Chapter 13: The Interlude  061325

     After that friendly fire incident, when Lonnie was killed, we continued our stay at Fire Base Thrust for a few more days. From reports, I learned years later, that we were guarding the engineers as they worked to improve Route 246. The Big Red One was now going through an interlude between Operations Junction City and the upcoming Operation Billings. It is usually during 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 that 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 changes meet with success, especially if these new endeavors are brand new undertakings, needing long-term development and not just a half-hearted effort coming from an unmotivated workforce. When these new endeavors are cancelled or even halfheartedly pursued, the people involved in these new undertakings 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 in the middle of April. Those two units were then moved south to be refitted. While at Thrust, another man in C Company was killed by a sniper on April ninth. The next day, we were relieved by another unit and walked from Thrust east on route 246 to Fire Base C. The march from Fire Base Thrust 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. Another unit secured the road, 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. Deep ravines surrounded it 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 set 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 in front of me. I could see 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 classic films. 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 that happened around this period. That first memory is of an incident that 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 that He gives to every believer. It is God's beachhead to the battlefield 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) I say again that our new heart is the beachhead of our soul, establishing a core personality in Christ. From here, we must work out the salvation of our entire 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 carnal thinking. Christians usually make all kinds of crazy decisions that are not heartfelt. For many years, I very rarely followed my heart. Now that I am more aware of this truth, I can recognize when I am following my heart and when I am following my carnal thinking. In this first incident, I followed my heart. In the second incident, I followed the lead 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 set in motion ongoing, long-term negative consequences.  

      Here is my recounting of the first incident, which I reacted to with heartfelt emotion. We had been pulling security at Quan Loi for several days. One day, in late afternoon, 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 an excellent job of carrying out his orders. Still, our RTO continued. 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, this 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 younger child. Clamping down hard, he guided him toward a rubber tree, which was nearby. 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 were going to execute him. In this instant, I acted without hesitation. My God-given heart engaged my conscious mind directly. There was no time for Satan's minions or my carnal thinking to interfere with those thoughts that were coming straight from my 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 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 barrel of his rifle with my left hand and pulled it upward, and at the same time caught the butt of the gun with my right hand, causing the rifle to twirl counterclockwise. His rifle popped out of his hand into mine, leaving me holding it in the "present arms" position. "Leave. Get out of here", I yelled to a speechless RTO who wisely began taking a couple of steps back. "Here, take your rifle and get out of here", I said, with a much more normal tone. I then tossed his rifle to him in a catchable fashion. Without saying a word, this guy caught his weapon 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 began handing out their 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 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 had never occurred. That was a very righteous action on my part and one that 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 was a most thoughtful and valuable 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 righteously 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 would occasionally dream up. These ideas usually had little to do with our present reality. However, I didn't know what I was getting into at the time. So, my unsanctified thinking easily overrode any objections that 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 control their actions in life regularly, my lips jumped to say yes to Bartee's offer before allowing my mind to engage my heart. My upbringing had already preconditioned the carnal side of my brain to enjoy the thrill of the hunt. I had been conditioned to glorify the feeling of accomplishment that killing animals gave me. Now, it wasn't a giant 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 that 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 number of rounds fired through it. The result was a smooth bore which performed 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 apparent 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 way off.

      When I finished the training, the rest of my unit was 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 vast 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 disconcerting because everyone around me in the rear area was a stranger. For months now, I have 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 of the hare-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 previous day. What he was saying is that I had missed the morning formation, so there was no way that I could be accounted for until the subsequent formation at 1630 hours. I explained to him that my sergeant had told me that I was not expected to make formations. I further explained that the course had ended the day before, so I 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 something so simple. Now, I believe that he was under pressure to meet a quota. With him saying what he said in such a non-condemning tone of voice, however, as if he 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 lying on his desk, without reading it.

      The 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 minor 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 newborn 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 enough responsibility to have helped me mature. It would have forced me to start thinking about others, rather than focusing solely on myself. Also, the leadership skills that I would have learned in this position would have followed me through life, potentially opening more opportunities in my future outside the Army. I never made sergeant, and it was seemingly inconsequential little sins like this one, that I am recanting here, which were robbing me of my grander legacy. No, the consequences for skipping one formation weren't earth-shattering. It was just one more tiny little step away from the prospect of acquiring a more productive life. This little snafu assured me that I would not only never make sergeant, but I would also remain a private when I finished my tour in Vietnam. Also, the message that fact sent to my leaders at my next duty station was very negative, indeed. (Song of Solomon 2:15) Finally, it is imperative that I once more note how important it is for a believer to listen to their own God given heart and not let other voices drown out their voice.

      By the end of May, we had left Quan Loi up North and were operating around the Di An and Phuoc Vinh areas. June sixteenth 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 stateside, 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&R, so for now, I had two new guys as my foxhole 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 my receiving an 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. The faithful 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 even less time for him and me to carry on a casual conversation now. Walker and I 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 increasingly isolated from others. I was different. Everyone, including me, knew that. I was now the man with the lowest rank in my entire platoon, maybe even the Battalion as a whole. The two new guys, with whom I shared a foxhole, now outrank 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, 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 had ended, or I would have reported to my Company Commander and requested a seat on the next bus to Long Binh jail.

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