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Chap 13 The Interlude
121424 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 develop 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 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, if you will. 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 part of our
soul. This new heart gives us abilities far outreaching the abilities of
that old stony heart. (2 Co. 5:17) This new heart predisposes us to do
the right thing every time. (Jer. 31:33) 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 and those thoughts instantly 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.
Now, here is the second incident.
April went by. My 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. This time, however, Sergeant Bartee approached me with
one of those half-baked ideas which senior leadership had time to come
up with during the interim between operations. I would wind up being the
sucker who suffered 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. After spending a week in
the rear, sleeping out of the rain, 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 to me, as he and the
rest of my company prepared to return to the field. 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 juried 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 but that was after I left the squad,
myself. 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
causal 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. strips 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, as a point man
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 the 1/18th
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. |