Early July 1970, in the mountains on the northeastern rim of the A Shau Valley.

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Medevac Mission
 
The earth fell away below as the helicopter gained altitude, rotor blades churning and popping in the hot, humid air. Behind lay the lowlands, the savanna and the villages of the populated coastal plain. Ahead lay the mountains and triple canopy rain forest. The green below looked like some child's playground. Ahead lay Fire Base O'Reilly, and nine klicks south was Fire Base Ripcord.
 
It always thrilled him to be on a mission into the mountains. The deep green vastness was enchanting, drawing him in like a sorcerer's spell. He imagined what it must be like beneath the leafy treetops. "Pure hell," he thought to himself, "and beastly hot into the bargain." He had no illusions. He had been a medic in a line company for too long.
 
Then, for some inexplicable reason, he had extended his tour to serve with Charlie Medic out of Camp Evans. He told himself it was because he cared for his fellow soldiers and wanted to do good. Deep inside he worried that the real reason might be that he truly liked combat and the excitement that attended it.
 
This day they had been called on to pluck a severely wounded man out of the rugged jungle near Fire Base Ripcord, a 1,000 meter high peak that dominated the Coc Muen massif. Ripcord had been a hot spot for over a week now. This morning, just an hour or two ago, one of the rifle companies working around the base had run into heavy enemy contact. One man had been killed and three wounded, one badly enough to warrant evacuation.
 
"We'll get you out, pardner," he thought to himself, "that's what we do, get you out."
 
The medevac chopper pilot was in contact with the company commander on the ground. Slowly they orbited the jungle, looking for the telltale smoke that would mark the company's position. "I've got goofy grape," the pilot finally radioed. "That's affirm," the company RTO replied.
 
There was no landing zone, no place to set down to easily take the wounded man aboard. They would have to use a jungle penetrator--a metal cone with extending legs that served as seats to evacuate one or two GIs from the jungle.
 
The medevac chopper came to a hover 300 feet above the company location.
 
"That's pretty thick stuff down there," he thought, as he guided the penetrator and its tethering cable down into the jungle. But he knew what he was doing. He knew from experience what those on the other end had gone through. "Hang on," he whispered silently, "we'll get'cha out."
 
The penetrator lowered, it slid through the thick tree branches and foliage and came to rest on the ground below. He couldn't see clearly, but knew what was going on. The wounded man was placed on the seat of the penetrator, then strapped to it, then the company RTO radioed to haul the wounded soldier up.
 
The winch began to wine. Cable was taken up. The penetrator and its load of wounded human cargo left the jungle floor.
 
"We got'cha," he said to himself, "we're gonna get ya up here and back to the aid station."
 
The cable tightened, strained, wound upward toward the medevac. Time passed in great slow motion chunks.
 
Without warning, enemy fire erupted from the surrounding hilltops. Small arms fire peppered the hovering medevac, slicing through its thin metal skin. The penetrator cable kept winding upward. "C'mon baby, we got you now," his mind urged, "C'mon, c'mon, just a few more feet. Then we're outta here."
 
The pilot was talking on the intercom now, "Doc, you got him yet? We're going to have to get out of here ricky tic."
 
He was focused on the man in the penetrator below, willing the winch to wind faster. "He's almost here, capt'n," he said into the mike, "Just another 20 feet."
 
The enemy fire increased.
 
"I am going to pull up now!" the pilot hollered, "we can get him in on the fly."
 
The chopper surged upward. An enemy rocket propelled grenade flashed skyward, struck the helicopter's engine, burst with a thundering explosion. Doc was thrown to the floor of the chopper, losing sight of his wounded patient at the end of the steel tether. Instantly, the medevac began to sag toward the ground, and started to roll over. "We're going down," the pilot yelled.
 
In split seconds ... Doc scrambled back to the winch and cable. The wounded soldier was just a few feet away ... the man's eyes looked at him, pleading, "Don't let me die!"
 
"Not today, old son," Doc thought, "not today." And he punched the cable release and let the wounded man fall to the ground as the chopper keeled over in its death roll.
 
The wounded soldier survived the fall and was later medevaced.
 
The medevac chopper and all its crew perished on impact.
 
This is what heroes are made of.

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Infantry Assault
 
Violence moving up a hill.
Short dashes across light years of jungle.
Bits of angry split the air, and kill,
Leaving lonely.
 
If you could see them as I have,
(And some of you know what I'm saying.)
If you could look deep into their hearts,
You would see -- no, you would feel
Their fear and their love,
Binding them tightly to each other
In an unbreakable bond.
 
No one wants to be here
In this hour before the assault.
But none will leave now,
For they will not forsake each other.
Soon there will be another test,
Another trial of body and spirit.
For some, it will be their first time,
For others, their last.
 
If you could hear them as I have,
(And you old hands know this.)
You would hear only silent whispers,
The soft clink of ammunition,
And a rustle of gear being made ready.
Most of their time here is silent time,
But soon that silence will be shattered
By horrible war.
 
There is a casual way men have of relaxing,
Yet full of tension, wound tight
Like a coiled spring, full of unleashed energy.
My job (one of many),
Is to release that terrible, lethal energy
At the right place and at just the right time.
Then, they will do the work of demons,
And I the same -- just another soldier.
 
Stealth now, as we move forward
Treading on cat feet, looking with cat eyes.
We spread out, by platoons, and then squads
To the release points, to the jump off positions.
That old, familiar feeling washes down our spines
And settles in a tight knot in our guts.
Impatient now, we wait for the artillery to fire.
Then we will plunge into Hell.
 
Violence moving up a hill.
 
The coiled spring is released,
Adrenaline floods the body.
God, we are in Your hands now.
 
Short dashes across light years of jungle.
 
Feet and legs churning, lungs heaving.
Hot fragments shred brush and shatter trees.
A three-second rush forward is an eternity.
 
Bits of angry split the air, and kill.
 
We chase our exploding grenades into the maw of the Devil.
His hot, sulphurous breath consumes friend and foe alike.
This day we are successful -- mostly, that is.
 
Leaving lonely.
 
One man is down, a hole through his heart.
One more shattered life that doc can not save.
And one more widow, one more fatherless child, at home.
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Think about that. It is pure insanity. No sane person does such a thing. And no person who has done such a thing remains sane. Trav, 101st, 2/506, 1970 -71

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OL' DOC AND THE POKER GAME
Your deal, Lord, My last hand was a bust. An' the one before that.

I done sat around this table all night, an' not one card could I play. C'mon, Lord. Deal me somethin'. Anythin'. Gimme a chance to break even.

You at least owe me that, Lord. Are You listenin'?

I got stuck with really bad hands, Lord, while the North Vietnamese have taken practically ever' pot on the table.

I been good, Lord, mostly. Went to Basic an' AIT, like You said to do. Even went to Chapel, once or twice. I've tried, Lord.

Got sent to Nam, an' didn't gripe. Got sent to the airborne, an' then out here in the mountains next to the A Shau Valley, an' all the time I tried to do what's right.

Ya see, Lord, fer two weeks now we've been in constant contact with the enemy. Steady, gut-wrenching contact. An' this mornin' we took a bad lickin'.

We was outnumbered, Lord, a lot to a little. An' they hit us with ever'lovin' thing they had--mortars, rockets, satchel charges, grenades, an' a lot of machine gun an' small arms fire. An', so help me Lord, they come at us in a massed attack.

We fought back like devils, Lord ('scuse the word), an' gave a good account of ourselves. You'd'a been proud--that is, if anyone can be proud of men killin' and woundin' each other. But that's not my point, Lord. We're all just tryin' to do our jobs--them as well as us.

Thing is, Lord, I got this small problem that, mebbe, only You can help fix.

Y'see, Lord, I'm a medic by trainin'. Ol' Doc they call me. An' Ol' Doc fixes their hurts, an' gives 'em malaria pills, an' cleans jungle rot, an' picks out shell fragments, an' puts on field dressin's, an' ties tourniquets, an' gets 'em on medevacs, an' listens to 'em gripe 'bout ever'thin' there is to gripe about. That's me--Ol' Doc. An' so, Lord ... about this here problem.

We come outta' this thing a bit worse than we went in. Got 14 dead an' 56 wounded outta' 76 grunts altogether. Fifty-six wounded men, Lord! But that's not the problem, Lord, I believe most of 'em are gonna' make it, 'cept for mebbe one guy. He's my problem, Lord.

Got him set up in the corner of two tree roots, You know, the big ironwoods they got over here in Nam. Half his face is gone, an' I've got that bandaged. His right arm is burned, bad, and that's wrapped up. He took mebbe four AK rounds in the gut--guys say he charged a machine gun position--but I've stopped most of the bleeding, an' got my last IV pumpin' into him. But he's gut-shot, Lord. Right through to the back, an' I think he's gonna' die. I don't even know his name.

But you cain't never tell, Lord. Some men were meant to die before we figure it's time, an' others not. But as many as I've seen go, Lord, I reckon this one's goin' rather than stayin'.

An' that's the thing, Lord. I don't want him to go. There's somethin' about him, somethin' that needs to live. An' I need Your help.

So, if You could just deal me one more hand, Lord. One more hand. An' if You ever had a mind to cheat at cards, or anythin' else, this'd be the time to do it. I need some aces, Lord, an' I'm prayin' You'll oblige me, an' him in particular.

Well, You got the picture, Lord. Whatever You can do, we'd appreciate. Amen.

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That next day, choppers lifted 76 men out of the rocky jungle near the A Shau Valley. Fourteen in body bags, only six unwounded, and the others were alive, as if by a miracle--or a winning hand.

Trav