they would be by Zippo, seemingly so long ago. Next to the smell of the earth, mud, and mist, the sharp gasoline aroma almost felt healthy. (fell)
The only real Marine Corps thing I was doing in combat was beating the enemy while struggling to survive( along with) my own Marines and myself.
Thanks for the help Pete, and I got the changes in there already…
Semper fi,
Jim
I stood erect, and the things feel (fell) in numbers
Got it, and thanks so much for helping me along here Mike…
Semper fi,
Jim
There was no missing(or ignoring) the Skyraiders when they were down in the valley
Got it Mike and done…
Semper fi,
Jim