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Gary….Thanks for your story…..That was the way it was…….What bugged me the most was there was no easy way out of it…..I mean you couldn’t really say to your sergeant or captain ” Excuse me, but I’ve decided I am not really cut out for this”……It was keep on humpin’ untill your year was up, or until you get medevacked or killed….Nobody in civilian life is ever faced with such limited options….I would not want to go through it again and I must say it was prayer that sustained me….I do not know how in hell our current troops go through their multiple deployments…God help them.
I couldn’t agree more with that last statement. I’ve been privileged to meet many of them who have done multiple tours in the Infantry and they ALL will tell you they’re no longer normal. That’s hardly a surprise, is it?
I’ll forever blame George Bush and Donald Rumsfeld for that. Hardly anybody in that administration had any combat experience. In fact, most of them actively dodged it, so they had no idea what they were asking those young men and women to do. No idea at all. Rumsfeld said, “You fight the war with the Army you’ve got.” No, Mr. Secretary, you START the war with the Army you’ve got and build a big enough one to kick ass. You DON’T keep asking the same people to go back again and again and again. That ought to be a crime.
Thanks, Gary,
I hadn’t seen your short story before, but it sure did hit home with all of the experiences that you wrote about. I imagine that most of us felt the same way, when we first arrived. I took the heat, being a FNG, first from the medics and then from the grunts. I, too went to the funny country from Germany. I was the only one from my unit at the time and travelled halfway around the world alone.
Anyway, I really enjoyed reading your story.
I hadn’t thought of my trip from Germany to Vietnam via the US in quite that way, but you’re right. We did travel half-way around the world alone, didn’t we?
Ah, the confidence of youth!
Gary,
Well written. One question if you want to answer it. Why did you volunteer rather than stay in Germany?
Well….I just wanted to go to Vietnam. I felt it was my duty and my responsibility. I didn’t want to miss my generation’s war. My friends and classmates had gone and come back and I felt left out. Moreover, I was a True Believer, well indoctrinated in anti-Communism. Of course, that didn’t last long after I got there. LOL
And besides…I was in trouble all the time in Germany for one thing or another. My 1SGT used to tell me, “Boy..I’ll see your ass in Mannhiem.” That’s where the Army prison was.
It was 43 years ago today, Vietnam time, that I first set foot in the bush.
Boy…was I LOST! LOL
I even wrote a short story about it. Maybe you’ve seen it before. If so? Well, fug it…here it is again:
A FIRST-TIMER
Today, the company goes back to the bush and I’ll go with them for the first time.
Up until now, my week or two in Vietnam has been spent behind the wire somewhere or, at worst on the highway. Cam Ranh Bay, Chu Lai, the convoy up Rt. 1 to LZ Hawk Hill; that has been my war so far and it hasn’t been too bad. Nobody has shot at me yet.
But, that’s about the change.
Today, we’re to convoy up to LZ Baldy and CA (Combat Assault) out from there on helicopters to a place called Antenna Valley. We’re told it’s a pretty hot area and got it’s name from the VC’s targeting of radio operators. Apparently, they like to shoot the guy underneath the antenna, and the guy next to him because that’s typically an officer or NCO. Thank God I’m not carrying the radio. We were also told that we would be the first American’s into that valley since 1968, but I don’t believe that. It’s up in the AO (Area of Operations) of the 1st Marine Division and I just can’t believe they’ve been here that long and never gone in there.
But, I pretty much disregard the intelligence and concentrate on not shitting my pants. I don’t mind admitting it, but I’m scared. This will be my first trip out to where the war is actually being fought, where men die and there’s no reason to suppose it can’t be me. I knew this day would come when I volunteered to leave Germany and come here with an 11B (Infantry) MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) but knowing it and living it is turning out to be two radically different things. I’ve had pretty good training and have spent enough time in the Army by now to know what’s about to happen, but I feel so totally unprepared and inadequate. I know next to nothing about what will be expected of me or what I’m supposed to do.
And, I’m not getting a whole lot of guidance from my leaders. Outside of the very brief comments about Antenna Valley, I’ve been pretty much on my own and have been just following along. Nobody has told me anything and nobody seems to care that I don’t know.
This is a pretty tough company. They’re mostly younger than me, but they’ve been out there through all kinds of things which I can’t even imagine and they’re set in their ways. They have a routine which I don’t yet know, so I just key off what they’re doing and do it too. I don’t know what they think of me, if anything, or if I’m good enough to carry my share of the load, whatever that may be. Frankly, I’m sort of in the dark and the darkness is getting pretty heavy and nobody is telling my anything.
I’m in the 2nd Platoon now and they seem alright. A bunch of heavy drinkers, card players and dopers behind the wire, but hard core killers outside the wire. I can see it in their eyes and I know something of their recent history, which gives me not only confidence, but pause. They just came back from what they’re describing as a very bad operation out near Kham Duc and someone got killed last week. They don’t show much emotion over all that, just casually toss off stories which should curl my hair but, oddly, it doesn’t. I’m confident they know what they’re doing and am not really worried about them; I’m worried about me.
Can I hack it? Do I have what it takes to be a Grunt? I don’t know. In fact, I rather doubt it as I’m not a very physical and basically a pretty nice guy, I think. I never played sports in high school, didn’t get into too many fights as I thought it was foolish and would avoid them whenever possible, and mostly spent my youth drinking and running around. I’m well versed in Scripture and know right from wrong. In fact, my past didn’t include anything I can see which prepared me for life in the Infantry and I still can’t imagine why the Army put me in it. As actor would say…I think I’ve been miscast.
But, those other guys, the men I’ll have to live with for the next year? Oh, they’re very different from me. Hard, cold, brutal. Laughing and joking most of the time and quite friendly, but there’s something in their eyes which frightens me. They’re killers, all of them, and they’ve seen and done things which I cannot imagine and which I’m not sure I handle. I’m really afraid of two things: One, that I won’t measure up and, two, that I’ll turn out like them.
We leave our underground barracks and move up to the supply shed, one of the few above ground buildings on this warren of ratholes which is LZ Hawk Hill. A huge pile of C-ration cases have been tossed out the door and are just lying there in the sun waiting for us to pick whatever we want, I guess. Somehow, I thought it would be more organized than this!
The other guys select a case of C’s and begin packing them into their rucksacks, so I do the same. Nobody has shown me how to pack a ruck, except for my new friend Jim Stout in the 3rd Platoon where I started, and even he didn’t cover this. Each of the 12 meals in a case are packed in little cardboard boxes and I suspect it will be better to discard the boxes and just store the cans and packets of accessories by themselves, so that’s what I do.
I’m not much of a fruit eater, so I set the cans of pears and peaches and pineapple aside and start cramming in the cans of meat, peanut butter and B-Units. I see no reason to carry what I’m not going to eat, so I offer them to anyone who wants them.
Lord! That set off a frenzy of trading! Fruit exchanged for meat. B-Units for cigarettes. Crackers for jelly. It looks like the New York Stock Exchange as cans fly back and forth and the yelling gets louder. I never thought I’d create a storm by offering my fruit to anyone who wanted it, but it sure did! Eventually, everyone is satisfied with what they have and it’s all packed away inside that bottomless rucksack.
Next, we heft up our already over-laden packs and move along to the ASP (Ammo Supply Point) and draw ammunition. All I’m carrying is an M-16 and I don’t know how much ammo I’m supposed to carry or whether or not I’m expected to carry anything else, such as machinegun ammo or Claymore mines or flares or mortar shells or whatever, so I just take what the guy in charge of the ASP gives me: A single bandoleer of rifle ammo, no magazines.
So…here I sit looking rather befuddled, I imagine. I’ve got a rifle and one, light canvas bandoleer with seven little pockets, inside of which is a small cardboard box of 20 rounds, but no magazine to load them into. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?
Somebody notices and asks, “Where’s your magazines?â€
“I don’t have any.â€
“Come here.â€
He leads me back to the Sergeant in charge and barks an order to him. Give this guy three bandoleers and 22 magazines. He does, without comment.
“Only load 18 rounds to a mag,†he says. (I already knew that. 20 will make it jam). “Put the magazines in the bandoleers and tie them around your waist or across your shoulders or something. Use the extra rounds to load your last mag and put it in your rifle.â€
I do. It takes awhile as I don’t have a fast-loader and put the rounds in one by one. Eventually, someone tosses one to me and I get it done. But, it’s disturbing to me because this is the first time I’ve ever loaded magazines when they will be used for killing someone and that fact weighs heavily on me. This shit is for real. This isn’t a training range at Ft. Polk or in Germany and these nice, bright, shiny bullets aren’t for target practice. I shudder. Somehow, I also wind up with a belt of machinegun ammo, a handful of fragmentation and smoke grenades and a Claymore mine, which I tie on the outside of my ruck for easy access.
The last stop before the truck park is at a water buffalo, a trailer of clean water. Stout had made sure I had 5 canteens and D-rings to attach them to the rucksack, so I fill them all, hanging four on the ruck and one in a canteen cover on my pistol belt. I call it my “ready rack,†a hark back to my days in Germany as a tanker. A tank has main gun rounds in storage and some sitting in the floor for the loader and that floor storage is called the “ready rack.†My grunt ready rack also includes two magazine pouches, but I’ve put my cigarettes and lighter into one and a pressure bandage into the other. Without any guidance from my leaders, I’ve decided on my own that these are the things I’ll use most often. It will turn out that I was right.
By now, my rucksack must weigh 100 lbs and, when I go to get up, I discover why the Infantry are called Grunts. Believe me…you WILL grunt under that load!
The next thing I can remember is hurtling up Rt.1 on a convoy of deuce and a half trucks (2 ½ ton). I don’t know where we are, but I do know we’re going north. We pass through some very beautiful scenery, with rice paddies reaching toward the Annamese Mountains on one side and the sea on the other. Vietnam is a lovely country and it seems so terrible that it would be racked by such violence. How in the hell do these people get through the day with all that is going on around them all the time? I don’t know and it’s not my problem anyhow. MY problem is to survive.
Along the way, I’m shocked and saddened to see my fellow soldiers hurling stuff at anyone daring to walk alongside the road. Why are they doing that? Why are they trying to hurt or kill innocent people? I don’t know, but it bothers me. These are the guys I’ll have to live with and trust my life to and they don’t seem to care about much of anything, let alone human life. We even pass a South Vietnamese Army unit (ARVN) set up alongside the highway and they throw things at them too. That’s our allies! What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Eventually, we arrive at LZ Baldy, a Marine camp very near the mountains, but just off the highway. As we head up the dirt road to the camp, a small child waves to us from the doorway of a ramshackle house. Children are the same all over the world. Unimpressed or unaware of the great questions of war and peace, they like soldiers. Anybody’s soldiers. I take his picture, which I still have today, a moment of innocence frozen in time. I wonder where he is now and what he’s gone through?
LZ Baldy is a low-slung dust pile, even now during the rainy season. It’s no more impressive than is Hawk Hill. We are deposited near the landing strip, where several UH-1 helicopters are parked waiting for us and their crews are lounging around not doing much. They seem totally unconcerned and unafraid of what the day may hold for them and I marvel at their coolness, which I will do every time I come in contact with them for the rest of my tour of duty. God knows how many hot LZ’s they’ll see before they go home or how many bent, broken and mangled bodies they’ll carry out of the bush, yet they always appear to be half asleep and bored, the door gunners resting their tired heads on their machineguns and the pilots nodding off in flight. They are magnificent men and the longer I stay here, the more respect and admiration I’ll have for them.
We sit down near the landing strip and wait for something to happen. I still don’t know exactly what’s going on and nobody has yet told me, so I just pick a spot on the hard earth and relax, just as everyone else seems to be doing.
Some guy walks up to me and says I’m supposed to carry this. Carry what? It’s another belt of machinegun ammo and I say, “Ok.†What do I know? He says I should carry it, so I’ll carry it. Another one, then another one, then another one approaches and drops a belt of ammo or a Claymore bag or a few grenades or something. Pretty soon, I have a large pile of stuff and I’m wondering how I’ll be able to tote all that shit, but I’ll find a place to put it if it hairlip’s the Governor! I’m a Grunt and I’ll do may part if it kills me, so help me God!
As I’m trying to find a place to put all the things which have been brought me, SGT Price happens to walk by. I think he’s my squad leader, but I’m not sure.
“What’s all this?†he inquires.
“I don’t know,†I responded. “They said I was supposed to carry it.â€
“Who said?â€
“The other guys.â€
Price rummaged around in the pile for a moment, then stood up straight and barked at the rest of the platoon: “Alright, you guys! Quit trying to fuck the new guy. Come and get your stuff!â€
They did, one by one. Sheepishly, they’d approach and take back what they’d pawned off on me with apologies couched in terms such as, “No hard feelings†or, “You know how it is!†Well…no, I didn’t “know how it is,†but I wasn’t angry about it all. I just figured that meant I had been accepted!
Finally, a lift of choppers departed with about half the company. The rest of us sat beside the airstrip and waited for the birds to return, waited for our turn to face the enemy and death in Antenna Valley. The rest of the platoon was cool, calm and collected, so I tried to appear so too, but I don’t think I managed it very well.
After an hour or so, they did come back, landed and shut off their engines. We weren’t going anywhere any time soon. The “word†which went around was that the clouds had descended so low that air operations weren’t feasible and I think that was correct. The haze, clouds and fog were right on the deck, so we waited. And waited. And waited. In the meantime, half the company was there, in Antenna Valley, and very, very vulnerable. I was greatly concerned about it, but apparently, nobody else was. What the hell? Don’t these guys know what the enemy could do in such a situation? Heck, they could wipe out half the company! I wasn’t yet adapted to the realities of Vietnam and worked myself into an un-necessary tizzy. Later in my tour, of course, I’d be just like them. So what if we all got killed? “It don’t mean nothin’†was the catch-phrase and it meant something to us.
Finally, we were ordered to board and the choppers cranked up their turbine engines. Beginning with a whine, they soon developed a full-throated roar and lifted off, carrying us off to the great unknown, pressing our asses down to the floor and making us feel as if we weighed 500 lbs. What a rush!
Streaking through the sky above the emerald terrain of Vietnam, necklaces of old bomb craters littering the countryside, we were off to the war. I was off to the war, finally! At the time, I was 21 years old and had wanted to go to Vietnam since I finished high school at 17, but things had gotten in the way. Not now! Not now, though! I was at war! There was no turning back, no changing of the mind, no second guessing or way out. The next stop would be the bush, the war, the enemy, the killing, the horror, the reality of what I’d heard about!
What a let down when we arrived! No shooting, no pandemonium, no struggle with deaths embrace, no glorious grappling with the enemy, no martial music playing, nothing of any importance or magnitude except a slow, casual descent to….a clearing in the brush. Nothing else. I was soooo disappointed. What I’d dreamed for, what I’d longed for, what I’d expected was anti-climatic in the extreme.
The birds hovered 6 or 8 feet above a grass-covered field and wouldn’t go any lower. I hesitated and looked left and right for guidance, but my platoonmates just sat there, with their feet hanging out of the door as if they didn’t have a clue what to do next. Neither did I.
I glanced at the door gunner who motioned with his hand; “Out. NOW!â€
What? JUMP? From this height? With this rucksack? You’ve got to be kidding!
No, he wasn’t kidding, so I picked a spot and bailed out, landing with a very heavy thud. The rest of the guys followed suit and we collected our bodies as the choppers flew away, back to their base camp, back to hot showers, hot food and real beds while we sought out the enemy to kill him.
The silence after the helicopters left was striking. I have never felt so alone in my life.
I followed the other guys off into the bushes and sat down when they did. I still didn’t know where we were, what we were doing or what my role in all this was. I was just there.
After a few minutes, someone came around asking where the new guy was. That’s me, I thought, so I answered, “Here I am.â€
“What the hell are you doing here with the wrong platoon?â€
“I don’t know. I just followed everyone else off the LZ.â€
That answer wasn’t sufficient and I eventually found myself back where I was supposed to be.
What followed was nearly a year of war.
If you want some real entertainment, go to the library and find the book “UP FRONT”. It is a compilation of WWII cartoons by Bill Mauldin. My father had the book when I was a kid and I loved it and I took it out of the library and enjoyed the hell out of it about 4 years ago again.
It is all cartoons done during WWII of grunts (then called dogfaces). I guarantee you will enjoy it. The situations don’t quite match what we had, but the attitude and humor does.
One thing I always liked about Mauldin is that he pissed off George Patton, who thought his cartoons were un-American and subversive. He threatened to “throw his ass in jail,” if he didn’t stop doing Willie and Joe, but was over-ruled by Ike who recognized the value of what Mauldin produced.
Mauldin served nearty his whole time in WWII with the 45th Division, Oklahoma National Guard (which saw more combat than any other division except the 3rd Infantry). He won two Pulitzer Prizes and even appeared in the movie “Red Badge of Courage,” alongside his friend Audie Murphy. He died in 2003 at the age of 81 from Alzheimers and complications from a bathtub scalding. He’s buried in Arlington National Cemetery.
You can view some of his WWII cartoons here:
http://billmauldin.com/cartoons/40s-gallery
I want to thank Jim “Infantry†Intravia for his generous donation for web site expenses. Like I have said in the past, it’s great to get financial help with the expenses, but it is even greater that the site is used often. Thank you again 90 Mike, Mike (90MM) Infantry man!
mr harper-i was fortunate to make to Sgt Coons’s retirement party it was a good turnout…had a good thanxgiving with family–Tuesday i find out what the doc’s plan are-it has been a painfull few days– since there is a two-week hospitable stay for the replacement– then a four month -out of comission-rehab time schedule maybe he’ll wait till first of year…
Just finished a movie from Netflex called “Memorial Day made in 2012. Every grunt can relate to it. Highly recommend it.
After returning home from a beautiful Thanksgiving holiday with family, I looked forward to contact with my C co. brothers and got more heartfelt feelings than expected. WOW! We are associated with some incredible people to say the least. I know Ben is a thoughtful caring man, I’ve witnessed that firsthand. Gary, all I can say is Thank You for your insight! LT, just root for the Seahawks!
Oh well! So much for Green Bay! What a horrible show they put on today! It is truly amazing what a class act like Aaron Rodgers can mean to this team! Just like the Chicago Bulls with Derick Rose. I don’t see him ever not having so sort of debilitating injury. Got a belly full of turkey and the fixings.
Gary,
I agree.
I was a FNG my first Thanksgiving. About three weeks. No we had the fix’ins but not sure was I was but scared to death. I will be 68 next month and appreciate waking up every morning and thankful for everyday.
Ben: 151 was a miserable place, but it wasn’t our rear area when in from the Bush. That was just the BTOC and fire support base. Our rear area was in Danang and it was WAAAYYY better than Hawk Hill! We took over an old Marine camp called Camp Purdue, which may have been 1st Marine Division HQ. It was above ground, plywood buildings with no perimeter to guard and within walking distance of the Freedom Hill PX. We actually had bunk beds!
Thanksgiving: I spent my only Thanksgiving in Vietnam on KP at the Combat Center mess hall in Chu Lai. I hadn’t been in country but about a week. We did get a hot A Christmas dinner though which was pretty good and included everything you’d expect from a Christmas dinner. And, a cease fire to go with it! Whoo Hoo!
Looking back over the years, I’m acutely aware of how little any of us deserve the blessing of having lived through that place and how much we have to be thankful for. Today, there are still empty chairs at family gatherings, chairs that used to be filled with our Charlie Company comrades. Though they’ve now been empty for more than 40 years, I’m sure the pain has not subsided. Each and every one of us alive today have only God to thank that one of those empty chairs isn’t ours. It is only by His grace that we’re here with the families our friends never got to have.
We each have much to be thankful for and much is yet expected of us to “pay back” for the lives He let us live. Let’s commit ourselves this Thanksgiving Day to not wasting another precious moment of our lives, to live and love as fully and completely as we can, both in thanks for having been allowed to live and to honor the memories of those who never got the chance.
Interesting to hear the “war stories” from you later guys. I toured that area last year. Bn HQ was on Hill 151 overlooking the valley. Seems like a miserable place after being on Hawk Hill.
Woke up this morning to a news cast of the troops eating Thanksgiving dinner in Afghanistan. Took me back to 1969. Those of you that were there remember we had been mortared earlier, losing some men and supplies and then a monsoon storm set in. We were out of food for several days. Some were talking about the wonderful meal we would get on Thursday. As a FNG, I thought they were joking. Thursday morning Cpt Morris told us there would be no food as the choppers could not fly in the storm. Then later we were told to pack up and head down into the valley to meet the tracks as they were bringing our Thanksgiving dinner. Dinner was beyond my expectations, even milk and ice cream.
We have a lot to be thankful for as we have seen more than most and know how lucky we are. I am getting old along with its problems, but I still feel thankful for a full life and what it has brought me.
Happy Thanksgiving to my Charlie Company Family.
Ben, I remember that Thanksgiving in 69. The fog was so thick, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.Tooch
Green Bay can score all the touchdowns they like…until they come down here in a couple of weeks to play the Cowgirls.
LT
I concure….
Chuck,
I was thinking more in terms of touch downs which by the way I hope Green Bay scores a lot of.
I’m sure you all have recovered from my last post wishing you all a happy VD. Let me extend a Happy TD to all of you this time.
LT….. as a side, that does not stand for Thailand Disease.
Happy Thanksgiving to all. I’m sure we’ve all spent Thanksgivings somewhere other than home, so treasure the ones held with your family.
A Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. If traveling may it safe.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL MY BROTHERS! I WISH ALL GOOD FAMILY GATHERINGS AND A BOUNTIFUL FEAST! HOPE TO SEE MANY OF YOU NEXT SUMMER IF NOT BEFORE!
KEN AND TAI
We got moved down out of the high country to near the lake where we had seen the crocs. We set up close to the spillway which was blocked by sawed timbers which were stacked in a groove in the concrete. We found we could lift one of the timbers and make a pretty good shower which we used and then left it with the missing timber. Later that day about 4 old men, one with a white flag on a pole came to see what was causing their dam to leak. They fixed it and left. It was their source for irrigation water to farm with and they wanted to conserve what they could. Took some courage for them to come up that stream where they had to know GI’s were and make repairs. Its like my home area in southeast Colorado where it’s semi-arid and water is a precious commodity. The old timers used to say ” Whiskey’s for drinking and water’s for fighting”. They also said more men had been killed over water disputes than in fights over women.
You mean those little lakes were manmade? I always thought they were natural.
Cap, you win!
Somebody’s gotta do it, Terry.
But, bet I’ve got you beat. I did KP on THREE continents! LOL
Won’t be around for a few days so want to wish all a good Thanksgiving, and check on Short Round. Hear he’s a good man on Pots & Pans. Experience counts for something, right Greg? 44 years ago he and I did KP in Chu Lai. Army must have been hard up to use us two for such important work, eh?
I remember seeing a cobra in a bunker. Fortunately, as I was going in he was going out. I’m not sure who abandoned the bunker faster, me or the snake.
I hope that everyone has a Happy Thanksgiving. We all have a great deal to be thankful for.
I thought I remembered red and green tracers from that fight in Antenna Valley. The red ones must have been Shamrock’s. Why would they position your MG where it had no field of fire?
I have no idea. I offered to move the gun to a better place during the fight, but was told to stay right there. So…being a “good” soldier, I did. Given that tracers were going through my tent at one point, staying down in my hole wasn’t a tough decision. LOL
Yes, there were green ones and they were inbound. That was a .51 cal.
Lawrence Fry, let me know how the total replacement works. I may need one. 3rd plt was coming down out of the mountains into Antenna Valley and NDP’ed on a knoll part way down. We watched the firefight Gary mentioned. It was fascinating but also weird knowing this was a real battle and we were nothing more than spectators. Willie Carroo in Gary’s platoon had an M203 and was aiming the grenade launcher like a rifle. You would get a thump blam kind of affect when the grenades were going through grass. Probably worked pretty good on the in-close NVA.
I never fired a shot that night, even though Ching and I were the machine gun crew. We’d been positioned right in front of a bank of impenetrable vegetation so thick that I had to cut a path about 20 ft long through it to even see what was on the other side. But, Shamrock used his pig to pretty good effect. LOL
The only casualty we had that night was when Dunning accidentally fragged himself.
Lawrence, glad it you are doing well.
My animal stories. When I got to my first bunker with my squad on LZ Ross I was advised not to sleep in the bunker because of rats and RPG’s hitting if attacked. Well I slept on the ground and during the night I work up and saw a rat the size of a small dog about 25′ away. Being new in country I knew if Charlie did’t get me the rats would.
When I got back from R&R the company was up in the mountains. The talk was there was a tiger seen. Never saw it & found no one who had. Like body count it was inflated.
Bill Connell, keep your junk in hand and safe. Your bad LT.
Hello Valdez., glad it wasn’t me with that snake.
The company was moving at night along a trail with a ridge line on our left about 20 feet high. I looked up and saw 2 yellow eyes staring down at us. To this day, I believe it was a large cat. On Hawk Hill, I tried sleeping in a bunker one night; but was chased out by the rats. I had also left my ruck in the bunker. When I moved it, there was a six foot viper under it; which I dispatched with a machete. I have a picture of me holding it [scared the crap out of me].
Heck of a choice, huh? Stay outside and get shot by the dinks, or go down into the bunker and engage in hand to hand combat with the rats all night. 🙂
I felt a LOT safer up on top.
While with the 82nd in the Iron triangle several of us heard what we believed to be screams and snarls of big cats. A couple of days later we passed through the same area and came across two skulls and bones scattered allaround. Turns out a sister co had killed two dinks in that area. At Hawk Hill we were loding up mail bags and supplies when a pencil thin bamboo viper crawled out from under the bags. Talk about panic city, some guy had a machete, took care of the critter. Scared the Hell out me, for sure