First Shots Fired!

Firsts tend to be hard to forget. Our first shots fired easily fit into that category. The division pushed us farther and farther way from the safer areas. Although the whole country held an element of danger, certain segments were more hotly contested. I also noticed that everyone tended to share the wealth…as in if my butt is on the line…your butt better be right there with me! So, we shared.

Somewhere in our earliest wanderings, I served perimeter duty for the battalion headquarters. Three of us took over a really well fortified bunker. I checked it out for hours…it was impressive. This one was topped with at least two layers of sand bags, supported by perforated steel plates. There were two frontal ports for fire, and one on each side. The rear was fairly open, with a wide step up, affording some rear protection. The depth was perfect for a standing shot, with the barrel resting for accuracy. The bunker appeared to be built by combat engineers. If I were a real estate man, this bunker could be sold at a premium.

My two bunker mates were friendly. They liked having their own resident medic. I was just beginning to think that war was great. This bunker was certainly adequate for the three of us. A three man rotation would give us two hours of sleep and one hour watches. Life was good.

I excused myself for a stand up nature call to the rear right of the bunker. The head high brush attracted me. About mid-stream I heard a ‘crack crack crack!’ Growing up in the Maine woods, I knew these were rifle shots, fired toward our immediate vicinity. Thank God I wore my steel pot.

With all my military training intact, I shot back to the bunker, like the rifle I didn’t have. An M-16 lay by the back door (not mine) and I grabbed it on the way in. A round ejected as I checked the chamber. I laid the M-16 out the portal and dialed to full automatic. With that, I was ready for war.

My two mates were still on top of the bunker during all this time. It had taken just seconds for my hasty return. They came inside to see me at the ready. However, the VC had high tailed it after their short welcome. Without a target, I never fired a return shot. One of the guys said, “Doc, you are going to make it through Vietnam at that speed. Just give me my damned rifle.” I thought possession was nine tenths of the law, but these weapons do have serial numbers.

An Aussie soldier quickly joined our bunker, with a half dozen darker skinned indigenous individuals. He asked me pointedly if the shots were fired in our immediate sector. I quickly affirmed. He saw my quizzical glance toward his team. He offered, “these are mountain men, from a group called the Montagnards. They are fierce warriors and we pay them by the ear.” [Most soldiers do not give up their ears willingly. This was a practical body count.] Our conversation was cut short. These guys were anxious to pursue a hot trail. As they began the chase, I inadvertently took inventory of both my ears.

Our watch rotation would soon begin. I had secured my own M-16. My mind went through that old army adage, “This is my rifle, this is my gun…” I would never again be more than half an arms length from my weapon; the medical aid bag also never left my sight. We were lucky the VC didn’t approach close enough for a clear shot. If we can walk away from an experience, we can call it a life lesson.

Currahees…Standing watch, our sector is secure!