3:36 p.m. - 2002-01-21
War stories
Well, my idea is for this to be an online journal; sort of a public diary. And it will be, eventually. First though, I need to do some things just for me. You�re welcome to read or leave. Come back later if you like.

3/3/2000

It was my job to be scared. Barely eighteen, I had almost no idea of what was going on. I didn�t know where we were or why. All I had to hold on to was my training, my leaders and my friend, Craig. At twenty, he was practically middle aged�. But every bit as scared as I was. I don�t know how to explain how close two men can get in some circumstances. All I can say is that we knew each other. We had trained together in Kentucky before coming to the blistering jungle of Vietnam. We had been in our first firefight together. Seen our first killed soldiers together, and we had agreed together very matter-of-factly that we would not survive a year here.

In the first week of February 1968, our company was in Quang Tri province, not far from Hue, when the famous Tet offensive broke out across the country. We were members of the 101st Airborne Division. I guess you could think of them as the Marines of the Army. We were, in fact working jointly with the Marines in that area. I don�t know for sure what we were trying to accomplish on the fourth of February. All I know is that nightfall found us in a clearing, setting out claymore mines and organizing a night perimeter. It would be another night of sleeping on the ground in the rains that were just shaping up into the monsoon season.

Sleeping isn�t the right word for how we spent these nights though. Sleeping is something you do when you feel warm and safe. Something you do when you can let go of your mind for a few hours and let your body rebuild.

What we were getting ready to do was spend two hours shivering in the mud, wrapped in a thin poncho to try to cut the chill night breeze while we relied on our buddies to keep a sharp eye on the surrounding shadows. After two hours, we would change places and spend two hours trying to keep exhausted eyes open so our buddies could take their places on the ground. I was always tired in Vietnam. It�s the single thing I remember most.

But no one would get any sleep on this night. It was already nearly dark as we dug holes to try to improve our position. The unlucky ones had already been chosen to go out into the trees in front of our hasty perimeter. There they would lie motionless all night, waiting and listening to the jungle noises with their claymore detonators in their hands, ready to blow those anti personnel mines and run back to the perimeter at the first signs of trouble. I can�t think of anything more dangerous than running right up the barrels of the guns of a bunch of exhausted and jumpy soldiers. It was a terrible job.

By eight o�clock, we had been supplied with C-rations and extra ammunition by helicopter. Our area was still alive with the clinks of shovels and scraping of empty C-Ration cans. Some of the guys were finished, and the sweet smoke from cigarettes was hanging in the air. Squad leaders were moving around in the darkness, checking on their men and their preparations. We were looking forward to the quiet. Then the first mortar rounds landed in our midst.

Suddenly, our little hole was in no way deep enough or wide enough for both Craig and I. In the panic of the first moment, we rolled in and tried to weasel under each other. The air was filled with shouting. Someone was hurt. The cries of �medic� rising above the shouted orders from the sergeants. It was all punctuated by the sharp thump and deadly blue flash of mortar shells pacing back and forth across our area. Then we heard the claymores fire and heard the LPs screaming as they ran, facing fear from all directions. They were screaming "Hold Your Fire!! Hold Your Fire!!" until they reached our perimeter. Then the hot popping corn sound of small arms fire broke out and seemed to spread like a cancer until it engulfed us. We were being attacked.

(to be continued)

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