Jay

The brass came by, proclaiming their message of war. “When the NVA pounces, we’ll dump air and arty on him and wipe him out.” 

Lt. Martinez, a veteran presence with four years in-country, didn’t share the line. Martinez was of a mind that you had to be a little smarter than to raise a baiting operation in the Dog’s Head. He spoke with amused vehemence as if he understood everything from the beginning. “Firebases are not a good place. No real cover, no room to maneuver, no chance to flank the other side.” 

I didn’t think much of it at the time; my fear was an attack before Jay was hardened.

After the last-light patrol sallied forth, it was time to wrap. Col. Hannas, who was not above taking point, was there to check the night readiness of the men. He eyed Thumper (my M79 grenade launcher):

“Are you ready to go, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s damn hot.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Notice anything in the bush?”

“No, sir.”

“I like your attitude. Show me what you can do.” He pointed a hundred yards downwind. “See that tree out there? Put a 79’er as close as you can.”

The sight on Thumper was adios long ago (one less item to catch in the bush). Screw it. I loaded a grenade into the breach, closed the barrel and gritted my teeth, dead sure of my aim on a fifteen-foot tree standing erect at the edge of the wood. PHOOT. A direct hit ripped out a four-inch chunk, sending bark and wood high in the air.

“Forgettaboutit!”

[monster applause]

Those in the woods were taking notes.