Your Sons -- My Soldiers -- Our War
A Vietnam Commander's Struggle
by
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In his peripheral vision, Morgan caught movement to his right front. There was a cleared lane among the trees for about 25 meters, and he found himself looking directly at a VC guerrilla. He was wearing the traditional Viet Cong uniform and was raising an AK-47 rifle to his shoulder and aiming it in the direction of Dan Johnson’s CP. Morgan knew that the VC had not spotted him; furthermore, he knew that he must act immediately. He slammed the rifle to his shoulder, placed the sight on the guerrilla’s heart, and fired six rounds of semi-automatic fire into the enemy soldier. The VC reeled backward and fell to the ground. Movement in the brush behind him signalled that there were more enemy soldiers.
“I got one, but there are others behind him!” he shouted at the top of his lungs in an effort to alert everyone to the danger. He immediately broadcast instructions by radio to the remaining three platoons to leave behind a small, rear security element, and to get their platoons abreast to sweep the area. He wanted to establish contact with the remaining VC guerrillas, if possible, and kill more of them.
Morgan made his way slowly and cautiously to the spot where he had downed the VC. He was shocked to find no body, only a wide blood-trail. Then, he saw that the fallen VC had been dragged away by his comrades.
“Charlie One Six, this is Charlie Six. His buddies dragged him off. It looks like they went in the direction of your sweep. When your men find him, remember that this is my kill. I shot him, and I get to finish him off,” he yelled into the radio handset as he and his other radio operator, Simpson, walked cautiously through the woods.
“Rat-tat-tat-tat!” Morgan was excited, because he figured that the first platoon had found and killed more of the enemy. However, before he could query the first platoon leader about the shots, he heard Dan Johnson’s voice. “Charlie Six, this is Charlie One Six. I didn’t get the word to Roberson in time. He just wasted that Cong. I’m sorry”.
Morgan walked faster in the direction of the sound of the shots. After covering about thirty meters more, he burst into a small clearing where he found Lieutenant Johnson and several of his men gathered around a crouching VC. The mortally-wounded enemy’s scalp had been nearly removed when Roberson shot him. In fact, Morgan was amazed that the VC had not collapsed and fallen over. Somehow, the thin enemy soldier was able to put his hands together and bring them to his chin in a begging motion. Morgan grabbed his survival knife from its scabbard, and without a word, walked over and slit the VC’s throat.
“This is my damned kill! I shot him first, and I get to finish him,” he said in a tone which surprised even him. He backed away from the VC, wiped his knife blade on his pants, and stared at the enemy soldier as the last few gasps of air gurgled in his slit throat. He felt no remorse or pity, but was confident that his emotions were shared equally by all of his veteran soldiers.
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About the Book
In October1968 Captain George Morgan is about to embark on what he considers to be the best job in the U.S. Army—commanding a rifle company in combat. At age 27, he will be referred to as “The Old Man” by the soldiers under his command. He is already a seasoned veteran of service in
During this assignment, Morgan acquires a keen sense of responsibility to his unit, which calls itself “Charlie Hunter”, and to the men who serve in it. He develops a special bond with many of his men, and one in particular—a young Mexican who is nicknamed Mouse. The story takes this unit on many dangerous missions and recounts the bravery and compassion of the soldier called Mouse. In the course of operations, the unit comes into contact with a mysterious Vietnamese woman, who eventually brings the commander to
About the Author
The author served in the U.S. Army for 32 years and retired in 1992 as a colonel. He served two combat tours in