Nothing future holds
could ever compare to
this
exhilaration *
(*From my “We’re a Lot
Like You Were” linked haiku blogged here in 2019)
I sheathed my ka-bar
after winning a territorial battle with a scorpion for a foxhole that was
surrounded by sandbags. Returning to heating my C-ration coffee, it felt good
to be stationary for a while after climbing so many mountainous hills. The days
had turned into weeks and I had lost track of how many weeks, or even which
ongoing operation we were now part of. All I knew is we were at a very high
elevation and had been butting heads with some North Vietnamese Army regulars
for some time now.
Like the majority of my
peers, one constant on my mind was anticipating becoming a “short timer” and
returning to “the world.” I figured it must be early fall and two thirds of my
combat tour should soon be finished with only the one third remaining. The
Rolling Stones song "The Last Time" had been my mantra over the past
eight or nine months and was keeping me centered. I had found, in the
repetitiveness of combat, even the rounds whistling past your ears became
routine. I guess that was due to the sixth sense of awareness you acquire, a “combat
edge" I called it, in these somewhat difficult situations. Personally, I'd
always thought life was as complex as you make it and tried to remain as good natured as possible.
Being rested and
available for guard duty, several of us drew straws for perimeter guard duty
and I got one of the outposts. Then me, myself, and my M-14 left to check out
our new digs.
The outpost was situated
at the crest of a steep hill set back about one hundred yards from a
barbed wire outer perimeter
further down the incline. I was just settling in as a familiar Force Recon team,
I knew casually from several of the past operations, walked up to my bunker. I
joined them as they headed out toward the perimeter saying "So, where are
you all off to?" as I opened the break in the barbed wire to let them out.
"We’re going to grab one them NVA’s and bring him back for the
interrogators, should only take an hour or two, so keep an eye out for us
returning" was their reply. "Sure," I said, while securing the
barbed wire behind them, "Hey, see if you can pick me up some of them
French postcards that are going around while you're out there." They got a
good chuckle at that as they were leaving and I walked back up the hill to the
outpost to await their return. In a relatively short amount of time my
adrenaline kicked in when I caught a glimpse of them storming back up the hill toward
the gate with a blindfolded NVA. There was a hornet's nest of enemies behind
them and soon the complete side of the hill was under heavy fire. I immediately
headed toward the barbed wire, ending up crawling on my belly, and got to the
gate just before they did to let them in. "What about my French
postcards?" I shouted. "Get the hell out of here!" was their
laughing response, just as our perimeter defense opened up, eliminating
everything that was approaching outside the barbed wire.
With that ending well,
I went back to contemplating on the next four or so months before I was to
return to the "world" . . .
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