The Day I Cried

Battalion Surgeon Andrew Lovy (far right) Doc Jones (sitting)

My experience with snipers turned pretty negative. That happens on the receiving end. They are by nature lone wolf killers. They typically slowed down our pursuit of their main troop units. A few made brief contact just to fire pot shots. One day in Vietnam, we ran into the real deal.

A young man from headquarters admin. joined our company. It was good to see a familiar face, as medics are attached out of headquarters. I also knew him from the States. He was particularly likable and friendly to everyone. This soldier had an altruistic bent about the camaraderie in the field. He thirsted for the bond established under fire.  He didn’t fathom the cost that went with it.

We moved on a typical search and destroy mission. Shots were exchanged ahead. We were operating as a full company of men; I was in one of the three platoons. The replacement’s platoon held the rear guard. One hundred men feels much safer than our platoon missions with 30 troops. On this day…it gave a false sense of security.

I preferred setting in the densest brush, at any stop in forward progress. While searching the area, I wandered  across our new man playing cards, with two others. They were on the perimeter. It wasn’t my call, nor my platoon, but I chewed their butts out for a minute. I rudely explained that two is a crowd and three is just plain stupid. I reminded them of that sniper hanging out there somewhere. Although we were friends, the pull of being one of the boys was just too strong. Every man holds his own in the field. My spot beckoned me about 100 feet behind them, with my own troops.

Resting on my gear, my mind wondered in mild contentment. Suddenly, three shots fired. Bam…bam bam! It was fairly close. One of my guys said they heard that someone was hit. Since it was in my neighborhood, I went over to help. The first shot was true, hitting our troop from one side of his chest to the other. Dressings had been applied.

I popped my bag in pursuit of an airway. Some medic had ‘borrowed’ it. I cleared the man’s mouth and give him direct air. Deep shock is such a blessing. It’s frustrating to fight a losing battle, but you can’t help but try. Life slipped gently away. I turned around to respectfully ask, “Who is this?” They told me it’s the new guy…my friend. I turned around to look again at that swollen face, “God, damn it!” The kid never fired the first shot in battle. The poncho liner now wrapped the precious body. It was my turn to look away.

The two card players sat sheepishly a few yards in the distance. I walked over and said, “You know you killed him, don’t you?” It’s not nice to lay that on someone, but they had taught him a fatal habit. I thought to  myself, ‘Where to hell was the squad leader?’ I wanted to blame someone…anyone.

I sat on the perimeter alone, spitting the taste of blood, looking out across the kill zone. The deep depression ran the length in this direction. The sniper had side-stepped and allowed the unit to pass him. His spot had brilliant cover and full firing view. I respected Mr. Charles. You had to acknowledge the enemy’s skill. Then I returned to my own place in the dense.

Our feet held callouses upon callouses. We prized those hardened dogs. It took weeks to build that natural protection. For a brief moment I cried. Then…I resorted back to the callousness of the heart. I couldn’t let new people get too close. I prayed for those remaining in my inner circle. It was time to  tightened up.

Currahees…I lost much that day. I lost a friend that I never expected to lose. On that day…I also lost all vestige of my youth.