I Don't Need No Stinking Medal

by Dave Stromire

Echo 2/1 ’68-69

  What was I thinking? Were we really going to have a few days without any action?  Except for the wading through mosquito infested rice paddies, and someone stepping in a hole and disappearing for a few seconds under water. There was absolutely nothing to get our adrenaline going. We were making it to our checkpoints on time and setting up for another cold and wet night. The area around Tucua consisted of many rice paddies and heavy foliage. The rivers were all swollen and some over flowing, from the heavy Monsoon rain.  It would really have been a wet and boring three-day walk in the monsoon rain only, if that was all that lay ahead.

   We were on the second day of Echo's, third platoon patrol. We have had no contact, not even with an occasional farmer working his paddy. We would cross paddy after paddy with thick hedgerows, and jungle like terrain. Since we have had no contact for a while, everyone's only focus was to get back to the Tucua Bridge, where at least we had dry warm socks waiting for us.

I was walking close to the tail end Charlie.  I had just stepped out of a hedgerow into a rice paddy, when the word came back. Demo Man Up!   Oh, crap! That’s me!  I had completely forgot, I had VOLUNTEERED to be the demo man. It wasn't really that complicated of a job. I thought? I didn't go to school for demolition's.  It was kind of on the job training, and I liked the idea of blowing things up.

 It’s just that after I volunteered.  I realized, I am carrying a lot of C-4 and blasting caps. Not a good thing if you are down south in the heaviest booby trapped area in the Nam.   Even if I stepped on one of those little toe poppers I could blow myself up carrying all these explosives.

  When I got to where the Lieutenant was standing. I knew what my job was but, how in the heck did those VC drag that 250 pound dud bomb this far? We could see where it hit.  We could see the tracks of who ever was dragging it, and who ever was dragging it must have heard us coming, because, the skid marks and tracks were very fresh. They must have thought they hit the jackpot. Mother of all booby traps.

 The Lieutenant told me to blow it. He said, Dave Give us all enough time to get out of the paddy and take cover.  No problem I said, as I set down on the bomb. I began breaking out my C-4 and fuses. The Lieutenant knowing, I was only a volunteer demo man, with maybe a week of experience in demolition. However, I had the heart, and now I had that adrenaline!  That, we were all missing that day.

  So I straddled myself on that bomb and lit one of my C-Rats, lucky strikes. I liked to carry for such occasions.  The Lt. said, Dave you’re only going to need one stick and enough inches of fuse to give us time to clear the area and take cover.  Marines were moving nervously past me as I inserted the fuse into the blasting cap. John Wayne Style. That's putting the blasting cap in my mouth and crimping it tight with my teeth. Every once in a while, I would here someone say. Man he's nuts, I think he's crazy.

 I’m thinking, man this is a big bomb. I will need two sticks of C-4.  The C-4 sticks had adhesive on the back. You can peel off the plastic and just stick it to the surface. So I stuck two together and the slapped them both on the tip of the Bomb. Now this might be a good reason to go to demolition school. Because now I was sitting on this bomb as the last of the platoon was passing by me. I was wondering, how long the fuse needs to be to give us all plenty of time to get out of there and take cover.

  I took a wild guess, and cut the fuse. I inserted it into the C-4.  I waited till about half the platoon was out of the paddy, pulled that lucky strike from my lips and lit the fuse. I nervously hurried up to catch up with the rest of the platoon. I stepped out of the paddy onto high ground to where the whole platoon was clustered together. The Lt. asked me how much time do we got.  I said oh about, ten mi-- BOOM!  Everyone hit the deck.

It seemed like the concussion blew us all to the ground. All you could hear was big chunks of hot medal screaming above our heads and taking limbs and small trees with them. When it ended and everyone was checking themselves for wet spots. The Lieutenant came screaming over at me. What in the ****, are you trying to do? Kill the whole platoon? Whose side are you on Stromire? How long was that fuse? I said about two feet.

 I actually remained demo man for a while after that, but never volunteered for anything again, except point. I always felt safe walking point.  On the third day, we came back to the Tucua Bridge on what looked like small duck boats. We were actually stranded on that little bit of high ground. I remember on the way back, shooting snakes that were trying to get in our boats. Shooting snakes and blowing that bomb, was our only combat action on that Patrol.  The only casualties, was some of us had a real bad case of immersion foot. My feet were bleeding so bad, I had to crawl on my boat. I got three days off to heal.

 Our Doc, burnt my salty boots, I was not happy, but of course, he was just doing his job. On the fourth day, everyone was laughing including the LT, and at the very least, Echo got a jolt of adrenaline and someone to laugh at for a few day’s. They also forgot just how wet and cold we all were.  I think someone should have thanked me for that fiasco.  Maybe a Moral Boosting Medal.  Do you think? Maybe not, Heck, I don’t need no stinking Medal !