Camped on the shore of Birch Lake with the Gunflint Trail less than a crow's mile away to the south. Heard my first traffic in close to three days. In most places a car and two pickup trucks doesn't constitute traffic but up here it's bumper-to-bumper. Tomorrow's my resupply. As each day passes, the sun sets a little earlier, rises later. Dark and in the bag before eight. I'd packed Catch 22 with intentions of finishing it on the outbound. Too heavy to hoist at night so I unsheathed another envelop instead. Even then the strain does me in quickly. Light in one hand, letter in the other, head held up by my neck muscles. Not comfortable in the least. One letter and some thought was all I could handle,
Dear Uncle Emil,
I'm carrying a PRC25 radio these days. The day before it was given me, I was offered the M-79 grenade launcher but wasn't very good with it. Honestly I haven't been any more than average with any of the weapons I've fired. Why should the M-79 have been any different? All us American boys think they can shot the eyes out of a turkey at a half mile. I've learned differently. My moment with the M-79 wasn't all that bad. The broad side of a barn would have gone down in flames. But not the small bush I missed twice. So I ended up as RTO. My mouth seems to work better than my trigger finger. The radio's a load but I like it. Makes me feel like quite the man carrying the heaviest rucksack in the squad. Also makes me feel like the wettest when I break one of the skinny-assed bridges the Vietnamese build. Done it twice and now have to be the last one to cross. More often I simply wade across the moat or river. Keeps both the radio and my cigarettes dry.
The radio has many benefits. I get first choice of watch at night. First or last shift depending on my mood. Six and a half uninterrupted hours of sleep is a pleasure. However, being among the first to be shot at in an ambush is a drawback. Also got a new name. At the moment I'm Bravo one-two oscar, my call sign. First platoon, second squad operator.
Even though it's twenty-five pounds with the battery, the radio's not all that big in dimension but have learned it's big enough to hide behind. We stumbled our way into an ambush the other day. Our squad was walking point as usual and five of us were pinned down in a dry rice paddy. Like laying in a parking lot and being shot at from several directions. Right off our point man, Shorty, was shot through the head. Coleman, our M-79 man (the job I'd been offered) to my right, was shot and unconscious. Somehow I wiggled the frame pack off my back and used the radio as cover. Could be what saved my life. For a minute or two I exchanged fire with two VC. One low to my right probably in a dike spider hole and the other higher and farther right. Couldn't see either but they could see me. Best they could do was nick my boot, snap eight or ten rounds past my head and crease my right shoulder. Finally our new Platoon Leader, first day in the field, knelt up behind a protecting dike, just like he was shown in training, to shoot an azimuth and call in artillery. He was dead before he hit the ground. After a few exchanges with the VC I realized they only shot at me when I shot at them so I stopped. They did also. Wanted to shout out a thank you but figured it in bad military taste.
Long story short, after maybe ten minutes the rest of the platoon decided to finally lend a hand. Gave the three of us out in the bare paddy and still breathing some cover fire so we hightailed it out of there. Was nearly head shot by Thim, our Tiger Scout, on my run to safety. A few minutes later Bravo Six, the CO, sat down with me. Asked to see my wound. To that point I hadn't seen it myself. Turned out it wasn't much. No more than a skin and hint of flesh removal but enough for him to offer me a Purple Heart. Sounded neat and I almost said yes. Then thought of Shorty, Coleman and Lieutenant Olsen so I turned it down. Bravo Six said he was going to put himself in for one since he'd puckered so much in the ambush his butt-hole bled. Good man.
A few minutes later Woolwine, another man in our squad went back to get Shorty. Guess I was so happy to be out of the line of fire I'd forgotten about him. How is that possible? Guess I don't have an answer for that. After twenty seconds of guilt I finally got up off my ass and gave Woolwine a hand.
All the while I laid there exchanging fire the thought of being wounded or killed never entered my head (might have if the thought and bullet had shared the same place). It wasn't as though I was calm but wasn't all that upset. Excited maybe. But boy did I sweat. Seemed like one part of me was ready to soil my jungle pants while the other part was playing the game. Head up. Bang, bang, bang. Hide. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Wait for it. Head up. Bang, bang, bang. Hide. And so on. Never played that game before and maybe didn't realize the three of us were playing for keeps.
Being pinned down like that gave me a new perspective on the war. Made it feel way more personal. Heck, a man could die over here. But I don't dwell on that thought, can't dwell on it. All I can do is take it one step at a time and not do anything stupid.
Alive and kicking,
Archie
Sounded all too familiar. Like we hadn't learned a thing since WWII. Same fire fights, same dead. I figure the point of a World War is to not have to fight another. Get it done once and for all. So what went wrong? Way too many loose ends I guess. Egos, greed and religion. Doubt if Vietnam is the end of it either. There'll be more wars. Always more wars. Doesn't seem to matter which countries are involved. Nations seem pretty impersonal when it comes to war. Not so the people who make up the never ending stock of grunts and dog soldiers and the never ending horns they're strung between. Yeah, they take it pretty personally. The battle between priorities. So hard to decide what's the right thing to do. I had duty to country drilled into me from the time I could understand speech. Hard to go against that when push comes to shove.
So when the time came I chose country over family. Thirty-six years old and still thinking like an eighteen year kid. Never seriously realized what it'd do to Lena and all the pain and worry she'd go through over the next two years. Yeah, she went through her own hell not knowing from one day to the next if I was alive. But when I signed up I was thinking more of what a wonderful man and citizen I was to do something as heroic and brave as to take part in a war I could have sat out. A hero or a fool? Still haven't figured the answer to that question. Guess I'm still caught in the same trap as I was back in '43. Had I to do it over again I honestly don't know what I'd do.
Switched off the flashlight and laid in the dark with intentions of solving all the problems of my personal little world. Maybe finally figure out what are the important things in this man's life. Then I conked out faster than the flashlight beam faded. Fatigue conquered philosophy once again.
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