HOW MANY DIED TODAY? THEY'RE NOT JUST NUMBERS: A LETTER FROM NAM

Hey, JG, I just thought I would share this with you.

I was stationed on the Qua Viet with 2nd Marine. The river ran parallel with the "line", a couple clicks south of Ia Drang. It was red hot and rocking.

We did river patrol, long-range recon and target extrication (basically banging targets, supplied by the cretins in Intel, who never knew what was going on.) We went through plenty of personnel. It took a certain kind of crazy to make it there, where we had no time to think, as instinct ruled.

After being wounded when we lost a boat, I went home to Houston from the Naval Hospital in Yokusuka, Japan, to get better, before going back again. By '72 things were so bad most of us thought that when we finally bought it, useless leadership at the top would be to blame, rather than the gook on the other end of the sights.

The Trickster had appointed John Warner as Secretary of the Navy. This was bigger news than it should have been because he was dating Elizabeth Taylor who just happened to still be married to Richard Burton. When I was recovering, I saw him on the TV and figured he was another pompous ass.

After they sent me back, you know how it was, no news and very little mail from the outside. The only current events we got were guys back from leave or R&R. Or NFGs, but nobody listened to them.

They were attaching us to a new boat, called a Nasty Boat because it was little more than water-borne Death. There were only a very few of these built, thank God. Muscular and twin-screwed, those boats were crazier than we were.

After a couple days on the river shooting water buffaloes and anything else that moved, we got word that SecNav (Warner) was coming to turn over the keys to our new boat. After nearly three years in country, you can guess how impressed we were with that grand-standing mountain of crap.

So I got busy bringing the guys up to speed on good ol' Liz-whipped Warner.

Keep in mind that uniforms and grooming were not our strong suit. We wore our hair long and black, for obvious reasons. My uniform was jungle shorts, tee shirt, bandanna and Converse AllStars. When we were at camp I generally carried a sawed off, 12 gage, Ithaca pump-shotgun. It spends retirement leaning in a corner of my bedroom.

This boat was super-secure. Admittance was at the pilot's (me) discretion- with orders to shoot to kill if proper protocol wasn't followed.

Well, here they came. Transports with guards, jeeps with junior officers and heavier brass, including ComWestPac and SecNav John Warner, in dress whites, no less.

It was fucking hilarious and outrageous, to us.

So they all pile out on the beach and fall in. You know how it goes, lining up just right so they can lick appropriate ass as it goes by.

There were only two of us on board, me and a Gunner, the rest of the guys were hanging back on the beach. I think a few might have been in their hammocks. We didn't much give a shit.

As ComWestPac walked to the bottom of the gangway, I could tell he was pissed. They had asked us to clean up, etc. Well, to hell that. He knew me from giving us medals before. Warner was also there to give us a Presidential Unit Citation. We weren't thrilled about that either because of the 9 guys getting the medal many were dead. I don't like to think in numbers because every one of those guys was a brother. We already had so much hardware to pin on, it just didn't matter anymore. We wanted our buddies back.

So ComWestPac scowls at me and requests permission to board.

Tom- "Permission granted."

ComWestPac walks up gangway and then SecNav comes prancing up without a word.

Tom- walking down gangway- "Halt who goes there?"

CWP- shouting- "Sailor that is SecNav."

Tom- 1/2 way down gangway and drawing down- "Halt or I'll shoot."

CWP- running down gangway and screaming in Tom's left ear-
"Sailor, that is SecNav!"

Tom- trusty Ithaca focused on SecNav's sternum- screams, "I don't care if he is fucking Elizabeth Taylor! Where's the boarding protocol?"

Sometimes I wish we had shot that prissy bastard.


And that Citation? It is with all the rest of them, midway of a span under the San Francisco Bay Bridge. On a clear day, I can see the bridge from my parking deck.

May those medals Rest in Peace for eternity, like the bravest guys that ever lived - my guys.

I can barely see the keys as I type this.

Some things will never change.