Sandbagging

We hitched up outside the hooch and waited for the brass. The lieutenant arrived and sounded off, “Order out”. Bravo squad was going on a night ambush. No night duty for the ‘Tenant’ and our squad leader had already instructed us of the pattern we would follow in the jungle that night. We marched pretty close together getting used to the lunar lumes for spacing once we were outside the wire. At night we had to bunch up when it was dark. Tonight was about 40% and I could see fine. We made our way from the grunt area on the north side to the south wire entrance to the Battalion area. We marched out the front gate, too, but the back hatch was used most often.

As we approached the sand berm that surrounded the Battalion for protection from small arms fire, we passed along side the movie theater set up for the pogues. On folding chairs and sandbags they watched a portable screen with a current Hollywood movie generally shown. Tonight it was John Wayne’s “Green Berets” and I was disgusted looking at these men settled in for the night’s entertainment while I was on my way into possible combat and almost certain peril. Normally we chambered a round just at the berm where you would exit the wire. It was a pace away but I chambered mine right there at the theater. The tinny sound system didn’t extinguish the unmistakable sound of an M-16 mechanical sound. The pogues all jerked their heads in my direction like a response or something. Their autonomic nervous systems and training got the better of the newbies and their heads whipped around.. I could tell the short timers by their insouciance. Nothing was said, the break from the rule that rounds are chambered only at the gates was overlooked. I was a grunt and you didn’t fuck with grunts about rules. Our isolation from the rest of the men included that. We could fuck up as long as we fucked up somebody else outside the wire. We were lethal.

None of us were killers that night and the squad leader pulled up just outside the wire and came over to me. He asked me where we could sit for the night and be safe. I indicated a position to the left over by a thicket but close to the wire as a good spot. We walked over to it and all sat down with our backs to the sand berm guarding Battalion. Sandbagging a patrol was risky business. There was a chance that you would run into a Marine patrol and that was deadly. Booby traps, always a danger, made our movements very slow and deliberate. A linear ambush with three man positions and four hours of uninterrupted sleep was a bennie. We were supposed to be walking a route, fixed by the brass, calling in at checkpoints and reporting as ordered. The risk of getting caught by the officers didn’t scare us as much as walking through the jungle at night. A nighttime medivac was always a clusterfuck and parts were left missing, men unaccounted for until dawn. No, we all prayed that we could pass the night safely and make it look good walking in at dawn. The only way this worked is if we were all in agreement. Fortunately the fuck heads had a way of getting themselves blown up. A boot had to edge his way into this circle of shitbirds. But acceptance into the squad was always dicey no matter what.

Some squads had a thing that gave them identity. Bravo squad was for grunts who like to party. Blow smoke, you know? I first encountered the world of partying through my squad leader, Lupey. One day I heard laughter coming from a lean to set up on a house foundation. I had to check it out because laughter was such a rare commodity. Lupey, Garrity, Amos and Cropp were laughing but quit abruptly when I poked my head in their hooch. I asked them if I could join them and they said I had to keep a secret. I said sure and the joint came out again. Passed around from man to man the well wrapped smoke made it’s way without a wet lip or “Bogey” around a circle. By the time it was a roach I was laughing too and we spent the afternoon talking trash. Lupey gave me blessing by calling me a “college boy” and revealing my slow walk at point. He had to keep after me all the time to “Hurry up!” and I would always slow down again looking for trouble. That was funny to Amos and Cropp , they were a team of sorts although Amos carried an M-79 grenade launcher and Cropp was a machine gunner. They had both seen action and appreciated my apprehension as a boot. They still respected me for walking point, however, and I realized that going into attachments would get me off point. A specially like theirs and a small huss from the front.

Corporal Bird was the section leader for rockets. He attached the rocket squad to the platoon. He was a juicehead and I drank beer with him at a firebase up north. There was no work involved with being an attachment squad leader, hell, I was the rocket squad leader after awhile, I oughta know. But he did influence what squad you worked with and if you got to change your MOS. I was an 0311, a rifleman, a grunt and I had to ask for a change. First I had to have the OK of the attachment squad leader. Sgt. Bird and I got along and he agreed to keep me in Bravo squad so I started humping LAWWs to get out of walking point. Just in time as far as I was concerned.

Corporal Bird was also the savior for Pamesan one day on June 9^th at Khe Sahn. He peered over the edge of a bomb crater and was greeted by the site of Pamesan pointing an M-79 at him. He had been caught behind enemy lines for most of the firefight, huddled in the bomb crater with only a few rounds. His companion had been shot in the ass and was holding his only weapons precariously. He had hand grenades with pins pulled in each of his hands for hours now and was faint from loss of blood. Larry was more frightened by the prospect of the boot milking the grenades than the gooks outside. He said that they set up a mortar tube outside of the bomb crater. He could hear them talking and hear the bloop of the tube. They never looked in the crater and that saved his life, he told me. He was the only other Marine during my tour of duty that did NOT have a purple heart that I was aware of besides me. Lucky, lucky, lucky…I thought that they both had a lot of integrity and I entrusted Pamasen with my broken chronometer and camera when he left for stateside. Corporal Bird wouldn’t steer me wrong and he said I’d skate in rockets.

Well, humping two LAAWs along with your gear was sloppy at best. They were almost a yard long and hung from straps that you slung over your shoulder. They got in the way when you had to bring your M-16 up and fire. Crossing the straps over your neck was a bad idea since shedding them when the shit hit the fan was always a good idea. When you hit the deck they had better come loose cause you might have to move fast. Just slinging them over your right shoulder made them bump together and require constant adjustment. Pain in the ass; but still better than walking point. I only fired one once in my whole tour of duty and to me they were a waste. I always resorted to my M-16 to return fire even though it was unreliable…it was still quicker. I returned the LAAWs to the ammo bunker when we would return to Battalion and when I went to get them for patrol, I always checked them out…the safety’s and the expiration date for the battery. There wasn’t a problem with cleanliness because the sand didn’t stick just jammed.