Darkness by Steve rountree
 
In 1964, I was at Mars Hill College in North Carolina, and in my first history class the professor asked if anyone could show on the map, hanging off to one side of the blackboard, where was Vietnam. Only one classmate went forward and pointed out this small country. I was disappointed with myself that I had not been more concerned with current events. Three years later, after signing up with the Army, I was about to become involved in current events. Upon graduating from jump school, at Fort Benning, Georgia, about 150 of us got orders for Vietnam. We were supposed to be the emergency replacement for the 173rd airborne unit which had recently experienced major losses. If I remember correctly, it was 14 December 1967, when we departed this land of comfort and security for a place that was much talked about and still unknown to me. After arriving in country and going through several days of in-processing, my classmates and I were scattered around, mostly throughout the 101st airborne units. I was assigned to the 2/502, 101st Airborne. More specifically, I was a “foot soldier” with Charlie Company. I quickly wrapped myself with the pride of being a “Screaming Eagle.” This pride has been passed down from those before me. One example of this was a famous battle in Germany during WWII when the 101st stood strong as they were heavily outnumbered. Afterwards, they earned the slogan “They have got us surrounded, the poor bastards.” So we have inherited this pride rightly and it is up to us to pass it on. About two months later, I was in the jungles of Vietnam, a part of America’s war against communism, and had a great feeling of pride. Not only for being in a great unit, but also for being a part of my time in history. On this particular evening, sometime in the month of February 1968, one month after the kickoff of the Tet-Offensive, my story begins. Ten of us “seasoned veterans” were hand-picked for a night operation. Once you had been in a fire-fight, you quickly gained some experience and were considered “seasoned.” We were tasked to move out after dark, away from our main element, and set up a listening outpost, about a “half click “away. Sounds a little crazy now, but this assignment was to give our main element warning in the event we made contact with the enemy. Or, if we did happen to hear “Charlie”, we would report this information, (size and direction of movement) the next morning to our unit. To use today’s medical measurement on a scale of one to ten, making contact would be a “ten”, gathering information would be a “nine”, and a quiet night would be a “one”. We all liked “ones”. Now that early afternoon, before departing , was our preparation time. During that time of physically getting ready we were making sure nothing made noise. Before heading out on that night patrol, there was a sense of silence and soul searching in the air. Some of the obvious (no noise checks), would be securing the rings that connected our shoulder straps to our M16 rifles. And we purposely removed our shoulder straps from our weapons to keep the noise down. So, with green duct tape we secured those noisy rings. Otherwise, they might sound like a group of first graders coming down the hall, each swinging a metal lunchbox with only a pencil inside. Our web gear was also an item that we secured. In fact, most of these items were already done, but did give us a chance to double check. We mostly did this on the buddy system. The less we took the less noise we made. We had to also make sure nothing would shine in the dark. I was reminded on a previous occasion to cover my watch because it was almost glowing like a flashlight. It had some pretty potent luminous dots. All during the time of physically getting ready, I found myself working hard on my mental mindset. I can honestly say my adrenalin was in high gear. However, the soldier in me maintained composure. After all, I was a “Screaming Eagle.” As my team was doing our thing, so was our platoon. Each night we would form a circle of defense, like a covey of quail. Each guard position of three to five soldiers had their own duties like setting up trip lines, clay mores, and fields of fire before dark. Added to their task, you could feel their concern for us. Like an aerospace technician pushing away from his control panel with a sigh of awe, while he watches his friends stepping into the Shuttle Columbia for a trip in space. Mostly having the feelings, “I’m glad it’s not me”, or “maybe this position here with the platoon isn’t really that bad.” It was way after dark, somewhere around 2200 hours, before the ten of us started out. The departure was based on the fact that the moon would be setting at that time. And to our added comfort, we were given a night with heavy overcasts. Our mission was not to make contact, so the more darkness the better. So, with no loose pencils in our metal lunch boxes, or watches shining on our path, along with the bonus of extra darkness we had a little added comfort. Even with all this in our favor, I still remember it as a very tense assignment. Our movement was very slow, maybe five times slower than a day movement. And with greater intensity and caution, we mustered this assignment. Now a “click” is a military measurement and also a grid system on our maps. One grid equals “one click” or one thousand meters or .62 miles. To walk a “click” down my street at home would take maybe ten to twelve minutes. That is maybe stopping to say hello along the way. A “click” in Vietnam, during the day, however, would take 40 to 60 minutes and that is not during the monsoon season or operating in the mountains. On this particular occasion, I remember taking more than two hours for this “half click.” We followed in trail, somewhat closer together than what we would do in the daylight, maybe one or two meters apart. My position was toward the end of the column. The lead person, or better said, “pointman” was our quarterback. If he stopped, we stopped. Several times when our pointman would stop the team, each of us would take a defensive position. We held that position until our pointman continued forward. “Point,” in most cases, would be cautiously approaching a bend in the trail, which might take several minutes. We followed his lead with a lot of confidence. Upon arriving at our position, or some spot we picked for our position, we quickly settled in for the rest of the night. We had already made pre-arrangements for rotating guard duty. My shift was one hour before daybreak. We picked a place we felt had the greatest threat to post guard. Boy, that’s rolling the dice. It would be better said that we were in position to “listen.” You try hard to get enough sleep before your shift, but that’s easier said than done. My adrenalin must have still been moving like a train! I could remember having trouble keeping awake on past guard duties, but not on this night. I remember sleeping so light that I could hear others switching their guard. When it was my shift and my replacement woke me, he whispered, “I hear something out there.” With that bit of news, I wondered why this had to happen on my watch. I more quietly than quickly got into position a few feet away from where I had been “sleeping.” In fact, my whole team was behind this guard position some ten feet back, all sleeping within a small clearing of about twelve square feet. We were bunched up much tighter than how we would normally sleep. Not only did conditions encourage this tightness, but also our need for comfort and security played a part. Mostly getting to my position from memory, for the darkness was so much greater than before, in fact, I remember trying to see how close my hand was to my face before seeing it. I had a chance to reflect on this particular moment some 45 years later when I was spelunking with a friend in a cave in Tennessee. At one spot, I was by myself and shut off my light. In that moment the darkness seemed to swallow me. This made me think on that dark night in Vietnam. One difference, in the cave I could turn my light back on and had no “threat.” Even though my darkness in Vietnam was cave-like, it was also compounded with so much moisture in the air, I felt I could move it with my hand. Needless, to say, I was soaking wet in the dark. I dragged my camouflage light-weight poncho liner with me to use as a blanket , as if wrapping up with a wet towel. My posture was in the sitting position with my knees pulled up close to my chest, as my poncho liner covered me like a small teepee. I’m not sure how much I was in the ready position, for my M-16 was butt down with the cold barrel up touching my nose. Maybe enough time had passed to allow my friend, who I had relieved on watch, to settle in and get to sleep. Before I was able to give another thought to how wet it was or how dark it was, something shifting in the thick foliage some 15 feet in front of me, and seemed to be re-positioning from where it was, even before I was in place. Micro thoughts rushed through my mind: Is it more than one enemy? Do they really know my position? At this moment, being in total darkness seemed like a blessing. In a split second, the movement in front of me had gone from one “Charlie” to maybe a company size. In what seemed like less than a minute, “it” had moved toward me in a 45 degree angle, some ten feet now off to my right side. Now, my “company size” invasion was starting to give way to a possible animal, which I felt was a good trade. All in a course of a few minutes, this “ thing” had finally positioned itself right in front of me and my wrapped teepee. I was surprised that the sound of my heartbeat did not wake my team who was sleeping in comfort, knowing I had everything secured. Oh, if they only knew! What seemed like a stale mate game, and before I could run this “what if” through my mind, in fact, I’m sure I got that far in my thoughts before my unknown threat suddenly with a burst of speed, surged forward as if it knew exactly what it intended to do. It leaped at me and with a death-grip hold, had wrapped four skinny but surprisingly strong limbs around my right leg. At this moment, the “Screaming Eagle” in me had lost a heartbeat or two, and maybe more than that. I instinctively shoved my right arm between my leg and his death grip, and with the force of a freight train hurled this “monster” over my head and behind me. I could hear it now sailing over my head in slow motion, and with a sudden impact, landing right in the middle of my sleeping team ten feet away. I was surprised this creature wasn’t hurled 50 feet back due to the adrenelin of fear that was rushing through my body. My team is now scrambling and cursing with whispers from this surprise. As the moment was unwinding and more composure was mustered up by the guys, I could hear our intruder scrambling away. Even with all that sudden surprise in a night combat operation, I was amazed that my team kept their control in that moment. After that, it wasn’t long before I noticed that our darkness was slowly disappearing as the morning light was penetrating the jungle canopy. Even at this moment we were quietly discussing that sudden “wake up”. We agreed it was probably a small monkey. It seemed pretty big to me! We learned also that one soldier had gotten bit on the thumb as it was struggling for an exit. Our reverse trip back that next morning wasn’t nearly as intense as the night before. That evening, I added another layer of combat experience, but more than that, a greater appreciation for each day. I did find myself reflecting on that history class in 1964; not realizing then just how much I would be involved in current events. But, most of all, grateful that this “Screaming Eagle” had one less day to do in country.