The Battle: A Vietnam War Short Story

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“This Assault operation must be supported by the maximum small arms fire available! This means, all machine gunners must produce the overwhelming firepower to win the fire-fight and gain the initiative! The position you will be attacking has no depth, therefore, a straight aggressive fight through! That is all, and good luck! “

Pre deliberate attack briefing, Plain of Reeds,1967.

Once more we were out in the boonie working with the South Vietnamese Marines on one of their expeditions into the Plain of Reeds. There were two other Mike boats in our little attack flotilla, both of which were the standard troop and cargo humpers who were carrying the main attack troops. That area of the plain was thick with tall elephant grass infested with large red ants and mosquitoes. The stagnant, putrid water was nearly heaving with leeches.

Peering out of our cover in the elephant grass into the man-made clearing, it was the first close look I had of North Vietnamese Regulars. These enemy grunts appeared tough and fit. Looked disciplined, and were armed with new Chi-com, Chinese Communist, AK rifles. Their fighting gear, uniforms and pith helmets appeared well cared for. In essence, we would be up against properly trained, and dedicated, soldiers.

I caught some movement out the corner of my eye, but it was only our group’s gunner squirming into position with his M60 light machine gun, digging his toes in against the weapons recoil, which would come once he started to fire.

He was lying in a little watery dip in the swampy ground, a good natural weapons position which reduced his ground profile to practically zero. However, he was soaking up water like a sponge, and probably collecting leeches at the same time. However, adrenalin ...

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..., whoever got to you first would help you. Lightly wounded men, such as I was, could carry on fighting once treated, and were actively encouraged to do so. An encouraging word from a medic could get them going again, but sometimes it could take some physical encouragement like pushing, slapping, or a good kick up the ass to motivate them.

Self-help for me came in the form of making up a strong saline solution from my salt tablets and water bottle contents, and dowsing my wounds with it as a hopeful preventative measure against infection. Then I stuffed my hand into a semi-clean sock, and strapped up the whole thing with electrical tape. Most of our guys carried a roll of it for tailoring, or repairing gear. My hand now looked as if it were encased in a winter mitt, but I have to say that I was really quite proud of my fist-aid effort, as not being a combat medic.

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