Written November, 2020
The Danang Air Base Hospital was right next to the landing zone. It was a maze of interconnected Quonset huts with full medical facilities and medical personnel.
Our small medevac chopper dropped the four or five of us off near the opening in the fence and we all walked off. There were other choppers unloading wounded and a stream of corpsmen and helpers were pouring out of the hospital to bring the wounded inside on stretchers, wheelchairs or whatever. There was wet and dried blood all along the walkway.
We went inside and they sorted us out, sick or wounded. I was escorted to the “sick bay” area for triage. Because of the swelling, they initially thought I had an impact wound, (my left eye was almost shut). The swelling and pain also affected my speech so it was hard to explain my story. They did a quick exam and told me to wait for someone to come and escort me to the dental trailers. I think it was late in the afternoon by the time I got over there. I went into one of the dental trailers and sat in the waiting area in the cool air conditioning. I didn’t care how long I had to wait. Please forget about me and leave me here.
Eventually I saw the dentist, who was a Naval Officer. He did X rays, examined my mouth and drained some pus out of my jawline. What a relief. He informed me that he could save the two involved teeth, but not in the 48 hours that was allotted to me.
We needed a week for resolution of the infection and filling of cavities. Otherwise he would have to pull one tooth on the top and one on the bottom.
The dentist ordered me to come back in the morning for teeth extraction. In the meantime, he would put in a request to my commander for an extension on my “medical leave” so he could save my teeth. I was so absorbed in the comfortable chair, the cool air, and the novocaine that I barely participated in the conversation.
I was taken to transient quarters and was able to get a shower, new clothes and a meal.
What a treat. I continued taking my antibiotics and pain meds and crashed early and hard. I woke up to the sight of a bunch of other misfits in the tent. Sick, mild wounds, injured in accidents, malingerers etc.. These marines were on light duty and working as runners, escorts, and other jobs until they were cleared to go back to the bush.
My meals had been whatever mush I could gather at the mess hall. Morning chow was the same. I grabbed a few Kool Aid packets for the road and worked my way back through the transient housing and a few other “neighborhoods” to get to the dental trailer. I didn’t know confederate flags were allowed on American military bases. There was total self imposed segregation of blacks and whites and clear hostility in the air. The sights and sounds near the medical complex were disturbing. Wounded marines were being transported here and there on stretchers and in wheelchairs. Some had awful wounds and were in great distress or unconscious. You could see that an empty space under the blankets was a missing limb.
The dentist gave me the news that I had to stick with our 48 hour timeline. He seemed to feel bad about it but I’m sure he had seen so much trauma that my problems were rather petty. I told him to take his time, that I was comfortable and really had nowhere I wanted to go. My jaw was feeling much better. I guess I was ready to lose two teeth just to be able to eat food without pain. He extracted my teeth, packed the bloody holes and told me to continue with my pain meds and antibiotics. I got some kind of paperwork that said it was ok for me to go back to the bush the next day. Thanks.
I reported to an old sergeant with my paperwork. His job was to keep track of those marines who were receiving medical treatment and make sure they got back to their duties as soon as they were released. He was very good at his job. He told me to stay close to our quarters. I guess I was pretty lucky to get 2 days out of the bush. For now I had the remainder of the day to do nothing.
At some point in this day I was walking somewhere and saw marines in small groups. Some were talking and some were huddled around transistor radios. Everyone looked upset. Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated after a speech in Los Angeles.
That was it for me. What the hell is wrong with our country? The killing of John F Kennedy was really hard for me 5 years earlier. I had high hopes for RFK. It was all too much to handle. To this day I still feel like crying when I see pictures about his run for president and his assassination. 1*
Except for the lifers and the southern boys, everyone was pretty devastated. The hope for an end to the war or a cease fire was gone. Marines were talking about rebellion, resistance, fragging officers, and going on maximum slacking in the bush. Who wants to risk his life for a country that can’t get its act together?
Too much time on your hands leads to serious thinking and a better view of reality. My support of the war, my faith in my country, my religious faith, my rationalizations about my safety, and my confidence that I could withstand conditions in the bush were slipping away. We continued to receive regular sermons on, “Why We Fight”. I used to buy it, but from what I was seeing we were just trashing the country and killing. (reality, I was 18 and didn’t have enough maturity to sort out all the conflicting messages).
I had no options other than suck it up and do my time.
In the morning, the sergeant escorted several of us to the LZ for reinsertion to our units.
Danang air base, busiest airport in the world at the time. Every imaginable aircraft coming and going.
Fighter and bomber jets, passenger jets, cargo planes, spotter planes, gunships.
Helicopter gunships, troop transports, medevac and cargo choppers.
It was amazing to sit, wait, and watch at the LZ. I don’t know who ran the operation but it was very efficient. It was like a train station. People and stuff get dropped off and people and stuff get picked up and they all lift off to their destinations. Are they making stops on the way? Who goes first? What happens if you miss your stop? Do you get to come back and try again tomorrow?
Eventually a Huey came in and loaded a few of us to head out to 1st battalion headquarters in the current area of operation. I sat near the door gunner and hoped he wasn’t going to be needed on this trip. I thought this must be the scariest job in Vietnam. Sitting in the doorway of a helicopter, harnessed, exposed to enemy fire. Like riding a roller coaster in a shooting range and having to shoot back.
He told us we would be making a quick approach to rough terrain. The chopper would not be touching the ground. He was going to guide us to get in the doorway, feet on the skid, and jump 4-6 feet to the ground and quickly move away from the Huey.
I was scared shitless but I knew if he said go and we didn’t jump he would push us out.
We all got out without incident and were hustled over to headquarters, (a stack of sandbags with a poncho liner supported by sticks for shade.)
I was told that I was assigned to a new platoon within B Company. Now I would start over as an FNG with a bunch of different marines. I was just beginning to know the names of the marines in my previous platoon. So goodbye to “Tex” and “Tater”, “Slim” and “Skid”, “Snake”, “Preacher”, and “Crackerjack”. It was June 6th or 7th, 1968.
I was directed to my new platoon and passed through the chain of command folks. They all gave me dire warnings about the current situation with booby traps, snipers, and hidden fighting positions throughout our area of operation.
But the most serious warnings, again, were about the extreme heat and poor water supply and quality. Many of the villages had been evacuated with the residents transplanted to “Relocation Camps”.
The Vietnamese people believed in living near their ancestors’ graves so once again we made enemies of those we were trying to “help”. The wells in evacuated villages were being poisoned by dropping dead animals in them. This was done by enemy forces or disgruntled locals. Sometimes dead humans were dumped down the wells.
The purification tablets were not working to purify the water in those situations, (not to mention the gag factor).
My ultimate destination was to meet my new squad leader, Johnny Laboy. He was to become my first and only friend in Vietnam. He was from NYC and we had a lot in common as far as our Catholic upbringing and street experiences. We both had girlfriends back home and craved letters from them. He was leading 3 fire teams of 4 men each at age 18. If you survive in the bush for a few months, that would eventually become your role. He told me to be prepared for upcoming assignments in walking point, night patrol, and daytime ambush. All “cherries” required orientation in these areas.
He assigned me to a fighting hole that was already dug. I was replacing a casualty from the day before and this location was a 2 night stay with early check out. I was very happy not to have to dig a hole in my clean clothes. There was an LP in front of our platoon and I was happy not to be there.
On one of the upcoming nights I got to see a legendary “Spooky” gunship, also known as “Puff the Magic Dragon”. These were specially equipped aircraft that had extremely rapid firing machine guns. They would often attack fortified enemy positions at night.
We would hear a growling sound in the sky and look up and see thousands of “tracer” rounds. (Every 5th bullet had a red “flame” to track its trajectory. The enemy had green tracers). These guns could fire 3,000-6000 rounds per minute.
It was an amazing sight to see in the night sky.
We continued with our daytime “Sweep and Clear” missions. Early on I was sent in to a tunnel to check for current or recent signs of enemy presence. I had a flashlight, a .45 caliber pistol and a bayonet. The tunnel did not run in long straight lines. It was probably more structurally sound by having irregular turns in it. I noticed that there were bamboo sticks supporting the walls and ceiling to help prevent a cave in during a bombardment. I went around 2 corners and stopped and rested. I was too afraid to go further. It was like going into a haunted house. Not sure if I would get back out alive. There was no sign of enemy forces. They could easily be on their way out the other end, long gone, or right around the next corner. It was very cool in there and I sat and rested until I heard my comrades calling for me to come out. I was learning to be a slacker without guilt and enjoyed my success at staying out of the hot sun.
After my “successful” foray into the tunnel, I was assigned as one of the platoon “tunnel rats”. I was not competent or knowledgable, but expendable.
This may have been the day of a huge afternoon thunderstorm. It was the dry season, but after this storm we were immersed in mud for a couple of days. Dust to mud in a few hours.
The only benefit of this storm was that we could fill our canteens with pure water and have a primitive shower. Later, even though the air was still warm, we were shivering from being wet for so long.
The next 12 or so days were the same in terms of our “search and clear duties”, but different depending on terrain, casualties, enemy contact, and water supply. Most of the suffering of the daily hump was from fatigue and dehydration complicated by shitty tasting water.
Losing body salts from constant sweating was a big health risk. We were continually reminded to take our salt tablets.
Every day we evacuated marines who were wasted by the heat. Some of them died.
A couple of times I had to help drag a dead marine in a body bag to a helicopter but never saw anything really awful like spilled guts or brains.
Occasionally there would be some enemy fire and we would attack forward firing our weapons and they would disappear. A couple times I emptied a 20 round magazine at ghosts. I had one or two jams in my rifle that I was able to clear quickly.
The worst and most frightening terrain was the elephant grass. It was tall and had sharp edges so you had to keep your sleeves rolled down in spite of the heat. It was easy to get lost. We were a noisy group, calling out to our fellow marines to make sure we were still in line. Of course we revealed our position. The elephant grass would not stop bullets. We hated the officers who made us take this route. It was worse than the thickest jungle. You could be snatched away by the enemy and no-one would notice.
Then there were wet rice paddies that were irrigated by the farmers in the dry season.
And dry rice paddies that were abandoned or not yet irrigated.
There were small but thick areas of jungle.
And swamp.
And thick forest, defoliated, or not. “Agent Orange” was used to kill vegetation and deny hiding places to the enemy. 2*
Plushills and mountains
On one of the “Sweep” days five or six of us were pulled out of our platoon formation and set up on the “trail” for an ambush. The lieutenant thought we might be followed by enemy troops. He set us up in a nice shady area with a lot of cover and concealment. This was my first and only ambush and initially I was very nervous. We were in a banana grove and a couple of the guys started slicing off big banana tree leaves and showing us how to make a combination of camouflage and a comfortable bed. We all took turns on full alert, two at a time. The orders were to start shooting if you saw anyone on the trail since we were not in a populated area. The others slept on and under the soft bedding of banana leaves. When it was my turn for a break I couldn’t believe how comfortable it was and I got the best sleep ever. During the awake time I heard a lot about R&R and the best places to go. Bangkok seemed to be the favorite with Australia in second place. Apparently we were eligible for R&R every few months but some of the guys were saying that the rear echelon “pogues” seemed to get more R&R.
We had no contact with the enemy and after several hours a squad from our platoon swung back to pick us up and go back to our established camp. This was a beautiful day in a beautiful place that I will never forget.
What a contrast when we got back to our camp. Piles of cardboard, empty ration cans, and ruined clothing stacked up next to slow burning fires. There were trenches full of human waste and the whole area buzzing with flies and other insects. Rats grazed freely on the garbage piles. This was just a small snapshot of what hundreds of marines were doing to this area aside from the destruction from combat. We had to move on every day or every other day so that we weren’t easy targets for enemy artillery or mortar attacks. But it was good to move out because of the trash and stench of our slum.
Most of the marines looked trashed too.
My turn came to walk point. I had a supervisor behind me telling me what to do. Eyes scanning for movement; eyes scanning for signs of booby traps; M16 on full automatic and safety off; stop look and listen; use hand signals to inform or request. I felt like any minute I would be blown up or sprayed with bullets. There were a lot of bird and animal noises that were not familiar to me. It took me a long time to stop shaking but I made it though to the end of my “shift”.
At some point the 27th Regiment was assigned to protect an engineer battalion. They were sent in to destroy all the fortifications, tunnels etc.. 3*
One of the biggest tasks of the engineers was to defuse unexploded ordnance, (bombs, artillery shells, etc.). They caused unintended casualties and were frequently carried off to make booby traps to use against American forces.
On one of these days a call went out for all marines in B Company with specialty “0351” to gather at company headquarters. We were summoned because we had some degree of training in explosives. While we were gathered waiting for the company commander we, (mostly me), were speculating as to whether they thought we knew how to defuse a 2000 lb. bomb. As usual, too many questions leads to unnecessary worry.
We were each assigned to an engineer who had deep training in explosives.
We were going with them to be their security while they defused the various bombs that were lying around in our area of operation.
My engineer was a pretty good guy and he had a map location of where his assigned bomb was lying. We took a long walk, me in front, him behind steering me. Probably the most intelligent marine I had met so far. Eventually we came in to a clearing in the jungle and saw the bomb partially burrowed into the dirt. It was big. I don’t know if it was 500 pounds or 2000. Whatever it was left no room for mistakes. He tinkered around for a while assessing the situation, while I was “guarding” him by hiding behind the biggest tree I could find. He came over and told me that he had to blow it up to remove all chance of the enemy using the explosive material. I was sent 100 meters out in one direction to find safe cover and come back halfway to find him on his way. I started walking out through not so dense tropical foliage, not knowing if I was going in a straight line. (I could easily get lost in a 100 meter piece of geography.) I tried to keep track of landmarks so I could find my way back. I hated being alone out there. Pretty soon I came upon an outdoor temple/shrine in a lovely green area. There were two young Vietnamese ladies in the temple. I was moving quickly and startled them. I tried to tell them with body language to get down and pointed toward the bomb saying “boom boom”. They started screaming and recoiling in fear. I couldn’t get them to calm down. Why are they afraid of me? I’m one of the good guys. Pretty soon, the engineer, who had heard the commotion, came running in to the temple and said we better get down. There was little time until the bomb was going to detonate. We got down close to the earth and covered our heads. The ladies got the message and took cover.
The explosion was huge and deafening and we were showered with dirt and leaves and tiny pieces of hot metal. The ladies took it pretty well considering. Probably wasn’t their first bomb.
Time to get out. Move quickly. Go.
When we stopped for a rest the engineer asked me what the commotion was all about.
I told him what happened and he started laughing.
What?
“Do you not know that when an American says “boom boom” he means ‘fucking’ ?”
“Well, I sort of heard of that but didn’t think it applied at the moment.”
We made it back safely and for some reason I did not have to do that kind of duty again. Maybe I failed my audition.
The Green Towel
A few words in tribute to the green towel. We were given these to carry as an all purpose item. It was, for many of us, our most important possession. We carried it around our necks so it was handy. They were filthy and smelly but treasured as security blankets. We collected them from the marines that were taken off the battlefield. It felt like Christmas when the supply chopper dropped off a load of clean green towels.
The green towel was a dryer of sweat, cover for shade, protection from mosquitoes, pillow, battle dressing for large wounds, and diaper when necessary. You never, ever leave your green towel behind.
One day, on return from our afternoon sweep, I was hanging out with Johnny, our squad leader. We had become close over the last few days. He told me to unload the supply chopper when it comes in. He knew I was tired but said something like, “He who unloads gets the best goodies. Make sure to get some green towels.”
There are other good reasons to get assigned to unload supply choppers. Often there is beer, and occasionally big containers of ice cream.
There was ice cream on this delivery. My first job was to grab a container for my squad. Then, immediately deliver it to all the fighting holes including marines in other squads until it is gone. The marines were always ready for ice cream, holding their cups from their mess kits. I had my cup ready and grabbed a few mouths full on my run down the perimeter. Everybody wants two scoops, but no, I had to move quickly down the line so the guys on the end at least get warm vanilla soup. I realized that I now know my squad by name or nickname and they know me. It was gratifying and meaningless at the same time. Back at my fighting hole Johnny had saved my two warm beers. It was gross but I drank it anyway.
What else will show up on a supply drop? One evening a Chinook came in with a big load in a net. Lots of food packs, some ammo, but mostly a huge pile of used clothing and green towels. Everybody in B Company came in small groups and picked out some clean uniforms, underwear, and socks. We all stripped off our clothes and threw them in the net. It was quite a sight. We noticed that a lot of the new clothes had bullet and shrapnel holes as well as blood stains. Some had names stamped on the shirt pockets. How thoughtful. This pissed us off. We weren’t even worth a new set of jungle fatigues.
That night we got a week’s worth of mail. Letters from home. Johnny and I sat together and read them. He was ecstatic to hear from his girlfriend and hoped some day they would be married. We were both homesick and dreaming of how things would be if we were home. We exchanged one of our envelopes from our girlfriends’ letters so we each had an address to write to them if necessary. We vowed that if either of us got killed the other would contact the girlfriend and share anything important.
June 14th:
On our morning patrol we were approaching a village to check for enemy troops and supplies. We started taking sniper fire so we unloaded on the village. One of our tracer rounds started a small fire on the thatch roof of a hooch. We waited. The fire self extinguished. We went in to search, no one around. They spilt the scene.
Our platoon sergeant radioed in to company headquarters and we were told to return to our company perimeter.
We had some rest in the dirt and the heat before the late afternoon sweep.
The afternoon sweep was brutal. Marines were dropping from heat stroke and there were a few casualties from snipers and booby traps. One man lost most of his foot when he stepped on a “toe popper”. Marines were again openly complaining that we were “bait” and taking casualties without any chance to find and kill the enemy. Some of the men were openly challenging the sergeants and lieutenants with some subtly threatening language. Everyone was burned out.
When we were ordered to get moving after a break, most of the low ranking marines just sat and stared, killing time and expressing lack of interest.
The only good thing was that we had a stream crossing and could get wet and cool down. The more senior grunts organized security and set up a rotation for people to enjoy the water while others stood watch. This was done without consulting the commanding officer and sergeant on the scene. But the leaders got the hint and remained quiet. I got wet real good. I didn’t care about the leeches.
Before too long long I was right back in the deep emotional hole of fatigue, fear, and homesickness. When we stopped to set up camp for the night it was nearly dark. Johnny came to me and said he was sorry but he had to put me on our platoon LP. He had no choice. I went to the designated spot and started to help the other two marines to dig. The ground was rock hard and these guys weren’t much better at digging than I was. We had barely dug a two man hole for the three of us when the sergeant showed up and told us to get settled because it was almost dark and we were easy targets. We told him that only two of us could fit in the hole and he said one of us would have to sleep flat on the ground on top of the back edge of the hole. He promised to tell everyone at the perimeter to not shoot too low to the ground in the event of an attack. How nice of you. Who is the asshole who brought us here so late? A little later he brought us a canvas bag full of grenades and told us to feel free to use a many as we needed to feel secure.
This two man fighting hole was about the size of a single bed mattress and barely deep enough for a sitting marine to have his head below ground level. One of us would be sitting up, awake, and on watch. Another could sleep sitting up but ready to respond to intruders. The third marine would be flat on the ground outside the hole, asleep with his rifle and gear next to him. If we had trouble tonight there would barely be enough room to squeeze together in the fighting hole, let alone shoot, reload, throw hand grenades. We negotiated the watch schedule. My two comrades, who outranked me, generously “suggested” that I take first watch. It seemed like I was getting tricked into something but I couldn’t figure it out and was too tired to argue with them. I eventually realized that maybe I would be doing two shifts of full watch. My brain definitely was not on full watch. These two were like pick pockets. Stealing your sleep while your brain is off duty. Anyway, I ate dinner and started my shift. As usual it was hard to see and we had no night scope. We had no radio to stay in touch with the platoon leaders. The static given off by the radio would be too revealing of our position.
When we finished our first rotation I switched to sitting up in the hole on “standby” watch. My “roommate” kept waking me with concerns of VC crawling up to our hole. One of these times we both heard movement and took the platoon sergeant’s advice and tossed a grenade toward the sounds. Maybe it was just rats. Otherwise we did our shift without incident. Finally it was my turn to lay down and sleep at ground level at the back of the hole. My two partners were in front of me so I figured I was somewhat safe. I immediately fell into a deep sleep.
I don’t know how long I was out, but I woke up to heavy gunfire and rocket explosions. I could see red and green tracers passing over my body. I was so disoriented I couldn’t remember which direction the fighting hole was. My roommates were shouting but with all the noise I couldn’t tell what direction it was coming from and I didn’t want to lift my head up off the ground to look. I called out so they knew where I was, which was 3 feet away. I started to belly crawl with my rifle and pack towards where I could see the reflection of a marine waving his hand up over the top of the hole. I got to the edge and one of them grabbed me and pulled me into the hole. We squeezed tight together to stay below ground level. One of us grabbed the bag of grenades and we started lobbing, hooking, sidearming them out the hole towards the enemy. Sooner or later some artillery shells and illumination flares arrived. We took turns firing our M16s over the top edge of the fighting hole without lifting our heads up to look to see what and where we were shooting. The total volume of noise was overwhelming, but eventually the incoming enemy rounds stopped and the artillery was called off. We started to peek over the top of the hole to see what was going on. Our platoon sergeant was gathering up men out of the fighting holes to chase the enemy. He told us to stay put and that each fighting hole behind us had one or two left marines in it. A strong line of marines passed our LP and headed quickly toward the enemy that was hastily retreating. My partners for the night were gabbing about what to do but I couldn’t hear a word. My ears were ringing loudly. I just stayed put and watched for more intruders. It was such a rush of adrenaline going from dead sleep to the middle of a heavy firefight. There was a feeling of awe, fighting for your life and surviving. I was jumpy, shaky and scared as hell. There were a few wounded, but mostly we fended off the attack with little damage done to our side.
*4 (recommend this reference that addresses this attack )
Early the next morning a medevac chopper came for the wounded. Some of us cleared the area of any items that could be useful to the enemy. Another team was responsible for finding and searching enemy dead for useful intelligence. We packed up quickly after breakfast and headed out for the hunt with very little sleep to give us strength. Everyone was already running on empty. Being afraid and tired all the time makes you a special kind of crazy.
The rest of this day, June 15th, was more of the same. I was obsessed by the physical suffering. Chafing of the thighs with raw skin, back and foot pain from the heavy loads that we carried, fatigue, often due to adrenaline crash, foot rot and blisters, dehydration, malnutrition, mosquitoes and other insects, day and night. I could feel a bad case of diarrhea coming on.
It was another steamy, maddening day in the bush. Tall grass changing to wet uneven ground to thick vegetation. And the usual loss of marines to booby traps, heat stroke and snipers.
Everyone was feeling anger and hatred. I was hoping I wouldn’t turn into one of the several crazed, blood thirsty marines that were sprinkled into B Company.
At night there was talk about how the USMC, US Government, and US citizens were trying harder to kill us than the VC and the NVA. Our enemy was made up of conscripts or deceived volunteers like us. Fighting for someone else’s political philosophy, using someone else’s tactics. We had more in common with the “enemy” than we did with our own command leaders, who spend their days in air conditioned offices and sleeping quarters, drinking cocktails at the Officers Club, not spending a day out here with us, just flying overhead for a quick look. The conversation always ended with the same mantra created by the “brothers”. “Don’t mean nothin”, which means that what we think, say, or do, doesn’t matter at all. “Don’t mean nothin” when marines get blown away or civilians get killed.
June 16 and 17
My mouth has healed pretty well and I am able to eat fairly normally. The diarrhea is becoming urgent and violent. It drains me during another hot day of walking. They could be right under our feet and we couldn’t see them. Walking in a column, wondering who was going to be first to get hit or drop from the heat.
Some marines are throwing away cans of machine gun ammo or mortar rounds when no-one is looking. They are endangering us. Maybe it is ok since they might not drop out from exhaustion from carrying too heavy a load. I’m not going to do it, I hope.
On one of these days I get the order to check out a tunnel. I crawl gratefully in to its shade and see bags of rice stacked up at the first bend. Without thinking I pull out my K BAR, (bayonet) and start slashing the bags open to spill it out for the rats to eat. Wait a minute you fool! These could be booby trapped. I am going to get myself killed!
I need to get my head out of my butt and focus. I end up sitting with my back against the wall of the tunnel and calming myself down. Soon I figure out that if there is good rice here, then there are people nearby. I don’t want to encounter anyone, friend or foe, so I haul myself out of there vowing to never touch anything in a tunnel again. I tell Johnny what is in the tunnel and he gets a couple marines to drop grenades in there after the rest of us are clear.
Since the major night attack of the other night I am troubled by constant worry. When I am off watch I can easily fall asleep, but while awake on duty, my brain is spinning. “Save yourself.”
I want to contribute to the war, but the only way to do that is to kill. There is no capturing of land or villages and holding them for the South Vietnamese. It is just destruction and killing. I feel like it’s only a matter of time until something bad happens to me. What kind of wounds can I live with? Facial disfigurement seems like the worst possible injury, except for extensive burns. I wouldn’t be able to accept either of those. I would be willing to lose a part of one limb but not a whole limb or parts of two limbs. Brain damage or loss of too many fingers is not acceptable either. I was sleeping in the dirt, bargaining with God every night. I don’t want any thing. Just protect me from these awful outcomes. And please help me to not make a tragic mistake that causes someone to get killed or wounded. Help me to be strong enough to endure this suffering.
All the while during these nights, we knew they were nearby. Looking for an opening. But the only thing I hear is the ringing in my ears and the splattering of my bowels.
During the day I was stepping off line frequently to clear my guts. There was little time to properly clean up and I was out of TP. I didn’t have enough water or food to replenish myself until we got back to our camp. Back at the perimeter, Johnny sent me for supply unload. He thought for sure there would be ice cream tonight and said the extra fluid and calories would be good for me. I headed over to the Chinook and grabbed a container and dashed for the perimeter line while greedily scarfing up gobs of the rapidly melting ice cream. I stopped at one fighting hole and there was my boot camp nemesis, Roy Coleman. He gave me a cheerful greeting. He was a part of our platoon but I had not crossed paths with him. On my way back he stopped me and told me how he had been wounded mildly and just came back to the bush. That explained why he looked so normal. He apologized to me for being such a jerk in boot camp. He seemed like he might be a nice guy even though he was a Texan.
Sandbagging. Definition: Bush term meant to describe the act of avoiding the assigned ambush, patrol, listening post, observation post, etc. and usually the act is meant to be unknown to the powers-that-be that ordered the particular activity. 3rd Battalion 5th Marine Regiment History
June 18th
Sandbagging was one key to survival. I was sent into another tunnel this day. My strategy was to go in, crawl a few yards, and sit against the wall to rest.
Before I went in, someone who was aware of my bowel problem suggested that I leave a wet surprise in the tunnel. I can’t remember if I found that to be a good idea.
I had just enough energy to take steps and follow the herd. I couldn’t spend any energy on high alert behaviors. Just drag myself along and try to keep up.
Here I was. A tough guy from the south side of Chicago trying to save the world from communism, shitting my guts out and on the verge of crying.
This day was probably the worst for heat casualties. The platoon sergeant and lieutenant accused some of the victims of faking symptoms. They made the corpsmen certify that these marines were suffering from heat stroke and not just a mental breakdown.
A couple of the “sick” marines didn’t make the cut and had to stay in the bush. We had a good long rest while they recovered. I totally sympathized with them. I was close to falling apart myself.
I was wearing my green towel as a diaper so I didn’t have to drop my pants to squirt a little diarrhea. There was less and less coming out and I didn’t want to be an easy target since we were in the open most of the day.
Staggering alongside a dry paddy dike, I came across a spent LAAW leaning against the dike. I thought that it might be useful to the enemy as a booby trap. I stepped up to it, lifted my leg to crush it with a downward kick, and thrust my leg down. On my downstroke, to my horror, I decided that the LAAW was already booby trapped and my leg was coming off. My foot crushed the LAAW tube without incident. Obviously I was overjoyed with the good outcome and amazed again at my stupidity.
The fear and adrenaline woke me up good for a few hours. My bunghole puckered up too, so I didn’t need to squirt a shot of green liquid every 15 minutes.
I was worried about my M16. It had jammed a couple times in the past days and I was obsessing over keeping it clean. The magazines needed frequent inspection because sometimes the opening was deformed and 2 rounds were pushed into the chamber instead of one.
That afternoon we settled in to a new perimeter rather early and there was a lot of socializing. The brothers were really pissed off and very vocal. “This is a white man’s war against dark skinned people.” The MLK assassination was part of the complaints, (justifiably). It seemed best to keep a distance and concentrate on gear and fighting holes. I hung out with Johnny for a while and we talked about home and girlfriends. There wasn’t any one else that I hung out with and no-one tried to hang out with me. (don’t make friends with a dead man)
Everyone was complaining about the rations. You would think that they could bring us a hot, fresh meal once in a while. Danang Air Base was a 15 minute helicopter ride. But hey, we are Marines, and we can sit here in the dirt and eat another can of this crap and be satisfied.
“I can live in the dirt, sit and lie and sleep in the dirt, it is my chair and my bed, my floor and my walls, this clay. And like all of you, I have endured diarrhea as only an animal should endure it, squatting a yard off a trail and relieving myself unceremoniously, naturally, animally. Deprivations of food.
Festering open sores. Worms. Heat. Aching crotch that nags for fulfillment. …… Who appreciates my sufferings? Who do I suffer for?”
Fields of Fire James Webb
References
1* https://www.cbsnews.com/video/from-the-archives-robert-f-kennedy-on-face-the-nation-in-1967/#x
I suggest viewing this video from 18:20 to 24:00
This interview was held during my first week in boot camp
We need someone like RFK right now.
2*
https://www.history.com/topics/vietnam-war/agent-orange-1
3* History of 5th Marine Division Operation Allen Brook
The 1st Engineer Battalion arrived with heavy equipment needed for the new task assigned,,, the virtual raising of Go Noi Island. The mission called for the 27th Marines to “provide protection for an engineer effort to systematically eliminate all fortifications, dwellings, harbor sites, and hedgerows in the A0.
The clearing project presented many challenges. Go Noi Island was thoroughly infested with well constructed enemy field fortifications. The typical Go Noi bunker, based in a deep hole, had overhead protection constructed from rails and ties from the nearby National Railroad. Covered with earth and camouflaged effectively, these positions were invisible from the air and only barely apparent from the ground. The enemy burrowed under bamboo groves to construct hidden bunkers with firing slits at ground level. In addition to the fortifications built by the NVA and VC for their own use, the hamlet contained bunkers built by the local populace for family protection. These bunkers featured sloped roofs which deflected bombs and artillery projectiles. So strong were these bunkers that some were undamaged by 2,000 lb. bombs detonating 50 feet away.
As the engineers went about the business of destroying bunkers and filling in trench lines Lieutenant Colonel Greenwood provided them security and continued a program of aggressive patrolling with his four companies. Contact with the enemy remained sporadic. …..the enemy contented themselves with occasional sniping, attacks on listening posts, harassing mortar fire on Company night positions, and an ever increasing number of mines and booby-traps. Marines continued to fall prey to the heat as well as to enemy action, for the daily temperature averaged 100 degrees, with humidity greater than 80 percent. In the still, thick air, heat casualties sometimes ran as high as 10 percent, causing commanders to limit troop activity to the early morning and late afternoon. While moving, the Marines did not carry excess equipment, sometimes even leaving behind their flak jackets. To further exacerbate the Marine problems with the intense heat, the enemy contaminated the water wells in the area with oil and dead animal carcasses and the local river water was seemingly impervious to the attempts to purify it with Halazone tablets.
4* History of 5th Marine Division Operation Allen Brook
The Battalion continued the “search and clear” routine without significant contact until 15 June. At 0330 that morning, behind a curtain of B-40 rockets and heavy automatic weapons fire, Communist troops fell upon Company B’s night position near the National Railroad. The Marines returned fire with all organic weapons, from rifles to anti-tank rockets, and called for artillery fire support. In the face of Company B’s tenacious defense, the North Vietnamese broke off their attack and attempted to flee, but Company B Marines pursued the broken enemy into the night, ending the engagement decisively. The next day, the Marines tallied 21 dead North Vietnamese, all victims of the abortive attack. Company B suffered only three wounded.
thomasleecurran.com 