The coldness of the early morning, after a night of hard drenching rain, left me shivering and my teeth chattering; an unbearable feeling that is part of being a Marine Grunt who lives outside with nothing to protect him but his poncho liner. When you live in a place that has tempters that reach a 120 degrees during the day and drops to the low 60’s during the night, a place that monsoon rains soak you and everything you own through and through for days on end, it is unbearable; but somehow, you get use to it.   

It was early AM, chickens were moving about and cackling; the sunrise was ebbing upon a darkness that was plagued with mosquitoes and all sorts of unidentifiable insects that ate away at any exposed part of the human body.   Being bait for the night bugs is a nighttime ritual for the bush Marine: one that we are all familiar with but unable to get use to or do anything about.  Bug spray keeps the bugs away but alerts Charley that you are near.  So, no bug-spray.  The mosquitoes were still active as the sun's rays hadn't yet appeared on the horizon.  Each new sunrise drives away the mosquito but ushers in a new generation of bugs and flies whose job is to make your day miserable. Flies love to lay their eggs on any opened or exposed cuts, scrapes or sores that cover nearly everyone's arms and faces. 

This morning, already a few hours old for me was just another day and night in the Bush; as the sun began to creep over the horizon, it was time for me to wake the other members of my team.  The men who had entrusted their lives to my alertness so that they could rest their exhausted bodies and prepare themselves for yet another day of patrols or unexpected operations somewhere far from our Primary Area of Operations (AO).  
  
It had been another typical ambush patrol. We worked our way out to the ambush site after dark hoping that we didn't get ambushed in the process.  Once we got to the site, we carefully probed the area for booby traps and got each member of the team positioned so that they were well concealed and had clear fields of fire into the killing zone.  Then we sat and waited.  We sat and we waited for some unlucky soul to wander into our killing zone.  When you are on an ambush waiting for the trap to get sprung or for the sun to come up, you see things.  You see all sorts of things.  Some of the things you see are real; some are not.  As you sit, you become almost paralyzed in fear of every sound and shadow you see, or imagine that you see, just knowing it's Charley or even worse an NVA soldier crawling toward your perimeter trying to get close enough to lob a grenade into your position.  You want to shoot at every sound and at every movement.  You don't want to be the one that let Charley get to your position.  But you don't want to be laughed at for shooting a bush either.  So you sit and you wait and you watch and you pray.  You pray that you don't screw up.  You pray that you see them before they see you.  And you pray that you just make it through one more miserable night in Vietnam.  

As the first light started to break, I could smell the typical odor of incense and cooking fires from a near by village.  The Vietnamese farmer is a hard worker.  They get up before dawn, work like dogs in the unbearable heat all day never showing signs of fatigue.  They give you a big smile or a greeting that will put you at ease so you don't interrupt their day by searching their belongings; or break their hypnotic pace of routine work planting their rice paddies or tending to their gardens to check their ID's.  But no matter how nice they seem, you always wonder if they know about an ambush that is about to be sprung on you.  

It had been raining so hard that previous night that when we set in, we couldn't see 10 feet in front of us.  As the light came up, I found myself staring at hooch that was only a few yards in front of me. It was somewhat of a surprise, because I'd been staring at the thing for my whole watch, not being able to figure out what it was.  We had set up just inside a tree line in front of the hooch; luckily, not in direct sight of the hooch, because, just as I was about to start getting the rest of the team up, out of the front door of the hooch, as if he owned the country, walks an NVA soldier, stretching his arms skyward and yawning as if he'd had the best nights sleep of his life. With no weapon in hand, he strolled to a point only a few meters from me to relieve himself in the jungle, all the while coughing, and yawning and acting like he was just outside Uncle Ho's hooch up in North Vietnam.   I was caught by surprise but I immediately shook the individual next to me (Bowman). Fred had seen him and already had his sights on him and was following his every move.  I was afraid Fred was going to drop him before we knew how many of his friends were with him.  

I made the gesture of being quiet to Bowman as he opened his eyes.  He was surprised that I woke him but quick to pick up on the danger when I pointed to the NVA who had now finished his morning constitutional and was zipping up his pants, grunting and stretching the whole time.  Much to our good fortune, he was completely unaware of our presence as he headed back to the hooch.  

Bowman woke Solomon (our squad leader) and we all took aim at the hooch, waiting for Solomon's order to open fire. Time stood still, sounds magnified, hearts beat loudly, our breathing sounded like windstorms.   It seemed like an hour passed as I tried to muffle my own breathing and quite my own heart beat.  I sure as hell did not want to be the one to expose our seven-man squad.  

After an eternity, another soldier appeared carrying an AK47 slung over his shoulder, and than another, and another all greeting the new morning as if they were in the safety of their own homes, most likely up North somewhere.  I was zeroed in on a smaller one, giving no thought to whether he was a human, a family man or to any moral issues, I was just poised and ready to drop him when Solomon made the first move. Finally there were seven or eight of them huddled in front of the hooch, gibbering away in Vietnamese, when a burst of fire rang out.  I instinctively opened up with rapid fire into my man, the group and into the hooch itself.  What seemed like a long time was over in seconds.  All the NVA soldiers lay motionless in a heap before us.  Jay fired a couple of M79 rounds into the hooch to make sure there would be no surprises coming from there when we moved forward to check out our handy work. 

Solomon signaled to Bowman and Bowman gave Fred and myself the signal to follow him in a sweeping movement around the hooch at a fast pace.  I was still somewhat stunned from the effects of the brief fire fight as we moved quickly and quietly to the rear of the hooch.  It had no rear exit but lay in sight of three or four other hooch's.  We could hear the chickens, pigs and cattle, cackle, oink or moo in unison with the cries of villagers in the near by hooch's.  Damn I thought, if all these hooch's have seven or eight NVA in them, we will be in a world of hurt.   The other four members of the team were checking out the hooch for more NVA. Hell, if there were any NVA within a hundred miles they knew where we were now and if they were anything like us, they'd be swarming all over the area in short order and would be pretty pissed off to boot.  

“Clear in the hooch,” someone yelled out, and Bowman answered spontaneously, “clear in the back, no sign of movement in surrounding area.”  Solomon yelled, “get your butts over here and get your stuff together and ready to move out. Jim's calling in this thing so we have to be ready to move or regroup depending on what the Skipper decides.”  I was hoping for moving out, but nothing ever goes the way I figure it will or want it to. Jim, as casual as if we were back at base camp, says to Solomon, “Someone to talk to you.”  

“Affirmative! Affirmative!  We got them all as far as we can tell. Affirmative, Hotel 1 Alfa out.  We're to establish a covering area; there's a platoon on its way as I speak so lets be sure that they don't mistake us for the NVA, and be ready for any other gooks that feel like avenging their cousins.  Bowman, set your team in behind that area of jungle where you can keep an eye on the bodies.  Jay, you set up over there where your guys can cover Bowman's team and catch any snoopers in a cross fire. Jim, listen for any sign of the incoming platoon and be sure to give me the radio when you contact them.  I don't want any friendlies getting killed because somebody gets excited. No body fires unless I do or I give the word, got that!!” 

Having been in an ambush that really was an ambush left my adrenaline pumping like a "Banshee"; not one casualty for us and we took out everyone of them as smooth as if we had rehearsed it.  Somehow, I felt like I finally achieved manhood.  Hell, this was better than the first time I got laid in high school.  This was my first encounter with the enemy at close range, probably 15 feet or so, and it felt great, the best high I ever experienced and I wanted to do it again.  I think killing is a lot like sex, once you have done it, you want to do it again.  There is a feeling of power that is unmatched.  I don't know if the feeling is as a result of the killing or of surviving the fire fight.  We play war all of our lives wondering what it would be like in a real fire fight.  We wonder how we would do.  Will we stand tall? Will we break and run? Will we throw up on ourselves and cry for moma??  We can never know what we will do until we are in a real, honest to God, fire fight.  The high that comes after performing well in a fire fight is unbelievable!!  It lasts and lasts and the adrenaline just keeps pumping out like the first time every time.  Killing is POWER personified to the maximum. You got their soul and you did it. You just didn't see it on TV or the movies or news.  You didn't just play like you did it.  You Did It!  You were there, as Walter Cronkite use to say.  

I think that the experience of making direct contact with the enemy, and of blowing his butt away, was magnified because of the all of the times I had watched my friends become maimed or killed yet never see the enemy or only see occasional muzzle flashes; pay back, as they say, is a bitch and it feels so good to be on the pay back side!  Charley was an elusive little bugger who would strike and run. Unlike the NVA whose tactics were to hit you head on when they out numbered you; and even though victory might be evident for their side, rarely did they win in a battle with Marines.  We always gave more than we got; we were trained professionals who didn't run but held our ground until we were able to gain ground.  It was the last thing they expected but they learned rather quickly never to count us out.  The lesson cost them a lot of casualties. 

The NVA were not pushovers by any means, they ambushed Bravo 1/9 leaving Khe Sanh and when the Marines recovered the dead bodies they found that the bodies were mutilated, that their testicles had been cut off and stuffed in their mouths.  So, I think that you might understand how easy it would be to get the feeling of elation over killing a few of these individuals.  And if you don't, live with it! 

 Many a night we'd sit in ambush after ambush with no sleep, bitten by hundreds of mosquitoes and suffering from sore joints and limbs from squatting in a small two man hole for hours.  A hole that, for the most part, was usually filled to the brim with water if it had been raining.   When the opportunity to inflict damage on the enemy was at hand, than it was a time to celebrate for all the miserable nights and days you chased the NVA and VC, only for them to disappear into thin air. Tunnel complexes were everywhere and it was their main avenue of escape if they weren't close enough to slip over the boarder into Laos or the DMZ where they could literally thumb their noses at us as we were prohibited from following them in to their sanctuaries.  God forbid that we not play by the rules set up by people thousands of miles from the war.  We were like the British in the Revolutionary War having to march in straight lines out in the open waiting to be ambushed or shelled before we could respond. We fought with our hands tied by American politics dictated to us by individuals who didn't have a clue what we were fighting or the magnitude of the fight we were in.  

Draft dodging cowards, burning their draft cards on television in defiance of a country that had given them so much, were the ones dictating what type of moral character our country was to display.  We didn't want to die any more than they did, but we had a sense of responsibility to serve our country because we were asked to.  We believed that if your country calls, you answer the call.  Hell, I was already in Vietnam when protesting hit the scene. Prior to that, no one had any opinion about Vietnam or even knew where it was. TV solved that problem and caused the North to launch the Tet Offensive, which, contrary to popular opinion, was a major defeat for the North.  

The Tet Offensive was launched by more than 75,000 communist troops, 40,000 concentrating on Khe Sanh while another 7,500 hit what was once the Capitol of Vietnam, Hue City. Others struck cities, hamlets, and villages throughout the South only to suffer casualties far above what they excepted.  Because of the TV coverage of the demonstrations against the war, they knew that if they could inflect massive causalities on the American troops that the American Congress would move to end the War. This and the realization that Americans were more concerned with our losses, regardless of how small, changed the North's strategy to that of a war of attrition.  And ours to one of body counts as a measure to convince our people the war was going in our favor. All that the North had to do was hold out long enough.  It was only a matter of time before we would approach them for peace.  They knew that the ever mounting pressure on our government by those, a generation of fools and foolish who thought getting high and playing at a revolution was more important than some foreigners ability to choose his own destiny.  Neither they nor the Congress thought that it was important for America to keep its word. Thank God the Americans didn't adopt that policy in 1776. 
 

 To be continued, follow what happens to the men of Hotel Company, 1st platoon, Alfa squad as you ain't seen nothing yet!!!