There were fifty bodies, and right away everyone in the joined companies knew that the enemy soldiers were not NVA troops, or really soldiers at all. The uniforms were wrong and the ages were wrong. The bodies were of very young men and women dressed in peasant attire, carrying AK-47s with mostly empty magazines. Their bodies all looked the same, like nothing had touched them. The only thing out of place was the tiny little x marks all over every inch of them. The ‘x’ marks had no blood. There were no entry and exit wounds from the flechettes, like would have been normal to witness from almost any bullet passing entirely through any human body. But the flechettes weren’t traveling at bullet speed when they struck the peasant’s bodies. They’d been traveling about ten times faster. Twenty-two thousand feet per second instead of around twenty-two hundred. Hundreds of nearly microscopic darts had gone through each body, regardless of uniform, clothing or bone.
“They took the farmers and made them charge us,” the Gunny said, examining the bloodless penetrated corpses as closely as everyone else.
“Why?” I asked, kneeling at the Gunny’s side, no longer curious about the damage the Ontos had wrought but instead beginning to worry about the odd move on the part of the NVA.
“In preparation?” the Gunny asked back.
“I know,” I responded, “but preparation for what and when?”
The Gunny didn’t answer. I got up and made my way back to the Ontos. Whatever we did we had to do it quickly. No matter what the NVA were planning it was evident that they were planning something. They’d just tossed a hundred human beings at us as if they were worth nothing, which to them they must have been.
I pushed my back against the front of the Ontos slanted armor plate and stared up at the front face of Hill 975. The side of the mountain to the east, where I’d considered scaling the rip-rap to reach the highlands before heading north was no longer a consideration. The NVA surveillance from their tunneled in mountainside positions was too pervasive to risk having all my Marines exposed, first in single file getting to the rocks and then more exposed making the climb up. We were going to have to go around Hill 975, as planned, but we were going to have to use the riverbank and the hard-crusted dirt road called Highway 548. The maps showed the road as passable all the way to the DMZ. Resupply would have been easier once we reached the highlands but we would have to make do with the Highway 548 plan as best we could.
The Ontos had 15 rounds of flechette ammo and five of high explosives. How far could the companies get with artillery support and the Skyraiders until we reached some secure position to be resupplied could not be calculated. The A-Shau Valley was twenty-five miles long and we’d come only about six miles north since dropping down from the mountains separating the valley from Ga Noi Island. The valley would not climb out of the lower elevations for about ten more miles, in checking out the contour intervals on the maps I had. In truth, my maps didn’t go far enough to reach the DMZ itself. I’d need more at the next resupply.
The choice to move in toward the river and move north between the rushing water and the old damaged highway wasn’t a difficult one. It had some of the same downsides of heading north the other way, with the exception that we wouldn’t be moving up a dead-end valley with a difficult climb into an unknown fire at the end of it. The surveillance by the enemy forces drilled and tunneled into the very body of the mountain outthrust of Hill 975 would be the same, however. There could be no surprise move on our part, not in the daytime, and not in the night with the Ontos growling its way up what was left of the old highway.
The idea of building another likely-to-fail firebase down in the very bottom creases of the valley had been abandoned by the command in the rear, but the fact that Hill 975 had not been taken and held would not go down well, if at all. We were heading north for no good reason I could figure out and I knew neither the Gunny nor anybody else had a good idea either. For the time being, moving anywhere but where we were made sense, and the north flatter terrain and area of operations would allow for full use of the whole arsenal of artillery supporting fires.
The Gunny came running across the open, followed by Sugar Daddy, Jurgens, and Obrien. When they went down into the mud it was almost impossible to tell what or who they were, other than higher lumps than other lumps nearby. The rain returned in earnest, pummeling down on my helmet. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome, except for the fact that it was too warm. The mild rinsing effect it had made a dent in the mess we’d all become, although nothing was going to clean us off entirely without some sort of full immersion.
“What’s the butcher’s bill?” I asked the Gunny, pulling back as far as I could under the raised front edge of the Ontos’ armor.
“Can this shit get any worse?” Jurgens asked, to no one in particular.
As if he’d hit a switch the drums began beating again. They were louder than they’d ever been before and caused every Marine in our combined unit to go silent and listen. The beat was strangely attractive but it came with a message of deep fear. I now knew that the NVA only used the drums when they thought they had us in a weakened position. They were doing what the professional football teams did when a field goal kicker was about to make his effort. They were icing us. Which also meant that they were getting prepared to hit us again, although, with the losses they’d taken from the flechettes, civilian as those losses were, they’d probably wait until after dark to set up some bases of fire before attacking under their protection.
“We didn’t lose anybody, amazingly enough,” the Gunny replied to my question, “But they sure as hell took it in the ass.”
“I still don’t understand why they used the villagers?” I asked, the feeling of helpless sorrow almost overcoming the winding fear the drums recreated and send coursing up and down the insides of my torso.
“So you’d feel the way you feel,” the Gunny replied instantly. “The way you look. The way we all look. And maybe they wanted to see what we had and quite possibly to get us to spend our inventory because we aren’t getting any more supplies until we get out of this hell hole.”
I looked down at hundreds of small leeches, their thin bodies searching upward in waving curves from the mud. I realized that the leeches were fighting for space, air, and to survive. They were a lot like us.
I laid out my plan to move the Ontos up the highway with the rest of us accompanying the machine, covering the miles north move by using the brush and light jungle terrain between the road and the bank of the river. The 175s could safely fire over our heads to cover the rear, at least once we were a couple of clicks north of where we were now. Artillery from both Army firebases would be able to reach out and hit the highlands on either side of the valley, and Cunningham could even adjust fire up and down the eastern face. Hill 975’s entire length could be kept under near-constant fire while we passed by while Cowboy, and whatever other Skyraiders he could gather together, could orbit and drop down from above. The only real safety we would have, however, was in moving. Staying where we were would lead to our eventual annihilation.
Incessant Drums
The drums were horrid, the sounds seemed to come through the rain in waves, and the malevolence in their constant beating was impossible not to feel and concentrate on. We needed to get away from the drums as badly as we needed to leave the area for tactical reasons, and we needed to do it immediately.
“What position do we need to arrive at up north and when?” I asked the Gunny, still feeling a strangeness in the asking. I knew that feeling was never going to leave me as long as battalion command chose to ignore me as the only officer commander it had in the unit. Command still called to talk to Gunny on the combat net, as if he was the six-actual and not me.
“Just a grid coordinate that will become an LZ when we get there. The 1st Air Cavalry is going to be flown in to spearhead an operation heading back down here into the southern part of the valley to clear it out once and for all.”
Jurgens started to laugh and was quickly joined by Obrien and Sugar Daddy, with the ancillary radio operators and my own scout team joining in.
That they could laugh at all with the drum beats rolling over us like shifting clouds of doom, surprised me and I wondered if I was anywhere near as tough as any of the Marines who’d managed to survive to be where and when we were.
The Gunny and I looked at one another, neither of us even cracking a smile. The rear area, whether of Army or Marine Command, just could not accommodate that fact that the A Shau was riven with tunnels, split by a ferociously powerful and deep river and populated by a supplied NVA force that most likely was as large as the entire allied military structure available to I Corps in the northern part of the country. Even if the Army division brought in all of its men it wouldn’t be enough, and it wouldn’t bring in all of its troops. The Gunny wasn’t laughing because he knew what I knew. A lot more Marines were going to die in such an operation, although they wouldn’t die alone because they’d have plenty of Army company.
“Give me the grid position where we’re headed,” I said.
The Gunny read off the numbers he’d somehow, even with the heavy rain and miserable humidity, written down on his palm and managed to keep legible.
I memorized the number, knowing the map of our area so well that I had a good idea of where we were headed. From the way the photo/contour map was displayed when I had it out earlier, I knew that we’d likely be gathering together on a flat and level plain pretty far from the river. A great field of fire for the enemy but also well chosen for being dead center at close range for at least four allied artillery firebases, if not more when I included the 155s and eight-inch guns bunkered in closer to the DMZ. I knew that, at least if the Army was involved, then resupply was going to be heavy and qualitative. We needed 106 ammo and Claymores if we were coming back south again.
“I’ll take a couple of minutes to lay out our defensive fires,” I said, without further comment on or preamble to my plan. “I’ll call in Cowboy and then start to soften the east side of this hill for our departure. We should be able to depart in twenty minutes with Sugar Daddy’s platoon walking point, with the Ontos taking the lead.”
“No fucking way,” Sugar Daddy said, even before I finished my last sentence.
The syncopation of his words was somehow linked to the drums. The ‘no,’ followed by a drumbeat, and then ‘fucking,’ another drumbeat, and then the final word.
I didn’t have to move my right hand. I’d kept it on the handle of Tex’s .45 automatically. I kept the cover of his closed-style holster folded open unless I thought I might go swimming again. I wondered briefly what it would be like to serve in a stateside Marine unit and not think about shooting any of my own men as a response to either threats, denials or other rotten conduct.
I realized that there was nothing to be said that might lead away from a violent confrontation that could only compromise the plan. We had to get out of where we were and we had to do it quickly, not be mired down in some sort of intra-company firefight. Instead of saying anything, I slowly got out from under the Ontos and stood in the full press of the heated rain. The thousands of drops striking my helmet acted like a melody to the dull hateful lyrics of the enemy’s death song.
Fusner, Zippo, and Nguyen moved with me, as I walked toward the back of the armored vehicle. I glanced behind and noticed that Nguyen was walking backward, and I realized at that point that the Montagnard’s trust in Sugar Daddy was even lower than my own.
I called in the zone fire I thought we’d need to the front of our moving position and also the 175s to chew up the rear. That left only the problem of the jungle-covered side of Hill 975 and the wall of the plateau that extended miles back from it. Cowboy would arrive in an hour with his wingman for additional support. Before we moved I wanted 105s and 155s to churn the side of that hill to a mess of chewed vegetation and crushed tunnel entrances. Nothing could reach down deep enough into the mud and rock to destroy the body of subterranean chambers and paths the Vietnamese had dug down there over generations of occupation and fighting, but if the NVA couldn’t use the entrances and exits until they did more digging then we’d be gone by the time they came out. Nobody was going to live if trying to remain above ground protected only by the dense, but by no means impenetrable, ground cover.
The Gunny came around the back of the Ontos and stood next to the three of us. I handed the AN/323 air radio headset back to Fusner.
“Sugar Daddy has a point,” the Gunny began, taking half a minute to light a cigarette before he went. “There are only two ways to go. The NVA know we can’t stay here so we have to move north. South is a dead-end street. We won’t be going up the cliff, and they probably know it. That leaves the highway, and the Ontos and all of that.”
I watched the Gunny masterfully keep his cigarette burning in spite of the mildly blowing wind and rain. I also noticed that the more it rained the more I could begin to make out facial features as the mud from our slide down the mountain continued to wash off.
“So, what’s your point?” I asked, taking a puff from the cigarette the Gunny held out like an olive branch.
He was in a bad position and I knew it because I’d left him in it. My reputation as ‘Junior, the miracle artillery and map reading expert’ didn’t extend to allowing me the full leadership of the outfit. Sugar Daddy knew it and used it or the Gunny wouldn’t be sharing a cigarette with me and trying to come to some accommodation that would satisfy Sugar Daddy and his Marines.
“Kilo’s with us and has almost three full platoons,” the Gunny said softly, before looking away.
He waited, using the time to accept his cigarette back and snap the remains off toward where the river still ran so strongly. Even the beating of the awful drums could not overpower the sound of that deep rushing water.
“Can’t work,” I said. “Sugar Daddy and his guys have endangered the company twice if not more times than I know. I’m not personally concerned about this disobeying orders or even the cowardice of abandoning posts under fire. We’re the United States Marine Corps and we have only that to get us through. We get artillery, supplies, air power and even the Ontos because we are that. We’re not throwing Kilo into the charnel house. They don’t have a clue. We’re going to act like Marines this time, and Marines fight when they have to, not when they want to. Sugar Daddy takes the point or I’m calling in the first 105s on his unit over there by the river. You want that grid number because the battery has no idea we’re this close to the slope of the hill?”
The Gunny stood and stared at me through the falling rain, his expression more dead-flat expressionless American Indian rather than whatever extraction he was a combination of.
“They know where we are,” the Gunny, replied his voice low. “They won’t fire that close, knowing where we are.”
“Fine,” I replied, getting ready to pull my pack down from the rear of the Ontos and prepare for departure.
The Gunny was right. I was bluffing. The batteries knew exactly where we were, if not from my own registration, then from monitoring the air support frequency.
“Give Sugar Daddy and his platoon the tail end Charlie position. They should be safe there, and the batteries will never really know where their exact position is, once we get moving.”
“We need that platoon,” the Gunny shot back, shaking his head.
“As you said, we now have Kilo, and they don’t seem to have the racial mess we’re dealing with, at least not after we allowed eight more blacks to come under Sugar Daddy’s control.”
We’d made no attempt to guard our conversation against the Marines around us. The Ontos team was under the belly of the armored beast, but they could hear everything, even over the sounds of the river and drums. My scout team was right beside us. I’d not taken the Gunny aside on purpose. Sugar Daddy needed to know what I might be planning, not that I was caring as much as I might have at one time. Was my threat a bluff? I wasn’t sure myself, although mentally I had already begun to calculate just where the optimal beaten zone might be set up to excise the racial problem once and for all.
The Gunny walked away and I turned my back. Zippo helped me with the straps on my pack.
“They ain’t all bad, sir,” he whispered into my left ear, as he worked.
“Who?” I replied, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not ready to recant on my announced decision.
Zippo didn’t answer. He continued to help me adjust the heavy pack.
“It’s not about that,” I said with a sigh, not expecting Zippo, even though he’d come out of Sugar Daddy’s platoon at his own request, to understand at all.
“It’s about leadership, isn’t it, sir?” he replied, surprising me.
He was right, but in a different way than I thought about the problem.
“Inside the wire, Zippo,” I said, thinking about the complexity of the mess the entire unit was in. “Those inside the wire are friendlies. Those inside the wire maximize the survival of all those around them. Outside the wire is the enemy, no matter what uniform they wear or what they say.”
“So, if they won’t do what you tell them to do they’re outside the wire?” Zippo asked.
“You missed that part about maximizing survival,” I said, after taking a few seconds to try to put the words in a form he could understand. “If they won’t fight they then threaten everyone else. It’s their choice. I call supporting fires on the enemy, whomever that enemy might be. Everyone doesn’t have a choice here. I didn’t’ make it that way, the Marine Corps did.”
The Gunny came back down through the small rivulets of water that had begun to form and run in every direction through the mud around us.
“The Ontos needs to fire up and get to the point. Sugar Daddy’s platoon is going to lead us past the worst part and then be relieved once we’re clear. They want to form up behind the Ontos and have it loaded with those flechettes.”
The Ontos started before the Gunny was done speaking. The driver had been listening to everything.
I looked at the Gunny, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. A compromise had swiftly been worked out behind my back. The company had run on compromise too many times in the past, I felt, but the drums, the river, the mud, the hula dancing leeches near my feet, all beat me down. Once again, Sugar Daddy had been warned and once again, I knew in my fear-shivering bones that he would try to take me out at the earliest opportunity. After my threat, and the Gunny’s compromise, I couldn’t exactly drop artillery in on his platoon without losing the rest of the company in the process or even having them kill me in retaliation. Sugar Daddy wouldn’t be so open or constrained.
“Wait for Cowboy, before we pull out,” I said to the Gunny. “The first artillery should be impacting at about the same time. Cunningham and Ripcord are both firing for suppression, so the planes will be coming up from the south to stay off the gun target line.”
I hunkered down next to the idling Ontos. It would only take the beast about five minutes to get to the point and start the move up the valley. The driver stuck his head out of the hole in the armor plate. I nodded at him, thankful that someone in the unit, other than my scout team, was accepting direction. The Ontos surged forward, spitting mud out the sides of its tracks, as well as behind them. More mud covered me. I wiped what I could away, more to make sure I hadn’t collected any leeches because I wasn’t going to get any cleaner. I’d been clean all my life and hadn’t really known or understood that it was part of this life. Being abysmally filthy all the time wasn’t something I knew I was ever going to get used to no matter how long I lasted in Vietnam.
I moved toward the river with my scout team. Zippo and Nguyen kept their distance, as I’d taught them. One grenade was not going to get all of us, or one booby trap unless it was really huge. Jurgens appeared out of a bamboo thicket near the rapidly passing current.
“We’ve got your back, Junior,” he said, with a big smile.
“I don’t need your protection,” I shot back, still angry with the compromise and the seemingly dense and stupid men who had caused it.
“I meant that we’re covering the rear for the move, sir,” Jurgens corrected, his smile wiped from his face.
I almost rocked back in shock. Jurgens hadn’t meant what I thought he’d meant and he’d called me sir.
“Ah, thanks, got it, move out,” I replied, shaken by how badly I’d misunderstood him and also how much of a mess the race thing might continue to grow to be.
I was being made to think in terms of black and white Marines and I didn’t want to go there. We were dying. Our losses could not be sustained and allow any of us to survive even a fraction of whatever time the rear area command intended for us to be in the field, yet old and stupid prejudice permeated the unit from one end to the other.
I moved forward as quickly as I could. The Skyraiders approaching thrum behind us radiated up the valley, overpowering the drums, the river and the constant beating of the rain. I had to get far enough upriver to adjust the first artillery rounds. The Ontos was ahead on the highway, but too far up it to be heard. The Ontos was the company’s key to close in survival. None of the firebases would fire within two hundred meters of the highway, no matter what I called in. The officers in those batteries had their own careers to guard, and dropping friendly artillery on Marines in combat was a quick road to a court-martial and even prison time if it could be determined that they violated the rules of engagement. The batteries accepted my lies about our fictional positions because that data could be used to defend them if things went wrong. There was nothing to defend me, however.
The first artillery rounds came in, just as the Skyraiders hit the jungle with their twenty-millimeter cannons. The artillery rounds didn’t need adjusting. Cunningham and Ripcord knew exactly where Hill 975 was and understood that we were moving up the highway. The Skyraiders were always a relief to have on hand. They swooped away after making one run and disappeared up through the low hanging clouds. I had no idea how the pilots could see through their canopies, with the rain being fairly heavy and the light so limited.
Our first casualties didn’t come from the jungle or an ambush up near the point. It took a couple of minutes, once the sporadic firing began, to pin down what had happened. The western wall of the valley, the one that rose up high above the swirling river that ran right up against its stone face had been left out of my calculations. The NVA had put snipers up on top of the wall. There was no place for us to go. From sniper positions up on the wall, there was no cover. The snipers didn’t have to be that good since they could simply load and fire as endlessly as they pleased.
I’d gone down deep into the riverbank mud at the sound of the first shots. I knew where the drums were. The snipers were firing from whatever position they’d selected on the far wall to locate the drums for maximum effect. The snipers were succeeding where the drums had not. I knew Marines were being hit from the screams upriver.
I reached out and Fusner filled my hand with the artillery net microphone.
“Call Cowboy and get them on it,” I said, as calmly as I could.
I took no time to re-orient myself using the map in my pocket or my compass. I knew where the last rounds had come in up the opposite side wall of jungle cover. I called in a spotting adjustment in white phosphorus instead of a new fire mission to Ripcord. I asked for ‘right two thousand,’ hoping the explosion would be close to the top edge of the opposing wall and the blooming phosphorus visible from where I was.
The round impacted the side of the cliff, about three hundred meters up. It hit the wall so low that phosphorus bits and pieces cascaded down and across the river.
There were more screams. But there were no more sniper shots coming from the top of the wall.
I didn’t see the next round when it went off somewhere back from the upper edge of the cliff, but I heard it. The Skyraiders strafed the top of the cliff in the same area, but they were gone in seconds. I called in for a battery of six and waited. The rounds came in, and there was no missing their impact. Thirty-six rounds of forty pounds each. Some outer explosions were visible from my position, and I knew the remainder were impacting in a circular pattern approximately two hundred yards from the edge. It was all I needed. I adjusted fire up and down along the top of the wall, knowing that we’d probably take more casualties from the stone and rock that had to be flung outward by some of the impacts.
Cunningham was still firing on the jungle side of the wall. I heard the roar of the Ontos as it built up to top speed. Everyone was moving. There could be no slowing or stopping again. We had to get out of the beaten zone we’d somehow gotten ourselves into. Sugar Daddy’s platoon had taken casualties, I was almost sure. I didn’t know about any of the other platoons, although there were plenty of Marines running and walking while carrying the corner of a poncho cover.
“Steeped in blood,” I whispered to myself, handing the microphone back to Fusner.
“Sir?” Fusner replied.
“Steeped in blood,” I repeated. “I never named the plan. That would have been an accurate one, and we have a long way to go.”
“I don’t think that would have been a good idea, sir,” Fusner said, “and don’t say that out loud, anymore.”
Simply put “If you’ve never eaten your dinner from a green can… or brown bag – you just don’t understand”. Welcome Home, Brothers.
So true.
Thanks for your comment, Ton.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow, painted yourselves into a hole with bad guys all around and Hill 937 just waiting for you to the West. Don’t know how anyone survived with so many problems coming at this rag tag bunch from every direction. Fantastic story. Keep stomping.
You could not survive for long. Anything can be accomplished in the short term but eventually statistics
come true. How many times can you toss heads in a row? That was the situation there…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
163 Years, and it is still We in the field pay the price of the blunders just as the 600.
Semper Fi/This We Defend Bob.
Yes, the social structure changes but not the underlying belief systems that serve as its foundation.
Thanks for the quote and the deep comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Came back around to read the comments from the other Namvets. You should consider picking some of the best comments and assembling them in an appendix for your book when you complete the 30 days. Some of the comments are gold and should be preserved. Also, do you have intentions of consolidating the 1st and 2nd ten days into the third or will the book always be a 3 volume set?
Thanks for your writings James-I think you can see that many of us are really enjoying your work.
Rick
Almost all of the comments will be in the Index. They are the most important part of the series to me.
Semper fi, and thank you…
Jim
LT
I remember FDC working up dope for air burst WP (Willy Peter) on mountain cliffs. We waited for troops in the open>
Yes, you would if you knew the relative positions. Thanks for the comment
Semper fi,
Join
Jim,
Was a recon man with MACVSOG, RT IDAHO! Can’t begin to tell you how many times I launched into “The Valley of Death”, but it was a lot from May of 1967 through 1969. There was just no way to ever understand what it was like there if you were never there. SOG lost hundreds of men including whole teams that just vanished. My own team RT IDAHO with my team leader and mentor Glen Lane inserted just a few days before I came home on leave, only to never be heard from again.
They sent a Bright Light team to try and find out what happened, and they never got off the LZ. 13 out of the fourteen men were wounded in the first few minutes. I considered myself a professional Special Forces soldier, but I was always scared shitless when in “The Ashau”!
Thanks for your personal story Tim. The A Shau was a killer, for certain, and relatively unknown then and now.
Semper fi,
Jim
SOG had balls of steel – we were in and around you guys many times. Will never forget the extraction I witnessed out of Laos on “McGuire” rigs as we called them (horse collars and hang on). Will never forget the pilot who could not let go of the controls after landing on our FB. Salute from the 101st
The 101st was the best of the best and I much appreciate them on the flank later on…
Semper fi,
Jim
thanks – we tried no response required thank you for what you have taken on – No Fucking Slack 2/327
You are most welcome Bob…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim i’ve Purchased both books and have read them at least twice. I can’ Wait for the third book to come out. I’ll purchase a second set and take one set to the VFW post. I feel maybe this will help so more Vets. I served in the Air Force during The Viet Nam War, thank the Lord. Thank you for your service and your story.
Thanks a ton William. Means a lot to me that men like you can read and understand the situation and how
different my rendition of what happened over there is so distinctly different from what is mostly available in print or at the movies.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,
May I say something here?
I think that I as have a lot of us have had to revisit and think about their Viet Nam experiences in H rough r added NMG your story. Although I have been involved in Viet Nam veterans organizations for a number of years this has caused feelings I have lived with for years to re-surface. You see, I had a support roll during my time in Viet Nam. I was a REMF if you will. That being said, I have had survivors guilt for many years. Why? Because I did not suffer the way some of you did. When I have brought it up to other veterans they have assured me that I served where I was told to serve. That is true but deep down emotionally I know that I did not suffer as much as Junior and his people.
I want you to know that when reading I find myself wishing that I could have been there to help you but so glad I was not there in that environment. I was a good Marine and I could have hacked it in your company but again, glad I did not have to.
I want to think you and all your company for their service and I want to thank you for writing your experiences for us to read.
Semper Fi
Ken Brown
USMC 1968-1970
1st MAW 1969-1970
Correction: I think that I as have a lot of us have had to revisit and think about their Viet Nam experiences in H rough r added NMG your story.
Should read: I think that I as have a lot of us have had to revisit and think about their Viet Nam experiences by having read your story.
Thanks Ken, not sure I caught all of what you meant here but thanks for writing in.
Semper fi,
Jim
Just trying to say that I often feel guilty for not being there with you.
Well, you should not.
You should wake up every morning and smile at your good fortune.
Combat does not make men.
It turns men into a reduced form that takes years for recovery.
There are simply so few that survive the public has no idea,
and neither do many of the men nearby who didn’t cross into places like the A Shau….
Semper fi, and glad to have you still with us in one piece.
Jim
Sure as hell glad you were not there or you likely would not be here! And I love the fact that there are so many veterans
still here. Semper fi, and thanks a million…
Jim
Again, the notification e-mail reached me at work…. and again, I stopped and read the whole chapter right there, right then.
Doesn’t matter. I’d rather get written up, than have to wait till end of my shift.
LOL
Thanks for that terrific compliment Joel. Means everything to me, as I continue with the toughest book of the series.
Semper fi, and thinking about you, kid…
Jim
Allis Chalmers Tractor a/k/a Lt’s joy ride.
https://www.militaryfactory.com/armor/detail.asp?armor_id=205
I was fortunate to have served in an Army Helicopter Assault Company where esprit de corp and discipline remained high and even in 1971 we were confident we were winning. However we had other US units on base that were “troubled”. It was especially apparent when one of us had Duty Officer.
One evening there was a stabbing at the enlisted club … and a group beating afterwards out front. A bunch of black soldiers broke into their arms room and a group of crewchiefs/gunners already had their weapons and they squared off for a shootout.
The Duty Officer, a young WO1 named Bachelor called the MPs … a total waste of time. After a few minutes wait he had his Sergeant drive him to the site where it was getting ready to go down and stop so the headlights were shining in the middle, and he got out and stood in the headlights and began to speak.
What he said, in essence. was he never thought he would see the day when Americans would be willing to kill fellow Americans and that if they were intent on doing that … then they would have to start with him. Or if they would just leave their weapons where they were … he would do his best to see them returned to their respective arms rooms and nothing further be done about it.
After a tense 30 seconds or so … the sound of magazines being removed and weapons being dropped were heard … and Mr Bachelor and his NCO began gathering up weapons.
Of course if you weren’t there … or weren’t in Bach’s flight platoon you’ve never heard of this because it was hushed up. But to this old retired CW4 it was an act of sheer courage …
I was in several crazy situations like that when I was reclassified to an MP unit in Korea. The NCO/EM clubs were rife with race flareups everywhere i was from 70-79. It was just the way of it then & I have to hand it to officers like Gen. Colin Powell Et. Al. that finally cleared it up long after I left. No, stuff like that never made the reports that went up the food chain and NEVER were permitted to include the media of the day.
Yes, Tom, it was all kept very very quiet and out of reports….daily reports and after action reports too.
Semper fi,
Jim
The same Ga Noi Island in the Arizona? Spent part of 69 tere with A Co,1st Bn,26th Marines.
Yes, the same Ga Not in the Arizona Territory. The A Shau was
called Indian country. I have no idea why or how these names came to be used.
Semper fi,
Jim
I don’t understand the thinking of the commanders in the rear. If your troops are in an untenable situation, you either reinforce them or withdraw them. These guys apparently left you to work it out yourselves. I’m reminded of Bastogne in WWII and Dak To in Vietnam. Both were bad situations but they weren’t left to deal with it themselves.
We don’t know how those actual combat troops handled what they were given.
Not many risk writing about it. Too hard. Hard psychologically. Hard in losing credibility,
Hard in being thought of as a coward, monster or worse. Why bother. The reward in the rear area was
in getting to stay alive. The objective to accomplish that mission was not to go into combat.
The rest just played out. And it is extremely difficult to command from a rear area when you don’t really have much
of a clue about what’s going on in the field.
Semper fi,
Jim
A different time zone, a different world, and most assuredly a different reality, although largely one we had created in 1939 instructing Uncle Ho’s people to fight the Japanese. Eisencoward sent more instructors and planes to help DeGaul, Kennedy tried to get out, and LBJ saw profit to be made.
We the well and truly screwed just became expendables and got shipped to be expended. It kept us out of the numbers of unemployed in the States.
For those who understand, no explanation is needed. For those who don’t none is possible. There is no now for then in this constructed insanity.
We ate the King’s bread, be it voluntarily or not, and we fought the King’s fight.
In a game where winning is everything we weren’t allowed to win. We were there to be expended. Our reality was insanity.
SCPO. It cannot be said better than what you just wrote. The world is a tough place
and so many people are in it for only what they can get.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow! Drill down to the essences of what it was all about. I never understood how you went to “war” and did everything possible not to win and get it over.
Well, everyone didn’t go Parker and of those who did only a small number saw intensive personal combat.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey Jim,
Did you ever meet Cowboy or any of the A1 drivers who supported you ?….My good friend , Don Engebresten, was the baddest of the A1 guys. He may have been one of the guys supporting you….i’ll Check with him if you would like…
I’m an old Cobra guy , but only supported the Marines in The Delta.
My best,
Bill
Tried to find Cowboy back here. Once guy who used that nickname flew OV-10s but not the Sandy heavy duty support stuff.
So, the answer is no, I never found him. At least not yet.
Semper fi,
Jim
THANK YOU FOR SHARING YOUR COMBAT EXPERIENCES. WITHOUT A DOUBT THE MOST HONEST AND COMPELLING NARRATIVE I HAVE EVER READ ABOUT THE STRUGGLE TO SURVIVE OF A SOLDIER IN COMBAT.
Thanks Tom, much appreciate this kind of general compliment. I didn’t start out trying to make the writing different
or special. In fact, I didn’t expect to get this far before giving up in frustration and disappointment at being
driven off the screen by comments. Those comments I feared have never come. I didn’t know there were so many
survivors of similar shit out here and over there. I only got to see that small area of Vietnam and work with those
very few Marines and Army troops.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey, Strauss,
“So you’d feel the way you feel,” the Gunny replied instantly. “The way you look. The way we all look.”
Did they really know us that well? Could they really play on the gut wrenching, puke inducing, feeling produced from us slaughtering non-combatants, “innocents”, if you will. The horror of My Lai wasn’t really out there for general consumption yet. There you are, still less than a month “in country”, and blood soaked through and through. Theirs and ours. This episode seeps into my core, and reminds me for the thousandth time how unbelievably lucky I was to not have drawn the cards you did.
I went to see the movie Ghandi, many years after Vietnam. Ghandi marched his men, row after row, at the British who used clubs to
maim and kill the marchers. Ghandi sent thousands and the British killed or maimed them hour after hour until huge stacks of bodies
littered the roadside, but still they marched. The British not only gave up their position eventually, but left India.
They just couldn’t take doing that anymore. I related to that, what with the occurrence at Hill 975.
Semper fi,
Jim
good chapter. in your writing you talk about the officer in rear they didn’t go along with what was told to them from the brush. i know in 65 they didn’t. we didn’t have the race problem like latter years. you have brought back things i have hidden for so manny years hope you and your wife are staying warm back their.
The bush was the bush and not a whole lot has changed if you read the comments
from guys serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.
There is nothing like the field of combat, not in real life,
and to survive it you don’t need nearly so much of the skill sets your brought to the condition,
you need to learn and adapt at a rate you will never experience again in your life…if you live.
Semper fi,
Jim
By the way James:
Thanks to you and all who have commented here. I am a non combat era veteran. This collection has helped me to make sense of my time ’69-72.
Part of the reason this series of books is being written. So the public will have at least some idea of reality
in such situations, instead of believing Hollywood or the men and women who did go out there…
Semper fi,
Jim
You are the only officer or writer I have ever read that speaks honestly of the racial violence and hatred that permeated the Army (did not think it as bad in the Marines) I discovered when in went in 1970. It seems the reality of it has been “scrubbed” from the “narrative” of the war and military service of the time. Looking back I can hardly blame those inner-city blacks and otherwise their rage and anger drafted into a senseless war as cannon fodder – by 69-70 there were few illusions about “victory”. An officer’s (one was a friend of mine, a West Pointer) career could be ruined by any mention of racial violence or heavy drugs in their unit. His was ruined when he went to the command…in writing….and asked for help as a butter bar LT. As was your death sentence assignment to this messed up line company: the command knew damn well what was going on in that unit. I am sure you are aware of this by now and probably were then. The truth is commanders even in Korea where I was stationed and stateside were often afraid of there own troops and even in Korea “fragging” was not unknown. (I RSPed as EOD a M33 grenade booby trap set in the 2nd Div. area neither my commander or the infantry officer would allow a report to be filed on, it did not fit the “career track” narrative.) Colin Powell, then a LTC commanding an infantry battalion in 2nd ID “was not having it”. I was surprised after reading his book that he was the then infamous black infantry officer that said, “I see only OD green” and took his officers through Soul Town with side arms into every skivvy show, whorehouse, dope den, and bar in TDC. After a couple murders and riots the troops in Soul Town said no MPs or officers could safely come in and leave intact. That is when Colin Powell made his famous statement, he was not having it. I am surprised his career survived this. He also made his old drunk NCOs and doper enlisted do runs in field gear every morning. Unheard of back in the draftee Army. What a guy, he was a legend in 8th Army. Many of our white officers (like several I served under) and NCOs fed this problem with their often blatant and thinly disguised racism and cynical attitudes (like your rednecks). I see the problem more clearly know, but it frankly freaked me out and made little sense at the time. Areas of the ville and large main bases stateside were often as dangerous stateside as the inner-city for crime…at we learned at Ft. Knox when we got jumped coming back from the EM club. Thank you for daring to tell the truth. My experience of the early 70s army was it was built on lies and bull shit.
Thanks for the oh so extensive explanation of your own life experience.
Yes, it is a difficult subject to write about because I know that much of the racial stuff will not receive a receptive audience.
It was incomprehensible bad to try to accommodate what I considered to be the height of stupidity.
I could understand trouble in the rear or in training (although the few blacks in my Basic Class seemed to fit seamlessly in there)
but to have open racial warfare and death threats rebounding back and forth in actual combat conditions was beyond belief.
It was shocking. And it was pervasive and very very difficult to try to root out, as I write.
I hated going along to get along. But I was dead set on surviving and, in spite of my feelings about racism
and my revulsion of it I did go along to get along. Here I am. Did I do the right thing?
I guess that is a question that can only be answered using perspective. Thanks again.
This is truly helpful in my dealing with my own demons.
Semper fi,
Jim
IMO you did what you had to do to survive (as you have stated the current night) and in the process you did your “job”. just my opinion
Yes, and no. The definition of what the ‘job’ is can be so fluid. Does it always involve self-survival?
I think not. But who can come to that conclusion in the field and then willingly die. Nobody I ever met and not me either.
Semper fi,
Jim
Tom:
Your story hits home here. I was at Bragg in ’70 in an MP company as a PFC. My duty was in the stockade. The population was about 90 % black. Being from West Texas I’d not had the exposure to inner city black woes and anger. One spring morning while monitoring the mess hall, I heard a commotion in the back and turned to see one of the MP’s down and taking a beating. I hauled ass back there and was pulling people off him when I was clobbered in the back and head with one of the wooden mess hall chairs. Probably had one of my concussions in life from it. The MP taking the beating was a white kid from North Carolina. It was broken up and the guy who whacked me with the chair remained anonymous. The ring leader of the fight had clobbered the NC kid with a glass sugar shaker. Enough help got there to break it up. Later while at the hospital getting checked in with the NC guy I was standing with him when he pulled out his ID and he also had his KKK membership card. I wanted to finish him off right then and there. Said something about it later to CID and my Plt Sgt and that was the end of it. I was moved out of the stockade to another post and don’t remember what happened to him.
When I went to USAREUR in Germany for the next two years I saw more of the same. There were the juicer’s and the dopers. I managed to stay away from the dope even though it was rampant in the MP platoon. Some evenings when driving by one of the engineer BN compounds the hash smoke was thick coming from their barracks. It was the same in the signal units.
We had one Engineer bridging unit that returned form the field and was going back in another week. One of their guys got drunk and torched the CO’s jeep which daisy chained all the vehicles in their motor pool.
We rolled out and searched the barracks and had a 25 gallon garbage can full of hash bricks, heroin, and hundreds of tabs of acid and a couple pistols. Figured that was typical from what we were seeing in the other units around Germany. I was disgusted that what I had been proud to be a part of had turned to crap. We had some guys that were coming from’Nam after Nixon started the draw down in late ’71. They were pissed about coming to another overseas assignment. They shared that the ‘Nam was a lesson in futility. I’d considered a career but Nah!
We were afraid of our own troops. I often wonder if the Warsaw Pact had the same problems? The black on white was a real issue especially in the combat arms units.
I think it is better now Tomas.
I think, back then, the racial issues were much more intense.
The Camp Pendleton command was rife with racial trouble after I got back from Vietnam and out of the hospitals.
Some of it was PTSD, but that was never really ascribed to black guys coming back.
There were a lot of black guys out in combat.
I had about fifteen to twenty percent. And you can probably figure out why.
Combat was a good way to get rid of trouble in the rear area.
Semper fi,
Jim
Race was a big issue back in 75 at Camp Lejeune 2nd Marines
Race was a big issue all over the Marine Corps back in the late sixties and early seventies.
I am not sure how it is now, with the all volunteer nature of the services.
Thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
From what one can see, it still is a problem in the military and now in civilian life as well.
BLM is their motto and they are now calling for the elimination of the white race altogether! Worse yet, there are a lot of stupid whites, that are joining in condemning their own race. Isn’t liberalism just great!
Tom Thompson,
I thought I would see more comments like this on this amazing “sounding board” for Strauss’ work. The guys/gals who have been living vicariously with him from Day One, First Part are really straight shooters, no pun intended. As a 2nd Lt Marine Engineer Officer on Okinawa, my platoon (later company) ranks were filled primarily with grunts awaiting disciplinary action after being removed from line companies in Nam. They were roughly 75% Blacks and remainder “all others”. I walked into a situation so far removed from what Marine Corps life was like in the States that I thought I had moved to another world. When I asked the Company CO (also a Nam reject) what was going on, he said, “Just stay Cool”. What the hell kind of answer is that??? The only thing that saved me was that I had a really big ass job to do that required a lot of brawn and not so many brains and keeping them all busy and tired kept disciplinary measures to a minimum. During the day, at least. Nights were another matter completely, and the adopted “system” was to keep the officers and NCO’s out of the barracks and sweep up the casualties at morning roll call. All the Blacks had moved into one barracks and “all others” were in the remaining. Welcome to the Hood, lieutenant.
John. There are many more comments but they don’t appear here until I answer them.
Right now there are about two hundred backed up and I will try to answer all tomorrow.
Thanks for caring and for the length of your comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
James,Since the subject of racial problems has been addressed for Vietnam and Korea, I’d like to add another story that goes back even further. My Granduncle Dennis was a Tech 5 in the U.S.Army Combat Engineers in the ETO during WWII. As a kid I heard the adults talking about taking him to Dublin, Ga VA hospital periodically, when granade fragments would work out of his back. I assumed it was combat related, yet he never received a Purple Heart and there is nothing in what records of his that still exist. My Dad finally told me after Uncle Dennis died, that he received those wounds during a company sized firefight between Dennis’s company of mostly southern boys and a black company. From what Dad knew the fight started because the black company had been “messing with” (Dad’s words) a group of German girls presumably right after the war ended. I’ve heard of problems among the GIs in England but not to the extent that I was told my Uncle was involved in. There is no record I can find about my Uncle ever being wounded while in service, but I’ve seen the scars and fragments as they worked their way out until he died in 1977 so that’s real, yet nowhere in my years long research can I find a sentence about this supposed interracial firefight back then. I guess my point is that such problems were not new to Vietnam or Korea. I’d like to hear from anyone else that might have any knowledge of such events during the WWII period.
Thanks Ron, much appreciate the history. I suspect you are exactly correct about the incidence of stuff like
this happening through the wars. All kinds of stuff happens out in combat that is irrational. That men are terrified
enough of being killed by other factors, whether its the enemy or even badly called friendly fire (as in this segment)
is besides the point, I guess. There is always room for what has to be genetic hatred. Why is it so pervasive? Why
so nearly universal? As an anthropologist I still don’t have a clue, unless this has been going on so far back that
it is imprinted among us.
Semper fi,
Jim
This has been a riveting story. I look forward to each segment, very well written.
Thank you, Kevin
Semper fi,
Jim
I have read some of the chapters that you have posted. I purchased both books of the series. Excellent writing with never a dull page.
I would assume that your story is combination of several different unit stories, as hopefully, no one unit could have as many troubles.
Assumptions are the way to go when dealing with combat revelations when one has not been out there yourself.
And the assumptions by those not so exposed are invariably wrong.
I now know, through the many comments here by others who went through a similar circumstance,
that I was not alone at all in fighting inside such a damaged unit.
I wonder if there were any units in actual full on contact combat that were not dysfunctional in many ways.
How do young people live with dying when they are not conditioned to even losing a pet when they go in.
Thanks for your thoughtful comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was a few years to young for Vietnam…I tried to enlist at the age of 13 after reading an article in Guns and Ammo Magazine about the Recon Marines. The recruiter just laughed at me, as I didn’t look like much over 10. I was a little squirt. Anyway I’ve got a lot of respect for what you fellas have done and what you all went through, while you were there and when you all came home. I read your first book and have been trying to find the other 2. Thank you for writing these, it gives me a better understanding what went on over there…and appreciate the fact after reading it that I was only 13 at the time and the recruiter laughed at me
Yes, it was good that you were too young.
There are not a lot of well-balanced combat Marines who served in that war who came home.
If any! I don’t claim to be one and it comes out in my writing, I am certain.
Most people around me still have no clue and if they read the segments they just think
I am a great fiction writer, which is fine with me.
I’m not Junior anymore. Unless I have to be.
But then, I guess that kind of remains the same as it was back then!
Semper fi,
Jim
The word thrum seems to be throwing a lot of people, personally I got it right off, guess you would have to have heard them to make the connection.
Thanks, John.
It is a sound not easily forgotten, and one so good to hear.
Semper fi,
Jim
Enough said about thrum. Now I get it. Thanks for another riveting chapter.
I bought both
Thank you for your Support, Dan
When finished if you fell the need leave an honest comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
James: Paragraph 9, the last word “emersion” is incorrect; the word should be “immersion”. A minor point, but it just stuck out to me.
BTW, you are right on with the after-effects of using canister (flechette’s) rounds. I was in a motorized artillery unit (M109’s) NW of Saigon and on one occasion we were overrun by VC. The tankers were ordered to button up and we direct fired canister at them. The stuff bounced off the armored hulls. Not so much with the VC. Problem solved.
Been a long time since I remembered that.
Keep the story coming . . .
Noted and corrected.
Thank you, Craig
Semper fi
Jim
Sorry “LT”…my R&R got a little extended… you mention the ‘thrum’ of the approaching Sandy’s…..there are few things that have such a distinctive sound…and that deep, rythmic, droning sound that signals the approach of those big beautiful birds…Your insides just sort of light up…knowing that they are on the way to offer you what they can, up to and including their very lives…..Unlike the ‘fast movers’..with their whistling, ear splitting, low level dives and passes that leave you breathless….the big Sandy’s bring two extremes with them…joy for you….and absolute terror for the enemy…. I still look skyward with an uneasy smile when I hear the “thrum’ of an ancient piston driven war bird pass over…. Semper Fi Lt…
Larry, you and I, and a lot of guys on here, who lived or partially died under those thrumming birds,
feel the same way when a piston airplane of any size flies over. I stop and look up.
I don’t know why. I’m not really back there with the sound and the welcome comfort but I can’t help but feel a certain warmth…
and a bit of sorrow over those who will always be left behind.
I see them in my mind from time to time. Those fallen. They remain as they were. Young.
Tough, like most men I’ve met since cannot understand (which may be a good thing!) or emulate.
Tough is taking it and still being able to function somehow.
Giving fire is easy. Taking fire is murderous of body and mind.
Thanks for the great deep comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yes James the Skyraiders do have a sound all their own . The roar of their engines can be heard from a good distance . The sound waves travel faster than the speed of the plane and overlap causing a strange rhythm until they get very close . This is why those little bastards had a warning and would dive deep under ground .
Thanks for sharing and supporting, Bob
Semper fi,
Jim
James. I read some of what you write. I can’t take it all in at once (purchasing your book or books) because you have written beyond my intake for being right there with you and your men. You are writing a history book or books. You have each situation so well in order. Each word said of the “other ” Marine with you, pulls a person more and more into the situation you and your company are experiencing. I am a former member of “M” co 3/5 .M-60 gunner. I “see” what you are doing as I read. I see it all. When one sits down and writes all you have, yes there will be a few “bloopers” here and there. People have your back to maintain order with in ! I support your determination to maintain a positive attitude while personally going through all this in your head prior to writing it on paper. It ain’t easy. I need to know where I can purchase your book or books. Are there 2 books now ? I will place them in my home for my kids and grand children to read. They can get a pretty darn good idea what the enemy and Nam was to us. Thank you for stead fast persistence in writing your book (s). Michael.
Thank you, Michael.
Both books First and second Ten Days are available on Amazon and Barnes&Noble
Semper fi,
Jim
“Thrum” is a great description of the Skyraiders coming in, those big radial engines and props did beat the air into that sound !!
During my time there ’66-’67, I don’t really recall the racial strife that you describe James, not to say it was non-existent, but in the end we all wore the same green.
Previous eyes have caught typos, etc., so I’m not going to add to the list as I think all those I noticed have been mentioned.
Thanks again for keeping me on the edge of my seat with your writing.
SEMPER Fi
We did not all wear the same green. We tried to. It sure as hell did not always work.
The Marine Corps with all of its discipline and espirit goes right out the window if its not
working for you in combat. At the gut, dirt, mud and misery level of kill or be killed it is
simply kill or be killed and if a guy in green is going to get you killed in your opinion than
he’s a dead guy wearing green. There were not combat detectives or forensic examiners or any
of that shit, out in combat or back in the rear. There was a purple heart and a body bag and that
was it. We all knew that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Agreed.
Thanks for the reply.
SEMPER Fi
Thanks Sgt. Appreciate that comment in response…
Semper fi,
Jim
I have had similar comments with troops nonplussed about my description of the race,systemic discipline, and drug problems in the 4 services by 69-70 that were still in evidence when I left in 79. The “New Volunteer Army” they were transitioning to from 71-73 had the same problems and had to lower standards to keep the ranks filled. It was dog eat dog for career soldiers and I cannot believe I reupped for that shit. Talking to recent vets of OEF-OIF or the 1st Gulf War I understand things are much different now and crap of this nature not prevalent OR TOLERATED. My understanding is the country and Army changed dramatically in the turbulent years 67-70. I did not pay much attention and was blindsided when I ran into things I did not expect in Basic Training from my fellow troops at what I considered the seasoned age of 19. Everyone except maybe a 17-year-old kid and a group National Guards (big football player types who tried to intimidate the “Yankees and “N”) from Louisiana and complete racists hated the Army and seemed to hate our own country. I was really surprised at the virulent racism displayed by both sides of the race divide and the nasty, selfish cynicism of NCOs. Growing up in small town Midwest the 60s were much like the 50s for a middle class kid with his head up his ass. The rock music and culture I absorbed on radio & TV might as well have been piped in from another planet. I imagined it would be like the books I read, movies, and my WW II, Korean War family and acquaintances told me. After talking frankly with my uncle about his combat experiences in WW II D Day to VE day 20 years back, I realized like books and movies about VN, the foul reality of the insanity and often callous disregard for the lives of their own troops was endemic even in “the good war” and he was bitter and angry until the day he died. So far from the rah rah VFW hero I assumed him to be. What did I think an Army full of inner-city and rural underclass kids in 1970, who did not have deferments, with underpaid NCOs and officers was going to resemble or operate like? The “Combat” TV show of the 60s? Sadly, yes. I find my naivete very amusing today. You seem to have gone in with your share of it also and quickly ran afoul of your own officers and peers. Midwest kids grow up very late often, or not at all.
Thanks for that lengthy revelation all of your own SSG. Appreciate good writing wherever and when ever I can find it.
Thanks for putting it up on here,
Semper fi,
Jim
Based at AnHoa with Alpha Plt of 3rd 8″SP and Plt of 155mm SP also at end of airstrip in 67. Did a lot of support fire all over- not sure if we ever supported your units, but we took pride in supporting our Marine units of 5th Marines, Recon, and any others in need of Artillery Support- Semper Fi !!
The 155s in 2/11 had more reach than the 105s, although the 105 batteries seemed to always be quicker to
respond to fire missions. When we crossed into the A Shau the distance back to An Hoa fire bases was just
too great while up on Ga Noi Island, closer in, we had to deal with the 122mm Russian stuff that had real
range. Thanks for the comment and accuracy…
Semper fi,
Jim
Never trained on 155 but saw how they were handled. I went through 105 training at Fort Sill in 1962 so I understand how 105 fire missions could be quicker than 155. Also I suspect the 105 might have been closer since their range is somewhat less than the 155. In training we could kick out 6 rounds a minute and I suspect in a pinch that could be upped to 10 rounds a minute, but for sustained fire the 105 was supposedly limited to 100 rounds an hour, anymore would seriously damage the weapon.
Thanks Keith for the ballistics data and lesson. Yes, firing the guns too quickly could cause overheating and either ‘tube droop’ or the wearing
of the lands and rings. Thanks for this.
Semper fi,
Jim
And here I thought Sugar Daddy was getting squared away ,wrong . Was Nguyen carrying a weapon?
Nguyen carried a M-16. Sugar Daddy and the rest are best described as being subjects of situation ethics.
Whatever the situation required, from their perspective, is what they applied on top of the table. Me too,
I guess.
Semper fi,
Jim
point that the Montagnards trust in Sugar Daddy was even lower than my own. (Montagnard”s)
fraction of whatever time (they) rear area command intended for us to be in the field, yet old and
(the)
The only corrections I found because I’m so into the story. Thanks again.
Thank you.
Noted and corrected.
Semper fi
Jim
In the past, the men have unfailingly asked for the name of the plan. How could this have slipped by them? The drums, maybe? Perhaps they were wondering why the NVA pulled that strange tactic of sending villagers, or is it something more sinister?
I haven’t been pulled into a book like this before for many years. Superb writing, especially the descriptions that allow your readers to be right there with you, and all the sights, sounds, smells, and emotions that goes with it. Thank you, sir!
You are getting it as straight as I can write it.
We did not have a plan name sometimes because I was under so much
pressure and I would either forget or the men would forget. It was dramatically useful to have names.
The Marines responded to that but it was not always there. Nothing was always there.
Flexible adaptability is the single phrase that describes what you need most to survive in combat.
Training and experience help but being able to change in an instant and go in another direction was everything…
Semper fi,
Jim
First thought was about Command refusing to communicate with you as the actual six. Unheard of by professional officers, who have been given such important command and responsibility! Who were the actual renegade officers in this case?
Secondly, wondering if you were there during operation Greely or MacArthur? Hill 975 was involved in both of those operations. I believe they began with Greely in 1967, followed by MacArthur. First Cav was sent into the valley at that time, so it seems to tie in with your location.
Third, it seem highly unusual for the marines to leave their companies in the bush for three weeks at a time, without rest and relaxation if you choose to call it that. At Nha Trang, I witnessed several troops coming in out of the bush after 14 day stents, to include Army, Green Beret and Marines. One seriously wonders why your company was not given such a break, especially since it no longer had an objective?
Fourth, we heard several stories about the false body counts. Westmoreland was being given a very hard time by LBJ to fudge the numbers. We also heard that Westmoreland was putting excessive pressure on field commanders, for higher body counts, but never heard that they were ordered to expose themselves more then once, to get a higher accurate count. That is definitely not the way to win a war.
Finally, one would keep Gunny close by when it came to watching Sugar Daddy’s actions in trying to eliminate you. It sounds like Gunny would be out of range at such a time.
I could not keep the Gunny close because that was not the command structure we’d patched together.
I could not stop him from assuming he was the 6 actual because to do that I would have had to take over
and the would have gotten me quickly dead. The books lay out the network of weird behavior I had to cage
together to survive, not how it should have been done. I did a lot wrong. The last segment illustrates that
and the next. Hard to write stuff because you don’t (and I have not) ever forgive yourself when you get it wrong
and people die.
Thanks for the great lengthy comment with such great depth.
Semper fi,
Jim
James it sounds to me like you are doing a lot of second guessing when it comes to men dying under your command. While I never met a commander who didn’t think about his losses, I never met one who thought it was his fault that his men were killed. That is what war is all about.
To err is human so I am told and we learn by our mistakes or at least we should learn. How do you justify a young Lt coming out of basic training, knowing what to do on the battle field? It would appear that all of the commanders you served under in the bush, did not know what they were doing either as they died there! How can a Lt who was never recognized as the 6-actual, claim responsible for the men’s death? It makes no sense to hold yourself responsible when in fact, you were not deemed responsible for the company by the rear command or the NCO’s who were there with you.
As for calling in fire to save your butt and that of the men in your company, you did what anyone would do in that case. Everyone’s life was at stake in such cases. How many men lived because you did call in support? There is two sides to that coin!
When I think about the young men who died in that war, it truly angers because I believe they died for nothing. However, I have always thought that it was better for them to have died serving their country, then having to come home and feel betrayed by their own people. It took twenty years for the people in this country to wise up about what happened in Vietnam and to give credit to the living that returned from that war.
Those who died in Vietnam, died in honor no matter how they died and no matter how their own country treated them. That is how a true warrior must believe.
You do not get to choose what you feel guilty about after combat. That is done for you.
That’s why PTSD exists. It’s not from seeing bad shit. It is from doing bad shit.
Hence these books. Rationality is all on my side but that does not mean I don’t feel bad
about things a lot of times. Thanks for the lengthy comment with deep meaning J.
Semper fi
Jim
I have to reply to “J”‘s comment, asking about the validity of the Marines staying ‘out in the bush for over three weeks at a time”….”J”…..that was one of the biggest ‘differences in the war the army fought, and the one that the Marines fought….We didn’t come in from the field…..most of us in the rifle companies would spend two, three and up to four months straight, in the jungle…praying for a resupply “maybe’ every 3-5 day…existing solely on C rats and captured water…moving from place to place, on foot..while watching the sky blacken with army hueys taking their guys somewhere to arrive fresh and well supplied and ready for a fight…..we envied the armies supply system in every way imaginable….as you know, nobody in the busy wore any sort of under clothing. (always caused jungle rot and severe rashes, infections.) so if your utility pants got rippped, from crotch to belt loop in the middle of your back…you were just ‘hanging out’ until a replacement pair of pants could be found and sent out….I spent 30 days in that condition, in the bush before a pair of pants arrived…with a towl wrapped from front to back like a diaper…..what you are reading here is gospel as far as the time spent…and in most cases…after all this is over…we’d walk out and begin again somehwere else…just the way it was ….. a 3 day break?? in the rear…an “in country R&R? I heard of them….never saw one……….Semper Fi
spent 58 days without seeing a firebase – if we got resupplied every 7 days life was good. 2/327 101st and we spent that time on the “edge” of the valley. Not taking anything from Marines but many of us had the same situations
Army performed extremely well every time I was in contact with them. They cared about us and they were
capable and better equipped. They shared that equipment times after time without complaint.
Thanks Larry for coming in on this issue…
Semper fi,
Jim
One of my few best friends, Bill Estes, went over the year I came back (’69) who years later told me of an incident that occurred when he was leading a LRRP. They had discovered a Ho Chi Mien Trail rest point, which was deserted at the time, but showed signs of constant use. They wired it with explosives, and that night, when it was full of VC and/or NVA, detonated them. His expression was “We were in a running fire fight, trying to get away”, and he received orders from a LTC in a helicopter to stop running, establish a parameter, and get him a body count. Bill essentially told him that if he wanted a body count, get it himself. His CO protected him and nothing came of it. Bill came home, but is another of those that Vietnam killed years later thru disease contacted there. I miss ol’ Billy.
That sure as hell sounds like a real story. Thanks for that rendition Joe.
Semper fi,
Jim
as in a bad position is in
Well as always , some rich intense reading thanks!
Thanks for another amazing chapter.
DG 161AHC Chu Lai ’68
Appreciate the support, Patrick.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
I read your chapters as soon as you post them. I’m a big fan. Keep up the good work!
Thank you, Larry
Semper fi
Jim
Welcome back Sir. I’m not sure what to say. No doubt in my mind the next few days will not be for the faint of heart. Hope you’re paying close attention to your enemy inside the wire
Thank again for the support, Jack.
Semper fi
Jim
Lt. I hope you and yours had most excellent Christmas and very happy New Year.
Now to the nitpicking: the velocity of Flechettes seems a bit high at 22000fps. I looked it up online in TM 43-0001-28 Where it lists it at 2700fps. That is from the 106mm with the APERS-T M494 round.
Well that did not come out well. I really did mean to emphasize the Holidays better and hope that you are still recovering well from Surgery. Please forgive my clumsy delivery and nitpicky observations.
Glenn.
Not at all Glenn.
Your comments are much appreciated and when you are not spot on, well,
I’ll just carry you over that part…as I expect you do with me in my own times of trouble…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sorry Glenn, but I got that right.
There is no muzzle for a muzzle velocity to be measured with explosively driven flechettes.
Anyone claiming there is, needs to stand near an exploding shell.
The explosive material used to drive the flechettes is C-4 or Comp. B.
That stuff explodes (the fast-burning fire all explosives really are) at 22,000 feet per second.
That means the flechettes have little choice in leaving the area of the explosions highest intensity
and close proximity at about that same speed.
How fast they slow in the atmosphere is anybody’s guess.
The darts don’t have far to go before impact either so they aren’t exposed long to slowing atmospheric conditions.
Therefore my assumption. I have never tested this.
Semper fi,
Jim
I stand corrected Lt. I got the canister MV ok, but neglected to factor in the C-4 powered velocity when that canister detonated.
Thanks again for your most excellent writing.
Yes, and I did not factor in the muzzle velocity or velocity at range that added even more speed to the flechettes!
Thank you Glenn…
Semper fi,
Jim
And we are rolling again.
Thanks James
FYI, I just read the first ten days again. Just as riviting as the first time I read it.
Ken Brown
1st MAW
MACS 4
69-70
No pressure or anything James but I am almost done reading the Second Ten Days for the second time.
Again, just as riviting or maybe more so than the first time.
Ken
Thanks a lot Ken. You keep me going. I am in the middle of the next segment right now.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks Ken. That kind of writing means a helluva lot to me right now.
The Third Ten Days is the toughest…
Semper fi,
Jim
…without some kind of full (immersion.)
“What’s the butcher’s bill?”
Thanks Floyd, for being part of the editing team.
Semper fi,
Jim
Paragraph
24. Word 67 68 69 is confusing to me
39 word 2 as(is)
You are a wordsmith extraordinar.
Riveting as always James. God be with you all.
Always appreciate your support, Charles.
Here and on Facebook.
Semper fi,
Jim
The situation just keeps getting worse. Your options have dwindled down to next to nothing, and I don’t believe you have enough ammo for your sidearm to solve any problems at all.
It is pucker time.
.45 ammo was always a problem. Yes, you meant more than that but I like that phraseology.
Semper fi, and thanks…
Jim
Thanks guy ive been waiting a while for this chapter most intense reading ever for me almost like im watchin a movie..my dad was in chu lai when he was in the army i was tellin him about your book, hope the holidays were what there supposed to be!
thanks a ton Justin. Means a lot to me, as I continue on into the third and toughest book to write…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you
Great story to start 3rd 10days couple of grammer mistakes
Para 39“He as in a bad position and I knew it because I’d left him in it. My reputation as ‘Junior,
Para16 bottom up “I moved forward as quickly as I could. The Skyraiders approaching thrum behind us radiated up the valley, overpowering the drums, the river and the constant beating of the rain. I had to get far enough upriver to adjust the first artill
Thanks for the eyes.
Appreciate everyone’s support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Totally engrossing writing, but unfortunately you bring back too many memories that I have successfully suppressed for almost 50 years.
Possible edit: “… whatever time they rear area command intended for us to be in the field…” -replace they with the.
Caught it and corrected.
Thanks, Bob
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m having a bit of a problem reconciling the narrative with the map. “…but we were going to have to use the riverbank and the hard-crusted dirt road called Highway 548…” on the map hwy 548 shows on the other side of the river from hill 975, but no mention of having to cross back across the river which should still be raging with the incessant rain.
“The side of the mountain to the east,…”. If you mean that the mountain is to your east, this doesn’t make sense to me, as the map and your narrative would put the mountain to your west. If you mean the east face of the mountain,which I assume you mean because of the bare area shown on the east face that would fit the rip rap narrative, it would perhaps be clearer to simply say the east face of the mountain.
The road wasn’t like it is portrayed on the map.
There were no bridges so the road had to run down one side of the valley.
It could not run down the west side because that cliff face kept being a buffer for it.
And then there were the flood and raging current levels that changed the course of the river and its banks all the time.
The map is wrong about that.
If the road had crossed the river then we would have blown the bridges when the valley fell to the enemy early on.
We knew it was the Ho Chi Minh trail. We were not uninformed or dumb. There were no bridges to blow.
Semper fi,
Jim
Bob , like you as I read these chapters I am drawn back to that place and all the emotions that went with it . It takes me a couple days to come back to earth but I cant just not read .
Another good one Sir !!
Thank you, Rodger.
Semper fi,
Jim
Some good reporting. One can almost hear James Blish writing the Star Trek novels from that period of time in your work.
James Blish. Now he was an author of tremendous talent and imagination.
Thanks for the that comparison. A fabulous compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Heart thumping dialogue and confrontation with Sugar Daddy which I truly did not expect to surface again in this manner. Gunny is masterful at negotiating compromise but to what end I wonder?
A couple editing suggestions: Should the following be rewritten from “Hill 975’s entire length could be kept under near-constant fire while we passed by while Cowboy, and whatever other Skyraiders he could gather together, could orbit and drop down from above.”
“Hill 975’s entire length could be kept under near-constant fire while we passed by. Then Cowboy, and whatever………..” This would eliminate one of the whiles which seem too close together…..
Also in the paragraph beginning after the paragraph that begins “So, what’s your point?”… the paragraph begins He as in a bad position….This should read He (w)as in a bad postion.
Finally, in the paragraph beginning “I’ll take a couple minutes to lay out our defensive fires,” I said. Did you mean to say, “It will take……”
Thanks Jim for your fantastic book and writing!
Thank you for your suggestions, William.
I really appreciate all of the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
First of all Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and yours. What a great chapter. Really well written Jim, surprisingly even the smells come back. Definitely worth the wait! Semper Fi!
I really appreciate your continued support, Jack
A Happy, Health and Prosperous New Year for you and your family.
Jim
It’s been a long wait, but worth it. Happy New Year.
Thanks Mike, I hope to get a bit more regular again. The holidays were a bitch for trying to
get quality alone time…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great read. Anxious for the third part to be available.
I am on the 20th night so I have a ways to go.
Thanks for wanting more.
Semper fi
Jim
Sitting here reading with one good eye — the one I had cataract surgery on last month. Still waiting to have the left one done later this month. One good eye, but I can see it all clearly, too clearly maybe, via the vision of my memory, as faulty as it now is. Not a whole lot of bitterness left now, just a feeling of resignation that it was what it was and no amount of bitter feelings will ever make it any better. Now I wish them all well in this New Year — my friends as well as those I did not consider to be friends, and even those we called our enemies. Good writing, James. Live long and prosper…
High praise, my friend. Old one eye…man, but you wrote some images that came right off the paper here.
And one hell of a compliment. Thank you so much. Live long and prosper. You know I just love Star Trek and those characters, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
again an awesome read. thank you
Thanks Don, the compliments keep me going and yours is a short neat one…
Semper fi,
Jim
Tough spot not any good options reckon you need to blast the hill side and top with artillery and move like he’ll to the new coordinates while the nva are in there holes. Maybe phosphorus will keep them down with less damage to your men with flying rocks.
Blasting the mount side, inadvertently (every artillery forward observed understands the displaced rock problem) blowing the side of the wall up
and then dropping the phosphorus too low and close….well, it didn’t work out as planned. Thanks for the thoughts.
Semper fi,
Jim
Awesome as usual. This actually may be the best installment yet. A possible edit?
1) “We didn’t lose anybody,” amazingly enough, the Gunny replied to my question, “but…. EDIT closed quote moved from after anybody to after enough.
Good eyes. Thanks Paul
Semper fi,
Jim
Corrected, Thanks.
Semper fi
Jim
Another great piece LT. I find it amazing how you can take me from my warm, dry chair and put me back there in 1969 … and then it stops, suspending me in a sort of twilight for a few moments until the “now” reality seeps back in. I’ve read every instalment and will get the book and read it all again. And again. Thank you sir.
Thanks David. I just write on, the effect coming back being real and continuously surprising to me. I didn’t know about all the other combat veterans.
I thought most of them were tougher and luckier than I was. Now I understand, for the first time, all these years later. They were served the same dishes
of utter crap I was. It’s sometimes really good not to be alone.
Semper fi,
Jim
Good writing: crappy situation, survivors still scratching, you are reenforcing my want to have a face to face with the guys that let this post WWII situation become the meat grinder of the generation following. Thank you for the honest story. Poppa J. Got my hard copy of Vol II last week.
Poppa, they investigated battalion command when I was in the hospital
but I was too mentally fucked up to be able to even talk to them.
Thanks for wanting some justice in the universe. It’s uncommon.
Semper fi,
Jim
First ambush at new LZ location mine sweep on hway 1, the farmers/villagers stayed in the rice paddies til the NVA opened up on us. Then they ran to get out of the paddies. Our platoon held our fire until they were gone as we didn’t want to shoot “innocent” people. That afternoon we got our butts chewed out by our platoon sergeant for holding our fire and to never do that again – The farmers knew what was going to happen and they counted on us holding our fire. Two days later we were hit again in same spot but this time we didn’t hold our fire and unloaded. After that, anytime we were going to be ambushed, the farmers would didi out of the paddies. We then called in artillery to walk the area. Biggest concern was when no farmers were in the fields to begin with.
Shooting civilians is always problematic in war, no matter what the conditions.
Many times not at the time.
Forty years and the intervening time may be a bit of problem, at least it has been for me.
I am not bothered by those things that I did in fighting the enemy, mostly.
But I do have a wheelbarrow load of things I remain ashamed of.
Surviving difficult impossible circumstance is not enough of an excuse for some things.
It seems it would be but the reality now does not play out that way.
In war, don’t shoot civilians. Get the hell out of there, run, do something else if at all possible.
Those civilians are not going to die there.
They are going to live with you for the rest of your life…and mine.
Semper fi,
Jim
About 15 paragraphs from the end, the text reads…”I moved forward as quickly as I could. The Skyraiders approaching thrum behind us radiated up the valley, overpowering the drums, the river and the constant beating of the rain.” There’s a strange word here…Skyraiders approaching thrum…Should this be something like the “sound of the Skyraiders approaching from behind us?’
Have used the word THRUM several times.
“a continuous rhythmic humming sound.
My recollection of the A- Skyraider
Thanks
Semper fi,
Jim
An accurate description of a Skyraider.
Thank you, Harry.
We were on the ground and just were so relieved when those fine machines and their pilots saved our asses more than a few times.
Semper fi, Jim
Once again putting us right in the mess with you. You are an excellent writer sir!!
Thanks Christopher. Your compliment is noted and makes me feel warm.
Semper fi,
Jim
I feel as though I am with those marines. I can actually visualize the rain , the leeches and mud. I look forward to obtaining the finished product and will read it cover to cover. Sincerely, an old Korea ere Marine rifleman. Fox Co., 2/7, 1st Marine Division. Semper Fi.
Thanks Thomas. I live along and write along with you guys by my side. Thanks for making me feel like this is all so worth it.
There’s no money in it and I understand there probably never will be. But I feel so much better about it as I write these days…and really
that comes from the comments about the writing…Thanks you!
Semper fi,
Jim
was going to get any cleaner. I’d been clean all my life and hadn’t really
(Missing word, “not”)
sustained and allow any of us to survive even a fraction of whatever time they rear area command (“The” for “they”)
Got my two copies of book two, one for me and one for my friend, a Vietnam Marine Vet
Thanks again Bob,
Semper fi,
Jim
To be productive while waiting on your next installment, I read The Second Ten Days over two afternoons. By the chapter your work here stuns the inexperienced, leaving a lot to think about. The book left me bone tired and ever so thankful that I was spared that particular hell. To counter this I read your short stories, they always please.
Backup to your work found me thru a post concerning the Que Son valley and a book by Otto Leyrack, Road of 10,000 Pains. The bravery of our Marines shines through in every instance, just finished that yesterday.
All that so could say I’ve dropped from panic thru fear to very nervous reading all this. How you all did what you did is beyond me. Hope you’re not tired of hearing this, thank you..
I can’t read another book about the Nam just now or I will lose my own way.
I don’t know what most guys who’ve come back have written.
Only read Fields of Fire early on when I returned
and saw a lot of the movies.
Maybe somebody else has written like me but I really don’t have any idea.
Thanks for the comment in depth…
Semper fi,
Jim
I hate them dam sniper we would get them with M79 or M60 they don’t last long.
The ridge was too high for the M-79 or the LAW. The M-60 could reach up that far but
they could move so fast along that top edge. Artillery worked but I missed a bit.
Semper fi,
Jim
The Skyraiders approaching (thrum) behind us radiated up the valley, overpowering the drums, the river and the constant beating of the rain. (from)
Mesmerizing piece this was. The racial division cost many lives there over the years and was all but ignored.
“Thrum” is what I hear when I think of the Skyraiders, Pete
Thanks for your constant support.
Semper fi,
Jim
Riveting
Thanks Arthur, Your compliment does not go unnoticed!
Semper fi,
Jim
What happened to the 24 Kia left on top of the hill?
You will discover that soon.
Thanks for not forgetting them. I didn’t either.
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad to see you have another installment up.
Keep ’em coming…
Amazed at all the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants decisions and the amount of coordination that needed to be done within the unit and with the supporting cast located in the sky and various artillery fire bases.
No calling time out to figure it all out or to put it on pause. And not a whole lot of options…
You can be sure that I and the rest of your on-line “ghost battalion” are invisibly humping and sloshing along again with you and your outfit of real soldiers there in
the A Shau Valley.
As a person who lacks a military background, weeks ago I had to look up what a flechette round was and was amazed to discover what it was. Glad to see you did describe (in this installment) more of what a flechette round was for people like me…
The talents I brought to the field were not confirmed in my own mind until I got there.
I knew I had absorbed artillery school training like a sponge.
I knew I was pretty great at map reading and orientation.
I had no idea that my powerful memory combined with those things would allow me to manipulate
the supporting fires to so favor our situations.
The speed I worked and called fire impressed the batteries to the extent that they waited to fire for us.
It was an astounding time.
I functioned on all twelve cylinders at a level I would seldom repeat for the rest of my life.
Sometimes I miss being called on for that kind of demonstration of capability.
Maybe I could go back to Fort Sill and do some demonstrations one day if things haven’t changed too much.
Now that would be fun.
Semper fi,
Jim
James-Another crazy episode, seems like I have been waiting a long time for this one. A couple of possible corrections in parenthesis;
– The 1st Air Cavalry is going to be flown (in) to spearhead an operation
– He (w)as in a bad position and I knew it because I’d left him in it.
– The Skyraiders approaching (from)thrum behind us radiated up the valley, overpowering the drums, the river and the constant beating of the rain.
Thanks!
So noted and Corrected.
Thanks, Don
Semper fi
Jim
This is the most compelling book I have ever read. The writing skills you display gives me the sense of sharing the gravity of the situation as it happens, the sights and sounds are real. I have to slow down reading because my eye want to race ahead, pushed by my pulse to see the next sentence. Wow.
Really appreciate your comment, Bill.
More coming soon.
Semper fi
Jim
Excellent segment, keep them comming James. I thought this one would never come!
Thank you, James Todd.
semper fi,
Jim
Well worth the wait again Jim…I feel like I am there with you…the snipers were a surprise but I was bit disoriented about direction and location as to Hill 975…and again Gunny covers his own ass and leaves to hung out to dry…great read, as usual.
It was much more of a save your own ass situation and execution of self preservation than
anyone would imagine before going into the field. You can understand from my writing, I think.
Thanks for the support and the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
He as in a bad position and I knew it because I’d left him in it. Was in place of as?
SeaBee
Thanks for the editing help. The Second Ten Days is the better for it because of the editors I have on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for another great chapter.
Thanks a ton Mike. Short and sweet, that compliment. Went right inside me!
Semper fi,
Jim
Great to have you back. And the story becomes more wanting than ever!
Thanks Richard. You probably can understand why it was unlikely that most combat vets didn’t last 13 months and
those that did almost never ever signed up for a second tour. Nobody volunteers to go to hell.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, take a look at the comments below. Always stayed as far away from English and grammer as I could in my schooling, but the below comments look like typos:
*The Gunny and I looked at one another, neither of us even cracking a smile. The rear area, whether of Army or Marine Command, just could not accommodate that fact that the A Shau was riven with tunnels, split by a ferociously powerful and deep river and populated by a supplied NVA force that most likely was as large as the entire allied military structure available of (to?) I Corps in the northern part of the country.
* He as (was?) in a bad position and I knew it because I’d left him in it.
* Our losses could not be sustained and allow any of us to survive even a fraction of whatever time they (the?) rear area command intended for us to be in the field, yet old and stupid prejudice permeated the unit from one end to the other.
* I moved forward as quickly as I could. The Skyraiders approaching thrum (from?) behind us radiated up the valley, overpowering the drums, the river and the constant beating of the rain. I had to get far enough upriver to adjust the first artillery rounds.
Thanks, Rick.
Noted and corrected.
Appreciate all of the help.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, another well written chapter and again thanks for sharing. I’ve been following along since the beginning and have wandered during what time period your story took place. I’ve been doing some research and to me your service in the A-Shau Valley took place right before the start of Operation Delaware? So if that’s true your abandoned airfield would be the one you’ve posted on this installment. A-Luoi and the SF Camp that was there. Sorry, I’m sure most of the guys on here are old enough to know that but at the time this happened I was about 3 years old. Thanks again.
And I continue to be completely engrossed in your writings. Keep it coming Jim. I know this is partially therapy for you, but it is for a lot of us as well. Thank you.
Jim F
Yes, it is a mixed therapy for me. I answer every comment because the comments are the real therapy. So surprising. So positive and understanding.
Semper fi, and thanks…
Jim
Worth the wait JAMES. Keep it coming!
Thank you, Harold.
Semper fi,
Jim
Excellent as expected . I NOW HAVE BOTH BOOKS , AND CONSIDER THEM A TREASURY OF MEMORIES , THAT MY SON’S AND OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS CAN NOW UNDERSTAND !!
Thanks Don, compliments like your own mean a lot to mea as I dive ever deeper into this morass of darkness and jungle terror.
Semper fi, and thanks for that help.
Jim
Well Done, Jim Know writing this and Memories must be tough on you.
Many Thanks Bud
It is both good and bad.
Good to get it down, finally, and great to read the comments now knowing I am not alone.
I was not alone there but I thought I was.
It’s a bit difficult to write the parts where I feel I didn’t measure up.
To retreat the lives lost that I know in my mind were not my fault but my heart won’t accept what my mind says about that.
Thanks for understanding and caring enough to write what you did…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sometimes it is, most certainly. The comments make it a lot easier and make me want to continue every day.
I thought I was alone here and even back in the Nam. It is wonderful to learn that neither of those things is ore was true.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks, James. The anticipation was getting unbearable. Exciting as usual.
A few typos a caught. Hope this helps.
I kept the cover of his closed-style holster folded open unless I thought I might(go) swimming again.
He (w)as in a bad position and I knew it because I’d left him in it.
The Skyraiders approaching (thrum)?? behind us radiated up the valley, overpowering the drums, the river and the constant beating of the rain.
Thanks,
Dave
Thank you, David.
Noted and corrected
Semper fi,
Jim
James… I grew up watching the Vietnam war on the news every night. It was over before I got out of high school (1975). I have read many books trying to learn and understand it. I thought I knew something until I found your book. Terror is the only word to describe how your predicament was. Thanks for your description. I can’t imagine how bad it could have been. I had much respect for VIETNAM VETRANS but even much more now. I was never in the military because the draft ended but I salute ALL OF YOU. Thanks for that sacrifice of that time of your life. I thought I knew something of the time there but I really knew nothing
Thank you ever so much David. Combat is nothing like anything I ever saw in the movies or on television except for little
bits and pieces: the opening scene on the beach in Saving Private Ryan, a few places in Platoon, the training part of Full Metal Jacket,
and some PTSD parts of Band of Brothers. That’s about it. The reason for this is not the fault of Hollywood. It’s simply that combat
veterans don’t much survive the combat and the ones that do are pretty fucked up. To top that off, they aren’t believed because the
mythology of male macho combat is as pervasive as the gunfighter crap of the old west. Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim