We flew to Vietnam on January 10, 1968.

I was going to be part of Bravo Company, 21st Light Infantry. I thought about Vietnam, what it would be like, wondered how the men in country would treat their new Medic. The plane was full of excited troops chattering about the adventures which could be in store for us. The man in the seat next to me didn’t have much to say, though. I could see that he was a Marine sergeant; he looked to be much older than the rest of us.

“Well, son,” he smiled, as he pointed to my medical pack, “I see you’re a new medicine man.”

I nodded and shook his strong hand, and we introduced ourselves. Then, he continued: “That’s good, son, ‘cause where we’re going, they could sure use your help. You look mighty young to be takin’ on such a big job.”

He seemed amused as he watched the troops, laughing and joking, for a while. Then, he added: “I was just like you boys on my first trip, but the ‘Nam changes you in a hurry! My boot-camp buddies and me got blown up before the first week was over.”

“What happened?” I asked.

He sipped his coffee and continued: “We were heading out from base camp, when our transport truck hit a damned mine - the blast blew us ten feet up in the air! Most of us sitting in the back were okay, just banged up pretty good, but when I came to, the guys in front were on fire. We tried to help them, but they were all burned up. Two of my buddies were killed when the damned truck landed on top of them.”

As I listened to the old Marine’s story, a nervous feeling began to creep over me; the fear was back again.

After a few quite minutes, he smiled, as he handed me a small, silver flask: “Here, have some of my medicine - you look like you could use it. Don’t worry too much; just keep your head on straight and you’ll be okay.”

My hand was shaking as I took the flask from him. The brandy in the flask went down warm and smooth, as I sat there, trying to calm down and praying for the strength to fight my fear.

Dylan

@D.W.2

Texas

Dylan has not written a story.