Saving a Life

Leaving at night was never easy and this night was marred even more so by a strike; a soldier’s strike against going out on patrol. We felt that taking five new men on an ambush patrol without ever firing their weapons in country was wrong, dangerous and probably against the rules. The officers held us in formation outside of the hooch as the five men went to the berm to fan fire their M-16’s…never a reliable weapon.

Sandvig read his Jody letter out loud and I was close enough to hear. She was blunt and he was surprised and a little overwhelmed. His friends had heard and now the rest of the platoon. It pissed me off and subsumed my fear into contempt for the woman who would do such a thing to a man when he needed support from home. I didn’t know him well enough to throw my two-cent thoughts into words. I just smoked my last one before I went out into hell. There is something to be said about going on nighttime patrol expecting the worst. I knew how to smoke like a man condemned to death one more time.

The lieutenant took us straight south towards that village we had terrorized on the night before. We skirted east of it into sandy dunes…no footing here and the point made slow progress. Lucky for him the shots were fired over his head from the top of the sand ridge. We were facing the fire and all got the effect of wild rounds from an AK-47 on full automatic. Hitting the deck quickly like we did was the kiss of death for that M-16 as far as I was concerned; soft sand leapt into the openings. No one was hit and the front of the column went to the shooter in line for response.

At the top of the dune a blast occurred that I knew was a dud artillery round, now a booby trap. The sound of shrapnel trajectories was unmistakable. This time everyone got up slowly with the column split in two. The lieutenant called up to the response squad and got this report, “His legs are blown off.” The after silence from an explosion is intense but words come through crystal clear. My first reaction was a continuance of my contempt but now directed at the boot that described what no man wanted to hear. He broke the code of silence for another soldier’s injuries. Everyone knew that you didn’t talk about injuries openly with your comrade because shock could kill quickly. Even with the medivac we always called in to remove the combatants (ours not theirs), a careless statement could lead to death.

He started screaming immediately after that silence. As the platoon started medivac procedures he screamed for his God in a way only a man who wants to live can do. At the prime of his youth his screams penetrated to our souls and hung there after he died. Even that fool didn’t have to tell us he was dead. The lieutenant, now with the code broken, asked who it was. The rookie said that it was Jack. I heard a collective moan escape from the lips of my platoon and I realized that was my dirge. After a few more seconds of silence I yelled out in a loud calm voice,” No, it isn’t!” Everyone was shaken back into the routine of the rescue operation. For there were wounded too. My buddy R. Thompson was wounded in the arm. He told me afterwards that he rode the chopper thinking it was me in the body bag.

Now the group I was with was scared to join up with the rest of the platoon. They didn’t have a point man and wouldn’t move. The lieutenant failed with two commands so I walked past the rest of them to the front and walked point. I did this silently and they followed. The somber attitude was framed in the flare light that lit up the night all around us. We walked out of that light and I was suddenly scared. At the end of the column I felt exposed to the wrath of the village we left behind. I lit up a joint not caring about the lighter flame…what the hell…I was casting a shadow and moving…who cares? I knew that I needed the edge cut after three brushes with death in a row. We moved without flanks into dense brush and hedgerows.

Twisting and turning back on ourselves we ended up by and by at the same general location. We set up an ambush in a line of bushes, three man positions since so few had time in, and set up watch. I lay back after skating first watch and tipped my helmet to my nose and held my rifle to my chest. No poncho to hold me, but I could still sleep motionless if you can call it sleep. I was in my reverie when a boot shook me. I sat up to see a line of men fast walking towards us at an angle. Just as their point man got to our line on the left we opened fire. I shot one round with my M-16 and it wouldn’t chamber the next round. I t-boned it to get off another round in the general direction. Laying down firepower like this made my contempt turn towards that rifle and my fear disappear. One AK-47 started shooting behind us with a direct fire single shot accuracy that alarmed me. It was off to my right rear and I knew Knapper was there. I shouted back,”Knapper! Shut him up!” Knapper stood up to see the muzzle flashes and fired an aimed return that silenced that crossfire.

No Marine was hit in the exchange and I saw two NVA dragging a third by his arms at a dead run across soft sand. Everyone was real tense now and we waited out the night with no dreams. Just before dawn we moved out to return to the Battalion area. The jungle was coming alive with the sounds of day and the dew made us wet not our sweat. We were headed for the barn and not expecting any more trouble. This path was safe. The small village to our left lived peacefully with our fortification just ahead.

I was just behind Erhman when he turned on his hip and fired one shot. It shocked the jungle back into silence and we all looked to the left. There was a small white patch on the ground about 125 feet away and it twitched. Erhman didn’t put any more rounds into it and he went over for a look. I went with him, the safety off my weapon and my hands ready to train on a target. She was a young woman who was starting her day outside of her grass hut in a clearing. Her movement to squat drew Erhman’s gaze and his instinctive response. Head shot and I swear he aimed from the hip. He took her papers out of her shirt pocket. “We can turn these in and claim VC.”, he said to me. I wasn’t worried. I was still filled with contempt and looking forward to doing something about it. I just wanted to get in and moved the curious away from the scene with my short timers authority.

Breakfast was over by the time we cleared weapons and made it back to our hooch. No one felt like eating anyway and after the trip to the ammo bunker, we lied down to wait for a hot meal at lunch. Not me, however, I went right over to the Armorer’s hooch without consulting an officer. When the pogue came to the door I threw my M-16 at him and told him I wanted a new one. After listening to my short description of last night, he exchanged my weapon for a new one with scarcely a word. I had a new chrome bore and a new lease on life. I had witnessed my own death out there and came back alive. I was so thankful that my contempt was replaced with this thought, “The dead are soon forgotten by most…but the few grieve enough for many.” I wrote it down and then wrote my friend Ron a letter about Erhman’s kill.

His reply to me was in a letter that showed my lack of understanding. Still in college then, he expressed his outrage over the crime that Erhman had committed. He wanted to publish it in the school paper as an anti-war argument. I didn’t reply. I wrote a letter about another Erhman experience that could be construed as a crime anywhere but in a war. I never sent it but it helped me cast away the sense of guilt for my actions. I changed Erhman’s mind over reporting the lieutenant for giving him bum scoop on his patrol. A free fire zone is fair game and you had better not be caught in it. We feared other Marine patrols and that made sand bagging a little dangerous. Not enough to stop us.

My squad managed to sand bag quite a few patrols after that by sitting down just outside of the wire until it was time to come in. We didn’t venture into the jungle nor go looking for a fight. The collaboration of a few men in shirking their duty was scary but we got away with it. From that point on I was a sheep in wolf’s clothing. I only wanted to survive and get home. I was a lucky charm that even the lieutenants consulted before going into a new area. I would be called to the front and sand bag up there until we would give up and go back.