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Chap 13 The Interlude 010325 We stayed at Thrust over a week, after the
Battle of Ap Gu took place. While there, We continued to guard the
engineers, as they improved Rt. 246. The Big Red One was now going
through an interlude between Operations Junction City and the upcoming.
Operation Billings. It is usually in these interludes between major
undertakings of an organization when people are laid off, fired,
transferred, or forced into early retirement. In my case, I did not have
to worry about any of that, but there is something else which tends to
happen during interludes. Sometimes during these interludes, new
endeavors are explored and created requiring staffing changes within
that organization. Not all these new ventures are successful, especially
if it is brand new and needing long term development and not just a
half-hearted effort in the beginning. When they are cancelled or even
halfheartedly pursued, the grunt volunteers involved in these new
endeavors can wind up suffering all types of negative consequences. I
was soon to learn this the hard way.
The Blue Spaders and the Rangers left LZ George shortly after the
big battle and secured the area around Quan Loi. Junction City II came
to an end the middle of April. Those two units were then moved down
south to be refitted. While at Thrust, another man in “C Company” was
killed by a sniper on the 9th of April. The next day we were relieved by
another unit and walked from Thrust east on route 246 to Fire Base C.
This was the longest road march that I would ever make, while in
Vietnam. Men were passing out from heat exhaustion. What a difference,
being exposed to the blazing hot sun as opposed to walking in the shade
of thick jungle. The road was secured by another unit, so we had no
worries about being ambushed. Shortly after arriving at our destination,
we were airlifted back to Quan Loi, which was seven miles east of An
Loc. Route 246 intersected Highway 13 (Thunder Road) at An Loc. Highway
13 was the north-south route to the Saigon area. I believe the distance
was around 80 miles.
My memories of Quan Loi, after all these years, are still quite
vivid. It was located in an old French rubber tree plantation on top of
a plateau. It was surrounded by deep ravines on three sides. The road
coming from An Loc, entered Quan Loi Air Strip on its southern side.
That air strip could handle the large C-130s. The landing strip, itself,
ran from its southern tip northeast almost to the edge of a steep
drop-off. At one end of this air strip there was an area for artillery
batteries to sit up their guns. Rows and rows of supplies were stacked
high around the perimeter of the air strip. These caches included
everything from artillery shells to cases of C-rations. Quan Loi
remained a base camp for the 1st Infantry Division until the unit left
Vietnam in 1969.
My bunker position, when we arrived in April, was located in a
grove of rubber trees. It provided covering fire for the northeastern
end of the air strip. I had a good view across the red dirt road to my
front. I could see all the way across the steep ravine, to the thick
jungle beyond. It was some 400 yards or so. The big mess hall tent was
pitched about fifty meters behind my position toward the air strip. Not
only did it supply us with hot meals, but it also sheltered a movie
projector, which regularly ran films of old movies. One of our favorites
was from the TV series, Combat, starring Rick Jason and Vic Morrow. The
monsoon rains were starting to fall very regularly now, beginning each
day in late afternoon. I can remember sitting in the downpour one night,
on my steel helmet, along with at least a hundred other guys, who were
doing the same. We watched the popular movie, “Born Free”. I can also
remember coming back from a hot and muddy patrol and waiting for the
clouds to build in late afternoon. In the torrential downpour that
followed, I would strip naked. With a bar of soap, I then lathered up in
the rain. I had to put on the same dirty clothes afterward, but it still
felt very refreshing.
I have two memories which happened around this time period. That
first memory is of an incident which revealed the nature of a Christian
believer's new heart. I am not talking about the heart, which pumps
blood, but that other heart, which is at the very center of who we are
in Christ. It’s the very unique human personality which He gives to
every believer. It is God’s beachhead to the battle ground of our soul.
It is our very righteous core personality. I am not talking about the
“spirit” here. That’s different. Ezekiel said that believers not only
get a new spirit, but also a new heart. (Eze. 36:26) That new heart is
the beachhead of our soul, establishing a core personality in Christ.
From here we must work out the salvation of the rest of our soul with
the help of the Holy Spirit. (Phl. 2:12) However, we Christians don't always act
straight from the heart. We are often swayed by others, or by Satan, or
by our own carnal thinking. Christians often make all kinds of crazy
decisions which are not heartfelt decisions. For many years I very
rarely followed my heart. Now that I am more aware of this truth, I am
able to recognize when I am following my heart and when I am following
my carnal thinking. In this first incidence I followed by heart. In the
second incident I followed the leading of satanic strongholds buried
deep in unsanctified areas of my soul. the outcome of that second, as I
will describe, was not so good. It actually set in motion on going long
term negative consequences.
Here is my recanting of the first incident. We had been pulling
security at Quan Loi for several days. Shortly after dark, one evening,
our squad RTO came by my position, marching two young Vietnamese kids in
front of him, jabbing the smaller one in the back every few seconds,
with the barrel of his M-14. As they approached my bunker, the RTO began
announcing why he was doing what he was doing. He said that our platoon
leader had caught them stealing cases of C-rations, from the stockpile
of C-rations stacked along the air strip. He said that he was told to
scare the two boys and then let them go. I could tell by the look on the
boys' faces that our RTO had already done a very good job of carrying
out his orders. Still, our RTO continued on. After explaining to me why
he was doing what he was doing, he grabbed the smaller one from behind,
by the shoulder and yelled, “dung lai”. In Vietnamese, that means
“stop”. Both boys instantly obeyed and came to a standstill. Both heads
were bowed, and the younger one was crying. The older one was perhaps
nine, but the other one, which the RTO kept poking with his rifle, could
not have been more than seven. Bowman and Milliron were sitting around
somewhere near me, but neither said a word. Other grunts in other
positions on the perimeter started looking our way. There were also
civilians looking on. Everyone was passively watching to see what would
happen next. We didn't have to wait long. The RTO again grabbed the
shoulder of the smaller child. Clamping down hard, he guided him toward
a rubber tree, which was close by. He then whirled the boy around and
made him stand straight against the tree. At this point, the little
boy's knees were knocking together. The RTO backed up several paces and
raised his rifle, as if he was going to execute the boy. This is the
point where, without having time to think, my new heart engaged my
conscious mind directly. There was literally no time for Satan's minions
or my own carnal thinking to interfere with those thoughts which were
coming straight from by new heart. Those thoughts coming from my new
Christ given heart then immediately took total control of my actions.
You might say that without thinking, I literally sprang to my feet and
leaped from my position on the sandbags to a standing position just to
the right side of the RTO. I then grabbed the butt of his rifle, with my
left hand and the barrel of the rifle with the other. In one fluid
motion I began twirling the rifle counterclockwise, until it popped out
of his hands. "Leave. Get out of here", I yelled, as the speechless RTO
wisely began to take a few steps back. “Here, take your rifle and get
out of here”, I said again, just as forcefully, but not as loud. I then
tossed his rifle to him in a catchable fashion. Without saying a word,
this guy caught the rifle and then just disappeared. The two boys were
left standing quietly, exactly where they were standing, when the mock
execution began. I motioned for them to come to me and then had them
follow me to the rear of our bunker. There, I opened two cases of
C-rations and started handing them the contents. I also gave them a
sundry package which was half full. The younger boy was still sobbing
away. Big tears were running down his face. At this point no one
standing around said a word to me. I actually remember sitting the
younger boy on my knee until he stopped shaking. The incident was never
mentioned again by anyone in my unit, and I never gave it a second
thought. After that, our RTO never treated me any differently. It was as
if this incident never occurred. That was a very righteous action on my
part and one which stripped the initiative from the Devil to cause
trouble in the minds of everyone witnessing what was occurring. It’s
just too bad that I didn’t react from the heart in more of my encounters
with unrighteousness.
April went by. My twentieth birthday, on May eighth, came and
went. My father sent me a waterproof watch for my birthday. It had a
black rubber armband and hour markers that glowed in the dark. It really
was a most thoughtful and useful gift. Time went by, and it was now
toward the end of May but not that long since that incident with the
RTO, where I instinctively reacted in a very righteous manner. In this
second incident, however, I did not react in a righteous way because I
did not respond to this second incident straight from the leading of my
new heart. Here is what happened. Sergeant Bartee approached me with one
of those half-baked ideas which senior leadership had time to come up
with from time to time. This time, I was given plenty of time to
consider the idea. The opportunity which that idea presented appealed
greatly to my unwashed thinking. That unsanctified thinking easily
overrode any objections which my heart may have had. As a result, I
would wind up becoming a sucker who would suffer the consequences of
becoming involved in a whim. Here is how that happened. Bartee offered
me the opportunity to volunteer for a week-long sniper training course
at Di An. Vain imaginations immediately ran wild in my head. I
immediately started dreaming of being able to roam the countryside,
sneaking up on my prey as I had done in those Virginia woods back home.
I would probably be issued a new hunting rifle with a powerful scope. I
would also have a lot more freedom to plan my missions without having to
dance to the tune of some lifer sergeant every minute of the day and
night. Unfortunately for me, my perspicacity before volunteering was
nonexistent. Like most Christian believers, who have not allowed their
new hearts to regularly control their actions in life, my lips jumped to
say yes to Bartee's offer, before allowing my mind to engage my heart.
The carnal side of my brain had already been preconditioned, by my
upbringing, to enjoy the thrill of the hunt. I had been conditioned to
glorify the feeling of accomplishment which killing animals gave me.
Now, it wasn't a huge leap, for that preconditioning to also jump at the
thrill of bagging a human being. Why not? Were they not trying to kill
me? Actually, like so many other believers do in so many different
circumstances, and without realizing it, I was now about to do the right
thing, for the wrong reason. You see, the American Sniper, Chris Kyle,
took human life, but he did it because he wanted to save many other
lives. However, I was not looking to save lives. I was looking to glory
in the taking of a life, by my own hands. In other words, I was doing
the right thing for the wrong reason. I certainly did not give one thought to the
possibility of this being a half-baked idea which might get cancelled.
Nor did I consider that there could be other consequences. “You don't
have to make any formations or pull any details. Just report to the
rifle range each morning at 0700 hours”, Bartee said, as he and the rest
of my company prepared to return to the field, leaving me behind to
start my training. So, I did exactly as my sergeant instructed me to do.
It sounded good. In reality, it was only a whim in some general’s mind
who had time on his hands during the interlude between operations. The
first and most dangerous consequence was having to give up my M-14 and
be given a worn-out M-16 fitted with a Mickey Mouse four-power scope.
That scope fogged up every time it rained, and it rained all the time.
The rifling in the barrel had been severely corroded by tracers and worn
down by the tremendous volume of rounds fired through it. This caused it
to perform more like a smooth bore musket than a rifle. I was unable to
zero that weapon to hold a twelve-inch grouping at fifty yards. To top
things off, there was only one staff sergeant in charge of the entire
school. It soon became obvious that he was running things by the seat of
his pants. He had never actually been a sniper, himself. Later the Army
did develop very effective sniper teams but that was a long ways off.
When I finished the training, the rest of my unit were still in
the field. I skipped morning formation, as I had been doing all week.
Since I had nothing to do, I took the day off to roam around the huge
complex, which was Di An. It was nice to be able to go and come as I
pleased for a whole day. It was also a little disconcerting because
everyone around me in the rear area were strangers. For months now I had
not been separated from other squad members. Now, there were only
support people all around me. However, my unit showed up the next
morning. It was the 6th day of June and time for the next shoe to drop,
as a consequence to the hair-brained endeavor which I had volunteered to
become part of.
Shortly after reveille formation, I was summoned to the
Commanding Officer’s office. While standing at attention, Captain Brown
informed me, that I had been listed as AWOL until 1630 hours the
afternoon of the previous day. What he was really saying is that I had
missed the morning formation so there was no way that I could be
accounted for, until the next formation at 1630 hours. I explained to
him that I had been told by my sergeant, that I was not expected to make
formations. I further explained that the course had ended the day
before, so I just assumed that I could skip the morning formation the
day after. Thinking for oneself was usually a no-no, especially for a
private in the Army and I should have realized that by now, but I
didn't. Captain Brown quickly responded to my argument, in a
matter-of-fact tone, and told me not to worry about it, because the
article 15, which he was charging me with, would not remain in my
permanent files. That was a lie. I have always wondered why he would lie
about such a relatively simple thing. Now, I have a feeling that he was
under pressure to make some kind of quota. With him saying what he said
in such a non-condemning tone of voice, however, as if were quoting from
the gospel of Mark, I quickly decided against standing up for myself.
The entire matter hardly seemed worth worrying about. I had missed one
early morning formation but felt that I had done nothing wrong. Brown
further stated that the repercussions of getting this Article 15 would
only cause me to lose the difference in pay for one month as an E-2
instead of a P.F.C. That amount added up to $21. I immediately signed
the piece of paper laying on his desk, without reading it.
Truth is, this was one more time in a string of times, that my
cloudy thinking, concerning life's little decisions, took its toll and I
had been sporadically making these seemingly small snafus, since I had
turned away from my Lord, when I was 13 years old. I had been making
decisions through the council of a demonic soul instead of from a new
born heart. Oddball little missteps and not so little missteps would
keep tripping me up for years to come, until I started listening to my
heart. Many believers I know are continuing to do this very same thing.
Those little errant decisions may never be the earthshaking kind, like
robbing a bank, or murdering someone. Oh no! They are just little snafus
which in the end will rob us of our legacy.
I had the makings of a good leader, but I sorely needed the
opportunity the Army afforded people like me, to develop that potential.
It would not have been that hard for me to make buck sergeant, if I had
only possessed the wherewithal, to stop shooting myself in the foot.
Becoming a sergeant would have given me just enough responsibility to
have helped me mature. It would have forced me to think about others,
instead just me, myself, and I all the time. Also, the leadership skills
which I would have learned in this position would have followed me
through life, potentially opening more opportunities in my future
outside the Army. However, I never made sergeant, and it was seemingly
inconsequential little sins like the one, which I am recanting here,
which robbed me of that opportunity. No, the consequences for skipping
one formation didn't seem earth shattering, at the time. In reality,
however, it was just one more tiny little step away, instead of toward
the fulfilled and productive life, which God intended for me to have.
(Song of Solomon 2:15)
By the end of May, we had left Quan Loi up North and were
operating around the Di An and Phuoc Vinh areas. The 16th of June found
my Battalion pulling perimeter guard and running a lot of security
patrols a little further North of Di An. The rainstorms were lasting
longer now. Bill Milliron pulled the stunt with the fake Dear John
letter, and lo and behold was granted an emergency leave to go home for
thirty days. Supposedly, while state-side he was injured in a car wreck
and got more time back home to convalesce from his injuries. When good
ole pot smoking Bill did finally return, he was quickly promoted to
sergeant. I was glad for him. Still, it made my hatred for the army’s
way of doing business grow stronger. Glen Bowman was on R and R, so for
now, I had two new guys, as my fox hole buddies. One of them had a very
abrasive and argumentative personality. I believe he was from one of the
big cities up north. Maybe he was from Chicago. Interestingly enough,
Bartee said nothing to me about the article 15 and I said nothing about
it to him. Was he even notified that I had received this disciplinary
action? Quite frankly, I doubt it. True blue Walker was still the same.
However, he had been saddled with two new guys, as their mentor, though
we didn’t use that term in those days. There was hardly time for him and
me to carry on a casual conversation now. We were manning different
bunkers so we couldn't visit with each other much. We could have
socialized by going to the villages on those rare days off, and getting
drunk, among other things. However, that was not something that I was
going to do. I didn't like the taste of alcohol. Even if I had, I was
certainly not interested in losing control of my faculties to drugs or
alcohol in this present environment. So, little by little, I was
becoming more and more isolated from others. I was different. Everyone
including me knew that. I was now the lowest ranked man in my squad,
maybe even the entire battalion. The two new guys, whom I shared a
foxhole with now out ranked me. I told myself that it didn't matter. Oh,
but it mattered. It mattered a lot. We didn't wear our P.F.C. stripes on
our uniforms so no one knew unless I told them. I never said a word, but
it still mattered.
Having to give up my M-14 topped the list of things to cry about.
I wanted to blame every NCO and every officer in my unit for not
understanding how I felt about that. Yet, there was no avenue to express
my frustration. I felt more helpless than I had ever felt in my entire
life. Now, walking point once again, not only was I going to give a
sneaky enemy the first shot, but I was also giving him the chance to
outgun me. No communist soldier used anything that fired a bullet as
small as this piece of plastic crap and for good reason.
At this point in time, I probably had the lowest morale of anyone
serving in my Dogface Battalion while the morale of the rest of the
outfit was higher than ever. It‘s a good thing that I didn’t know what I
would soon be facing, after this little interlude or I would have
definitely reported to my Company Commander and requested a seat on the
next bus to Long Binh jail. |