Gomer’s
Personified
A new day and all I got to look
forward to is getting geared up for the LP tonight. I gotta tell ya that
this is one of the creepiest duties I have had to pull since the
riverboat run. It never fails that when they need someone to eat shit
and possibly die they call on me. Course it don’t help that I am still
the newbie of the bunch and that the Gunny just loves to fuck my day up.
Soon there’s a couple of guys who are gonna be heading back to the
world and we will get replacement drivers for ‘em. But till then
It’s me and some FNG from Kilo going on this evenings hump to the LP.
According to my calculations where time in the Nam is concerned a Newbie
is a step up from an FNG. I’ve been to the boonies before and spent
time in what I like to describe as the sarcophagus, simply because I
feel like a dead man when I’m in it. Can’t talk, smoke, rattle
around or fart for that matter. Charley can pick up on a scent fast as a
bloodhound on a polecat so the evening affair is quite dull. But again
dull is a good thing; I can live without all the fireworks and hoopla of
a visit from the dinks. The preparation for our overnighter
is painless and easy. Nature
takes care of bringing the dark so all we have to do is grab a rifle,
grenades, some C-rations, water and a radio for communication. Then its
two dumb ass Marines heading for the infamous tower. The Tower was an
old cement edifice built by the French during their ass kicking in
Vietnam. It was a ways from the base camp about a hundred yards beyond
the main perimeter in the jungle surrounding Phubai. We would exit the
perimeter and make our way through the clearing to the bush along with
the night ambush patrol, hoping that the minesweepers had done their job
for the day. I’m kinda fond of my jewels and I have seen what a
bouncing Betty can do to alter a mans lifestyle. A friend of mine from
my hometown was in the Nam for only two days when he found out. Ya see a
whole shit-load of us joined the Marines on the 120 day delayed program,
and he wanted to join but was a year behind us in high school. Needless
to say he joined a year later and ended up in the Nam about the same
time we got there after making a Med cruise. At any rate he was on an
ambush patrol and stepped on a mine and it blew him half away. He
survived the ordeal but now life’s gonna be a whole new learning
process for ’em. If fate has a cruel way of naming people for their
destiny it would do to get a name change before enlisting in the Marine
Corps and heading for Nam. His name Is Bob. As we approached the tower it stuck
out like a throbbing thumb after a hammer slammin'. It was located in
the center of a small clearing in the bush and once we cleared and
climbed into the tower there would be no way down or out after dark. The
steps leading up to the top of the tower were all but crumbled away on
the inside and to enhance its beauty the outside of the building was
riddled with bullet holes. By the look of the walls they contained holes
from every size caliber weapon known to mankind and reminiscent of the
Alamo. Sam Huston would have said piss on this piece of shit, let the
Mexicans have it, this just ain't worth it. Many a skirmish had taken
place here, that was obvious and I had no desire to know how many or
partake in one of my own in this place. As I said once inside the tower
there was no way out. After O'dark thirty, you wouldn't want to leave
anyway unless you had an out and out death wish, or gonads the size of
cannonballs. To tell you the absolute truth I
didn't feature stringing my ass out on the clothesline for Charley to
shoot off. Unfortunately choice was not an option and my opinion held
about as much water as a whale with a degenerating sphincter disease. At
any rate, we were placed here to listen for enemy ambush patrols, probes
or anything out of the ordinary. I have as yet to figure out just what
in the hell ordinary was out here in this dark mosquito filled jungle.
Every sound out here meant sumthin' and no sound in the jungle meant
everything. I learned that the hard way a few weeks ago while out on an
ambush. Even so I suppose
that this was one of the loneliest and most helpless experiences I have
had while in the Nam. Its as though we were a couple of big fat assed
red pairs of Maggie’s drawers flapping in the wind, with our narrow
asses still in ‘em and hung out to dry. I gotta question the
Intelligence of the dickheads who send us out here in the first place. I
mean Charley ain’t stupid, He’s gotta know we’re out here every
night. Christ we could probably in all reality tie flairs to our helmets
and dance the watusi at midnight on the top of the tower. Chuck would
leave us alone cause only a Dinky Dau numbuh ten-thousand Marines would
be stupid enough to come out here anyway. It’s for damn sure if any
Viet Cong forces did enter our AO we would not be able to fight our way
out. Immediate help was out of the question, although mortar fire could
be called in if needed. A comforting thought ‘eh, but in essence we
are expendable. We are Gomers’ personified. We are here for one
purpose and that is to warn the front lines. “Gol-eeeeee sawr-geeant
them there VC fellers are a comin so
Y’all git chur selves ready ya hear, bub-bye now.” I hate that
fucking guy! The jungle was full of strange
sounds tonight although the familiar sounds of war raged on around us.
Flares lit up portions of the sky along with glowing white flashes; in
the distance muffled rifle shots broke their way through the thick night
air. It sounded as though an ambush had been sprung; silently we hoped
that it was our ambush on Charley taking it's toll and not the other way
around. Isolation sucks and not knowing we held our breath and prayed
that the jungle noise would pick up again. Not being able to see your
own hand in front of your face because of the dark was depressing
enough; but when being totally blind and the sense of being deaf combine
together in the middle of nowhere, a complete sense of hopelessness
occurs. Ya almost have to pinch yourself to make sure your still alive. Radio silence is a must, unless
contact is made, and God, please sir, if we do make contact, let the
radio work cause we’re gonna need all the help we can muster to cap
these dinks and get the hell outta here. But as long as the sounds of
war pick up around us we feel a little less alone. Strange it may seem,
yet it takes our minds off our deep shit situation and at the same time
sharpens our senses. Silence before dawn. The radio squelches, LP come home,
make your way to the edge of the canopy the patrol is waiting. And there you have it, another cool
damp night in the tower, leading us into another hot sweltering day in
the Nam. |
