The Lieutenant

What I am about to tell you is an example of not judging a book by its cover. This is the story of our new Lieutenant.

I had been in Bravo company for almost eight months, and I was in the bush, what we called the jungles of Vietnam. I had seen my share of firefights. I had been shot at many times and sent my share of bullets back.

I haven’t had a shower in three weeks and haven't had a hot meal in the last five days. Between the heat and humidity and humping the jungle every day, I am twenty pounds lighter and 100% grungier. How in the hell did I ever get used to this being normal?

We expected a new platoon leader any day, so it was no surprise when this new second lieutenant showed up. He arrived by helicopter late afternoon. We were familiar with the old platoon leader, but this guy was way different. There was no West Point ring; he was thin, had no suntan, and had no noticeable accent. His new jungle fatigues contrasted sharply with our worn, torn, and muddy pants and shirts. The next morning would be a wake-up call for all of us.

The platoon leader was on my aircraft and sat on the helicopter’s left side with his radio telephone operator (RTO), one of the other fire team’s guys, and the company medic. The ride to the LZ was too short. We had no time to enjoy the fresh, cool air at 2000 feet as our feet hung over the side of the helicopter. As our helicopter banked left and began to descend, that’s when the fun started.

The artillery and helicopter gunships were working the LZ over. Smoke from the artillery and aerial rocket fire was everywhere. This LZ was promised to be “hot,” and it was. Our door gunners began firing as the helicopters flared to land quickly and get the hell out of the way. I look across the helicopter, and the lieutenant is gone! What the hell? Did he get hit and fall? He didn’t jump, did he?

The helicopter touched down, and I quickly slipped out to see that the lieutenant had jumped early. He probably bailed out when the helicopters flared, thinking they were landing. He landed on wet ground and was stuck up to his boot tops in the soggy ground. His RTO and the platoon medic quickly pulled him out. I heard the medic say something like, “Up you go, Lieutenant,” with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Just as we thought we had the upper hand, mortar rounds began falling on us. Suddenly, BOOM! One hit right where the Lieutenant, the RTO, and two of my fire team took cover behind a termite mound. The dirt and dust from the explosion on the termite mound threw up a yellow cloud that blocked out everything. As if things couldn’t get worse, the first rain of the monsoon decided it was time to empty the clouds. You can hardly see or hear anything more than a couple of feet in front of you. The NVA had fire lanes all laid out in front of them, and all they had to do was fire along those lanes. Even if they couldn’t see anyone, we, on the other hand, could only guess where the firing was coming from. That is, until the Lieutenant emerged from the smoke and dust of the mortar round.

The lieutenant got to his feet in this deluge and went up and down our line of guys, showing them where to fire and encouraging us forward. The smoke grenades he threw landed close to where the NVA were firing from, and we were able to return fire effectively. He never flinched, even though some of the bullets hit close to him and raised little water fountains alongside his boots. We could hear bullets snapping the wet branches and broad leaves just overhead. This guy was walking around like there was no one shooting at him!

I don’t think I will ever forget the sight of the lieutenant, with his jungle fatigues in threads, blood running from his nose and ears, quietly encouraging us to take the initiative and eliminate the enemy threat. It seemed like he was everywhere at once. When things got hairy in one location, the Lieutenant pointed out where the enemy was firing and directed fire against that threat. As soon as we overran one enemy bunker, another opened fire. The rain was coming down so hard I couldn’t see anything. It was like the Lieutenant was able to see through that shit like it wasn’t there.

The Lieutenant was just ahead of me. Suddenly, he flinched and moved his rifle to his left hand. I watched as he took his right index finger and plugged a bullet hole in his left chest that had just appeared. My first thought was, “Oh shit, they got the Lieutenant.” I grabbed his arm,

“Lieutenant, are you hit?”

“Don’t sweat it, Sergeant. I got it under control.”

Now, I have seen some guys get hit before. None of them reacted the way the Lieutenant did, which was strange. I had little time to do anything other than keep my guys moving and firing, so I guessed the Lieutenant knew what he was doing. I lost sight of him in the rain until a little while later. We had gathered the wounded, including the Lieutenant, around an enemy bunker entrance. We were expecting the medevac helicopters any minute. Suddenly, the NVA hit us with heavy rifle and machine gun fire. They seemed to come out of the rain like some kind of ghosts.

As I looked around, I saw the Lieutenant on the radio calling in artillery fire. Despite his steady voice, he looked pale. I crawled to my guys, laying down heavy fire, when an enemy grenade landed among the wounded near the Lieutenant. He quickly covered it with his helmet and body. The blast lifted him, and when it settled, he leaned back against the bunker and spoke softly.

“Jesus, am I glad their grenades aren’t like ours. It would have gotten us all.”

With that, he picked up the radio handset and gave the artillery coordinates to stop the enemy attack. The radio calls for the medevac helicopters to land were answered within minutes, and our wounded, including the Lieutenant, were loaded and on their way.

Later, I sat in the rain with a poncho over my head and a damp, but still lit Pall Mall in my mouth, and thought,

“Man, I have now seen it all. What started out as a green lieutenant who we thought might be a problem has turned into a goddamn hero, and it ain’t even noon.”

During the resupply later that day, some high-ranking officers arrived with the resupply birds. We learned that the wounded told everyone at the aid station how the Lieutenant had saved their lives. The officers went around and collected statements from anyone who was near where he was during the firefight and particularly after he had been wounded. Platoon Sergeant Miller pulled me aside after I gave my statement on what I saw. Rain dripping from his helmet and onto my cigarette, he looked at me and asked,

“Billings, did you really see the Lieutenant do everything you said? I overheard you talking to that officer from headquarters.”

“Sergeant Miller, you bet your ass I saw him. After he got hit by the mortar round, he was like Superman. Pointing out where the firing was coming from, throwing smoke grenades to mark the dink bunkers, and in front the whole time. It was like he could see through all the rain. I have never seen anyone ignore incoming like that?”

“Did you see him get hit?”

“I did. It was the damndest thing. He sort of flinched and put his finger in the hole. It was right above his heart. What kind of guy does that?”

“And then that grenade landed between the other wounded, and he covered that grenade with his helmet and his body.

Then this rock-solid lifer, Platoon Sergeant, looked me in the eye, his face unreadable,

“Billings, I heard the brass talking. They are going to put him in for the big one. You know, the Medal of Honor.”

Sarcastically, I replied, “More than a few of us probably wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for him.”

With that, the crusty sergeant looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. He swallowed hard and said,

“Billings, the Lieutenant didn’t make it. They said he was gone by the time he was loaded onto the medevac bird.”

Just as I exclaimed “son-of-a-bitch” at Miller’s statement, the rain stopped, and the sun came out. Monsoon weather is weird. One minute, you can’t see in front of your face for the rain, and then it's like someone turned off the faucet, and it's sunny and hot, just like every other fucking day in the jungle.

The Lieutenant deserves that recognition, and I expect it will come to his family at some point. I hope I'm home before then—225 days down, 140 to go! I think the next platoon leader has some big shoes to fill. Not sure I want to wait to see what he is like.