Two Medics Down!

Jerry Berry, 3/506th Combat Photographer

Dedicated to Doc Tom Lundgren (3/506th medic) and to Scott Gay (medevac pilot) a rare breed of heroes!

There are moments that define you. Life puts the question to you. How you answer shapes the person you live with, for the remaining years of your life. I was in the rear long enough to give up my canteens to an outgoing medic; that exchange could take mere minutes, to deplete my valued resource. In actuality, I stayed in the rear overnight.

One of my headquarters friends ran up and said, “Doc, you’ve got to hide. There are two medics down in the field. They are being flown back now!” I replied, “Do you think they are from the same company?” He didn’t know, but he said his information was good.  I suppose he was looking out for me. Certainly he gave me a chance to get lost. The first two medical bodies found would return with that medevac. We were deep into the Tet Offensive. This was the real deal. Casualties, both dead and wounded, were high and mounting by the hour.

Sp/5 Martin is extreme left; Credit photo: Jerry Berry, Combat Photographer

Instead of hiding, I ran to the Aid Station. Sgt. Martin was always my ‘go to’ man. Although he was a specialist, I called him sergeant out of respect. He earned my trust repeatedly. I asked him what was going on. He told me that a line company was engaged with the enemy. They had lost two medics. He wasn’t clear about the extent of their wounds…or if they were alive

Three medics manned the platoons; the senior medic supported the company’s medical clearing. He prepared the wounded for evacuation. The senior medic could potentially cover one line platoon, but not two. The medical support would quickly break down in heavy engagement, with only half their medics. I could picture this all in my head.

Cutting to the chaff, I said, “Sgt. Martin, I’ll go.” He looked at me slowly and replied, “I’ve got some men I can find.” With that I said, “I know. You’ve only got to look for one more.” We both knew two medics had to muster immediately for that returning medevac. I continued, “All I need is some canteens.” Sgt. Martin suggested, “Go down to the line company’s supply. Tell them what you’re doing.”

There was a bit of an argument with the supply sergeant. Then I looked him in the eye and said, “Damn it Sarge, I just volunteered to go out with your company. There are two medics down. Are you going to deny me canteens?” With that he said, “how many you need?” I asked for the equivalent of 22 canteens (a combination of water bladders and canteens). I could drink six a day and have a few left, after our normal three day supply cycle. I could hump more water than a camel!

I ran back to the aid station and Sgt. Martin sent me directly to the medevac pad. Doc Tom Lundgren waited for me there, leaning on some sandbags. The darkness enveloped us as were heard the distant incoming chopper. A litter crew fell into action, removing the  wounded. It looked like painful mortar fragment wounds. Some cried out when moved. Tom and I looked at each other, knowing we were going in where they came out.

I slipped into the right side seat, Tom went around to the left. The chopper lifted off into the dark. We had a long flight ahead of us, long enough to think. My Dad had warned me about volunteering. He had seen a lot of combat. In my mind, I was a combat medic. The thought of two line platoons without medics…was reason enough. I am no hero, but I knew that some things demand you show up.

A pungent odor wreaked havoc on my thoughts;  it smelled like the slaughterhouse of my youth. I realized this medevac dripped with human blood. My knees knocked uncontrollably for a bit…until I could resettle my mind. The pilot took a sharp turn to survey the land. I saw the battlefield light up with two massive interlocking sets of tracers, blue-green and orange-red. We were flying directly into a hail of bullets. Medevac pilots fly and land under all conditions, on a routine basis. The final action shocked me…the pilot turned on his lights for the landing! ‘Oh man’ I thought, ‘the Vietcong are going to fire a rocket and blow us out of the sky!’ I planted my feet on the skids and jumped at about five feet in the air. I hit running…away from that light.

Things were eerily quiet in that pitch dark. The war seemed suspended. Then I heard the machine guns interrupt the silence, but off in the distance.  A voice barked that we had to wait. I saw some wounded. They waited their turn for extraction. I drew near, attempting words of encouragement, from one man to another. I saw a remaining man, just a bit further in the distance. Touching his shoulder, I said my few encouraging words. A nearby soldier abruptly turned around and wordlessly left. I settled my face inches from my man’s chest and realized…this fallen trooper had no head. War holds no hope. I thought,’My God, I think I could go insane.’ Reeling, I slipped back towards the command post.

Our man came to guide us to the front. Our lines were jagged. Doc Tom hit me to whisper, “Hear that?” I listened to a Vietnamese leader voice repeated commands to his troops. It was probably within hand grenade throw distance…but there were only three of us! We slipped quietly further ahead. Our lives were literally in the hands of our guide. Tom settled when we reached the first platoon; I went on to the next.

After a brief introduction, the platoon leader informed me that I would not be a hero. They would bring the wounded to me. I asked him about their water supply. They were nearly out. I said I had plenty to share. When the squad leaders assembled, I gave them all my canteens…keeping the bladders. They kept tabs of the empties for me. The rest I shared with the radio operator and whoever else was out. That was the only time I bonded with a platoon…without a shot being fired. I laid my head on the side of the ditch. I woke up with the sun  shining in my eyes. They had let me sleep…as a welcome. At daylight, I could finally see what these guys looked like!

Currahees…I don’t speak Vietnamese. But I think we heard the orders for our enemy to pull out. That new platoon became my home for awhile.