Have to retell as second person, hope you can understand. All true as I can recollect (hazy at best).

Early AM sometime 1968.

Co. calls me to his hooch, says an infantry unit 101st needs a team to blow tunnels for him. I say can do in the ignorance of the moment and go to the pad dragging Steve with me. (Steve Wilson being the best demo man other than myself on my team.) STEVE DIDN'T COME HOME.

Land at the base of some hills somewhere out of camp Evans, short ride so not too far. Butter bar tells me he has position of Chuck, and we are going to roust him. (sounds cool to me) another day another dollar.

Walk most of the day up the hills. Around early afternoon find tunnel entrance. Butter tells me to go in and see what's there.

Steve and I go in, small entrance; but, once inside, the place is huge. We find hot food rations, ammo, and lots of asorted stuff; obviously, Chuck is here. Can't find an entry into another part of the tunnel, still wonder why and what if.

The tunnel is cut through a narrow ridge, so we end up coming out the other side; I tell the butter bar that Chuck is here, and we should back off and call in something to fuck him up. Still can't understand why, but the butter bar says we will dig in and stay here for the night. We argue for awhile but to no avail; he wins.

Sometime late afternoon towards evening, Chuck decides to come out and play. He is everywhere all at once, the whole place is fucking nuts, Gooks everwhere (Things get hazy from here on; bear with me).

Guys are falling everywhere the butter bar tries to call for help, there is none to be found anywhere. He goes down, gone forever, what to do. I get on the radio, try to call for air support; what I eventually get is guns off of the MISSOURI. Sounds like fucking freight trains; all hell is breaking loose. (Things get real blurry from here on.)

Gooks back off for a bit, then come again; it's like there is no end to them; where are they all coming from; who fucking knows. Call for air support again; this time, get some sort of jets 105s I guess. Don't know they are there until they pull up, hear the jet wash, then all hell breaks loose again; guys down all over the place, them us, all fucked up.

At this point my mind turns to mush, can't remember how the day ended nor how I got out of the hills and back to Evans. Maybe it's better that I don't.

Some came home, some did not; sometimes I'm happy, sometimes I'm not.


been there

done that

don't matter

!!!!!!!!!!HELL IT DON'T!!!!!!!!!!

Copyright 1993 © by Robert A. Hackney Sr., All Rights Reserved

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