LIFE WAS GOOD

I knew I was in a war zone — half a world away from where I grew up — but life on the Da Nang base was good. Surprisingly good.

We were safe. That came from being on a massive base with lots of support. Unlike the soldiers in the field, we didn’t have to worry about nightly attacks or ambushes.

My work was fulfilling. I enjoyed helping patients, learning new skills, maintaining the pharmacy, and even caring for our jeep … I mean, our ambulance.

I had time to read, take correspondence courses, and even play an occasional handball game.

Spiritually, I was growing too. I read the Bible daily, memorized scripture, participated in a Bible Study, and treasured my prayer time.

And then …

AN EMERGENCY

One day the quiet life we were leading at our aid station was interrupted.

A soldier stumbled into the aid station, clutching his abdomen. He was burning with fever, suffering from severe cramps and diarrhea, and begged us to do something — anything — to stop the pain.

Doc examined him quickly and decided we needed to get him to the hospital right away. We loaded him onto a stretcher, secured it to the jeep, and I became an ambulance driver for the day.

After delivering him to the ER, I returned to the aid station, feeling relieved that he was in good hands — only to find another soldier was already on the exam table with the same symptoms.

So back to the hospital I went.

By the time I returned from that second trip, more soldiers had shown up. All were from the same unit. And all had the same painful symptoms.

Something was clearly going on.

Doc got on the radio with the hospital.

Soon, we had the answer.

It was something called Shigella flexneri.

Now I had no idea what Shigella flexneri was, but Doc assured us we had the right medication. We treated our patients, sent them back to their unit to sleep in their own beds, and waited.

There were no more ambulance runs that night.

After a little more digging by the medical staff at the hospital, they discovered the cause of the problem. The previous day, the men in the unit had a party. During that party, each of those who became sick had eaten some potato salad that had gone bad.

It was food poisoning.

A LITTLE HISTORY

When things finally calmed down, Doc shared the story behind that particular bacterium.

In 1897, during a dysentery epidemic in Japan, Dr. Kiyoshi Shiga — a physician and bacteriologist — isolated a bacillus from patients’ stool samples. He believed it was the cause of the disease they faced.

To test his theory, he did something we’d never get away with today: he administered the bacillus to his wife.

She promptly developed the illness.

Apparently, that was an acceptable way to test a medical theory back in those days.

The good news for our patients was that all of them recovered very quickly.

ANOTHER EMERGENCY

It didn’t take long to return to the quiet routines of life at our aid station.

But then my peaceful routine was interrupted once again.

There was another emergency.

It wasn’t sick soldiers this time.

This time the emergency was about my family.

I was called to the headquarters office and was told that my dad had suffered a heart attack and could possibly die. The news caught me completely by surprise.

The Army would give me thirty days emergency leave so I could be with him.

I didn’t know the Army did things like that, but I packed my duffle bag, boarded a plane, and headed back to the States.

Even though I was scheduled to return to Vietnam in just a few weeks, on the flight home, the war seemed very far away.

LESSONS FROM MY DAYS IN OLIVE DRAB

There were a couple of lessons I took from this period of my time in the Army.

1. Be prepared. Situations in life can change without warning, whether in a war zone or at home. Do your best in your tasks, whatever those tasks might be.

Along with the other medics, I was able to help the doctor when patients came in. We had all learned how to do our jobs well. We were prepared.

When we had to send patients to the hospital, no one had to worry if the jeep had any mechanical problems. It was my job to take care of that jeep, and I knew it was in excellent working condition and had plenty of fuel.

When we found out what meds our patients needed, no one had to worry if we had those meds. It was my job to see that the pharmacy was always stocked correctly. We were prepared.

I want to encourage you … whatever tasks you work on or are responsible for, learn to do those tasks well. Be prepared.

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.”
Colossians 3:23-24 (ESV)

2. Don’t be surprised when bad things happen. I’m sure you all have noticed that even in the safest places, trouble can somehow find a way in. You need to know that God knows everything that happens in your life. You can trust Him to guide and comfort you.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.”
Psalm 34:18-19 (ESV)

A BLESSING

Before I go, I’d like to share a blessing with you from the Old Testament.

“May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.”
Numbers 6:24-26 (The Living Bible)

Until next time … be the reason someone smiles today.

When people ask me what it was like in Vietnam, I often hesitate to answer. Usually, they are expecting horror stories of death and destruction.

I had friends who did have experiences like that, but that wasn’t my experience.

My time in Vietnam, especially in Danang, was one of the best times in my life for personal growth.

I was learning a number of medical skills that allowed me to help people. I loved helping people.

I was able to read many books which were provided free by the Army.

I was taking college level correspondence courses through USAFI, the United States Armed Forces Institute. So, I was earning college credit even while I was in Vietnam.

But most importantly, I grew in my relationship with the Lord.

I was in the Word — that’s just another way of saying I read the Bible — every day. I memorized large portions of Scripture and would go through those scriptures in my head even at night in my bed.

And I had the best times in prayer that I had ever known. When I prayed, I knew I was in God’s presence, loving Him and listening to Him.

It was an incredible time of growth.

But …

But during one of those special times of prayer … well, I felt a very clear instruction from the Lord. It was almost an audible voice.

I said almost.

The instruction was:

“Start a Bible Study”

What?

A Bible Study?

Now that was ridiculous. I was in a war zone in Vietnam. This was the Army. You don’t just start a Bible study in the Army while serving in a war in Vietnam.

It was silly. Surely it was a weird thought that just crossed my mind.

It had to be a weird thought because God would know that the Army wouldn’t allow anyone to start a Bible study in Vietnam.

It was a crazy idea.

I went to sleep and put the thought out of my mind … until the next day.

Bouncing Off the Ceiling

After my work at the clinic, I went back to my room, read the Word, and began to pray.

But something was very different.

My prayer time wasn’t like anything I had experienced up to this point.

Instead of a great time of talking to and listening to God … there was nothing.

I mean nothing.

It’s like my prayers were just words bouncing off the ceiling. It was an awful feeling.

That feeling went on for a couple of days until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I knew I was not doing what God had told me to do, so I knew I had to take care of that.

I tried to explain to God that the Army wouldn’t allow me to start a Bible study, but I told Him that I would go ask someone in authority if I could.

I wasn’t sure who I should ask. I didn’t think the Commanding Officer of the 3/82 Artillery would be a good option.

There was a good chance he might laugh or yell at me.

But I had to ask someone.

Prayers bouncing off the ceiling were not an option. I missed my time with God. I wanted those times back.

So, who should I ask?

The Chaplain

As I thought about it, I realized the chaplain might be a good option.

It didn’t matter if he told me I couldn’t do it, which he probably would, I figured at least he wouldn’t laugh or yell at me.

I mean he was a chaplain. Chaplains didn’t laugh or yell at people who asked for permission to hold a Bible Study. At least I hoped they didn’t.

I didn’t know how to contact the chaplain, but I figured he must have a service somewhere on base.

All I had to do was find out when and where such a service was being held, attend it, and when it was over ask the chaplain about the Bible Study.

Then I would be off the hook with God.

The Service

The service was held at a building not far from our headquarters on a Sunday.

So, I went to church, or chapel, or whatever the Army called it.

There were about 20 men in attendance. I recognized a couple of soldiers from the 3/82 Artillery. I don’t remember anything the chaplain said. I assume we must have sung some hymns, and the chaplain must have preached, but my mind was focused on how I would phrase the question to the chaplain.

When the service was over, everyone lined up to shake hands with the chaplain as they left.

I positioned myself at the end of the line. I would be the last one out so no one could listen to my question.

I reminded God that I was being obedient and was looking forward to restoring our daily time of fellowship.

The Sergeant

Soldiers thanked the chaplain for the service and left. Everyone seemed happy. Finally, the line was almost done.

The only one in front of me now was our mess sergeant … that’s what we called the guy who handled the food services for our unit. He was a good guy.

I was ready with my question as soon as the sergeant left.

But the sergeant didn’t just shake the chaplain’s hand and leave. Instead, he asked the chaplain a question.

“Chaplain,” he said, “are there any Bible Studies I can attend?”

I couldn’t believe what I just heard.

The chaplain started to say there weren’t any he was aware of, but I interrupted him.

I explained I was going to ask if we could have a Bible Study in our unit. The chaplain smiled and encouraged the two of us to get one going right away.

We began a Bible Study in our unit that week.

LESSONS FROM MY DAYS IN OLIVE DRAB

Lesson 1: God does know how the Army works. He knows how everything works. We need to remember that in whatever condition we find ourselves in.

Lesson 2: I found out later that it would have been fine with the Army if we held a Bible Study in Vietnam. We didn’t even have to ask permission from anyone to do so. But God was very gracious to me to have the sergeant ask the chaplain right in front of me that day.

Lesson 3: Do what God tells you to do when He tells you to do it.

A BLESSING

Before I go, I’d like to share a blessing with you from the Old Testament.

“May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.”
Numbers 6:24-26 (The Living Bible)

Until next time … be the reason someone smiles today

But it also gave me another job.

Because I controlled the vehicle, I was the designated gopher, sent to pick up and deliver things around the base and in the city of DaNang.

Walking in DaNang

One day I was sent to DaNang to pick up some stuff. Now I don’t remember what the stuff was, but I do remember walking the sidewalks in DaNang.

DaNang was a major city in Vietnam with a population of more than 400,000 people and the sidewalks were filled with Vietnamese civilians and also quite a few American soldiers.

This was certainly not the mental image I had of being in a war zone. It was more like being in downtown Los Angeles.

Lots and lots of people and lots of activity.

I remember having to maneuver through the crowds to avoid bumping into people.

And then I stopped.

It couldn’t be.

I turned to look at the soldier who just walked past me going the other direction.

It wasn’t possible.

“Steve!” I called out.

The soldier stopped and turned around as people pushed by him.

And then he smiled.

It was Steve, one of my best friends from my home church back in Glendale, California.

A Chance Meeting?

With more than 200,000 soldiers in Vietnam at the time, and more than 400,000 people living in DaNang at that time, what were the odds that I would just happen to walk past my friend on that particular street at that particular time on that particular day?

I don’t think it was chance.

I think the Lord arranged for us to meet.

Steve explained he was in an infantry unit, and that he was given a couple of days of in-country R&R.

R&R stands for “rest and relaxation” and soldiers in the field were sometimes given R&R just for a break from being shot at, worrying about stepping on a land mine, or sleeping in the jungle with crawly things all around them.

Even though they had a barracks for the guys on R&R, I invited him to my place … remember I had a nice room with an extra bed. He agreed and I drove him to the 3/82 Artillery compound on the base.

He settled in quickly and I gave him a tour the place I called home.

It was certainly different from his home out in the field.

I showed him where I worked at the aid station, let him see all of the facilities we had available to us, treated him to a meal at our mess hall, and … introduced him to the sport of handball.

Steve was an excellent athlete, and we had some good games.

I also made a point of taking a number of photos of Steve, so I could send them back to his mother, who I was sure would be delighted to know her son was alive and well.

The time went by quickly and I drove him back to the R&R base where he would be returned to his unit in the field.

It was a totally unexpected meeting but one that I’m glad the Lord gave us.

LESSONS

There were a couple of lessons from this time period that I found valuable.

1. God is in control. God was the one who arranged that Steve and I would be walking down that particular street in Vietnam, on that particular day, at that particular time, and that among all the people that filled the sidewalks, I would notice my friend. The meeting was not an accident.

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.”
Proverbs 16:9 (ESV)

2. God comforts His children. As much as I enjoyed my meeting with Steve, as I thought about this event, it dawned on me that God may have had a more important reason than just giving Steve and I a good time. God also reassured and comforted a mother who I know was concerned about the safety of her son.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
Matthew 5:4 (ESV)

A BLESSING FOR YOU

Before I go, I’d like to share a blessing with you from the Old Testament.

“May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.”
Numbers 6:24-26 (The Living Bible)

Until next time … be the reason someone smiles today

The young Vietnamese woman lay on the treatment table in our small clinic in DaNang. I studied her bleeding foot, surgical needle in hand, my heart pounding.

Just a few weeks earlier, I’d never even held such a needle.

Now I was going to be responsible for stitching up her wound.

A Needed Skill

Doc knew I might be sent to a remote firebase where medics were an important lifeline for wounded soldiers. Most of the wounds in Vietnam were from shrapnel or bullets and often required rapid field treatment.

One of those treatments was knowing how to stitch up a wound.

The regular medics had learned to suture in their training at Fort Sam Houston back in the states, but I didn’t have that training. Remember, I was in artillery, and what I learned was how to do the math in order to direct artillery shells to specific coordinates on a map.

But in my new position, that wasn’t a very useful skill. I needed to learn how to suture.

So, Doc took me under his wing.

Doc Teaches

Doc taught me to recognize when a wound needed to be sutured and when it didn’t.

He taught me how to use the tools available in the suture kit, emphasizing the importance of sterilized instruments.

He taught me how to clean a wound properly and how to inject lidocaine around the wound edges to minimize the patient’s pain.

And then he taught me how to do the actual suturing from selecting the needle and using it properly, to tying the knots to secure the suture without cutting the tissue.

When Doc thought I was ready, he wanted me to try the procedure on a real live human being.

My First Patient

For some reason the Army didn’t allow practicing on soldiers, but civilians were fair game.

Vietnamese locals would sometimes come to the base seeking medical help and we were always glad to help them.

That’s how Doc found my first patient — a young woman with a deep cut on her foot. It definitely needed to be sewn up.

Through a translator, I explained the procedure to the woman, and while she was a bit nervous, she also appeared to be very trusting of me.

Talk about pressure.

Doc watched as I worked on the patient.

Everything went well and she had a smile as I finished bandaging her foot and helping her off the table.

I have to admit it was fun to do something that I knew would help that woman heal.

Not Everything Worked Out Well

A few days later, a farmer came to the base needing medical help. He had a large gash on his foot, almost six inches in length.

I cleaned and stitched it, then bandaged him.

I actually admired my work. I thought I had done a beautiful job.

I explained through the translator that he must stay off his foot for a couple of weeks to give the wound time to heal.

But a couple of days later the farmer was back in our clinic and his foot was a bloody mess.

The translator explained that the farmer couldn’t stay off his foot. He needed to work in the field to feed his family, so he worked in the field.

Of course doing so led him to rip apart the sutures, causing the wound to bleed profusely, and probably become infected.

It took a long time to clean the wound and repair the suturing. Considering what he had done to rip it open, I thought the repair job was pretty good.

I stressed to the interpreter how important it was that the farmer allow the wound to heal. The patient seemed to indicate that he would try to do that.

I couldn’t get mad at the patient. He was a farmer. He needed to be working in the field to feed his family. I just hoped someone would be able to help him until he recovered.

I never saw the farmer again, so I never found out if things worked out well for him, but his struggle to live while trying to heal stayed with me.

LESSONS

There were a couple of lessons from this time period that I found valuable.

1. Work hard to master new skills. Doc’s training taught me to master suturing, stitch by stitch, because lives depended on it.

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men.”
Colossians 3:23 (ESV)

2. Even though you can’t make people do what they should do, provide compassionate care to help them. I couldn’t force the farmer to rest, but I could re-stitch his wound with care, encourage him to do the right thing, and pray for his healing.

“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”
Ephesians 4:23 (ESV)

A BLESSING FOR YOU

Before I go, I’d like to share a blessing with you from the Old Testament.

“May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.”
Numbers 6:24-26 (The Living Bible)

Until next time … be the reason someone smiles today

The Marines were gone and the area assigned to the 3/82 Artillery in DaNang was now ours. I missed the Marine food, but the Army chow wasn’t bad.

But now we had work to do.

Setting up the Pharmacy

Everyone was busy making our aid station functional and efficient. Doc gave me the job of setting up the pharmacy.

I have to admit that was my kind of job. I was given a good sized room with lots of shelves, a safe for restricted drugs, and French doors so medicine or medical equipment could easily be handed out to those who needed it.

The Memorable Blood Draw

Working in the clinic was rewarding — greeting patients, taking vitals, assisting the doctor.

I had gotten pretty good at drawing blood since my first attempts on the doctor when I was learning how to do the procedure.

One day a soldier came into our clinic. I don’t remember what the specific problem was, but the doctor asked me to draw blood. This soldier was the Hollywood ideal of what a soldier should look like. He was about 6’4”, and solid muscle.

I chatted with the patient so he wouldn’t watch the procedure, because sometimes that bothered people when they saw a needle going into their arm. I didn’t think such a physical specimen would have a problem with that … but I was wrong.

I prepped his arm, got the needle ready, inserted it in his arm perfectly, and started to draw the blood.

That’s when the guy looked down at the needle in his arm and saw his blood filling up the syringe.

His eyes glazed over.

This mountain of a man passed out cold.

Luckily, nearby medics helped catch him before he hit the floor. He came to, embarrassed but fine, once the needle was gone.

I had my sample—and a story to tell.

The Malaria Test

As the unit’s newbie, I drew the short straw for the monthly malaria test, a new urine-based procedure. Stationed at a card table in an open area, I had a stack of containers, a list of soldiers’ names, and a simple task: hand out a cup, watch the soldier pee into it, add a chemical to check for cloudiness, and record the results.

Cloudy meant possible malaria; clear meant probably not.

I spent all day under the sun, repeating the process for every soldier in our unit.

It was simple but tedious, and I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d explain this to my kids someday if they asked, “What did you do in the war, Daddy?”

I was pretty sure I would probably not mention I spent an entire day watching men pee into containers.

Finally, the day came to an end. I cleaned up the area, and then turned in my report to the doctor.

Days later, Doc pulled me aside. Our unit had the highest rate of positive malaria results in Vietnam that month—not exactly an honor.

The captain was furious, but there was a silver lining.

They never asked me to do that test again.

There were a couple of lessons from this time period that I found valuable.

• Always be prepared to help when unexpected things happen. I am very glad a couple of medics were there to help me catch the big guy before he hit the ground.

• Do your best in every job you undertake even the unglamorous ones like urine tests, regardless of the outcome.

Before I go, I’d like to share a blessing with you from the Old Testament.

“May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.”

Numbers 6:24-26 (The Living Bible)

Until next time … be the reason someone smiles today

I absolutely loved working at the 91st Evacuation Hospital. I learned so much and felt I had acquired some useful skills that I would be able to use in helping others, but I have to admit I was looking forward to returning home.

Home being Hawk Hill.

Soon after I got back to Hawk Hill, however, I was informed that life would be changing for the 3/82 Artillery.

We would be leaving what I considered home.

The Marines are Leaving

It seems the Marines were initiating a drawdown from portions of Vietnam, marking a shift in how the war was being managed. As Marines prepared to leave areas they once controlled, the responsibility of filling the gaps fell to other units.

For us in the 3/82 Artillery, this meant stepping into the places the Marines were vacating at the Da Nang Air Base, a task that would bring its own challenges and unexpected changes.

Da Nang was a major city in Vietnam and the Da Nang Air Base was a major operations center for the war.

Arriving in Da Nang

Arriving in Da Nang felt like stepping into an entirely different world compared to Hawk Hill.

For starters, our aid station wasn’t buried underground but stood proudly on a solid foundation. It was a real building! It had proper exam rooms, a pharmacy, and a dedicated office for the doctor, it looked more like a professional clinic than a makeshift wartime facility. It was a stark contrast to the primitive conditions we had grown accustomed to on Hawk Hill.

But one question lingered for me. Where would we live?

On Hawk Hill, our sleeping areas were connected to the aid station, which meant we were also partially underground, and we had those problems with mosquitoes and bugs.

That was not to be the case for our living spaces in Da Nang.

We were assigned to buildings — above ground buildings — that would be our home.

My Personal Home

I was assigned to a nice place that resembled a college dorm room. It had two beds — not bunk beds — regular beds with mattresses. And there was a nice desk between the beds where I could keep my books and correspondence.

And even though there were two beds, I was the only one assigned to the room, so this was my spacious home.

There was no mosquito netting because there were no mosquitoes.

And there were no strange jungle bugs falling on me at night.

It was a very nice place.

Some Unexpected Perks

There were a number of perks for those of us who helped with the transfer from the Marines to the Army.

One of them was the food.

The Marines, it turns out, ate astonishingly well.

I’ll never forget walking into their chow line for the first time. The cook, standing at a grill, didn’t just slap food on my plate and rush me along. Instead, he asked, “How do you like your steak? Rare, medium rare, or well done?”

Steak. Real steak. Cooked to order.

He carefully plated the meal, ensuring it looked as good as it tasted. I thanked him, and I meant every word.

From that moment on, the Marine chow line became a daily highlight — a little luxury in the middle of a war zone.

And Then There Was Handball

Fitness was clearly a priority for the Marines, but one feature of their base truly caught my attention — a handball court.

This wasn’t just a simple wall like the ones we used in grade school. It was a proper court, with all four sides constructed from sturdy plywood. Even the PX stocked specialized gloves and handballs, emphasizing just how seriously they took the game.

I quickly learned the rules and jumped into playing. Before long, I was hooked.

I had become so addicted to the game that even after I returned to civilian life, I looked for places that had handball courts so I could continue playing. When I lived in Glendale, California I joined the local YMCA because they had a handball court.

When I moved to Billings, Montana I found another YMCA that had a handball court, and I joined it. And when I moved to Missoula, Montana, I joined a recreation center that had a handball court.

Like I said, handball had become an obsession with me since my time in Da Nang, but that obsession would eventually die out.

Handball would become less popular as a sport in America, replaced by racket ball. And through time, the handball-racketball courts disappeared, and the sport of today is something called pickle ball.

Pickle ball.

Who came up with that name?

But that’s another story.

Back to Vietnam.

Even More Amenities

There were other amenities as we transitioned to taking over the large base at Da Nang.

Every so often we would receive a package of “stuff” from … I’m not sure who … the Red Cross or USO or someone else. But there was usually a scramble for those extras in the package. Usually, coffee and cigarettes were the first items to go, but I went for the books. Books were not in high demand, and I had my pick of so many excellent books.

And I had a place on my desk where I could store them.

It was a rough life, but I was getting used to it.

In our new aid station, we were also given a jeep. It served as an ambulance when needed, able to transport injured people on stretchers. But most of the time it was just our personal transportation vehicle for wherever we wanted to go.

We had access to a movie theater on the base — a real movie theater, where they played recent Hollywood movies. We would use our jeep to take a group of us to the movies.

And not far from the theater, I believe it was in the city of Da Nang, was a nice Chinese restaurant where you could have a great meal for a small price.

And there was a major hospital nearby. That meant that if we had patients who needed more help than we could provide, we didn’t need to airlift them to a distant hospital. We could load them in our jeep and drive them to the hospital.

Life had definitely changed from my old home on Hawk Hill.

Yes, transferring command of the area from the Marines to the Army was a big job, but someone had to do it, and I was willing to play my part in this stage of the war effort.

A LESSON

I do have a lesson I took from this time when we transitioned to Da Nang.

I was reminded of an important truth: God is in control.

Even in the midst of a war zone, God provides blessings — moments of comfort, joy, and opportunities to serve others, in ways that lift our spirits when we least expect it.

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope."
Jeremiah 29:11 (ESV)

Our job is to use those moments well, for His glory.

Returning to Hawk Hill

My time at the 91st Evacuation Hospital was over, and it was time to return home — home being the aid station at the 3/82 Artillery unit on Hawk Hill. As much as I enjoyed learning new skills and procedures at the 91st Evacuation Hospital, there was something comforting about returning to the familiar routines and camaraderie of Hawk Hill.

It didn’t take long to settle back into the rhythm of daily life.

Then, one day, an officer in our battalion decided to organize a MEDCAP operation. I wasn’t sure if he genuinely wanted to do something good for the Vietnamese people or if he was simply trying to earn brownie points for his career advancement. Whatever his reason, he asked for volunteers to go on a MEDCAP mission. The doctor and a couple of us medics, myself included, agreed to go.

Just what was MEDCAP?

MEDCAP stood for the Medical Civic Action Program, a mission where we provided medical assistance to South Vietnamese civilians. As part of this initiative, a group of medical personnel would visit rural villages to treat illnesses and injuries.

During the Vietnam War, MEDCAP was a vital part of the Army's efforts to win the "hearts and minds" of the Vietnamese people by addressing their healthcare needs. Many rural Vietnamese communities lacked access to basic healthcare, making the MEDCAP program a crucial lifeline for treating illnesses and injuries that would otherwise go untreated.

My goal, however, was simpler: to help people who needed it.

We were sent to a small farming village far from any military bases I was familiar with. I took that as a good sign, hoping it meant the area was safe. The villagers seemed genuinely glad to see us. They lined up, waiting patiently for their turn to be treated.

There were wounds of various types. Most were minor cuts and infections that we medics could handle, but some villagers required more intensive care, which kept the doctor busy.

The MEDCAP program may have been just a small effort in the grand scheme of things, but I thought it was incredibly positive, and I have to admit, it felt good to help.

And then, without warning, everything changed.

We worked for several hours, attending to all who sought care. As we were wrapping up and gathering our gear to leave, an explosion shattered the relative calm of the day.

Everyone in the village froze.

We didn’t know if we were being attacked or what.

We saw smoke rising from a field, and people began screaming and running. Some farmers had set off a land mine, and several were lying on the ground. Villagers rushed out to bring their wounded friends back to us.

The doctor quickly assessed each of them, prioritizing who needed immediate care. He began working on the most seriously injured villager while the rest of us started on those who could wait.

The Belly Wound

I was assigned to a man who appeared stable and was lower on the priority list. The doctor instructed me to get him bandaged and assured me he’d work on him once the others were taken care of.

At first glance, the farmer’s wound seemed minor. There was a small opening in his abdomen, with only a tiny bit of intestine protruding—barely an eighth of an inch.

But as I began to work on him, the situation changed rapidly. The pressure inside his abdomen caused several feet of intestine to slowly push through the wound, unraveling and coiling around itself like one of those snake fireworks I used to watch as a kid.

It was mesmerizing, but it was also a harsh reminder of how fragile and unpredictable battlefield injuries could be. The intestines formed a large, circular mound atop his belly, and I knew I had to act quickly to protect the exposed organs and prevent further damage or contamination.

I called out to the doctor, and when he saw the extent of the injury, my patient immediately became the top priority. Fortunately, the doctor managed to stabilize him and prepare him for a medevac flight to the hospital.

Later, I learned that the man survived surgery, though he ended up needing a colostomy—a procedure in which a part of the large intestine is brought through an opening in the abdominal wall to create a stoma, allowing waste to exit into a detachable pouch.

I was relieved we had been there that day. Without our MEDCAP mission, that farmer would have died. It was a stark reminder that even in war, our efforts could make a profound difference in someone's life.

Lessons From My Days in Olive Drab

There are a couple of lessons I learned during this period.

1. Even in difficult times, and a war qualifies as a “difficult time” for soldiers and civilians, look for opportunities to help other people. Compassion can shine even in the darkest of moments, and sometimes, it's those moments of kindness that make the biggest impact.

2. Know that God is in charge. We hadn’t planned on saving anyone’s life that day, but because we were there at that time, a farmer was able to live. It was a powerful reminder that often, we’re placed exactly where we need to be, even when we don't understand why.

This story begins on a firebase. A firebase was a place where an artillery unit was stationed. Often positioned on a hill, it allowed the unit to provide support for troops in the field, firing shells for miles around. The firebase was fortified with concertina wire, mines, and troops. Although the enemy was always "out there" somewhere, the firebase was generally a safe place.

Generally, but not always.

On this particular day, the firebase would prove to be anything but safe.

A Surprise

Most of the men were at their guns, ready for action should a fire mission be called in. Others were walking around, reading, or writing letters home.

Then, without warning—an explosion!

Men dove for cover behind the sandbags that surrounded their guns.

Another explosion.

Shrapnel flew everywhere, slamming into sandbags and buildings.

Another explosion. And another.

This wasn’t a ground attack.

It was mortar fire from the jungle.

The men of the artillery unit knew how to respond to mortar fire. If they could locate the enemy's position, they could return fire with their own guns or call in artillery support from another firebase. They could even call in air support if needed.

More explosions followed.

As the soldiers scrambled for safety, they knew they knew they could obliterate whoever was carrying out this attack.

Apparently, the enemy knew that as well. Soon, the explosions stopped and the attackers melted away into the jungle.

A Dud Round

Cautiously, a few men raised their heads above the sandbags, looking around. They called out to each other, and the responses confirmed that there were no injuries.

Despite multiple explosions and shrapnel flying everywhere, no one was hurt.

It was amazing.

Everyone stood up, taking in the scene. They had survived an attack.

Then someone noticed—lying on the ground between the gun positions was an unexploded mortar round.

It was a dud.

Finally, a sergeant from one of the gun positions stepped out from behind the sandbags and approached the dud round lying on the ground.

He walked slowly toward it, studying it carefully.

A Brief Side Trip

Let me pause the story for a moment.

In the Army, we were taught how to deal with dud rounds. I remember in Basic Training being told never to approach an unexploded round. You never knew when it might go off. I assume everyone in the Army received similar training.

In my advanced training in Fire Direction Control, we learned that dud rounds were unstable. You never knew what might trigger an explosion, so the best course of action was to stay far away.

When I arrived in Vietnam, we went through an orientation program, and once again, we were warned—never get near a dud round.

I assume the men on that firebase had received the same training, perhaps even more so, given that they dealt with explosives every day.

Back to the Story

Which brings me back to that sergeant on the firebase.

He leaned down, inspecting the unexploded mortar round. Everyone else on the firebase stayed behind their sandbags, watching.

Then, to everyone’s shock, the sergeant reached out and picked up the round.

Everyone held their breath.

Nothing happened.

He held the round up for everyone to see, grinning as if he'd just found a trophy.

A couple of soldiers emerged from behind their cover and approached the sergeant. They first looked at the round from a distance, then moved closer.

Soon, all three of them began walking around the firebase, proudly showing off their "prize."

And then two more soldiers joined them, intrigued by what they saw.

And then…

The mortar round exploded.

It would have been bad enough if it had been a regular mortar round, with shrapnel flying in all directions. But this was no ordinary round. It was a white phosphorus round.

The explosion not only sent shrapnel tearing through their bodies, but it also covered them with burning white phosphorus.

White phosphorus is a chemical that burns upon contact with air, and that chemical was now embedded in their bodies, burning them from the inside out.

The other artillerymen knew what had to be done. They needed to cut off the supply of air to their friends' bodies. They tried immersing them in barrels of water and wrapping them in tight bandages.

But the men were screaming in agony as the chemical continued to burn inside them.

They called for medevac helicopters and rushed the injured to the 91st Evacuation Hospital.

The 91st Evacuation Hospital

That's where I met those men.

I was working in the ER when we got the call that the five wounded soldiers were on their way. Medics, nurses, and doctors prepared to meet them the moment they arrived.

Surgeons were already preparing the operating rooms.

When the choppers landed, I rushed out to one of the helicopters and grabbed one end of a litter and carried a soldier into the ER. The soldiers were moaning and screaming in pain.

I placed my soldier on an exam table, cut off his clothes, tried to clean his wounds, and took his vitals.

The white phosphorus was still burning inside their bodies, and they begged for painkillers—anything to take away the pain.

But the doctors wouldn’t allow us to administer anything because they were being rushed into surgery.

I had never seen people in so much pain.

It wasn’t long and they were all taken to surgery.

The ER was eerily quiet as we cleaned up.

The next day, I was working in Pre-Op when I found out what happened to those men. Of the five who went into surgery, four of them died. The one who survived had only gotten white phosphorus on his arm.

I met that one survivor a couple of days later. He came by Pre-Op to thank me and the others for the work we had done to try and save all of them.

He’s the one who told me the story of what happened on the firebase.

I've thought of those men many times over the last fifty years.

I’m sure the sergeant never thought that by ignoring what the Army taught him about dud rounds, it would be the last day of his life. I’m sure he never thought that his actions would also lead to the deaths of several of his friends.

They knew the truth. They knew dud rounds were deadly. And yet all five of them chose to ignore the truth and four of them died.

None of those men had to die a painful death that day.

There’s no reason those men couldn’t be alive right now, as I am.

Lessons

But there are some important lessons to be learned from that tragic incident.

You know the truth

For Christians, the Bible teaches us clearly how to live life well. And, trust me on this, the Bible is a whole lot more reliable than an Army training session.

The Bible warns us about dangers to our souls—things that could, like that dud round, explode in our lives and lead to an eternity in hell. But just knowing the truth isn’t enough.

”Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”
Psalm 119:105 (ESV)

Is the Bible our guide for how to live?

The men on that firebase all knew the truth. The Army said don’t ever get near a dud round. Those men just chose to ignore that truth.

The question we all need to answer is, do we choose to ignore God’s truths about how to live life today?

You are an influencer

I’m not talking about getting tens of thousands of likes and follows on social media or having viral videos on YouTube. I’m talking about just being around people.

You may have lots of friends, a few friends, or none at all, or just enemies.

But your life influences others for good or bad. When they see you making bad choices and “getting away” with those bad choices, some people will be encouraged to follow your example.

Consider those men who saw the sergeant ignoring what they had all been taught and then choosing to follow his actions because he was getting away with it.

Consider. Do you really want to help your friends, your family members, even complete strangers go the hell because they notice how you live?

”… let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”
Matthew 5:16 (ESV)

Do you follow the crowd?

Even if everyone around you is doing what you know is wrong, don’t go along with the crowd just so you won’t be out of place. If doing what is right means standing alone, then choose to stand alone.

“Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong.”
1 Coninthians 16:13 (ESV)

Now it was time for me to move on to my next stage of training, and I was moved over to Pre-Op to learn as much as I could in that setting.

Get Them Ready for Surgery

The patients who arrived in Pre-Op were on their way to surgery.

They might have come from the ER, or an aid station, or from a referral by a doctor who knew they needed a particular surgery.

In Pre-Op, our job was to prepare them thoroughly for their upcoming surgery.

We would, of course, check them out and monitor their vitals.

But we might also be tasked with administering some medications to the patient, or clearing an airway, or setting them up with an IV.

We would also check and clean the area of the surgery which might require us to shave the area or give it a special cleaning.

Take This Little Tube and Do What With It?

Often in preparing a patient for surgery, we needed to insert a catheter in the patient.

The idea of inserting a long tube, or catheter, into a patient’s penis was a bit unnerving to me and sounded like it would be a far from pleasant experience for the patient.

But I was supposed to learn how to do that.

I worried the patient might resist, maybe even fight, as I tried to carry out the procedure.

A Good Teacher

Now I was trained by a nurse who was a very good teacher. She set me up to watch her do the procedure. She opened up a catheter kit, which contained a catheter, gloves, wipes, a urine collection bag, and other stuff. Then she carefully explained each step of the process as she demonstrated how to insert a catheter in one of our patients.

The patient didn’t scream.

The patient didn’t need to be held down.

In fact, the procedure went quickly as the nurse explained the importance of each step and how to do it correctly.

It didn’t look like it hurt the patient at all.

Okay, I could do this.

Then it was my turn to do the procedure.

The nurse watched as I inserted the catheter into the patient, and she was ready to help if I needed her help. But it actually went very well. No problems. No complications. And no unhappy patient.

I got pretty good at doing the procedure and felt I was really helping the patient get ready for surgery.

And Then …

One day a Vietnamese girl was rushed into Pre-Op. She had been riding a motor scooter on the base and got hit by a jeep.

I followed the routine procedures we did with every guy who came into pre-op. I removed her clothes, checked her vitals, and … well, I should probably explain.

Something was different.

As I was getting her ready, a nurse walked quickly from the other side of the room, took out a sheet, and covered her.

Normally we didn’t cover the guys until after we had done some of the initial work on the patient, but in this case, I think the nurse made a wise decision.

It helped me focus on my job, and it made the patient more comfortable as well.

Then I was told to put in a catheter. I got the kit, folded back the sheet so just the area I would be working on would be visible, and I stood there wearing my gloves and holding the tube.

For those of you who have bought into our current culture, I should probably point out … and I know you may not believe me … but there actually is a difference between a man and a woman.

I had become pretty good at inserting a catheter in a man.

A woman, however, …

Fortunately … praise the Lord … Hallelujah … a perceptive nurse noticed me standing next to the patient and came to my side.

“Have you ever done this to a woman before?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“May I do it,” she offered.

I gladly let her do the procedure.

I love nurses!

Another thing I learned in Pre-Op.

Doctors are Human

Often the doctor who was scheduled to do the surgery would come into Pre-Op to check on the patient, talk to them, and give us more directions to prepare that particular patient for surgery.

I was fascinated watching the doctors work with patients. Some had excellent bedside manners, raising the patient’s spirits, letting them know that everything would be okay. Some doctors … well, let’s just say they didn’t have good bedside manners.

I also noticed that sometimes a doctor had to take quick action to deal with a problem in Pre-Op, such as repairing a suture that had torn open and needed to be repaired.

For some reason, I had believed that every doctor could do everything well. I learned that wasn’t true. Doctors were human beings with different skills.

While some doctors were incredibly skilled at addressing these issues, others were … let’s just say … less than adept.

And … this was important … their skill had nothing to do with their bedside manner.

There were a couple of important lessons I learned during my time in Pre-Op.

LESSONS FROM MY DAYS IN OLIVE DRAB

1. There is a difference between a man and a woman.
   I didn’t have to take a class explaining that gender was a “feeling” or a “choice” or a “social construct.” It was actually pretty obvious to us fifty years ago. But for those of you who have been programmed otherwise in today’s world, God makes it pretty clear in the Bible as well.

   ”Male and female he created them …”
   Genesis 5:2 (ESV)

2. Doctors are people.
   Now I really like a doctor who has a good bedside manner, but if I am having an important procedure done (I’ve had heart surgery, and a couple of knee replacements) I want the doctor who is the most skilled, even if that doctor has a terrible bedside manner.

What’s Next?

I hope you will join me in the next episode, where I’ll a share about the most memorable event that happened during my time at the 91st Evacuation Hospital.

Our most common patients in the Emergency Room were soldiers who had been injured out in the field. The soldiers might have received their initial treatment from medics on the ground or on the helicopter that brought them to us.

But their wounds were serious enough that they needed to come to the hospital.

As the chopper arrived, the crew would describe the injuries so we would be prepared to help the patients right away.

We would meet them on the landing pad and bring the wounded soldiers to the Emergency Room.

When we got the soldiers into ER, we would transfer them to an exam table where we would quickly check their injuries, which sometimes required us to cut off their clothes.

We had special scissors that would cut through just about anything. We could cut through uniforms, belts, even the jungle boots the troops wore out in the field.

While we were checking vitals and cleaning wounds, the doctor would examine each soldier to determine what needed to be done in Emergency Room before sending them to Pre-Op.

If it was a single soldier, he would get several medics working on him. But if several wounded soldiers arrived at the same time, each of the medics had to work quickly to see that every soldier received the needed care.

A Variety of Wounds

Remember this was a war zone and, as could be expected, there were a variety of wounds. Some soldiers had been hit by bullets, some had been injured by shrapnel from grenades, some had tripped a land mine.

The goal was to quickly stabilize them, get them ready for surgery, and encourage them that they would be well cared for.

The Chest Wound

I remember one soldier who had been wounded in the chest. The medic in the field had managed to stop the bleeding and bandaged him, but when we cut off the bandage to check his wound, a stream of blood spurted straight up in the air, reaching nearly to the ceiling of our Emergency Room.

Apparently, an artery had been severed and the doctor quickly stepped in to deal with the situation. The wound was controlled, and the soldier was rushed to pre-op.

Cleaning Up

After we moved the patients to pre-op, our less-than-glamorous job was to clean up the Emergency Room and get it ready for the next patients who might arrive.

I remember cleaning up blood, used bandages, clothing, and anything else that might contaminate the area.

One time I was mopping up the floor and realized that I was actually mopping up brain matter that had spilled out of a head wound.

The Burn Ward

I’d like to just mention one area of the hospital that I didn’t work in but that I often passed by during the day.

It was the burn ward.

In addition to soldiers, they dealt with many civilians who suffered serious burns.

You couldn’t just walk into the burn ward because it was a super-sealed off area. With burns, they were very concerned with potential infections.

But often, as I walked by that ward, I could hear screams coming from their patients.

I couldn’t imagine working in that environment.

I had the opportunity to talk with a nurse who worked in the burn ward and asked her how she handled the emotional stress of working with people who were in such severe pain.

She explained that she knew that the things she had to do to treat the patients, which often caused great pain, that those treatments would help the patients recover. That was important for her to remind herself as she worked on them.

Another thing she said that was very helpful to her, was the realization that most of the patients she worked with, would have no memory of the pain they experienced during their treatment.

The pain was so bad, the mind would block it from their memory, when they recovered.

I really respected the people who worked in that ward.

Now, back to the Emergency Room.

The Dog Handler

One patient that sticks in my memory was a dog handler.

A dog handler was a solider who worked with a trained dog out in the field. The dog handler and the dog usually developed a close relationship as they worked together in various dangerous situations.

The dogs had been trained to identify enemy soldiers, booby traps, land mines, and other potentially lethal situations.

On this day, the dog handler was walking point — out in front of the others — with his dog, trying to identify potential booby traps.

It was a routine patrol, and then a land mine exploded.

We received a call from the Medevac chopper that they were bringing in a soldier and his entire body was covered with shrapnel wounds.

When the chopper arrived, we rushed to bring the soldier in on a stretcher. The dog was with him and was tied to a spot near the landing pad.

I remember working on that man, and as we cut off his clothes, I couldn’t believe how many wounds he had. His entire body was covered with the wounds caused by the small pieces of shrapnel from a land mine. It looked like hundreds of wounds, but it was probably just a few dozen.

I didn’t know how he could still be alive, but miraculously no major organs or body parts had been damaged.

We worked quickly to clean him up and the doctor got him ready to go into surgery, but I was amazed at the soldier.

First of all, I was amazed that he was still alive.

Not only was he alive, but he was talking to us constantly about his dog and telling us it wasn’t the dog’s fault. While they were walking point, the dog tripped a wire that caused the explosion.

The soldier was in great pain but kept insisting it was an accident and that his dog was not to blame.

He asked me to go tell his dog that it wasn’t its fault and to reassure the dog that he, the soldier, would be all right.

It was a serious request.

Talk about bonding between man and animal.

I did talk to the dog and tried to reassure it.

It was the least I could do for the soldier.

The soldier recovered but I never found out what happened to him.

Was he shipped home as a result of his injuries?

Did he and the dog ever work together again?

I never found out.

There were a few important lessons I learned from my experiences in the Emergency Room.

LESSONS FROM MY DAYS IN OLIVE DRAB

1. Provide your best service at all times. I learned that precision and skill at doing your job are critical issues. Providing your best service is a must. And it’s important to get ready for the next crises that might come your way.

2. Remember you are dealing with people. As you engage with people who are hurting, even if what you are doing might cause pain at the moment, don’t forget you are working with a person. Comfort, reassure, and encourage them.

You don’t need to work in the medical field to apply those lessons in the job you are currently working at.

Seek to be excellent on whatever the job the Lord has given you to do.

I hope you will join me in the next episode, where I’ll share what I learned when I worked in Pre-Op.

My New Home

My new room was a small space with two beds in it.

But it was a room. It wasn’t a culvert half stacked on top of ammo cans covered with sandbags. I could stand up and walk around in it. It was a real room. It had a ceiling. It had walls. It had a floor, not dirt. It had a real floor. It even had a door.

It was a real room.

And the beds weren’t cots. They were beds. They were made of metal frames and had soft mattresses on springs.

We’re talking luxury.

I did notice that one bed was surrounded by mosquito netting from the ceiling and covered the entire bed with the ends of the netting tucked under the mattress.

The other bed didn’t have mosquito netting.

Of course I was assigned the bed without the mosquito netting but was told my netting would arrive in a couple of days. I didn’t think that was a problem. I hadn’t noticed any mosquitoes since arriving on Hawk Hill.

That first night, I lay down in my very comfortable bed in my spacious new room and went to sleep enjoying the latest adventure in my military journey.

Then I woke up.

I wasn’t sure why.

Something just felt strange.

I couldn’t make out what it was.

There weren’t any mosquitoes. But something wasn’t right. I could hear sounds. Very quiet sounds. I tried to focus on where the sounds were coming from.

They seem to be coming from above my head. And it seemed like something was moving on the ceiling.

My eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and I realized what that something was. There were dozens of bugs crawling across the ceiling. I could almost hear their footsteps.

And then … THUD … one of them fell on me.

It felt like a little golf ball. But it didn’t stay where it landed. Instead, it ran across my body and off the side of the bed onto the floor.

THUD.

Another one of the things fell off the ceiling and landed on me. It also ran across my body and disappeared off the side of my luxurious bed.

It didn’t take long for me to realize the bugs that were running across the ceiling regularly fell off the ceiling and landed on me.

At first they looked like little black cockroaches — which was bad enough — but when I got some light on them and they spread their wings they were something very different.

Underneath the dark wings were bright colors — red, green, yellow — and then there were their mouths … or mandibles … or whatever they call those things on bugs. They looked like sharp pincers that could impale and crush anything they attacked.

I grant you they were only about an inch or an inch-and-half in length, but they were scary looking. They were jungle bugs beyond anything I could have imagined.

THUD. THUD.

That’s when I realized the mosquito netting wasn’t to protect us from mosquitoes. The netting was designed to keep bugs from falling on us during the night.

THUD.

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well until my mosquito netting arrived.

The Training Begins

After my first night of surviving bugs falling on me, my training officially began.

Initially I was assigned the job of checking people in — paperwork — and taking vitals — blood pressure, temperature, heart rate. Stuff like that.

My concern, however, was a particular trait that I had. It probably wasn’t a good trait for someone training to become a medic.

The sight of blood made me just a little bit queasy.1

I think part of the problem was, if the blood was anything more than a little cut requiring a band aid, I had no idea what to do. I could only imagine what I would be like if I saw arms or legs blown off or saw blood pouring out of a wound. I don’t think my reaction would have been helpful.

Whatever the reason, I knew it was something I had to deal with.

Fortunately, the doctor began at my level and taught me what I should do if I didn’t know how to deal with a specific injury. He stressed the importance of remaining calm, and projecting that calm to the patient, keeping the patient from going into this thing he called “shock.”

Doc explained what shock was, how it could hurt the patient, and the steps I could take to prevent it from happening to the one I was caring for … until someone who knew what they were doing arrived to help.

The way he explained it made it clear to me that this was something I could do.

That helped me a lot, and I was able to use the techniques he shared several times, even before I learned how to deal with specific injuries.

I’d never seen this before

In fact, I remember one night I was talking with one of the medics. It was a pleasant conversation about our lives before the Army and what home was like.

Then something strange happened. He stopped talking. His eyes glazed over and he collapsed.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, his body stiffened and began to shake. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t respond. He just twitched and shook.

I had no idea what was happening or how I could help him.

I spoke as calmly as I could and tried to reassure him everything would be all right. But I’d never seen anything like this before. His rigid body just kept shaking.

Fortunately, a couple of other medics were nearby and they knew exactly what to do.

They went right to work on him and only a few minutes passed before his body stopped shaking and he was able to sit up. A few more minutes, and he was almost back to normal.

The doctor checked him out and then the medic went to rest in his bed protected by the mosquito netting.

The doctor had me sit down, and explained what had just happened. I had just seen a Grand Mal Seizure. Doc explained what a Grand Mal seizure was, and the damage it could cause. Then he taught me how I should deal with it if it happened in my presence in the future.

One-on-one training

After that, my training began in earnest.

At the end of the day’s work, the doctor would take me aside and give me a lesson. I found it absolutely enthralling. He explained about injuries and illnesses — how to recognize them and how to deal with them. And he told stories — how scientists discovered what worked and what didn’t.

He taught me how to do certain procedures and he was an excellent teacher.

Whether it was how to give shots or clean wounds or bandage injuries, I loved every minute of those lessons.

I want your blood

I remember when he taught me how to draw blood from a patient. He explained the proper procedure, what could go wrong, and how to prevent anything from going wrong. It was a good lesson. Clear. Understandable.

Then he excused himself, went to the refrigerator, pulled out a beer and began drinking. I believe he had a couple of beers before he came back.

He had a little bit of a glow about him and seemed happy and relaxed.

He smiled.

Then he rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm.

“Draw my blood,” Doc said.

He was serious. He wanted me to stick a needle in him and take blood from his arm. So, I cleaned the area, got the hypodermic needle, got a good vein, and tried to gently stick the needle in his arm.

The needle went in.

This was easy.

Then a large bulge appeared in his arm.

I pulled the needle out and just stared.

“No problem,” Doc explained. “It’s just a hematoma. I’ll take care of it.”

He explained what I had done wrong and how I needed to insert the needle.

This was not quite the way I wanted things to work out.

“Try again,” he said, as he held out his arm.

Again? He wanted me to stick him again?

So, I went through the procedure again. This time when I inserted the needle … another hematoma popped up in his arm.

“No problem,” Doc said. “Try again.”

Again he held out his arm, and this time I went into the vein and drew the blood without a hematoma popping up on his arm.

Doc had me try a few more times until he felt I had mastered the technique.

Then he got another beer and went to take care of the hematomas I had given him.

He was a great teacher.

Lessons from my days in olive drab

Which brings me to some of the lessons I learned during this phase of my Army life.

1. Be calm. This is important not just in situations involving physical injuries and the potential for a patient going into shock, but sometimes it’s important in dealing stress and life difficulties. I’ve had several opportunities to help people who have gone through physical and emotional injuries. God is in control. Share that attitude with the person you are working with.

2. What make a good teacher. The doctor was a great example of what a teacher should be. Not only did he share knowledge clearly and in an interesting way, but he also had his student — me — practice the skills he taught on himself.

3. Seizures. I never had another opportunity in the Army to use what I had been taught in dealing with a Grand Mal seizure. But a few years after I left the Army, I was married and had two kids, I remember one day when I heard a loud crash in another part of the house. I rushed into the room and saw my wife on the floor, her body stiff and shaking. She wasn’t able to talk or respond. If it hadn’t been for the experience I had in the Army, I would have had a major melt down. But I recognized the Grand Mal seizure and knew exactly what to do. I was able to keep her from hurting herself during the seizure and to comfort her as she came out it. I thank the Lord for that lesson He had given me during my time in the Army.

Episode 19 “Then the captain said …”

Sitting in the captain’s office, I was surprised how calm and relaxed I was.

I knew the captain wasn’t going to tell me I would be given conscientious objector status. In the paperwork I filled out I made a point of saying I was not a conscientious objector.

Which meant something else would happen to me.

But I wasn’t worried about what the something else would be. I had done what the Lord wanted me to do, so the results were in God’s hands.

That’s a good place to be.

The captain had a smile on his face.

This was not the guy who yelled at me just a few days earlier.

Was he enjoying what he was about to tell me.

A Question

“What would you like to do?” the captain asked in a pleasant voice.

I really didn’t understand the question.

What was he asking?

“Would you like to work in a warehouse?” the captain continued.

I didn’t know where this was going.

“Would you like to be a door gunner?” he then asked.

Now the captain really had me confused.

Just so you know, a door gunner was the guy who controlled the machine gun out of the side of a helicopter. Apparently, there was a long waiting list for people who wanted that particular job.

Did he really mean to ask me if I wanted to be a door gunner? Or was he playing with my mind? Trying to trap me into saying something that would get me into even more trouble than I was in?

I honestly didn’t know how to respond.

Then the captain leaned forward and smiled as he spoke gently, “If you could have your choice of any job, what would it be?”

Okay, this was definitely not the way I had expected the conversation to go, but I decided to answer.

“I’d could see being a medic,” I said.

I knew that was not a real option. I mean what was he going to do? Send me back to the states to go through the medic school at Fort Sam Houston? But if he seriously wanted to know what I would like to do a medic seemed like a fun job.

The captain sat quietly for a few moments. He was thinking about something. Then he spoke.

“I’ll take care of it,” the captain said.

And I was dismissed.

The journey continues

I went back to my bunk and tried to figure out what had just happened. None of it made sense. None of it seemed real. I wasn’t arrested. I wasn’t being court martialed. I wasn’t going to prison.

The next day I was told to report to the Aid Station for the 3/82 Artillery.

I grabbed all my gear — one duffle bag — and went to the aid station.

I was introduced to the doctor for our unit, and he explained that he was going to teach me to be a medic.

And I began the next stage of my journey in the Army.

Sometimes God prepares us to go through difficult times, and He gives us strength to do that.

But sometimes God chooses to bless us beyond our wildest dreams.

“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.”
Ephesians 3:20-21 (ESV)

At this point in my Army career, God chose to bless me far beyond anything I could have thought possible.

God is great!

www.clintmorey.substack.com

Click on the audio player above to hear the podcast or read the transcript below.

Episode 18 “Not An Option”

transcript

The Decision

I made the decision.

Killing innocent civilians intentionally, even in a time of war, was murder. Murder was not an option for a Christian.

The problem was … what do I do next?

Do I write a letter? Do I sit down and refuse to do my job? Do I try to hide?

I figured I needed to tell the guy in charge.

On the firebase, that was our Executive Officer, the 1st Lieutenant

But what if he wasn’t kind and reaffirming?

What’s going to happen to me?

I remembered how the South Korean troops were treated on a different firebase, but I was pretty confident that wouldn’t happen to me. I couldn’t imagine being called before the rest of the soldiers in our unit and beaten to a bloody pulp to show the officer’s displeasure of my decision.

I also was pretty sure some officer wasn’t going to come over and shoot me for not obeying an order.

Those were the easy options to set off to the side.

But there could still be some really unpleasant consequences.

I could be given a dishonorable discharge and sent home in disgrace. That wasn’t a pleasant thought, but I didn’t think that would happen. If soldiers were allowed to leave the battlefield just by saying “I quit,” the American Army in Vietnam wouldn’t last very long.

I thought it was more likely that I would be put on trial, courts martialed, and sentenced to prison. That seemed like the most likely option for me.

In fact, I remembered an old newspaper story I read that occurred during World War I. When war was declared, an Army officer, a captain I believe, submitted his resignation to the Army. He indicated that his family was from Germany and if he went to Europe to fight, he might be trying to kill his own family members, and he didn’t feel he could do that.

I felt sorry for the guy, but the court apparently didn’t. They sentenced him to 20 years in prison.

That was definitely an unpleasant result for him, but one that I thought was also a real possibility for me.

I had asked God for wisdom about what I should do, and believe He gave me an answer.

What would happen to me as a result of saying I was not going to continue shooting at unarmed civilians was not in my control.

The 1st Lieutenant

I walked over to the bunker that housed the command center for our battery. The man in charge was the 1st Lieutenant. Our Captain was actually in charge, but he seldom came out to the firebase, so I needed to talk to the next in command — our Executive Officer. The 1st Lieutenant.

I did not expect it to be a pleasant meeting.

I politely asked to speak with him, and he was very friendly and told me to go ahead. I explained what had been happening regarding some of our fire missions being directed at civilian farmers.

He didn’t respond, so I continued. I told him that, as a Christian, I could not keep doing my job at the fire control center if we were firing on civilians.

I don’t think this particular situation was covered when he went through Officer’s Candidate School, because he didn’t respond right away.

So, I explained again, as clearly as I could, that I would no longer take part in firing at unarmed civilians.

The 1st Lieutenant didn’t yell at me. He didn’t throw anything at me. He didn’t try to talk me out of my decision.

He told me simply to get all my stuff together and I would be sent back on the next chopper to Hawk Hill, where the captain would deal with me.

It didn’t take long to pack. Everything went into my duffle bag, and I waited for the next helicopter to arrive on the hill.

So far, things went much better than I had expected.

The Captain

I arrived on Hawk Hill, took my duffle bag to the area where the cots were for soldiers coming and going. Then I headed to the headquarters building for the 3/82 Artillery.

It was a nice building. Having spent a few months on firebases, it didn’t take much to consider a building “nice.” There was a main reception area, manned by a sergeant at a desk. I introduced myself and the sergeant knew about me and said the captain would see me shortly.

I waited to be called into the captain’s office.

The captain also had a “nice” office. The Army has a way for an enlisted man to introduce himself to an officer, and I made sure I did it correctly. The captain motioned for me to sit down and asked me to explain what was going on.

I went through the explanation again, describing what had happened and how, as a Christian, I could not continue to fire artillery shells on civilians. I would not continue to fire on civilians.

The captain had a different approach than the 1st Lieutenant.

He didn’t throw anything at me, but he did raise his voice and tried to make his point very clearly … bordering on the line of yelling. He made it clear that not doing my job was not an option for me. 

If I refused to do my assigned duties, he explained, I would suffer very severe consequences. Those consequences could include courts martial or even prison.

I said I understood and tried to explain clearly again what the Bible told me about not killing others. I included a little history lesson of people who used the excuse they were just following orders when they were being tried for war crimes.

I don’t know if he didn’t like my Bible lesson or my History lesson or both.

He was a very unhappy commanding officer, and he wanted me to know that.

He told me I would have to fill out the paperwork requesting Conscience Objector status, but he said there was no way I would get it. He explained that the Arny never give out the CO designation to someone who is in the service. The CO status has to be claimed before the person enters the Army.

I said I understood, but I was not asking to become a conscientious objector. I had volunteered for the draft. I believed in our fight. I was not a conscientious objector. I just couldn’t kill innocent civilians.

That didn’t make him happy. He told me to leave his office and see the sergeant.

I left. And yes, there is an Army way to leave a superior officer, and I made a point of doing it correctly.

Am I a Conscientious Objector???

The sergeant was waiting for me.

He handed me a manual that explained how to submit the Conscience Objector request. Not that it mattered, I told him that I was not a conscience objector. He said he didn’t care and told me to do what the manual said.

I said I would.

Then he told me to turn in my weapon.

What?

I’m in a war zone. I need my M-16.

He said conscience objectors don’t carry M-16’s.

I started to explain that I wasn’t a … but I realized it wouldn’t make any difference, so I just said I would.

I turned in my rifle, and now I was without a weapon in Vietnam.

Writing the Request

I read through the Army manual on how to fill out the conscientious objector request and started writing.

There were no word processors in existence back then, and I didn’t even have access to a typewriter.

Everything was handwritten, so I wrote and rewrote, and rewrote, until I got it just right.

I described in detail what I had seen, trying to be as accurate as possible. I explained that I thought the actions I had seen were war crimes and even went into the history of war crimes.

I explained my Christian position, giving verses from the Bible to back up what I was saying.

Finally, I wrote a nice clean copy and took it to the sergeant in the captain’s office.

Is there something wrong with me?

I thought that was it, but I was wrong.

Part of the process of requesting to become a conscientious objector included being interviewed by some experts. The experts were then to submit reports that would be added to my request.

I was sent to a medical doctor and had a brief interview. I’m not sure what the purpose of that interview was, but the doctor was very nice, and the meeting didn’t take long.

Then I was sent to the chaplain. I assume this was to evaluate if I had a real “religious” concern. I shared with the chaplain what I believed the Bible taught. He didn’t try to talk me out of anything but just listened. He was also a pleasant man.

Then I was loaded on a truck and driven to Chu Lai to be interviewed by the Division Psychiatrist. I assume that was to determine if I was crazy. I don’t remember what we actually talked about, but I do remember it also was a pleasant interview.

Temporary Duty Again

I returned to Hawk Hill and reported to the sergeant.

He told me the information would be submitted and I would be told when a decision was made.

In the meantime, I was to be assigned to TDY - Temporary Duty.

My first job was to go through the entire headquarters unit and make sure that everything was ready for an inspection. I made sure very manual was available and in the right place. I made sure every paper or report was filed correctly.

Everything was exactly where it should be if a general or anyone came to inspect.

It took a couple of days, and I actually enjoyed making everything neat and orderly.

After that was finished, I was assigned to a group that picked up trash for the battalion and took it to the trash dump.

We picked up items all over the base that people had set out and placed them in the back of the truck. Then we drove out to the trash dump.

It was a massive field and what amazed me was that there were dozens of Vietnamese people going through our trash trying to find something useful.

As we pulled to a stop and backed up to unload, the guys in the truck warned me not to let any Vietnamese get into the truck.

As soon as they saw us, the Vietnamese ran toward the truck, seeking to have first dibs on our trash.

Some of the people began climbing on the truck, but the guys who routinely worked this duty literally kicked them off.

We threw items off the truck as quickly as possible. It didn’t matter if people were in the way or not.

As soon as the truck was empty, we were on our way out of the dump.

It was a very unpleasant experience.

Called to the Captain’s Office

I was only on TDY for a few days when the sergeant told me the captain wanted to see me.

This was it.

I would find what was going to happen to me.

I went into the captain’s office, saluted, and he told me to sit.

I took my seat and waited for the news.

This episode is a little long, so I’ll tell you in the next one what he said.

There was really just one lesson from this time in my Army life, but it was an important lesson. If you ask for God’s direction and He gives it to you, do what He says.

Don’t worry about the results. The results rest in God’s hands.

Episode 17 “I Wasn’t Supposed to Hear”

Lessons from my days in olive drab.

Episode 17 “I Wasn’t Supposed to Hear”

My time in Vietnam took an unexpected and disturbing turn.

I had always been proud of the work we did in our artillery unit. We were efficient and effective.

Whenever a call came in from an infantry unit that we supported in the field, we would process the information, calculate the firing solutions, double-check manually, instruct the guns, launch a marking round, and after making final adjustments, give the information back to the guns and launch a barrage of artillery shells in support of our troops.

The lives of our soldiers were at stake and seconds mattered. We had to be accurate, and we had to be quick.

After a fire mission, the field troops would report back to us on the effectiveness of our artillery support. Usually, we hit the mark. We would then relay the success to our gun crews, affirming their good work.

I took pride in what we did. But one day, something occurred that shook this sense of pride.

I was not supposed to hear this

As I mentioned earlier, we had several radios that put us at risk of being targeted if an attack occurred. These radios also let us listen to the conversations among our troops.

I was listening to some soldiers in the field laughing and joking about a fire mission we had just completed for them. Their amusement seemed out of place and disturbing.

As I continued to listen, a harsh reality unfolded. The fire mission had not targeted enemy forces but unsuspecting farmers. The soldiers had seen some farmers out in the field doing what farmers do — which is farming, and they thought it would be fun to see how the farmers would respond if artillery shells started blowing up around them.

So, they called in the fire mission.

When the “marking round” exploded in the air above the farmers, the infantry guys laughed and shared stories about the men, women and children who dropped their tools and ran as fast as they could to get away from what they knew was coming.

And then our shells arrived.

Our soldier’s amusement stemmed from watching the terrified civilians flee the artillery barrage.

How can this be funny?

We had fired on civilians for sport.

I felt sick inside.

I had unknowingly participated in an act that I would consider a crime.

Although I wasn’t the one who spotted the farmers and called in the fire mission, I was the one who responded to the call. I was the one who calculated the firing solution. I was the one who gave the command to the guns to fire.

Shooting at civilians was not what I had signed up for.

It was not anything that I wanted to be a part of.

It was wrong.

But what should I do?

Where to go for direction

History has given us many examples of individuals who had to make choices about their actions during wartime.

After World War II, we were made aware of many of the atrocities committed by Germany and Japan. While those atrocities may have been sanctioned by the state, the fact is individuals had to carry out those atrocities.

Were the individuals who did the atrocities responsible for their actions, or was the defense “I was ordered to do it” enough to get them off the hook?

If you were a German soldier ordered to kill unarmed Jews, and Poles, and Gypsies, and handicapped, were you responsible if you were just following orders?

If you were a Japanese soldier ordered to kill, rape, and torture unarmed Chinese civilians during the “Rape of Nanking” were you responsible if you were just following orders?

Instances like these abound during World War II from both Axis and Allied forces, as well as in wars throughout the centuries.

The question I had to face … was I morally culpable for my part in this action?

Just follow orders

I knew I wouldn’t get in trouble with the Army for following orders, even if those orders included firing high explosive shells on civilians.

But I wasn’t looking for a legal defense.

I needed to know if I was responsible before God for what I did.

So, I sought the Lord for direction. Over a two-day period, I read the New Testament. Yes, the entire New Testament. And I prayed, asking the Lord for wisdom and direction concerning what I should do.

"If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him."
James 1:5 (ESV)

I needed God’s wisdom.

As I prayed and read the Word, I believed the Lord gave me direction.

I was not responsible for what others did.

However, I was responsible for what I did.

The war continued and we continued to provide artillery support for the troops in the field.

If we received a call for a fire mission, we responded quickly. American lives were at stake.

I hoped that what I had participated in earlier was a rogue action that would never be repeated.

Then it happened … again

I was wrong.

Just a couple of days later, it happened again.

We responded to a fire mission, did our job to support our troops, but after the fire mission was over I checked the radio chat of the infantry units talking to themselves. I learned that once again, we had fired on civilians in the field “for fun.”

This was no longer a theoretical “what would I do if” issue?

Now I had a decision to make.

Was I going to use the “just following orders” excuse, or was I going to take responsibility for my actions?

And how exactly would I do that?

I’ll tell you what I did and what happened to me in the next episode.

I can’t emphasize enough that God offers you wisdom if you will seek that wisdom from Him.

"If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him."

James 1:5 (ESV)

Don’t rely on the “wisdom” of the woke, or the “wisdom” of social media, or the “wisdom” of job security.

The only wisdom that matters is the wisdom of God, which can be found in His word.

We need that wisdom to survive in our corrupt world today.

If you work for a school district that teaches children that they can change genders or practice racism (against what they consider the “right” races) are you responsible for what is being done to those children?

If you work for a hospital or medical clinic that brutally murders defenseless babies in the womb, do you bear some responsibility for killing those babies?

You need God’s wisdom to live in today’s world.

Then you need courage to follow what God shows you.

Listen to the podcast by clinking the player above, or read the transcript below.

Episode 16 “A Special Dinner”

In today’s episode, I want to share a memory of an event I experienced in Vietnam — a dinner with some newly made friends.

I was working in the Fire Direction Control Center on a remote mountain firebase in Vietnam. We shared the hill with some American infantry units and even a South Vietnamese artillery unit.

The Visitor

One day, a Vietnamese soldier stepped into our bunker. I don’t remember that ever happening before, but I tried to be friendly and find out what he wanted.

His English wasn’t that great, but then my Vietnamese was non-existent.

Somehow, we did manage to communicate.

He was from the Vietnamese artillery unit on our hill. He worked in their FDC and just wanted to say hi and meet us.

I introduced him to the members of our team and gave him a tour of our FDC.

Well, a tour might be a little strong. After all, our FDC consisted of one computer, a couple of radios, and our map.

I assume he had a similar setup in his FDC.

We chatted for a while and then he left. It was a very pleasant interaction. Over the next several days, other men from his unit dropped by our FDC and we became friendly with one another.

I even have a picture of their group in my photo album.

There was something very unusual about their group. One of their “men” was just a kid. He couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.

I wondered why the kid was with a military unit in the field.

My Vietnamese friend explained why.

The boy’s father had been a member of their FDC unit. The Vietcong had killed the boy’s father and the boy’s mother, and now the boy was alone.

So, the soldiers in that group basically adopted him. No legal proceedings. The country didn’t have social services like we do in the states. The kid would have been on his own. But the soldiers took care of him and made sure he was safe, even if that safety meant being in an artillery unit on a hill in Vietnam.

I have a couple of photographs of that group and that boy. In fact, one of the pictures is on the wall of my office. I wish I could share those photos with you, but I don’t think that would be wise.

Posting pictures without consent is never a good idea, but in the current communist regime in Vietnam, it might pose an additional problem.

Even though the pictures are more than half a century old, if those men and that boy are still alive, I don’t want their safety to be put at risk by posting a picture of them on the internet.

We had a great time together. Our conversations extended over a couple of visits as we shared about the challenges and experiences of our roles working in FDC.

Dinner

Then, one day, the soldier whom I had initially given the grand tour of our FDC unit to, came over and invited us to have dinner with his group at their Fire Direction Control Center.

I checked with our 1st Lieutenant, the Executive Officer of our unit, and he thought it would be a great idea.

On the designated day, our 1st Lieutenant joined us as we headed across the hill to the Vietnamese FDC.

They had a table set out for us and put on a first rate spread. They treated us to a delicious meal and good conversations. I had no idea what several of the items were that they served us, and I didn’t ask because I wanted to be polite and enjoy everything, whatever it might be.

They began by serving each of us a drink. One of my fellow FDCers did ask what it was. We were told in was rice wine.

Now I don’t drink alcohol, not because I am against it, but because my dad was an alcoholic and I saw what it did to him and to our family.

But at that meal I drank the rice wine that was served us, and even though it had a little bit of a kick, I told them it was wonderful and thanked them.

Remember, my goal was to be polite.

The table was filled with rice and vegetables and meat.

Rice I knew about and it tasted good.

Most of the vegetables I recognized but some I wasn’t quite sure of. Still, I tried them all and thanked them for the delicious food.

The meat looked like chicken slices, but I had never seen chickens running around the firebase, so I wasn’t really certain what it was. I didn’t press the issue but just enjoyed the meal.

Towards the end of the meal, I was feeling brave and asked what the meat was.

I was expecting him to tell me it was some exotic jungle bird.

He didn’t say that.

Our host responded … “Dog.”

I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly, so I asked again.

“Dog,” he repeated.

I smiled and told him it was great.

I had just eaten dog.

That’s another memory I brought back from my time in Vietnam.

I did learn a couple of lessons during my time on that firebase.

1. It’s good to be polite. Interact with people. Try to get to know them. And when they show you kindness, be gracious and thankful.

2. Recognize when people do good things. I was impressed with the soldiers on that firebase who took over the care of the young boy who lost his parents. There was a war going on, but they were willing to put up with the responsibility of caring for someone else. I also need to be willing to help people in need who come into my life.

Episode 15 “The General and the Plotting Pins”

As I mentioned in a previous episode, one of the distinctive elements of the Fire Control Center was all the antennas on top of our bunker. We had to be in radio contact with a number of groups — infantry units in the field, other artillery units who could support us if we came under attack, headquarters, helicopters flying to our firebase, and many more.

We knew knew all those antennas made us a prime target if the firebase came under attack, but we had confidence that the infantry pulling security on the firebase would keep us safe.

Guard Duty

But on one firebase — I believe it was LZ Crest — our Fire Direction Control Center was right next to a steep drop off. When we stepped out of our FDC, there were just a couple of feet between us and the barbed wire that protected us and the steep drop off.

That meant if the enemy were to somehow climb up that steep cliff and work through the barbed wire, they would literally be walking on top of us. That’s how close we were to the edge of the firebase.

I wondered where infantry would station the soldiers to protect us, but I shouldn’t have worried. The Army had that problem figured out. We were told the infantry would not be protecting that section of the firebase.

That didn’t sound good to me, but on one asked for my input.

Instead, we would be responsible for the defense of that section of the firebase.

So, we rotated one person at a time to sit on top of our FDC bunker and look over the edge of the hill to see if any enemy troops were trying to break into our “safe” world. It wasn’t much of a problem during the day, but at night, pulling guard duty was not that fun. I don’t know how the others were, but I heard every noise coming from the jungle and was sure it was probably a enemy soldier crawling through the wire toward us.

It probably had something to do with all the World War II movies I watched growing up, where it seemed the enemy always attacked when they weren’t expected. So I had no trouble staying awake and alert when I pulled guard duty at night.

I do remember one night after I finished my time on guard duty, that I went down into our bunker and woke up the man who was to replace me. He got up, put on his stuff and went out to take his position, while I crashed in my cot. It didn’t take me long to fall asleep.

However, I didn’t stay asleep for long. For some reason I woke up and opened my eyes. I looked at the cot next to me and a body was in it. The problem was … this was the cot of my replacement on guard duty.

I checked my watch. He was still supposed to be on guard duty. He should be sitting on top of our bunker, staring at the barbed wire protecting us from the enemy. He should not be sleeping on his cot.

I got up, went over to him, and shook him awake.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be on guard duty.”

He mumbled something about no one would come be able to climb up the cliff, so he shouldn’t have to sit out in the dark and the cold. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

All those movies I had watched growing up kicked into gear. Whenever someone on guard duty fell asleep in a one of those old war movies, something bad would happen.

I suppose I could have yelled at him to do his job but that wasn’t me.

I put on my shirt and my helmet, grabbed my rifle and went up to the top of our FDC bunker. I was going to pull his guard duty because I had this overriding goal to live. It didn’t bother me being out there because, like I said earlier, I knew I was motivated to pay close attention to any movements or sounds on the perimeter.

I don’t know how long I was out there, but the guy came out with his gear on and carrying his rifle, apologized for not staying on guard duty and took his place

I went down, dropped into my cot, and fell asleep.

Night Routines

One of the things that pulling guard duty on our firebase did for me was to give me a real appreciation for the troops in the field.

The infantry units were out in the jungle. They had to sleep on the ground — not cots or bunkers — and they didn’t have any barbed wire surrounding their position when they went to sleep. And they didn’t have special units whose job it was to provide them protection.

They had to take care of themselves.

I imagined that sleeping in the jungle was a difficult situation to be in on a nightly basis. I wondered how would do and was glad I didn’t have to find out.

But we did provide some assistance to the infantry units when they went to sleep.

Every night after they determined where they would be sleeping, the forward observer would call us and give us the coordinates for targets in case they came under attack during the night.

We would calculate the shooting solutions and have the guns on the firebase set to hit those targets.

That way if the infantry units came under attack during the night, there wouldn’t be any delay in getting artillery shells on the ground to protect them.

There was only one problem. We didn’t have enough plotting pins to stick in the map that marked our targets. We had been requesting plotting pins for weeks but apparently we were low on the list of important units to resupply.

So we were working without enough plotting pins.

The General Drops by for a Visit

I remember the day we received a call from a chopper that someone special was arriving for a visit.

That someone was the Commanding General of the Americal Division. I believe it was General Baldwin but I’m not sure.

I have to admit it was fun to watch the officers go into absolute panic mode as they only had a few minutes to prepare for the General’s surprise inspection. They were trying to get everyone on the firebase to clean up and be in proper uniform.

They barked orders. They scurried around trying to find anything that was broken or out of place. They told us how we needed to act.

You could see the fear in their eyes.

The helicopter landed and the general and his team got out and our officers gave them a tour of the firebase.

In Fire Direction Control, we just continued our work and made some humorous comments about the officers and lifers who lived in this state of terror when they were around commanding generals.

But then the officers came in followed by the general.

We snapped to attention. We may not have been fearful but we weren’t stupid. He was a general. The Commanding General of the Americal Division.

The general put us at ease, talking to us, encouraging us, and asking how things were going for us. It was a very pleasant experience.

Before he left, the general asked if there was anything he could do for us.

For the first, and only time in my life, I spoke to an Army general — the Commanding General of the Americal Division.

I said we were short of plotting pins and really needed them.

He said he would take care of it.

Then he left and the officers followed him to his helicopter and the surprise inspection was over.

I thought everything went well until our commanding officer - a lowly captain - returned to the FDC and just ripped into me.

Apparently, I had violated some rule lifers followed when talking to generals. By saying we needed plotting pins the captain felt he would be singled out as not doing his job.

He was very unhappy with me and he let me, along with everyone else in the FDC unit, know that I had done something awful.

I should note that the next day, we received a supply of plotting pins so we could do our work correctly.

LESSONS

1. If you have a job to guard something — do your job.

2. Just like the infantry units gave us protective shooting targets at night, it is wise to prepare for bad things that may happen in the future.

3. You might think that I learned not to tell generals what you needed because it might make someone look bad. But that’s not what I learned. I learned that telling a person in authority what you needed was a good thing, even if the bureaucrats around you got mad at you. The fact is, we were now better able to protect those infantry units in the field, especially at night.

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Click on the player above to listen to the podcast or read the transcript below.

Life on a firebase was interesting.

Sometimes we had really nice views of the beautiful countryside of Vietnam.

And we knew we were reasonably safe because we had concertina wire around our entire hill and soldiers from the infantry pulling guard duty for us.

So we didn’t really think that much about sappers and mortar attacks.

When we arrived on a new firebase, it seldom took us long to develop a simple routine for our daily lives.

We kept our fire direction control center neat and ready to go into operation at a moments notice. That was our first job.

We had three nice meals meals every day. Well, nice might be pushing it a bit, but it was food.

TV TIME

On one firebase we even had TV time. One soldier had a small black and white TV with rabbit ears which allowed us to pick up the Armed Forces TV signal. They would play current shows from back home

I remember I would try to make time to watch one show — Adam 12.

I didn’t watch Adam 12 because it was an interesting show. I watched it because it followed a pair of Los Angeles police officers as they drove around Los Angeles and I enjoyed seeing the pictures of my home town.

THE ROK SOLDIERS

Sometimes we shared a firebase with troops from our allies. One time we were on the hill with ROK soldiers. ROK stood for Republic of Korea — also known as South Korea.

The ROK soldiers had a reputation for being tough fighters.

I remember one day I went out early in the morning and a group of ROK soldiers were in squad formation.

I didn’t pay much attention to them until the guy in charge (I didn’t know if he was a sergeant or an officer) began screaming and yelling at his men.

I wasn’t used to seeing that. It didn’t seem like a pleasant or productive experience.

Their leader called out a name and one ROK soldier stepped forward. The leader then directed all his vitriol toward that single soldier. I don’t know what the guy did — I have to admit my Korean language skills border on non-existent — but the leader was obviously upset with him.

The leader got face to face with the soldier and then began punching him. I’m serious. He just began hitting the guy.

Everyone in the squad remained at attention looking straight ahead as the beating continued.

The soldier didn’t resist the beating and eventually he fell to the ground. He got back to his feet and let the leader continue to beat him.

I couldn’t handle watching it so I returned to my Fire Direction Control center — my quiet, gentle, calm FDC — where life was a little more laid back.

OUR DOG

On one firebase we even had a mascot — a cute dog that we called “Niner.”

That’s me and Niner on LZ Crest.
I’m the one on the left.

I don’t know where Niner came from or why he chose to make us part of his family, but it was fun to see him and interact with him.

Niner would drop by every day and play with us for awhile. Everyone in our unit enjoyed having him around.

Then one day … he didn’t show up.

We don’t know where Niner went or why he never returned to us but we missed him.

Some suggested that the Vietnamese soldiers who were on the firebase probably took him and ate him. Apparently dog was one of the menu items in their lifestyle.

I have no idea if that was true but most of us thought it was.

THE MAILMAN

One of the nice breaks in our routine was the day we received mail. A chopper would fly in and drop off people and supplies and sometimes a bag with mail.

When that mail bag arrived people began crowding around hoping they would receive a letter from home. A couple of times I even got the opportunity to be the mailman.

Mail was a big deal for most of us.

You have to remember this was before cell phones, text messages and the internet. Our only communication with family and friends back home was mail.

Some soldiers seemed to always get letters. Some seemed to never receive letters.

For those of you who wrote me during that time, I can’t thank you enough.

I treasured the letters I received.

THE MOUNTAIN

Okay, I’ve stalled long enough.

The title of this episode is “The Day I Shot a Mountain” so I might as well get to it.

One day we received the call on the radio for a “Fire Mission.” The forward observer with the troops gave us the coordinates and the guy working our radio entered the information into Freddy.

I was working the backup position at the map so I placed a plotting pin into the location we had been given and began working out the shooting solution manually.

The guy using Freddy called out the shooting solution and I agreed that it was accurate.

So he called the guns and gave them the elevation, direction and charge, and ordered a marking round.

We heard the shot from the gun crew and waited for any corrections from the field.

We waited.

And we waited.

It was taking too long.

Finally, the forward observer called and asked when we were going to fire.

In the FDC we just looked at each other. The shell had been shot and should have landed. What happened?

I looked at the map.

That’s when I saw the problem.

There was a mountain between us and the infantry units on the ground. So instead of hitting the target where our troops were, we shot a mountain.

We quickly recalculated the shooting solution using “high angle fire” in order to reach the target.

Our marking round exploded over the target and we completed the fire mission.

We tried to joke about it.

I mean how often does an artillery unit accidentally shoot a mountain?

But I knew it wasn’t funny.

That is the type of mistake that causes a “friendly fire” incident. We were fortunate that no one was on the mountain where our shell landed. All it did was blow up some jungle.

No people — civilian or military — were injured.

Had the round killed someone, it would have been my fault. I could have blamed our computer, Freddy, for generating an incorrect response, but it was my job to check the computer.

I failed at that job.

That was the day I shot a mountain.

Lessons

There were a couple of lessons from this period.

1. Learn to do your job correctly.

2. Sometimes the Lord protects you when you make dumb mistakes. Be sure and thank Him for doing that.

TRANSCRIPT

Mary Ann was a small military facility on a hill in a remote part of South Vietnam.

I don’t know who gave it the name Mary Ann, but it was a firebase that supported infantry troops on the ground in nearby areas.

During my time in Vietnam I served on several firebases with the 3/82 Artillery — Mary Ann, Crest, Baldy, Casey Jones, and Deja Vu. At least those were the names we gave them. The Army often referred to each of them as an LZ (Landing Zone) or just a number (something like Hill 191).

I wanted to begin this episode with Firebase Mary Ann because it holds a special place in my memory. Not for what happened while I was there but for what happened shortly after my unit left the hill and moved on to other firebases.

Photograph of Firebase Mary Ann from “Together We Served” (httpsblog.togetherweserved.com20211124fire-base-mary-ann)

On March 28, 1971, Firebase Mary Ann was attacked1 by VC sappers who crawled through the defensive wires and launched an attack on the 231 Americans and 21 South Vietnamese soldiers who occupied the base.

In the hour long battle, 33 were killed and 83 were wounded.2

It was a reminder that even in the relative safety of a firebase, this was a war and we all had to be prepared for what might happen at any moment.

THE JOB ON A FIREBASE

Our job on a firebase was to support the infantry units in the field. The 105mm cannons in my unit had a range of about 7 miles so we seldom saw the actual fights in the field between our units and the enemy.

Instead we relied on radio communications for what was happening on the ground and what was needed from us.

A FIRE MISSION

We always had someone at the radio in order to receive a call from a unit in the field.

If an infantry unit requested a “fire mission” the Forward Observer who was in the field would give us the grid coordinates and one member of our FDC team entered those coordinates into the computer. The computer, which we called Freddie, generated a shooting solution and another member of our team did a manual verification of the shooting solution with the help of a large topographical map.

When both agreed, the shooting solution was sent to the gun crews who quickly aimed, loaded the guns, and fired.

Usually our first shot was a “marking round” — a white phosphorus shell that exploded in the air above where the rest of the shells would shortly land.

The Forward Observer would give us corrections, telling us if we were long or short, left or right of the target, and we would make the necessary adjustments and send the corrected shooting solution to the gun crews.

Depending on the situation, the infantry could tell us either to “fire for effect” or to fire another marking round.

We would continue firing as long as the infantry needed our support.

If the soldiers in the field called in a “contact fire mission” it meant they were engaged in a shooting battle with the enemy forces and sometimes they would skip the marking round and request “fire for effect” right away.

We knew it could be a life and death situation for the infantry so we got very good at responding quickly and accurately in order to support them.

THE FIREBASE

A chopper took me to the firebase where I would be working and dropped me off in my new world. I was introduced to the Fire Direction Control (FDC) team and given a bunk — actually a cot underneath a culvert half.

And, yes, Gunner was a part of our team. He was a good guy and he didn’t shoot any bugs out on the firebases.

THE ROUTINE

In our FDC we usually worked 12 hour shifts — switching at noon and midnight — seven days a week. Someone was always awake at the radio in case a fire mission was called in.

One of the noticeable elements of the FDC center is that it had lots of antennas. We needed them for our radio communications but we also knew it made our location a prime target if the base were to come under attack.

Our Fire Direction Control (FDC) unit on LZ Baldy. From my personal photos. Not the most spacious of accommodations but it gave us room to do our job.

FOOD AND WATER

Food and water are important items for soldiers and on these remote firebases. There weren’t any spigots to turn on for water or any stores to go to for food. So they had to bring everything to the troops.

I arrived at LZ Crest by chopper. Our FDC center was in the upper left of this photo. Popping smoke was a security action to let the chopper pilots know it was safe to land. (My photo.)

Here’s a Marine helicopter — we called it the Jolly Green Giant — bringing some potable water to LZ Casey Jones. (My photo.)

It was always nice when there was a hot meal.

A hot meal is served on LZ Crest. This was the chow line. (My photo.)

And when hot food wasn’t available, there were always C Rations.

A couple of members of my FDC unit sitting on breakfast, lunch, dinner, breakfast, lunch … well, I think you get the idea. Inside those boxes were cans of food designed to provide us complete meals. Some of the meals were even edible. (My photo on LZ Casey Jones.)

THE LATRINE

I apologize for talking about latrines, but I have to admit that on my first firebase, the latrine was a very memorable part of my experience in Vietnam.

You should know there was an Army way to build a latrine. I know that not only from the experience of seeing and using several latrines, but I’ve also read the manual.

Yep, the Army had a manual on how to build and operate latrines in the field. And for some reason I read that manual.

After arriving on the firebase, I remember asking one of my new FDC friends where the bathroom was and he pointed at a building and said I could use the Vietnamese latrine or … then he pointed to an open spot near the edge of the firebase and said, “Or you can use that.”

The only thing visible where he was pointing was a toilet. A single, white, porcelain toilet. It was out in the open with a beautiful view of the valley below us.

No building. No walls. No privacy.

Just a toilet.

We shared the hill with a Vietnamese unit and on the outside their latrine was like the others I had seen in Vietnam. It was a nice building. The thought of sitting out in the open while going to the bathroom did not appeal to me, so I decided to check out the Vietnamese latrine.

I opened the door and went into the building. It was small but very clean. It looked like they may have even modeled it after the American latrines.

Except for one thing.

There was no toilet.

There was a plastic floor mat where you could place your feet and there was a hole in that plastic floor mat where I figured you were supposed to do whatever it was that you came in the latrine to do.

I would later learn that out in the field where the farmers worked, it was fairly normal to see someone drop their pants, do their business, pull up their pants, and go back to work.

I had not, however, accustomed myself to the culture and decided to pass on the experience.

I decided to use the white porcelain thing sitting out in the open.

Trust me, it was a strange feeling to sit on a toilet in the middle of the night in clear view of anyone who might be out there in the darkness.

For some reason, I didn’t really enjoy the beautiful view of the countryside.

Other things were on my mind.

I was sure the firebase would come under attack while I was sitting on my shiny, white porcelain thing. I was sure mortars would explode around me, sappers would crawl through the wires with satchel charges, or a sniper had me in his sights right at the moment and thought it would be fun to take out the American soldier sitting on the toilet.

But what choice did I have?

I couldn’t do the squatting thing. I mean that was weird. I just couldn’t do it.

Until one day … the rains came.

It wasn’t the monsoon rains. Those would come later. This was just your ordinary torrential downpour.

As much as I didn’t want to use the Vietnamese latrine, I couldn’t imagine sitting out in the open during the downpour.

So … I decided to appropriate the culture of the Vietnamese soldiers and used their version of a latrine.

I was a little awkward at first but I was dry and after a few more uses of the latrine, I never went back out to the toilet in the open, even after the sun came out.

That’s enough latrine talk.

Sorry for bringing it up but, like I said, it was a memorable experience for me.

I’ll share more about life on a firebase in future episodes.

LESSONS

• Never forget you are in a war. It may not be a physical war like I experienced in Vietnam, but it is a very real war for your soul. Choose to follow Jesus and know that there is a very real enemy out there who wants to destroy you.

• Sometimes we are so used to our way of doing things (personal comfort) that we don’t even consider that another way may be a better choice.

I was on my way.

Loaded into a Huey helicopter, I was flown to a nearby Fire Support Base called Hawk Hill.

I thought this was going to be my new home but I was wrong. This was where the headquarters of my new home was located.

Hawk Hill was a fairly large facility and included the headquarters of many units and who knows what else.

The 3/82 Artillery had a headquarters building. They referred to it as an HHB — Headquarters Headquarters Battery. I don’t know why the Army talks like that but I think the old timers understand.

The 3/82 Arty also had a medical clinic.

And they had a building that was about half way underground that was really just a large bunk house. It’s where men from the various batteries could stay as they were coming from or going to their units.

It was the place where I was told to find a bed until they assigned me to the battery I would be going to.

I found a bed — it was a real bed and not just a cot — and I settled down for the night. Several people came into the building and found a place to lay down their stuff. I assumed they were soldiers from the various batteries.

One of the things I did enjoy is that this was my first day in Vietnam where I did not serve on KP!

OBSERVATIONS

One of the things I did notice was the smell.

It was the same odor I had noticed on my bus ride up to Fort Ord on my first day in the Army — marijuana.

Two of the guys were on their bunks smoking weed.

While this didn’t inspire confidence in me, I consoled myself with the thought that they were on break from their regular duties out in the field and not on some firebase.

I hoped they didn’t get high on the firebase where they were supposed to be ready to face the enemy at any time.

MEETING GUNNER

I met several of the guys. They seemed like normal people.

Then I was introduced to a guy who was called “Gunner.”

That seemed like a strange nickname but I quickly learned the reason for it.

Gunner loved … you guessed it … guns.

He was a collector. Not content with Army issued weapons, he bought all kinds of guns from the Vietnamese. He had M1’s, 45’s, and several other weapons.

He couldn’t wait to show us his latest purchase. He pulled it out of his duffle bag and there it was for us to admire.

A Thompson submachine gun.

If you ever saw any of the old gangster movies from the 1930’s you probably know what a Thompson submachinegun is.

Most of the guys knew Gunner so they tried to sound interested but it was obvious they had heard his stories many times before.

I found his stories interesting and wondered if he would be one of the men on the battery where I would be assigned.

BUGS

I mentioned that the building was half underground. That meant that the walls were, for the most part, dirt. There was a roof that was covered with lots of sandbags but the walls — they were definitely dirt.

Which brought up another characteristic of Vietnam — bugs.

I suppose I should have realized this. After all, a good portion of Vietnam was a jungle.

But it really didn’t sink in.

Until I saw a large bug crawling up the wall of our bunk area.

I pointed it out but most of the guys didn’t pay it much attention.

I guess they had grown used to the sight of bugs.

Gunner, however, picked up his Thompson submachinegun, aimed at the bug on the wall, and pulled the trigger.

Bullets flew into the wall.

Everyone dove to the ground.

Eventually heads popped up and the guys began yelling at Gunner.

“What are you doing?”

“Are you crazy?”

Stuff like that.

Gunner just smiled and nodded toward the wall.

“No bug,” he said.

He put his Thompson submachinegun back in his duffle bag and the rest of us got back on our bunks.

A few minutes later, two MPs came rushing into the room.

“We heard gunfire,” said one of the MPs.

“We did too,” said Gunner. “Did you find out what it was?”

The two MPs shook their heads no, looked around the room, and left.

“You’re nuts,” one of the guys said to Gunner.

Gunner just smiled.

I realized my time in Vietnam was going to be a unique experience.

CAN YOU TYPE?

The next morning we were gathered in front of the headquarters building. We were the newbies waiting for our assignments.

Before giving out the assignments, however, the guy running the meeting asked if any of us typed. They had an opening in headquarters and needed someone who could type. He told how it was a great job and a quick way to get a promotion.

Now I could type.

I could do 40 words per minute and that was on the old manual typewriters.

But I could not see any reason to tell the headquarters pitchman about my skills. I was trained in Fire Direction Control and did not want to spend my year in Vietnam typing reports. I was trained to direct artillery fire.

So I kept my mouth shut.

I was assigned to something called B Battery. They said it was the “jump” battery and I would join them on a firebase later that day.

Before they would send us out on a Huey, however, there was one thing they had to take care of.

He pointed at me and a couple of others and said we were on KP.

Figures.

So, in my first four days in Vietnam, I was on KP three of those days.

LESSONS FROM MY DAYS IN OLIVE DRAB

I did learn one very important lesson during this this phase of my Army experience.

If you ever meet a guy with the nickname of “Gunner” it might be wise to pay attention to what he does. Sometimes nicknames have a link to reality.

Episode 11 “Welcome to Vietnam”

Finally.

After two months of Basic Training, a brief stint on Temporary Duty, two months of Fire Direction Control School, a month of leave, and a few extra days at Fort Lewis retaking all my shots … 

Finally I arrived by plane at Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam.

DAY ONE IN VIETNAM

We were taken to a large building where we were told how we would be processed. We would be assigned to groups and take some orientation classes and then we would be sent to the unit that would be our home for the next year.

It sounded simple enough. 

Who do you know?

Before we were sent on our way, however, the soldier giving the briefing asked if anyone was related to a Congressman. A few hands went up. He asked those people to come down and they were led through a door. We never saw them again.

He assured us that the people who left were not getting any special treatment.

For some reason, I didn’t believe him. 

I waited for him to ask if anyone was related to a journeyman machinist, my Dad’s job, but he didn’t ask. So I didn’t get to go out the door and not get special treatment like those related to a Congressmen didn’t get.

Instead we were sent to another temporary home until we got our assignment.

At this new location we were told to line up.

I found a place near the front of the group but one of the “experienced “ guys in the group — I think he had arrived in Vietnam the day before me — said we shouldn’t stand in the front because that’s where they picked the guys for KP.

KP?

In Vietnam?

I didn’t even know they did KP in a war zone.

But with my luck, I figured I would get stuck with the job, so I decided to join the “experienced “ guy in the back row.

The soldier running the show handed out orders for those who had received their assignments and told them where to catch their rides. For most, that was a chopper pad where they would be flown to their assigned unit.

The rest of us got some instruction on what to expect — primarily what to avoid — in Vietnam. 

Some make-work jobs

And then he started giving out jobs for us to do while we waited for our orders. Most of the jobs were simple — cleaning up an area, helping move stuff, things like that — and not everyone got a job.

When he said he needed about five guys for KP, I have to admit I felt sorry for the guys up front who didn’t get the inside scoop on where to stand.

I was glad I had joined my experienced friend in the back row.

But the soldier in charge didn’t even look at the guys in the front row. Instead, he looked at the back row. He pointed at me and a couple of guys near me and said, “You guys have KP.”

This was not how I expected my first day in Vietnam to go, but it seemed about right for my Army career. I seemed to have a knack for getting less-than-desirable opportunities.

After I finished KP that day, the soldier in charge found me and a couple of other guys and said we would be doing guard duty that night.

GUARD DUTY

Guard duty?

This was a very large and very important military base. How could they put someone like me, with absolutely zero experience, on guard duty?

I assumed I would be on the edge of the facility staring out into the the dark jungle and watching and listening for a surprise attack.

My assumption was wrong.

The soldier took us to various places on the base and gave us specific orders on how to guard stuff inside the base.

It was getting dark, and I was taken to a remote area of the base. There was a road going down by a fence. I was stationed at a gate and told I should not let anyone pass through that gate unless they gave me the password for the day.

He told me the password, handed me a rifle, and left.

The rifle he gave me was an M-14.

The M-14 was the Army’s standard issue rifle from 1959-1964. This was 1970. Now I had never used an M-14 in my life. Not in Basic. Not in Advanced Training. I was never even shown films of it being used. I guess I could have figured out how to use it — I mean a rifle was a rifle — but the Army made certain I would not make a mistake with this weapon of war. They didn’t give me any ammunition.

So there I stood in the dark, on a remote part of the military base, standing guard duty, with a secret password, and a rifle that had no bullets, and my wits … or lack thereof.

If anyone tried to come through my gate, they’d best know the password or I would … well I didn’t actually know what I would do. I just hoped no one would come my way.

And for a long time, no one did come. Remember it was remote and dark. I couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would come to this part of the base and go through my gate.

But then I saw him. I couldn’t make out his features in the dark, but he was walking my way. He was definitely coming to my gate.

I went over the routine in my mind.

I would tell him to halt. Then I would ask him for the password. He would give me the password and then I would let him through.

I’d seen this interchange many times in old World War II movies.

I could do this.

As he came closer I could see that he was an officer — a 2nd Lieutenant.

I stepped in his path and said, “Halt.”

He stopped and looked at me.

I wondered if he knew I didn’t have any ammunition.

“Password,” I said with all the command authority I could muster after a day on KP.

He looked at me, shook his head and said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Then he walked by me and went through the gate.

What was I supposed to do?

Beat him over the head with my bullet-less M-14?

I watched him as he disappeared into the darkness.

Did I just fail at my first job in the war?

Would I get in trouble?

A little while later, I saw some movement coming down the road toward me again.

I determined this time I would not fail.

I had a job to do and I would do it … even if it was something more than a 2nd Lieutenant.

I was relieved when I saw that it wasn’t a person at all. It was too low to the ground. It was some kind of animal.

I could see that from the reflection from its eyes.

I couldn’t make out exactly what kind of animal it was but it was about the size of a dog. I hadn’t seen any dogs on the base but I figured someone made a dog his pet and it was just trotting around the base — coming directly toward me.

I wondered if a dog was allowed to pass through the gate without the password.

Maybe I should tell it to “Halt!” and ask for the password. Just joking. I’m not that stupid. I wouldn’t ask a dog for the password.

The dog continue to come my way and I figured I could at least try to make a new friend.

But then I realized the walk was more of a wobble. Maybe it was a short, fat dog. As it got closer I began to make out the details of the shape

It wasn’t a dog.

And I was not going to make a new friend.

It was a rat. The biggest rat I had ever seen in my life.

I raised my unloaded rifle, made some threatening moves and some aggressive noises, and the creature decided to head in a different direction.

I was once again alone.

But this time, I was a success.

As I evaluated my first job in this war, except for the 2nd Lieutenant, no one got through my gate that night. Not even a very large rat.

After my time on guard duty was over, I returned to the temporary home we had been given and got a good night’s sleep

DAY TWO IN VIETNAM

The next day we were told to shower, which was probably good advice because it had been a couple of days and we were a bit on the grungy side.

The showers were in a large area underneath a canopy. The showers were all gravity fed so there were barrels up high.

One problem.

There were several Vietnamese women keeping the area clean and picked up.

I did not feel comfortable getting naked and taking a shower in front of several women, but again, the Army had no desire to address my concerns, so I obeyed orders and took a shower.

Then we gathered at our meeting place. I was hoping I would get my orders for where I would be assigned, but it didn’t happen that day.

We had a couple of more instructional sessions on what to watch out for in Vietnam, and then we regathered.

My “experienced” friend had received his orders so he was gone. But I had learned my lesson from the previous day. This time I took a place up front. I was not going to do KP again.

They gave out a few jobs and then it was time to pick out the KP crew.

Yep … he didn’t even look at the back row. He looked at those of us in the front row, pointed at me and a couple of guys near me and said we were on KP.

So, on my first two days in Vietnam, I did KP.

Not exactly how I expected my time in Vietnam to begin.

But at the end of the day, I finally received my orders. I would be going to a place called Hawk Hill and joining the 3/82 Artillery.

This would be my unit, and hopefully I would never have to do KP again.

I have three lessons from this stage of my Army career.

LESSON 1 - God is in control

Even if things don’t go the way I think they should — and they often don’t — I need to remember that God is in control.

LESSON 2 - Be careful who you turn to for advice

Sometimes the people who give you advice don’t know what they’re talking about.

LESSON 3 - Don’t try to make friends with rats

Rats are not good.

Thanks for listening to this episode. 

If you enjoyed it, please share it with others.

Now before I go, I'd like to share a blessing with you from the Old Testament.

“May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.”

Numbers 6:24-26 (The Living Bible)

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