2013 was a great year, 2014 was a hard year, 2015 was impossible
Two friends were here for dinner yesterday evening. At some point we began talking about what we were doing 10 years ago. Not surprisingly, there had been changes and losses for all of us. Here is a partial account of what I didn’t say.
There was music at the party
10 years ago on New Years Eve of 2014 I was at a gathering with other members of the Atrium Obscurum crew, the people I worked with to put on forest psytrance events. It was an all-night psychedelic party, with most people tripping and others rolling. At some point we gathered around a firepit behind the house and had one of those ceremonies where everyone writes on a piece of paper something they want to let go of from the past year and then one by one, say a few words, and toss that burden into the fire. When it was my turn I said that 2013 was one of the best years of my life and I had nothing to unburden myself of. I said I hoped 2014 would be as good.
A few months into 2014 Leslie began to decline and 2014 got harder and harder and harder until in March of 2015 she passed away. Then the grief. Late 2014 and into 2015 was one of the two hardest times of my life, the other being my 13 months in Vietnam. Below is brief description of a couple of days in Vietnam.
2024 is unfolding as a good year.
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At the “The Hill Fights: The First Battle of Khe Sanh”
I came in with another man on a helicopter to link up with B/1/9 (B Company, 1st Battalion, 9th Marine Regiment) on an operation at the DMZ. When the helicopter came in to where B Co was in those dry hills, the LZ was getting hit with mortars. I didn’t know what was happening and it was a complete surprise when the chopper was about 10 feet off the ground and the crew chief put his boot in my back and pushed me out, followed by a rain of ammo, C-rations, etc. they were tossing off the chopper. There were a lot of mortars coming in, too and I made it to a little hole full of Marines. When I dove in on top of them some lieutenant was telling me to get the hell out and I was just burrowing into the pile, not going anywhere.
The next thing I remember was described in the book, “The Hill Fights” by Edward Murphy. Murphy is writing about someone named Montgomery:
I took this somewhere at the DMZ. They’re loading weapons left from KIAs and WIAs. Two men in foreground are WIA.
“Corporal Montgomery struggled with the heavy load his team carried as they sought cover. They had almost made it when a brace of mortar shells crashed behind them. The twin blasts threw Montgomery into the brush. When he came to a few minutes later, blood flowed from shrapnel wounds in his right thigh, right hand, left arm, left buttocks, and the right side of his neck.
He says, ‘I looked around. No one else was there.’ Mortar shells were still exploding along the ridgeline… I was afraid I’d been out for a while and had been overlooked in a withdrawal, so I crawled on all fours to a nearby bomb crater. I hurt too bad to go any further, so I started calling for help.’
Two marines hiding in another crater answered. As soon as I told them that I was wounded they crawled over and patched me up. ‘Where is everybody?’ Montgomery asked. ‘Where did they go? Are they all right?’ The two marines told him what they knew which was not much, then Montgomery asked them for a favor. Montgomery pulled a camera from his pack and handed it to one of the men, and with mortar shells crashing behind them the man took Montgomery’s picture. ‘What a souvenir that’ll make,’ he thought. As soon as the mortars stopped Montgomery’s two new friends helped him back to the main body.
(I was the man who took Montgomery’s photo. He was sitting in the dirt in the crater, very bloody, smiling, shooting me the finger.)
Minutes later without a word everyone began to move out. The few remaining able-bodied Marines grabbed the wounded and dead and started humping. The men moved with a single-minded goal: get out of the killing zone. The NVA was not going to let that happen.
About ten men made it safely over the ridgeline before the mortars came again. In rapid succession more than a dozen high explosive shells wracked the column. Marines dove left and right seeking cover on the barren hillside. Still, chunks of hot metal found flesh. Up and down the column men were crying out in pain. Some were wounded for the second time that day. More than half a dozen were also freshly wounded and desperate cries of, ‘Corpsman!’ ‘Corpsman up!’ echoed across the hillside. This attack pushed B/1/9 to its limit. They were burdened with more casualties than they could carry, without food for two days, with little water, low on ammo, and without any prospect of evading the enemy. Some in the unit saw no sense in continuing this way. The ambulatory and uninjured might make it to Khe Sanh if the dead and the badly wounded were left behind. Captain Sayers never considered this. Bravo company would succeed or fail as a unit. That was the way it was. There were no other options. The survivors would sell their lives for a high price, taking as many enemy with them as they could.” END QUOTE
Somewhere on the barren hillside, not far up the trail, we got the wounded man to safety. There was a depression in the trail and there were people tending to a another wounded Marine there. He was dying and they were trying to save him, but when they turned him over some of his insides fell out of his back and he died.
In thinking about this I’ve never been able to remember where the trail finally went. Now I know. Farther up the trail a few helicopters came to take out the last casualties and by the time they got to the dead men, there was extra room on the last chopper. So I got out safely and B/1/9 was linked with K/3/9 (K Co., 3rd Bn, 9th Marine Regiment).
In November 2009 I wrote about what happened with me next:
After it was over, 1/9 Marines carrying the dead
(11/2009) I was flying out of an operation, in a chopper with a lot of weapons and several bodies. We were flying low, coming up on any enemy too fast for them to hit us except they did, bullets banging into the chopper and it started spinning except the pilot flared it some and though we slammed hard into the ground. It wasn’t a disaster – except for the fact that we had just been shot down by people with bad intent who were undoubtedly headed our way from not very far away. We set up some guns and in just a few minutes we began to take a little fire and then another chopper got there and we dragged the bodies to the other chopper and got out of there (calling in artillery fire on the downed chopper).
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Writing this has been a comfort to me. It doesn’t really bother me much anymore. It’s crazy to think that these things and more happened. The comfort I take is related to the war in Ukraine. I’ve been worrying about the Ukrainian soldiers who are going through heavier combat than I ever did. How can they process it later in life? As I reread the above, I think that if I’m OK, maybe some of them can be, too.
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I read all this to Jean. I am thankful to her for hearing it.