Wet muddy foxholes rapidly became repositories for almost everything the combat company Marines usually carried on their backs. There was nothing to effectively hide or cover the holes with when they were abandoned, as they’d been there so long that both sides of the conflict knew their locations down to minute detail. There was little choice in leaving the gear behind, however. The only success the rapid maneuvering of the companies, and then their attack into the rear of the NVA regiment could possibly hope for, was based upon speed, a good bit of deception and then surprise.
I watched the three new lieutenants prepare for their first contact, none of the three appearing to show any fear or real trepidation. I wondered if they were made of sterner stuff than I was like I thought Captain Carruthers had been. They were wearing the new jungle utilities only recently issued, along with the lighter jungle boots that had special triangular metal pieces in their soles to avoid being injured by punji sticks. The boots and the utilities also, supposedly, dried a lot faster as well, not that it mattered much during the monsoon season when there was no such time, period or state known as dryness. I noted that the new utilities were a whole lot more noticeable against the jungle backdrop than the tattered remnants and dirt layered skin the other more seasoned Marines sported, like myself. The A Shau Valley would, however, tailor everything to its own design in almost no time at all. Mud, mosquitos, mosquito repellant, herbicides sprayed from the air, leeches, rain, and more mud would take their toll soon enough.
Try as I might, I could no longer remember the name of the third new officer, and that omission bothered me.
I waited with the three officers by my side, their radio operators redistributed by the Gunny to Jurgens' and Sugar Daddy's platoon squad leaders. Squad leaders didn’t rate radio operators, but heavy communication in the jungle, on the attack and on the run in the rain, might be the difference between victory and death during our attack. Sugar Daddy would have his own RTO’s Prick 25 accompanying the Ontos and the armored 106mm recoilless rifle carrier would have its own, with Hultzler buttoned up inside. The Starlight Scope had been retrieved from where it was kept inside the Ontos. Upon receiving it, I handed it to MacInerny as one piece, without its normal accompanying tripod.
“You learned to handle one of these in Basic School?” I asked him, as he gingerly accepted the heavy black tubular ‘gift,’ encased in its thick plastic box.
“Starlight?” MacInerny said. “Don’t we have some enlisted personnel capable of handling one of these? Yes, we used them on patrols in Virginia, as you must have, but it’s supposed to be Op/Con to an NCO or even a Marine of lower rank.”
“Dead,” I breathed out, somewhat lying, as Hutzler was capable but necessary to have commanding the Ontos. I continued to breathe in and out heavily, working to reduce my fear and get ready for the hard physical task ahead. I checked both hands to make sure they weren’t shaking. I’d not had a return to the shaking for many days but still feared to show myself to be weak in front of any of the Marines, much less the three new officers.
MacInerny worked the scope out of its case and then extended the tube out to take in the scene downriver in front of the assembled companies. Nguyen stood at my left side with Fusner poised right behind me. The Gunny had moved up to stand a few meters away, with Jurgens at his side. The Ontos idled in the background, although I knew Hultzer would be applying plenty of revolutions to the small motor and riding the clutch to give the enemy the idea that it was there and coming at them as soon as we pulled out.
“We only have sidearms,” the lieutenant named Russell stated, almost in a whisper from just beyond where MacInerny stood.
“That’s correct,” I replied, between breaths, wondering if I should ask the name of the third lieutenant. I decided that it didn’t matter.
“How are we supposed to shoot anyone without proper weaponry since you won’t let us lead the men?” MacInerney asked.
“I don’t want you shooting anyone,” I replied.
“He doesn’t want you getting shot, even more,” the Gunny said, across the few meters in distance from where he stood. “Leave your .45 holstered with the flap open.
You’re here to observe, this first time out, and your life’s about to change along the course of this move.”
I knew the Gunny was trying to prepare the new officers for being shot at for the first time. There was no preparation that would suffice, that I had figured out, anyway. The terror of facing immediate and painful death delivered with intent and malice by an unforgiving enemy at close range wasn’t something that could be trained for.
I felt sorry for Fusner and the other radio operators, carrying their Prick 25 radio gear, on top of M-16s with some extra ammo. The going was to be hard, with the mud, normally not difficult to negotiate if one stepped lightly and slowly but cruelly demanding physically if run through. I began the attack by running forward.
The only command I gave was a very short “come on,” to MacInerney. The other Marines would need no orders or instructions. I couldn’t run on top of the mud. Each boot plunged down at least four to six inches into the slimy, sticking muck. Withdrawing the boot to make the next plunge was harder than the plunge down in the first place. I ran, the rain grew stronger as if to let me know that it was siding with the mud.
“There’s nothing ahead,” MacInerny kept whispering until I told him to shut up unless he saw something.
“This is harder than the Hill Trail back at the Basic School,” he got out, “and back there enlisted men carried the equipment like this.”
“No more talking,” I gasped out, still working hard to control my breathing and stay with the Marines around me. There was no sound of the poncho material rubbing against poncho material because the ponchos had been shed and left back in our foxholes.
“Some of those enlisted men will be dying for you tonight. In the future you might want to refer to them as Marines, now shut up.”
I knew the first three kilometers would be the toughest because the field of mud and shallow water was wide open for running. The jungle would be tougher to move through, and therefore the going slower, but not as physically demanding as the mud run. Would we be fast enough, quiet enough and really fool the NVA was the question I wondered? The Ontos groaned and moaned away to my rear, the sound rapidly dropping back the further I ran. The move itself was being made in near silence when it came to anything the enemy might hear, as the sound of the river rushing by, only a few meters to the left, covered my own sucking boot steps and those of the Marines running with me. I was running the point with the three new officers and the Starlight Scope, which was more than uncommon in any combat move a Marine unit might make. The Gunny’s last words, before we’d taken off, had been ominous.
“When you’re running the point just go for it since there’s no way you’ll be able to see if there’s a tripwire or some other device to impede you. I’ll be back a bit making sure everyone’s following and maintaining as much silence as possible.”
I had no misgivings about leading the attack until the Gunny’s words settled into the forefront of my mind. I’d not thought about being the point or booby traps, punji sticks or any of the rest of the exposure being out in front as the point entailed, but there was no turning back.
We ran the distance, a little less than two miles, without incident, other than that the rain continued to increase in density, becoming more penetrating as a strong wind sweeping across the river also kicked up. The weather was a two-edged sword, however. The rain covered any noise the companies were creating as we moved down the riverbank, but the wind would carry what noise got through would make its way in reduced form through the jungle and over to the far canyon wall eventually. The rain began falling so hard that the sounds made by the Ontos disappeared altogether, and I felt better about the noise.
“That small cave entrance you wanted to know about is coming up on the right,” MacInerney said, his own breathing being nearly as forced as my own.
I staggered the last few meters to where the nearly hidden cave entrance I’d once taken cover in was supposed to be, although without the benefit of the scope I could see nothing through the curtain of rain that fell in front of me and also poured down and off the front lip of my helmet.
I finally stopped, putting out my right hand to let MacInerny know we’d gone as far downriver as we were going to go. The other two lieutenants moved in closer until the four of us were clumped together, while I considered crossing up and over the berm to reach the open stretch leading to the far wall that I knew had to be there. The rest of the Marines had also stopped, I knew, using their learned ability to predict what was going on in the combat zone they occupied, an ability I didn’t understand but accepted as part of my physical existence in the A Shau.
The Gunny moved up from the rear, as Nguyen came down over the berm, almost falling into our presence. He pointed back over his shoulder, somehow having been able to perceive what I was looking for, and the vital part of the plan that had to be there for the plan to succeed.
“He has, apparently, learned more English than anyone gives him credit for,” the Gunny whispered, his own breathing a bit labored, as he stood recovering with the rest of us.
He took out a cigarette and bent over to light it, his back to the wind, his body guarding against the rain which was falling harder than it had since I’d landed in country. I was beginning to think that the plan I’d devised probably was remaining effective and ongoing mostly because of the cover that rain provided. With their superstitious natures, I wryly figured, the Marines would probably come to conclude that I had something to do with the rain falling so heavily at just the right time.
I recovered enough to turn and climb the berm Nguyen had slid down from. The mud and jungle debris were so slimy that I had to dig the tips of my boots deep into it in order to gain enough purchase to actually climb over the upper edge. I gave no orders to the three new officers, so they followed, gaining the top after me much quicker than I had. I waited for Fusner, the Gunny and Jurgens, squatting down as best I could in the muck and rain. The three officers did the same.
“Help Fusner up,” I ordered the lieutenant named Russell.
“Fusner?” he whispered, crawling back toward the lip of the berm.
“My RTO, he’s got that heavy radio on,” I replied, wondering just how much the FNGs were really paying attention to anything.
It was hard to think only four weeks back when I was in their exact same situation. Nothing had made sense at all and without direction early on I would have been a month dead.
The Gunny, Jurgens, and Fusner came over the berm and joined me, although I could only feel them in my presence. There was almost no light at all that was perceptible through anything other than the Starlight Scope.
“MacInerney, can you see the path and the canyon wall at the other end?” I asked, holding my breath against the answer.
Without the existence of the path to get all the Marines on line and strung out in an attack formation, there was no way the plan could effectively work. The companies could not drive the attack home if they arrived near Hill 975 as a bunch of disconnected small pockets of fire.
“I see the path in front of me, as you described, but the rain is blurring out everything further on,” MacInerney replied, “ but I can’t see any wall, or anything else, really. Are we going to order the men to fix bayonets?”
I almost couldn’t believe my ears, MacInerney’s comment coming from out of the blue, and seemingly so bizarre. I sighed, but not so anyone could hear.
“We don’t fix bayonets,” I whispered over to the lieutenant. “We don’t use bayonets in combat and neither does the enemy. You go at someone in the bush with a bayonet and all that will happen is that you’ll get yourself shot dead on the spot.”
“Jurgens,” I said, partially to change the subject and keep anyone from knowing what the lieutenant had said. “You take your platoon, with the extra RTOs, and move all the way to the wall and report back on the combat net. Run your squads north in line of the file. The rest of us are going in lines to filter through the jungle, making sure nothing remains as we move until we encounter the enemy. Everyone has to remember to fire only forward because we're not going to be seeing much of anything in these conditions. Even the Starlight Scope is all but useless. If this works, then it won’t matter, however. The only time we’ve surprised the enemy is when we’ve moved, and right now in this night and rain I can’t see that they’ll be expecting us.”
“If this works?” Jurgens asked in the short silence that followed.
I didn’t reply. The silence stretched on while I waited for what might be next, once again wondering whether I should move my hand to the butt of my Colt.
I’d unstrapped the weapon when we’d stopped to climb the berm, but had not drawn it from its holster.
“What if your ‘Walk in the Rain’ plan doesn’t work?” Jurgens said as I guessed he might.
“We couldn’t stay where we were, and what’s more, you know that,” the Gunny said, smoke from his cigarette reaching my nostrils.
The smell was a pleasant relief. For some reason, I felt the smoke was a sign that the Gunny was with me all the way.
“I’d like to accompany Jurgens to the wall,” MacInerney whispered into the dark center of our informal group, his voice barely audible through the beating of the rain on my helmet.
“Don’t need company,” Jurgens hissed back.
“Lieutenant MacInerney will accompany you on his first combat patrol,” I said, understanding that MacInerney had somehow guessed the situation, with respect to Jurgen's lack of loyalty to me or the plan, and was willing to do what he could to make sure Jurgens complied.
“In fact, all three of you should go.”
MacInerny had no idea, I knew, of the danger he was placing himself in should he actually come into opposition with Jurgens in a combat situation, but his, and the other officer’s presence and movement at the wall, was a better possible resolution than my having to take out Jurgens, and then attempt to deal with a platoon of Marines dedicated to the sergeant and angry as hell. At the same time, I felt a slight shiver of guilt and fear course through me. MacInerny reminding me of Carruthers earlier bothered me. Could I have done more to save Carruthers? What was I doing to MacInerney now, and what would I have to do if Jurgens killed him? I thought of Macho Man, and how I knew what had to have happened, and then I’d taken no action.
“Take them,” the Gunny said, “and see if you can bring them back in one piece. This outfit has a pretty crummy record when it comes to surviving officers and if we get through this that could be more troublesome than getting written up for any decorations might buffer. And I want you to leave a couple of your best scouts behind, moving slowly north behind us in case we somehow got it wrong and the NVA regiment isn’t ahead of us at all.”
The lyrics to the song “You Keep Me Hanging On,” that I’d heard earlier in the day through Fusner’s radio kept rattling around in my head. “Set me free, why don’t you babe…” I couldn’t remember the rest of the lyrics except “you keep me hanging on,” but somehow, they seemed to apply to my situation. What was I to do with MacInerney and the other two new lieutenants? The A Shau Valley was an awful teacher and I had little time to be their guide. I was using them instead of guiding them and I knew it. I wanted to be free but I didn’t even know what I wanted to be free from anymore. And I hadn’t thought about the timing of the enemy’s move. I’d presumed that the regiment would move at first dark to flank us and then drive us north into the waiting force at Hill 975.
“Junior?” the Gunny asked.
I snapped back. I’d drifted off, trying to figure all the angles, and so tired I could barely stand. The rain was hypnotic, and thinking about the conflict with Jurgens, and the coming combat, those issues seeming so old hat that they were becoming weirdly comfortable instead of terrifying and fearful.
“Let’s move out,” I ordered, coming to my feet with difficulty. “Everyone’s tired and we’ve got three clicks to move south through heavy jungle, and then encounter the NVA if we’re lucky. We push all the way to the stream that runs out into the Bong Song at the base of Hill 975 if necessary, although I don’t think we’ll get that far. They’ve got to dig in at some point because I don’t think a whole regiment is going to fit into the rabbit holes dug into the sides of 975. Get ready for another salvo of 175s. We may not need the diversion but I’m not taking any chances.”
Fusner handed me the radio handset when I was done talking. I turned my back on the collected group, even though it was too dark and miserably wet to be able to see much of anything about them. I listened to their wet squishy movements as they moved away. There was no need for further commands. The Gunny would have the companies feeding into the path from the river bed, and then filtering into the jungle in organized files for the brutal jungle consuming hump to chase the NVA down from the rear.
The previously planned zone fire mission, firing red bag, was approved and the first rounds on the way before I was able to hear the Ontos again. It was closer, although moving very slow. There had been no small arms fire that I’d detected, which meant that Sugar Daddy and his platoon were as yet unencountered, and that was good news. Sugar Daddy had survived his grandstanding stunt on the bridge, losing two of the three Marines with him, no doubt causing him some grieving guilt if he was still human, but otherwise leaving him physically fit and able to remain in command of his platoon.
Marines swirled in the dark around the Gunny, as he organized them for the attack. The extra radios on the combat net had to be properly distributed to make them an effective advantage. The first rounds of the five-minute artillery barrage started coming in. The hard rain was no buffer to the sound of the big 175 mm round explosions. The jungle shook and the ground seemed to heave with every blast.
“Stay on the combat net,” I ordered Fusner, “and let me know what’s going on at the wall and out at the Ontos. We need to get the Ontos turned around and headed back just as soon as we pass parallel to its position.”
“What does parallel to its position mean?” Fusner asked, standing by my side.
“When we can hear it next to us as we go by, then it’s time to turn it around,” I replied.
Hultzer and Sugar Daddy wouldn’t really know where our force was but the Ontos could be heard so we would know where it was.
I tried to run into the black of the jungle to my direct front but that effort ended in only a few meters. The explosions of the big artillery shells seemed to draw me toward them. Their diversionary cover wouldn’t last for very long. But the jungle was not going to be run through by anybody. I began working my way through the nearly three-foot deep debris, around the currently invisible stands of impenetrable bamboo stands and bumping into and then around the bigger trees holding the main canopy of the jungle above.
Once into the jungle interior, it was good to have the guidance provided by the distant exploding artillery rounds. The direction was straight ahead, but with the wind sweeping the tops of the jungle all over the place, the rain pounding down, and the dead blackness of night, the direction was neither easy nor automatic.
A hard fast and forced walk with bent knees, already fatigued from the run through the mud, drove me forward. I’d heard no shots from the direction of the wall so I presumed that the three FNG lieutenants still lived.
“Turn the Ontos and start it back,” I said to Fusner after a while, “But keep the speed down so it’s not running with only Sugar Daddy’s defensive fires if the NVA figures out what we are up to.”
I felt Nguyen at my side and then ahead of me, clearing what brush he could, bending branches and then moving on when I passed.
“Are they moving along the wall?” I asked Fusner.
I’d thought about staying right on the radio with the earphone and headset while I moved but then realized there were no orders I could think of to be given to the Marines as we moved, other than the Ontos. Fusner could tell me what was going on.
“Yes, sir, they are,” Fusner said back. “There’s a trail right next to the wall and it is easy-going, according to the lieutenant, sir,” Fusner finished.
MacInerney had managed to get his RTO back which also meant that Jurgens was likely being pushed to his limit when it came to commanding a platoon with three lieutenants surrounding his every move and judging his every action.
“Tell them to move just aside of the path,” I ordered, thinking about how the NVA could so easily mine or place booby traps along such an easy access.
“I told them, sir,” Fusner said, “but nobody is answering on Jurgens or the lieutenant’s frequency.”
There was nothing further I could do. I moved forward with Nguyen’s clearing help. I’d had no food since the day before and my water supply was running low. I’d stripped off my extra canteens for the run, and I knew I’d be dehydrated by the time we got back to those supplies if those supplies were still there.
Bamboo vipers didn’t hunt at night, so there were some benefits to the long slogging attack and the mosquito population, usually so prevalent during night hours, had gone wherever the vipers spent their nighttime hours. The wind was noisy, scary but also refreshing, as it blew the falling rain coming down against every part of my body. The heat, generally so oppressive, was lowered to a tolerable, almost comfortable level.
I knew I was nowhere near the most advanced party in making my way toward the enemy’s rear, as I could hear the movement of other Marines ahead of me off to both sides. The Marines who’d survived in the valley for long periods of time were in unbelievable physical condition. All wiry, thin and tough as nails when it came to humping heavy loads or gutting through tough fast movements like the one we were on. The Ontos continued to run through gears and engine revolution changes off to my right, no longer dropping away in distance. If all things went as planned, then the Ontos would arrive near the inlet stream, or just short of it, at the same time the main elements of both companies did. The presence of those six barrels pointing right at the enemy would be intimidating, at the very least.
It felt good to keep moving, as the fear level dropped inside me, as I moved. There was no logical reason for that drop in terror because at some point we had to make contact with the enemy regiment in front of us. There’d been no reports at all from the scant rearguard we’d mounted, just to make sure that we had not somehow ended up in front of instead of behind the NVA sapper regiment, and that was a relief, the closer we got to Hill 975.
I was relieved to hear the first small arms fire, radiating back through the windy rainy jungle in front of me. The small arms fire was instantly identifiable as M-60 fire, which was also somewhat satisfying. The enemy was there, in front of us, and we were Marines on the attack once more.
<<<<<< The Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>>
One more time my internet connection obliterated a longer note to you about what I have experienced in this last segment. The short of it was: pack of howling mad understrength Marine Rifle Companies chasing a NVA Regiment in the middle of a stormed soaked night. And you did a fine job of writing because it is completely belieavable though a work of self professed fiction. Yahoo
I guess we were pretty seasoned and tough down in that death valley of place. The Marines around me
were also a bit experienced in trying to deal with a situation where they had totally superior firepower
and supply while being totally outnumbered and also fighting on territory the enemy lived on and below.
Semper fi, brother Poppa…
Jim
James I can’t believe I’ve been following this gripping story for three years, seems like it’s only been 27 days. It’s a story worth telling and more important worth readying.
Wonderful comment Jimmy and I really appreciate the compliments so neatly expressed.
Semper fi,
Jim
I get the distinct impression that you and Gunny had a love/hate relationship going. I’m sure you know by now that he knew that if you couldn’t survive the first few days in combat he would continue to be the man in charge of what, by the time you arrived, were ‘his’ Marines. I hope you can appreciate that he had been unable to work with you in a training environment. That is where senior NCO’s get the opportunity to help ‘mold’ a young officer. I can see that he was trying to guide you by kicking you in the butt, making you make decisions even if he overrode them occasionally, and let you make your own rep with the Marines in the company.
In this segment I think when he was speaking with authority around the new officers he may have not been trying to be ‘in charge’ so much as trying to let the shave tails know that You were in charge, and he as the Gunny was backing you.
Officer development by NCO’s was something I grew up with and trained my subordinate NCO’s to do, during my 20 years of service. There is a fine line of training and insubordination in a non combat situation. I’m sure that in combat a good officer, especially a young one, would overlook that fine line and take the advice in whatever manner it may be delivered. You obviously did, you are writing about it. You were learning as you were surviving as well. And you were passing on your own lessons, as you attempted to help Captain Carruthers understand the situation, think, lead and survive.
I’ve been reading this account since the beginning and even though your Jr. NCO’s piss me off, Gunny is a lot like what I would liked to have been in that same situation. He was combat hardened, cared for his Marines and probably cared a lot about your survival, as well as his own.
Great writing. Looking forward to more of it.
Sometimes the depth of reading that some of the men and women do on here astounds me, and also goes into areas that I have to give more thought to.
I wrote the sequence between the Gunny and I, for example, without a thought that it might be the feature piece of the whole segment. It was not to
me as I wrote it and I depend upon you here to let me know. I am surprised a lot, by the way. There was not time or conditions for deep contemplative
thought while I was in it, by the way, so it is really interesting to read it here, by some considerable intellects such as yourself. Thank you most
sincerely…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sir again a very riveting chapter, and reminds me of a book I read while at hospital corps school 83, The Dark Green Valley, was that your AO
Yes, earlier the valley was referred to as the dark green valley because of the deep green growth
up at the tops of the canyon walls and the matted dark green jungle that covered its bottom.
Semper fi, and thanks for the compliment.
Jim
Hey, Strauss,
Yes, I’m still here, as from the very beginning when the steel door slammed down. I’m just a lot farther back in the column now as befits my NIC (Never in country) status. I marvel at the number of shot up, shot at, still suffering, still scared, and physically and mentally scarred Vets this book of yours has flushed from the undergrowth of boxed up memories. I think we’ll both admit there just a smattering of them at first, not really believing, or wanting to believe that you were the “real deal”. Reading the comments has always been an integral part of the book, but the level of investment by these readers has crescendo-ed as the end of the thirty days draws near. You have selected some excellent posts by several of these guys to drill down to the gut level of the rank and file readership.
And now, finally here near the end, I have found my own character! I am Lieutenant No Name! Without doubt, I would have been the scared-est, dumbest, brown bar ever to stumble into a war zone. I can just hear my unspoken but screaming-inside-my-head muttering of disbelief: “But, I’m an Engineer! I don’t know shit about whatever it is that’s going on here!” I”m hot sure how I’m going to handle it now when I found out how I died.
Write on,
Semper Fi,
John Conway, Lt No Name
And hence your comment is up on the Facebook pages, because of you and the content and the care you bring to this page and this effort.
Semper fi,
My friend,
Jim
Thanks for another great read Sir.
Much appreciate the compliment and the support you lend by writing it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
“Some of those enlisted men men will be dying for you tonight. In the future you might want to refer to them as Marines ,now shut up .” I have never seen a better couple of sentences .
Thank you Michael. I wasn’t thinking when I wrote that section of the segment, I was just running on rote memory of how things were.
Much appreciate the strength of your compliment, however…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jergens is still fighting for himself and his marine’s but he knows he owes you. Sometimes you just need to work with the devil.
Yes, Jurgens was all of the devil kind of thing, but then the situation we were in was a whole lot closer to hell than heaven,
or even purgatory! Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Really can’t add to the numerous comments regarding the work James. You just keep coming up with outstanding narration of your story and the story of the young Marines you were commanding. BZ Sir!
Thanks for making the attempt here Chuck. Your presence is noted and that helps, no matter what you do or do not add. Your compliment is most welcome.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m mirroring Chuck’s comments. Have been with you since the beginning of this oddessy. Anything I’d add would be redundant.
Semper Fi James!
Thanks Tom, Chuck is a great man to allow to lead…
Semper fi,
Jim
Combat Teaches u by killing you… nicely put Lt.
MEarly
It is a brutal saying but it is also brutally true.
Thanks for the comment M…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey Lt. just finished reading the last two chapters of this saga of your’s. While I, as do most of your readers, marvel at your ability to relate what you and your men struggle through, I find myself still intrigued with the relationship between you and the Gunny. Am I wrong in sensing a slight shift in that coming to the fore? Truly find myself completely engrossed in the events at hand and am still learning about and from them. Take care Lt.
The relationship I had with the Gunny evolved, as you have noticed, and I was hard put to
ever figure out where he really was with me and with the Marines. He had no real friends in the
company and took no one into his personal life, including me. Thanks for asking and thanks for commenting on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, you have kept your audience so captivated with the detail of your writing, that we all feel right there with you.
The cave, the leeches, the drums, the Skyraiders, the smell of the mud, all stimulate our senses as we read your first hand account.
Also, we all know one constant about your story – you survived to tell it. Besides that, we don’t know how the rest of your Marines make it through the last few days of September. Even though this happened many years ago, I’m still praying that you all made it out alive.
In a world that idolizes people for their abilities, you found a way to keep men alive. I am not a Vet, but I would like to give you a very heart felt SALUTE! 🇺🇸
No one is more sorry than I that, no, we did not all make it out of the valley, which most have figured out by now.
Thanks for the salute and I return it stiffly and formally but with warm friendship.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT,
The elements, Mud, more mud, hills, more hills, jungle, more jungle, Monsoon season and all the misery that goes with it,,,,in addition to some folks trying to kill you or you kill them,,,War is nasty, dirty, mean, and never predicable.
Love this book you are writing.
Night work is not easy nor looked forward to but sometimes stuff happens and you do what you have to do.
Bring it LT!
Chris Culifer
Thanks for the encouragement and the compliments Chris, sa it keeps me going on this wet and muddy morning here
Semper fi,
Jim
Sitting on our back porch now as the bands from Dorian come rolling in brings perspective to the plight. Trying to describe the insistent rain and mud to others is difficult for them to grasp. Much less peering into the dark looking for movement ahead. Once again thanks for sharing yours and others experience during this time.
Funny how the association with disaster brings back combat memories. That happened to me on 9/11, the night after.
Anyway, I hope all goes well for you with the hurricane that refuses to come ashore, which is great news, in spite of
the wind and rain. Thanks for taking the time to read my books during the wait…
Semper fi,
Jim
Excellent is the only word I have. Thanks for your efforts in writing this down and I do hope it helps with the emotions. It has for me.
Thanks Eric. Yes, indeed, it is therapeutic for me too, well, most of it anyway.
Some is harder than others….thanks for caring and writing about it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks Jim, for your hard work getting each chapter out, and for your dedication “back in the day”!
You are most welcome Joseph. I am working away at it to the best of my ability, and with the help of
the men and women writing away on here to give support and great compliments.
Thanks!
Semper fi,
Jim
“Only” four weeks in the valley but look at how much you’ve changed voluntarly or not as you note the lack of awareness of the real situation in the three FNG LTs., and reflect on that !!!
Also noted the remark from the Gunny about the loss of previous officers. Hmmm..?? !!
Thanks for pounding out another captivating chapter is so short a period of time Jim.
SEMPER fi
Thanks Sgt. I don’t much notice the change although I feel it inside me, as this works to the end.
Thanks for pointing that out and also for the compliments in your comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter. As I read I get confused about your locations to the enemy and plan of attack. You said the ontos was on your right. That’s when I knew I was confused. When you get this final book in print maybe you could help guys like me by adding some basic diagrams of your movements along the river. I get confused. My confusing has nothing to do with your wry. It’s me and trying to follow the excitement of the action you present so we’ll. But I’m I simple guy who’d benefit from a basic drawing of you movement along the river. Thanks Keep them coming.
When we turned back north to come up behind where we thought the enemy was, that put the Ontos on my right over by the river,
headed back north on our western flank. thanks for following and trying to figure it all out…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great read James…I had to stop and catch my breath from running through the jungle with you…you do know how to put us right there in the middle of it all…thanks for the quick turnaround…I still fear Hill 975…and what will be there…
Yes, Hill 975 seemed to be the middle of everything down at that end of the valley. Thanks for the compliment in your words, as well…
Semper fi,
Jim
My old combat eye see’s what your story is telling us. Your voice is in all of our heads and hearts. Stay strong these next few chapters.
I am on it Marlin, working away to get one segment out after another now.
Thanks for the support and the care…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for another great chapter, James.
I’m glad the other guys here help you edit: I appear to be useless at detecting the errors. I am so intensely involved in your story I read only what you meant to write. Typos, punctuation errors, whatever—none of that stuff appears to me! In fact, I am dumbfounded when I read the comments I didn’t notice these things. I am normally picky! When I read your work, I am totally in another world where that stuff just doesn’t matter. Only great writing can do that.
I also go into another world in the writing. I am there on the other screen right now and I had to pull out as I was in too deep. The end of the third part of the first of the story
is near and it draws me. Thanks for the great comment and I also miss the edits.
I re-read and I swear its clean copy and then a DanC comes along and nails five or ten obvious errors!
Say what?
Semper fi,
Jim
LT you have me feeling wet, muddy and out of breath right with you, as always!
Thanks Mike S, you have been along for quite some time. I am happy that the story and the writing still ‘holds’ on to you.
Hard for the real deal guys not to be drawn in and react, I know.
Semper fi, my old friend,
Jim
I’ve read the comments and appears all corrections have been addressed.
Another great on-the-edge-of-my-seat read James! As usual, you write with searing clarity of Junior’s physical and mental condition and the elements he’s forced to endure.
I’m exhausted. And having read this installment right after the latest chapter of Yakuza, I’m gonna need a drink! I will avoid the temptation when/if any future notice containing new chapters of both novels to read both in the same day!
You have me hooked
Thanks,
Jim
Hey Jim, thanks for the great comment. Yes, I race back and forth between the two novels
and it is quite something. Yakuza has more fiction in it so it is more difficult to conceptualize
while 30 days is more difficult emotionally….
Semper fi,
Jim
Great again!
Thanks H. Kemp. You are not an easy audience either, I know. High compliment from you!
Semper fi,
Jim
James, this is one book that needs to be a movie so others can feel and see what we did over there.
Awaiting your next posting!
Bob U.
I don’t think Hollywood will ever touch this.
Too raw, too racial, too violent and too real especially all the stuff about friendly fire.
But thanks, I know you meant that as a deeply sincere compliment…
and also, I don’t think the military would lend any of its equipment to the movie effort!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
Skip Hellywird, Mel Gibson?
I think Mel made his signature Vietnam movie already and also, you don’t just contact those people.
There is no way to reach Mel at all, unless someone was really close to him and brought it to his attention,
which isn’t likely. The stars don’t want new stuff put in front of them almost at all…just the way it is…
Thanks for the good thoughts though,
Semper fi,
Jim
“Jurgens”, I said… fire only forward because (we’re) not going….
…but had not drawn it from its (holster).
You are putting a real page-turner together!
Floyd (91B4P)
Thanks, Floyd.
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
Now I have another reason to not want September to end.
Thank you, Sir, for another intense chapter.
Great way to phrase a great compliment Paul and you have my deep thanks…
Semper fi,
Jim
I think this would make a great movie
Thanks Kevin, but it’s not likely. Hollywood is not quite that controversial and the
military would not be likely to lend any equipment to the effort…
Appreciate that though…
Semper fi,
Jim
I look forward to each new installment, and plan to purchase the book so I can read it all again from beginning to end