One Vietnam Veteran

THERE IT IS," they used to say in Vietnam. It was as if an evil spirit were loose, one of the demons, known to the Vietnamese as Ma. Weaving in and out of visible reality, a dancing ghost, it would appear suddenly out of a whirl, shimmer for an instant, and be lost. The grunts came to recognize it. They would say without excitement, "There it is!" with emphasis on the last word, to let their friends know that they had seen it and to be sure their friends had seen it too. It was without form itself, but could assume infinite identities. It was as tiny as a lizard's eye and as huge as the big, black sky. It became events, it became things themselves. It had no strength of its own because it used human strength. It had no life of its own because it used human lives with a brave prodigality. Because it used so many young lives it could assume a youthful, frolicsome aspect. Some people called it the Gray Rat, This Shit, or the Snow. Some called it Mr. Gray Rat. The union soldiers during the American civil war called it the Elephant. That was what going into combat was called then. Please understand how young a lot of these guys were. There youth was a factor in how they thought and spoke. We all had one thing in common we had all caught a glimpse of the Ma. The war's infernal antic spirit. Whether they knew it or not, everyone was looking for a metaphor.

My personal Divine Intervention began on the morning of August 21, 1970, one month after my 20th birthday. Our company set out from Quang Tri combat base headed northeast toward the Ho Chi Min Trail. I asked the lieutenant if we were going back to Khe Sanh, I could ask him questions because I was his personal radio man. I said, "Lt., if we were headed back to Khe Sanh, could you put me on the next chopper out of here?" Because I was a short timer, I had been in the field or country for eleven months, and I did not want to go back to Khe Sanh . He said, "Don't worry, Billingsley, I'll put you on a chopper in a couple of days. Besides, think of it as just another ordinary patrol, a Sunday walk in the park, a country stroll, just another ordinary hunting trip. I said "Ok, Lt., I get your point.", but I knew in my mind that we weren't hunting rabbits. We were hunting CHARLIE and CHARLIE carries an AK-47, and Charlie shoots back and I've had enough of being shot at. The last thing I wanted was to get shot up, with less than 30 days left in the NAM. Just hunting trip my ass. My experience lately, was that we only came into contact with the enemy once or twice a week and those encounters were usually brief. It was the 23rd of August when I experienced something that has been with me for over 37 years.

I've never told this to anyone until now. We were working our way up hill 585 when one of our mortar tracks ran over a landmine, and it blew the whole right side completely up, rendering it useless. The lieutenant said to make sure all the mortars, and any live ammo was put into another track, and not to leave anything behind that the gooks could use against us. I got five or six guys to help get the mortars off the track, I was standing in line waiting to do my part to help, when it came my turn, out of nowhere, I heard this voice say with some authority, "MY TIME!", "MY TIME!" At first, I just looked at him like he had gone crazy. Then with a shove, he pushed me out of line and said it again, "MY-TIME!" I said, "Well hell, if you want to help that bad, go ahead, get you some!"

As I watched him, I noticed that he was wearing new fatigues and new boots. I thought, "Who the hell is this guy and where did he come from?" I had never seen this guy before and I'd been with this unit longer than anyone. He looked Puerto Rican to me. As he turned to leave with the mortars, I received a call from command that they were sending a Chinook helicopter to pick up the APC. Just about that time a very loud explosion rang out. It was so loud it burst both my eardrums. Picked me up and threw me about ten or fifteen feet where I landed in the bottom of a bomb crater that was about twenty feet deep. The guy that demanded it was his time, had stepped on a mine, and it shattered his body from the waist down. I finally regained my composure and as I looked up from the bottom of the crater, the lieutenant was standing there with a mad look on his face. He was trying to tell me something, and I was trying to tell him that I couldn't hear him. That was when the Vietnamese hit us with everything they had.

The Lt. took off running, to find another radio. I started crawling my way up to the top of the crater. When I reached the top, I started looking around to see what was going on. And the first thing I saw was the Puerto Rican lying there. A medic had already checked him out and said he was dead. He covered him up with a poncho. I just couldn't get my mind off this guy. Why did he insist on taking my turn in line? A Huey chopper came in and was trying to land, when two RPG'S went off just over their heads and they got the hell out of dodge. The chopper pilot left and went around to his left to get out of harms way. When they tried to land the down force of the chopper blew the poncho off the little man that had stepped on the mine and suddenly, I was looking him right in the eyes and his eyes blinked! I was stunned. I just couldn't believe it. I called for a medic to check him again, and they tried to tell me he was dead, but I knew better. I saw him blink his eyes. So the medic did as I asked and called for some help. The little man was still alive. A couple of guys ran over to help get him on a stretcher and I saw that they needed one more to help carry the stretcher around where the chopper was waiting.

I came out of that crater like my ass was on fire and grabbed the left side of the stretcher and we took off for the chopper. As we made our way to the chopper, I was trying to get the rest of his body parts on the stretcher with my left hand so they wouldn't drag the ground. We finally got him on the chopper, and they took off headed for the ship. The Lt. told me he died about ten minutes after they left with him.

We called in artillery on the gooks and blew them all to hell. The fighting was over. My mind was still on the Puerto Rican guy. I just couldn't seem to figure out what had just taken place. Where did he come from? How did he get there? Why didn't the Lt. or I hear of his arrival? My father always told me that he was on his knees praying at nine-thirty every morning. Well it was about nine or ten when the fire fight took place that day and I'll tell you right now that because of what I experienced that day on hill 585, I'm a very strong believer in divine intervention. I just wish I knew a little more about the guy. I would at least like to know his name and where he came from. I guess if the Good Lord wanted me to know the answers to all my questions He would tell me. It's been over 40 years and I haven't heard a word. Still waiting.

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