I scrambled, slid and crabbed my way through the low growing debris spread like small islands of living flora all over the mud flat I was trapped on. The NVA gunners had opened up high or were trying to take out the Ontos instead of shooting at a few scavengers trying to reclaim dead bodies and riddled supply boxes and tins. I couldn’t see in the miserably low light because, what the lack of light didn’t hide, the everlasting misting rain made so invisible that nothing of substance or real form could be distinguished. I moved laterally, turning away from the NVA filled jungle down the river and directly away from the river itself. The river’s presence ruled everything because it was a given in the night. The noise of the rushing water could be heard over all else. With the Bong Song at my back, I did what I did best under fire, I tried to get away before the enemy got around to cleaning the mud flat of all living things. I’d taken one quick look over my shoulder to see if the fire was directed at Sugar Daddy’s strung out platoon, but there’d been nothing to see in the blackness, which was good for the members of that platoon. But those of us down in the supply area were in a previously registered position, and it wouldn’t take the NVA long to go back to playing cleanup, with our lives being what were going to be cleaned up.
I found a spider hole. I hadn’t prayed to find one, but I murmured “thank God” when my hands plunged over the front edge of the hole. There was no hesitation on my part. I didn’t care what was in the hole, I plunged forward and then dove over the lip head first. The hole was big. Bigger than I would have imagined. My body had time to flip over as I fell, which was a good thing because I landed in a pool of water at least a foot deep, with a foot of sucking mud right at the bottom of it.
The water and mud cushioned my fall, although the depth of the fall caused my legs to fully bend, descending my lower body into the water along with my feet and legs. My first thought wasn’t the relief I’d expected to be overwhelmed by getting off the deadly mud flat. Instead, I felt fear that I wouldn’t be able to climb back out, with the depth and the slippery nature of the mud. That fear was driven from my mind, as I stood up to my full height in time to be crushed flat by another falling body. I slammed down again, realizing the body had to be that of Nguyen, who’d crawled in after me. There was no mistaking the light ropey feeling of his hardened thin body. He crashed down onto me and then bounced off. There was no time for me to recover because more bodies cascaded down into the water-filled muddy chaos. I knew the Gunny and Fusner had come down but was shocked when I pushed myself violently backward to get away from the crush of their bodies. I rammed my torso right into the chest of another human, and my fear came rushing back. Everyone inside the hole had come across the mud with me. Anyone already inside the hole had to be an enemy. My right hand went down to grab the butt of my .45 as I twisted and turned, but I never had the chance to unsnap the holster and drag it out.
“It’s me, Bates,” a clear male voice said, into the churning mass of recovering bodies and splashing water.
“Bates?” I repeated, my mind not being able to understand what was being said, but my immediate fear draining away, like water rushing into a bathtub drain.
I cleared my head, as best I could, pushing my back against the open rounded wall of the big hole.
“Bates?” I asked again.
“The major’s aide,” the voice replied.
The Gunny lit his Zippo lighter, and a wavering yellow light illuminated everything in the hole.
Fusner was working to make sure his radio was okay and Nguyen was direct across the hole from me, behind the Gunny, looking as if he’d been there all along.
But only one Marine had been there all along.
“What the hell?” was all I could get out.
“They’re all dead, aren’t they?” Bates asked, his voice flat and unhurried.
I knew the shock the man was in. I’d felt it so many times myself. I knew it was obvious that this was Bates’ first time in combat. All emotion was gone from him, and it’d be gone for some time to come, if not forever. If men like Bates and I ever made it home, I thought fleetingly, maybe every question that might be asked behind our backs would be “where did their humor go?”
“They’re dead,” the Gunny confirmed.
I stared into Bates’ eyes, trying to take him in. He’d found the hole and did what any sane human did in combat when under attack. He’d taken the rabbit hole to safety and then stayed there while the Marines he was with just a few feet away, and a few feet higher up, were mowed down like wheat in a field at the end of a season. Before the Gunny snapped his lighter shut I saw the depth of regret, fear, and resignation in Bates’ eyes. He’d joined the living dead and, with only a few hours of real combat experience behind him, he knew it.
“What do I do?” Bates asked, his voice quavering just a small bit.
“’You’re with me,” I replied, almost absently, trying to give Bates some confidence where was needed. “You were the XO’s aide and now you’re my scout sergeant.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” Bates replied, the tone of his voice dropping to a whisper.
“It’s either down here,” the Gunny said roughly, snapping his cigarette down into the muddy water at the bottom of our hole, “or you can join your friends up there.”
“What’s the plan,” the Gunny said, changing the subject and this time directing his question toward me, or so I thought. It was too dark to see anything, but there was no one else the question could rationally be directed toward.
“We stay,” I replied since there were no other options.
Going up and over the lip, and then trying to crawl under fire back to the berm wasn’t a plan that had any percentage of being survivable.
“Supporting fires at dawn,” the Gunny said, his tone one of a quiet agreement.
I knew what his next question was going to be, and headed it off by answering it.
“The scope,” I said. “The Starlight Scope. We call Tank and get your snipers back to the Ontos, then we call the Ontos and get Zippo to sight for the snipers. Anybody coming anywhere near this hole gets waxed until daylight.”
“How will Zippo know where we are, sir?” Fusner asked.
I pulled up my flashlight and hit the button very briefly, illuminating the hole for a second, or less.
“Won’t the enemy see that too?” he asked, sounding like he had no confidence in the plan at all.
“They already know exactly where we are,” the Gunny replied. “If they can get somebody close then all they need is a single grenade.”
“The snipers might not be able to hit someone in this mist and mud,” Bates argued, speaking for the first time other than to answer questions and indicating that he couldn’t function in a combat role.
“The Ontos is loaded with H.E. rounds,” I replied. “Close doesn’t count, except in horseshoes, hand grenades, and Ontos high explosives.”
“They’re not going to send out anybody alone,” the Gunny said, squatting down in the hole as if he was going to prepare a canteen holder of coffee.
I wondered if the composition B explosives he carried everywhere would ignite at the bottom of a water-filled hole. I thought about what he’d said about the potential of attack, and knew he was right. The NVA would come crawling across the mud like a herd of spiders, half a platoon in force, or more. They’d be hard to spot, even for Zippo with the Starlight scope, because of the wind-blown rain, and, the Gunny was right, it’d only take one well-tossed grenade.
Fusner asked if he should make the calls to the company, and I could tell he was shaken more than I’d ever known him to be.
“The plan is called the ‘Dawn Go Away,” I said.
“Like in ‘Dawn go away I’m no good for you?’ Fusner immediately asked.
“I love Frankie Valli.”
The tone of Fusner’s voice changed, and I almost smiled in the dark at the simplicity of how the boy’s mind worked. He had a plan and it had a name. For some reason that was more important than what the details of the plan might entail. That the plan’s name made no sense at all also made no sense at all, except the mention of it seemed to have a good effect.
“Terrible name but what the hell,” the Gunny said. “Is that dawn, as in the coming dawn, or the Dawn of some girl’s name?”
The Gunny didn’t stop for more than a few seconds after asking the question, before going on. “We’ve got to do something. Even the Ontos rounds are not going to stop them. What about illumination. We don’t have to worry about the rounds falling short if they’re Illum rounds.”
“The 175 guns are all that can reach us here,” I replied, regretfully. “175s don’t have illumination. They load only high explosive and nuclear.”
“Nuclear sounds okay,” Bates said.
I knew that if we were back home everyone in the hole would have laughed, but Bates comment was met only with silence.
“Beehive,” I said, replying to the Gunny’s question. “We need to get the Beehive rounds up to the berm, load a few and then do some demonstration fire.
Beehives scare the living crap out of them.”
“How much do the rounds weigh?” the Gunny asked.
“Thirty-seven pounds per round, plus a bit,” I replied, remembering my single day in training with the recoilless weapon. I didn’t remember the data from viewing the round itself since I hadn’t handled any, but I’d read the side of one of the wooden ammunition boxes.
“A better question might be where the ammo is up there in the muck if they were dropped like the other junk,” the Gunny stated.
“I know the boxes and Nguyen can transport one at a time back and forth to the berm,” I replied.
“There won’t be any supporting fire in the morning to any effect without you, Junior,” the Gunny said, coming right back at me, intimating the mess I’d leave the company in if I got killed.
“They’re scared shitless of the beehives,” I replied.”If we can demonstrate that we’ve got them then they won’t attack in a massed formation. We can deal with the individuals, or the snipers can. If we don’t suppress a broad attack across the mud before dawn, then I’m not going to be here to direct anything. Not alive, anyway.”
“The company can use suppressing fire while you’re up there,” the Gunny said, and I knew by his saying those words that the Gunny was buying into the plan.
“The distance is enough,” I agreed.
Suppressing fire would be M-60s firing over the heads of myself and Nguyen while we worked to get at the 106 rounds and then allow Nguyen to hopefully get back and forth to the Ontos a few times. Suppressing fire only worked if it was fired at an angle in support of Marines in front of the gunners, or if the distance was great enough for the bullets coming from the gun barrels to arc high enough to go over the heads of those directly in front of them. Those in front of them would be Nguyen and me.
I waited to see if the Gunny was all in.
“I can go,” the Gunny said, after a thoughtful moment.
There was no sincerity in the Gunny’s tone. I understood, and amazingly the understanding made me feel a burst of warmth for the man. He didn’t want to go out there either, and he wanted me to find a way to let him stay in the hole. Bates was remaining totally silent. I knew the paralyzing fear he was experiencing. The idea of never leaving the protection of the hole was in his mind like it had been in my own many nights in the past. The night the Gunny had dragged me out against my will.
Fusner talked quietly into the radio, arranging what needed to be arranged up the company line. The Gunny would have to arrange for the suppressing fire, which would also be better because nobody in the company was going to want to see the Gunny hit.
“Tell them that you’re coming out of the hole with me,” I said, wondering what the Gunny would reply.
I counted off the seconds. At my silent count of sixty, he spoke.
“That’s good,” he said, softly, and I could tell there was an invisible smile on his face. “That’s really good.”
I would have smiled back if I could. The single most comforting thing about the Gunny, other than I knew he liked me and thought I was marginally competent, was that he always seemed to get it. We didn’t have to say certain ‘filler’ kinds of things or even complete sentences. The Gunny simply got what I was talking about without me having to detail it out, and it was the same way for me.
“How you going to tell the Montagnard what we need?” the Gunny asked.
“He’ll know,” I replied, having no idea if Nguyen would get it or not, but my confidence in the mountain man’s ability to figure things out hadn’t faded a bit since I’d met him.
I heard the Gunny moving around the mass of water and mud in the bottom of the hole. In seconds, he was talking quietly to Jurgens on the radio. Bits of mud fell from the top edge of the hole and I knew Fusner had to be standing up to his full gangly height, and holding the extended blade antenna in his pushed-up hand so it would rise up out of the hole.
“Flash the light, Junior, and make sure it doesn’t point in the wrong direction,” the Gunny said. “They know we’re here but they don’t know exactly what hole we might have landed in. Give ‘em three quick bursts. I’ve set it up with six machine-gun teams to open up when I give the signal, or if you start taking heavy fire out there. You and Nguyen working to get the ammo out of the boxes may be less hazardous than the trips back and forth up to the berm.”
“My sentiments, exactly,” I murmured.
“But never forget he’s just a Montagnard,” Bates added.
Nobody said anything for a moment, as I reached up to aim the flashlight and press the button quickly three times in a row. Bates’ comment hit me like some of the other junk that had been passed on to those of us in combat while the command structure remained unthreatened and unharmed in the rear area.
Nguyen had risked his life, time after time for me, and also offered support when I thought I had none from my own Marines.
“Maybe we need a dependable Marine instead, to ferry the rounds up to the berm and then come back down a few times,” the Gunny said, quietly, stating the very thought that had come racing through my own mind. There was only one Marine in our hole capable of fitting that Marine distinction. Fusner had to stay on the radio, the Gunny had to direct action from the lip of the hole and I was the company commander.
“I didn’t mean anything,” Bates said, naked fear being exposed by the quivering in his voice.
“Because you don’t know Jack,” the Gunny replied, “but it don’t mean Nuthin’.”
I heard and felt the Gunny moving about. He was using an E-Tool to dig into the side of one wall. It took him only seconds. I had no idea that he’d managed to include the E-Tool as part of his own kit when we’d come down, but it was so wet and dark he could have carried just about anything and I wouldn’t have noticed. He used his lighter to start some composition B burning. The entire spider hole lit brightly around us, which made my own fear lessen a bit.
“What about losing our night vision?” Bates, asked, the fear still emanating from him like a warming radiator.
“Don’t need night vision in the dark and rain,” Fusner replied. “Can’t see when it’s this black, except for tracers, and they don’t put out enough light to see anything by at all.”
I handed the flashlight to the Gunny. He’d need it for signaling along with communicating using the radio. There was no way that I could use the light once we were out on the mudflats, no matter how difficult it might be to find the ammo boxes among the piles of items strewn around the bodies up above. The ammo boxes were narrow and long, each holding two 106 rounds. My K-Bar would suffice to open the boxes. From there it would be up to Nguyen to negotiate a course out across the mud and up to the eastern berm where the Ontos sat waiting.
I tried to relax into the wall across from where the Gunny worked to produce another of his cup holders of coffee. I breathed in and out deeply, accepting a lit cigarette from the Gunny.
“For the critters,” he said.
I nodded and blew on the burning embers at the cigarette’s end, before carefully touching them to the backs of my hands. The leeches fell instantly away, squirming in agony, or so I hoped. I handed the cigarette to Nguyen, who’d slipped across the hole to be at my side. I stretched out my chin toward the Gunny and moved it as high as I could. Nguyen went from leech to leech, dropping the little monsters away. I wondered if the ‘critters’ would live in the mud. For some reason, the leeches didn’t inhabit the area in or around the river. There had to be something in the water and mud that was unhealthy. I thought about all the insecticide and herbicides American supply planes were dumping on the jungle we all inhabited. If the stuff was infusing the water with poison, and the leeches couldn’t take it, then what of Marines forced to struggle in it too?
Nguyen handed the cigarette back when he was done. The leeches that’d made their way under my utility blouse, and no doubt up and down my trouser legs, would have to wait, while they feasted away. There was no way to remove my uniform and get at them under the conditions we were in. Only three weeks earlier I did not know I’d have had a hard time continuing on, but leeches, like the jungle, smells of sweet death and musty misery were things that could be accommodated over time. The relief I felt from the Gunny’s brewing of coffee ran warmly though me while I waited to go over the top. The smell of the burning explosive was of a medicinal cordite sort, while the mix of faint coffee aromas, wafting up and around with the cordite, gave me a strange calming feeling of being among friends, even if there was no ‘home’ effect to it.
“Ready,” I said to the Gunny. “No suppressing fire unless we need it,” I said, unnecessarily, knowing I was letting him understand just how badly I did not want to go out on the killing mud flats above, but not being able to stop myself from saying anything.
The Gunny drank some of his coffee from the cup holder in his right hand and then crushed out his small fire with one boot before moving to hoist himself up on the step he’d created, so he could see over the top of the debris near the outer edge of the hole.
“Dawn, go away, I’m no good for you,” he intoned.
I heard Fusner trying to suppress a giggle, which made me feel better. My life was in Fusner’s and the Gunny’s hands entirely for the next short period of time, or what I hoped was going to be a short period of time.
It was dead dark again, and Bates had been correct in commenting on the fires destructive effect on our night vision. I could see nothing. But I knew where the top lip of the hole was and I knew how close and in what direction the dropped supplies and the dead Marines were located. I checked the holster snap for the automatic to make sure I didn’t lose it in getting out, and then across the sticky mud. I would let the K-Bar stay in its sheath until I was able to find some wooden ammo boxes to open. The boxes would have been easier to carry than slippery individual rounds but would have required two Marines to carry, and also those Marines would have had to remain vertical while they were moving in order to do so.
I faced the wall of the hole. Its upper lip was too high for me to reach up and pull myself over. I grabbed Nguyen’s right shoulder with my left hand and moved to hoist myself up. Suddenly I was out on the mud. I realized the Gunny must have moved behind me to help thrust me up. Nguyen was instantly laying at my side. Both of us lay face down, flat on the surface of the mud. The mildly blowing mist immediately began cleaning my face slowly as I brought it up in a vain attempt to see anything. There were no leeches about so I didn’t have to deal with that slimy foreign feeling. My night vision was returning, but seeing anything to make out what it might be wasn’t possible. I moved ahead. Each time I moved Nguyen moved with me. I thought of two giant caterpillars making their way across the mud. My fear was contained, partly because I wasn’t alone, and the fact that there was no firing from any weaponry on either side.
I pushed into a soft barrier, before realizing it was a dead body. One of our Marines. I felt forward with my right hand. The body was laying back down. Instead of going around I pulled myself right over him, knowing the Marine wouldn’t care, and no doubt would have let me even if he was alive. Nguyen made his way around, while I waited for a few seconds for him to join me. I wondered if contact with dead bodies was verboten to his religious upbringing, but I knew nothing of Montagnard religious beliefs. We moved together again for a few meters, the night mercifully silent, except for the sound of the rushing nearby river water and the slight but pervasive whispering of the falling misty rain. The air smelled almost pure, wafting down from the top of the canyon wall. My helmet kept the rain from falling down into my eyes, but I sort of missed the washing effect I’d experienced earlier. I couldn’t rub my head at all though, because my hands were once again covered with the cloying mud.
I ran into a hard and low barrier. I stopped to feel it. Wood. I’d found one of the ammo boxes. I quickly explored the surface, back and forth. The box was of the proper size. I reached for my K-Bar and began to pry across the length of the upper crack near the top edge. The blade went in and I worked at pulling the wood apart while also trying not to break or bend the blade of the K-Bar. In less than a minute, the whole top eased up and I was able to cast it aside. I replaced my knife, carefully snapping it back into the sheath on my belt, before running both of my hands up and down the length of the sleek slippery rounds. Little holes ran along the ends of both, which was a dead giveaway that the ammunition was recoilless in nature. The little holes allowed the burning powder to push against the inner side of the barrel before forcing the round to be thrust out from the end.
I eased one round out of the box, then slid it across the mud to Nguyen, who clutched it to his body like it was a pet or maybe a baby. It occurred to me, again, that I had no way to instruct Nguyen as to what we needed to be done unless he spoke more English than he’d ever let on. But there was no need to communicate at all from the instant the thought came into my mind.
A fifty-caliber machine gun opened up from the jungle side. Giant green flaming beer cans came screaming in over both of our heads. They’d brought another fifty-caliber up and on the line. They’d saved it for just the right moment. Nguyen and I tried to squeeze down into the mud behind the useless six-inch height of the wooden ammo box which wasn’t thick or strong enough to stop a .22 bullet. There was no place for Nguyen or me to run and we couldn’t survive for any time at all staying where we were. The fifty would simply stitch the entire area of the registered zone, back and forth, up and down, until it stitched us.
We would join the other four Marines lying dead on the mudflat.
Every time I read about you or the Gunny using B explosive to heat water or food, I remember how freaked out the FNGs got when someone pulled out a chunk of C-4 and lit it. We would take the cracker and jelly can, perforated it around the top and bottom to make a makeshift stove that you could boil water or heat C-rat food on. Ham and Mothers were damn good when hot! (or maybe after awhile it just seemed that way!) We use to cook rice and make all kind of concoctions between the food provided in the C-Rats and what we could scrounge from the locals. We would tell the FNGs it was fine to burn it, just don’t stomp on it while it was burning, then we would kick it over and act like we were going to stomp on it. Got them every time. I went thought nothing like you have but I was in I Corp in 72 when 30-40,000 NVA came across the DMZ and there were 200 Americans in all of I Corp outside of Da Nang AB. We really didn’t have a unit, it was crazy. A platoon of remnants from the 196 Army LIB, 35 man AF Security Force, a mortar team from the Americal Division and two Marine spotters. It was like trying to herd cats to organize the hodgepodge of a fighting unit until the NVA got to us. Then we came together like we had been together all our life. Those two Marine spotters could drop ordinance on a pungi stick from a ship sitting in the Tonkin. The dudes were good. I hated that they were spit shined and polished and my uniform was falling off me, not to mention jungle rot and boots that weren’t much more than soles and laces. I’m loving your book. I only looked over the A Shau Valley from Firebase Bastogne I think?? Don’t remember. We were rogues and thieves. Had to be to get what we need. In 72, that far north, resupply was just a word.
SSgt Mike Thomas, SF Detachment/1 (Da Nang), USAF Vietnam 1971-72.
I am not alone. Once more proven by the writing of vets like you Mike. I’m not alone now, proven by the comments of vets like you Mike.
There was so much of this rag tag stuff going on in the bush, a place where nobody wanted to go once they got a whiff of the mortality and
the continuing misery. We were all like Kelly’s Heroes without the gold at the end of the rainbow….
Semper fi, and thanks so much for you oh so supporting story…
Jim
Did the Gunny make it out?
You mentioned, in answer to one reader’s question, the the Battalion CO was courtmartialed. In reading the comments, I have yet to read one from a person that was in your unit. I certainly haven’t read them all, but many, most.
In my training, Army 71, 2, 3, we were admonished to pay attention, because people who didn’t pay attention didn’t live. And many were the stories of only one or two guys making it back from patrol.
I’ll keep reading to see how it shakes out. Hooked, addicted, whatever word you want to use.
There heave been three, all one liners and they are published on here and they supported me and what I’ve written….
Semper fi, and thanks for your support, concern and that compliment at the end.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hated, hated, hated those frogging leeches.
Ron (Okie) Harwood
Yes, I am still reminded, graphically, ever time I shave and those white scars appear all over my neck under my chin.
For some reason, the other scars on other body parts disappeared over time.
I still never go to the beach or a pool without wearing a shirt.
The scars all over my torso…
well, there is no compensation for the social aspect of that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Such was the battle in the A Shau…down and dirty infantry ops that school curriculum never chronicle. ,I CORPS was a living hell for any Marine unit along RT 9 let alone a protracted fight against a well organized NVA
You had to have been there to write about it like this, Tony.
Thanks for being one of us still living out here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Just finished reading and had to sit a little while. I was thinking where would we be if there were no Gunnys’, Fusners’ or Nguyens’ in our life? The picture I see is the Marine lying on his back and his eyes looking at something he can’t see! God bless you, Lt!
Yes, the real people. Not the leaders front or rear but the real people living it out and
making life where none could survive at all….
Semper fi,
Jim
“flash the light Junior…and make sure you point it in the right direction”…..it’s amazing the “little’ things that you bring home with you..small memories of humor amidst everything else..finding a can of peaches you didn’t remember in the bottom of your pack…your buddy handing you his last pair of dry socks because he remembered it was your birthday…and the brand new Second Lt…an FNG Arty FO that is walking in trail behind you on top of a muddy paddy dike at O dark thirty…with his head down, his red light from his crook neck flashlight shining down on his open map…trying to walk and figure out where the hell he (and we) were at….and walking straight off the 90 degree turn in the dike…landing face down….and for 50 yards front and back..you could hear the quiet chuckles…and the whispered “welcome to the Nam”…. sucks don’t it ?? so yeah…turning that red flashlight in the right direction was always a good thing…. Semper Fi LT….
I would have loved to have one of those red lights but mine were all yellow, and dim yellow at that.
And yes, those were funny times too when you could laugh at all…which back here would always be called gallows humor.
Thanks Larry, for the excellent comment, as usual.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Having read the last portion again….and then again…sitting here now 50 years later…It only takes the closing of the eyes and you feel that clutching mud..the vivid smell of it…and wondering about how to move to the Ontos. Do I crawl, slowly, without sound, slinking in the hopes of not being seen. but will I get there in time? without the Ontos and it’s flechette rounds…we all die….or maybe it will just be me..I don’t want to …. but I know I have to go….. already planning on how to load it…prepared to take on the heavy 51…a couple rounds of the killer darts and then get a fix on it when they respond back…that never ending game of chess that you play against yourself…it drives the fear to the bleachers…always there, but now just an onlooker….Get up Lt…and remember how that mud sounds as you run through it… that slapping, sucking sound that follows you as you race for the checkered flag…..that’s when that ‘fear’ jumps back out on the track and runs right behind you….it’s carried on the nose of those bullets that you just ‘know’ are trying to find you….oh yeah….such sweet adrenalin…if I had any hair left….it would be standing up……Get Some!!
I have never read a better chronicle of an action sequence, laid in with the fear and mystery poured over like as bloody gravy.
Neat job here Larry, and you are a master at doing these fantastic descriptions of what I write….almost like dioramas in verbiage.
Thank you for this wonderful writeup.
Semper fi,
Jim
Larry is one of your readers who takes your story and enhances it by filling in the surroundings. A different point of view that changes your story to stereo, and then the next voices that turn the story into a full orchestra.
As compelling as your story is, this is what I most enjoy.
There is no question that Larry is special, as are so many of you. I like the way your wrote that about Larry and the work.
I can see it and feel it too. This is not just my story. I thought it was just my story when I started but it really isn’t. A lot of men
walked in my boots. Some lived and some died but I was not as alone out there or after as I presumed myself to be. This site has proven that,
in spades.What a pleasure it has been to read and enjoy so many of the guys who were there and the ones who were not and all they have to say about it.
Semper fi, and thanks Rob!
Jim
I so much agree with Jim on his comment about your vivid and well-written Comment. Thank for sharing
Ditto Chuck!
Well, hell, J, where have you been? I know you are under the weather and I miss your comments, however designed after a razor blade they can sometimes
be! Hope you are what you are, as I know it’s not well…
Semper fi, brother,
JIm
Still hanging in there and waiting on the Father to do His thing. Things have been a bit rough, but still able to get by each day, one step at a time.
Am still wondering if I will be around long enough to see the end of TDHS? It is a great story that will be talked about long after you are gone, as lessons are learned, if they ever are.
You have done well in recreating the experiences of war and perhaps those experiences will eventually lead to peace on earth, let us all hope and pray for that.
Push on my friend and damn the torpedoes.
Thanks be to God…he lives. So far. I don’t know what your prognosis is for time on this earth J, but I expect that if you can make it to Thanksgiving then I’ll be done with the hard copy out well before Christmas. Life has come at me too in many ways I don’t mention here. Thanks for sticking with me and thanks for the grand compliments…
Semper fi, and the peace on earth part was really really neat to read…
Jim
Very good. Thank you Sir.
You are most welcome David!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
When ever I see, and I do “See” because the writing is damn vivid, Gunny, I always remember that this was his 3rd war. In one of your first installments, perhaps after you ran, the Gunny laid out your progression from useless to useful, provided that you could stay alive. The last thing he said was (paraphrasing)…that at some point you would begin to look forward to the contact and once you went there, there was no coming back. Do you think the Gunny got to that point in his first or second war and now just kept coming back? Another great chapter.
I don’t think the Gunny ever saw combat like we did in the A Shau. If he had he would have left the Corps. You don’t re-up for that, unless you
left the A Shau with no brain power left.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great read, Still hanging in, reader your book been here since the beginning will be here till the end. TY Don
Thank you, Don.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT: I was a blue water Sailor onboard USS Midway late in the war and spent time on Yankee and Dixie Stations. I now work with cadet/students who will be attending or seek to attend one of our service academies. Absolutely riveting read and I plan to suggest any of these kids take the time to read this. So many have there opinion of what you and others experienced from movies and they need a jolt of reality. Look forward to your next chapter!
Your comment is so very appreciated, Chuck.
Remind them the saga is available to read for Free 24/7/365.
Autographed copies are available from this site and Digital Kindle and NOOK also.
Thirty Days Has September autographed
Booka re also on Amazon and Barnes&Noble
LT, do plan to purchase a copy for my school shelf. Some of the scenes/experiences you paint need to be shared with these kids that desire to become warriors. BZ Sir!
Thanks Chuck, part of what has become my intent. If you want to go into combat then you better know what you are facing and what things you might
want to think about before you demand respect, to be called sir or you insult a teenager with a gun out there in the field….
Semper fi,
Jim
Also, it really helps to pay very very close attention about what they teach of pyrotechnics and weaponry before you get out of training…
There you go again, leaving us on the edge of a precipice. Then I think, here I am, sitting in the air conditioned comfort of my office at home, reading this and complaining about where you have decided to pause the story. But you didn’t have a pause button out there on the flats. And again I am thankful that I was not there with you. When I was a very young teenager, I read a book called Lorna Doone. To this day, I remember the vivid descriptions in that book that put me in the middle of the drama, and made that one of my most favorite books ever. Your book is the first that I have read subsequently to so realistically put me in the middle of the action. Excellent writing. I look forward with bated breath for the continuation…
Thank you most sincerely for that kind of straight from the heart kind of compliment. Like James Sheridan’s comment a few back. About life changing and effecting stuff.
I never expected the reaction I have received from so many wonderful people…like you. Lorna Doone. I have a copy in my downstairs library. What a neat thing to say.
Thanks for this and more…
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt. you said earlier “I’ve set it up with six machine gun teams to open up when I give the signal, or if you start taking heavy fire out there.” Question, why did the six machine guns not respond to fire from “The fifty would simply stitch the entire area of the registered zone, back and forth, up and down, until it stitched us.” Am I jumping the gun here, and its coming next segment ??? Would they be in danger of receiving heavier fire from the fifty’s ???
The machine gun teams of M60s would be our own, to provide covering and suppressing fire. The .50 was theirs.
Semper fi, and thanks for the question and comment…
Jim
P.S. Consider checking out my newest edition to the Mastodon series now out on Amazon, called The Warrior….
Green tracers were the “gooks.”
Yes understood LT. was asking if they are or would respond to the Fifty NVA fire. Perhaps thats in the next section of writing ? Since it was pre-arranged…
Thanks for the speculation and the thought in this comment George…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Musty misery” nails it. It’s an all encompassing sensation that you can smell fifty years later like you are still in it.
Thanks a lot Dave. Yes, the smells are something else when you run into them again, anywhere and at any time.
A valley back on Kauai one day. My wife wanted to know what was wrong because I just wanted off that hike.
I couldn’t tell her. I made up a hip pain!
Semper fi,
Jim
Another fine read…Keeps me hanging !
Thanks for the comment and compliment written inside the wording…
Semper fi,
Jim
P.S. Consider checking out my newest edition to the Mastodon series now out on Amazon, called The Warrior….
Written “burning power” should be “burning powder”, I think.
Great writing, waiting for more.
Thanks for the help Robert and the compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Amazon has my latest novel from the Mastodon series if you want to check it out….
“Flash the light, Junior, and make sure it doesn’t point in the wrong direction,” the Gunny. Should this include, said?
Thanks again Sir for what you do. I hang on every chapter anxiously awaiting the next one. Semper Fi!
Thanks for the great compliment and the editing help Skeeter…
Semper fi,
Jim
The second book in my Mastodon series is now available on Amazon, so check it out if you want.
Fifth time reading this chapter since the first moment you hit the share, send, print, or whatever the heck the publish button may be!!! Never in my life would it take months long to read a book that has me. I would stay in it till done and life would have to wait for me to be done with the read. Sleep is never necessary when the read HAS YOU…. You sir, have thrown the brakes on my life’s way of being. EVERYBODY WAITS when James Strauss hits the next chapter publish button until I finish reading it. My way of life has been adjusted to read your life. I needed these months that it takes for you to complete. Life altering, for TO WAIT on a good thing is to develop a patience that cannot be taught. No more hurry for me. I want to write each day of life as lived, even if it takes 40 years to get to it…. I thank God for you sir and the way your life has affected me. Your life’s work is a mission in a field of many who you may never hear from. peace…..
I hope you don’t mind that I took this review and put it up on three of my seven Facebook sites. Not many authors ever get a review as deep and touching and meaningful at this one.
I will keep it forever. My wife was impressed too, and that is uncommon.
Semper fi,
Brother,
Jim
Not many authors write out of a gift like you. The gift of life. You lived through it and are willing to put into print real life. What is amazing is, Island in the Sand, a great fantasy fiction grabber I am hooked on also!!
Well, Mister Sheridan, you have made yourself a place on here and in my heart with your last comment. I went viral with it because it was so
touching I couldn’t just leave it lay there. So, I stuck it all over my Facebook sites. Thanks so much and for this too…
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
I side with Mr. Sheridan, but am probably not near as good with words as he is. James, you are bringing many old memories to the fore, and helping many of we Vets come to grips with experiences from half a century ago.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but we would all be better off if the politicians went to war!
Note how many politicians have been to war. They don’t even want real war vets around.
They want to play tough from the back of the school yard….not much changes over time…
Semper fi,
Jim
“Vivid”
Thanks Jack for the one word compliment. I didn’t miss it…
Semper fi,
Jim
Amazon has my latest novel from the Mastodon series if you want to check it out…
Well Sir. I have my copy of The Boy, along with all you have published. I won’t just check it out. I will own it, just as I own all of your books. First time in over 30 years I’ve found anything worthy of adding to my library.
Semper Fi
Thank you so much, Jack, for your continued support.
That kind of support keeps me on track to complete the works in progress.
There will be at least 2 more Arch Patton assignments.
And the Mastodons is 5 volumes.
Semper fi,
Jim
In the DEEP shit now for sure. Need to protect the Ontos quickly.
You are reading ahead somehow of stuff that is not written yet. Wow…
Semper fi and thanks for your support and the application of your high intellect…
Jim
Amazon has my latest novel from the Mastodon series if you want to check it out…
Thanks a lot! A new chapter & I have to drop everything to read it & the comments following. Another great read. The wife is not happy. Those who weren’t there will never get it. Just lost a childhood friend who spent a year there the same time I did. Unfortunately his Baptism as an E1 was the siege @ Khe Sanh. A month in & he was the squad leader & highest ranking member-the others were killed or casualties. He survived the full tour but paid the price w/shrapnel 1/2″ from his heart, recurring malaria, Parkinson disease(agent orange) & PTSD. Keep it up telling it like it was (and is).
Can’t thank you enough for the comment here Phil. Heavy duty stuff. I am glad I seem to be able and gifted enough to meet the substance of your meaning.
Thanks for this,
Semper fi,
Jim
Amazon has my latest novel from the Mastodon series if you want to check it out…
Thanks for a new segment…Friends and I impatiently await the release of the third book….
Thanks Jerry, I am working away as I read and answer these comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Well James…another great read…I read it twice trying to make sure I didn’t miss any detail…met another vet today and put him on to your book…that’s over a dozen now that I have given your name and the book trilogy title to…we all are there with you…out on the edge of the “reality” that we can comprehend.
Now that’s a well worded and meaningful comment Mark. Thank you so much.
I am working away, knowing you are all out there….which is a bit of pressure but also a grand foundation of support…
Semper fi,
Jim
The second book in my Mastodon series is now available on Amazon, so check it out if you want.
From the date on the telegram looks like you have about a week left in the Nam… So whose bullets did you take..? AK..?16…? Was it Jurgens? Sugar Daddy or the NVA….Guess we stay tuned to find out…!
Sorry to make you wait Mike, but glad you are thinking about and also playing pretty good investigator too…
Semper fi,
Jim
Great segment James. Been here since the begining, but don’t comment often. It brings back lots of memories.
Thanks Bob, for commenting now! Appreciate the support and it means a lot more than some guys think…
Semper fi,
Jim
The second book in my Mastodon series is now available on Amazon, so check it out if you want.
The Warrior
What powerful writing! I can feel the slimy mud; can smell it; cringe at the blood sucking leeches. The roaring river is omnipresent.The tension, the fear is real. Just so powerful.
Thank you for your words. We all seem to live with memories good, bad and Ugly.
Semper fi
Jim,
As to gaining a civilian audience, I and my son qualify. We are both avid readers and devour Stephen King and Lee Child. I can’t praise your writing style enough. I’m about your age and was spared the hell you went through. Thank you for sharing this with me.
So happy you were ‘spared’. And reall appreciate your support.
Share the page with your friends.
Semper fi
Jim
Maybe ontos HE round could take out that 50 of crew can get a fix on his location. That would certainly help.
Interesting observation.
Thank Jb
Semper fi,
Jim
Fantastic, another great chapter. I’ll be anxiously awaiting the next chapter. Possibly a small edit, “Flash the light, Junior, and make sure it doesn’t point in the wrong direction,” the Gunny. Something seems to be missing.
Actually, that is what he said.
Thanks for your support, Chuck
Semper fi,
Jim
Great read Jim ah the mud wore it like a second skin all over everything,,Stay the course my friend
And to think kids think playing in the mud is fun!
Appreciate your support
Semper fi
Jim
Moving from position to position in that situation plan and execute on the fly, ain’t no easy task to keep sanity and body in tack. Still a great story being told with blazing furnace honesty. Thank you again, sir. Poppa J
So good to hear from you Poppa, and your support is so appreciated.
semper fi
Jim
“snapping it back into the sheaf (sheath) on my belt…”
Thanks for noting.
Now corrected
Semper fi
Jim
Wonderfully graphic and chilling, as usual. One unimportant thought but in my experience the NVA used 51 Cal.? Smart, as they could use our ammo but we could not use theirs. Funny the things one remembers
Their 12.7mm was the equivalent (although a bit less powerful) than our Browning .50.
Neither weapons could fire of the ammo of the other. Thanks for your comment and the support.
Semper fi,
Jim
The second book in my Mastodon series is now available on Amazon, so check it out if you want.
Mr. Strauss thank you so much for this story. I wasn’t even born during the Vietnam war. Your story has totally captivated me and I can’t wait for the next segment. Thank you and all the men who fight so we can be free. Your story and attention to detail are awesome. Once again thank you from a 38 year old that’s never really heard the truth. My step father lost his father over in Nam.
Wow, Cory!
Thank you.
Help us shared this reality with another of your generation.
Let’s be sure this fiasco doesn’t happen again.
Semper fi
Jim
👍 Sitting on the edge of my chair again LT, Fantastic, Exciting,when I am sitting in my chair at home, thank you ?
Thank you, Jim.
Your support is appreciated
Semper fi,
Jim
Charlie had a .51 caliber machine gun but did not usually use a .50 unless it was captured from us. Did you mean to say .51? Smart of them as they could fire ammunition captured from us but we could not use theirs…
We knew the millimeters of their guns, of course. We called there heavy MGs .50s too.
12.7 is correct, however. The Browning had more power and range than the Russian.
Semper fi
Jim
Another exceptional chapter. Keeps me on the edge of my easy chair anticipating the next one. Airborne,
“…and it wouldn’t take the NVA long to go back to playing cleanup, with our lives being what were going to be cleaned up.” Should change were to was. Another riveting segment.
Thanks for the help and the compliment Terry!
Semper fi,
Jim
Mr Strauss! Another exciting edge of the seat tale… Waiting to see where it will take Junior, Hunny and the boys! Thank you!… I’ll be impatiently waiting!
Thanks David, means a lot to have so many guys hanging on to the story..
Semper fi,
Jim
Still amazed how accurate you are with your experience from so long ago . Makes me feel better knowing other vet’s beside me , remember their experience in vivid detail, just like it was yesterday .
Some things get burned in. Remember the black rubber floor in exact detail when I was a kid in fourth grade attending
an elementary school in downtown Waikiki. Why does that floor, with it’s little indentations and dirt spots remain in my mind?
I don’t know. Thanks for the comment and your own opinion…
Semper fi,
Jim
Keep it Coming 🇺🇸
I intend to do exactly that. My second book of the Mastodon series is now out on Amazon. The Warrior, it is called and if you want to check it out.
Semper fi,
Jim
Riveting comentary riveting, being an airwing jock, never experiencing thanks for sharing semper fi
You got it, Tom and thank you…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you Sir. I look forward to each and every new chapter. Grateful for you and others like you who have served. Glad you made it home.
Thanks for the nice compliment Chris and I will keep them coming…
Semmper fi,
Jim
No, No, No….
Not time for this chapter to end. Now I have to start waiting again.
Good chapter.
Ken
Ah, a three work, with commas, compliment. No,no,no…and I am so happy that you want more…
Semper fi,
Jim
A hard time in one life that you have to stay on your belly to stay alive. No one will ever know until they have been there. Semper Fi!
Yes, it is hard to grow a civilian audience with a story like this. Regular people are so far from it that they just can’t believe, no matter what,
and it’s also more comfortable for them not to believe they sent us into that…
Semper fi,
Jim
Don’t worry Jim, I take your word to heart and I believe whole heartedly. Very grateful for you guys.
Thanks Rick, means more than you might think. Appreciate the support and care…
Semper fi,
Jim
Amazon has my latest novel from the Mastodon series if you want to check it out…
Great write LT. You have us crawling through the mud with you and then leave us waiting for more. Keep up they great work. Know that at times it has to be rough for you. Thanks LT
Thanks for the loyalty in following and the great compliment Richard….much appreciated.
Semper fi,
Jim
I can feel those dang leeches.I was never there but this story puts me right next to you.
the many leech scars have stayed with me through the years.
A woman at a party many years ago made a snotty comment when the long scars on my neck and throat were white.
She wanted to know, in a group of people, if I’d had acne and picked the zits when I was younger.
I told her I’d got them in Vietnam from the leeches. She just stood there as if I’d hit her with an ax handle.
I’d be kinder now. I got old.
Semper fi,
Jim
Amazon has my latest novel from the Mastodon series if you want to check it out…
The Warrior
it should be Composition 4 (C-4) not Composition B. C4 was wrapped in plastic and easy to break a small piece off to burn. Everyone carried some or got it from the engineers.
We didn’t have Comp 4 yet. We had comp 3, also called B.
Thanks for the comment, though….
Semper fi,
Jim
Comp B was used as an explosive filler, like TNT in WW II, Comp B was hard and used in most Army rounds. They poured it in liquid form. Comp B, for example, was used in the M33 Grenade you speak of. I doubt very much you had the Comp 3, which was yellow and not good in heat if I remember – I think I saw it one time in 71. C-4, as far as I know, was prevalent throughout RVN and the other service areas during the time you were in, I am fairly certain from other accounts and word of mouth. The Marines though, were used to using the Army’s rejects and broken gear (as one OIF/OEF vet reminded me recently)so I guess the Marines in 69 could very well be using old C3. Honest, look Comp B up. Sorry to be such a pain in the ass, but the .51/12.7mm was something that stuck out at me, also. My 47-year-old EOD training I had in 71 at 19 sticks in some of my crevices although my old Army buddy reminded me of how much I had forgotten. If I dealt with it after training and it could kill me, I remember it, usually in detail.
Many of us knew the difference between the 12.7 and our Browning. We called them both .50s and that’s my point, not what they were or what the ballistics were or even
how they sounded a bit different. We got Comp B because that’s what it said on the packages, and no, it wasn’t soft like putty. Your detail is excellent but the reality of
combat is simply the reality of dealing with what you have…
Semper fi, and thanks,
Jim
The second book in my Mastodon series is now available on Amazon, so check it out if you want.
While waiting for this chapter, I went back and reread book 1 and 2. A great read both times. Been following this since you started posting. You keep getting better.
Your comment is so appreciated, Tom.
Share this story with friends.
Semper fi,
Jim
Lt. for the longest time I’ve wondered if there were any Corpsmen in your unit. Then the previous edition mention was made of one doing his job. Gladdened this old docs heart. In country 69-70 with MILPHAP N-8, in Soc Trang. You really have a wonderful gift for making us remf ‘s hang onto every word! Thanks!
Appreciate you and so many others, Michael.
Semper fi,
jim
Can’t wait for the,next chapter.
LT:
One very minor correction: Paragraph 2, sentence 2: I plunged forward and then dived over the lip head first.”
Should read: “I plunged forward and then dove over the lip head first.”
Hooah
Thanks Craig, much appreciate the help…
Semper fi,
Jim
I think dived is a viable word. “Dove” invokes visions of the gracefulness of 10 meter platform divers…and I have an idea that paticular maneuver had little to none of that.
Dived or dove…and I’m mixed about that usage. Thanks for brining it up…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great chapter thanks James. You sure know how to end leaving is anxiously waiting for the next chapter
Thanks for the great compliment Bud and sticking with me through all of this…
Semper fi,
Jim
Read this, read it again, thought about it and thought some more. Jim, I don’t think I want to understand how you all functioned. To do that I would have had to be there. Thank you.
Yes, Walt. I agree with you. I don’t know how we functioned through it either but there it was…
Semper fi,
and thanks for being Walt McKinley!
Jim
Great stuff, as always! A small copy edit: the two instances of “laying” should be “lying.”
Thanks for the help Doug!
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow! I have to smile at the Gunny’s ability to put the war on hold for a few minutes while he brews some coffee.
Following are some small editing suggestions. I am amazed by your ability to recount these events in a manner that pulls us all into the story.
But those of us down in the supply area was in a previously registered position,
Suggest substitute “were” for “was”
But those of us down in the supply area were in a previously registered position,
As I’m reading this installment my understanding now is that Bates did not accompany you back to the company with the major but instead stayed out on the mud flats and found the spider hole??
Again, Thank you. Blessings & Be Well
Thanks again for your sharp eyes, Dan.
Semper fi,
Jim