I stared at Jurgens, waiting for an apology I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear, and damned well knew I didn’t want to accept. The man was the epitome of a phrase I’d never used in my lifetime and had only heard about in occasional passing while I was in college. White trash. The phrase fit, even if only in the A Shau Valley the color part of the insult really mattered. And it mattered because Jurgens made it matter, not me. My own father was a racist, born and raised down in Texas, but the word trash didn’t fit at all with respect to him. The only exhibition of his prejudice I’d ever witnessed had been to ask my fourth-grade black best friend to get off our property in Michigan, which was terrible for me, but not a violent or killing move on his part. Trash, however, was a choice of lifestyle, and I’d never been forced to think about the applicability of the phrase until I was dropped into Jurgen’s life.
“For better or for worse,” the Gunny said, “we are all we have.”
“It don’t mean nuthin.’” Jurgens said, quietly, his eyes meeting my own with a mirrored distaste.
“Apologize,” the Gunny said, his voice rising, but only slightly.
I knew the Gunny wasn’t going to let it go, and I knew I wasn’t going to let it go either, no matter what happened.
“Why can’t we just go back to the way it’s been?” Jurgens asked, avoiding looking at me by deliberately turning his head to speak directly to the Gunny.
“Because I can’t afford to go back with you in a body bag,” the Gunny replied, motioning toward me.
“I apologize,” Jurgens finally said, his voice so quiet it was nearly impossible to hear him out from under the mild hissing sound the tiny drops made when they hit my helmet cover. “That doesn’t make it right, Junior,” he went on, his voice growing louder and more powerful.
The Gunny looked at me, as if asking whether I was accepting the apology, but without saying anything.
There was no way around the fact that Jurgens was a vital member of the company, damaged as he was, racist as he certainly was, and disciplined only in accomplishing what he either agreed to or might serve him best, regardless of the rest of the company. But his value wasn’t the issue if I was forced to decide between that and the continuance of my own life. My hand started to shake ever so slightly, which hadn’t happened in days, but I noted that my right hand, the hand on the Colt .45, wasn’t shaking at all.
There was nothing to be said. My hand stayed on the butt of my Colt. All I could do was remain very wary, intent and prepared for any eventuality, but nothing happened. Jurgens retreated backward slowly and the Gunny with him, both of their radiomen waiting until their principals moved past before following. The Gunny waved both hands low, across one another, as if cutting the air down below him where he walked.
I knew the gesture, which was similar to the gesture dealers in professional gambling institutions used to show when they were leaving a table.
Nguyen appeared out of the bracken and into the darkening mist between us. He’d been there all the time, I realized, just like he’d been very closely around and through every other incident of high threat I’d experienced since joining the company, in what seemed like many months in the past.
Fusner and Zippo worked to set up the Starlight Scope, while Sentry did whatever he did inside the Ontos to ready it for action in case it was needed in the night. The tracked machine was not running, to save fuel, but it could be started in only seconds if the turret needed adjusting or the tracks themselves had to be used to maneuver the small but heavy machine around into a better firing position.
Nguyen closed the distance to me but squatted down before reaching me. He was chewing slowly, and I knew what he was chewing. I didn’t want to use the drug again, so I didn’t approach closer, instead making for my temporary lair under the edge of the cliff.
I crawled from the berm backward, moving slowly but deliberately under the protection of the overhanging cliff face. Every inch brought more protection until I was finally pressed back into the narrow but manageable thick crease where the rocks came together like the base of two giant clam shells. The advantage of being in the cave-like protection was warmly obvious. Almost nothing the enemy could throw or shoot or launch through the air could effectively reach me when I was inside. The bad part was isolation. The same isolation that protected me also caused most of the remaining risk and fear I was never without since I’d arrived in country. I could not see and observe the outside world. I could not see or observe what might be coming. I was dependent on others to tell me from their own positions outside along the berm, and my trust of others, especially most of the Marines around me, had been nearly terminally damaged. I’d been led to believe that there was almost complete trust forced upon all allied forces engaged in real combat. The combat band of brothers. I’d found out that just the opposite was true. People, Marines, the NVA, almost every being in the A Shau Valley trusted in themselves to ensure their own survival, and anything living that stood in the way of that unwavering cold-blooded mission stayed in the valley, forever. Only the survivors lived to tell the story and the story they would tell would have no bearing on any combat truth.
Zippo, Fusner, and Sentry stayed atop the berm, with the armored vehicle backed into the front side of the slope. Although the 106mm recoilless rifles had no flechette ammo left, the high explosive rounds were also very deadly against ground personnel, especially at the close range, they might be called on to fire into or across. I knew I had to go down for a short period. I’d had nothing to eat or drink and, although sleep did not overcome me, I knew I was running on empty when it came to having enough energy to properly and quickly respond to whatever the NVA was going to come up with next. But, above all, I had to write a letter home to my wife.
Once again, I’d lost Marines, and I knew I was going to lose more, and I also knew I was not handling the losses well. I didn’t see their faces and that I could not see them was both a deep relief but also a deep concern. I didn’t have trouble sleeping because I never really slept. I had trouble trying to feel anything that was not just awful, dark and dead-ended. I needed to go down, even if for the shortest of times.
I rummaged through my pack for Jurgen’s flashlight, finding it but also discovering the batteries were all but dead. Again. Would the hazy yellow glow be enough? I brought my tattered stationary pack out of my trouser pocket. The plastic bag had held through the river crossing, I noted, pulling it open and extracting two sheets of the small stationary and one Vietnam envelope. Only the distant rumble of heavy water passing by between the river banks and the incessant patter of monsoon rains penetrated back and down into my small refuge.
I wrote my letter about Tex, but I didn’t write to my wife about his death. I pictured him, although I couldn’t make out his face in my mind, as being still with me, an Army officer of higher rank who served in a lower capacity. It was an unlikely interesting story but one I thought she’d be okay with because she might understand that I had some companionship when, in reality, I had little or none that wasn’t made up by my own imagination. Fusner was devoted to me, but he was a kid, and barely a corporal at that. Zippo was older but younger in many ways. Nguyen was like a brother in arms but only like one. It was impossible to have a dialogue with a man who almost never spoke at all or when he did, spoke using an incomprehensible language. The Gunny was like a mix of my father, my mother, some Maryknoll nuns along the way, with maybe a decent demanding college professor thrown in.
I pulled out Tex’s .45 when I got to the second page. I inhaled the Hoppes #9 I had massaged into the metal earlier. I had no gun oil so the single small bottle of Hoppes I had served as the automatic’s cleaner and lubricant all at the same time. I’d always loved the smell of the solvent, way back to my shooting days as a kid with my dad’s NRA team. Now, the Hoppes smelled like Tex or at least brought him to mind. I wondered if I lived, whether it would always be that way. Hoppes was made in Overland, Kansas, I knew because it had said so on the label before monsoon moisture ate it up entirely. The smell was so distinctive, like that of the Safesport mosquito repellant. Attractively awful, Zippo had said about both one morning, and that had been a perfect description. Safesport was made in Denver. Denver and Overland places I’d have to visit one day if I lived, but in that thought crossing my mind I could not fathom why visiting them would mean anything at all.
I wrote of the sand and mud by the river and the beauty of wet bamboo groves, with their individual tubes blowing in the mild wind, like waving strands of stiffening but not hard spaghetti. I finished the letter, writing about Hawaii and how R&R would be there after I’d made it six months in the field, even though I knew I’d never make it that long. There was just no way. Finishing the letter, I backed out of my cave, the flashlight still giving out a slight glow, but not enough to write another letter without new batteries coming in on the next resupply, and only God knew when that event could possibly take place.
Crawling out to the berm where Fusner hunched over Zippo’s back looking through the Starlight Scope was quick and easy. The rain and long exposure to the moisture made sliding anywhere much easier than walking, especially if walking crouched over to avoid being hit by an attentive distant sniper. For some very relieving reason, the leeches had retreated back underground.
“It’s just getting dark enough now,” Fusner said, laying the scope down between Zippo’s shoulder blades, and then backing away so that I could look if I wanted to.
“Jurgens is coming back with two snipers to use it,” he continued. “He says the enemy is probably going to slip out of the jungle to get their dead and wounded after what the rotary cannons did to them.”
I looked through the scope, after settling in and making sure my envelope home was safely back inside the plastic bag I carried in my right thigh pocket. For whatever reason, I thought about the necessity of somehow getting a resupply chopper in at first light just so that envelope could go out, and I could assure myself that I’d made it another night in something resembling the hell often described to me in my Catholic childhood but really more like Dante’s Inferno.
It was still too light for the scope to work properly. I had enough light to read the silver letters written on the side: “Night Vision Sight, Subassy. MX-7833/PVS2.”
For some reason, the scope had a range focus ring at the front of the thing and then an eyepiece focus ring at the back. I knew how to focus the front ring but Zippo and Fusner both insisted that I not touch the eyepiece focus.
Jurgens was coming with two of his snipers. I’d been with the unit for over three weeks and I remained unaware that the company had any snipers, much less that two of them were in Jurgen’s platoon.
“Last song of the day, sir?” Fusner whispered into my left ear.
I said nothing, aligning the scope and trying to see through it. It was still too light, however, so I rested it again wishing I had something dry to take the spots off the shrouded lens. There was no protecting anything for long against the pitiless moisture and rain.
“It’s a good song, sir,” Fusner said, his voice still a whisper, giving me the decision one way or another.
“What the hell,” I replied without whispering. I didn’t really care about the song as much as I wanted to listen to Brother John tell me good night.
“Here she is,” Brother John said from Fusner’s crummy little radio speaker. “The one and only Gracie Slick.” Somehow, even through such a tinny filter, Brother John’s voice remained deep and that depth resonated inside me.
“One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small…and the ones that mother gives you don’t do anything at all…go ask Alice…when she’s ten feet tall…”
I could not help but smile coldly at the idea of taking a pill for escape, although I knew full well that the only pill I was likely to get from the Marine Corps in my situation was one like the mother gives you in the song. White Rabbit the song was called. I’d first heard it the year before, staring across the street at the beautiful Italian college girl my brother was in love with. White Rabbit we’d laughingly called her behind her back. Now, I reflected, I was the white rabbit gone down the hole in Alice’s wonderland.
The Gunny showed up as the song ended and Brother John signed off. He was followed by Jurgens, with both of their radio operators. Four Marines accompanied them, all sliding into the mud and undergrowth to maximize the cover the small berm provided. I noted bolt action rifles carried by all four. I assumed from training that I was looking at two snipers and their spotters, although the spotters were equally armed. I also knew that the PVS-2 scope came along with a special rifle attachment so it could effectively be attached and sighted in for the accuracy of fire in the darkest of nights. How the snipers might attach our scope to one of their rifles, and then get their aiming dope down good enough to hit anything, I had no idea. But it wasn’t going to matter.
“No, we’re not going to fire out there,” I said, making the decision while I talked. “The NVA’s going to come out to get their dead, not us. We’re going to let them. I’ll man the Ontos with the scope in case they decide to take advantage of the situation. We’ve got plenty of high explosive rounds, and God knows the kind of bloody nose they took earlier from the flechettes and the gunship.”
The Gunny slowly and carefully lit a cigarette into the silence, the sound of his lighter ringing loud into the darkening night.
“Bull shit, Junior,” Jurgens said, his voice a more a loud hiss than anything else. “They get no quarter, just like they give no quarter. If those were our Marines out there they wouldn’t be letting us get our wounded and dead without giving us more wounded and dead. We’re going to hit them and hit them hard.”
“We have no supporting fires in the night,” I replied, my own voice low and controlled, although my right hand was once again on the butt of my Colt. I knew Jurgens was also trying to recover the male macho image he’d lost earlier on, and therefore felt he couldn’t back down.
“The Ontos is all we’ve got, but it can’t do a damn thing if it can’t see. We need the scope for that. Also, the enemy gets to collect its dead. I don’t care one whit about the NVA sense of honor but this is the United States Marine Corps and Marines let the enemy tend the wounded and collect the dead, or at least this element of the Marine Corps does.”
Jurgens moved from his stomach up to a crouch.
“Screw the scope,” Jurgens said. “The damned thing only works some of the time anyway. We’ll go back to our perimeter and pick off what we can see from reflections in the rain hitting the little gook’s backs.”
“I wouldn’t do that against orders, Sergeant Jurgens, and I’m ordering you to stand down.”
“Screw your orders, Junior,” Jurgens replied. “Our platoon does what it thinks is best when it comes to fighting the enemy.”
I stared at the impossible man. He didn’t move, and the failing light would not let me read his eyes. No one moved, so I did.
I rose up slowly, crossed the berm and hopped up into the back of the Ontos, where Sentry sat waiting.
“Start it up,” I ordered.
The loader turned the key and the Ontos kicked into life after only a few seconds.
I stepped to the controls, hit the turret swivel and began a slow winding move until the front of the turret and the six guns pointed at our own lines. I turned the key off myself, and then hopped down and re-crossed the berm to where the other Marines all sat or lay waiting.
The Gunny held out his cigarette. I took it, inhaled deeply while managing to avoid coughing before I breathed the smoke out.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jurgens asked,
“I don’t know,” I responded, wanting to cough but fighting the reaction back. “What do you make of it?”
“I think you’re threatening me and my whole platoon, that’s what I think, Junior.”
“The NVA get their wounded and dead this night,” I repeated. “If they attack then I’ll turn my attention back to them. If your platoon breaks fire control and disobeys my order then the chips will have to fall where they may.”
“Gunny,” Jurgens said, a tone of desperation entering his delivery, “are you going to put up with this crap? Those aren’t ‘chips’ he’s talking about. Those are 106 H.E. rounds.”
“Nothing’s happened yet,” the Gunny said, snapping his cigarette out into the mud toward where the river still ran in a noisy flood.
“Let them get their people out of there. It’s harder to take care of the wounded and the dead than it is to leave them to rot and die. Make it harder on them, not easier. And Junior’s the company commander and battalion hasn’t relieved him with any success I’ve been able to witness. It’s for better or for worse down here, and, so far I think it’s been for the better.”
“So, that’s just it?” Jurgens said, his voice rising. “We’re supposed to go back to the platoon position with our own 106 guns pointed at us all night?”
“Junior?” Gunny asked gently. “You’ve made your point. It took five seconds to turn the turret. It would only take five seconds again, if that became necessary, which I don’t think it will.”
The Gunny turned his gaze back to Jurgens.
“It won’t, will it?” he said deliberately and slowly to the sergeant, not stating the question as a question at all.
I slid back up over the berm and re-entered the Ontos. Restarting and returning the gun turret to its former position, aimed at the distant edge of the jungle back from the river, was done in seconds, as the Gunny had predicted. In no time, I was back at Zippo’s side, ready to begin observing the mud flat with the Starlight Scope. I knew my night would be one of doing that, again and again, and then making certain the Ontos was ready to fire in the least possible time necessary. The time it might take for a charging enemy to reach across the distance from the jungle’s edge to where we were ensconced was less than three minutes at a run. That time period would not leave my mind until dawn finally appeared.
Jurgens said no more, waving his barely visible hand in the growing darkness for the others to follow. The snipers, their spotters, and the radio operator disappeared into the misting rain, leaving Zippo, Fusner, and the Gunny and I alone in a clump. Sentry was barely visible hanging out the back of the Ontos, smoking a cigarette. I knew that I’d be on call all night, moving from the berm to the Ontos and back at the slightest provocation. Sentry could load and fire the rounds on his own but nobody was going to be able to replace what I could do with Zippo and Fusner’s help, slaving the Starlight Scope’s ability to see in the dark with that of the 106 rounds terrific power. There was no way for the NVA to know we were out of flechette rounds until resupply, either.
Once it was dark enough to see clearly through the scope I began sweeping slowly back and forth across the mud flat. I kept the fingers of my left hand grasped lightly around the big front focusing ring near the very tip of the device. The focus was very sensitive but it was vital to minutely adjust to pick out any detail worth seeing.
Stopping to examine one particular spot I was finally able to see the enemy soldiers. They moved across the mud on their bellies. Right away I saw that they appeared to be unarmed. They pulled small packs behind them instead of wearing them on their backs. It took a few minutes to realize what they were doing. They weren’t attacking. They were pulling bodies and parts out of the mud holes or from the beaten surface of the mudflat itself.
I’d been unsure about going against Jurgens in not allowing him to use the snipers to take down any enemy moving in the night out on the mud flat. That it was more cumbersome for the enemy to tend to wounded and the dead had been an accurate statement by the Gunny, I knew, but the Gunny had neglected to mention just how many, and how easily, the NVA would be able to get the wounded and dead underground for care in the many deep clefts and caves they had peppered through the jungle area in front of us. I hadn’t made the decision strategically or tactically. I’d made it out of humanitarian necessity. It was personal, I realized. I felt so little like a human being that I was forced to participate in doing something that had at least the vestige of humanity left in it. Jurgens had been right to go after the enemy under any and all circumstance. But what was the ultimate result of doing right, in combat terms? The NVA had honored the company by not violating the packs and supplies left behind earlier up in the highlands. The NVA was capable of proving it could also be humanitarian under combat conditions, even if the NVA unit at that time had to have been a different one than we were facing down here by the river.
Nothing changed for hours. My watch told me the time, which seemed to pass in flickers instead of minutes or hours. I knew I was ‘flicking’ in and out of consciousness.
I was low on food, water and sleep was some strange mix of messed up consciousness and dreams, much like the weather constantly waving and wafting among us all, exposed as we were. Only the cleft under the cliff face offered any solace, safety and real comfort away from the rain and the real danger of getting hit in the night, but it might as well have been miles away.
The enemy worked doggedly and determined to slide the bodies and body parts back and away from the middle ground between forces. I became more and more satisfied with my decision not to shoot the rescuing enemy soldiers, particularly because they all appeared unarmed, something I’d not known when I’d made the decision. Jurgens remained true to his word, and there was no fire at all from the perimeter. I wasn’t certain, if that changed, whether I could muster the courage, rage and insanity it would take to fire the 106 against my own Marines, and the further the night progressed the more relief I began to feel.
Everything suddenly changed. Everything was wrong. I was staring at the working ant-like creatures the enemy resembled out on the flat when the night was broken open with the sound of helicopter blades.
“What the hell?” the Gunny whispered, appearing out of nowhere to throw himself down beside me.
Nguyen had moved just as the Gunny descended, in order to avoid being struck. I flicked my gaze toward the area of the night he quickly disappeared into, realizing I’d not known he’d been right there at my side all along.
“We don’t fly choppers at night, not in this pea soup and not with the likelihood of incoming fire,” the Gunny said.
But the sounds of spinning Huey chopper blades only increased in volume. There was no mistaking what they were and that there was more than one of them. I glanced back through the scope but the mud was now empty of all humanity.
“What is this?” the Gunny asked, shocking me.
If the Gunny was surprised by the chopper blade sounds then all bets were off, and I had no idea what might be coming. The only reassurance I had was that the enemy possessed no Huey choppers of its own. Whatever was coming in without advanced contact or warning was our own, but what hell was its arrival going to cause to be brought down on our heads?
Did I miss something or is there purposely a gap between Book Two and this chapter?
Enjoying our work.
SGT Uffelman USMC
Well, yes, there are many more chapters up on the Internet site.
Check jamestrauss.com and click on the book III of the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, Howdy! It’s very hot down here in Texas. I need some action from you to get me through the Summer. Looking forward to future installments! Thanks!
All right, all right, I am on it this very night…
Semper fi,
Jim
James, You are to be commended for letting the NVA retrieve their dead and wounded and I agree with the Gunny that it will weaken and tire them out. But as far as payback for the NVA not messing with the equipment you left behind to bail out Kilo I have a question. On page 283 of the First 10 Days,the ninth day you told the Gunny”They weren’t expecting us to go get our stuff and come back because they didn’t know we left it there in the first place” I especially liked Gunny’s comment to you after your statement to him.
That was a tough call, but sometimes you have to stop in the middle of all that shit and try to be human.
It’s not like you think you are going to survive anyway. It’s more how you want to die and how you want to feel about dying before you do.
Semper fi,
Jim
Was in the Corps and Nam same time as you. Never read a war story of Vietnam before, yours has me wanting the whole book. Thank you. I was in Amtrac’s
Thanks Albert. The first two books of the series are on Amazon and I am working away on the third…
Appreciate the comment and your interest.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks LT. James for anther Great read. Also anther cliff hanger, can’t wait to find out whats up with the Hueys, My guess is more Marines. Don
That was my guess at the time Don, and now we shall see…
Semper fi,
Jim
As always great writing and story telling.
Thanks a ton for the great compliment Mark!!
Semper fi,
Jim
“but I noted that my right hand, the hand on the automatic, wasn’t shaking at all.” Isn’t a Colt .45 a semi-automatic pistol? Maybe add the semi or change to pistol as the next line refers to a Colt. Just a suggestion sir. I really enjoy your style of writing. Intense story of experience this F-4 CC can only imagine. Each installment floods me with memories of sitting near my Grandfather (101st WW2) and his brothers talking quietly on the front porch as I was a kid. The short glances and unfinished sentences of men amazed they had made it home. My Dad (82nd Korea) staring off into the night warning me before I left for basic of the the fear I would soon face in far away places or rather the hope I would not need to learn to overcome it. I was one of those kids glued nightly to the news of ‘Nam and my neighbors that I knew were in the thick of it. I cradle my fathers Colt as I re-read this a second time. Stay the course. This needs to be told.
Semi-automatic hand guns are commonly referred to as automatics, even though they are not, for the most part, fully automatic.
A .45 automatic is almost invariably taken for exactly what it is. Thanks for the comment though also for the intensity of your read and you
obvious support and care indicated by your words.
Semper fi,
Jim
Spent months in the ashaw. Can’t figure out exactly where you stationed. What inland river that large?.
The Bong Song, as we called it, in Monsoon flood…
Semper fi, fellow traveler and warrior….glad you made it back…
Jim
I think the use of his snipers really lights up the divided nature of the command, You did not even know about the snipers. Small thing but it says a lot
What I knew about commanding a company was pitiful at the time and, as you can see, OJT had little to do with education and a whole lot
more to do with minute to minute survival…
Semper fi,
Jim
I just bought a bottle of hoppes!.
Yeah, I have a giant bottle in my basement that I see all the time. Never opened but there it is, like Vietnam in my life.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, I’ve been with you from the first words and I’ll be here for the last. You take the time you need for each segment….they always bring some part of the time back to me, some good, some not. Thanks for staying with your story. The white rabbit. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_TF53JjKaKo
Yes, Mike, I know you well and cannot thank you enough for being along for this ‘ride’ so to speak, and yes,
that is the best version of White Rabbit…
semper fi,
my friend,
Jim
Jurgens radio could reach command correct?
Yes, it could, although the platoon radios had shorter thin metal antennas than the company radios.
Fusner also carried an extendable mast that was a bother but he always had it. The PRICK 25 radio was a wonder,
Semper fi,
Jim
Carrying it with you is the direct result of surviving. Those who do must not forget the sacrifice of those who didn’t make it home. Semper Fi Marine.
Thanks Chuck, that means a lot to me a lot of other guys who read it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, your writing has seemingly picked up steam across the entire breadth of your efforts. Not to slight any previous labors on this site, but this chapter really had a flow to it that was not overtly apparent before – at least to me. While other chapters may be more action packed, this one read extremely well, IMHO. I discovered TDHS on about Day 9 and have been with you, your team and the rest of the regulars since then – devouring every chapter like a slab of Texas pecan smoked ribs, the comments and responses chasing the richness of the story like a coldbeer, enhancing the flavor and the feeling. Yes, your work is top shelf. It really is a highlight of any day to see another chapter. I Jones for it but I don’t judge, truly; life is complicated enough. Add to that the detailed dredging of memories and events long buried beneath the alluvium of intentional spoil placement … no words I know of can describe this holy yet apocalyptic event. We all know. We all can’t not finish. If the goal was to know how it ended, we’re good – shegone! But what we all want to know is how YOU finish this gig. Yes. That’s a significant reason for me to check 5 times a day for the new posts.
My heart is with you and the guys on this forum, the ones that don’t write here, the guys who can’t write for whatever reason, the guys that were left over there and those that “never left.”
I am in awe of you and your company – both there and here.
Best always,
Daddyj63
Thanks Daddy, for these words of iron and depth, and extreme high compliment. I hope to have a segment up tomorrow, God willing and creek don’t rise.
I am bitten down and hard at getting to the most agonizing portion of the work but I must proceed and I will. Thanks for the support. The guys and gals on here
have made this series continue and will make it come to completion. Without you I would have stopped along the way…
Semper fi, brother
Jim
I enjoy reading your stories about the A Shau valley and its mountains. I just got back from a tour there with 23 other vets. We walked in the valley and walked up Hill 937 or Hamburger Hill. What an awesome experience.
That trip must have been something.
I wonder what it would be like to once more climb 975.
What would go through my mind?
I have no clue, or if the hill is even still there in pristine condition.
I know the Bong Song has been tamed from the wild
thing it was running straight through my heart and life at the time…
thanks for your thoughts on the trip…
Semper fi,
Jim
You have not failed. Vietnam will not define you, but Sir, you will be remembered as the one that survived and defined IT . . . the voice for all those who “survived” but are never fully away from there again, and as an honor to those named on The Wall, so that it be understood for generations to come.
I believe that one day,there will be a movie made of this very painful personal experience, and you will understand what God spared you for this incredibly important undertaking! Thank you, from just another soldier of that era.
Thanks Tom. High praise and I cannot thank you enough for that analysis.
I will write on….
Semper fi,
Jim
Ditto on the movie but it will take a herculean effort to keep the director on point with the story. This story is ‘real” and would only be lessened by Hollywood influence.
It wold be hard to get the actual detail down which is so necessary for those who were there. The credibility is in the details and I am not sure that anyone, outside of a combat vet, in Hollywood would be able
to handle the ‘translation.’ Thanks for the deep thoughts about it, thought…
Semper fi,
Jim
Intense event after event .
If this was an HBO series,would be cutting fishing trips short rushing home for the next episode.
Rotors in the night…dark dust off,doubtful,uppity defiant platoon Sgt. end run radio call for Iroquois Night Fighter and Night Tracker, or INFANT,unlikely in hard weathet socked in valley,perhaps.
Most likely Bob Hope/Joey Heartherton USO suprise midnight show production.
Intrigued to your writing.
Salute
Thanks Sean, great compliment in your writing and well taken on this end, as I finish the next segment. The James Strauss Group is growing mightily on Facebook.
I would have named it something else when I started it last month but I had no idea it would grow so fast. Join. Be good to see you write on there.
Semper fi,
Jim
Nguyen would appear that he thought his survival depended on your survival or could he simply slip away if the whole company went south? Again a chilling chapter for sure James, looking forward to the next
Thanks James, join the james strauss group on Facebook. Would love to have more supporters like you on there.
Semper fi, and the compliment was great.
Jim
LT shouldn’t you still have the 3 rounds of flechettes left in reserves in the left side tubes, since you hadn’t fired those tubes? Army choppers & troops coming in?
Another busy chapter LT.
The choppers will be revealed with this next segment.
No, I’d fired all the tubes in the real world but might have written it wrong in the story.
I will go back and check though. Thanks for being so on top of things…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great episode Sir. I’m certainly glad we never had this much dissension in the unit I was with. We had enough on our plate fighting the NVA without having to look over our shoulder to see if someone was ready to pop a cap on us. I had trouble getting to sleep last night so I got my tablet and finished reading the story. That was a mistake, I was in Nam all night and today. Anyway keep up the good work, I’ve enjoyed every episode and every book.
Hello Sir are you receiving my responses?
Yes, I am and thank you. I was just a little delayed in responding myself.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sorry to take you back so quickly and substantively. You can imagine how it is for me going there every day and night lately.
My wife is not real happy with this series. But it has to come out. Just has to…
Semper fi
Jim
What a night. Semper Fi
Is it over yet?
Thanks for your support, Walter
Semper fi
Jim
Yeah, damn if ya do-damn if ya don’t hated being put there, but always the same out, best thought ya had ya go with 50/50 still works still hate being there.
Thanks Bill, too true, everything you said…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’ve read this over and over but for some reason it just flow right. “I reflected, I was the white rabbit gone down the hole in Alice’s wonderland.” I tried it with ” the white rabbit that went down the hole” and also “the white rabbit who’d gone down the hole”. To me it just seems to flow better. Semper Fi
Thanks for the improved ‘flow’ Chuck. I can use all the help I can get…
Semper fi,
Jim
I think Vietnam defines us all just like combat defines everyone who has gone in harm’s way with a purpose. It is impossible to know wether better or worse. We can not let those who were not there define the nature of the experience…..only those we were with.
Jim
To have gone through the ‘valley of truth’ and come out the other end was totally revealing
and as survival proceeded so riveting about everything in life back here.
But it was so lonely because nobody back here knows
and I can’t tell them without being more alone…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you James. It’s an amazing priveledge to take this first hand journey with you.
Thanks Courtney, it is a great pleasure to know that people like you are out there traveling at my side…
Semper fi,
Jim
You sure know how to level us hanging wondering what’s next. Superb. Thanks James.
Thanks Bud, I am doing my best…
Semper fi,
Jim
Very good. Somehow I missed the previous update, and maybe more.(Last I knew you had artillery close by as you were going to the Ortos.)
Hopefully I have successfully ordered a hard copy of your first 10 days. (Note to IT, I hit the link to order both books but the process says only one, for $28. I will see what arrives. Also using PayPal appears to make sending a copy as a gift difficult.)
Thanks for the help and advice here Vince. I will have Chuck look into that.
Hard enough in the literary world on my own out here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Well, Vince and all of our readers, James’s autographed books can be ordered in multiple quantities and to others as gifts.
The page is set up as a “Shopping Cart”
Here is the
Shopping Cart
Jim, I see why it takes you longer to put this down on paper. The story is still bring different days back that I’ve buried… Keep it going for all of us that have been with you from the first words, we will be waiting for the last. Thank you again for writing your (OUR story, not day after day for most of us) story. The last song of the day. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWxMj6IQbJc
Thanks so much Mike, I much appreciate the deep meaning of your note and the link…
Semper fi,
Jim
“I’d been unsure… in not allowing him to use his snipers…”
also: if I place a brick on my writing paper, I have made my stationery stationary.
This segment was light on action, but heavy emotionally. Very telling.
Thanks Floyd, much appreciate the compliment and the quoting of the lines…
Semper fi,
Jim
Mind blowing!
Thanks Dick, really appreciate the depth of that simple but telling compliment…
Semper fi,
Jim
Another great read. 7th ID.
Thanks Roger, much appreciate…
Semper fi,
Jim
I wouldn’t presume any one thing of combat, Leiutenant. I’m unqualified. Nor could I offer you or any brother though mano y mano still stuck in the trench-footed slog , some white rabbit chaser to solace, …the hole’s far too deep. I do however, appreciate your writing of a small chance seemingly off the beaten path yet, available still, as might serve to keep so many, still struggling from completely letting go. Perhaps, the only chance when or if taken…which might serve despite the horrors as witnessed in combat, by way of a small chance as may be acted upon, leading one to consistent survival.
Even if survival itself, turns out only to be a different pain that seldom let’s go…yet ever onward…through the personal struggles, imbedded as demons within the psyche of a soldier who, despite being up to their necks in the shit and still sinking, decides to hold on anyway…for a small chance afforded by an act of humanity.
One night more to sweat out, may yet make the difference! Against questions which are asked and answered silently and invisibly to all, except the combat veteran…who survives. A small chance against some Mephistophelian cake-walk with only one chair left, to the right…or, for having risen above to stand, just out of reach, though mired…to kick your demons down again, and again, and every now and again for who knows exactly how long… but for a chance taken; “to act as and thereby remain,” a member to the class…of Humanity, itself.
Semper Fi Lt… thank you sir, for this chapter as reinforcement, to the existence of that one small chance, so many still might recognize as present every day to employ as a beneficial act…on behalf of oneself, and fortunately… on behalf of the rest of us, friend and foe…alike.
Well, you sure can write deep Hayes, and it takes me some time to take apart what differential subjects and meanings you are trying to illustrate.
Much enjoy the exercise, although I don’t always end up where I think I’m supposed to!
Semper fi,
Jim
Goodness gracious
A great two word compliment and I thank you Sean…
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you. Semper Fi
You are most welcome David and thank you too!
Semper fi,
Jim
Great read again…not sure what’s going on with the incoming Hueys…and Jurgens, what an ass he was, he may have been vital to the mission, but what an ass…I’m sitting here in the dark at 1:00 AM reading your segment, that should tell you something and I think we all carry something from that time like a bag of large rocks …it’s just matter of how big the load is… and whether the rocks are sharp or flat…
Yes, the bag of rocks, but lighter now that I have so many kindred spirits on here. It really does help.
The comments help and the warmth the invariably comes through them…
Semper fi,
jim
Welcome back. Tough call on letting the enemy retrieve their wounded and dead. Tough, but the right thing to do. Hard to maintain your humanity when going through crap like that. But maintaining your sanity requires holding onto your humanity. Once again, I find myself reading your update and then just sitting here looking at the screen for what seems like hours, just shaking my head. No one came home the same person as when they left. No one. And I doubt that home was ever the same for anyone who came home. I have a sense that your writing is becoming more difficult for you, that reliving and recounting the culmination of your time there is becoming increasingly more difficult for you to go through. You set a goal of a new update every week. An unreasonable goal. Take your time. We’ll still be here, waiting patiently and gratefully. Thanks again for sharing.
Yes, my goal has become unreasonable. I made it for J, a guy on here who’s like a rough scratchy mentor, and a great combat vet in his own right.
But I am having a bit of a rough patch in dealing with what’s happening now and what’s coming. Thank you for your sensitivity in reading that and also for commenting on it.
The compliments are great too, and I thank you for those, as well…
Semper fi,
Jim
Good evening Junior, Sir! Still here with you, still trapped in the Nam. Thank you so much for writing this, love the “human” factor. Very difficult in those situations. God bless. Semper Fi!
Thanks for picking up on that Randall. I am often surprised about what some of the readers pick up when reading.
How some people like you can see into the detail that well. Thank you for that.
Semper fi,
Jim
I carried a PRC-25, liked the “tape” antenna, easier to hide on the front strap of the pack. But kept a “whip” antenna for longer range when needed. The 1/4 armorer asked if I wanted a 45 or M16, my choice as an RO. I wanted a rifle!
You radio guys were amazing. Carrying all that shit without complaint and making it all work under the worst of circumstance…
Semper fi, and thank you,
Jim
tense.
Thanks Glenn. It’s unlike you to respond with one word! Nice compliment though.
Semper fi,
Jim
Yeah Lt. I am trying to control my “Run off at the Mouthitis”. But still had to try expressing the impact.
Thanks Glenn for sticking with me here…and in the reading…
Semper fi,
Jim
For certain humanity, in any form had to be hard to come by in that valley.
What in the world are choppers rolling in at night going to be bringing – replacements?? Can’t wait to find out !!
Thanks for the telling James.
SEMPER Fi
Thanks for caring and thanks for being so deeply into the story.
Semper fi,
Jim
A line from a lecture in one of my college courses has stayed with me. “You are who you are because of where you were when.” It pretty well sums up life. It explains others stand points too.
I still thank you for sharing your “where you were when”. It helps me understand my wheres and whens. Semper Fi!
Thanks a lot Tomas, for that neat quote that takes some thinking.
Much appreciate the compliment too.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’d been unsure about going against Jurgens in not allowing his to use the snipers to take down any enemy
him not his.
This is simply the best description of war I have ever read. Not that I know anything, I flunked the physical and got a 4F card in 1972. But I know about trauma, I wasn’t 4F until just after age 19. Veterans don’t talk about their time, now I understand a little better why.
Thanks for the great compliment and I am glad you never made it down into that valley.
Not many of us got out alive and even fewer got out in any kind of rational state.
Not that I am in that state!
Semper fi,
Jim
i think you did the right thing by not firing on them and the gunny knew it too. you have your hands full with JURGANS and his men. it is a outstanding chapter you really know how to get a guys blood moving with your writing
Thanks a load Dave. Appreciate the thoughts about letting the NVA have their dead and/or wounded. The demands by battalion were
pretty harsh and extreme when it came for KIA and MIA enemy numbers. The Gunny was great though, at lying to them.
Semper fi,
Jim
What makes this so powerful is the sharing of your internal dialog and feelings in a manner that enlivens it in the reader to the extent it mirrors their own experience.
Some editing suggestions follow (after three readings):
I’m having trouble parsing this sentence: ““Because I can’t afford to go back with you in a body bag,” the Gunny replied, motioning toward me.” Does “you” mean Jurgens i.e. you shot him OR does “you” mean James i.e. Gunny needs your FO talents? Also I don’t get “with.” Does “with” mean accompany or escort OR does “with” mean Gunny could also be in a body bag?
“Nguyen … so I didn’t approach closer, instead of making for my temporary lair under the edge of the cliff.”
Suggest drop “of” “instead making for my temporary lair …” ’cause that’s what you did.
“I’d found out that that just the opposite was true.”
Suggest delete one “that”
“almost every being in the A Shau Valley trusted in themselves to survive themselves”
Maybe: trusted in themselves to ensure their own survival
or: trusted in themselves to perpetuate their singular survival
The Gunny was like a mix … Great line!
I have not smelled Hoppes in over thirty years but would recognize it immediately. That brings back memories.
“Junior?” Gunny asked gently. “You’ve made your point.
Interesting that the Gunny did not address you as “Lieutenant.” He’s still playing the middle ground between you and Jurgens.
“I’d been unsure about going against Jurgens in not allowing his to use the snipers …”
Suggest change “his” to “him.”
“I’d been unsure about going against Jurgens in not allowing him to use the snipers …”
At your own pace and comfort level. Many thanks. Be Well.
Your support and sharps e=yed are always appreciated, Dan.
I believe all is corrected.
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW!!!!
Great Read 👍👍👍🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸
Thanks a lot Chris. Means a lot….what you said, especially written on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
The comment you made, plus one from one of your readers on Facebook, brought me to another realization I hadn’t looked at in a long time. The Vietnam veterans I’ve interviewed or befriended over time often weren’t all that reluctant to discuss firefights, even the loss of friends once they developed a certain level of trust in me. Beyond that level, though, where a few decided to go, involved telling me stories that you and some of the other veterans on here allude to but do not explain. Incidents they were involved in, actions they took that they’re either ashamed of, think others would look down on them for taking, times when they did things that they wish they hadn’t and those things seem to haunt them forever…I’m going to honor their trust in me by NOT repeating those stories. Anyone who, like me, wasn’t there, well, all I can tell you is that if you want to hear them, find your own Veterans and be prepared to have your loyalty tested over and over. One failure and you’re done.
Thanks Arnie, for the work you are doing with other combat vets. I would never tell the real story to anyone because I was afraid of taking
a hit for it and I didn’t need any more hits. My wife has never heard the story, and she’s not reading it now. My two best vet friends over the years
are not reading it either. They were not combat vets. They don’t want to know. And they don’t want to relate Junior to me because they see that as me
being a macho superior type, which I am not. But you get the drift.
Semper fi, and thanks for having a brain and caring so much.
Jim
James you are probably referring to Overland Park Kansas, not Overland. Enjoy your riveting chapters and look forward to each one.
Yes, you are correct. Thanks for the compliment and your care…
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW. Tension filled throughout, great cliffhanger-worth the wait. Hmmm. Wonder about those Hueys. I bet they are Army, loaded with people looking for the SF guys.
The Huey thing will be resolved in the nest segment, of course. Thanks for looking forward to it.
Semper fi,
Jim
We are who we are today because of being there, experiencing what we did. For good or bad that’s who we are. We were one person before we went, another one there, someone else when we came home. We then became another person trying to cope, finally ending up who we are but never finished searching for that person we were.
Thanks Bob for laying your own heart out and your words down here…
Semper fi,
Jim
Bob Keeshan, Lee Marvin, Carlos Hathcock and Jim Strauss, in no particular order. My four favorite GI reens. We both know, Gunny, would have prevented you from shooting Jerkins. Good call.
The Gunny would not have stopped me physically. That’s not how he operated.
He would have have accepted but it would have added to his burden and he made me know that.
Thanks for looking inside to see that kind of mental activity that was going on.
Semper fi,
Jim
Your devotion to staying in contact with your wife is amazing.I am sure it is a small dose of sanity for you as well. Is it possible that the NVA have some how breached your contact with command and called in the Huey’s for an ambush? Again, another riveting chapter.
I had to have to contact and I took great pains to write stuff to her that was not too awful but
let her know that I was somehow getting by under difficulty. I let more through, in the readings now, than I realized I had at the time.
Semper fi, and thanks for picking up on that and appreciating it.
Jim
“I’d been unsure about going against Jurgens in not allowing his” Should “his” be him.
I can’t wait for the next chapter. Great writing. Thank you for your service.
Thanks for noticing. It is corrected.
Semper fi, Harry,
Jim
In general, not always..but in general we found the NVA to be a ferocious and professional soldier…and more prone to take prisoners and even care for our wounded if found….if they could move on their own… The VC were another animal all together….they never took prisoners, nor did they show any compassion for wounded…and that was a mutual agreement we had with them…at least we tell everyone that we killed every VC we got our hands on…but that’s not the truth…we captured as many as we could and sent them back…who knows what happened to them once we handed them off….we had no use for the VC…living or dead…it didn’t really matter….. we saw how they treated their own people, oftentimes worse then they treated us…. saying this……the “only” good thing about the battles in the A Shau was that they were always against the NVA….the first time you go through one of their packs and discover in the bottom of it…a copy of the US Marine Corps training manual…..you know you have engaged a warrior…Semper Fi
Wow, Larry, what a series of deep insights belying your own experience. How else could you know. No, there were no VC down there. Go Noi Island, yes, but not down in the valley.
Thanks for being spot on as always and also for putting words together so well…
Semper fi,
Jim
Choppers in the night can only mean that a few more folks pissed off the command. Lol.
What makes sense to me is that there’s an incoming element about to unknowingly post right on top of your ao.
Yes, they were anything but clever in moving around the battlefield. To them in the rear it was like a board game called Risk.
They moved armies around, won some pieces of real estate and lost others. The men didn’t much matter or the risk of going into actaul
combat, something they really had only fears about but not real clues…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’d been unsure about going against Jurgens in not allowing his to use the snipers to take….. his should be HIM!
So many great readers!
Thanks, Mark, it is corrected
Semper fi,
Jim
did you ever visit all the places that you told yourself you would?
No, I have never been able to do it.
I visited one of my scout team member’s parents and then never visited anything
to do with the time again.
I have thought about it though.
I have always, since getting out of the hospital tried to work to make sure that Vietnam did not define me…
and I failed at that, as you can see from the minute detail of the revelations in these books.
I carry it all with me, like so many silent warriors on this site who don’t comment…
Semper fi,
Jim
“I have always worked to make sure that Vietnam did not define me…
and I failed at that.” Haven’t we all.
Yes, I guess a lot of us have, although I avoided a lot of social pain by hiding out for a very long time.
Semper fi,
Jim
“almost every being in the A Shau Valley trusted in themselves to survive themselves, and anything living that stood in the way of that unwavering cold-blooded mission stayed in the valley, forever. Only the survivors lived to tell the story and the story they would tell would have no bearing on any combat truth.”
God awful truth! Even to the point that sometimes you are your own enemy! Don’t mean nothing, Lt!
Thanks for quoting that back, Tommy.
Sometimes the power of something I write close by me at the moment.
I reread what you quoted and it kind of chilled me.
I know I wrote it but I didn’t feel the writing then, until now. Tough stuff.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
I dread the scene that you are setting the stage for…
Above the best,
Bill Gillespie
Jim ?
Yes, it is me…
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
Yes, the trail is long, bloody and strewn with those I’d rather not write about,
which you have perceived more than most.
Thanks for that, but I am continuing on as I must.
Semper fi,
Jim
The content of this comment surely dates me, but, another”wagon running over a Clift” at a Saturday afternoon movie in the late forties and early fifties. Suspension of story at just the wrong time for the enthralled youth watching with open mouths and wide eyes. Yes the installment was delayed but it has had its desired effect. Strong stuff here, LT. Mighty good though. Poppa J
Thanks Poppa J for being along for the whole ride….
Semper fi,
Jim
James, the tension is getting so thick it is almost like a living breathing barrier that like a straight jacket slowly closes in and limits choices and actions. I understand now why this chapter is so long in coming. I posted before that you are increasing my blood pressure medicine dosage, I can only imagine what yours was that night. My admiration for you and all combat veterans continues to grow at an exponential rate.
Take your time as you continue to relive this nightmare, and I wish you peace from whatever God you believe in.
Yes, it gets a bit tougher as we proceed, but proceed we will..
Thank you Rob,
Semper fi,
Jim
Thank you for writing. Take whatever time you need. I didn’t go to Nam but my brother did. This is helping me understand, if just a little. God bless.
I work away, with some chapters easier than others. Sometimes I have to walk away and then come back and just sit there.
I don’t know why it’s fits and starts like this. Not like my other work at all. Yeah, I do know why, underneath it all.
Thanks for understanding and liking the work.
Semper fi,
Jim
Seems like someone has gone over the bosses head!
It seemed to be that way, although there is so much mystery when in the field it is conjecture mostly
what they hell they are doing in the rear or why.
Semper fi
Jim
Another riveting installment! Jurgens seems to to be losing control of the situation. Sugar Daddy may take him out on your behalf. Waiting for the next installment will be excruciating.
Thanks for the great compliment and reading away.
Semper fi,
Ji
When I was growing up, one of my chores was to clean the collection of shotguns, deer rifles, and .22’s with Hoppes #9. Just a mention of it, and the smell comes back to me. Living in Arkansas in the Mississippi Delta, the humidity was very favorable to causing rust. A little Hoppes and a soft stick and it was soon gone without removing the blueing. Jim, the quicksand just keeps getting deeper. I always look forward to the next chapter but also dread it as I know this isn’t fiction, that you were actually enduring this.
Looks like my comment got lost in cyberworld…….after a
week it still “awaits moderation”. If I were going to be able
to attend the Thursday morning Officers Mess in Lake Geneva, I
could bring it up for discussion, but can’t make it.
Well, I get stuck in time and in messes of my own back here. I apologize Joe and I am making up for lost ground now.
Semper fi,
and thanks for sticking with me…
Jim
Yes, Joe, I have my Hoppes in the basement and you are exactly correct about the effect on the bluing, as long as you catch it surface in time.
I use a special Sperm Whale oil to lubricate but that is just me. My neighbor uses Amsoil and he’s probably smarter.
Semper fi,
Jim
What makes this so powerful is the internal dialog and feelings you express. We are all along for the ride to the extent your experience mirrored ours.
I haven’t smelled Hoppes in at least thirty years but would recognize it instantly. Wow, what memories that brings back.
Yes, the sound of a Huey coming in low and fast is like no other. Hearing that sound created a physical reaction for years afterwards.
Small editing suggestion:
“I’d been unsure about going against Jurgens in not allowing his to use the snipers:
Suggest: Change “his” to “him” …not allowing him to use the snipers …
Always at your own pace and comfort level. Be Well.
thanks for the editorial help, as
God knows I need it. Thanks also for the memories.
There is no way any of us will ever forget the distinctive sound of A Huey, or the smell of the Hoppes.
Semper fi,
Jim
You are making me feel much better about being on that big carrier out in the Tonkin Gulf! This chapter of yours really brings home the feeling about fighting on more than one front at a time.
The two words you used to describe Sgt. Jurgens really hit the nail on the head, especially the second adjective. The animosity, the hatred that young man exhibited is almost beyond belief. I keep expecting you to go ahead and fire that 1911 into the center of his chest.
You have swept all of us back many years, into our youth again. Frankly, I am satisfied to leave it all there, but your words accurately depict what mud Marines had to get through each day.
Thank you for taking us all with you on your journey through the past. Please keep writing!
It was such a tough time for the inexperienced and experienced out there in the field.
Just being there when the new guys got ‘trimmed’ was devastating. None of us were trained for mortality at all
when we were younger or back in the states, and then wham, kids are dying in your arms.
Thanks for the thought and the great comment.
Semper fi, and sorry it took me so long to reply.
Jim
The edge of my seat again, shitty experience ,great writing .
Thanks Jim, for the compliment, and sorry to take so long to get back to you.
Semper fi,
Jim
WTF You left us REALY HANGING THIS TIME LT.
Yes, and then I left you hanging by not getting to your comment until now!
Thanks for the compliment inherent in your words and also that fact thet you wrote it on here.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’m sure it didn’t take long for the word of Jurgens backing down to spread through the Lance Corporal underground LT. Unfortunately, that only makes him more dangerous. Another sphincter tightening chapter Sir. Semper Fi.
Everyone knew almost everything in the field right away. Funny how motivated you are when
other people’s decision are being made about your life.
Semper fi,
Jim
Got me hanging by my finger nails now……
Thanks for that compliment Bob, and for writing it up on this public forum for all to see!
Semper fi,
Jim
All I got left to chew are my toenails LT
What a great compliment Tony, although maybe a bit graphic to really think about!
Semper fi,
Jim
Jurgens Seems like a banty rooster looking for fight. What a cliff hanger on the end.
Thanks Pete for being such a stalwart and continuing supporter. Means a lot to me. Sorry I was so late in responding and publishing this comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
As usual another great segment. When ever I read your story and you talk about the gunny I picture Sam Elliot from we were soldiers.To bad you didn’t write this when he was younger he would have been great in movie of this writing.
I have always loved Sam Elliot but he got old like us!
Thought of Antonio Bandaras for the Gunny too.
Semper fi, and thanks,
Jim
Wow didn’t see that coming. Nice writing . You almost got my heart rate down and bam. Can’t wait to see what new level of insanity is revealed.
thanks Kirby for being patient and caring enough to stay at the reading and the writing about it on here…
Semper fi,
Jim
I’ve seen the competition between the know it all NCO and the still fuzzy green Lt. The first time I did it was with a 1st. Lt. that had a long tour in the Nam under his belt. Cost me E-5 but who needs that anyway? How any of you functioned beyond barest survival is beyond me. Do what you need Jim, we’ll be here no matter how long it takes. I am not looking forward to the end.
thanks Walt, spoken by a true class act of a man!!!!
Semper fi,
Jim
Get on the radio from fusner see if this is helicopter gun ships there to offer some night time firepower.
thanks for the advice although I wasn’t too good at figuring everything out at the time over there.
Semper fi,
Jim
I’d been unsure about going against Jurgens in not allowing his to use the snipers to take down any enemy moving in the night out on the mud flat. Either allowing “him” or use “of” >? Hanging on for the next…Your restraint with Jurgens…I don’t know that I could have done that…
Jurgens was a trade off, as were so many. What evil are you trading for what evil kind of thing.
Fear also drives so much and fear is hard to represent on paper.
Semper fi,
Jim
Sure would be nice if they were cobra gunships.
thanks for the comment Jb, although I’m not sure I completely understand it.
Semper fi,
Jim
James what a cliff hanger. it is hard to relive a night mare… keep up the good work
Yes it is harder than I thought, especially sometimes.
Thanks for know and writing about that.
Semper fi,
Jim
Well Junior….”Only the survivors lived to tell the story and the story they would tell would have no bearing on any combat truth”. I consider that to be an accurate assessment until you began the truth/reality of what it was. Thank you for sharing seems to be too shallow of a compliment but it’s all I can come up with at this time. With due Respect..God Speed
No shallow compliments on here. You and the men and women on here have been so damned motivational I cannot describe it.
Thank you in so many ways…
Semper fi,
Jim