I climbed the hill, switching back and forth, heading for chunks of outcropping rock and then toward the density of a protruding stand of low-lying bamboo. It was the Hill Trail climb my platoon at the Basic School had dreaded once a week in Virginia training, except I climbed in real fear of being shot in the back at any second. I didn’t look around to see the effect of the white phosphorous rounds I’d ordered. They were close in behind because not only did the thump of their exploding push gently against my back, the hiss of the burning elements raining down not far away could be heard like water running out of the end of a high pressure hose. I wondered if the rise I was struggling up might place me close enough to the falling horror of the burning phosphorous bits for them to reach me.
“Ironic,” I said out loud, unaware that I’d spoken until Fusner replied.
“Right here, sir,” he said as if I’d said something that made any sense.
When I thought I could not go on any further I reached a cleft in the hillside, that was more of a series of layered cliffs than it was a hillside. Extending out from the cleft, a flat area about eight feet deep and twenty feet wide appeared. It was all but invisible from below. Sugar Daddy had arrived at the spot before I came upon it. I struggled to crawl to the back side where he knelt, helping one of his fire teams set up an M-60 to provide covering fire, although during the initial part of our climb we’d taken no incoming fire at all.
“Why didn’t they shoot, Junior?” he asked, looking over at my heaving body lying almost full length a few feet away.
I sensed it wasn’t time for the truth. I had no idea why the NVA had not fired at our bobbing and weaving backs, but I wasn’t going to say that.
“We took them by surprise,” I said, sounding as official and convinced as I could be. “They’re trying to figure out what our next move is since they were all ready and prepared for us to become sitting ducks.”
“My thought, exactly,” he replied, pulling back from the M-60 team to come to my side.
“They knew we would take to the area cut into the base of the cliff like ducks to water,” I said, wanting to extend the conversation with Sugar Daddy for a bit longer. “They thought we’d stay there until they could bring real forces to bear.”
“You better call the captain and tell him it’s okay to come up,” he said, laying flat next to me, taking his time to pull out a cigarette and light it. His tone was a little strange, so I decided to ask him something I would not normally have asked any enlisted man about an officer.
“‘What do you think of him?” I asked, ignoring his request for me to take a cigarette.
“What might we get if we trade him in?” Sugar Daddy shot back, biting off the filter of whatever kind of cigarette he’d pulled out, and then spitting it out over the edge of our little parapet.
“What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding his reply.
“Think about it,” Sugar Daddy replied with a laugh. “We can always get worse, like we haven’t had a few bad luck packages handed to us one after another.”
I had no response. I wondered if I was part of what he thought of as a ‘bad luck’ package, but I wasn’t going to ask. Casey was a piece of work, it was true, but at least he glommed onto ideas that were helping to keep me alive. Although I was still afraid, up on the side of the hill, I was not terrified that a vicious preparing enemy was licking its lips just waiting for an opportune time to attack. A Marine rifle company was a fearsome force to consider, but one company of just over two hundred Marines was really not that big in the scale of a war zone. Without constant resupply and supporting fires the company could not stand for long against a superior force well supplied and fighting in its own back yard.
I looked down the hill. We had two big problems that had to be resolved pretty quickly, at least before the sun set again. What were we going to do with the wounded, because there was no way we could hump them up the steep slope and then expect them to spend the night? Secondly, we needed to send elements forward and up to make sure we hadn’t walked right into a prepared trap. Until Kilo, or if Kilo, occupied the higher ridge, there was going to be a potential threat from the even higher ground the company did not have the forces to occupy.
“Stevens,” I said, knowing my scout team was right behind me, probably watching very closely everything that went down between Sugar Daddy and me.
“Take Nguyen and scout to the top of the ridge. Make sure we’re not being set up for some sort of nighttime ambush. We need to move to the old landing zone in the morning to get supplies and take care of casualties, because we’re probably not done taking them. We’ve been in constant contact with the same enemy forces for days, and there doesn’t seem to be any quit in them.”
I held out my hand for the handset and it appeared at my side in an instant, as I knew it would. I breathed in deeply, watching Sugar Daddy’s back. He’d gone to work on digging in. That he had his back to me I considered a good thing, although I wasn’t sure why. Neither of us trusted the other, but what were our other choices?
“Combat net,” I said to Fusner.
He twisted some knobs on the main console of the Prick 25.
“Should have them five by five, up here on the hill and all,” he replied.
“What does the captain go by on the radio?” I asked him, never having called Casey on the net before.
“Expert Tailor, six actual,” Fusner replied. “Unless you want Pilson, I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” I whispered, with a sigh, then made the coded call, wondering where Casey had come up with the call sign for the company. E.T. would have been ‘echo tango’ in official alpha numeric code. The letters also stood for extraterrestrial, which might be more appropriate, I thought.
“The six isn’t available just now,” Pilson said, his tone giving away a certain nervousness, which probably meant that Casey was right there, and not taking the call. “State your business, sir.”
I held the handset in front of me like it was a foreign object. “My business?” I said aloud with a great frown. What was my business? “Into the valley of hell rode the six hundred,” I said into the mic.
“Repeat sir, I’ll write that down,” Pilson came back, making Fusner laugh.
“Never mind Pilson, since he can probably hear you,” I said. “We’re in position up the incline. Have him send the Gunny up the hill with the other platoons. I need an advance party to secure a perimeter at the top and rear flank.” I leaned down toward Sugar Daddy.
“What’s the condition of our wounded?” I asked him in a low voice.
“Hit by rocks,” he replied, turning only his head to talk back to me. “Ambulatory. Mostly deep cuts and some broken hands and upper body stuff from the bigger chunks.”
It was good news. The wounded would be able to climb. Any dead didn’t need to be guarded or protected. I didn’t bother to ask if we had any dead because it didn’t matter.
The heavy rain didn’t start until the light began to go. The drizzle had been there all day. The heavy afternoon rain pointed out both a strength and a weakness inherent in our position. The water ran right off because the slope was fairly steep, even where we’d set in, but the run off was so heavy that anyone without rocks behind them was in danger of being washed away. And the rocks needed to be in front of everyone’s positions. When the NVA hauled that fifty into place only thick solid rock would serve as protection. I could call in artillery that would reach near the bottom of the hill but I could do nothing with the big gun when they set it up across the river. And that’s where they’d set it up, I knew. The rain was also going to assure that we got no air support. It was either what we could glean from poorly positioned artillery, what we had on hand with us, or good fortune that was going to get us through the night.
Jungle Rain
I worked to dig my own hooch behind a large rock. The rocks weren’t big enough to provide full cover for someone doing anything more than laying down, however, which created its own muddy nightmare. I could dig down a bit and put the poncho up like a tent or dig deeper and wrap myself in it while my hole slowly filled with water. If I used the tent approach, then I would be limited to moving about on all fours, or laying like a dead pig behind the rock. The rocks were all of about the same size, which meant the whole company was in the same mess. When I got my poncho erected I found out about the other disadvantage. The noise of the rain hitting the poncho was awful. The gray sky was moving. I knew moving clouds seldom emitted lightning and therefore only an occasional rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. The rain would also affect the artillery, but not appreciably so, since I wasn’t planning on calling any up on our own position.
The Gunny joined me when my hooch was done. Sugar Daddy had rejoined his platoon further down the slope, once again having his unit placed in the company’s riskiest position. At what point was Casey’s forming relationship with Jurgens going to turn into something bloody, I didn’t know, but I felt it coming.
I’d compromised on my hooch design with Zippo’s digging help. I had a decent moat around my one-foot deep hole, with the edge of my poncho sealed down as best as I could get it right up to the edge. With the six-inch moat running like a small stream, my hole would probably fill up in the night, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances and a helluva lot better than being down in the valley again.
The Gunny settled in next to me, and began preparing his coffee. I joined him, sticking my canteen holder out and taking only seconds to fill it half way from a heavy rivulet pouring off the edge of my poncho.
“Good news,” the Gunny said, but then said no more.
I knew he was waiting for me to ask, so I did. “Captain Casey gone UA?” I asked, referring to the Marine Corps acronym for unauthorized absence more popularly known as AWOL in the Army.
“The rain’s too heavy to see across the river, for one, and that’s good news. The mosquitoes can’t fly in this shit, for another, but the best news is that Casey’s digging himself a manhole to China behind a big rock not far from here.”
Fusner’s little transistor radio played in the distance, as I sat heating my coffee over the Gunny’s lit explosive fire, and thinking about what was going to happen to Casey in the middle of the night if the rain kept up. I wondered if he could tread water.
“Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain, telling me just what a fool I’ve been
I wish that it would go and let me cry in vain, and let me be alone again.”
I knew the song lyrics well. As a sophomore in high school I’d run away from home for one night, staying with a friend under his tent. We’d erected the tent in a dry stream bed that wasn’t dry at all anymore, after a rainstorm struck and we’d gone to sleep. We’d lost the tent and our stuff and gone to our respective homes, defeated. I heard the song on the Ed Sullivan Show the next night and had never been able to forget the coincidence. I’d had no girl to lose at the time, like the rest of the song was about, but I’d definitely listened to the rain telling me what a fool I’d been.
I stepped out into the rain for a moment. Having my poncho serve as my tent meant that I didn’t have it to wear. I knew if I got soaked through there’d be no way to get dry until the next day, and then only if it wasn’t raining. I stared down the hill at the stretch of jungle below, and then moved my binoculars up slightly to look at the river. I was surprised. It was like a different river. Instead of sinuous twists and turns of a big brown snake it had become a giant racing sluice of rushing water, filled with jungle bracken and broken branches. But the river itself was an indistinct abstract compared to the gray wall beyond it. Nobody was going to be out in the downpour until it was over, and nobody would be crossing the river for some time to come.
Casey and Jurgens were standing in front of my hooch facing me, when I brought the binoculars down and turned. Pilson was right to the side of them. All three wore their ponchos, which meant that somehow they’d been able to cob some extra ones, since it was unlikely they hadn’t prepared their own quarters under such awful conditions and left them uncovered.
“The Gunny inside, Junior?” Casey said to me. “Our Light Brigade charge up the hill appears to be working too.” He bent down and pushed the edge of my poncho cover aside, not waiting for me to answer. He disappeared inside, no doubt being welcomed by the Gunny, and helping to convert my small dry space into a mud hole.
Pilson and Jurgens stood together. Pilson retired back toward where Fusner had set up his hooch, leaving me alone with Jurgens.
“That’s the second time you’ve managed to put Fourth Platoon at the point while your unit concentrates on staying in the rear,” I said, angrier about the man’s sucking up to the captain, and that working, rather than an offense I was finding rather standard procedure in combat. Get anyone to fight the battles and avoid any or all of them yourself if possible.
“Is that some kind of threat, Junior?” Jurgens asked, almost before I was done talking. “I don’t do very well with threats,” he went on.
I realized that I’d made a mistake in not following a belief system I’d come upon just after arriving in combat. Threaten no one. Be real. Act real. If a threat was called for then make it with action, not a male confronting prediction. And I hadn’t been prepared for Jurgens’ immediate and emotional reaction. I should have known better. I sought to defuse the situation by simply walking away. The light was failing and the rain was so heavy that invisibility was only a few meters away.
But it was the fifty caliber heavy machine gun that saved my life. The NVA gun opened up from across the river, tracers blown into small flying cinders when they struck some of the large rocks around me. I ran forward. The bullets seemed to follow me, even though I knew the gunners across the valley could have no idea I was there. There was only one place to go. I plunged forward onto my stomach, entering the mud and sliding along for a few feet.
The grenade was there in front of my nose when my body stopped moving. It was an American M-26 fragmentation grenade. I saw it all in micro-seconds. The yellow letters on the outside of the egg-shaped thing, the spoon used to hold down the detonator missing. I didn’t think anything. I simply reached forward with my right hand, grasped the grenade lightly and tossed it as far from me as I could before smashing my face into the mud and pressing down into the earth as deep as I could get.
There was a “whump” sound, and a jolting of the mud around me. That was it before the drumming rain continued its awful beating down on the top of my helmet. I was amazed that my helmet was still on, and that I was alive and apparently uninjured. I staggered to my knees. Casey and the Gunny came running low along the top of the mud, slipping with the angle of the hill. Pilson and Fusner were right behind them. Casey ran toward his hooch and Pilson veered away to follow him. The machine gun fire ceased as quickly as it started.
“What in the hell was that?” the Gunny asked, sticking his face a few inches from my own to look me right in the eyes. “You’re a mess,” he said, leaning back, once he realized I was okay.
“Come on, sir,” Fusner said, taking my left upper arm in his left hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and under some cover.”
The big machine gun opened up again, but wherever the bullets were impacting was far from us. Even the tracers couldn’t be seen through the hard falling rain.
“Jesus Christ, not again,” I heard yelled from the area ahead of me where I’d tossed the live grenade.
“They’ve done it again,” Casey yelled at the top of his lungs. “My tent is blasted to smithereens. Again.”
I realized what had happened. I’d inadvertently tossed the live grenade into Casey’s hooch. The grenade had fallen into the collected pool at the bottom of his deeply dug hole and hence the explosion had been so muted.
Casey came stumbling back, dirt and mud covering him for the first time since I’d met him. I thought of Jurgens. I slowly turned and looked in every direction, but Jurgens was nowhere to be seen. In spite of my time in combat with the company and the conduct I’d seen it was almost impossible to consider that Jurgens had pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed it after me when we parted.
I closed my eyes for just a second and the M-26 appeared, half buried in the mud, not five inches from my eyes. I could see the rain impacting around its rounded body and stencil-painted letters and numbers on its side. I opened my eyes. I wondered how long I would go on through life seeing that half-submerged grenade when I closed my eyes.
Fusner guided me back to my hooch. I was unhurt but shaken by the experience. I sat there under the wildly beating staccato of the rain hitting my poncho cover until the Gunny returned. He eased in out of the rain. We were both so wet from being outside in it that being under the poncho only guarded against the harshness of the rain hitting us directly, instead of doing anything to get us dry. We both sat to rest and consider.
“Pilson saw the throw,” the Gunny said, without a moment’s preamble or wait.
“He saw Jurgens?” I asked, surprised.
“No, he saw you,” the Gunny said. “He saw you toss it into Casey’s tent.”
Time seemed to slow down. I had tossed the grenade. To save my life I’d tossed it away. I had no idea it was going to land in the captain’s hooch.
The fifty opened up again, spraying the side of the hill ineffectively but capturing the attention of everyone holed up along the slope. The NVA would keep firing on and off all night long, I knew. Artillery people called it H&I fire. Harassing and Interdiction fire. The 105 batteries in the lowlands fired rounds all night long, at potential gathering places or on rice paddy dikes. H&I fire did exactly what the fifty caliber fire was going to do to the company during the night. It harassed and interdicted.
“The grenade was thrown in front of me from behind,” I told the Gunny. “I can’t be certain, but I was talking to Jurgens a few minutes earlier and mentioned that I wasn’t happy about Sugar Daddy’s platoon handling the front line stuff lately.”
“That might do it,” the Gunny said.
“If this rain continues like it is, and we don’t clear out of here, then this whole hillside could go, or be impossible to maneuver around on.”
“Got another plan?” the Gunny asked.
“What did Pilson think?” I asked the Gunny. “And what’s he going to tell the guys?”
“He said what I felt,” the Gunny replied, instantly. “He felt like you could have bided your time, and picked a better time and place to toss it.”
“What about Jurgens?” I asked.
“What about him?” the Gunny replied with no expression. When I didn’t respond for a few seconds, he went on. “Like something’s changed there?”
AK-47 fire came filtering through the rain from further up the hill.
“Shit, they’re going to keep a full court press on until we have to move out of here,” I said, moving into a crawl position. Stevens and Nguyen had gone up toward the ridge at my order. I had to find out if they were okay. And, I had to come up with a new plan because the real “our charge up the hill,” as the captain had put it, was proving to be about as successful as the Light Brigade’s.
<<<<< The Beginning | Next Chapter >>>>>
Jim, A few nits. Dave.
“Combat net,” I said to Fusner.
He twisted some knobs on the main console of the Prick 25. “Should have them five by five, up here on the hill and all,” he replied. => 2 paragraphs or 1 paragraph
“What’s the condition (or) our wounded?” I asked him in a low voice. => (of)
If a threat was called for then make it with action, not male confronting prediction. => the term confronting prediction is one I’ve not seen before, but here it means braggadocio or blustering or peacock behavior but none of those fit the sentiment. No real recommendation here just unease.
There was () “whump” sound, and a jolting of the mud around me. => (a)
“Got another plan?” the Gunny asked.
“What did Pilson think?” I asked the Gunny. “And what’s he going to tell the guys?”
=> 2 Paragraphs.
Thanks a million for the editing help on this Dave!
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great read…this is my first comment but I have been following along for the full story…I was drafted in ’71, served til ’74…like others the waiting on the next instalment is killing me…thanks for telling your story…
Thanks M, knocking them out as fast as I can go.
A bit hard to edit and then get the novel out of Amazon all done too.
The complexities of all that are awesome in retrospect.
How does anyone publish a book these days.
It’s a full time job! And there’s only pay outs and no pay ins!
Thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Was in the ashau aug. and sept 1968. 101st. airborne . remember it raining for 8 days and nights non stop and we were cut off from everything and everybody.
God, that rain, and then the soaked sobbing jungle and valley floor.
What a pit it became in those months that seemed like years. When we came home
the years seemed like decades since we’d left.
Thanks for the comment and the reading…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for your service and your writing! I am a song writer and recorded a CD last year called “Vietnam”. My one song “19 Years Old” was read on the Floor of the US Senate last year. I have sang it at veteran functions and at the ground blessing for a new Vietnam Wall Memorial (AZ Wall Project) in Gilbert, AZ last March. Is there anything you would like to hear in a song about Nam? Have a listen! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5Tr1Dd4G2A
Well, Shaun, I listened to your song and thought about your thoughts…and your words.
You are a man of depth and foundational feelings…
a songwriter who’s coming at me straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
I see you. I see you. And I hear you. Thank you on behalf of all of us who did the “search and destroy…
kill or be killed” missions and times.
From your lips to our heart…and from our beating hearts to your very own.
Thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
I put your song up on the Facebook site and then ‘boosted’ it for a hundred bucks or so….what a great song and what
a great man you are…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you Jim for your service and so much for the kind words. Also thank you for sharing my music! I want to sing at “The Wall” in DC some day for a special occasion! It lifted my spirits to read what you had to say! Blessings!!
And well you should be singing at that Wall one day Shaun. You have a special talent
and its application needs a much larger audience. I hope that I’ve helped in that regard.
Whatever you want to send here will get noticed and treated with the same deep respect and with thanks.
Semper fi,
Jim
P.S. I thought I would put it here also
Beat to quarters the captain said,
But there was no enemy,
No sail,
No boat
Just black pajamas.
So on we slogged ,
Through flat land rice row,
Upon row,
Upon row,
Of sucking brown mud steaming.
Songs played forbidden radio
Beloved Beach Boys,
Surfin Safari,
Barbara Ann,
And I get around.
Chorus
To an unknown beat,
In the awful heat,
We played the songs,
We smoked from bongs,
Armed Army Marines,
On ham and beans,
No rights or wrongs,
Lost in those songs,
We await defeat.
Beat to quarters the captain said,
But it meant little to me,
No place,
No trace,
Life’s wet dilemmas.
Orders were orders,
And we moved to live
No leader,
To follow,
Shot through with a bullet.
Repeat Chorus
Jim – If this were a “war novel” I’d be planning on killing Jurgens the very next instant I could. But this is REAL life and actually happened to you! I still can’t believe that Marines sunk so low as to actually execute other Marines. When you had that encounter with the 3 men from Sugar Daddy’s platoon you absolutely has NO CHOICE – but that still had (has) to haunt you at times. I forgave myself long ago, as I hope you have as well (and all the other vets reading this), for some of the horrorific things we had to do to stay alive…….but knowingly have to shoot another Marine to save your own life would be the worst. That being said Jurgens has to go, but more than the killing, I’d hate him forever for putting me in that position that made me have to do that. War truly is hell! I suspected Pilson for a while also, but was he such a coward that he would do Jurgens bidding even though you had saved his life just a few days before? Semper fi my friend……………
Interesting to try to figure it out. Real life can have twists and turns that
are a lot less logical than the fictional creations. Part of this is fiction, of course, as my memory cannot
contain every detail and every move of every person. Thank you for liking the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Remember how cold I was during monsoon while with the 173rd. Airborne. We were in central highlands in 69-70 Phu Bai. Still hate it when there is a cold rain.
Racial tensions with us were mostly in the rear, line units depended on each other, but do remember when we went back subtle tension.
Race relations depended a whole lot on location. Once place they’d be fine and in another
they’d be awful. Probably more a function of high command than company grade.
Thanks for the comment and the read…
Semper fi,
Jim
From having grown up in the south in the 50’s and 60’s, and having known a great number of intensely racially biased people, all Jurgens really wants is a sheet, a horse, and a rope and someone to hang.. It can probably never be established, but it is my guess that it was him and some of his cronies that started the race war between the first and fourth platoons. The blacks probably grouped together to keep from being caught alone by the first platoon. Jurgens will do anything to kill the blacks, including making them point whenever he can get Casey to go along with it. That his own guys are safer are just a plus. His hatred makes him short-sighted as every man lost while in the position you are in the valley just puts him in a more dangerous situation. We have a saying down here that really applies to Jurgens…..he just needs killin’…..
Race is a natural designator and also a tool. People can be gathered together by the things
that they are obviously alike in. Skin color is the first and most immediate of those.
The forces driving racial conflict may also be quite genetic, going back way before we can possibly recall.
Thanks for your observations and your caring…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for your story. From one veteran to another, thank you for your service.
–U.S. Army veteran.
My brother was Army. The Army choppers would always come for us. The Army let us ‘steal’ their stuff in country.
The Army gave us fried chicken. I love the Army!
Semper fi, and thank you…
Jim
LT, you have a special knack of making one’s heart race, while sitting still in a chair. Didn’t see a Fragging coming right there !
Yes, there was a lot of shit I did not see coming either! Just laying it
down as best as I can. Thanks for your comment Joel.
Semper fi,
Jim
This is an exceptional read. As a former Army helicopter pilot, I cannot believe the level of disfunction. It reinforces what I heard Creighton Abrams tell Sam Koster in 1968, “that if the Marines were a civilian corporation, they would have gone bankrupt last year.” Where is the gunship support enjoyed by the Army when in contact? God help us all.
You will note Mark, that the Vietnamese did not do real well against our company, time after time,
and also that the company performed without some of the wonder toys provided to the Army.
That Army combat units were not as screwed up as my own will have to wait for more army combat
veterans to come forward. I know my brothers, (he died in 69) was terrible but I don’t know that
other than through his commentary. Thanks for liking the story and writing what you honestly think here…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, last night I went to a Chinese Resturant New in our area of surburbia. The food was good, the servers command of English was minimal, and the “background music” was drums, just like I listened to while reading that chapter of your story. Weirdest feeling I have had in a long time. Really looking forward to,your publish date.
Funny how those little reminders keep popping out and up in our lives…those of us who went and then
got out into the real shit. I am struggling to get the first book out by the 15th of this month.. Wow, what an undertaking…
to get it right, I mean.
Semper fi,
Jim
God’s speed Marine
Thanks Joe. Encouragement from wherever I can get it!
Semper fi,
Jim
When I thought I could not go on any further I reached a cleft in the hillside, that was more of (a) series of layered cliffs than it was a hillside. Extending out from the cleft, a flat area about eight feet deep and twenty feet (wide) appeared.
(“)‘What do you think of him?” I asked, ignoring his request for me to take a cigarette.
“What might we get if we trade him in?” Sugar Daddy shot back, biting off the filter of whatever kind of cigarette he’d pulled out, and then spitting (it) out over the edge of our little parapet.
A Marine rifle company was a fearsome force to consider, but one company of just over two hundred Marines was really not that big in the scale of (a) war zone.
What were we going to do with the wounded, because there was no way we could hump them up the steep slope and then expect then (them) to spend the night.
“I know what you mean,” I whispered, with a sign, (sigh,) then made the coded call, wondering where Casey had come up with the call sign for the company.
Thanks again Arty for the sharp eye.
Corrections made.
Jim
Usually when I read a book as intense and as good as this I devour it. I can’t put it down until I read the last page. Waiting for each succeeding chapter is killing me!
I served as a gunner’s mate on a destroyer from ’72-’74. We spent a lot of time on the gun-line firing naval gunfire support just after the Easter offensive. By the time we were there most of the US ground forces were back state side so we were supporting the South Vietnamese troops trying to recapture Quan Tri City. The race issues were still prevalent then though. I recall there was a race riot on one of the carriers while she was on yankee station. I was fortunate though because our crew was extremely tight. We looked out for each other regardless of race. When we returned from that first WesPac we went to the ship yards and one thing they did was tear up our galley. We had to cross the pier to eat on another ship. The racial tension on that ship was palpable. I could feel it as soon as I crossed the gang plank. I recall thinking how lucky I was to get on the ship that I did. Reading this is bringing back memories and stirring up emotions from long ago. For me reading how the artillery saved your ass is most interesting. When one is sitting on a ship at sea and lobbing rounds miles inland, one never knows what happened on the other end. We got some indications when the spotters started asking for us on some difficult fire missions but really we just did our job of making sure the gun would go bang when someone needed it. Reading this helps me understand the immediate importance of what we did there. Can’t wait for the next chapter
Funny about that tremendous lack of knowledge, at the time, and then later in time.
No idea the effect those rounds had that you sent out. The battery simply craved reports about the
effect their rounds were having but I couldn’t really tell them very well because of a lack of time
on my part, energy and self-protection…
Only now…
Thanks for lobbing all that shit our way!
Semper fi,
Jim
Great reading again LT.
The short fuse of a grenade, time stands still at times. You have great reactions to still be alive and luck on your side. The grenade could have had a short fuse, some did.
We filled a stream with rice once to get across, the water was twice what it was when we crossed earlier, Cambodia ’70 B 2/22. Keep them coming Jim.
Yes, some of the M-33 grenades were very short. They recalled those I heard, later on, but too late for us.
the M-26 was pretty damned dependable thought and distinctive in appearance too. Thanks for the story and your
informed response.
Semper fi,
Jim
No mater how secretive a person was, somebody always has an eye on what was going on in the boonies or in the hooches !!!
Isn’t that the truth! Yes, there were eyes and ears everywhere. It’s that way
when everyone’s life is on the line all the time…thanks for the comment and reading the story
Semper fi,
Jim
Do you have any plans to include comments in an appendage to your book? I enjoy reading the comments as they add to your riveting story.
Yes, we’ve sought permissions to add some of the comments, although it’s hard to get them
because people aren’t used to doing such things these days. We could use comments anyway but we won’t.
Thanks for the asking.
Semper fi,
Jim
And then there’s Pilson, ever quiet, but everywhere………
Yes, Pilson and Rittenhouse and a few more, as it turned out…
The players are almost all gathered and the game is afoot…
Semper fi,
Jim
Entered county as 82nd Air Born to later be reassigned the title of Air Cavalry . My CO was a tough SOB Cpt. who didn’t believe in the word insubordination but rather called it noncompliance for which his penalty was to be personally escorted out to the bush for attitude readjustment or he would make you wish the hell he had . The men all held him n the highest regard and referred to him as ” Hell’s Fury ” . Guys would laughingly say he had balls of steel and a heart of stone with a hot line to the devil .
Thanks for the comment Bob and the story of your time there.
Love to hear more. I wish I’d been that tough.
All these guys with these tough nicknames. Mad Dog. Howling Mad.
Hell’s Fury. And I get stuck in the Corps with “Junior” and then in the CIA with: “The Cherub?” Where’s the justice?
Semper fi,
Jim
Loving your story and story line. Not really a story, more of a history. I was lucky, being on USS Intrepid, CVA-11 (1966). Had the heat and the rain, but no one shooting at we sailors. NVA did shoot down one of our pilots. Lost 18 to “Industrial Accidents” tho.
I grew up in the Philippines, so got to experience the rains quite a bit. went on one week-long camping trip to the top of Mt. Tagatay – rained the whole danged time! And, still love to camp! Sick, I guess.
James, I am proud of the work that you did with your company. It was really tough duty for all of you. As the Corps “adopted” me in 1957, I always felt as tho I was a Marine also. Celebrate the birthday every year.
Thank you for your excellent writing, and for sharing the history of your time in the Nam. Loving every word.
I love the Marine Corps. Always did, even in the thick of it. Combat challenged everything men were
and the Corps itself but the Corps and the men held, right at the teetering edge but they held and they gave
a whole load of hurt to the enemy time after time, with my help and without it. Thanks for this comment opening the way for me to say that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Might be a bit off topic Lt. but how in the world did you scrounge up “60’s”, “Stoners” (here I assume you are not referring to people smoking dope), and “flash-bangs” for a camping trip.
At almost 70, I can still rig up a jungle hooch from a poncho most riki-tik.
Back on topic. Live armed grenades withing reading distance!!!! Now that would make ones poop watery. For sure.
Stoner was the name of the man who invented the M-16, which was a
Stoner weapons system rifle before it was adopted.
I owned a Stoner machine gun in 7.62 with tripod at the time.
The M-60 and flash bangs I bought at a gun show in California
back in the day when you could buy those things at gun shows out there.
Probably have to go to New Mexico or somewhere to get that now.
Back then you could own a fully automatic rifle or pistol by getting a federal tax stamp for it ($600 at the time).
Now, I don’t know anymore.
Thanks for the comment,
Semper fi,
Jim
The “Firearms Owners Protection Act” of 1986 containes a clause which expressly prohibits the private ownership of any full-automatic firearm made after 1986.
Interesting. Didn’t know that!!! I guess hauling around a .50 made in the Vietnam period is
quite okay then…except for state laws, that is…
Wow James….I didn’t see that coming….the grenade that is. You would think that Jurgens would see your value to the company by now….and without you there’s no artillery. It seems Sugar Daddy has come around a bit, but for some reason he flashed into my mind as a suspect, right after I thought it was Jurgen who tossed the grenade. And the belief that you were trying to take Casey out…..what a cluster fuck! My stomach did a flip when I read that….that safety is going to be off on that 1911…fantastic chapter!
Thanks Mike, that one took me some time but so is the next.
That damned watery graveyard of a mud hill…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sadly, it seems that more people are proofreading, Instead of following the the contents of the story!!
It’s okay, the proofreading. It means that people reading are really paying attention and caring.
I also appreciate and make changes based on the help I get here. So, don’t be put off by those comments.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you!
You are most welcome Richard.
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s another riveting installment, and it seems, Mr. Strauss, that things are turning into a bit of a mystery, but hopefully not a murder mystery for you and “your” men.
As with all of the stories you’ve posted, I’ve re-read a couple of times, and it seems that you’re not completely convinced that Jurgen’s tossed the grenade?
It is possibly a good thing that when you tossed it into the Captains hootch that he wasn’t home, as his use of Jurgen’s platoon, along with the NVA threat, may be helping keep you alive. If the Captain gets dinged and the company reverts back to your command….
I realize that you had bigger problems to think about, but I can only imagine the rage that you must have felt to find that one of your own tried to kill you. Maybe someone will accidentally take Jurgens out.
Keep up the great work LT. Looking forward to the next one!
I was not mad over there, that I can remember. I was frustrated and frightened but never really
angry. Every time I thought about guys killing other guys because they felt they were a threat to their own security
I was forced to think about my own thoughts…and actions…which weren’t far off. It was a terrifying time and it is
hard to portray the extent of that fear especially when it is non-stop all the time…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Stevens,”… Sugar Daddy and me.
I worked to dig… The rain would affect
“Shit, … as the Light Brigade’s.
Hopefully, my little edits serve to show you how your saga has captured my full attention.
Floyd (2/325 82nd ABN, ’69-’71)
Duly noted, thanks and corrected.
Appreciate the focus, Floyd
You still can get a fully automatic license. Just costs you to buy an automatic (16K for the cheapest).
Go to the LasVegas gun show, you can buy fully functional Tank.
Did not know that about the license thing on fully automatic weapons.
Don’t see why they are legal at all but who, having some, would want to part with them.
Try firing them for a bit out in the country. How abut three hundred bucks for a 100 round
belt, and that’s about ten seconds of fun! The .50 is a lot more expensive to shoot than that!!!
And then there’s the cleaning, and storing and so on…
Jeez.
Semper fi,
Jim
This is playing out like “Lord of the flies ” who’s to say the Captain knows. They keep him in the dark and feed him BS. If he does know maybe he’ll back away. Cowards fear crazy.
Rain, still hate the rain
A knife is quite, surgical, scares the shit out of the victims friends, all in all a solution.
Butch
You are one tough hombre Butch. I agree with the knife thing but a knife in today’s world
is either a weapon of the night only, and the other guy better not have night vision, or of surprise.
A .45 is a sort of knife, as is an M-16, both extensions of man’s hands and ability to reach out at a distance.
As was so graphically and effectively portrayed in that Indiana Jones film….you don’t want to bring a sword to a gunfight…
Semper fi,
Jim
A 90 recoilless will work up the back end of T72 too, or a 22 Hi standard with a silencer will ensure co-operation with a local Charlie sympathizers in balloon Evacs, yep, long arms literally, strange war in the late 60’s, the USAF had a lot of toys for wet work
Felix. You been there brother. You know. You can’t know about that stuff unless you been.
Thank you for the fact you now live back here and must remain mostly silent.
I am with you and others like me on here.
Semper fi,
brother,
Jim
You have a great book going here. You really have me hanging on every sentence. Each I day I scan to book of faces for your next chapter. My wife doesn’t even give me shit anymore for not hearing her when I am reading your work. I had heard of fragging and stuff but I had no idea how prevalent it was. Damn glad you made it back and are sharing your memories with us. I can’t wait for the next chapters, but I don’t want you to be done either. You,ve got me all worked up over Jurgens I guess, and that grenade now. Don’t let the grammar checkers slow you down.
A great read and even scarier knowing it’s not fiction.
Henry
PS; though, at first you didn’t have a knife to stir your coffee and then you did? Pick one up in the field I guess. Can’t remember what chapter so it can’t matter much.
You are accurate and correct W3ski. I didn’t have a knife at the start. The Gunny gave me one
because he thought it was ridiculous to be in the field without one. I don’t know where he got it.
I am sticking as close to reality as possible, although my memory cannot be totally clear and my notes can be
hard to understand sometimes. Hell, it’s damned hard to place the different positions in the A-Shau on modern maps.
It’s all changed so much.
Thanks for the comment and the reading..
Semper fi,
Jim
Dang dude. This is good!!!
Thanks for the laconic but well taken compliment Larry. I am so happy you like it and will get that first book up there
in the next few days. I promise…
Semper fi,
Jim
Dear sir:I am retired Air Force,and am enjoying your book. I was in Nam in 70. I had it no where as bad as you marines had it and want to thank you all for doing what you had to go thru.
Thanks John. The Air Force provided some pretty great shit to the battles over there
and it was a pleasure to see how easily the services worked together, sometimes better than the units
with one another in services. Thanks for the comment and the reading…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great episode as usual. Most people wouldn’t believe the fragging story if they had not been there. Glad you saw it and was able to get rid of it before it went off. The monsoon season sucked.I froze my ass off most of the time because of being wet all the time and having to fight the other enemy, leaches.Also had jungle rot a lot. It was nice to get a break sometimes to dry our socks with C4.
Keep your head down and watch out for those ass kissers that like to throw
frags. It’s tough to have to watch out for the NVA and some of your own people. Semper fi.
I never could believe that I saw the thing embed itself in the mud right at my nose like that.
It was night, the grenade surface was not shiny. Yet, there it was, the bright paint on it
like neon. I grabbed and threw without regard for where it went. I was so lucky. I still see that grenade right
there in front of my eyes on some nights. Amazing time.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, The rain is a deluge in the jungle during a monsoon and it is also a deluge at sea during a Typhoon.
JMHO, there are no innocents in a war, maybe I’m wrong.
The Monsoons are depressingly harsh in the jungle. Movement so restricted.
And the mud. And the leeches. And the water in the C-rats, and so on.
Thanks for the reminded. Sometimes I actually forget…
Semper fi,
Jim
It’s not the enemy that will betray you. Keep writing sir, right there with you.
The enemy is always questionable, inside and outside. I got hatred and respect from within and without
both but in different forms. It was a strange time in my universe, as it was for many people I had no clue about
until I started to write this. What a revelation to me personally this has been…
Semper fi,
Jim
I have been one of your “silent” readers. USMC, 70 – 74. By the grace of God, I never left the US. If they had sent me, I’d have gone. Luck of the draw. Mos was 6541. Aviation ordnance missile tech. From 75 till 13 I was Civil Service in support of MCAS Cherry Point, NC I have listened to stories from vets from 71 on. There have been a few who present Nam as you do, but very few. One of those was similar to your gunny, and provided stories from Korea, also. I’m only a young 65, but my brother in law stepped out of a c-47 at 01:15, 6 June, 44. He walked to Germany from there. He got in trouble for taking his boots off.
Love your story. I would like to think I could have done it. Am glad as hell that I missed it. I realize if I was there that I would have been on an airfield and not have done what you did, (I think), cause they have a thing about putting you where they need you. As it is, I’m proud of my service (70-74) and proud of supporting the MC (75-13). 42 years of it. And, I’m Damned proud of you, Sir. Keep up the writing. The vets need it, and few, but some, of the civilians will get it.
Thank you Steve for being one of this ‘silent’ readers. From the analytics they send out
from Google every week it would seem that there are quite of few of those.
Thanks for coming forward with your story and your service. Glad we had you were they needed
you, because we probably sure as hell did too!
Semper fi,
Jim
Lightning?, your spelling is lightening
Fixed and thank you
Seems to me if I’m Sugar Daddy I’ve got a royal red ass for Jurgens. Why am I always running point? That asshole gets to skate a bit while licking the boots of the Capt. He’s basically set himself up as the Cpt security platoon. Interisting, how do you handle being fragged? He knows you know, Gunny knows he did it, Jurgens knows everyone knows by the times the sun up. As awful as this is I’m still laughing about the Cpt hooch getting smoked. I’m visualizing him getting out of his blown hootch his hair smoking, and cussing. Other than just walking up and shooting him how do you even the score without killing innocent Marines? Can’t wait to hear how this problem is solved.
They and we were all linked together in complex fascinating ways and the winds of loyalty and survival would
blow first one way and then another. Thanks for thinking it through and siding with me!
Semper fi,
Jim
Sorry to jump in again, I know your busy. Ok , so anyone’s value in the field is commensurate with the ability to help them survive , or not. That is weighted no doubt , and a paraphrase from a previous day I couldn’t find if I had to. So your at this point now that’s it’s proven your existence is a plus, certinly not a negative. Ok Sugar Daddy is getting screwed by Jurgen’s running point. Jurgens tries to frag you when the companies ass is in the wind. So my thought is if I’m Sugar Daddy knowing this makes me calculate that Jurgens cuts into my life expectancy. He’s a cowboy that’s going to not only get me killed, he’ll kill my guys, and he would also relish that. If I’m Sugar Daddy Jurgens life expectancy is debatable. Your a plus, not an unknown, as Sugar Daddy noted about the Captain, could do worse. Jurgens = couldn’t do worse. Politics and the odds.
Very good Dale. Playing the odds. Great phrase. That is exactly what most of us were doing,
with the odds changing and fluid all the time. Decisions of death being permanent, of course,
while everything else was moving and alive…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jurgens…’nuff said.
Yes, he was a piece of work…but then so was I….and a few more around me…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jurgens was a murderer. You LT are a good piece of work considering the circumstances you were in.
We were all murderers. I am telling this from my viewpoint so do not forget that.
I have a lot of forgiveness now for the piss poor conduct I saw over there. We were so young.
How could we not just go fucking nuts? And then be held accountable by guys
and gals who were never in it. My court martial boards that I sat on while I was mustering out for
medical reasons had no combat vets on them.
The combat vets were coming in front of me as accused. I would never send any of them down
and was always in trouble for my stand.
They had paid their dues to me and did not need a BCD or a DD for drugs, or spitting on an officer or any of that.
thanks for the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Takes a bit of nerve to name a plan ” The Light Brigade” all things considered . Kinda like calling it ” Little Big Horn ” . Another great episode , thank you .
My humor was buried way down there at the time but so was everyone else’s.
Nobody got the joke, least of all me until much much later….like now.
Some of this stuff I’m reading in the old 70 manuscript is rocking me back.
Semper fi,
Jim
The real problem now is Jurgen he probably sucked up to the other officers till they figured out he was using them to put sugar daddy out on point and in the dangerous places and when they figured Jurgen out he set ambush for them. Sugar daddy originally was a problem as he figured the officer was with Jurgen and putting his men in danger but as time went on he saw you had saved his men and that the captain was ragging you also and he realized you were looking out for all the company not just Jurgen men. Pilsen knows more than he tells and he remembers you saved him in the river and took the blame for what gunny did and kept your mouth shut. May be in your favor if Stevenson finds the nva waiting on top of the hill so you c an blast them with HE artillery and blow them to pieces since you cannot reach across the river with artillery. Suspect pretty soon the captain will start to figure out he needs your artillery to keep him safe. And he may even figure out what Jurgen is up to and then he better watch his back.
I like the way you think, my friend, as you would have fit right in with
the scout team. Thanks for writing what you wrote and liking the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
When will you take are of Jurgens? Mad minutes and Fraggings were a real thing there. If facing the threat of the NVA wasn’t enough, you have to worry about looking over shoulder from that threat from within. He made the first move in this chess game. So the next move is yours. Checkmate, I hope. He’s asking for it. Aco 1/327, 101 st 68-69
Thank you Paul. You are right, of course, and the chess game of life was
well under way…
Thanks for the analysis and the comment, not to mention liking the story…
Semper fi,
Jim
What a horrible situation! You no it’s bad when you’ve got a 50cal and the AK’s working out and you and Gunny are distracted by what Jurgen did and Pilson thinks he saw! There’s definitely no net under this high wire your on Jim! Thank you! Semper Fi!
The worst part Jack. You have put your finger right on it. I was playing without
a net and trying to do the triple nearly every day and night. The closeness and awareness
of death and dismemberment so immediate and so common is world shattering to the normal
human condition…and it was to my own.
Thanks for the depth of your analysis, as usual!
Semper fi,
Jim
awesome, i even feel wet!
two suggested edits. eight feet deep and twenty “wide”
having his “unit” placed
Thanks RB for the continuing accurate edits. I will get right on it.
Semper fi,
Jim
It is not just being wet. It’s the thought of there’s not a chance in hell you’re going to get dried out before sun up & your knees will be knocking all night long. It creates a since of hopelessness. Add on the fact that there’s some slimmy little bastard out there that wants to place a 7.62 x 39mm round right between the eyes. Just another day in paradise.
The weather sucked. The environment sucked without some sort of relief. Hell, ice water would have been to die for!
Nothing cold except the nights in certain places and then you didn’t want them that cold. Real life. I always wondered what it would
be like to have fought in Hawaii. How neat the weather there would be…
Semper fi,
Jim
Seems Jurgens made his move thinking he is guarded by his sticking with the Captain. I am wondering if someone else saw what happened and you may find an unlikely ally soon. I do find it humorous Casey lost his shelter in the process though. Keep up the great work as you drag us along through the mud and leeches with you.
“I know what you mean,” I whispered, with a “sign”, then made the coded call, wondering where Casey had come up with the call sign for the company. E.T. would have been ‘echo tango’ in official alpha numeric code. The letters also stood for extraterrestrial, which might be more appropriate, I thought.
Believe “sign” should of been sigh.
“Never mind “Pison”, since he can probably hear you,”
Pilson instead of “Pison”.
Thanks Peter for the compliment and the corrections.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jurgens needs to go. He man is in dire need of a bullet.
Shines, be wary of what Sugar Daddy had to say in his broken crooked wisdom.
You don’t know who you are going to pull as a replacement, although in truth we
could never get a full compliment of officers going in the command structure.
Semper fi,
Jim
You still have my utmost attention sir can’t wait for the next one may God bless you and yours thank you for your service!
Thank you Josh for that sincere compliment to the writing…and the story itself.
Semper fi,
Jim
I did not like the rain.was wet for 70 days and nights it sucks. Lost one man in river crossing he is one of our MIA.
Yes, the rain and then the runoff and the rivers to contend with. Without the
choppers we would have been toast. Them and the artillery, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fred, would this be with A co 1/327, 101st? This is what happen to us as we crossed a stream ankle high that morning on patrol, but that afternoon rose from knee high to a raging river in the matter of minutes as we crossed back over. The monsoon rain fell further up the valley gathering to rush downstream at the very moment I entered the stream at my knees but waist deep as I got to the other side. We lost one which had to be found by our sister company as we were ordered out of the area by the battalion commander.
The rivers were an absolute bitch to deal with, nothing like what’s found
back in most of the U.S., training or otherwise…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m the correct age, but wrong country. That didn’t stop a few friends from heading south and joining up. I did spend a very emotional moment looking at one of their names on the Wall many years ago. Another told some some stories about jump school and being in the shit, but I think he was hard wired to seek those things out, considering his “wild ways” prior to enlisting. He was murdered in a continuation of those ways later on.
I’m enjoying the story as it unfolds, keep up the good work. As an unrepentant gear head I enjoy the weapons and systems descriptions. I note there are plenty of blue pencils out there, so I read around the auto-correct problems that escape. Proofing your own work can be tedious.
Thank you.
Hell, proofreading is boring as well as tedious. The only thing I really get out of it
is improving the writing here and there but then that can draw me in to such an extent that
I can’t quit!
Thanks for any help.
Semper fi,
Jim
Proofreading. You’d get a chuckle out of how many times I read my comments. First off, making sure I don’t tick any of you Nam vets off. Second, making sure I don’t “steal any glory”. I feel that you all let me in to a very special place and I try hard not to lose that. The hard work you all did earned you all a place of respect. Your story and all the vets comments about it are a great teaching experience for me. Korea 66-68.
Thank you Walt. As usual. Your deeply thought out and well meaning comments will always
have a place here. Thanks for caring enough to make your presence felt.
Semper fi,
Jim
Fantastic writing
Thanks a million for that terse laconic compliment. I presume there is a lot more behind it.
Hope one day you will write more. Thank you!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW! I’m experiencing “high anxiety” just reading your story, I can’t even come close to knowing what you were going through at that time. You are surrounded by the enemy, they know where you are and where you are going and, you have someone on your side trying to take you out.
I’m going to have to start calling you Houdini for being able to survive and escape this mess. Keep up the great writing.
Houdini was a great magician, which means he had a well-worked through
script. I was just running from one luck bucket to another with some
looking after me while others were looking to kill me. Funny times,
those…
Semper fi,
Jim
Remember nights in the bush,, rain coming down so hard you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face…heck of a feeling knowing ol NVA could walk up and cut your throat and you wouldn’t even see him…
They hated the bad weather and night more than we did, I found out later.
So there was seldom anybody out in the night when it was really bad.
But at other times….they were very capable opponents.
Thanks for the compliment buried in your words…
Semper fi,
Jim
true – but at the time still bad feeling A Co
2/327 Jan’68 to Sept ’68 then to HHC 2/327 until 3/70.
Thanks Bob, thanks for coming back and continuing the dialogue this story had created.
Semper fi,
Jim
I cannot imagine the fear of looking eye to eye with a live grenade. Then laughing my butt off when it landed in Casey’s hooch. I hated the rain in Nam even though I wasn’t in the boonies like you. Another great chapter, ansiously awaiting the next.
A few corrections below.
“My thought, exactly,” he replied, pulling back from the M-60 team to come (to) my side.
What were we going to do with the wounded, because there was no way we could hump them up the steep slope and then expect then (them) to spend the night.
“Never mind Pison, (Pilson,) since he can probably hear you,” I said. “We’re in position up the incline.
The Gunny joined me when my hooch was done. Sugar Daddy had rejoined his platoon further down the slope, once again having his until (unit) placed in the company’s riskiest position.
Pilsen (Pilson) was right to the side of them. All three wore their ponchos, which meant that somehow they’d been able to cob some extra ones, since it was unlikely they hadn’t prepared their own quarters under such awful conditions and left them uncovered.
Thank you again Richard for your kind words and sharp eye on the Typos.
You know I post this as I write and before we go to Press a “editors” will look more closely…..
But I did notice that our readers, who seem to understand the situation can correct easier.
Thank you and so many others helping out.
Serious implication on Jurgens, but the Gunny is right, “Like something’s changed there?” I won’t even begin to say what I would do, but two strikes on Jurgens already. And who is going to listen to you after his suck up. At least you now know how to cover your act. I hope you aren’t to brash and bold. Great chapter James. Even auto-correct red-lines his name. S/f.
Thanks Ron, as usual. Your compliments hit home and it helps my work as I go.
Sometimes the story gets me down. I took a whole day and part of a night to get the
grenade thing right. And the side of that hill was hard to describe because it was
all so surreal and comes back more like individual Polaroid shots than video memory frames.
Thanks for what you write about what I write…
Semper fi,
Jim
I could say something, but I would have to take the 5th
That just about says it all. You can’t get counseling for some things that you did over there
unless you want your next counseling to be from a federal prison guard. I get it ob and lived it
of course…
Semper fi,
Jim
That photo you choose for this segment reminds me why I never have camped out since Nam. I think in Oct. of 69 we had 76.5 inches of rain in the An Loa valley.
I don’t camp either Mark. The comfort thing has a lot to do with it.
Used to be the paranoia things. Took a Stoner tripod rig on one and an M60 on another.
My wife would never go with me again. I don’t know, maybe it was the flash bangs I set up.
She didn’t wake me to use the bushes. How could I know. And that argument at the car
when I was removing the trip wires. That was something too. So we don’t camp.
After all that shit there’s the rain.
Oh well…
Semper fi,
Jim
Funny funny story of married bliss. Very funny
Well, sort of, I guess. I think I get the humor but I’m not exactly sure.
Thanks for writing though…
Semper fi,
Jim
now that sounds like the truth
Well, what is truth but a perspective upon shit that you believe you see happen, or listen to someone else
tell you. Thank you for that affirmation though and thanks for making the comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Mark – Funny you say that about camping out after Nam. I felt the same way. I said I slept enough nights on the ground, cold and wet that I don’t need to do it anymore back here. I’m an outdoorsman and have been on many hunting trips all over the U.S. and have had some uncomfortable sleeps, but if there’s a roof and a cot I want to be there. I also took a picture of 3 of my buddies curled up sleeping in one of those little cement pagodas and they’re caked with mud from the bottom of their boots almost to their knees just to show my friends back home what we looked like most of the time. Just sayin………….
Thanks Gary. Glad you got back in the groove when it comes to camping. Not me.
I guess I’m a bit old to try it anymore either. Thanks for the commenting and the reading…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jurgens has to go….I hope his action did not go unanswered…
Sill here,
Bill
Thanks Bill…for every time there is a season…under heaven, as here too and there too….
Semper fi, and thanks for the comment.
Jim
“Turn, Turn, Turn”….
Turn, turn, turn
And a time for ev’ry purpose under heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to morn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together
To ev’rything
Turn, turn, turn
There is a season
Turn, turn, turn
And a time for ev’ry purpose under heaven
A great song and a great philosophy…
Semper fi,
Jim
Gotta ask; “Never mind Pison, since he can probably hear you”…..was the misspelling of Pison a Freudian slip or a statement of your feelings of the individual?
Misspelling. Pilson was just a pawn who went with the wind and into the wind.
And the ‘wind’ was blowing like hell through that canyon of both of our lives at the time.
Thanks for the comment and liking the read.
Semper fi,
Jim
So, the Lt is gonna be deeper in the shit because of the shit. Jurgens is gonna skate because Pilsner saw what he wanted to see. Is Sugar Daddy gonna be enlisted to work for the Lt? Is Gunny gonna stay back and just watch until he gets to air evac? Damn, you write a great story! And, by the way, I went thump again, yeah, it’s that good.
McKinley. I think you were invented to make me laugh about the story I am writing.
You have all these suppositions, some of which are fucking scary close by the way.
And your enthusiasm for the writing and the story is downright infectious.
Thanks, my friend,
Semper fi,
Jim
Man,that Jurgen was one stupid bastard .Knowing your arty skills saved his bacon more than once .I think my sanity would have left me along with him and 45 round between eyes . “I don’t do very well with threats” Me either says Lt. That would have been a hard call . You were definitely between a rock and a hard place .Thanks James ,made my day . Semper Fi
Most guys did not think of the past or the future. They lived right there in the present and life and death decisions were
like that. Right there going on all the time from without and within…
Semper fi,
Jim
This may turn out to be a supreme case of survival of the fittest. Sugar Daddy’s Fourth Platoon may be the safest place to be. Who’d of thunk it.
I love the way you guys try to figure this out and the twists and turns
that are not really mine, as the writer, but merely the recording and laying down of
history as I remember it. Thank you for the thinking and the writing on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well that American grenade definitely didn’t come from the VC. Since Jurgens has the Capt.’s blessings, one would not doubt that he was missing a grenade. I had two experiences with grenades finding my area and can attest to the shock of seeing them bounce in. Avoided one, but the other got me. Those fragments can make a mess from top to bottom, when one is exposed to them and yes, I can still close my eyes and see them before they went off. Digging those fragments out, took a long time.
Doesn’t look like Sugardaddy was the culprit since he seems to be realizing that he still needs your assistance from artillery. Who else would be foolish enough to try to eliminate you? Jurgens has become as dangerous to your survival as the VC only he is at a closer advantage. He needed to be dealt with immediately!
Men under harsh circumstance are tribal to an extent that it’s hard to describe.
Band of brothers my ass, more like band of clones…
Dealing with either Jurgens or Sugar Daddy was dealing with two whole platoons of
your screwed up men with machine guns! Tread lightly isn’t light enough.
Thanks for the comment and the compliments too…
Semper fi,
Jim
I actually looked very closely at one that was thrown by NVA in the Dong Ha Valley. I was able to flip over behind a small log and save myself. We lost a Corpsman to one that day, though. It seems that the gooks had a bagful and they were uphill from us. I 3/9 1969
Yes, the Chicom grenades were large but with few fragments. If you could get just a little distance
from them then you’d get blown around but not killed or maimed. American grenades were devastating
though. Thanks for the input and reading the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
but one company of just over two hundred Marines was really not that big in the scale of war zone.
“a” war zone?
You are correct and I am on it. Thank you.
Semper fi,
Jim
more of series of layered cliffs than it was a hillside- needs “a” between of and series?
Got it and making the change…thank you…
Semper fi,
Jim
Sugar Daddy had rejoined his platoon further down the slope, once again having his until placed in the company’s riskiest position.
Is it unit instead of until?
Thanks for the great eye and quick edit.
Semper fi,
Jim