It all started like any other good day out in the “boonies” , I remember it well even after all these years.
We were all there the entire Delta Company about 185 guys average age 22, and must of us has been inducted through the Selective Service System and your friendly neighbors into the Armed Forces.

In other words we had been Drafted…like the old tune goes…

[YOU ARE IN THE ARMY NOW…

YOU ARE IN THE ARMY NOW…

YOU NEVER GET RICH, YOU SON OF A BITCH…

YOU ARE IN THE ARMY NOW].

We were deep into music for the soul in those days as well deep into that unforgettable jungle trying to cut through thick vegetation , always pushing forward and keeping an eye out for “Charlie”
and also from hitting deep shit.

Our squad had formed a perimeter to protect and secure the clearing of an area where our helicopter was to land. This Chopper was to fly in any minute .

From my machine-gun position in the perimeter I could hear the frantic slashing of the machetes cutting through the thick bamboo and vines, I could hear the far away and approaching sound of the helicopter engine, the squelch of the radio trying to make contact with the chopper pilot, the Puff!…sound
Of the green smoke grenades alerting the pilot that it was safe to land.

You know…It has been almost four decades and I still can hear all those sounds inside my head, every time I start to remember that year those peculiar and unique sounds are real again as well as my combat buddies.

As I look back I have to say that I was one of the lucky ones. I got drafted by the best Army of the world, well trained for the first six months, and shipped-out to fight an unpopular non declared war in
Indochina or South-east Asia as it was then called with a bunch of guys of my generation. How lucky can you get? It is something like…[The Baby Boomers Go To Viet-Nam], it sounds like a great title for an adventure novel.

Many great people I had the honor to serve with, people like my good buddy Mr. Gerald(Fitz)Fitzgerald, you couldn’t get more Irish than that. Fitz was also the “Poster Child” for “The Luck of the Irish Committee”.

Specialist 4th Class Fitzgerald had an encounter with one of our own 105mm artillery rounds fired from one of our friendly artillery support landing zones(LZ).
This particular artillery round broke through the jungle into our position, landing at minimum speed, skiing through the ground in front of Fitz foxhole and tapping him on the shoulder which it dislocated with out going off.

We later learned that it was a defective artillery round. Do you want a better example of the luck of the Irish?

Fitz, was also the guy who helped me composed a letter to respond and to explain the Internal Revenue Department why I didn’t file my Income Tax for the year 1967, and this is what I wrote.

Greetings Ladies and Gentlemen of the IRS:

Shit!…I’m sorry IRS, I got drafted into the Army on Monday April 15th 1968 at 06:00hours (That’s 6:00AM for you civilians). As you all well know I was making minimum wage(about $0.75 per hour)and not working every day .I thought you guys didn’t mind if I skipped a year. I also thought you guys go after the people that works two or three jobs and work lots of over time. I have
To be very honest with you all. After I received that letter of Induction, you guys were the last thing on my mind.

I understand that you guys went through the trouble of contacting my senile mother in Florida when you couldn’t find me. I know, I know you guys didn’t know that I got drafted into the Army and was overseas fighting one of the wars that your other relatives the Department of Defense and the Department of the Army takes care of but…Don’t you guys talk to each other?

Well…at any rate I’m glad that Mom has a strong heart after all. I also understand that later on, you guys went through the trouble of contacting the Red Cross which got in touch with my Battalion Commander…who was happy I presumed to communicate with my Company Commander our Captain Pate, also known as “Mad Dog” about my situation with the IRS. He sent an authorization for a Department of the Army Finance Officer to fly out into the boonies in the next Med-Evacuation chopper coming out to pick up our wounded, so he can deliver your important letter stating that I owe the Internal Revenue Department the unforgivable amount of $90.00 for the Tax year of 1967 personally to me so I could sign for it in front of a witness….Isn’t that Wonderful?

I want you all to know at the IRS that I will be writing a letter to my older sister Daisy immediately asking her that as soon as our Mom regains consciousness to mail you all a certified letter enclosing a money order for the amount of $90.00 made payable to the IRS, so we can settle this before anything was to happen to me in this jungle and I wouldn’t be able to pay you at all…God Forbids!

Well we have to go now… we just hit the shit and I need to put writing gear away real fast. It looks that the Finance Officer is going to have to use his weapon …the last chopper for the day just left in a hurry after sniper fire…Shit!, It will be dark soon!

Spc/4Benjamin Suarez Jr.aka,Sugar Cane M-60.

P/S Before I send this letter in the next chopper out of the jungle and into the world, I have to tell you that our Finance Officer spent the night in a foxhole with my buddies and my self . He said that if he makes it out of Viet-Nam he would like to work for the IRS and try to change a few things…How do you like that,Eh?]

I will always remember my good friend Fitz. He always was saying that we all kept him alive in the jungle.
Maybe we tried to keep everybody alive if we could, in one way or another, but Fitz tought me how to fight another type of war, the one with the printed word.

My other good combat buddy was geroge Vargas, he was always saying and made sure you knew that he was from New York City. He was proud of his roots and I always admired that in him.

Vargas and I went through the School of Infantry at Fort Jackson, South Carolina mid-summer and early fall 1968, and we both got assigned to The First Calvary Division (1stCav) 1st of the 8th to serve overseas
In South Viet-Nam.

Besides his good military abilities Vargas was a great comedian and a talented musician. He could play a bunch of musical instruments .

We had some fun on our time off during Infantry School at Columbia, SC visiting the USO’s and borrowing musical instruments to play on. Vargas was a great soldier and a good team player.

Another of my good combat buddies was Mr. Alfred Chapa from Oakland, California. Great soldier, with great reflexes even though he was the old man among us at 25.

One day I remember well an enemy soldier mistakenly stepped onto the trail in front of Chapa’s path and M-16 rifle, Chapa’s reflexes took over and allow him to perceive and react faster than the enemy firing first and putting the enemy away in seconds. He not only saved his life he saved many of us including my own.

After that day I called him “Chapa the Quickest Draw of the Wild Southeast Asia”.

I remember a lot of my combat buddies even though too many years had gone by buddies like, Delbert Carrington from the beautiful state of Utah and from a little town if I remember correctly ,Delta town.
Sgt.Jessie Castillo from San Antonio, Texas. Then there are some that I can’t remember where they are from but thanks to Fitz that sent me some pictures I got names like, Jim Campos, he was a medic aka DOC; Larry Cook, aka,”Long John”; Mike Gillis; Bernie Holthouse from Ohio. Tom Polovitch I made contact with him through Fitz. Bobby Pearson from Boston, and my friend Butler from Washington DC
That I can’t remember his last name just that we used to called him “Smiley”, I have a picture with Butler aka “Smiley” that I carried with me all these years.

I got some picture from Fitz, ounce in a while I look at them and ask myself. How did we lived through it?
How did we make it out in one piece?and at least half way normal.

We had days of total silence from the enemy, and days of non-stop shootings and explosions. We had sleepless nights in that unfriendly region wating for a mortar attack or a trip-flair to go off, and then we open up with every thing we got and with all the fire power we could muster.

One particular day never left my mind…that was Thansgiving 1968. I still remember details of that day even after almost four decades.

That Thanksgiving morning we were patrolling the area very close to the Cambodian border just about three to four klicks away. As we sat down for a five minutes break we started to receive sniper fire. At first we couldn’t pin poin where exactly it was coming from, then we determined that they were firing at us from the tree tops.

Our Company Commander immediately sent our squad to investigate and to get closer so we could make contact with the enemy. As we returned fire some of the sniper’s weapons felt to the ground from the top of the tree but no enemy soldier wounded or kill will fell down. We realized that the snipers were strapped to the tree branches ,and it looks that they were guarding something very important and big.
Their mission was to prevent us from going forward at any cost and to die trying.

It happens that they were guarding an inmense “Cashe” of weapons, ammunition, supplies, a system of tunnels leading into the Cambodian side, a field hospital, with a thousand beds Chinese made 51 cal. Anti-aircraft machine-Guns and much, much more as we later found out.

As I approach one spot, the bullets over my head were cutting leaves and vines that were falling on my back as I hit the ground. Just then a Chinese made 30 cal. Machine gun open up in front of us. I was lucky to land right behind a big log on the ground . Some of my fellow soldiers in front of me got killed, others
Behind and almost next to me got seriously wounded, and to this day I still can’t explain that nothing happened to me. I had a M-79 grenade launcher, and I started to fire grenades at that enemy machine -gun position, making sure that I aimed over the vegetation close to me so the grenade wouldn’t blow-up on my face.

I was so mad, scared, pissed-off, and full of hate in that particular moment. These mother fuckers had killed and wounded a bunch of my buddies. I was firing incessantly, but in control. Luckly , more of my
Buddies came to our rescue and Blue Max was already flying around above us shooting rockets.

Before I realized it six hours had gone bye. It is unbelievable how time passes when you are in a battle situation.

All you can do is try to remain alert and in control, be aware of your surroundings and listen to your superiors if they are in control. Must of all you try to stay alive.

As night started to fall everything began to get quit and dark, and darker, and darker…and darker.

I don’t know how an urban battle would be during the night. I never fought a war in a city or a heavy populated area. But, I can tell you about the dark nights of the jungles of South Viet-Nam.It gets really and unbelievably dark, specially when there is no moon, no stars like that Thanksgiving night in 1968.

It was so dark that you could put your hand in front of your face an inch away and not see it. That’s Dark!.

When you find your self in that darkness, in a foxhole, and waiting for Charlie to attack, all you can do is check and make sure that the person next to you in that foxhole that you just whispered to…whispers back in English.

When it is that dark I feel invisible, and at the same time as if I’ve gone blind.

As the dark night started to wear out into first light, slowly little by little, and those first rays of light allowed us to make sense of our previously pitch black surroundings it looked as if Charlie had run away ounce again, leaving their dead scattered all around the perimeter. I start to get that feeling of …Gee Whiz!…I guess we survived this one, at least for the time being.

Feeling that we have survived this one and making people laugh afterwards was my specialty. Hey Vargas…I said out loud , I didn’t hear you snoring last night as you used to do at infantry school every night in Fort Jackson…What Happened ? You couldn’t sleep?… Charlie was fixing to shoot your ass.

Vargas will respond with his peculiar latin temper and loud voice …You God Dammed Right I was waiting for Charlie last night…Charlie may not know how to speak and read English but he knows that Vargas means Danger and they already heard that Vargas is from New York City.

Then I turned to a group that started to gather laughing at what Vargas was saying .
Listen Up!…Please can anybody tel me who is the person every time we hit the shit and the bullets and shrapnel starts flying around, this person starts asking for a cleaning rod to clean his weapon ? That really brought the house down, and every body was laughing .

And that is how it came to an end that Thanksgiving Day 1968, with my combat buddies.

Two years exactly to the day on Thanksgiving Day 1970…I met my first wife the mother of my children…years later I realized that maybe that was the reason that the Lord allowed me to make it out of that war in one piece…so my children could have me as their wonderful father…Maybe that’s Why..Eh?