Into the Shadow of Death

The platoon leader’s radio operator just happened to mention, “Doc, I hear you are going on patrol tonight.” That didn’t sound too good on many levels. We were just settling into a mountainous firebase near Phan Thiet. I was trusting my gut instincts…which were usually right on target. I quipped, “Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.”

Ten minutes later, the Platoon Leader came up to me snorting, “I hear you don’t want to go on recon patrol Doc. I happen to be going on this one and it sounds like a good idea for you to go.” With that I smiled to reply, “That changes everything. Didn’t hear the whole story. When do we leave?”

Thought to myself, ‘The radio operator (RTO) was a heck of a guy and a heck of a snitch.’ Dusk settled in. I detached my medical bag from my ruck. Without much direction, I brought all my ammo and one canteen. Our patrol assembled: one Lieutenant, two radio operators, one medic (me), a squad leader and five additional riflemen.  If you have ever been in a firefight, 30 guys is about as slim as you want it to get.

I had long courted the idea of being a long range recon medic, but Sgt. Chaison (recon leader) didn’t seem too impressed. Little did I know he was correct his in assessment. Our present briefing disclosed we would go behind the mountain.

With last daylight, I pictured the details of the trek in my mind. We had no trail. (This told me that no one had this idea recently.) The descent was both steep and littered with rock. We tried to move quietly, but the rocks banged into each other with the slightest provocation. The brush grabbed my arms (I called these wait-a-minute bushes.) I turned to warn my trailing trooper, with his rolled up sleeves. He said, “No problem Doc.” I decided not to waste my breath. The brush makes microscopic tears that later become infected. Experience is always the best teacher.

We traveled at least three clicks (kilometers) to the bottom. It looked like a dry stream bed, gorged between two mountain chains. The flat area extended no more than 60 feet across (I am not a metrics man.) We had two elongated piles of rocks in the middle. The rocks were no more than a foot in diameter; the piles stood two rocks high. As darkness settled, these two piles were it. There was no cover…just a place to sit! Our Platoon Leader ordered us to the nearest pile…for the night.

All was well until I heard the tom toms and singing, coming from upstream. It sounded like a band of American Indians in full Western celebration. The entertainment grew louder by the second. It was too late to move. Our uninvited guests rounded the bend!  The dark was not set perfectly in…you could still see silhouettes. Enemy troops marched in single-file columns, on both edges of the stream bed. I watched the heads and shoulders, as they passed by. I hoped for a short parade, but they kept coming and coming.

What goes through a man’s mind, when totally surrounded? I prayed…many things silently. God don’t let one of those radios go off! Please don’t let anybody sneeze.  I prayed let the good times roll…and roll on by for our enemy.

We were in the proverbial ‘Yea, though I walk through valley of the shadow of death.’ I could not believe that the 50 or so enemy on my side, nor the 50 or so behind me, did not see ten men sitting less than 30 feet, in the open area between them.  In that moment, I resigned…to fear evil. There was absolutely no escape.

They kept singing. They kept marching. Their sound dissipated  round the bend, in the same manner in which they came. The outcome was far beyond my prayer for a quick death!

We slept on the rocks until daylight. I had no trouble rescaling the three clicks to  the top! Our platoon leader had a fantastic intelligence report to deliver. (These enemy would be seen again, within days…in the lunar holiday they call Tet.) As a medic, ten troops down and ten troops up spelled success to me.

I am going to The Wall next week. God only knows why some of us returned, while some…we remember. The Lord is my Shepherd (Psalm 23). Our recon team should have been annihilated. Other than sitting still and hoping for the best, it was completely out of our control.

Currahees…that was the first and last recon patrol for me. Thank you God for platoons and companies of Currahee fighting men!