12 January 1971

On this day thirty-five years ago, I made my first combat assault in Vietnam as an infantry riflemen. My company flew out from Firebase Silver somewhere in the Jungle and dropped into the jungle somewhere else. We were pursuing the 320-somethingth brigade or battalion. What really stuck in my mind was knowing they were North Vietnamese regulars and had heavy weapons. “Oh my fucking god. I am in the shit now.” would pretty much sum up my feelings at that moment.

My pack was ungodly heavy, the day was hot and I was scared shitlless. We flew in Hueys, the workhorse helicopter of the Vietnam War, high above the green canopy where the air was cool. The ride was jarring. The chopper shuddered under its big rotor; screaming turbines created a chaos that pieced my brain. I sat on the floor, as far away from the open doors where the more experienced troops sat. Outside of this fragile machine was the void, waiting to swallow me. I wanted no part of it. I held on tight.

As luck would have it, we landed with no opposition. I didn’t have to dodge bullets and rockets or worry about accidently becoming the electrical ground between a hovering chopper and the earth. When the final chopper left, the jungle was quiet. Not entirely–75 or so Americans loaded with equipment (not to mention saddled with 12 to 15 “newbies”, or "fucking new guys" to the vets)create some commotion. But without the engine noise, the slap of those big rotors or the commotion of soldiers scrambling for the tree line, the land felt calm.

I was still scared shitless. I was also still alive.