Viet Nam; Misery in Darkness
4/1/2013
This is for the parent who parroted an alumnus recently and asked me to write more on my military experience and less on my educational philosophy. This is a piece I wrote for my book that I have found no place for yet.
In the evening from sundown until approximately 2200 (10:00 p.m.), the mosquitoes where out in squadron-size with knats flying escort. While sitting in ambush anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Viet Cong in any unit size, these vermin tormented us. We could not wear insect repellent, because the VC could smell it and sense our presence. The mosquitoes were to quick to catch, and one could not smack at them because of the noise created. In the quiet of an ambush, even the movement of a leg or arm (cloth on cloth) made noise that could raise the ire of almost everyone (there was always one or two Marines in each ambush patrol who seemed oblivious to the noise they created). A cough during a security halt in route to the ambush site or during occupation of thesite could cause a rage-like feeling in my gut. But, back to the mosquitoes, they would buzz our ears as if they knew we couldn't take a swing at them. The first one arrived as if to tell you that you could expect another 2-3 hours of torment from the little bastards. In retrospect, the ensuing firefight was sometimes less stressful than getting to the ambush site, setting up once we arrived, and tolerating the vermin.
We would execute a daytime combat patrol to recon/select the ambush site(s) for the evening. Naturally, the sites were selected that offered cover and concealment and reasonable fields of fire. Additionally, the site selection was one that we were most sure would maximize the chances of encounter with the VC (or North Vietnamese Regulars depending on where we were located). It is surprising how difficult it was to find a site that met the criteria for cover and concealment, fields of fire, and also maximized our chances for a VC/NVA encounter.
Moving to and into the ambush site during the hours of darkness could peg the stress level of even the most seasoned warrior. The closer we got to the site, the shorter the distance between security halts (stop, look ,and listen) where we literally froze in place to engage all senses for evidence of VC/NVA presence. The security halts were referred to as "moving by bounds" (I had mastered the technique as a youngster playing "Army or Marines" depending on the latest war movie I had seen).
Once at the ambush site (sometimes we couldn't even find the pre-selected site, because the terrain looked so different at night and depending on the moon phase, it could be a pitch black night), occupying it could be an ordeal. First, it always seemed to take longer than anticipated. Our casualties were so high in the area of operations of my battalion that we always had inexperienced replacements who seemingly could do nothing without whispering (if you could call it that) to another Marine or causing his equipment to rattle, which should never happen.
To exasperate the situation even more, no matter how clever you set up your ambush (linear, L-shaped, back to back, etc.), when the VC/NVA did come, the ambush kill-zone always seemed to be disposed in the wrong direction necessitating the repositioning of the Marines by trying to communicate by hand/arm signals a change in orientation. Of course, the movement created noise, forcing the patrol to open fire before all were reoriented and ready or even knew where the enemy was located. Sometimes only the Marine with the starlight scope, which permitted him see in the dark using the ambient light captured by the scope, could see the enemy so others simply fired as he directed or in the general direction that he fired. Nuts, my heart rate increases, and my palms sweat just writing about it. Notwithstanding the stress, those days were the essence of manhood, and I would revisit them in a New York minute!