SOMEWHERE IN THE DMZ . . .

In the Demilitarized Zone (hereafter D.M.Z.; the buffer zone between North and South Vietnam) in South Vietnam in the fall of 1968, Echo Company participated in a battalion-sized operation. Echo’s task was to attack a numbered hill on a map. I have trouble remembering anything about the “hump” to and up that hill. The D.M.Z. was primarily composed of steep hills and thick jungle. The North Vietnamese Army (hereafter N.V.A.) had carved wood or stone steps into the hills and mountains to transport military material from North to South Vietnam.

Since I was in mortars, my position in the second platoon was usually somewhere in the middle. By the time our mortar squad began moving up this particular hill, the Company Commander (C.O.), Executive Officer (X.O.) Company Gunnery Sergeant (Gunny) and much of the first platoon were already well up the hill searching for the enemy.

In the ascent toward the enemy, fifty to sixty-foot-tall trees grew. Spaced ten to fifteen feet apart, they resembled branchless telephone poles. Above thirty feet above us, their large, leafy green branches spread out, hiding friend and foe alike beneath from U.S. aerial observers. From those branches hung hundreds of long, thorny vines. As we moved up the hill, these sharp, thorned creepers entangled themselves with our gear, faces, bare skin, jungle utilities, helmets, and anything else to which they might affix themselves.

In a matter of minutes, these vines entangled everyone in our mortar squad to one degree or another, ripping and tearing us, not from shrapnel or rifle rounds but from the thorny vines. There was no way to escape them, and movement up that hill came to a crawl. N.V.A. mortar rounds started dropping like raindrops, killing or wounding many of the men ahead of our squad.

As the rounds crept closer, most of us threw our bodies flat on the deck. As I recall, the muddy jungle floor allowed had seen very little sunlight. Little daylight filtered through the tree branches and down onto the ground. So, there I lie with my squad, face down in the mud, contemplating what it must feel like to be blown up by a mortar round or two. The screams of wounded Marines and their immediate cries of “Corpsman Up!” echoed up and down that hill, intermixed with the sounds of exploding mortar rounds, machine gun bullets, rifle rounds, men barking orders, and radio chatter. It was madness, unorchestrated madness.

I remember that event as the most scared I’d been in Vietnam and my life to that point. I’m sure other hills were just as terrible as this one, but this event stands out. I had no idea how long I lie there before I heard one of the enemy rounds explode way too close behind me. It didn’t detonate harmlessly but contacted one of the new Navy Corpsmen replacements’ in his chest, destroying his chest cavity. The air in his lungs burst through his mouth, making an indescribably horrible sound. How? He had no lungs or chest.

Every enemy round wreaked havoc in the company. The Corpsman’s death so near behind me forced reality into sharp relief: they had the same range to kill me. My time would soon follow. Movement ahead or backward ceased. Just where were we supposed to go? I didn't know it right then but the Skipper, XO, and company Gunny had all been hit, two of whom were dead. The jungle swallowed up our mortar squad and lacerated it, entangling it to its destruction. This deadly context is how I was about to die. I had survived 77 days at Khe Sanh, made every patrol, stood all my watches, and killed the enemy.. But I was a dead man now, trapped like a rat.

Lying there in the mud waiting to die, I had my first serious conversation with God. I had always believed God existed, and right now appeared to be a perfect time for a tet-a-tet. I didn’t know if He would listen to me, but this might be my lucky day. I put all of my sinful behavior on the trading block in that jungle. I prayed, “God, if you get me out of this, I promise not to get drunk anymore, not to swear anymore, not to do terrible things anymore, etc.” I was as earnest as I had ever been.

I don’t know how long I lie there, maybe a few minutes. Somebody above the rank of Private yelled for us to start backing up. We needed to get the wounded out, a marvelous idea. Somehow I was still breathing, so I attempted to free myself from the vines. We all did.

The mortar squad leader and the A-gunner ahead of me pulled against the vines, making a beeline in my direction. I had no choice but to move too! But the more I moved, the more they cut me and the bloodier I became. The vines inevitably gave way against my body's weight and strength, and I moved with the herd even though the enemy rounds kept decimating our ranks. Somebody should have known what lay in store for us. How about a little arty prep first next time?

Moving out of the killing zone, I saw the remains of the Navy Corpsman. His upper body resembled a glob of ground chuck in the grocery store’s meat department. His various internal organs spread about him, discarded, ripped to shreds. Finally, the enemy mortar rounds stopped exploding. Within the span of about ten or so minutes, those N.V.A. gunners chewed up Echo Co. They had reduced us to a leaderless company of Marines. For the next hour, we retrieved the dead and wounded for evacuation. We needed replacements quickly if we were to take that hill.

That night, we slept on the top of a mountain in the rain—the U.S.S. New Jersey fired her guns over our heads—my goodness, what havoc those rounds created. I hoped the battleship's salvo's landed on the NVA gunners that caused so much death and destruction to our company. Two thousand pounds of explosives and steel sound like a freight train passing overhead. We would probably have to do this again tomorrow morning.