B0038M1ADS EBOK (27 page)

I arrived in Vietnam on December 12, 1969, and was assigned to
Company A, 1st Battalion 27th Infantry (Wolfhounds) Regiment in Chu
Chi. My first baptism by fire (firelight) happened Christmas Eve 1969.
My first of many horrible combat experiences was to trip and fall face first
into a very dead and decaying Vietcong soldier. I can still smell death and
decay to this day. But the more combat that I experienced the more I wanted
to stay. I knew that I had found my calling, so after my first tour of duty
ended in December 1970, I volunteered for a second tour. I was a warrior
consumed by war and combat.

The Wolfhounds went back to Hawaii with the 2nd Brigade of the
25th Infantry Division in April of 1971, at which time I was transferred
to the 101st Airborne, 1st of the 501st Geronimo's, Company B in Phu
Bai. In late August 1971, while serving with the 101st off of Firebase
Rifle, Bravo Company was given a mission to go into a particular valley
along with Alpha Company and drive a known North Vietnamese Army
(NVA) battalion up the valley into waiting Charlie and Delta companies.
My job was point man for the lead platoon of both Alpha and Bravo companies. I was like a Doberman pinscher with a hand grenade in his mouth
(nervous, dangerous, and in your face).

Within two to three hours we made contact with the main NVA battalion size element. That sent the NVA regulars into the waiting Charlie
and Delta companies, who were supposed to catch them retreating up
the valley. But what happened was carnage. Charlie and Delta companies were outmatched by the hard-core NVA Battalion and got ripped to
shreds, suffering a 40 percent casualty rate. My second tour ended in
October of 1971 when I caught malaria and was medevac'd to Camp
Zama, Japan.

For the past thirty-eight years I have felt responsible for the carnage of
Charlie and Delta companies. The battle off Firebase Rifle is but a small
footnote in the larger war and means nothing to most people. However, to
me and all the warriors who fought, bled, and died for each other that day,
it changed our lives forever.

By the time I was sent back to the real world (home) in November of
1971, my "white tiger" inner demon was combat-ready and trained. I was
pissed off, full of distrust of the system, and could not relate to my family
or friends. I looked for any situation that would provide me with a feeling
of danger and excitement like I experienced in combat, and I did a lot of
dangerous and illegal things. I wanted to live fast and die young.

After five years, I joined the Army again as a reservist and completed
Ranger training at Fort Benning, Georgia, in 1976. As a young buck
sergeant (E-5) I was full of piss and vinegar and not willing to take orders
from any officer, which led to many demotions during my long career.

During the summer of 1977, my reserve unit from Ann Arbor, Michigan, went to Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, for our annual two weeks of training. One particular day at Fort McCoy I went to the PX to buy some patches
for my new fatigues. While shopping I noticed several soldiers wearing the
Screaming Eagle patch of the 101st Airborne Division. I approached one
of them and introduced myself and told him that I had served with Bravo
Company of the 11501st, 101st Airborne Division in Vietnam in 1971.
The soldier said that his unit was here to help train the reservists and be the
opposition force. The soldier went on to say that one of his buddies was also
in Vietnam in 1971 with Charlie Company 1/501st. At that moment, a
sense of foreshadowing went through me and I was instantly combat-ready.
I knew for some unknown reason that this meeting between the Charlie
Company soldier and me was not going to go well.

I followed the soldier over to meet the soldier from Charlie Company.
I said hello and that I was in Bravo Company in 1971 in Vietnam. He
introduced himself as Sergeant R and asked me if I was with the unit at
Firebase Rifle. I said yes, and that I was in Bravo Company at that time.
He gave me a long stare, then asked if I was in the battle offFirebase Rifle
that occurred in late August of 1971, to which I replied yes. He then asked
me what my job was that day. The look on his face was the same look we
used to have in battle-wide-eyed and ready for blood. I told him my job
was point man. Sergeant R stared at me for a few seconds and said, "So
you're the son of a bitch that drove those NVA regulars into my company
and got us slaughtered. "I screamed "Fuck you!" so loud that everyone in the PX heard me and turned and stared at both of us. Sergeant R gave me
a "Fuck you" back, at which time I slapped him so hard in the face he fell
backwards onto the floor; I pounced on him.

The fight turned deadly in an instant and both of us knew it. We used
every warrior skill we had learned in hand-to-hand combat and went at it.
A couple of shelves and display cases were smashed as we threw each other
around the PX like rag dolls. Sergeant R's buddies tried to break up the
brawl. I smashed my fist in one of their faces and jammed my foot into the
balls of another. My mouth filled up with blood and I loved it.

Somehow we both heard sirens; no doubt the MPs had been called. So
we ran outside kicking and punching anyone who got in our way. I have
always wondered what happened to the major who tried to grab me at the
door and who 1 punched and tossed into a glass case that shattered. Once
outside we brawled some more, and as the MPs (lots of MPs) arrived, we
both ran into the forest in the back of the PX and concealed ourselves. The
whole time we had yelled, cussed, and threatened to kill each other. For a
brief moment now we both became combat buddies trying to escape the MPs
surrounding us in the woods.

While hiding I asked Sergeant R why he hated me so much. He said
that he'd lost a lot of buddies that day and had promised to get the fuck
responsible. By his measure I was that fuck. I tried to tell him that I had
also lost some buddies that day and was only doing my job. That answer
seemed to infuriate him and he began to beat me again. I managed to break
free and pick up a tree branch, and began to club him.

We were both oblivious to the world until I saw an MP sergeant major
come with a squad of armed MPs. I tried to sidestep the sergeant major and
run. He grabbed my arm with one hand and smashed the side of my head
with a. 45 caliber pistol in the other hand, knocking me to the ground. Before
I could get up and run away, I had a loaded. 45 stuck in my face. I saw that
Sergeant R had about six MPs around him pointing MI 6s at him.

The MP sergeant major told us both in a command voice to stop trying to kill each other that second or he would do the job for us. I twitched a
little and the sergeant major clicked off the safety and told me not to move
a fucking muscle or he would blow my stupid fucking brains out.

Sergeant R and I were cuffed and stuffed into an MP meat wagon
and transported to the Fort McCoy jail. Once there we were put in separate
cells and ordered to shut the fuck up and wait for the post commander,
a two-star general. We were given some medical attention for our cuts,
bruises, scrapes, broken fingers, knuckles, and other combat wounds.

While waiting, the MP sergeant major came back and told us both
that he had not seen such anger and bloodlust since he was in Vietnam or
Korea. That's when I noticed that he was also wearing the Screaming Eagle
patch of the 101st Airborne Division. He asked us what the fuck was going
on. So Sergeant R and I told him the whole story. To our surprise he told us
that he understood our feelings and would try to help us, but that we had
caused thousands of dollars' worth of damage and the post commander
was so angry he wanted our asses shot at dawn. It was a long night in that
cell. I fell asleep beat, tired, and whipped, much like I felt after afirefight.
I awoke the next morning so damn sore that I could not move, still tasting
and spitting blood. I saw that Sergeant R was not in his cell and wondered
what was going to happen to me.

The cell door opened and in walked the post commander, all six-footfour of him (also wearing a 101st Airborne patch) along with the sergeant
major. The general looked mad, mean, and serious. I thought my Army
career was over, and that I would be locked up for a long time. The general
ordered me to stand at attention and asked me what in the hell was going
on between Sergeant R and I, and why I had assaulted Sergeant R in such
a vicious manner.

I could not believe my ears; me assault Sergeant R? What a joke! We'd
both tried to kill each other, but somehow it was my fault. "Bullshit, " I
thought. Now I really hated that son of a bitch and promised to get even.

I asked the commander and sergeant major what had happened to Sergeant K The commander's answer completely shocked me. He told me that
Sergeant R didn't want charges to be pressed against me and that he had
been sent back during the night to Fort Campbell, Kentucky. The general
further said that if I agreed to pay for the damages along with Sergeant R,
that I could be out of jail in three to four days, and my only crime would be
disorderly conduct and reduction in rank. For a brief moment I thought of telling the general to go fuck himself. Somehow the sergeant major seemed
to read my mind, recognized the look on my face, and asked the general if
he could try to talk some sense into me alone.

After the general left, the sergeant major looked at me and said, `Kid,
I had a long and hard all-fucking-night-over-a-bottle-of-bourbon talk with
the general to convince him to give you a break. "I asked the sergeant major
why I was being given a break. He said that he and the general figured that
since all four of us had served in Vietnam with the 101st, that this was a
`family "feud, that he and the general remembered being young and stupid
once, and that any returning-home combat warrior deserved a break. So I
reluctantly agreed to the deal. However, for the next three days in jail I still
wanted to kick that cock-sucking, mother fucking, Piece-of-shit-for-brains
Sergeant R's ass.

As it turns out, we got that chance when we met up some years later
at Fort Carson and twice at Fort Benning. Both of us had remained in the
Army. The first two encounters were mostly pushing, shoving, and yelling
matches that led to demotions for both of us. For the third encounter at Fort
Benning in 1988, where we had ended up as drill instructors, we decided
to keep our distance from each other. We finally decided the Vietnam War
was over for us for now.

The fourth and last time that I saw Sergeant R was in 1990. We had
managed to become first sergeants of infantry companies at Fort Benning,
and we were getting our companies ready for deployment to the Gulf for
Operation Desert Storm. We met at a senior NCO club and talked over
some beers, and finally once and for all ended the Vietnam War between
us. During that meeting I asked him why he blamed me for what happened.
He answered, "I was young and stupid and still really pissed off, and no,
I don't blame anyone anymore. " We talked, joked, and laughed about the
"McCoy Battle, " and in the end decided that we were both fools and wished
each other good luck in our lives and careers. I was able to move on and let
go of any lingering animosity that I felt toward him.

In 1998 I left the Army, and in July of 2002 I mentally and physically crashed and burned because of PTSD. By August of 2002, I started
my five year-long, hard and painful journey back to myself and happiness through therapy. Writing this story has been very difficult for me, because
I never narrated it in this way. So here we are in 2009, and I again find
myself feeling somewhat withdrawn, detached, lonely, and angry at times.
But I don't regret telling the story. I'll always be the combat warrior, and
the reality is that my blueprint for happiness and quality of life is still a
work in progress. Telling my story is an important part of that, it allows
me to honestly accept my feelings, which helps me to dwell less on them. I
find it beneficial to be introspective at times and think of things in different
ways. Telling my story helps me to appreciate life as it is now, and all the
people who are important in my life, like my daughter and son. I find that
I'm able to be more empathetic, and also better able to receive the support
of others.

As I was writing this, my friends noticed that I wasn't quite myself,
that I was more quiet and detached compared to how I usually am; they
asked me how I was doing and genuinely wanted to know the answer. I
was surprised that they noticed any change at all, and it helped me to know
that they cared. I told them that I was writing about some serious things
that happened in Vietnam and was just going through an introspective
period, which they accepted.

I hope that my story will in some way help all returning veterans to
take the steps to make the transition home (hopefully in a shorter period
of time than it took me) and lead a joyous life. Keep the faith, my brothers
and sisters.