I slept in my scooped out small spot atop the mud, dug down through the normal couple of feet of debris that covered those areas of the jungle not occupied by bamboo groves, trees, lianas and tubers, not to mention the vast dense thickets of ferns and other ground-hugging vegetative matter, that made parts of the area almost impossibly impenetrable to man. I slept until I felt a strong hand grip my right ankle, an ankle that had errantly gotten out from under my protective poncho cover and was soaking wet. I opened my eyes, but under the cover could see nothing. I felt instant relief. I didn’t need to see. The hand I knew. It was the hand of Nguyen, my guide and interpreter, but who was much more than that, at least to my imagined characterization of him because he seldom spoke at all. An interpreter who did not speak should have been someone who was either sent to the rear or held up as the butt of some strange war joke that only the A Shau Valley might regurgitate up.
I pushed the poncho cover aside, welcoming the first glimmer of sun I’d seen in many days. The dawn was just breaking. I craned my head around and looked at Nguyen. The man was impassive but I could tell he was energized, no doubt by being caught out in the open during the massive firing of weapons all across the mudflat where the attack took place.
“McInerney?” I whispered hope in my early morning and half-broken voice.
One quick and small shake of the Nguyen’s head told me all I did not want to know. Nguyen was not saying that the new Lieutenant wasn’t there. He was saying, with that one head slight head shake, that McInerney had died in his efforts to successfully direct the Ontos fire that had broken the back of the enemy attack hours earlier.
Nguyen sat in his usual crouch, his bent knees protruding upward and his butt scrunched down to the point where it almost, but not quite, touched the jungle matter under him. His elbows rested on his knees, as he waited patiently for me to come fully alive and begin planning for whatever the day might bring.
I pulled myself into a sitting position, a bit chilled from the wet night that had been unseasonably cold, once full darkness had set in. I could smell the cordite from the powder that had been expended hours earlier. It seemed to stick to the leaves and fern fronds as if to remind me that our weaponry was just another form of early Chinese fireworks, now refined over generations. The sun and the day would fix my slight chill in mere minutes, I also knew, so I had to do nothing to warm myself except wait.
I pulled my helmet off, took the liner out and then filled the steel shell part full with water from my canteen, making sure to keep enough back to make coffee, should I be able to borrow some of the Texico (made by Coca Cola) powder from the Gunny. I took out my Gillette, checked the over-used blade and shaved without the benefit of real light or a mirror. The razor didn’t work well, but time was not an issue so I moved slowly, repeating each stroke many times, not pressing hard in order to avoid being cut by the over-used blade. I’d heard of the new stainless steel blades in training but those were not yet government supplied.
I thought about McInerney. There would be no likely recovering of his body, I knew. Leaving him out there under the rocks after what everyone had seen him do in the night would not go down well with anyone in the company, including me, but there was nothing else to be done. The section of wall the lieutenant had chosen to spotlight was fully exposed to Hill 975. Any attempt to dig through the tons of stone that had fallen to form piles of rip-rap at the bottom of the cliff wall would take time and continued exposure to sniper fire, machine guns and quite possibly the fifty-caliber the enemy likely had saved by pulling it further back into the hill’s tunnels when Huntzler had opened up with multiple high explosive rounds from the 106 mm recoilless rifles.
I glanced at Nguyen, but his face gave me back the usual expression he had become known for. Nothing. Nguyen had the ability to show no emotion and deliver no message by being able to have no expression on his face, whatsoever. I’d heard of American Indians who supposedly had that same ability but had never met any to see if it was true. I finished shaving, feeling half human again. I checked my body completely, Nguyen watching with his same impassive expression. Amazingly, no leeches had attached themselves to me in my sleep, or even in the exposed movement and jostling in the mud from the night before.
I turned to stare out along the bottom of the cliff, the area not yet coming into full view, as the light moved from astronomical dawn to nautical dawn. It would be some minutes until real light, civil dawn would overcome the valley. I turned to look back at Nguyen once again.
“Night,” he said, distinctly, waving gently toward the bottom of the wall with the loose fingers of his left hand.
I looked back at the piles of rip-rap. It took a few seconds for me to get it. The NVA did not have a Starlight Scope or anything like it. A man, or two men, working quietly, would be able to go out and pull back one stone after another until the lieutenant’s body was revealed. The only thing it would require was knowing exactly where in the tons thick mess the body was, and a good deal of patience and hard work.
“The place?” I asked, knowing that we could not pull up all the rocks that had fallen. We would have to have a pretty good idea of where the lieutenant had fallen in order to retrieve his body without getting ourselves killed or working all through the night.
Nguyen looked out toward the bottom of the cliff and then nodded once, very curtly.
Retrieving the body would require that the companies remained where they were, but then there really was no other place to go. The enemy occupied Hill 975 in force, no doubt had significant elements downriver on the side they were holed up on, and then there was the passage back across the river which would not serve at all. Whatever NVA outfit was across the river was there in force, as it had proven when the companies had made our escape to be where we were. No, there was no place else to go unless things changed.
The lieutenant’s body could be recovered in broad daylight, given the Skyraiders, Puff the Magic Dragon and the A-6 Intruder. The problem with air was, however, that it could not stay orbiting right over one small area in order to fully suppress any enemy fire. Airpower moved, all the time and everywhere, only helicopters could stay in one place to deliver fire, like the Huey Cobras, but they then became sitting targets for any enemy fire that might come at them. And there was never a guarantee at all that any air would be available. Other units demanded air cover and some might even be in worse circumstance than our own. I could not call artillery again, not with us in our current position, not unless we were completely overrun and we weren’t going to make it anyway.
I reflected on the ignorance and waste of the conflict I was in. McInerney need not have gone to the wall and illuminated it for the purpose of directing fire. The wall was almost a thousand feet high. What would it have mattered if the Ontos had fired higher up against the cracked and broken stone that formed its face? There would have been little difference in the outcome. The wall was hard to miss and Hutzler also had the Starlight Scope and the fifty-caliber spotting rifles. McInerney had acquitted himself with honor and heroic bravery, however, unaware that his demonstration of those things was total without operational necessity or rationality. FNG meant what it meant for a reason. There was no regular peacetime logic that existed or worked down in the A Shau Valley. The A Shau, for me, had become my world, but to a newcomer, an FNG, it was a foreign as it might have been to someone entering Edgar Rice Burroughs The Land that Time Forgot.
The Gunny appeared, as I got my helmet back on and prepared my canteen cover to make coffee. He slunk down in a squat as Nguyen retreated back into a place just inside the higher jungle growth, his eyes never wavering or leaving my own when I checked to see he was there. The Gunny’s callous disregard for the lieutenant’s life earlier had left me a bit lost and feeling alone. I waited, without asking the man for the coffee fixing. He supplied the small packet, along with two packets of the powdered cream. There was no sugar but I didn’t require any. The Gunny started the Composition B fire and we waited, each of us sharing the small intense flame, our canteen cover holder bottoms long stained black by such practice. The Gunny lit a cigarette while we waited for the water to boil.
“We walked in the rain, so what do we do now?” the Gunny asked, his tone mild but with some stiffness in it, almost as if I’d made the comment about McInerney.
“What does battalion say?” I asked, since I had not been in contact with command for more than twenty-four hours.
“The six-actual says to wait while they assemble a combined forces attack to sweep down the valley,” the Gunny replied, his tone flattening out into a matter-of-fact analytical bent.
“We don’t need a plan to stay where we are,” I replied, watching civil dawn come and go as the sun began to rise toward overcoming the top of the distant cliff fact to our east.
“What we need is resupply. We need more 106 ammunition of both kinds. We need to have air hit Hill 975 unremittingly all day long and quite possibly on into the night if they will.”
The Gunny sipped his coffee slowly, and then took another hit from his Camel. The strain in the air between us was palpable and I could think of no way to reduce it or cut through it. I wanted to say that I had not sent the lieutenant to his death, that I had no idea of where he’d gone off to until it was too late. I didn’t ask why the Gunny had not stopped him from going out into such a suicidal position.
I sipped the scalding hot coffee slowly, being careful not to burn the sides of my mouth on the exposed lip of the wide metal opening. The silence dragged on while the sun worked to climb over the distant edge of the high cliff and illuminate the night’s fields of fire. We’d only lost the lieutenant, apparently, from what was said around me. I didn’t ask about that, my concern was more personal as I had no plan to go on in opposition to the Gunny or without his support.
Fusner motioned gently toward me with one hand, the sensitive teenager no doubt absorbing the tension apparent between Gunny and me.
Once again I watched Nguyen move to be in a place almost directly behind the Gunny, and that move made me uncomfortable. I did not want Nguyen, my imagined protector, to hurt the Gunny or be his enemy, any more than I did, but I had no plan to deal with the current situation.
I looked over at Fusner. He was tapping his little transistor radio. It was time for Brother John to begin broadcasting over the Armed Forces Network. I nodded my head. There was to be no hiding from the enemy. Every part of their three-pronged surrounding force knew exactly where we were. Only supporting fires from the air, artillery and the Ontos preserved our position along with the miserable open fields of fire the NVA had crossed in order to get to us.
The song that came out of the radio, mid lyrics was called Guantanamera. I’d heard it many times but the Sandpiper’s version, the English translation of the famous poets’ words put to song, had never penetrated me before, as they now did.
“My verses are light green, but they are also flaming red.
My verses are like a wounded fawn, seeking refuge in the mountain.”
I looked off into the distance toward Hill 975. I was the wounded fawn and there was no refuge. McInerney would have been the wounded fawn only hours earlier but he was wounded no more.
Guantanamera repeated with more verses in Spanish. I didn’t understand the name of the song as English was my only language except for pretty bad college German.
“I’m sorry,” the Gunny said, quietly, but well heard by me and Fusner.
I didn’t know what to say so I made believe I hadn’t heard him and took another sip of my too-hot coffee.
“I was out of line,” the Gunny went on.
I wanted him to stop talking. I didn’t want the Gunny’s apology. I didn’t want the Gunny to treat me as the classical straight-backed officer leading the Marines. I was so much more comfortable with the role that had been assigned to me as Junior.
The wonderfully terrible song played on, seemingly without end: “And for the cruel one who would tear out this heart with which I live. I cultivate neither thistles nor nettles. I cultivate a white rose.” Guantanamera.
I knew if I lived that the words would remain burned deep into my mind and body.
“It’s okay,” I finally replied to the Gunny, knowing that the lyrics of the song were probably not reaching inside him at all. “These are difficult times.”
“I hate seeing the officers die,” he went on, “one after another, no matter how it happens. I don’t have any children. I don’t have a son. I’m getting old. If I make it back I might still have time. If I have a son I’d want him to be a Marine officer.”
I noted in shock that the Gunny had bitten something back. He’d almost said, “like you.” I just knew it and had no reply to any of what he’d said so I went back to sipping the coffee, not noticing that I was burning my lips.
The last stanza of the song played, holding my attention in the silence after the Gunny’s staggering admission:
“With the poor people of this earth, I want to share my lot.
With the poor people of this earth, I want to share my lot.
The little streams of the mountains please me more than the sea.”
I looked back to my right, down the length of the open area that ran all the way to the Bong Song River. The little streams of the mountains I reflected for a few seconds.
All I had was the Bong Song, and it would have to do.
“The plan is called Candia,” I said to the Gunny, as once more silence settled over our small plot of mud, rain, and debris. I crouched under my poncho, only my hand and lower part of my face under my steel helmet exposed.
“The Knights of Malta held out for twenty-two years in that siege,” I said. “Time is on our side.”
“I’m not sure our Marines are going to understand that one,” the Gunny replied, after a delay of a few seconds.
“It’s okay,” Fusner piped in. A great siege and the Knights of Malta. Everyone’s heard of them.”
Even the Gunny had to laugh at that one, and I along with him.
I waited for Brother John to introduce his next song and what lyrics of depth they might reach inside me. I too liked the officers that came and went so quickly, none of them wounded, and all of them dead. I even liked the ones I hadn’t liked much at all. They’d been here with me and trying their hearts out like I was. Warmth spread through me as I thought about what kind of hard courage it had taken the Gunny to say to me what he’d said, and in front of Fusner, as well.
The first Skyraider came in without much warning. A deep growl in the distance and then it dropped out of the sky to pull up and zoom over our position, more toward the river than right over the top of where we sat. Then two more came in. Cowboy was on station and he’d brought friends. I reached out my hand but not fast enough because Fusner already had the AN323 up and the small headpiece ready for me to clamp on to my head. I pulled my helmet off and slipped into the device. Cowboy was instantly alive in my ears.
“Flash, wake up, coffee’s on and it’s time to play,” Cowboy intoned in his unbelievably upbeat and expressive tone. “There will be joy in this valley, and we brought lunch to stick it out. Puff will lift off in an hour and he’s loaded for bear with armor-piercing everything. That Hill is going to be an anthill when we’re done with it.”
I knew that armor-piercing rotary cannon fire could only likely pierce forty or fifty feet of solid ground, and less where there were significant rock deposits, but I could not help smiling. My gloom, one of feeling like I was going it alone, was completely gone. The resupply would have an excellent chance of success with the kind of supporting fire that the battalion had mounted to finally bring us home. The United States Marine Corps and the U.S. Army Cavalry were coming to get us and there was no way I could be depressed.
The Ontos would still remain the key to our survival, and so resupply that would have to, once again, cross the river would be just about everything. I was certain that Hultzer had fired just about everything he had during the night before. There would be no real air support in the darkest hours of the night and the M60s
along could probably not work alone to stop a hugely determined and sizeable NVA force. Getting the supplies across the bridge again would also probably entail losing more Marines. It was Sugar Daddy’s turn to try to earn his Silver Star once again. In spite of the games he’d more than likely played to get McInerney to go out into the field of fire instead of he himself, I didn’t want to lose more Marines doing the resupply, including Sugar Daddy.
Fusner’s radio played and Joe Cocker’s raucous rough voice began to sing. My smile grew larger. The song was “With a little help from my friends.”
There would, indeed, be some joy in the valley along with a great mass of help from our friends.
As great a talent for writing as staying alive!
A few minor suggestions;
held up regurgitate up – perhaps delete the second up?
I too liked the officers that had come and ‘gone’?
Great to see so many chapters after so long a drought!
Thanks for the help Don…you guys who edit have my undying thanks!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad you’re back on track James.
It was Sugar Daddy’s turn to try to earn his Silver Star one* again.
once* ?? Only spell check I could find ..
Hope air power will pulverize the face of that hill and the inhabitants therein…
SEMPER Fi
Always on point.
Thanks Sarge.
Corrected
Semper fi,
Jim
I’ve been very concerned about you and your recovery. Welcome back. We all missed you and I’m so glad you are doing so well. Indeed we all have a feeling now of hope that your men will have the chance to keep fighting hard and get out alive.
Brilliant writing as always. Tom
Thanks Tom. It went down the way it went down and the end of the third book of the series will be as accurately portrayed
as I can make it. I owe it. “Yeah though I walk through the valley of death, I shall fear no evil…” the 232rd Psalm.
I feared all evil down in that valley…but then, was not walking with God at that time either…or so I thought.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hanging on every chapter. In this segment, the last large paragraph or third from the bottom “actual”: “…the M60s along…” I think you meant to say “alone” not “along”.
Tim R
thanks for the help Tim, much appreciated…
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad to see you back and writing one of you best. When I was in flight training from 1964-65, knew a young Navy Ensign who ended up flying the venerable Skyraider. I often wonder if he was “Flash?” Lost track of him after flight training. Probably one of the greatest close-air support aircraft ever built, especially considering its time on station capability. One minor edit: I think regurgitate up, is a bit redundant, as “regurgitate” can mean “to throw up.” Semper Fi, Jim Hatch
I meant “Cowboy” instead of “Flash” in my previous comment!
Got it Jim,
Semper fi,
Jim
I tried to track Cowboy through the Skyraiders Association but had no luck.
Thanks for the comment and the editorial help.
Semper fi,
Jim
You, and many other writers, write of the “smell of Cordite” during or after a battle. That’s technically incorrect. The phrase dates from the late 19th/early 20th Centuries. The US has never used cordite in small arms ammo – it was a Brit thing that was phased out during WWII, I believe. Cordite is an exceedingly slow smokeless propellant, useful in field guns, but it’s neither nitrocellulose nor nitroglycerine based.
I know the smell of US gunsmoke, and rather like it. It’s reminiscent of opening an old ammo can where the ether used in processing the smokeless propellant comes out after long storage. But not exactly. Or not entirely? Not sure what the source of the aroma is.
I say that I like the smell, but I’ve never experienced it in a place where both directions were downrange. That could change my perspective rather drastically.
Thanks for your continuing efforts on “Thirty Days”. I continue to look forward to each new chapter. And thanks to all who served!
I believe the ‘smell of cordite’ these days takes into account the variety of aromas experienced when powder
propellants are ignited and go off to create small, fire and a good bit of minute debris. Cordite itself is probably
only inhaled when fireworks are exploded. The smell of bombs going off is different than the aroma of rifle discharge,
and even those can be different, like the distictly differnt sounds similar caliber weapons make. Cordite sort of takes all
that in, as opposed to trying to explain the exact nature of a particular smell in a combat situation.
Thanks for the great and informative comment and the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Your writing always touches me, but this episode brought tears to my eyes. The Gunny finally showed some feeling for Junior. I am sure it made you feel like someone had just put the Medal of Honor around your neck.
Thanks Joe, and yes I thought of the Gunny has the greatest leader I have ever known, certainly not me.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey again Lt. Am glad I read these last two segments in order. Gives me some confidence that I wasn’t the only one puzzeling over the Gunny. My comment before still stands re the human side he revealed with the quick, half hidden smile you spoke of earlier. We must all take those moments, as they come, with gratitude and cherish them. Again Sir, it’s good to have you back in harness. Take care..
Thanks Wes, when I wrote that part of the segment I ws totally unaware of its import or how the guys and gals reading it might take it.
It just came out. Now, I reflect on that time, as many of you have, and wonder.
Thanks for the depth of your comment, thoughts and expression.
Semper fi,
Jim
A little respite did you some good; these latest segments seem energized. Sorry a health scare was involved. Two minor edits:
“…Edgar Rice (Burroughs’)…
“We don’t need a plan… distant cliff (face) to our east…”
The action continues to increase as time begins to play out down in that valley.
Thanks for the nice comment Floyd.
Semper fi,
Jim
I had a couple of edits. But after scanning others’ comments, see they’ve been addressed.
This chapter has to be one of the best. The emotions are palpable- from the after action realization the only loss was McInerny to the Gunny’s comments showing a human side after all, finally ending with Cowboy on station bringing good news of air support and resuply.
Great read!
Thanks, Jim
Thanks Jim, for your accurate summation of what’s happening and your compliments in doing so on here.
Thanks, as well, for following so closely and loyally.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hi Jim
In your chapters
You mention songs that were popular during that time period
Songs that I’ve forgotten
Great music that I can relate to and memories of a long ago and happy time
Guantanamo by the Sandpipers is one of them
simper Fi
Duke
Yes, that song plagued me a bit as I had first heard it years earlier in another guise of
that descent I took into my hell of the early sixties. Thanks for mentioning that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim – Glad to hear you are mending. Thank you for continuing this journey and taking the rest of us with you.
Cheers,
Clair
Thanks for the encouragement and support Clair, and yes, I am fully back at it…
Semper fi,
Jim
I was a fng in the Que Son valley for OP Union and Union 2.Was like a strange dream. I was a Cpl at the time. I was a fire team ldr.My men were combat vets, and I was in charge . I had to learn fast. I made somehow. We had a book written about us,The Road of Ten Thousand Pains ,by. Otto J. Lehrack,the Destruction of 2nd NVA Div. by the U. S. MARINES, 1967. I read your first two books.l lived through them.Is a 3rd coming? Thanks ,I really liked your writing.
.
Yes, Arthur, the third is on the way…and it always good to hear from the guys who were down in the ‘shit’ like us.
Thanks for the comment as I finish now the Twenty-Eighth Night and we move toward the end of the physical combat and begin the
psychological combat of my return…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great one. Thanks.
Thank you, Robert.
Semper fi, Jim
Your best, most human, chapter to date. Some of your comments have left me confused, but I will wait for it all to play out. You should consider writing for a living!!
Thanks Buck, especially that part about ‘writing for a living.’ It’s almost impossible to make it as
an author of any renown or profit today. They killed that business. You have to be famous already to make
money from a book sale lifestyle. But thanks, as I accept the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Ya know LT, after reading this chapter, I’m finally realizing that I’m just plain happy I didn’t die over there in that shit hole!
I just never had any feelings about it until now! What’s it been for me , 49 years and I’m just now getting happy!
I’m glad you did not die there either, as so many did. Funny how deaths in current combat conflicts are treated with such
importance. I lost so many and it didn’t seem to make much news at all back then.
Semper fi,
Jim
Dame LT this gets harder and harder to read and I know the worst is yet to come ,my heart bleeds for you brother thank you for taking us back we all need to face our demons it’s been long enough
Semper fi
Stephen
Facing the demons. I wonder if it is not more facing a future past kind of a thing. The past that rears up
to intrude and make growing older a mixed blessing…and except for putting the story down here, not one anybody
really wants to hear about. You share the stories with the night, a cat, a cigarette…and more and less…
Semper fi,
Jim
Battalion FINALLY going to come into the valley in force. The guys in the air seem full of spit and fire.
So sad about McInerney…all gave some, some gave all…RIP.
I assume Nguyen never made it to McInerney’s position, but still somehow was able to pinpoint where he was beneath the rockfall?
Nguyen seems like a cat with nine lives, often in harms way but escapes unscathed like he had a sixth sense or a guardian angel. For you, Nguyen was a great comport and companion during so many tight squeezes and to you worth his weight in gold. Would give anything to see what was happening through his perspective and his eyes.
***************
So pleased that you are on the mend and cranking out the episodes–despite how hard it must be for you to do with current and past tribulations and trials you have dealt with.
“That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
Wishing you the best. God Bless!
Keep ’em coming!
Sent with much admiration and respect, Sir.
Hope was injected into the situation and although it had been given before this time it
seemed to have an effect, as the struggle to survive moved to a higher level.
Thanks for the depth of that comment and your laying it down here.
Semper fi,
Jim
I was deeply moved by the Gunny’s opening up to you. The way you intertwined the lyrics of the song, your thoughts, and his words was special. He is no longer the flat man of military myth but rather a three dimensional man caught up in an unspeakably tough job.
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
He was saying, with that one head slight head shake,
“head” seems extra
He was saying, with that one slight head shake,
unaware that his demonstration of those things was total without operational necessity or rationality.
Maybe change “total” to “totally”
unaware that his demonstration of those things was totally without operational necessity or rationality.
but to a newcomer, an FNG, it was a foreign as it might have been to someone entering Edgar Rice Burroughs The Land that Time Forgot
Maybe change “a” to “as”
but to a newcomer, an FNG, it was as foreign as it might have been to someone entering Edgar Rice Burroughs The Land that Time Forgot
// prepared my canteen cover to make coffee.
Maybe change “cover” to “cup”
prepared my canteen cup to make coffee.
our canteen cover holder bottoms long stained black by such practice.
Maybe I’m confused by terminology. I would say the canteen nested inside the canteen cup and the entire assembly fit in the canvas canteen cover.
Whatever works for you. //
There would be no real air support in the darkest hours of the night and the M60s
along could probably not work alone to stop a hugely determined and sizeable NVA force
Maybe drop “along” and the space in front of it
There would be no real air support in the darkest hours of the night and the M60s could probably not work alone to stop a hugely determined and sizeable NVA force
Sugar Daddy’s turn to try to earn his Silver Star one again
As already pointed out by Michael O – change “one” to “once”
Sugar Daddy’s turn to try to earn his Silver Star once again
It’s not my story but I sure wish they could sling load the resupply into your position.
Many Thanks for the last two segments. Stay rested. Always at your own pace.
Blessings & Be Well
Wow! Now that’s a pro editing job if ever I saw one! Thanks so much for the work Dan and we will be on that first thing in the morning. I am half way through the segment that I intend to
have hit the site on Thursday. I can’t thank you enough…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hi James glad to have you back on line. I too have waited patiently for you. I am sorry for your health problems, The heart is not to be neglected. I knew personally what it does to you. Nine years ago on Nov 3 2010 I suffered sudden heart failure. Luckily my wife was close and discovered that I was not breathing and was unconscious and immediately called the EMS. I don’t remember any of it or the severally days that followed. I made it through but have not really recovered. I am not able to do the things I used to and have had some deep depression. I have since had 2 other attacks, nothing like the first be they haven’t helped me get over it. I say all this to let you know it its not something to take lightly. I have tried to write about some of the things I have been through, nothing to compare with what you went trough there, but I haven’t been able to do much with the writing. My memory just don’t work like it use to. Because of this I admire you writing very much, you do a good job for you memory. Take care of yourself and follow you doctors advise. Look forward to your next post.
Al Erwin
Yes, Al, everything has changed. I am actually eating boiled chicken without salt as the main course of my dinner tonight!
I hage more to go up ahead but have been fortunate that I suffered no damage to my mind or lifestyle, other than those things
I’ve chosen to change. I am sorry that you have been ‘limited’ by what happened but I am happy that you are still here!
Semper fi,
Jim oh, and thanks for writing me such a neat comment!
Glad you are back at it James. Got a chuckle about your response to Al Erwin about the unsalted boiled chicken. Guess that’s to make up for all the Ham & Mothers, eh?
I get the heart issue being Mother Natures notice of a life style change. My wife had a issue several years ago as did a very good friend who has A-fib. He is able to still ride his mountain bike and build trails at 73. Wife is doing OK too. Have high hopes for you as well.
Semper Fi!
Thanks Tom, much appreciate that comment. And the encouragement you send with it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Although not a Marine, the SEABEES was my home during the era you write about so well. I appreciate your candor in your writing. I was in country just a short time and in a very limited combat situation just once and for a total of about three minutes at best. It was terrifying to me at the time and I did end up with two small holes in one cheek of my butt. Based on your description of the battle I’d think I’d have simply died of fright. Thank you so much for your service and caring for the FNGs like I was. We had a Gunny assigned to our temporary duty group of 16 building a pontoon bridge over a pristine mountain stream (muddy stink hole). He was outstanding.
Keep writing my new friend.
Thanks Robin, as you work you way through the books you come to find that, indeed, you can begin to accommodate about anything
if you can life through it. And then when its past you must come to a whole new level of accommodation…all over again.
Semper fi, and thanks for being a new friend…
Jim
Man I hate it when I make stupid errors
My comment, shock at the words of the Gunny, very stunned. Now on to the next segment.
What stupid errors did you make? You are pretty damned near perfect as far as I can make out.
Semper fi, my old friend,
Jim
It feels ‘right” to be reading these words at this time. You have a great skill there LT. I am glad you are using it to your fullest.
G.
Thanks Glenn, for your continued support through this entire odyssey….
and the compliment, of course.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim I have thought all along that GUNNY cared more for you than you thought he did. MUCH more !!!!
Yes, over the years I have come to feel the same way. what an uncommon man.
Semper fi,
Jim
It is spellbinding. Continue on Lt.
Thanks a lot Robin. The compliments I get on here make me feel funny sometimes, as the 30 Days
series is the ‘easiest’ work I write because I am mostly reciting what happened without adding much,
although i know I am missing some detail.
Thanks for the support and compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt glad to here that your health is on the mend. Another hard night in the A Shau. I do not know what to say and keep it clean. I will leave it at Semper fi.
Thanks Wes, you are a great supporter and I much appreciate that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sometimes it’s best to step back and take some much needed Rand R to recharge your batteries. Looks like it worked for you LT. Great work .
Thanks for writing that Kenneth. Means a lot to me and I am indeed back.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks LT was a much needed read to stay the course
I am on it Bob, and fully back now. Thanks for the great support…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks for the quick turnaround on this segment. Looks like you may get some relief with “a little help from my friends”. Gunny was definitely an odd bird, but his comments here seem genuine…and as I have said all along, I think your men would follow you anywhere, including the Gunny…keep up the good work…
I think, as things got along, the guys figured out that I had pretty much figured the
valley out and a great deal about the enemy, as well…and they liked that.
Semper fi,
Jim
“I even liked the ones I hadn’t liked very much at all “….. I really hope more people will read this … that kind of insight ..so well said …is so important ..
Thanks Mike, just coming straight from the shoulder as best I can…and much appreciate the support and depth of your comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you James, been waiting for these segments to come along. Outstanding as usual!
Thanks James, I am back and working away….
Semper fi,
Jim
Outstanding!!!
Thank you most sincerely, Ron. The Marine Corps one word of highest praise!
Semper fi,
Jim
One of the few perks that come with being 73 years old is that patience becomes easier. And this chapter was a marvelous reward for that patience. Gunny’s apology came like a solid right hook to the jaw. It was as powerful as it was invisible in its coming. My Lament for another Fallen Junior officer was as heartfelt and solemn as it was for the first of them in this Chronicle of yours. Of course, all of the songs that Brother John provides for you are an part of my memory. So glad to have you back doing this job that you must do.
The Gunny remained an enigma and still to this day I can never place what he was or who he really was,
but he was one hell of a U.S. Marine Gunnery Sergeant that I, and any lieutenant worth his salt, was and would be
fortunate to serve with. Once, years later in a Hawaii, the skipper of a tour boat talked about the Nam and we talked
Marine Corps. He asked me out of nowhere what rank I liked the best if I could choose any to be. I blurted out Gunnery Sergeant.
Thanks for the usual depth of your comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hello Jim, glad to see you made it back. Life and health is often a daily struggle at our age!
Two episodes back to back, still my restless heart!
Editiorially my first read only picked up some items at the end. The Ontos would still remain the key to our survival. Resupply would have to cross the river once again and would have to be be just about everything. I was certain that Hultzer had fired just about all of it the night before.
“It was Sugar Daddy’s turn to try to earn his Silver Star one again. ” Once again…it was Sugar Daddy’s turn to earn his Silver Star.
Carry on Lieutenant!
Thanks for the help Michael. Much appreciated and we’ll get right on it…and I will, indeed,
carry on.
Semper fi,
Jim
Glad your back in the groove Lt. Hope your feeling well.
Thanks Jim, the support means a lot…
Semper fi,
Jim
So Gunny has a human side and Nguyen has a charmed life! I can’t imagine the inner turmoil that must go through your minds, day after day in that meat grinder. Another heart wrenching chapter!
I will never know what the Gunny war or who he really was. He was the Gunny of my life, I can say that for certain.
Semper fi, and thanks for the comment.
Jim
As usual descriptive to point of feeling I was there, which I was but not in A Shau…
thanks for having been there at all! I am glad you never made it down into the valley.
Semper fi,
Jim
Welcome back LT. Glad you are well and recovered. Thanks for jamming out the latest segments. Looking forward to the conclusion. TJ
Yes, we proceed onward and thank you for the kind words…
Semper fi,
Jim