Snapshot from 40 Years Ago
I was only two weeks out of being a cherry. In my unit, until you had been wounded to a point of requiring evacuation, and then returned, or, until you have a proven kill, your name was Cherry. I made my kill while on a routine patrol. Being the junior guy, and the cherry, I was sent to a spring to fill canteens. While there, a Viet Cong cherry had been sent to the same task. I shot first. I shot straight. I shot, and I immediately went to ground. I found some dense cover and made myself scarce. I knew that there were bound to be others in the black PJs who, hearing the crack of an M16 would be coming to investigate. I had no idea what direction they would be coming from, I also knew that my guys would be right in the mix soon too. That move of mine, that I had the presence of mind to get myself out of any sight lines, impressed the grizzly old Master Chief. He was the one who tapped me out for the LRRP to come. We were going to be moving out in two days. I was already packed, had run my kit past a couple of the older members of the team to make sure that I was bringing enough of the things I would need, and leaving behind anything that would be dead weight. Fully assembled my ruck displaced about 85 pounds. Most of it ammunition.
With my gear rucked up tight and nothing really to do, I was hanging out in the doper's hootch. There were a couple of "recreation" hootches and the choices were pretty cut and dried. The doper's hootch was integrated and they played a lot of Motown. The lifer's hootch was lily white (even the African American who hung with the lifers was from Oklahoma City and talked whiter than me) and they played a lot of Merle Haggard. I was sucking down some warm ass beer, and blowing some killer thai one of our guys had scored from the locals. I remember vividly that Sam the Sham and the Pharohs were singing "Wooly Bully."
Out of nowhere, the world suddenly changed. Sirens and explosions began to sound right about the same time. Then, the loudspeakers for the base began to blare with a young voice that had dropped all pretense of decorum or military discipline screaming into the microphone: "Gooks in the wire. Gooks in the wire. Everybody to the line. Gooks are everywhere in the wire."
I grabbed my rifle, my web belt and a couple cans of ammo and ran to the nearest sand bagged rifle pit. There was incredible sounds. Shots and explosions, screams, and random flashes. I was in the act of swapping out the magazine on my rifle when I realized that I still had half a joint dangling from my lips. Since I smoked Camels I didn't think that anybody would really notice anything. The excitement, the fear, and my reaction to it all had pretty much burned off any stone I had working. Thing was, I couldn't quit singing "Wooly Bully."
The rifle pit I had jumped into began to fill up with a mixture of Marines, whose base it was, and a couple of guys from my team. I kept singing. I had my rifle on single fire. It was a convention of the team. Often we would be working and moving completely out of sight of each other. If we heard automatic fire that wasn't an M60, an easily identified report signature, we knew it wasn't us. We rarely used our 16s on "rock and roll." I noticed that I was firing in rhythm with my singing. It struck me as pretty funny.
Some of the jarheads were starting to look at me a little strange. They had spent most of the last several days complaining loudly about the "squids" who had invaded their little base. They thought we were arrogant and spoiled brats who strutted around in our tiger cammies and thought that we were in this war alone, and that it had been all started for our amusement. They thought that seeing somebody singing "Wooly Bully" and firing his weapon in rhthym to the song was pretty strange. I figured I'd give them something to really chew on.
I flipped my selector to "Full Auto." I kept singing, but much more loudly now. I reached the part of the song, right before the guitar solo where the singer shouts "Now Watch Him, Now Watch Him Now, Here It Comes!" I stood and emptied an entire magazine out into the perimeter. Then I dropped into a sitting position howling with laughter. The jarheads were saucer eyed and speechless. The two guys from my team who were there started to sing "Wooly Buuuuulllllly! Wooly Bully. dum da dudda dum da dut dut da da dumpa dum"
After about half an hour the assault was broken off. The closest they had come to our lines was about 150 yards. Quickly after they broke contact the mortars and rockets started to slam into us. Master Chief Norr came around to check on who was where and was making deployments. The first thing he said was "You kids need to quit smoking that shit, it makes you stupid." Then he looked at me and said "I want you on the CP hootch with the .308. Take Barney with you on the big eyes (high power binoculars). When they come again, it will be right behind a break in the shelling, we're going to pop some star shells (illumination rounds) and I want you with the rifle and Barney spotting, you see anybody looks like a sergeant, or an officer drop them fast. If they look like a leader, take his fucking head off. Got that Tonto?" I said "You betchum Red Ryder."
The siege lasted a little over a day and a half. We finally were able to be resupplied and covered from the air.
Tet, had begun.