In December 1969, I was attending officer candidate school in Fort Sill, Oklahoma. This was a six-month school designed to take soldiers and make them officers and gentlemen. Most of the soldiers had gone home on Christmas leave. The few of us who were left were assigned special jobs that only an officer and a gentleman can perform — mopping the floors, cleaning the toilets and picking up cigarette butts.
On Christmas Eve, we were given a special present by the first sergeant — guard duty. Three of us were assigned to guard valuable military property — the empty barracks where the soldiers slept who were now home with their families enjoying the holidays. Each of us would be on duty for two hours and off duty for four.
The temperature outside was around eight degrees. There was a foot of snow and the cold Oklahoma wind blew right in my face no matter which direction I turned. How many times can you walk around an empty building in two hours making sure all the doors and windows are locked?
There was a Christmas tree in the guard house, but it’s hard to feel the Christmas spirit when you are a thousand miles from home and far from your family.
As I walked around the barracks for the 37th time, I told myself, “Hold on. It won’t be like this next Christmas.” And sure enough, it wasn’t.
It was worse.
Instead of being a thousand miles from home, I was 8,452 miles from my family in the jungles of Vietnam. Instead of being on guard duty in eight-degree weather, I was walking through the bush carrying my M-16, ammo belt, ruck sack, steel pot, bug juice and C-rations in 100-degree weather.
I was an artillery forward observer assigned to an infantry company. On Christmas Eve, we had been flown by helicopter to a landing zone deep in the jungle. Our orders were to find the headquarters of a Viet Cong battalion and engage the enemy. The jungle in that part of the country was very thick. Hacking our way through the jungle with machetes, it took us about seven hours to walk two kilometers.
As we got closer to our destination, the men became increasingly nervous. All the soldiers were breathing heavily, safeties were off, and fingers were on the triggers. Although it was Christmas Eve, all the men could think about was what would happen when AK-47 bullets started flying through the air. When we finally reached the enemy bunkers, imagine our disappointment when we discovered they were empty. The Viet Cong had fled.
Suddenly a message came over the radio. If we could get back to the landing zone in one hour, we would be flown back to our home base. A special USO show would be presented. USO meaning … American girls. Remember it took us seven hours to reach the bunkers. The mosquitos were thick, the ground was covered with leeches, the bamboo needles pricked our skin. The exhausted men made it back in about 30 minutes.
Our mail was waiting for us and it was loaded with Christmas presents. I guess Santa had flown in by helicopter. I opened my package from home very carefully; it took about three seconds. It was filled with a real treat that I hadn’t eaten in six months — popcorn balls. My grandmother in Florida had also sent a fruitcake, but it never made it. I guess some hungry Viet Cong devoured it in his bunker.
There was a 24-hour cease-fire. On Christmas Eve we sat on our cots listening to Christmas carols played by helicopters flying overhead. Around midnight the artillery batteries put on a show. It was a Christmas I will never forget.
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