Nguyen was gone into the night with the 106 round. I hadn’t given any thought at all as to whether the ammo box was marked with a flechette designation for its contents or not. There was no way to tell by feel, and there was no way I was going to use the flashlight with a .50 caliber firing on us. I’d counted four rounds to the box which left three of whatever kinds of rounds they were. I lay behind the box, the thing useless as cover but sufficient for concealment, since it was sitting up perpendicular to the enemy occupied jungle to our front. The .50 had stopped firing which was good news for Nguyen, and myself. I heard only a few single rounds coming from a gun I couldn’t recognize right away by the sound. Then it came to me, Zippo was trying to suppress the .50 caliber gun crew by giving the snipers locating data from the night vision scope. The guns the snipers used were 7.62 millimeters, like the M-14 I’d trained with, and also the M-60 machine guns, but the sound was just a bit different. I’d loved the heavier M-14 but the 16 had already been issued to combat troops and Marines by the time I was shipped out.
I realized that I could lay where I was or slip and slide my body back toward the spider hole.
The spider hole was safer by far, and the trip to get there would become increasingly more risky with the coming of the light. The .50 opened up again, the sound of its nearby frontal discharge almost enough to make my ears ring. I had no time to make earplugs or do anything else except getting as far down as I could. The .50 was shooting back at the location where the sniper fire was coming from, however, and not sweeping my position. I moved back from the ammo box, pushing directly away, taking my helmet off when I was far enough to angle toward where I thought the spider hole was. I left my helmet behind. It was no protection against anything except the smallest fragments from artillery or grenades anyway. Against the power of a .50 caliber, it would be about as effective as tissue paper in stopping a bullet.
I didn’t realize I was lost in the darkness until I’d gone further than I knew I should have. I was in the open, on an exposed flat surface of the mud, and I couldn’t find the hole.
Shuddering, near tears with frustration, I stopped moving and lay flat, pushing my face into the mud so it would not be a white beacon in the black backdrop of the night. I breathed in and out into the mud, taking the rotten vegetable kind of aroma directly into my lungs. I tasted the river mud jammed into my teeth. I wondered fearfully whether they’d find my body with my mouth full of mud with a startled look of terror in my cold dead eyes. I had to go back. The only guide I had to get there was the river and the occasional burst from the .50. The big gun which was directly to my front. I turned, scrabbling away, with the river on my left and the heavy machine gun to my rear.
My right ankle was suddenly pulled backward. I kicked against the pressure surrounding my ankle but to no effect. My body slid back, increasing my panic until I realized it had to be Nguyen who was pulling me, trying to get me back to some relative safety.
Slithering around to confront him helped my deep level of near-paralyzing fear. I was moving in the right direction. I was doing something to stay alive. Anything to stay alive. Nguyen was invisible in the night mist but I felt his presence like he was still touching me or as if I could see him. I slithered straight ahead, following in trace of him, ashamed of myself. I wasn’t ashamed for being afraid. I was used to that if getting used to that was possible at all. I was ashamed because I’d figured out that Nguyen didn’t really need me to get him the other rounds out of the ammo box. I could have stayed in the hole and been temporarily safe. Would I have stayed in the hole when he returned? That I’d been thinking about doing just that, hiding out while he was taking all the risk, bothered me deeply. I plunged ahead, so low and close to the surface that my chin plowed through the soft fetid mud like the prow of a tiny destroyer easing across a calm flat sea. I hated the smell but the taste in my mouth was worse. I was glad I’d taken my helmet off, as the mist collected and flowed down my face as I went giving my some sense of cleanliness.
I moved until I plowed into one of Nguyen’s boots. I could hear him just ahead, easing another 106 round out of the box. He didn’t need me, but there was no way I was going back to the hole. I wondered if he just needed me to be there, like I needed him to be there, so badly. Being all alone under fire on a field of flat mud with no cover was worse than the terror I felt in being in direct contact with the enemy. I didn’t want to die alone like Tex had died alone right next to the Bong Song, not that far from where I currently was.
I crabbed my body around Nguyen’s legs until I was directly behind the box and close to him. I knew he had a round out and ready to haul back up to the Ontos.
The Ontos, and particularly the flechette rounds, being the only thing that might save our lives. Nguyen had to go but there was no way for me to order him to do so.
My helmet was slipped onto my head, and I felt Nguyen’s hand patting it down so it’d stay. The mist had partially filled it with moisture, and the slight pool formed in its basin poured cooly down my face. Nguyen pressed my right shoulder with his left hand for a few seconds, and then rolled over and was gone back into the misty blackness.
I could not return to the hole where the Gunny, Fusner, and Bates hunched down in relative safety. No sappers from the NVA force in the jungle would make it across the mud flat without Zippo, using the Starlight Scope and snipers, picking them off, but I envisioned the force that might easily succeed in killing all of us, the NVA scurrying flatly across the mud just as the earliest rays of dawn shown down over the eastern face of the high canyon wall. Such a force could not be easily or fully identified from a distance, unless the mist diminished, which wasn’t likely. Air power would not be on station to stop them until after dawn, or if it somehow came earlier, limited by the same visibility problems as my own company’s machine gun teams. I didn’t try to look over the edge of the rough side of the wooden ammo box, although I wanted to. Was the enemy coming? I didn’t take my .45 automatic out because I knew there would be no point. It was nothing against a .50, and little more than that against attacking infantry across open terrain in the dark misting rain.
I reached in to pull another round of 106 ammo out of the box, then cradled it to my chest while laying on my back, licking the mist from the area around my lips. The round was bigger and heavier than it seemed it should be, but I knew how effective and valuable it was. The APERS round it was called and I remembered, although I couldn’t recall what the letters of its designation stood for. Each round had six thousand flechettes jammed inside its warhead with an adjustable fuse for a distant explosion at the tip. Five hundred meters the fuse should probably be set for, I thought, trying to recall exactly how far the jungle area occupied by the NVA was from the Ontos. Five hundred meters and the nearly ten pounds of high explosives would go off when the round arrived, showering the flechettes forward in a cloud moving at four to five miles per second. In the night the moving round would be visible in flight because of a tracer element drilled into the back of the casing.
Nguyen was back so fast it seemed impossible that he’d crawled all the way to the Ontos, delivered the round, and then returned in almost absolute darkness. I needed Fusner and the radio. The stand-off distance setting on the rounds had to be close, or the effect on the NVA, whether anyone in the outer layer of the jungle was hit or not, would be too negligible to matter. The enemy needed to know that the Ontos was firing its most fearsome weapon. And, the Ontos needed to start firing soon, as early dawn was less than an hour off.
“Fusner,” I whispered, as Nguyen began to take the round from me.
“Fusner,” he repeated, in almost the same tone and inflection, making me wonder again just how much English he understood and spoke.
He left without taking the round, barely making a sound. One second he was there and then he was gone. I held the round to keep it out of the mud and wished I’d been able to follow Nguyen back to the hole. Fusner wouldn’t have to be exposed with me behind the ammo box in that case, and my own safety would be vastly improved. I breathed out slowly, taking more misting rain into my mouth, my eyes closed, the shell rising and falling on my chest, as I clutched it to me with both hands.
I could not lead the Marines from the rear, and I could barely lead them from out front. However, I had to be able to see. I had to adjust the rounds for the Ontos, even though they would be fired using direct fire. That meant I had to be in constant communication with whoever was operating the Ontos rifles. The mist and darkness were bigger impediments over distance, although Zippo had the Starlight Scope to help slice through the night. What I really wanted to do, even more than adjusting rounds in their placement was to control the rate of fire, holding off the NVA until Cowboy could make his appearance. The box of ammo I’d found held only four rounds. Three of us searching through the flooding mud for any more boxes would be more effective than doing the job by me if there were any more boxes. There was only one way to survive, and that was to get through the remainder of the night until supporting fires would give me the cover I needed to get back to the main elements of the company and the safety of my cave.
All I could do was wait. The fifty would open up every few minutes and then, after only a couple of rounds being expended, it would go quiet again. The rounds were all being directed toward where Zippo’s snipers were trying to do their own work. It came to me that I’d would already have been dead if the NVA had our kind of supplies. The only reason the heavy machine gun had not swept back and forth across the mud flat had to likely be because of a lack of ammunition. Zippo was having an effect.
The snipers might not be hitting anyone but they were certainly drawing the enemy’s attention and the big gun’s fire.
“Sir?” Fusner asked, from right behind my head, causing me to jerk around so hard I almost dislodged my helmet.
I didn’t answer him right away. Nguyen had returned with Fusner. He slipped through the mud to lay right next to me, before gently removing the 106 round from my grasp and taking off again.
“Combat net,” I said to Fusner. “I need the Ontos to fire one beehive round intermittently with one round of H.E. on my command. The beehive needs to be set for five hundred meters, but I’ll adjust based upon a first-round strike of the H.E.”
“Yes sir,” Fusner said, laying down flat while removing the thick heavy radio from his back and shoulders.
I felt the boy moving about and getting lower and marveled at how aware and combat proven he’d quickly become at his young age. The radio would stick up over the edge of the ammo box as dawn’s early light came upon us, drawing the fifty’s fire. He knew that. Fusner turned and pushed the radio handset into my left shoulder. I realized that he needed me to give the orders, as I’d been pretty point specific. I held the handset to my right ear but didn’t say anything. There were transmissions flying back and forth on the frequency. I listened to the combat communications between the other two companies and battalion.
Lima company was being ordered to come across from the east and then turn down into the A Shau, until interdicting our own company, while Kilo was being sent back to the eastern edge of the canyon down near the valley’s southernmost extremity to, once again, climb down the escarpment and move north to join up with Lima. There was obviously no intelligence available to the battalion with respect to what lay between those two infantry elements or else nobody back in the rear cared. My company was the center of whatever pincer movement battalion was planning, but there were no inquiries flying back and forth, with any attempts or comments about contacting us.
I listened until the back and forth died down a bit. I was not understanding the coding for locations being used but what was about to happen seemed pretty obvious. I waited for a few seconds of silence before calling the Ontos, remembering the clear Oscar November Tango Six designation. The ‘six’ was written under the U.S. Army printing on the sides of the vehicle, it’s meaning unknown to anyone in the company so far as I knew. But I didn’t make the call because another body slid into the spot Nguyen had vacated. I couldn’t see who it was in the darkness and rain but I knew it was the Gunny.
“What about Bates?” I whispered across the few inches that separated us.
“Leave him, Junior,” the Gunny replied, “he’s dead meat up here, probably like the rest of us, but what the hell, and you can’t adjust fire in this shit unless you have something to adjust from. The Beehive’s got a tracer but the jungle foliage will eat the explosion up. The Ontos can’t see through this crap all the way to where we need to hit them, even with the scope, but we can. It’s maybe a hundred meters in the range from where we are right now.”
Fusner eased the radio handset out of my hand. “You want me to call them, sir?” he asked.
“Okay, but wait for a second,” I replied.
“What do you suggest?” I said to the Gunny, trying to put it all together in my head, also surprised that I could have thought the Gunny was hiding out in the hole that I so wanted to hide out in with Bates. The Gunny was right again. The Ontos was a good five hundred meters from the jungle’s edge, but the beehive shots had to be spot on to have the effect we needed. It wasn’t their causing death and injury that was important. It was the fear they’d generate.
“You brought those grenades of yours?” the Gunny asked.
“Yes,” I answered, moving to pull out the two M33s, understanding what the Gunny was getting at. The grenades, when thrown, would only fly a maximum of about 30 meters through the air, which meant they’d go off just before the edge of the jungle. The Ontos wouldn’t need spotting help if Zippos was alert to when the grenades would go off. All that had to be done was wait for the flash of fire from the M33, make minor range and declination adjustments, and then beehive rounds could be placed right on target. The cloud of small speeding flechettes would blast forward into the jungle.
I held one spherical grenade in my right hand, ready to throw. The M26 I’d trained so briefly with had been oval shaped with a smooth curving spoon that ran up over its surface from top to bottom. The M33 felt funny in my clutched hand. It seemed too small, too round, and the spoon had a distinctive bend in the middle.
I began to roll over onto my back, holding the grenade to my chest like I’d held the 106 round.
“What are you doing, Junior?” The Gunny said, the tone of his voice one of quiet bafflement.
It was like I could see him shaking his head, but, of course, I couldn’t.
“What?” I asked, not understanding.
“You think you can lob that thing a hundred feet, laying in the mud on your back?” he asked, just before I felt both of his hands, clutching my own right hand with the grenade in it. He carefully pried my fingers loose and took the small weapon.
“Tell ‘em to get ready,” he said, more to Fusner than me.
I heard the pin come out of the M33, and then the Gunny standing up right next to me. I felt more than heard or saw him rear back and fling the small globe toward the jungle before he fell back onto the surface of the mud next to me.
“Tell them ‘splash, over,’” the Gunny hissed to Fusner.
The grenade went off with a sharp crack, like a nearby stroke of lightning might make. That was followed seconds later by a much great crack. The Ontos had fired. I crawled the few feet to Fusner, where he had the microphone waiting for my grasping hand. I knew the first round had been H.E. because the Beehive round exploded with more of a thudding crash rather than what I’d heard.
“Fire the beehive on the same registration, but only fire again on command” I ordered and then laid down flat again.
Although our position was not directly on the gun target line for the Ontos, it was close enough that the smallest error in deflection might be deadly to the three of us. The flechettes flew out from the exploding composition B at over four miles a second in velocity, but the tiny mass of each little dart was so slight that each one decelerated very quickly in the dense atmosphere.
The crump of the beehive round came seconds later. There was nothing to communicate whether the NVA was getting the message I was trying to send or not, except the .50 caliber remained ominously silent.
I tucked the other M33 back into my pocket. I didn’t like carrying the small deadly little packages, as the stories of accidental injury and death circulated among the Marines all the time. No Marines I ever saw ever carried grenades clipped to the front of their utility blouses, like they did in old war movies. Only someone in the rear area, posing for photographs to be sent home, might be so dumb or inexperienced in real combat to do a foolish thing like that.
The night was no longer the same night. I peered up over the ammo box we were hidden behind. It was still too dark to make out much of anything. I knew from my high school astronomy club days that late September was an equinox month. The three kinds of dawn would take the full twenty-four minutes or so each to go through. Astronomical dawn was beginning. We were about an hour from full daylight, or maybe a bit more because of the depth of the valley we were down inside.
I figured we had about twenty minutes to scour the mud flat for more flechette ammunition boxes before it got light enough to see.
“Call Cowboy,” I whispered to Fusner. “We want him in here with as many of his friends as he can gather, as early as possible.”
I didn’t mention my great fear that the Skyraiders would be tied up elsewhere. Artillery was so much more dependable than air support, but I could not risk firing the 175s again. One slightly short round on the gun-target line and our own company would be wiped out. I tried to think about all the variables potentially impacting our survival. The company was considerably better off than the four of us were, but it was too late, in reality, to try to crawl back up the slight slope to their position or to send Nguyen back and forth. Even with the misting rain and darkness, nautical dawn, and some visibility was rushing down upon us. The NVA might or might not attack in force, knowing our small unit was a sitting duck, cut off from the rest of the company. Nguyen pushed a wooden box smaller and squarer than the 106 ammo boxes between the Gunny and I. The Gunny worked the latch loose and the lid opened with a metallic sound, unlike the recoilless round boxes which were latched and also stapled shut. The Gunny handed me another M33 grenade to replace the one we’d used. The box was filled with thirty, or so, of the compact little grenades.
Something grabbed my foot. I felt hands moving up my leg.
“I’m here, sir,” Bates said.
“I told you to wait in the hole,” the Gunny hissed down toward the young sergeant.
“I can help,” Bates said with his voice breaking.
I realized that the boy was more afraid of being alone in the dark hole than he was of being out on the exposed mud flat with us. I fleetingly thought again how combat teaches by killing. Bates, an FNG, didn’t want to be alone in the hole while I, a grim veteran of combat, wanted only to be alone in the hole.
“Shit,” the Gunny said, more to himself than any of us. “Here, carry these, and don’t do a damn thing I don’t tell you to do,” he went on, pushing some M33s down toward Bates.
“Yes, sir,” Bates answered, his nervousness and fear causing him to break a cardinal rule in the Marine Corps.
Sergeants of any kind were never referred to as sir. Non-coms in the Corps took that designation as an insult.
“What do we tell battalion about Lima and Kilo coming into the valley?” Fusner asked.
Nobody said a word in reply to his surprising question.
“Lima will get taken out by the enemy inside Hill 975 and Kilo will get killed off by the enemy in front of us,” Fusner went on.
Once again, I was surprised by the young boy’s remarkable analysis of the combat situation.
“They can look out for themselves,” the Gunny said, his tone harsh and uncaring. “We’ve got our own problems. If the enemy comes, then everyone starts tossing these grenades, but not until we call the Ontos and let them know.”
I said nothing. My mind raced. Fusner was right. We had to let battalion know what Lima and Kilo were facing, even if the relief we were supposed to get from them wasn’t ever likely to appear. The battalion was at least trying to help us out. The colonel’s loss of his XO and friend had finally focused attention on our plight, rather than simply our terrible daily casualties. I was reaching for the handset when Bates spoke.
“I’ve got it, sir,” he said.
The distinctive sound of a pin coming out of a grenade penetrated the rain, the dark, and the air between the sergeant and the rest of us, like that of a small Buddhist gong. We all froze.
“Fire in the hole,” Bates yelled, coming up to his knees and throwing an M33 over our heads toward the jungle. The grenade thudded into the mud just on the other side of the ammo box.
“You’ve got to stand up to throw the damn things,” the Gunny got out as the rest of us buried ourselves as deep into the mud as we could get.
“I’m standing, sir,” Bates unaccountably replied.
“The Ontos,” the Gunny said, his last words before the grenade exploded not more than five yards on the other side of the box, blowing pound-sized chunks into the air and then back down upon us.
A second whooshing explosion, like the thunderous clap of a hellishly loud cymbal, followed the first smaller concussion.
I cringed down even deeper into the mud. I now knew what it sounded like to be on the horrid receiving end of a beehive round, but I felt nothing. I moved my shoulders, trying to figure out if I was hit. My hearing was all screwed up.
I thought I heard Fusner.
“He’s gone, sir.”
“Who’s gone?” I replied, trying to unstick the front of my body from the cloying mud while using the heavy misting rain to try to wash some of it off.
“Bates,” the Gunny said, “the complete moronic idiot.”
The Gunny’s voice broke right at the end when he said the word ‘idiot.’ I wondered if only I caught it.
I crawled to where Bates lay, with Fusner next to him. There was no need to examine him in detail. The back-blast of flechettes had made mush of the boy’s entire upper body.
The Ontos.
The Gunny had figured it out instantly, while I’d not been so quick. Zippo, waiting and watching with nervous impatience, must have seen the explosion, thought we were marking the target for the next 106 round, and then adjusted and fired. They were all dead, even the sergeant who’d amazingly cheated it the first time around. What the enemy didn’t kill, we Marines did. I also realized that Zippo had somehow ignored the ‘intermittent’ part of my first order. The round we’d received should have been High Explosive, which would have killed us all.
“They’re coming,” the Gunny hissed out.
“Who’s coming?” I asked, still trying to take in the young sergeant’s death, while also trying to get my full hearing back.
“Get all the grenades out, call the Ontos, and make sure the M-60’s are fully online with night defensive fires,” the Gunny ordered, without answering my stupid question.
Are you still chugging along James? Been a while.
Actually, it has not been awhile, but I appreciate you thinking so. Yes, I went to Hawaii and the installment is a bit longer in the tooth in coming out, but
it will be out shortly. The segments are also a bit more complexly difficult to write as things continue to build toward the end of the beginning.
Thanks for caring and writing about it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes it has been awhile, don’t have that much time to wait on you there James, get with it!
Okay, here it is, for you J. I will be quicker on the next one as I have already begun to write it….
For you, and God bless you…
Smeper fi, my friend,
Jim
Goes to Chuck at midnight and he’ll have it up first thing tomorrow….love you, brother…
Thank you James, you are indeed, a friend and a brother and I am glad we crossed paths in our lifetime.
Semper fi brother,
J
Yes, I do think of you often when I write this, you and a very few others.
I do read these comments with a serious intent too.
This process of writing the whole thing has been so different than any other writing I’ve ever done and you,
and some others have made that all possible. I would have quit the task some time back.
Just too hard and what is the return to me? Sure as hell isn’t money.
It’s you guys. It’s you J. Its the few, the proud…and we survivors together…
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
LT, you and gunny in the same shit box should have never been. The company can’t afford to lose both of you. In that mist the enemy can’t see you anybetter than you can see them. Move out, whoops to late I’m guessing. Never said weither Fusner called Cowboy or not but I guessing he did. On the mud flat give us an idea on how far you were from the enemy vs. your own company. Keep Stomping as you can.
Thanks JT, read the new segment coming out and some of your questions will be answered.
Thanks for asking them and for caring so much about the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
Being so close to the Enemy do you recall hearing them blow Whistles?
I heard about that but never experienced it in combat. It was supposed to be some sort of psychological tool but I don’t know
if it was effective. The drums sure as hell were…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, I guess its safe to say your not an Atlanta Braves fan with all that damn drum beating.
Semper Fi
Tomas’
Well, hell, the drums were something and they live with me in the night to this day.
But back here we must never forget that we are back here….
Take care, my friend,
Jim
A football field’s muddy run-time…thirty meters less the yardage for Bate’s heroic fumble! Gunny just gave you twenty-three days to decide whether you run at your enemy or go for it all sir, on fourth and twenty!
If days were seconds…that is, if you can make-out the play called above the din of the crowd’s roar…unfortunately for all Junior, war has no f’ckin umpires, there are no f’ckin flags thrown on the field of combat…only off…and then, only draped. Sobering chapter. Reality…notwithstanding, confronts us all. Never was a time for games, never should’ve been for war.
Brilliant mind laying down the words D.D. thanks for taking the time for putting they up on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
It wouldn’t have been the ‘back blast’ of flechette rounds that got Bates.
Not the back blast from the gases coming from the barrel of the weapon.
When the flechettes were blown forward from their established and pre-set standoff during travel,
some of the flechettes were not blown forward but traveled back from
the blast area (the projectile traveled at about 300 fps while the blasted flechettes moved at around 22,000 fps.
It was enough or seemed so in the middle of a misty night. What was the reality?
I can only describe the way I think I encountered it. I can’t be truly certain…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sorry Jim…I sent a comment a couple of days ago…but I am guessing that some poor smuck in “BFE” is looking at his computer and wondering why I’m sending him something about “Frags”… damn keys are too small…musta hit the wrong ‘go to’ button….S/F
As always….ya done good Marine!!
Ah, found it Larry. Thanks for pointing out.
Semper fi,
Jim
The “Frags” as we called them……the M26 we all used until the middle of 68’…so dependable, you could pop the spoon and hold it in your hand and count to 3 and then lift a bunker hatch and throw it inside and know that within two seconds it would go off…or if you were tossing grenades back and forth, praying that you had at least one second left on a return throw…it was then that you would pop the spoon, count to three and then toss it the 15-20 feet that separated you, knowing it would go off just as it arrived..no chance for them to throw it back….always the same…a great grenade…and then we got that piece of crap M33…loved the shape, we all thought it would help us gain further distance…. only problem was the fuse….I would guess the true numbers of friendly casulties were in the thousands from it…if you ever let the spoon fly, chances were good that you had 1 or 2 seconds before it went off…we lost so many that had them detonate in their hands, right in their faces because of the poor quality control…very sad……and then the new guy….the FNG..that carried them on the front of their shirts…and then in the quiet darkness of the night, crawling forward on your stomach, trying to avoid detection and you heard the ominous crunch of the muffled explosion behind you….and you knew that someone behind you had crawled over a grenade, it’s pin had rusted and broken off….and the frag drops off, leaving the spoon in the material of the shirt…. no medevac is called…no need….and you lower your face into the soft mud and quietly say..fuk….I hate this place.. and then you slowly begin to move forward again…..just another fukin day in paradise…….Semper Fi
Man oh man, but you hit the nail on the head with that one.
Anyone who ever experienced the M33 never ever delayed in
holding the damn thing to wait the fuse down a bit. Nope.
Pull the pin and throw the damned thing.
Although the M26 was more dependable about that time of fuse burn the instructors at Quantico
still preferred that we all throw the grenades immediately.
I never heard, in real combat, of anyone picking up an unexploded grenade and tossing it back in time…
Semper fi,
Jim
Dropped a M33 down a hole, out side Cu Chi, it went off just as I got my hand back from the hole. Ears ring for awhile.
Yes, M-332 grenades did not last one in inventory. The fuses were erratic, at best.
Thanks for the comment and read this segment which has a bit of that in it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Now that, Sir…is great writing! Uhhh…FNG here, an BTW….great reading too!! Semper fi, D.D.
Thanks D.D. and I mean that from my heart…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter Ltd. I read this three times, waiting for day 24. I know it must tough to write from your perspective, cause it really tough for us to read setting on the edge of our seats. Keep up the great writing..
Yes, it is a tough write. The toughest of my life, by far.
Thanks for caring enough to write about it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
I am so far behind in this story. I just found it.
Edge of your seat writing.
I only made one cruise, in 1968. I was a Navy airdale.
Welcome Home! Glad you made it!
There is no getting behind on this story.
You take it as it comes and you can go back or forward and it is all
different pieces of an awfully large mosaic puzzle.
Thanks for coming aboard, so to speak and for writing on this site…
Semper fi,
Jim
Correction… “The grenade went off with a sharp crack, like a nearby stroke of lightning might make. That was followed seconds later by a much great crack.” Should be greatER crack.
Thanks for the help in editing Steve…
Semper fi,
Jim
I love reading hour chapters and am proud of you and your service !!
Thanks Jack, means a lot to me, especially right this minute…
Semper fi,
Jim
Im getting tiredof all these guys talking about spelling misprints and etc. thats the definition of Anal retenitiv. Fukem ur doin a great job
Every time i read a chapter i feel bad for u I was 2531 in a great company. 5 clicks below Z 67-68
No racial probs we all took care of eachother. Lost a lot of guys but never failed to have everybodys 6. What im tryin to say is no drama just did our jobs and smoked a lot of vc an nva
Thanks for your own writing of your own experience on here Bryant. That’s what this site is all about. We all had such different experiences but ended
up with these memories and sort of wounded lives…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for your quick reply to
My post. I know you are busy and have a lot on your plate
Apreciat it
Sempe Fidelis my Brother
BP
My pleasure Bryant. Little easier out here in Hawaii with all else off my plate…
Semper fi, and thanks for being such a loyal reader…
Jim
Another great chapter Lt.! Got a chuckle at your self deprecating humor, “I could not lead the Marines from the rear, and I could barely lead them from out front.”
I would’ve been proud to have served with you Sir.
Thanks a lot Randall. Means a lot to me that I might have led men like you.
Thanks for the great compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great!!!
Great read but also looking forward to the big screen
From your lips to god’s ears Paul! Not likely to get any movie offers as the subject the way I have treated it is way too controversial…
Thanks for your great thoughts though…
Semper fi
Jim
This mite help some of the guys. I book mark this and check ever few day for the new segments and see whats new that you have written. Jim keep them coming. https://jamesstrauss.com/thirty-days-september-third-ten-days/
Thanks, Mike, it can be hard to alert everyone every time a new segment is out.
Appreciate the help…
But we do have a place on the right of the website to sign up for New Chapter updates via email
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, another great read, got your 3 books last week, can’t put’em down. It was a s**tty place and time, a war being run from afar by those whom had no clue as to what was actually happening in the trenches(and worse didn’t care) I’m happy to have seen it from the air and not down in the mud as you did. Reb St. Semper Fi my Brother🇺🇸
Really makes me feel good this morning to get up and read your comment T.E.
will be working away to continue the effort today.
Semper fi,
Jim
Enjoying and waiting. Thanks for sharing your experience and recollections. It will be history recorded.
Thanks JayP. Means a lot to receive such comments.
Semper fi,
Jim
Captivating narrative aside, I am very impressed by your considered response to every comment from your (rapidly growing) readership. It’s like you value their input. Good call!
It would be hard not to comment back to such heartfelt reflections that have been written here all along.
Over 15,000 since this all began. Yes, I comment back on all of what your write here. Sort of become part of
the great effort to get this all out. Thanks for being a part of it and I do so value your and everyone’s input and
help in making this all happen on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, Every time I get to read a chapter I’m missing one….. But that doesn’t stop me from reading the one I have…. There were times I needed a diaper I think. Never enough clean shorts.
I enjoy this so much and I want you to know that I think about this shit all over again. Not as bad as I did 48 years ago, but I do.
Keep up the good work my friend.
Jim
Thanks for the depth of your compliment and the comment itself.
You did a good job of summing up the feelings of so many who are reading along with you…
not to mention the feelings of the writer…
Semper fi,
Jim
I don’t think anyone that wasn’t there understands how steep the learning curve is in combat. I stayed 2 extra tours to save 2 of my brothers from experiencing it. They appreciated my staying so they didn’t have to go, but don’t understand the real reason. Sure glad you made it back with at least some of your sanity. I’m not sure I even know what sane is but look forward to every chapter. Thanks
Well, hell, Ken. I’m not sure about how much of me came back either. What is sanity in this strange world we
live in? But here I am, like you, trying to get along and now put some of the strangeness of my development down.
Thanks for the sticking with me and bothering to comment on here yourself. Means a lot.
Semper fi,
Jim
James this may be off the subject but with the climate you were dealing with heat, humidity,torrential rain fall, mud and bracken what the heck kept your uniform and boots from rotting away?
The utilities rotted terribly. They held together in their form for much longer periods than guys in the rear would have believed.
Uniform supply was haphazard and undependable at the best of times..
Semper fi,
Jim
Can’t comment on the durability of the uniform, but know about the rubber compound used in the combat boot soles. An anti-fungal mercury compound was incorporated to resist jungle rot, which it did.
Thanks for that data Capt. Balzar. Never got the new jungle boots in the field while I was there.
Nice that they were able to do something for the guys coming in later on though.
Thanks for the update….and the arcane data…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great segment, I look forward with mixed emotions to every one, you have a way of bringing it all back
Thanks Steve for the great compliment and for the care so obviously written into your comment.
Thank you for that and those…
Semper fi,
Jim
They were all dead, even the sergeant who’d amazingly cheated it the first time around.
Who were all dead? I’m misreading that comment to think that Fusner etc were dead.
Fusner is not dead. That was a figure of speech and thought.
Thanks for picking up on it. Only Bates died that night…
Semper fi,
Jim
Michael, I think he was referring to the other guys that came in with Bates on the ill fated supply drop…all of them were lost …..Semper Fi
Yes, I was Larry, and thanks for pointing that out…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great read. Thanks for creating the experience on paper.
Thanks Buck, really appreciate the comment…
Semper fi, and the compliment in your words too…
Jim
Jim,
Even with the typos, an really excellent read. I had the honor of being fishing buddies with a WW 1 vet and all my uncles saw combat in WW2, plus my best hunting pal walked from one end of Korea to the other and back. In your writing I hear their stories again. But only difference was the mud ankle deep in trenches, they were on a beach or in was freezing ass cold. I got out in 65, became a pilot for PanAm and remember carrying a bunch troops now and then for R&R. I wished them well then and do now. (That in includes Marines.) 🙂
Thanks Jim. The Marine on here will be happy to read your comment!
Thanks for the compliment and also a bit of your own story…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Don’t call me Sir! I work for a living!” One of the first rules I learned in the Army, given with the simple explanation for the rule. Brings back those basic training memories. Keep up the good work. I keep enjoying it.
Yes, I had to deal with that expression a bit later back at Camp Pendledton.
Tough one when confronted with it. I’d be better now.
Semper fi,
Jim
“*pincher movement”
Pincer movement!
Thank you Tony,
Corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
It amazes me how you can put your emotions and self doubt on paper. It takes a great deal of courage Lt. Thank you…
Just laying it down the way it was for me and now in reflection trying to figure out how I felt every
step of the way.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow what a chapter. I feel guilty about how much I enjoy your story telling because it is your horror story as well as the Fusners, Gunnys, Bates and Texs. Every chapter I read I always think about what extraordinary kids Fusner and Zippo were and how they would never get to live their lives outside of that hellhole. What they could have been.
Anyway, another great chapter.
Extraordinary kids under the harshest of circumstance. No question.
Thanks for the comment and the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
I wonder if sgt.Bates saw the enemy crawlin in as expected and was killed trying to takem out with a grenade?
Well, not exactly Justin. Being new to combat is terribly deadly on any battlefield…
Thanks for writing in and reading closely…
Semper fi,
Jim
Excellent writing again James…you always leave us hanging…after putting us in the muck with you…
Thanks Mark, for mentioning your opinion on here and for the great compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for another riveting chapter. The focus you and your men had under those conditions is amazing.
Thanks Chuck, for your support and for the usual observation….keen and to the point.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sorry….memory issue. Was Bates a Sergeant? Who got hit? Bates or Fusner, or both? Great read.
Bates was hit, not Fusner. Thanks for the neat compliment…
Semper fi
Jim
I was worried that Fusner took the hit. I think that kid will end up saving you and Gunny.
Fusner was something else. Extraordinary, like so many there.
There is hope for human life and he human condition written into the code of
our species in such people.
Thanks for the comment…
Semper fi
Jim
came to me that I’d already been dead if the NVA had our kind of supplies. Maybe should read I’d have already been dead? Keep em coming LT! Waiting impatiently for the next installment
Thanks, Brian.
Fixed it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter.
Remember how it was to throw those baseball grenades in basic without rain,mud,fear, and on my knees. Bates lucky it went far as it did.
Saw a Skyraider up close at Seattle Museum of Flight this past week.Understand why they were feared by the enemy much better for close ground support than the fast movers.
Yes, about both points Jon. Grenades can be tricky at night in the rain and Skyraiders were something else indeed…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, just a small comment. In the paragraph about Bates, “Bates, an FNG, didn’t want to be alone…”, might this be Bates, a FNG…. Also I have a small question. Did you ever find out who was the commander of the large NVA group you engaged? Seems like he would have had good things to saw about your command skills and abilities.
Yes, Bates was an FNG from the rear area battalion command.
No, I never found out anything about who commanded the enemy unit. I was told that they were a sapper regiment…
Semper fi,
JIm
Thank you, James. Man, it is sure tough waiting for each segment – but well worth the wait!
Semper Fi, brother.
Much appreciate the hearfelt compliment Craig…
Semper fi
Jim
Another time left on the edge of our seats…to quote the kids nowadays…”shits getting real now”…great writing as usual…and I leave the edits to those that care about that stuff…I just look at overall content, the story…and you do know how to put us there with you…as a side note, I have quit receiving email notifications of these being put out there. The last 3 I have actually seen on FB…not sure why they stopped.
Unfortunately, I have no control over Facebook and can’t figure a lot of it out either.
Thanks for letting me know…and the compliment and attention of your reading and putting that comment on here Mark.
Semper fi,
Jim
I notice that the first comment on this installment is from Aug. 2nd and my email notification arrived today, the 5th.
I only mention this as a point of information,to this comment above. I always appreciate the episodes no matter when they arrive. Keep up the good work Jim.
Tim
Thanks for the notice, TimP.
All was set up but Chuck forgot to push the button!
He will be pilloried in the town square when I return.
Many readers also come to us from the Facebook Page.
Semper fi,
Jim
your story has left me with a higher respect for all the military that fought in nam, my cousin was a door gunner 101st, he was shot down in Laos/Cambodia, fortunately he and his crew made it out, my friend served with the marines in nam as a replacement for the walking dead, my self I served 31 years army with 1 combat tour in Iraq, what I went through in Iraq was basic training compared with what you guys went thru, cant wait to see the last 7 days
Thanks for a bit of your own story and the story of your friend.
Semper fi, and thanks for being impatient for more….
Jim
Just suggestions…. I love the story and style and am just offering what I see. I was at Nha Trang from 66 until right after Tet of 68 in the Air Force. Never saw or was involved in ground combat.
I’ll count each double spaced line as a paragraph.
Para 7, Line 8….should read…so low and close to the surface…
Para 17, Line 1….(Reads…He left without the taking the round…
Should read…He left without taking the round…
Para 18, Line 8….should read…doing the job by myself if there were…
Para 19, Line 3….should read…were trying to do their own work…
Para 25, Line 1….suggest using “proven” instead of “proved”
Para 67, Line 1….suggest a comma…the rain, the dark…
Thank you, Doug.
Noted and corrected,
Semper fi
Jim
Couple of suggestions:
“and then after only a rounds being expended” change to”after only a couple of rounds’
“Zippo’s snipers were trying to their own” change to “trying to do their own”
As usual you are making memories come alive. Thank you Let.
Much appreciated, Buck.
Corrected
Semper fi,
Jim
LT:
One minor correction on my first “read”: “He left without the taking the round, barely making a sound.”
To me, should read: “He left without taking the round, barely making a sound.”
Keep up the story, Waiting for the next chapter.
Hooah.
Thanks for the sharp eyes, Craig
Correcting.
Semper fi,
Jim
False dawn we called it. From vc valley similar place
Yes, I have heard the different forms of early dawn called that too…
and thanks for adding the comment
Semper fi,
Jim
Excellent as always…one edit…”Being all along under fire on a field”……should be alone.
Thanks for putting all this down..gotta be tough to do, but it is important to get the story out…..for a lot of reasons
Sure as hell tough to put down without mistakes along the way. Thanks for the editing help.
Semper fi,
Jim
I can’t get enough of your intense story. Twenty three days and no down time. Surreal. And then again, maybe not so much. Please bring ’em on faster Lt.
Yes, went the whole way without much of a break at all, except what I could find of a hole here and there in the valley.
Thanks for the support and the nice comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
OH here we go again
Yes, Bill, the TDHS roller coaster !!!
Semper fi,
Jim
The big gun which was *direct to my front (directly??)
Gunny said, his tone harsh and uncaring. “We’ve got *out own problems. (our own?)
Once again on the edge of my seat Lt. !!!
SEMPER Fi
Thanks, Sargeant.
Noted and Corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, thank you for another chapter.
If only they would listen … too bad for Bates.
Some editing suggestions follow.
“My right angle was suddenly pulled backward.”
Substitute “ankle” for “angle”
“My right ankle was suddenly pulled backward.”
“I plunged ahead, so low and close the surface that my chin plowed …”
Maybe add “to” before “the surface”
I plunged ahead, so low and close to the surface that my chin plowed
“as the mist collected and flowed down my face as I went giving my some sense of cleanliness.”
Substitute “me” for “my”
as the mist collected and flowed down my face as I went giving me some sense of cleanliness.
“Being all along under fire on a field of flat mud …”
Maybe substitute “alone” for “along”
Being all alone under fire on a field of flat mud
“The fifty would open up every few minutes and then, after only a rounds being expended, …”
Maybe add “few” or “small number of” before “rounds”
The fifty would open up every few minutes and then, after only a few rounds being expended
The fifty would open up every few minutes and then, after only a small number of rounds being expended
“The rounds were all directed toward where Zippo’s snipers were trying to their own work …”
Maybe add “do” before “their”
The rounds were all directed toward where Zippo’s snipers were trying to do their own work
“the Gunny said, his tone harsh and uncaring. “We’ve got out own problems”
Change “out” to “our”
the Gunny said, his tone harsh and uncaring. “We’ve got our own problems
“The distinctive sound of a pin coming out of a grenade penetrated the rain the dark, and the air”
Maybe add a comma after “the rain”
The distinctive sound of a pin coming out of a grenade penetrated the rain, the dark, and the air
Nit picky detail from first paragraph.
“I heard only a few single rounds coming from a gun I couldn’t recognize”
Substitute “weapon” for “gun”
Minor detail:
“The Ontos, and particularly the flechette rounds, being the only thing that might save our lives.”
Maybe substitute “was” for “being”
The Ontos, and particularly the flechette rounds, was the only thing that might save our lives.
Another minor one:
“It came to me that I’d already been dead if the NVA had our kind of supplies”
Maybe substitute “be” for “been”
It came to me that I’d already be dead if the NVA had our kind of supplies
Meaning seems backwards:
““Yes, sir,” Bates answered, his nervousness and fear preventing him from breaking a cardinal rule in the Marine Corps.”
Bates did break a cardinal rule.
Maybe something like … “Yes, sir,” Bates answered, his nervousness and fear causing him to break a cardinal rule in the Marine Corps.
Blessings & Be Well
Got them all. Thanks a million for the help with the editing. And for the blessings too….
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes, sir,” Bates answered, his nervousness and fear preventing him from breaking a cardinal rule in the Marine Corps
Edit …. and fear causing him to break a cardinal rule…
Or something similar …made him break …
Appreciate your input, Mike
semper fi,
Jim
James, thanks for another great chapter!
Thanks Mike, means a lot to get such high praise fro you guys…
Semper fi,
Jim
“fire in the hole Bates yelled…..missing a quotation mark
Thank you Sam,
Corrected
Semper fi, Jim
Riveting as usual. You sure have a knack for leaving us eagerly awaiting the next chapter. Minor typo for your consideration – “The fifty would open up every few minutes and then, after only a rounds being expended,…” need to insert “few” between “a” and “rounds”.
Noted and corrected, Bob
Thank you
Semper fi,
Jim
Another Outstanding chapter Lt!
Thanks Ronnie, great to have such fans, and I don’t mean to demean men and women like you who comment on here with such a light word.
You are much more than fans. Friends is more like it and not FB friends either…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another outstanding chapter Jim !! “Being all along under fire on a field of flat mud with no cover was worse than the terror I felt in being in direct contact with the enemy.” Should it read “Being all alone under fire” Semper Fi Jim !!
Thanks, Chuck,
Corrected.
Semper fi, Jim
Another great chapter. James you sure have the knack of leaving your readers on the edge awaiting for more.
Thanks.
Thanks for the great compliment Bud…and I will keep hammering away.
Semper fi,
Jim
8th paragraph, 5th line. “Being all along…” I think you meant “Being all alone…”
You are right and now correct.
Semper fi,
Jim
“Being all along under fire” should be “Being all alone under fire“
The arrival of your post, is an “all stop” what I’m doing, and start reading. Keep it up you’re doing great!
Thanks Walt, back at you…and the next segment is underway….
semper fi, my friend,
Jim
One helluva night not over yet, and Gunny somehow knows the NVA will be in your position soon. This looks like a marathon effort to get on paper, Sir. Take a breath your hands are probably stuck to,the keyboard. Thank you for the monumental efforts required for each compelling segment. Poppa J
.
Thanks, as usual, Poppa J. Yes, stickier and stickier….as we go along.
Thanks for the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Started intense, stayed that way until I read Submit a Comment. It’s gonna be a long wait on the next chapter.
Your comments are important too. Forgot to notify 3900 on the list so maybe there will be more comments later today.
It’s Sunday so many will come on today…
Semper fi,
Jim
My right (angle) (ankle) was suddenly pulled backward.
All I could do was wait. The fifty would open up every few minutes and then, after only a {few} rounds being expended, it would go quiet again. The rounds were all directed toward where Zippo’s snipers were trying to {do} their own work.
WOW Hope Cowboy and company are in route and reach you in time. Talk about out of the frying pan into the fire.
Thanks for the help here Peter and your continued support as we go along…
semper fi,
Jim
“They can look out for themselves,” the Gunny said, his tone harsh and uncaring. “We’ve got out(r) own problems.
Thanks again, Michael…on it…
Semper fi,
Jim
The crump(?) of the beehive round came seconds later.
That was followed seconds later by a much great(er) crack. The Ontos had fired.
The Ontos wouldn’t need spotting help if Zippo(s) was alert to when the grenades would go off.
The fifty would open up every few minutes and then, after only a rounds (few) being expended, it would go quiet again.
Being all along under fire on a field of flat mud with no cover was worse
Being all alone…
This is getting harder to read as it matches on and I’m certain it’s becoming even harder to write.
I keep wondering if Command ever learns to shut up and start listening to the of you in the field for accurate Intel. Doesn’t look likely.
Another vivid picture. Take your time. A luxury you didn’t have then. We’ll all be waiting
It was staggering how out of touch the rear area was in the Nam. I wonder how it is now.
With all the advances in technology and the more open battlefields offered by the desert maybe it’s not so bad today.
Semper fi,
Jim