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After a deluxe meal of cold c-rations, our platoon prepares to move to the sound of the guns. Though I have seen this sight So many timesit still amazes me with the awesome fire power and destructive capability that we possess. Eighteen and nineteen year-old men who only a year ago would have no idea of their capabilities. Yet even with all of this firepower, we are all scared. One may try to hide it with his eyes, another with the shape of his mouth, but the truth is that we are all scared. Fear is good, it keeps us alert. There are certain things we have to do, or we're dead. We do it, and get good at it. After a while even enjoy it. This too scares us.
Through a rotation system, it is our squad's turn to take point. We prepare to leave a half hour ahead of the main body.
Though the sun has not fully risen, the humidity is taking its toll. The wetness of our clothing is joined by a fountain of our own sweat. We feel as though we are doomed to a life of being wet in some manner or another, and a rash is always there.
Bear' arranges our squad for departure. A two-man machine gun team has joined our squad, raising our number to ten.
Our path lead through a field of elephant grass. I have tried to describe this to people back home, but one would actually have to walk through it to know. Imagine grass growing 6 to 8 teet tall, possessing razor sharp edges that cut away at exposed areas of our bodies and so thick it cuts visibility to 4 OF 5 feet. Then imagine walking through this while all around us are men possessing the latest in automatic weapons who desperately want to kill us. You would be surprised at how much a man can age on just one patrol.
After walking through this we enter an extremely thick tree line. Even though the sun is high, it is dark because of the thick vegetation. Only an occasional ray of light is allowed through the treetops. The heat has become so unbearable that we must slow our pace. Cautiousness slowes our pace even more for at any moment we are subject to being ambushed, tired on by snipers, or trip a booby-trap. The booby-traps we find must be disarmed and marked so that the main body may blow them in place. Our mission is to ensure a safe path for the main body.
After hours of slowly pushing our way through this mass, we arrive at a clearing. 'Bear' places the squad on line and we take precautions. Bear' is standing next to me and radios our position to the main body and to artillery fire control. This is done so that we will have cover fire should we receive mortar or sniper fire while attempting to cross this clearing of some 100 yards.
There is a sudden impact, and I feel I have been hit by a seni-truck. There are the brief dreams that are caused by unconsciousness. I feel I have been out for a very long time; yet when I awaken the smoke has still not cleared, and I know we are all in a world of shit. We are all stunned, and it takes a few seconds before anyone can speak. My ears are still ringing from an explosion I never heard. My body is numb. I am on by back, semi propped up by my pack and radio. There is a tremendous weight on my chest. It is BEAR'! He is face down, his pack and flack jacket torn apart. I can see his torn flesh, fragments of bone and blood. I can smell the scent that this causes when in contact with white hot steel. His back is still smoking and his blood sizzling. I can see the destruction and though he is my very good friend, I pray he is dead. Already too
often I have heard the cries of those who die slowly. I check and find that my prayer has been answered. Someone calls out for
Bear'. I inform the squad that "Bear' is dead. Poncho is next senior and calls roll. Beside Bear', Zig Zag' and Moon ('chiet!), will never answer our roll call again. Their names have been added to a much larger roll. A roll that is far too long, yet continues to grow each and every day. Collins will answer our roll for the last time as he will leave us and join our fallen comrades before help can arrive. "Poncho' has been badly wounded in his left arm and leg. Both members of the gun crew are wounded, one seriously as he will later lose his left eye and left arm. His jaw has also been badly mutilated with the flesh torn away and the loss of several teeth. His cries are nuttled as he is strangling in his own blood. Hot Dog' has received a small peice of shrapnel in his side. I begin to feel the sharp hot strings in my right leg and arm. I think to myself
not again!". Only two months ago I had previously been wounded during night action. In just a fraction of a second, an entire squad had been made ineffective with four deadtwo serious injuries, and three minor. Only 'Prenchie, a cajan from Louisina has escaped injury.
There is much to do now. Most important is to protect ourselves. I can't find my shot gun, SO I reach under Beac' for my pistol. The wounded try to suppress their cries as we look and listen for Charlie'. We have not yet determined if this was a booby-trap. Or it "Charlie' is close by waiting to finish us off. it certainly would not be the first time an entire squad has disappeared. The seconds seem like minutes, the minutes like hours. The pain in my lower leg is worse and I can only hope it isn't too bad. My biggest fear while in Viet Nam is not dying, but of losing a limb. I am not able to see my leg for Bear's body obstructs my view. It is just as well I think.
Fortunately our radio is undamaged and I am able to notify the main body of what has happened. Fearing that they too might be ambushed, it is decided that the column halt and send a helicopter evacuation for us.
Frenchie' and 'lot Dog' begin to move among the casualties and help us the best they can. 'Frenchie' helps me move Bear'. and treats my leg. It is still attached, yet there is a large piece of shrapnel protruding from it and a lot of blood. In addition I have five smaller punctures in my right leg and arm. We conclude that they traveled through Bear before hitting me.
We continue to observe the area around us in case Charlie is coming to investigate. Poncho' is helping the gunner set up the machine gun in case we need it. The wounded are cared for the best we can. Collins has passed out from pain and loss of blood. He will never wake up.
Finally we hear the engines of the choppers. 'Prenchie moves carefully into the clearing to guide them in. I have made radio contact with the pilots and we are told to pop smoke'. Identifying our position, two gun ships peep the area around us with machine gun fice. Now the medivac chopper can land. The crew-chiet and a corpman help us load. The dead are loaded first, then the wounded on top. In less than a minute we are oft.
As we fly over the jungle that is killing us I look at Beat's' face. He is probably the best friend I will ever have known, which is why this day means much more to me that all the others. There are 364 others, half of the still ahead of me. Most I hope will be better. Some I know will not be. I want to Cty for 'Bear', but I can't. We have all been thrown into this unnatural world and we all know the risk. We do our job the best we can. It is not good to get so close, but how can we not?
Chief', and I had just returned from a week together on R&Rin Sidney. Australia. It was the most fun I had ever had in my life. How can I remember it, and Chief', and not remember the day he died? AS I watch the jungle below me fly by, I become aware that I left myself down there.