I moved across the surface of the mud, with what was left of my scout team just ahead. Fusner and Nguyen trailed just behind. We crawled low, the light of the day beginning to die and provide some sort of camouflage, if not cover. The Ontos lay ahead, sitting like a big solid Sphinx of a thing it so didn’t resemble, but could be imagined to be in the bad light. The Gunny was already there, as I came around the side of the Ontos’s right track edge. I noted immediately that the six recoilless rifles of the armored machine were directed off at an angle back toward where the jungle was heaviest on our side of the river. The river’s rush blocked out what sound might have otherwise penetrated the area, only the overpowering beat and thunder of Skyraider propellers got through. But they were on their last run with the coming of the night, I knew. The Skyraiders were not equipped to fight effectively in the dark, at least not to provide the kind of pinpoint support an infantry company like our own had to have.
The mist had converted itself back into a hard rain, and the leech population had approved. I realized I’d picked up some more ‘friends’ when the pain of the previous wounds on my torso lessened. The new leeches were leaking a deadener into my damaged skin surfaces, acting more like symbiotes than the parasites they truly were. It was a bad deal, I thought grimly, trying to adjust myself to some position of partial comfort on the mudflat. I was uncomfortable but it was okay for the time being.
I crawled forward, sloughing my way through the top layer of watery mud, swirling loosely atop the deeper harder mud base of the river’s wide-flattened edge. The rain was ceaseless, and beat down upon my helmet like God was playing me as some sort of weird percussion instrument. I slithered around the back edge of the Ontos’s right track and then along the distance of its right side. The Ontos was facing the river directly and it took a few labored seconds to get all the way to the front of the track. The mechanical beast vibrated its dangerous existence through the mud, to let me know it was alive and idling, waiting to deliver whatever kind of awful death needed to be delivered.
The problem we faced was one that seemed to be a dilemma without a possible solution, given the tools and conditions at hand. The Ontos had to go with us if we were to cross the river, survive and keep the NVA from pursuing us. We had to cross the river because our welcome had worn so thin that the Gunny and I both knew we could not possibly survive the night, much less the next day, or longer, where we were. I lay in the mud, looking out over toward what I couldn’t really see well, but knew was there in front of me. The heaping waters of the fast-moving river, encountering the poorly laid portable bridge, shown shadowy white, as the moving water burst out over its surface. The river’s rush, and the rain coming down on my helmet, prevented me hearing the crashing sound the plunging water had to be making.
Another sound penetrated through all the rest, but it was felt rather than heard. The drums. The NVA had remounted their drums, probably up on top of the cliff to our rear, and the drums were intent on sending their message of doom. The Mexicans had played the Deguello outside the Alamo until it had fallen. Twenty-four hours a day. The effect had to have been similar to what I was feeling now, from the drums varying, but never-ending, vibrations of evil.
DRUMS
I knew Nguyen was just behind me and was surprised when he surged forward to pull himself up to view the river from right next to my shoulder. I turned my head but didn’t see Nguyen. It was Gunny. He stared outward like I had been doing, looking for something that might offer a solution to our life or death problem. I waited, hoping he’d see something, anything, but he just continued to wait and stare.
I looked back over my shoulder, feeling the achy sting of the voracious leech bites when I moved. The smell of the river was a relief from the fetid aroma of the jungle, mixed in with tendrils of sweetly sour stuff coming up from the mud. I felt that if I could just get clear of all of it, stand on some high rock somewhere naked, the rain would wash me clean, but I knew that was not to be.
Some small arms fire opened up from downriver, but I couldn’t see the tracks of any tracers, although the body of the Ontos blocked most of my view in that direction.
“Can’t stay here long, Junior,” the Gunny cautioned, needlessly, from my right.
I pulled myself forward until I was able to see around the right front track edge of the Ontos. I reached up with my left hand to find enough purchase to raise my torso so I could peer over a slight berm that lay between our position and the jungle, where the enemy fire had to be coming from. I knew, unless the A-6 Intruder was somewhere above us, that there would be no air support in the night. I called back along the edge of the Ontos for Fusner, and was surprised when I heard his reply come upward from someplace under the Ontos.
“Yes, sir,” came his muted response.
“Front and center, Corporal,” I ordered, wanting him out from under the armored vehicle, just as fast as I could get him out of there..
The Ontos could only rotate its turret thirty degrees in either direction. That meant that to aim the 106 recoilless rifles beyond that short arc, the Ontos would have to turn using its tracks. The last time we’d had the same problem, the crew had been able to release and reset two pins, allowing the turret to be rotated and set to swivel in a different thirty-degree arc, but the pins, once the turret was returned to battery, dropped and sealed into place. There would be no removing them from the thick armored metal without heavy duty drilling or torch equipment, and there was none fo that available in the valley, or even anything close. The left track since it would have to power the turn, would churn in reverse while the right would be moving forward. It was the only way the Ontos could turn left to face incoming fire if the driver and gunner felt it necessary, like if the .50 came back online. If the Ontos turned with Fusner underneath it then his remains might never be found, as they’d be so deeply ground into the mud.
Fusner surfaced and crawled around the right track to get to me. I ordered him to call in air support if we could get it. Whatever effort we made to get across the river would have a much higher chance of success if the enemy was either wholly or partially distracted by being forced to try to burrow back underground to survive.
I was about to let go of whatever I’d grabbed on the front of the Ontos when I felt the bar in my hand give and sway. I pulled and released, then grabbed the bar and pulled again. It took a few seconds for me to realize I’d grabbed onto a link of heavy chain. I moved to the front of the machine and ran my hands back and forth across the swinging arc of the chain. The front of the Ontos was covered in chain, but I’d never paid enough attention to notice. I slunk back down in order to avoid being a target, although the small arms fire from the jungle had abated. I stared out across the short distance toward the gray whiteness of the water rising up and then cascading down from the front area of the bridge.
I laid down flat on my stomach and eased over where the Gunny still lay, unmoving.
“How much can it pull?” I asked, in a heavy whisper, although there was no one to hide anything from.
“How much can what pull?” the Gunny replied, not whispering at all.
“The Ontos?” I said.
“How much can the Ontos pull?” the Gunny repeated, more to himself than to me. “How in hell would I know? It’s a tracked vehicle with some pretty low gears for getting out of tough situations. I’d imagine it could probably pull ten or twenty tons, depending on whether what you want to be towed was on wheels or not.”
I lay thinking. The idea had come out of nowhere. I’d held the chain in my hand and it was like it had spoken to me.
“The bridge,” the Gunny said, whispering loudly this time.
“Yeah, if we got enough chain,” I replied.
I smiled in the night, at about how quick the Gunny was. He’d figured out my plan as I had been developing it. If we could pull the bridge the rest of the way across the river then there might be a chance.
The Gunny moved, climbing to his knees, before calling Nguyen forward to help him. Nguyen was there like he’d been hovering above, just waiting to be dropped in when invited. Both men moved to the front of the Ontos and began to work the chain loose from the Ontos.
It took several minutes for them to get it free. I spent the time getting closer to Fusner and listening to his dialogue on the air radio. The back and forth went on for what seemed like a long time, although I doubted it was more than a few minutes. I didn’t need to wait for Fusner to tell me the result. The tenor of the conversation had been all one way. There would be no Puff, no A-6 Intruder, or any of that. Air Support was down for the night. The artillery 175’s could reach us, as I’d called them in before, but with us on the gun target line, fully exposed, receiving red bag rounds was more likely to assure that the company would be fully wiped out more quickly and effectively than if the looming NVA regiment was confronted in direct engagement.
“There’s enough, I think,” the Gunny said, moving low, back to my position flat on the mud. “I think the Ontos might be able to pull the bridge but I’m not sure, and then there’s the problem of the other end. If we pull too much then won’t the other end be caught by the current and swing around and over to our side?”
It was a rhetorical question, I knew. There was no way to know what might happen when the chain was attached and physical events were brought to their own conclusion.
“Getting it across…” I began, but the Gunny cut me off.
“We use a light line,” he said. “There’s one inside the Ontos, but somebody’s got to swim it over, and then pull the end of the heavy chain up onto the body of the bridge.”
My mind went instantly to the alligator I’d encountered earlier out in the center of the river. That one had gotten quickly dead, but there had to be a whole lot more lying down at the bottom of the rushing water waiting for prey. I also knew there was nobody else to make the swim whom I would trust, and I longingly wanted the cleanliness that the fast-moving water would provide, along with the cooling effect I knew it would have on me. I wasn’t worried a bit about going upriver, diving in to swim and then encounter the end of the bridge as I was being whisked downriver. I also wasn’t worried about getting up on the bridge from the water either. There were plenty of holds and torn away line segments left from previous crossings to alleviate that concern. Getting the chain pulled across and then up onto the flat deck was going to be a problem, however. It was heavy and the current was powerful. I mentioned the situation to the Gunny.
“Nguyen,” the Gunny replied. “Once the line is there, instead of pulling the chain we send Nguyen hand over hand using the line to join you. Both of you together should be able to manage it.”
My relief at hearing the solution was palpable and my breathing slowed, as I began to strip my uniform off. Nguyen I trusted. I also wondered why I had not thought of such a simple and effective resolution. I stayed close to the Ontos, realizing that my white skin would stand out in the night with the rain glistening its way down from the top of my head to my feet. I wasn’t going into the river with my uniform on. That was a recipe for suicide if the slightest thing went wrong. As soon as I was down to my underwear I pulled my boots off. I didn’t want to lose the boots but I could not swim with boots on. I had to count on Fusner to protect what I was leaving behind. My confidence was high, although the .45 Colt I’d promised never to be parted from again lay folded up in its holster inside my blouse, giving me a bit of uncomfortable pause. I would be basically naked and unarmed for the whole operation.
I was about to take the end of the line the Gunny was holding out when Nguyen grabbed me. He began rubbing the worst kind of river mud all over my body. The mud was so awful the rain didn’t wash it away, and the rancid smell of it was terrible. I had to keep blinking my stinging eyes, and breathing through my mouth. The Gunny gave up trying to hand me the line, instead squatted down to tie it about my waist.
“Hope we have enough rope, Junior,” he offered, the tone of his voice not at all convincing. “If you don’t make it on the first go around we’ll pull you in and you can try again.”
I didn’t answer, instead began moving upriver, staying as low as I could while still making good speed. I didn’t have far to go. The rope around my waist went taut after about forty meters. That distance upriver would have to do. Nguyen stayed right with me until I was ready. Without warning, I sprang fully erect, ran the few steps to the river’s edge and dived in. I didn’t go deep. The current was just too great. I flopped onto the surface of the water, and then was grabbed by it and dragged away. The speed of my travel was frightening. I didn’t have time to swim at all. I could only reach out as the end of the bridge seemed to rocket by. I caught a bit of ragged old rope right at the very last second when I thought for sure I would fail and be making a second attempt. My right arm was almost pulled from its socket, but I held on, the water tossing me back and forth, and then up and down. I held on for dear life, finally gaining enough strength to pull myself into the lee of the current behind the side of the bridge structure. I fought to find purchase on the metal edges and against the downpour of white rushing water. I was worried about cutting my bare feet up, but I made it up without injury. I got aboard the bridge and lay flat, gasping huge amounts of air, in and out of my lungs. I stayed flat on my back until I could roll over. I looked down at my body. I was totally white again. The river had taken the mud off like it had been a mere layer of water-color paint. If I stood I would become fairly visible, depending upon range. Laying there, I pulled the line firm, and jerked on it three times, before untying it from my waist and securing five loops and using a couple of half-hitches, around a nearby stanchion.
I lay and watched the water where the bent rope was dragged to form an arc by the downriver current. I could see nothing of the shore. The wait was short, however. Nguyen came across the water almost atop the rope, moving more like a giant water spider than a human. I didn’t have to help him, as he leaped upward and seemed to fly onto the surface of the bridge and catch hold unaided. We lay together, side by side. I wondered if I would ever be around a man like Nguyen again, attached to me in his strange way, in whatever I might have left as the existence in life if I was to have a life. The thought of my own mortality jarred me into action. I grabbed the rope and began pulling. Nguyen joined me on the other side of the line. We pulled slowly but strongly, feeling the weight of the chain, along with the jarring jerky resistance the current induced. The oscillating grew worse as the end of the chain came closer.
I finally saw the end of the chain surface and move toward us. I was relieved to see a D-ring shackle attached to the first link. I had begun to worry about securing the chain to the bridge, but the D-ring changed everything. The stanchion I’d used to tie off the rope had to be welded solidly to the bridge structure, possibly it could to take the kind of load we were about to put on it, but there was no guarantee.
Working as hard as we could, and trying not to have our hands lacerated by the bouncing jerking chain, Nguyen and I were able to get it wrapped once around the stanchion with some difficulty. While I held on for dear life, Nguyen unscrewed the shackle-bar and then inserted it between the first link and one further down. In seconds, the loop of the chain was secured. Only then did it occur to me that we had no communications with the Gunny, or Fusner, or anyone in the company, and they could not see what we had done. We waited together, but nothing happened.
I looked at Nguyen and nodded with a frown. There was nothing to be done for it, we had to use the chain to get back across to tell them the chain was on, but there was no sense risking both of us. I pointed at myself, and then the chain, and then across the water into the night. I crouched, slithered outward and went down the chain head first on the upriver side of it. The water secured me to the bouncing chain so solidly that I knew I wasn’t going to be torn loose, but moving down the chain, while still keeping my head above water proved difficult. After a few seconds, I relaxed, however. The cool water rushing over me was finally having the effect I’d wanted so badly. I was cool. I was clean and it seemed, at least as long as I clung to the chain, that I was safe. The going became easier as I slowed and got closer to the shore.
The Gunny and Fusner grabbed me and pried me loose from the chain.
“Nguyen?” the Gunny asked, looking out in the wet night toward where the bridge had to be.
Rather than respond, I crawled to the side of the Ontos, and worked to get my uniform back on, relieved that everything was just as I’d left it. I strapped the .45 to my waist and got my boots on. Each move gave me more comfort, although it also distanced me from the wonderful cooling freedom I’d enjoyed while in the grip of the river’s current. When I was done I went back down to a low crouching position.
“Nguyen’s on the bridge,” I said. “I told him to stay there and wait, or at least I think I told him that.”
“Let’s see if this thing’s going to work,” the Gunny said. “I let the men inside know about what we’re up to. None of them could tell me anything about our prospects.”
The Gunny moved to the back of the Ontos and worked on something. I checked out the attachment of the chain to the front of the Ontos. The vehicle had a huge ring welded to the very center of its hull. Nothing could have served as a better attachment point for the chain. Slowly the chain pulled up from the mud, as the Ontos clattered into gear and ground it’s way backward. The chain grew taut. Soon the chain was so taut that the part I could see was a straight line into the night. The Ontos stopped, although its small engine continued to roar. Nothing more happened.
“Can’t do it?” I asked, turning back to face the Gunny.
“Wait,” the Gunny replied, blowing out smoke from a cigarette he’d somehow found time to light.
He took two more hits from the cigarette before anything happened.
The Ontos moved backward very slowly, the movement so slow it seemed almost imperceptible.
“Mud,” the Gunny said, laconically.
Slowly the Ontos continued to move, faster and faster until it stopped again. I turned to the river, and then got to my hands and knees and crawled forward, feeling the enemy drums beats come up through my hands once more, and regretting the mud that I was again covering myself with. I crawled until I ran into the edge of the bridge, noting in amazement that the body of the thing had plunged slightly downward, as it had likely encountered some eaten-out portion of the bank. The Ontos would be able to drive right on board.
I crabbed myself backward to where Fusner waited, got my pack on and prepared for the crossing. One of Jurgens’ Marines came running up to tell me that the Gunny was holding a command post meeting. I thought the use of the phrase strange, as formalities had all but disappeared in the combat at the bottom of the A Shau. I kept my pack on but headed a bit upriver to where the Gunny was squatting and waiting for me to appear. I got down and pulled my helmet off, the rain now light enough to not be such a torturing bother on my skull, and wanting to hear what it was the Gunny had to say.
“Junior’s plan is for the company to cross the bridge first, and then set up a base of fire up and down on the far bank,” the Gunny said, while Sugar Daddy, Jurgens and then I, crouched in front of him. “There are still plenty of fox holes left over there so we shouldn’t have to dig in. Kilo crosses last, leaving it to us to make sure they have plenty of protection to make it on such an exposed run. The Ontos crosses right after us and before Kilo, to add to the base of fire from the far side.”
I was surprised at the plan, particularly the part about where it was seemingly my idea, since I’d gotten used to being the one to deliver my plans to everyone around. I was also a bit uncomfortable that the plan seemed too smoothly set up and delivered like the details had been pre-planned earlier. A tingling sensation stayed with me when the men broke apart. The plan sounded good, almost too good.
“What was that?” I asked the Gunny, once everyone was gone, preparing to make the crossing.
“What was what?” he asked, getting his pack on with the assistance of his own radioman.
“Why isn’t the Ontos crossing first, and then everyone just following as fast as they possibly can?” I asked.
“The enemy knows what we’re doing,” the Gunny said. “There’s no small arms fire anymore because they’re getting ready to attack. The NVA figured out what we’re up to and they’re coming, and right now.”
The Gunny turned and loped off toward the bridge without another word. His pronouncement that the NVA was coming had instantly brought my own fear bubbling up from the abyss where it had been waiting all along. Something was wrong, but whatever it was didn’t register on me. I ran toward the bridge and to escape to the other side, closing fast on the Gunny’s back. Fusner ran with me, Nguyen joining in as we ran by. I was happy to see the Montagnard, yet sorry that I hadn’t had another thought about him being left alone on the bridge since I’d left him.
The run across the bridge was without incident, except for the six-foot jump down onto the surface of the far bank once we were across. The mud and sand softened the fall, but once again, I was covered in mud and debris when I got back up. The platoons crossed and spread out, as the Gunny had laid down in presenting ‘my’ plan, although going back down on the jungle matting and wet surface of the more substantial ground beneath me, allowed the tingling feeling that something was wrong to rise again to the surface. I heard the Ontos. It creaked along, invisible at the other end of the bridge until it was more than halfway across. It slowly came across out of the night. Near the end of the bridge, where the drop-off was too severe to allow it to continue, the machine stopped. I noted that the crew had turned the armored vehicle around before they’d come onto the bridge, so that the flechette-loaded recoilless rifles pointed back toward the other side of the river.
Small arms fire on the other side started almost immediately, with green tracers streaming up from the downriver part of the jungle. Taking in the scene, marginally illuminated by the tracer fire, the situation came together in my mind. The Ontos could not traverse to fire at that part of the jungle where the firing came from. The supporting fires the company had set up on our side could not see across the river to provide fire support of almost any kind. The Ontos could not complete its journey until some sort of short supporting structure could be built to support its descent to the bank below. And the Ontos was blocking the end of the bridge, quite effectively, for the Marines in Kilo Company who would be attempting to run across and around it.
“You son of a bitch,” I whispered, my voice so low nobody could hear.
The Gunny was sacrificing Kilo to save our own company and the Ontos. Not only that, he’d known what he was doing, as had Jurgens and Sugar Daddy when he’d laid down what he’d called ‘my’ plan.
I got up and ran downriver, in the direction the Gunny had taken. I ran calling his name out loud. I got more than thirty meters before I was pulled down.
“Shut up, Junior, you’re just making a target of yourself,” the Gunny whispered intently into my right ear, while his hand pushed harshly down over my mouth.
I relaxed, as best I could, breathing deeply through my nose until the Gunny’s hand eased away.
“What have you done?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.
“There was no other way,” the Gunny replied. “The Ontos has to stay on station to prevent the NVA from crossing. Most of the guys from Kilo should make it. What did you want me to do, sacrifice the company instead, or maybe everyone?”
“Why didn’t we all just cross immediately?” I replied, trying to control my voice.
The NVA .50 caliber opened up, firing enfilade fire up from the jungle and straight along the line of the river, sweeping across the bank of the far side. I saw the stream of the green stuttering line before I heard the steady staccato roar of the thing.
“How are they supposed to get through that?” I said, my voice rising again.
“I don’t know,” the Gunny said, refusing to look me in the eyes.
“We’ve got to do something,” I said, finally watching while the enemy had to be inflicting massive losses on Kilo.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my shoulders slumping, trying to will the .50 to stop firing.
The drums beat, their sound now able to be heard as the rain had lifted somewhat, the sound of the drums and the drumming of the .50. The running abandoned Marines of Kilo had to be taking a terrible terminal beating.
DRUMS
“Because you’d still be over there, and dead,” the Gunny replied.
“What can we do?” I asked, but the Gunny was gone.
Fusner looked at me, as did Nguyen, as if I might have some magical plan to save Kilo, but I had nothing. I stared into the green tracer-tarnished night. There were no yellow tracers being fired from our side of the river. There was no point. I shivered, experiencing a kind of pain I’d never felt before. It went beyond and right through the cloying ache of white-hot fear that had once more risen to paralyze and terrify me, to the point where I didn’t think I could handle it anymore.
<<<<<< The Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>>
Had to back track to get this one. That Onto had a Chevrolet 327 engine in it I think, I didn’t know how it could pull a bridge back across a river with out the river pulling everything in it. Someone was watching over y’all. God bless you Lt..
Our Ontos was a six cylinder, although I have read that they made a modified model with a 361 cubic inches Chrysler engine
.The beidge has somehow wedges itself into the bottom of the river and even the sapper explosion did not pry it loose. It was like
the heavy current was pressing it into place. And we did have someone watching over us…
Thanks for the comment,
Semper fi,
Jim
Man alive now it is crystal clear why it was taking you so long to get this up. Thanks for all you are doing to get this down for all to see. Some how I ended up reading the next installment before this one.
Yes, there was Zippo and then Kilo and the tough nature of trying to come to terms with myself and what I might or might not be.
I was also beginning to lose myself and home was becoming more distant. Thanks for noting what you noted and the compliments inherent in your writing on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
now I see why you had so much trouble writing this, my brother in law came back broken, after his tour, he was wounded twice and could never talk to me about it, now I am starting to understand why, God Bless you Jim
Yes, I had trouble breaking through this part of the book. I am better now and off and running. Next segment up on Wednesday.
Semper fi, and thanks for the help along the way…
Jim
When your in the shit, you don’t give a lot of thought about the small things. Just getting out of the shit, hopefully, in one piece, pretty well dominates.
On stand down? Yeah, that’s another thing. The small shit seams some of the most important and central bulk of your overloaded brain.
At some point, your friends and their personal sit storm enters your brain but you don’t go searching. The truth, will find you soon enough. maybe too soon and then there is the question of how will you handle it.
Missed you Brother.
No more accurate words can be written that describe the situations in combat. That I was able to finally think analytically at all about solutions
amazing me to this day. The Gunny too, although we went at it completely differently and certainly without a lot of love for one another…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, how difficult would it have been to order the Ontos to back up off the bridge, traverse the turret toward the NVA .50, fire and at the same time send Kilo across the bridge? Or is this not even feasible?
I don’t know Chuck! I was lucky to be able to figure out anything at all in the dark, rain, under fire
and wondering about everything. I am sure there were better or other solutions that I did not come up with
but leaving Kilo the way we did just could not go down that way and allow me to mentally survive…or the Gunny either,
I think.
Semper fi,
Jim
If I had been the NVA commander with at least one 12.7mm machine gun at my disposal I would have made it a priority to turn your Ontos into steel swiss cheese. What was the tactical situation that prevented this?
You obviously are not versed in anti-armor combat Doc.
The armor of an Ontos, body, and turret are a one-half inch of hardened armor place.
The glacis is also angled pretty severely.
A Browning .50 would not penetrate all the way through, much less the Soviet or Chinese .50 variants the sport lessor velocities in their travel. The Browning might have a shot at it, if the distance was less than 200 meters and the bullets used were
American armor piercing…but not likely.
When the .50 bullet hit Zippo it had to pass through a port without real armor.
The other rounds that impacted on the turret barely left scars.
Also, the NVA was terrified of the Ontos and did not want it to fire back.
Whether they knew how or in what degree it could reverse I don’t know.
Thanks for the comment, but you were a little off on this one…
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad you finally got to post another day L T, keep ’em coming !!!
I “grabbed” myself backward to where Fusner waited,… Should be “Crabbed” perhaps ??
Leaving Kilo as trailing cover really sucked and I’m sure you could feel it in your heart.
Combat is so very very unreasonably hard to do and then live with…because you are constantly moving on and trying to rely on damaged memory
about what really happened not five minutes before. It’s night, muzzle flashes taking night vision, high velocity explosions going off nearby
so always partially deaf if not fully deaf…and then there’s the elements and the night and more…and if you live the day or. night through the
aching droop in shoulders, innards and first uplifted spirit and then plunging soulfulness….
Semper fi,
Jim
Amen. Even years later living with “things” can change your day.
What do you think about my edit question?? Should be *crabbed backward ??
I *grabbed myself backward to where Fusner waited, got my pack on and prepared for the crossing.
SEMPER Fi, Jim
Bob D.
Noted and corrected. Thank you again, Sgt Bob.
Semper fi,
Jim
I am glad you found a way to get past this chapter. Of all the previous encounters this was the most harrowing. I can see how sacrificing Kilo for a little more time alive could be an event that would stay with you forever and be a source of conflict looking back at the event.
Jim, my respect for you and all of the others caught in this ordeal continues to grow and is quickly approaching legendary amazement.
I have said it before, and I’ll repeat it again “Thank you for your service”.
Losing Marines was hard, and got harder the longer I stayed…and gets harder with older age, I might add.
I had no idea when I started this odyssey that it would become so emotionally charged or difficult and I would never
ever have guessed that the memories would come surfacing in the kind of detail you read in the story….
Semper if,
Jim
Hard choices. Well worth the wait.
Thanks Buck, your comment means a lot to me…even as short as it was. A compliment and I thank you…
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad to see you’re back at it L T
Good to be back, and the next segment goes up this morning, thanks to people like you.
Never ever ever ever quit…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey LT, I haven’t read or written in a long time. I’m waiting on this book to come out, and then order 2 and 3. I see where you’ve been on a sabbatical, so to speak, and I hope you are doing well. I was in the USAF from 66 to 70, so I have no idea what combat is like. I have so much respect for you guys. I have a lot of combat vets for friends, because of the time frame. When I talk to any of them about my guilt, for the service choice I made, they, to a man, say “are you crazy!” Lol! I guess I’m weird. Please keep up the good work!
Yes, I took an unexpected break. I have now finished the next segment and have decided to put it up tomorrow morning and then write on….
I am on a roll now, off the emotional roller coaster. Thanks for waiting around.
Semper fi,
Jim
The comments made by your readers’ really bring out the intensity and the depth of what you and the Gunny and your men were going through. You have a great talent on reaching and exposing your inner thoughts and feelings to us, your anxious readers. Great work Jim.
Thank you very much Henry. Means a lot to me that men and women are out there actually getting it.
Maybe I am helping more than I know.
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad to see you’re back at it L T
I am, indeed, back at it, as this next segment going up so fast gives evidence for.
I am tickled that so many stayed around to wait…
and thanks for being one them.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, you had a hard row to hoe, for sure. As with others, I begin to see where the Gunny is coming from. He will do damn near anything he can to keep them – and you – alive. And you were (maybe still are?) pretty close to the same.
I will always wonder what the guys in your company did, those that survived to come “home”.
Your writing provokes a lot of introspection, for sure! Many thanks.
Thank you for that ‘introspection’ part of your comment. Too true, and I consider that a compliment from you.
Keeps me going…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great segment and reliving life’s tragic events is never easy..
Couple thoughts/changes..
3rd paragraph when you are “sloughing” through the mud.. maybe “slogging” is better..
then after the Ontos had pulled the bridge across and you had crawled forward to check you have that you “grabbed” back to Fusner.. maybe “crabbed” is better..
Just my 2 cent.. look forward to upcoming segments..
thanks for the help Jon, and you are entirely correct…appreciate the help and the compliment…
semper fi,
Jim
Yes we stood by, carry on. Thanks for coming back as we knew you would in good time. Strong chapter. Keep stomping.
Yes, fast balls across the plate now…at least as long as I can throw them…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wondering if you noticed any weapon Jurgens was carrying at the Command Meeting? If memory serves, this was your first chance to see firsthand. As always….riveting!
The Thompson, of course. Life is so easy to figure out sometimes!!!!
Semper Fidelis, Sir.
My name is GySgt Tom Pinet.
Thank you for this experience..!
I graduated recruit training at MCRD Parris Island in Oct 1977. I would retire in 1999.
Every SSgt and above and every 1stLt and above that I served under were Vietnam Veterans.
Volunteers, Lottery “Winners,” Court Ordered, Foreign born… You name it. I was part of the very beginning of the All Volunteer Force.
I worked directly for two MoH recipients and a plethora of Navy Crosses, Air Medals and V devices.
My respect for you and your Marines contributions to the history of our Corps is sir, profound.
Allow me to share with you a very special, upcoming event.
I have been invited to speak at the 75th Anniversary and Remembrance of the Battle of Anwerp X, the Anti Aircraft Artillery (AAA) defense of the vital Antwerp port facilities against the V-1 BuzzBomb and V-2 Ballistic Missile.
I will be hosted by the town of Putte, Belgium during my stay.
Additionally, my father was a true Volunteer having enlisted in 1939 before the first Selective Service wartime draft.
He served as the personal driver for a Coast Artillery Corps officer who would finish the war a Colonel.
I will meet that Colonel’s grandsons there.
To you Marine… Continue true on your back azimuth. Back to your rendezvous with “the shit…”
“Beware the rocks and shoals, fair winds and following seas.”
Semper Fi,
GySgt Tom Pinet
USMC Retired
Hope a lot of people show up Gunny. You sound like you know your shit and are a good guy to boot!
Thanks for putting your event and remarks up on here for all to see…
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s clear you spent time polishing this segment. Jurgens’ instead of Jurgen’s is the only item I could find.
Floyd
Thanks, Floyd,
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great books, my son bought me “first 10 days and second 10” for my birthday. If I could make a comment about them. He was not in the service, I wondered if you could add a list of terms like LAW and Ontos for people who like reading your books.
Thanks for sharing on here. There will indeed be maps and an index of terminology in the third hard copy book.
GREAT MINDS THINK ALIKE!
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m in awe of your soul, Jim…given the reality of combat you faced, and have described so well. That you continue to write this story, gives every combat veteran strength to carry on. My late Vietnam brother had committed to helping me survive a corporate onslaught and would test my resolve often. He always approached a situation from a combat perspective. One lesson he described had me, himself, and several co-workers (one of which was a union steward whom no one trusted) hunkered down in a hole, so to speak. Suddenly an enemy grenade lands in the center of the hole and with only seconds to act he asks ” What do you do, little brother?” I wasn’t proud of my answer, ” I’d throw that union sumbitch on the grenade and pray hell the rest of us survive!” He glared at me more fiercely than ever before. I was convinced my answer had broken our bond. When he finally spoke he said, ” most people will never know that in combat the surest way to get killed is not self-sacrifice! The surest way to get killed is to forget that “attrition” is death’s best friend! Your answer, lil brother says you’re willing to sacrifice others in order to survive. What matters is not that you sacrificed someone else, it’s that you thought you’d somehow spare yourself or the others as a result! You see, attrition touches us all lil brother…. be it physically, mentally, or spiritually. You just do what you can to delay the inevitable!”
The Gunny gave Junior the same lesson I think … to survive in combat means something or someone will always be sacrificed. It can’t be yourself nor can it be to the enemy …yet even when it isn’t, it always costs a little piece of your soul, and it’ll always be …by way of attrition.
As to be expected from you Hayes, brilliance. Love reading your words and then re-reading them and sometimes scratching my head.
Great stuff, sir.
Semper fi,
Jim
🤔
Welcome back Jim. I listened to the attached drum audio. Never had to experience it personally. I served in II Corps during both tours. Central Highlands mostly.
It would seem Gunny is all about survival at any cost not just his life, but his career, after the war.
You got big hairy balls going into that river, at night, tied off to a potential entanglement line. Then making that catch of a dangling rope at the other end??? You got more luck and lives than a “cat house”.. SALUTE.
Sometimes, doing something dangerous but comforting is better than doing something even more dangerous with no comfort whatsoever!
Thanks for the compliment and thinking the best of me, back then and now.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
This chapter was worth waiting for. Thanks!
Thank you so much Michael. The next segment will be up next week because I think the readers need to know the resolution of this
latest contact and also I am better now at working on through…
Semper fi,
Jim
PS I am thinking of taking the 4 day bus trip to D.C. they do just to meet the vets aboard. I wonder if that might work for me.
Thanks.
H. Kemp, I return the thanks for being here and saying kind words…or rather, one word.
Appreciate.
Semper fi,
Jim
I would change “online” to “alive” in reference to the 50 caliber machine gun opening back up. “Coming online” is too modern of a phrase. Your story, by the way, continues to be absolutely riveting. Thanks again for sharing it.
You are correct. I have been invaded by modern diction and vocabulary.
Thanks for pointing that arcane detail out.
Semper fi,
Jim
I have been anxiously awaiting the chapter and you never disappoint. Looking forward to the next
Thanks Don, it was a hard rainy night, and it isn’t over by any means. The next segment I am writing just now and it will be
up next week.
Semper fi, and thanks for helping keep me going.
Jim
Thank you LT. Ruff read this time, so the long wait was worth it.
I am so glad you think so. The next segment is also action filled but with more
contemplation and mental agony going on…as was the case sometimes.
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad to have you back with the next segment. I’m looking forward to the next one already. Judging from the other comments, I won’t tell you about the missing ‘r’
Thanks for sharing your story.
Yes, got the missing ‘r.’ Need the editing help though and much appreciate the guys coming in on that.
It was a pretty clean chapter though and I like that too, or I’d be reading a lot more heat!
Semper fi,
Jim
Tough one. Welcome back.
Yes, it was.tough one, indeed. But I am better now and the next segment will be out next week if not sooner.
I am rolling again. Thanks for the uplift.
Semper fi,
Jim
You were missed. Welcome back!
I missed a lot of people on here, without realizing I missed a lot of people on here…if that makes any sense at all…
Semper fi,
and thanks for the reminder…
Jim
You ever close your eyes and think about how easy it would have been to have just untie that rope around your waist and let the river carry you away, quickly, silently, out of harms way… forgetting about the croc’s..just let that cold water take you away from everything….? would have been interesting for sure….. As you have recognized many times before….Gunny is a survivalist, and so protective of his Marines…sometimes it surprises you to realize that this includes you… Kilo is in the shit right now…but they will fight..Semper Fi Lt..glad to have you back…
Never considered letting it all go back then. I was a Marine all the way. Frightened, hurt and saddened and rifled through with guilt, but I was a Marine
Officer and the longer I lasted in combat the more it was burned into me that the Marines around me needed me and my weird brand of leadership. In some ways,
I became all they had, along with the wildly different leadership of the Gunny. Together we somehow made it work.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, still here . How could anyone leave.,
What a great compliment. I will have another segment up next week or sooner because of people like you.
Thanks so much….
Semper fi,
Jim
wow
Keep them coming sir were hanging with you.
Thanks Phil. I will be now finishing the Thirty Days trilogy and beginning the book after, which I’ve already started.
It’s called The Cowardly Lion.
Thanks for the support and look forward to hearing from you again.
Semper fi,
Jim
“I knew, unless the A-6 Intruder was somewhere above us, that there would be no air support in the night. I called back along the edge of the Ontos for Fusne, and was surprised when I heard his reply…”
Did you leave the “r” off Fusner?
Echo the previous comments. It is good to have you back.
Thank you for your sharp eye, Tim.
We had three sets of eyes on this before hitting the publish button
Semper fi,
Jim
Tough memories….my heart goes out to you…
Thanks Dick, I’m better now and working away. Next week for next segment…
Thanks for buoying me up a bit…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lost my first post. But I could see the hole in your eyes when you realized the other company faced. Still a helluva story. Poppa J
Always warms me to hear from you Poppa. Thanks for sticking with me through these rather diffcult times. I will have the next
segment up by next week and am half done now. Writing the followup book to be called ‘Cowardly Lion,’ as we proceed here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hi Jim; so glad to see you back.
I feel like an ass for doubting if the 3rd ten days would ever be finished. I’m sorry. After reading this segment I now realize how hard it was to bring those memories to the front of your mind.
I look forward to ordering 2 copies of the last ten days. when I ordered 2 copies each of the first two, Chuck Bartok called me personally and asked the reason for 2 copies, as he thought it might be an ordering error. I told him that 1 copy was to stay in my possession and the other were to lend out to only certain people that I know who would appreciate the story. And if they weren’t returned I would still have my copies. Thanks again Brother
Thanks Bob, much appreciate the story about your purchase and your practice of loaning the books out.
Means a lot to me and its a compliment of an extraordinary kind. Much appreciated.
Semper fi,
Jim
I ran convoys and a few five man patrols but I can’t
fathom this sort of bravery . Thanks for sharing .
It wasn’t bravery, as the mythology would have it. It was calculated rage, terror, guilt and so much more…and love in there too, of course.
I can only reflect in retrospect because living it was done one painful second at a time…
Thanks for the wisdom and depth of your comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Looking forward to seeing how you get the Ontos back to solid ground and how Kilo holds up as they cross. Gunny alternates between an experienced, helpful NCO and problematic. I’m reminded of Marlantes’ NCO problems, sometimes necessarily helpful, sometimes not so much.
We all lived in terror and many judgements were the result of that…and we all lived constantly trying to balance our own survival
with the survival of those around us…and those two thinks did not always run together or in congruence…
Semper fi, and Thank You!
Jim
That Fusne spelling is in Paragraph 10 – “I pulled myself forward until I was able to see around the right front track edge of the Ontos. (Snipped)
I called back along the edge of the Ontos for Fusne, and was surprised when I heard his reply come upward from someplace under the Ontos.”
Thanks, Bob.
Corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
Very good. Thanks again Sir.
You are most welcome David. I much appreciate the support and the compliment…
Semper fi
Jim
The “Fusne” error is in the paragraph right after the Gunny says, “Can’t stay here long, Junior.”
Got it Arnie and thanks for the editing help…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’ll read it again in a couple days. Maybe being a while since the last chapter made this one bit harder. Harder on you for certain. The smell now seems to permeate my office, almost feel the leaches. I’ve fought going back there for over 50 years and have lost that fight before, just like now. Still glad I went back tonight as it has been a while and will be easier next time. The faces faded long ago but the names and times still exist far back. It has been more than 51 years and when something brings it back it is like yesterday.
The depth of your comment went deep. Thank you for the straight from the shoulder stuff and your own participation
over there. Kindred spirits. Much appreciate the compliments written into the comment too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Blessings to you, Sir. We pray your revisits will become less frequent and less disruptive of the true Peace you seek now and that you have in store. Thank you for your Service. Poppa Joe
You are most welcome Poppa, and I much enjoy reading those words and others from you.
Semper fi
Jim
So glad to see you back, Jim. I was getting worried.
Nope. I am here. I will be getting the next segment out much quicker, like next week.
I stuttered but am through. Thanks for the concern and for being here when I came back…
Semper fi,
Jim
I never saw combat flying F4’S. Did have two plane crashes, nearly killed in both. We brought one home, ejected from the other. But they were instantaneous events. The fear only came afterwards. Nothing like the gnawing daily fear of close in combat. You captured that, and I felt it. Really brings home the pain of war, and Vietnam Nam, in particular. Can’t ask more from a writer. Well done.
Well, hell, getting your ass shot down sure as hell counts as combat!!!
And bailing out. Nothing like that first real pop out into the open air and then the wonder
of what sharpened fence post you might be landing on below.
Thanks for writing on here and thinking I’m a bigger combat warrior than you. I’m not.
Semper fi,
Jim
As usual, you delivered a great segment. Anxiously awaited this one and anxiously awaiting the rest of your work about that period of your life.
I’m also looking forward to your report of your recovery….
We’ve all needed our “fix” of 30 days, Thanks for this one.
the next segment I am planning to put up in five days and is exactly half done this night.
Thanks for writing such a neat comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was wondering why the Captain was not at the Command Meeting. Great idea to use the Ontos to move the bridge. Excellent writing as always.
The Gunny did not include him out of intent. Nobody in Kilo knew what was
coming, as you will note in the upcoming segment.
Thanks for the nice comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s like you said…… everyone’s trying to survive ….in the beginning of 30 days I wrote stuff like kill Jurgens, fuck the gunny…. except now I’m getting a clearer picture . I’m an 11 b Infantry… I feel I would have lasted through the first few days. I would have been done though based on my own decisions about how it should go and what to do… done real quick.
I recall old western shows where they portray the Indians sending young warriors out to prove themselves and if they came back after their walk about then they were great warriors worthy of their peers, but this…. you guys were left to die. It’s fucked up jim!
Yes, and it was investigated later. I was too damaged when they came to the hospital with court recorders and all to be of any
help at all. I could not talk about it then, at all.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim have you had any contact with the Gunny since leaving the jungle? Any contact with any of the marines from your time in VN?
Three have written on here. Laconic. Nice, but not any detail at all…
I will reveal all at the end of the story.
Semper fi
Jim
OK, I’m spooked. The Ontos has demonstrated it’s agility, albeit slow but it can’t leap an inch much less several feet. Also your angst for the guys of Kilo is palpable. Not an envious situation Lt.. Take care…
The Ontos cannot come down from the bridge without some sort of structure.
You are right, at ten tons it is not leaping anywhere, although with a ramp at its maximum speed it can get off the ground a bit.
Semper fi, and thanks for the question…
Jim
LT…. I see why it was a long time coming. God bless you.
Yes, but I am up writing the next segment tonight so that I don’t interrupt the flow again.
After all, September is coming soon….
Semper fi,
Jim
That night really sucked for you and Gunny, Understand why it’s so hard to finish the month, my upmost respect for you and never should you apologize for what you did. As we used to say *** it man, don’t mean shit. Semper Fi and hoping you can continue to exorcise all the ghosts from this.
Thanks Pete, you had to have been in the shit to feel the way you do. I feel that way too, but can’t always hold onto it.
I wax and wane and take pains to avoid slipping back.
Thanks for the compliment in your words.
Semper fi,
Jim
Please tell me where I can information on 175 mm red bag charges. I was the FDC Section Chief for a 175 mm battery in Nam and I never heard of a red bag charge. Thanks.
There were no red bags, in reality. Red bag was a phrase used to describe what only some
batteries would do if the range was too great for normal fire. Red bag was adding an extra bag
of powered beyond normal maximum charge. The guns were built for considerably more cupric units of pressure than
they actually needed to be for safety. The problem was that at longer ranges accuracy suffers, as you know.
Semper fi,
Jim
Again you capture the reality of real war….. Of the death that surrounds you…. Minus the video game feel of today………. Real death where the other side is just as real as you are…. Only the Ukrainian Russian war of today comes close.
Thanks George, the reality of your comment hits home with me…
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn, well worth the wait sir, TY LT
Thanks Bob for the great compliment and loyalty of sticking along as we go…
Semper fi
Jim
I had forgotten the smell of the river bank the beating of the insistent rain and drums beating. Death’s door is all ways close by Kilo number came up. Rest for the night is long and the struggles are great. James good visualization bringing me back to the fight.
The aromas of the time, era and flora around us. Pulled out and never to return,
except for those times in the night when it all returns.
Semper fi,
Jim
Good to hear from you LT. Welcome back, sir.
Good to be back Tony. I will have the next segment up by next week.
I stuttered along there but I am over it.
Thanks for caring.
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn if I do, damn if I don’t.
Yes, that is exactly how it was so many times, with so many of the Marines not having
a clue around me…making the responsibility all the heavier…
Semper fi,
Jim
Well….it was a long time coming but worth the wait….and the Gunny broke it off in you again….so that if command gets wind of what happened, it was your plan….such is war I guess….another outstanding segment of on the edge of your seat action….I sit in awe again….
My relationship with the Gunny was a whole lot like my relationship with my Dad. Dad resented but accepted so many things I did really well,
but he could show no good will about it at all. When he died I had his wallet. Last year I opened it and found a folded up copy of the write up
of one of my decorations for valor in combat. I sat stunned. It was a worn old copy. He’d carried it for years but could never tell me that
he was impressed. IF that explanation means anything, I don’t know.
Thanks for the compliment.
semper fi,
Jim
LT, some time you have to sacrifice a hand to save an arm, you had no choice so the life of the company, your charges, could go on. Our teams were small in size, and we knew if one went down, we would be on our own.Para Rescue’s motto is “so that others may live”, is very appropriate here, hang in there, here for you brother
Thanks so much for the depth of this comment Felix. I am now rolling again and will roll right on through…after all, September is coming…
And the followup book, with the followup afterwards will be called The Cowardly Lion…which I’ve already started.
Semper fi,
Jim
Chilling! I can smell the muck, see the green tracers and hear the rounds impacting.
Yes, major, if you were there then you must identify with the memories of reality that appear as dreams of horror to the unafflicted.
But here we are…accommodating and getting on along and by with the help of some great friends.
Thanks a lot…
Semper fi,
Jim
this chapter should make people realize why it takes , or rather took you so long to publish it
Well, it was a tough one and the one following too but I am now in the groove, I think.
My relationship with the Gunny was so complex and hard at the time, and time through the ages
has not made it any easier, amazingly enough. Thanks for being there from the start and sticking with me
Chuck. The next segment will be up in days, not months…
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow….I’ll read it again and again and get more from it, bit now it is just wow. One typo…Ontos for Fusne, and was surprised when I heard his reply….Fusner….
So glad there was just the one typo, although they are really hard to find unless you indicate what line
or paragraph the typo took place in. When writing, my mind tends to see an error as not an error at all until
it is pointed out, and then I go ‘yes’ but how could I have missed it?
Semper fi, with my thanks and appreciation.
Jim