From Classrooms to Claymores by Ches Schneider

Author:Ches Schneider [Schneider, Ches]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-75806-4
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2010-07-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

Mortars, Maggots, and Maybes

The Bravo Company felt it had been through hell. We had sustained one KIA and, if you counted the guy who wrenched his back, three wounded. A rumor circulated that one of the grunts had experienced a ridiculously close call because two bullets had ricocheted off the sides of his steel pot. Even though he hadn’t been physically hurt, he was in a state of shock.

We moved off into the jungle. I didn’t envy the point men in the lead platoon. Walking in company file meant that we were walking three abreast and had three point men. The enemy could have slipped in and set up booby traps anywhere on our perimeter. The point men would be the first to feel the sting of a vengeful adversary. We moved along gingerly.

The firefight had lasted seven hours, and we were all exhausted. I had even dozed off during one of the lulls in the firing. It seems impossible to understand, but sometimes at the end of a very dangerous situation, people would fall asleep or disconnect from life for a while. Although not a recommended action, it happened.

When we reached a section of the jungle that seemed safe and defensible, we set up for the night. No one needed to be encouraged to dig a deep foxhole. The ground was hard, so we took turns digging and resting. That night, we huddled around the hole and ate cold Cs. The other members of the heavy-weapons platoon teased me in a good-natured way.

Schacker poked fun at me by saying in a hushed voice, “Professor, you looked like you were going to win the war by your own self today. It didn’t look like you needed any help.”

Scooter said the same, and that is why he had looked for cover while I was firing. I confirmed that I’d been trying to hose down the enemy fire, but I doubted that I killed anyone. Chris said that at the evening briefing the captain had asked who I was.

My curiosity caused me to inquire more about the gooks we had fought. I didn’t like the answer.

“Those were hard-core NVA we were up against out there. Straight down the Ho Chi Minh trail to save their VC brothers from American oppression. They don’t run from much. We shoot the shit out of them, and they still don’t run like the VC do. You’re in the big-boy war now. Not that simple shit around Bien Hoa,” said J. B., who had been carrying the tube that day.

“That’s why they transferred you to us from the Big Red One,” added Gomer Sanderson, our hillbilly wit. The ribbing made me feel accepted. I liked it. I knew I would have to cut out the “This is the way the Red One did it” stuff. I was getting back a little of my own medicine.

There was never much getting used to contact. The first shots always caused a stabbing, hurting feeling, The noise seared through one’s body and mind.

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