Khe Sanh Veterans Association Inc.
Red Clay
Newsletter of the Veterans who served at Khe Sanh Combat Base,
Hill 950, Hill 881, Hill 861, Hill 861-A, Hill 558
Lang-Vei and Surrounding Area

Issue 50     Summer 2001

Poetry

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Notes from the Editor and Board     2001 Reunion News     Incoming     
Short Rounds     Memoirs     Health Matters     In Memoriam

Purple mountains ringed the forlorn outpost.

Mud, red, stinking, and sucking at ya boots clinging to every niche of man and machine. 20January, monsoon comes with a hot breath of brim-stoned war. Southward it slammed careening headlong pounding the Khe Sanh with one five twos. They howled from dawn till dusk and past the divide from night to day. Their incoming lethal whine cut a wide swath through our Marine ranks.

It was the beginning of the saddest of days when the sun broke over those eastern peaks dragging with it the swelter of Nam. For the fallen warriors could only hear the song of' Valkyrie, calling them to the great hall of Odin. For those fallen warriors, who were not Marine, Odin awaits However, combat Marine dead are ushered through the gates of heaven in a column of files, to stand their eternal guard. For all who know the hymn, know that if you ever look towards heaven's gates you will see that the streets are guarded by United States Marines. For only the few and proud rate.

A 'Bama spring will not pass my way again. Ahhhh, to see the Crimson
Tide, and the War Eagle, tuck and roll and make for a goal, now that, I'll miss. Memories of my childhood are fading as if vapors in the wind. A passing shower reminds me of ole Dixie. Now I lay here, in this bag o' rot my corpse stacked at the tarmac edge, Fm registered and awaiting transport to my home. An H-34 blades yet turning now lay crumpled burning. I heard my mother's gentle payers comfort me and caress my now vanquished brain, For Jehovah has just called roll. Saying arise Marine thou hath thy duty unto me. I call back with "Ay Ay sir!" and I looked about and to see our solemn ranks, then the order was given "Report!' And I being of rank I called back once more, "All present and or accounted for, sir!'

How odd, an azure sky, with monsoon in full flight. My fellow brothers yet grieve for me and others like me. 'Tis a useless endeavor, for God has interviewed me, and has fetched me up, from ol' beelzebub. Now lain delivered from that fiery hearth. For myy fitness reports are now, of worth.

Hell, I sure picked a fine time to die. I was just gettin my groove on. For just two days ago the T-shirt said I was selected even with my dearth. Damn, ole Gunny was right "Any day above ground is a good day.' But he also said "Stop ya bitchin worms gotta eat same as you n me, and besides you wanna llve forever?" I wonder how that sanctimonious old bastard likes them worms chewln on his ass.

This red plateau is worse than ten hells I know, but take heart
My brothers your respite is not far off. So it seems that human folly stalks its prey and in its short memory, parts its prey from a families May Day parade.

Ferocious dragon, bearing south from north commanded a
Begrudged report. The N.V.A pounded the Khe Sank without requital despite a pounding arcllght that rendered the ring of purple peaks a terrific clout.

Such a thing a siege, Genghls Khan, purveyor of wholesale death.
A siege artist was he, how proud he would be of the N.V.A. Embolden by 20,000 yet to
peak until 43,000 but held in check by 6,000 of the 260 and S.A.C. 77 days was the
count, no more, no less, yet there is no rest. For it ~was onward, to ambush valley, Mr. Charlle had hell to pay, and well let's just say the 261h, made him pay. For it could be said!
of the character of Marine. "Ye though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death,
I shall fear no evil for I am the baddest mothe~f---er in the valley Such was their
disposition'

The enemy, poor bastard that he was, it seemed as though he was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. Like scythed at harvest time, he fell grievously in that battle. Bold he may be, but foollsh is more llke it. Folly swarmed into his ranks as if he dashed his own brains out upon our hearty breastworks, built so stout to stand even a demon war god should one issue forth from the gates of hell.

My regret is, the sorrow my demise will visit upon my mother's brow. For my father, did take his leave of us during the last conflagration. The silence, which befalls the dead, will betide my lineage. I'm the last who will bear this mohiker. There will not be another son to spring forth from these deposed loins. For this warrior stock is done with L.B.J's and McNamara's fun. For I have done what warriors da, as is their wont, and that is die. I have, in place oft Vietnamese son. Well, there you go, so much for not sending U.S. troops to fight and die in this lost war of reason, known only to L.B.J and R.S.M alone. For it pulled him to his grave as surely the one-two-two rocket blasted me to mine For me getting dead was just a mere happenstance of some bad damned luck. But his, well his, was preordained by the natural law of what goes around comes around. May that son oft bitch rot in hell and that "Boy Genius" not yet gone. Well, I have had my say and to all my brothers here at this red veldt in hell, Semper Fi, ado or die," "all the way, and then some' Dedicated to those who served and those yet serving and whose lives are scatiered like splinters.

John R. Dade
Former Sergeant of Marines, 
Dec '81 -Jan '94

*****

He taught me how to climb a tree, 
and he'd never refuse to play catch with me. 
Guess I, was always pestering him.
He was older, but he was my friend.

He was a quick and strong tight end,
and I was so very proud of him.
I'd never miss a single game,
and would cheer, when they called his name.

He looked like a giant, when he came home,
standing in the airport, tall and alone
He had all those ribbons on his chest,
Said he was merely doing his best.

We talked a lot that first night.
Said he believed that the cause was right.
Said it was tough to serve in the Corps,
and he understood what we were fighting for.

I was too young to understand,
but could see he was now A different man.
Asked about those ribbons they pinned on Him,
he lowered his head, then quietly said, one was for Saving a friend.

He was so much different than before,
Guess you could say, he'd been to war.
He said that the war was damn near won,
and he was going back to help get the job done.

We'll go to see him this afternoon.
The flowers should still be in bloom.
A thousand times we've said good-bye,
yet every time, my dad still cries.

At last I can see your job was well done
Johnny, you're the price our family paid for freedom.
Johnny was two years shy of twenty-one.
Johnny is my father's son.

Copyright
Q Lee Baker
May 28~ 2001

Written on Memorial Day, May 28, 2001. I had read a Parade magazine article written by James Webb about a father, Troy Liverman, who tended the grave of his son, John C. Liverman, a Marine who received four purple hearts in Vietnam in '68. John Liverman was assigned to 1/9 in January of '68, which meant that he was most likely at the north lines of the Khe Sanh Base during the 77-day siege. He would have been about a block away from my position, although I'm sure we never saw each other, as it was extremely risky to show yourself in the open. 1/9 saw a lot of action during the Siege and was given the nickname "The Dying Nine." John Liverman went back to Vietnam after his first two purple hearts and was assigned to 2/4. This was a legendary battalion, even by Marine Corps standards. A book was written about them and was titled The Magnificent Bastards. After reading the article a second time, it dawned on me that John Liverman and I had served three months together during the siege. Then the article grabbed me, and I began to hear the verses, "He was not yet 21, he was my father's son, he believed in getting the job done." Soon a poem began to flow.

*****

Visions

Of loved ones,
Emerald lawns and a cracked white table.

Images

Suspended within the flow of time
live again behind my half closed eyes.

Grandmother

And the aunts spreading their fare
beneath bowing trees. Once more
scolding, laughing, offering acceptance.

Country

Quiet shattered by delighted cousins
scattered by laughing old Uncles.

Childhood

Framed by the fragrance
Of untethered freedom.

Memories

Called back from my dimming youth.
Glimpsed again through
iced tea in a Mason Jar.

Cheryl A. Mclntosh

ED NOTE:
Cheryl is the Sister of Ken Pipes,
C/O B Co 1/26

*****

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