What War Is and Does to People:'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’ 1968 Da Nang. (original 26 Dec. 2009)

 I wrote 'The Girl I met on Christmas Day 1968 Da Nang
 in November and December 2009, and completed it on Dec. 26, 2009.

I then completed the first draft of 'What War Is and Does to People' on
Tues. 26 Jan. 2010, and placed 'The Girl I met on Christmas Day 1968 Da Nang'
at the end of that story to bring it back to my first day.

But, before I could begin writing anything on what became my first blog
A Time For Revolution  http://paulmeuse.blogspot.com/
 or to begin writing stories on my novel I had to write about the 
 'The Girl I met on Christmas Day 1968 Da Nang'

This is my second blog and I am transferring stories from the first blog to this one.
 http://IntheNam.blogspot.com


 Tues. 26, January 2010

Saturday, December 26, 2009

What War Is and Does to People: 
'The Girl I met on Christmas Day 1968 Da Nang.’

This was originally a letter sent to my son, Kyle, and

my daughter, Nora. I've added to it since, and will more

as it will be part of a novel.

I was trying to explain why I was not an ordinary father

with a 9-5 job, career etc...much of the terror, trauma, and

grief was and had to be suppressed at the time...because I

had a bigger concern...just surviving that night. I never heard

any reply from my children, but that is due to divorce.  

It's only later when we return that it comes over us. For me,

it meant drinking as much as I could, and any drugs I could

take during my first 2 1/2 years back to shut out the thought,

images, pain and hurt.

Each Christmas is harder to survive in a way because I landed in

Da Nang, VietNam on Christmas Day 1968 at about 2-3 am...and

if you read far enough below you will read of 'The Girl I met on

Christmas Day Da Nang 1968.’

But, this year I started writing about it. I felt so fucked up in pain

that at some point i took a pen into my hand. And, before I could

begin writing I had to write about the Girl. Then I wrote about some

of my war experiences from my first tour, and put the story of our

encounter at the end.

What she did...without ever speaking a word was to show me what war

is and does to people. She took this hard marine and ripped his heart out

and humanized him! I think of her, and have never forgotten her.

I came to Vietnam with Marine Corps training that taught me to hate.

But, I left her feeling awful...and feeling love for her and also, hurt,

pain, and the beginnings of a new awakening.

What War Is and Does to People:

Dear Kyle and Nora,

It was 40 years since (now 43 years) I was in Vietnam as a young boy of 18.

I was a Marine Corps 'grunt' (a rifleman). This Christmas will be 41 years.

The first time I was 18 and 4 months when I was medevaced from a place

of terror. I felt guilty for leaving my platoon, and especially, Chief, my

team leader, and a Seminole Indian who had saved my life at least once.

I was walking point, but as I made it to the top of the hill I stopped. 

I felt uncomfortable with the layout. The hill was a large area with

chest high grass, and surrounded by trees. I felt inside somewhere

that this could be it for me. I remember thinking that. It’s a very,

very bad feeling when the immediacy of your own death is around you.

I knew that I could turn around and say 'I got a bad feeling about

this...can we go back to the fire base?' No, I was there. I was a FNG

(fucking new guy) walking point. That’s why I was walking point;
I was the FNG. 

I had been walking up small hills no more than 12 or 15 feet high, and

with bushes like near a beach. The hills were so small that barely two marines

would be on it at the same time because it was small, and we kept a distance

between each man, so as not to make an inviting target for an ambush. But,

then I came to the top of this hill, which was about 20 feet up.

The scenery changed dramatically. The hill was about fifty feet across at the

widest point, and almost the same space from me to the furthest point. To my

left was a small footpath that led to the back of the hill about 30 feet away,

and all along the edge of the hill on my left.

The hill was ringed by trees, but, what unnerved me was that the whole hill

was a plain of elephant grass, which is between seven to nine feet tall, and
cuts like a razor blade. On our first operation a week before the lead column 
was ambushed by snipers who then disappeared. I felt like my assassin was 
probably standing there with his rifle pointed at me, and I wouldn’t be able 
to see him.

But, before I could take another step, Chief, (Paul Bowers, a Seminole

Indian), my team leader stopped me. I really think that it was for Chief

to take a look for himself. If I fucked up and stepped on a landmine, or

walked into an ambush it wouldn’t  just be my life. He saved many lives

by stopping me.

He turned his back to the hill, and looked into my eyes, and told me if

you think you see anything don't look directly at it, or they may open up

on us if they think you've seen them...or words to that effect. A foot or so

separated us, and he said don’t look at where I’m going to tell you. Then

he told me that there may be something at 1 o'clock. His neck was 12 o'clock.
 I turned my head to my left and up away from the hill, and smiled like we were

sharing something funny, but as my head came down my eyes looked over the

spot, and I had a sinking feeling in my heart or stomach...and nodded.

I was waiting for Chief to get back into his spot before moving on when the 
marine behind me told me to  'freeze’ and ‘Chief’s coming up’ He walked 
slightly in front of me, but to my left side, and motioned me to step back. 
He carefully went through the bushes, and vines I’d been pushing through, 
and showed me a green vine that was plastic, and flat against my chest. It 
was a trip wire. He had it between his thumb and forefinger. He raised his 
eyebrows for emphasis as if to say ‘see this.’ 

My next half-step and I’d been blown to bits by an anti-tank mine on one 
side of me and an anti-personnel mine on the other side. It would've taken

taken 8-12 men dead and wounded. My own death was one thing, but I

would've felt awful to have caused the death of others. If we were ambushed
as well, then much of the platoon would be gone. That’s how sharp Chief
was and aware of everything around him, and that's why he was important
to the platoon. He came up; took a look, and caught something that wasn't
right and came back. Myself and others are alive as a result. Booby traps.

particularly, the 'bouncing betty' killed more US troops than anything else.

It was a special to see Paul (Chief) laugh or smile, or share good moments 
with him. He saved my life, and I learned to watched for everything in a way 
I hadn't before that. And, I had been very alert and aware. Our immediate 
concern was whether or not the mine was placed there randomly, or quickly 
as part of a hastily set up ambush.

Weeks later, our platoon (about 45 men) were used as bait for a battalion

of NVA (North Vietnamese Army regulars). We were put in a small

abandoned Marine fire base. Hall, a state (high school) wrestling champion

came up to me and patted me on my right shoulder and said, (I thought)

'Are you okay?' And I said 'ya, i'm just getting my gear; i'm doing the

first watch.’

But, then Hall said 'No, you’re okay.' and patted me on the shoulder. 
I looked at him, and he tapped my radio, stood in front of me, smiled,
and said there were three on that (the radio) before you. I was the platoon
Sgt’s radioman). Plus there was a guy from Vegas who got shot up bad 
when he was the radioman...then there were three marines in the 4-5 
months he was in the hospital, and then...me. 

I had transferred from Fox 2/3 (2cnd Battalion (Batt) 3rd Marines 
(regiment) because 2nd Platoon golf 2/3 had 'lost' another  radioman 
(the third) and needed another one, and no one in the platoon wanted to 
carry that radio.

"Vegas" never spoke to me that I can remembered. He nodded to me. 
Daly, the radioman for the LT was friendly if I asked for, or about 
anything, but later I realized that to them and some others I was just 
a "DEAD MAN WALKING" who didn´t know it and hadn´t fallen ...yet.

Hall was just telling me you're okay and you've been okay (and 
LUCKY-mine). I really respected him. He had a good sense of humor, 
was strong, and always made people laugh and was good nice to this 
F-cking New Guy FNG. It meant that my fellow marines were talking 
about me, and the consensus was I was okay. I couldn't have asked to be 
placed with a better  group of Marines than those in the second platoon of 
‘Goofy’ Golf Co. as we called our company.

Then, and this is what happens in war...a terrible irony…he pointed to all 
the firing pins from hand grenades scattered around and told me not to touch 
them. He said they’re dangerous. He said that it’s safe to pick them up one 
side, but...as he picked one up (it was dusk) to show me he said, ‘but if you

pick up the wrong side your own body heat is enough to set off the charge.’

And then, his hand opened up in front of me from the explosion, and he was

screaming and screaming. It looked as if someone took a knife and sliced his

hand open. I will always remember the terror on his face from the explosion,

and the pain. 

With explosions or bullets...you see the results and then hear the noise.

There was a loud explosion after I was looking at his hand, and blood 
flying both ways. He was in immense pain, and it was a shock. I was 
in shock and have never forgotten that night.

I've always felt bad that if he hadn't been nice to me that night...

About a week or less from my being medivaced (seizure and dysentery)

to the USA we landed on a ridge (Co Ca Va) in the A Shau valley;

the ‘ Valley of Death ’. It was Fire Support Base (FSB) Cunningham;

the HQ for Operation Dewey Canyon I.

Being a radioman is one of the most dangerous jobs; (a snipers delight).

They could ambush a platoon, but if just one man survived he could call

in air strikes, artillery and naval gunfire within 10 minutes. So they go for

the radio first, and the platoon is a bit f-cked. Hall explained this to me after

I survived a month (as radioman) and snipers.

When word got out that we were replacing Mike Co., 3/9 (3rd Battalion

9th Marine regiment) it had a chilling effect. 1/9 (1st Battalion 9th Marines

was known as 'The Walking Dead'- a casualty rate about 92% dead, wounded,

and missing...92.?% of every 100 young boys like me...year in and year out...

every year of that war. War is criminal. I had hoped to join them...was I daft.

But, even 3/9 meant bad, bad shit was going to happen. The Ninth 9th Marines

meant only one thing: 'heavy combat' and casualties like not seen before. We

missed the main attack (below) 'Sapper Attack in the A Shau During the 
Vietnam War'

http://www.historynet.com/sapper-attack-in-the-a-shau-during-the-vietnam-war.htm

But we were replacing the men who had endured that assault-to rub out the base,

plus nightly sapper attacks…night terror. Sappers were four men teams with

explosives in their backpacks, and plenty of hand grenades to toss into other holes.

They were brave men trying to rid their country of foreign occupiers...as the

Vietnamese people had for thousands of years.

Our first night we (Chief and I) were sent to a share a bunker with some (grunts)

from Mike 3/9; they were leaving the next morning. After we had made the 
introductions...some men started to cry; and these were tough marines...who 
had been exposed to too much night terror. They said the things like...'we're 
all gonna die'. ´They said they get in the perimeter wire every night.´

I had no idea of what they were saying. Is he talking about a ground attack?

I had not even thought, nor probably heard much about 'sappers.' They said 
sappers get in every night...’we're gonna die.’ Chief immediately grabbed 
one covered his mouth and told them to 'shut the fuck up' etc. It was a 
powerful lesson for me.

As he did this we suddenly heard loud screams from beyond the perimeter 
wire. They were silenced immediately by a very loud explosion, and then, 
there were no more screams. The other men started to break down, and the 
first one said 'See, that's the fourth LP in a row. An LP is a listening post, 
and on that ridge it was four men. With that explosion the total went to 16. 
4 men each night for four nights. North Vietnamese Army Regular (NVA) 
sappers had crawled up on the LP and one sapper sacrificed his life to blow 
four Marines away.

The men started to sob again and Chief drew his knife. I got in front of 
another Marine and drew my K-Bar (combat knife) and stood in front 
of the other Marine. We put the knives to their throats while Chief did 
the threatening. The marines probably had much more time in Vietnam 
than I did, and it felt strange to be doing this. They don't teach these 
things in boot camp and infantry training.

When they quieted down, Chief took me away from that fortified bunker 
and went to a small three foot deep hole forward of all the bunkers with no

sandbags or any protection, and right out in the open. He got in front of me; 
our faces just inches apart, and said that would be my hole that night, and 
then he pointed to a hole about thirty feet away. He said he'd be in that one.
Then, he said in a tough, but reassuring way 'We’ll be okay. We’ll watch

each other each others back. We'll be okay,' (as he pointed to the bunker 
we just left), he said 'but we got to get away from that' (panicking-mine). 
I understood. And we were okay. We survived a scary night.

I trusted Chief, and would have followed him in any situation.

The next morning, Mike 3/9 were gone. That night, our company, Golf 2/3 
were facing what had terrorized the men from Mike 3/9. Of the three 
platoons in the company, ours, the second platoon, had to send out the 
first LP.  Everyone was nervous because by then we knew what had happened 
to the other LP's. There were three squads and nine four man fire teams (three
tams in a squad) in our platoon. It came down to our squad and then, our 
four man fire team-Chief’s.  Out of the 27 four-man fire teams in our company, 
we were the ones. But,  Chief had a plan to make sure that we didn’t get 
blown away. I wasn't surprised  that Chief was chosen to take out the first 
fire team!

I thought that Chief stood the best chance in the whole company. I'm just glad 
that I was with him. In 2010 he joked me that he just thought that "they 
(command) were trying to get me killed."

Chief's plan was simple, yet like everything he did...he had put a lot of thought

into it...and that night, Chief wasn't exactly leading the cream of the Corps

(myself included--still green;-) men he could have, but he made it work.

The plan was this: if we try to stay out all night...we'll be dead. They'll-the

NVA creep up on us like they did the other LP's. We were going to have to be

faster, and sharper. the others were blown away within an hour or two.

When we heard movement...even before they could get within hand grenade

of us...I would notify our LT (Lieutenant) that we had contact and were

going to toss hand grenades to break contact, and come back into the

perimeter...this is how it´s done...the grenades allow for...time and cover...

That night it wasn´t when we heard contact, but when we thought we heard

contact? They were there, we didn´t know how close...but we're alive.

But, the brass didn't want us to come in. When I called in-radio-to the CP

they said we need more information on how many there are, the direction

of attack etc...you know the types of things that would get us blown to bits

if we stayed out all night like they wanted us too. I whispered to ‘Rags’ the

marine next to me, and he whispered it to ‘Florida’ who whispered what was

said to Chief. 

Then, Chief and I leaned forward, and looked at each other. Chief shook his head

back N forth "NO!' a few times, and made a sign with his hand and that was good

enough for me, and I went to squelch on the radio. This meant that I could not

talk (make verbal transmissions...as someone is to close:-) And, I could only use

(key) my handset.

We had tossed our frags (grenades) in front of us, to give us time and cover to get

back into the perimeter. I was the last one out-position, I was 'Tail End Charlie.

And when I got up I realized that they were closer than we thought. As I got up

to run I heard noise to my right and almost right rear and saw someone in the 
darkness...where we hadn't thrown frags. I was terrified that they had gotten 
so close. I sprayed a burst emptying my magazine. I was more than nervous...
'scared shitless' is the word.

I ran forward through the zig-zag like coils of concertina wire, whilst

looking behind me for anyone who wasn't supposed to be there. I was last.

I was changing the magazine in my rifle while listening for the sound of a

'frag' (hand grenade) dropping near me (theirs-none). I was trying to catch up

with the others. As I came through the last twist and turn of the wire all hell

broke loose. I thought that the NVA had opened fire on the hill, or had launched

a ground attack, and ours were returning fire.

As we came through the wire someone set off a trip flare, and we were visible 
to all. We came the shortest way...across our kill zone, and were almost cut to 
pieces by our own machine guns, and every trigger happy grunt(or as we say
 'every swinging dick with a rifle.') I had radioed in, but no one had told the 
fellas we were on our way.

We almost got torn to shreds; the bullets were all around me, and I was 
about to drop to the ground to my right when bullets tore up the earth; 
I was terrified. I went towards my left but bullets sent wood, rocks and 
everything flying all around me on my left and just above where my head 
would land. I saw the others looking at me like ´What the Fuck are you 
doing standing?´ But, I was the only standing target...and they were zeroing 
in on me. I was terrified, fell in place and screamed into the radio. We 
survived; Chief’s plan worked. God bless Chief.

When someone asks me how I survived I say I know there is a God because 
I can't understand the times I was almost been killed and Chief wasn't there:-)

Secondly, Chief handled everything that God was far too busy at the moment!
 And, that was a lot!!

Third, I was lucky.

Again, there was Chief and my own good instincts…which were constantly

honed and each day and by being in Chief’s fire team.

On night after Mike 3/9 was gone we had our own sapper attacks; they

must start about 2:30 am because i'm always awake then and till later...

daylight. Chief and I had the bunker on the extreme flank. The night´s

darkness was pierced by the screams of the two men from the next bunker.

They came running towards us screaming hysterically ‘The gooks are all

around us ...we’re gonna get killed.’

Chief and I each grabbed one, (I was following Chief's lead from the first

night) and covered their mouths. I put the flat handle of my K-Bar against

the back of the neck of my man so he couldn't move. Then I put my K-Bar

to his throat. In his eyes I saw sheer terror that I remember to this day. I kept

looking over my man's shoulder, and looked all around us; 360.

Chief whispered 'Shut the fuck up. Get back into your hole. Keep your 
head down, and your eyes and ears open.' And, for good measure, Chief 
added 'and don't bring them over here.' Fuck no. We had run out of tea.

I had also run my knife down the man's throat to his chest and I gave

him a look that was meant to scare him as much as what had just

terrorized him. I was scared too, but knew that panic is deadly. I

didn’t want him running back to us.

They ran back. We evacuated our bunker; everyone knew it by then,

and Chief said something to the effect that we could only use our

knives and hand grenades from here on in. The flash of a rifle would

give our position away.

After a few minutes a sapper made it into their bunker and began

knifing them to keep them there until his satchel detonated. We

listened to them scream and scream in agony and terror of their

last seconds (6-7) of their lives…They were fifty feet away…
begging and one cried aloud ‘Oh God’ just before the explosion. 

It was awful. I was standing behind a massive tree and a single tear 
went down from my left eye, but I got over their deaths in a snap 
of my fingers. I was worried that the sounds might mask someone 
approaching us. I was 110% adrenalin. All they had to do was get 
within hand grenade range. And I was worried about tigers.

They´re better hunters.

Later that morning my platoon Sgt. said ‘we got two new men coming
in on the copter, and we don’t want them seeing it (the bunker) like that. 
I nodded and took the rags, and went in to clean it up. My training hadn't

taught me how to clean up the exploded remains of marines...From the 
top of the bunker to the dirt floor and on every wall and crevice was

blood, bits of flesh, bone and whatever. I almost cracked. It was horrible.

Most of all, God, I didn’t want another Marine to see me crying…so I

stuffed it. At one point I said to myself 'You can't do this. You can't do

this (cry). So, I stuffed way down, but have cried many times since leaving

that hill.

I have since felt that on the Judgement Day even if Allah-God himself, 
and those two men come over to me and smile and say it's okay now...I 
will always feel like shit for what happened that night, and I know that 
we had no other choice. 

The rags were too small, and their blood and whatever got on my hands,

and I ran out of the bunker and wiped my hands in the dirt. War can 
make someone superstitious. Stuff got on my clothes, hair, and then 
the rags were soaked...that's when it got to me, plus it seemed like 
i didn't know how to do it...and I just wanted to be done.

The medivac copter that took me out set down at another firebase for 
10 minutes...and in an 'Irish mist' Vietnamese mist I sat there counting 
body bags stacked like cordwood on the tarmac. I stopped at 240. I 
sobbed quietly looking at the scene…all men my age or so.

The screams of those two men, and the terror and pain are with me

every day...even on Christmas eve and Day.

I am just giving you this so you know what I experienced, and why 
I was not the ordinary guy with a 9-5, and got down. War is horrible 
and criminal. It scars deeply within as surely as it does on the outside.

But my real purpose is also to tell you of an incident that preceded

all the terror and death (even before I touched a rifle)...and humanized

my heart and soul. I am speaking of...

'The Girl I met on Christmas Day’ 1968 Da Nang

I landed in Da Nang early on Christmas morning...2-3am. Later

I would fly north to Dong Ha, and then by truck to Quang Tri to

join the 3rd Marines.

We were taken into Da Nang city briefly after being warned that

begging children might steal. We came upon a group of 30-40

such children.. I had some money to give and sweets.

At first it felt good to give to people in need, but I felt bad that they

had to beg...why? And why aren't they being fed by the military

(my first awaking that things weren't right). Almost all were under 
10, but some had amputations, shrapnel damage and more. Most 
were okay, but this was what this hard marine so eager for combat 
saw on his first day in Vietnam .

But, I felt someone's presence at the back of the group. I knew

she was looking at me, and when I looked up I saw a lovely girl

of between 11-13. She looked right into my eyes (softly) for a bit, 
then lowered (bowed) her head. But, by then she had torn my heart 
out.

She did not hold her hand out like the others. I think she felt different...

not as young as the others)...and marred.

She raised her head again, made eye contact...kept it for a bit and

lowered her head again. I waded through the crowd till I stood in 
front of her and she raised her head again and we looked at each other. 
I took her hand and gave her whatever money I could get, and put candy 
atop it to disguise it to seem like I was just giving her sweets. I didn’t 
care if I had any money left after giving to her.

We both nodded to each other, and looked at each other for a long 
and tender moment. I know I was holding back tears, and she knew. 
We shared a special and poignant moment in space and time that I 
will never forget.

You see this beautiful Vietnamese girl had no right eye and, had 
minimal treatment because she didn't wear an American uniform! 
But she was a beautiful young girl. And, it is that young girl, and 
her soulful look, and her situation that has been with me ever since.

Da Nang did not have an eye hospital until 1998. Plenty of money 
for war, but not for people.

I know she appreciated whatever I gave her, but it felt inadequate to 
me. She was marred; not even a patch, but I could see the whole her, 
and my heart ached(s) for her. Ive' always wondered what became of 
her? I would have food, water, medical care, but she?

It is those things-what happens to children, old people, and especially

(young girls and women, homes, families, villes, cultures, societies, and

also, to other Marines blown to bits, maimed, traumatized for a fucking

medal that hurts and causes pain most every day of my life.

Those of us who survived had to fight our own government for recognition

that their wounds/conditions merited treatment. But,the children of Vietnam

Afghanistan, Iraq or any country America wages war upon...have to fend

for theirselves.

But she is 'The Girl I Met on Christmas Day 1968’ ' or 'The Christmas Girl'

and she can make me cry easy...when I think of her.

War is a criminal enterprise!Or, as Major-General Smedley D. Butler said,

'War is a Racket'.

Vietnam is over there, but the war is still inside. All of the hurt you see or

feel and suppress at the time...you feel later when you are home...and forever.