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Nightmares in the Rice Paddie
When I landed in Vietnam in 1966, I was an immature nineteen-year-old country boy who was naïve about the ways of the world. Coming into a war zone, I was so innocent and naïve, it was a culture shock beyond description. Everything I held sacred was shattered; My life was turned upside down and my innocence was violently raped and ripped away. In Vietnam, we saw and experienced things that we could never conceive of and could never truly communicate to someone who was not there.
For over fifty years, I have suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) due to my tour in Vietnam. One of the most common symptoms of PTSD is Post Traumatic Nightmares (PTNMs). Like the movie, “Groundhog Day” starting Bill Murray who keeps having the same dream multiple times. After a while I question myself over what is real and what is imaginary. It is hard for my mind to differentiate between the two.
It is September 19, 1966, one month after arriving in Vietnam. We were on a search and destroy mission several miles south of Da Nang. I was attached to the Second Battalion, First Marine Division, Hotel Company. Ninety marines strong and ready for battle, we cross several rice paddies, from seventy-five to one hundred yards in length, to get to our destination. We approach a hostile village called Vinh Hoa, where many Vietcong sympathizers live.
Our platoons leapfrog from one cemetery to another. The final graveyard we enter is a little less than two acres with one hundred graves. As we pass through the perimeter, the Vietcong spring their trap, as each VC is lying on a tomb. The heights of all the graves are above eye level, with tall grass growing on top of them. They’re approximately six to eight feet across in diameter. The VC opened fire on us at a point-blank distance, many were lying on the graves It’s a well-executed trap.
During my entire tour of thirteen months on the front line, I’ve never encountered guerilla warfare of this magnitude. The Vietcong want a great victory. A call is made by the radio operator, Corporal Gerace, aka “Bomar,” that the first platoon needs a corpsman. I run as quickly as I can to give the marines needing medical care. As I’m running across the rice paddy, which is about 75 yards towards the battle, I hear bullets whizzing by me. I’m trying to keep my body as low to the ground as possible. One of the bullets comes so close to my ear that if it was any closer, my name would have been written on the Vietnam Wall. It’s the most horrifying and frightening sound I have ever heard in my life. During my marathon run, other bullets splashed in the rice paddy water near to me, one of my canteens attached to my web belt was hit and at first, I thought it was blood flowing down my leg.
As I’m running toward the battle, my adrenaline is racing extremely fast and the suction from the mud is wearing me out. It seems I’m running in slow motion. When I get to the first grave, I collapse with exhaustion, gasping for air. Terrified, I think this could very likely be the last day of my life. This suicidal waltz is known as “doing your duty.”
The sound of weapons firing and grenades exploding is deafening. The only battle where we encountered hand-to-hand combat during my tour in Vietnam, this battle gets personal and up close, a fight to the death. It is a life changer that crushes all I perceive of what life is about. I can hear Marines yelling from being wounded and in pain. As I go around the graves looking for wounded, what I see is overwhelming. There were bodies everywhere, it was horrible, indescribable. I knew this is what war was all about-death and destruction. You have to live it to understand it. I am confused and in a panic. Who am I going to treat first? Where’s the other Corpsman? I scream in my head, I need help! I also need to watch for Vietcong. I try to use triage as much as possible; but with so many Marines needing medical care, I just must do the best I can. I am not prepared for as many causalities as we endure. Consequently, I run out of battle dressings. Some of the Marines carry them in their pockets, so I always check their pants first. I also run out of morphine, which causes more agony for the maimed.
Chaos is everywhere. We are all fighting for our lives. I am constantly looking for wounded Marines and watching for the enemy, they too are everywhere. While I am treating a Marine for a gut wound, I look up and see a Vietcong looking at me. He is about twenty feet from me with a rifle in his hand. The shock is so great that the boy I was died of fright. At this moment, the world around me seems to be suspended in time. The noise of the battle ceases, and everything is at a standstill. I am in a twilight zone where it is hard for me to digest the events taking place.
The Vietcong is holding his rifle in one hand, the barrel pointing slightly downward. My hands are busy treating the Marine. My 45-caliber pistol is in my holster, and my rifle is lying on the ground next to me. I have no doubt that the VC is contemplating on whether to kill me or move on. He is about my age with black shorts, black shirt, and sandals. His hair is dark black, thick, and unkempt. The dark eyes stare at me with a haunting glaze. It is as if he is looking through me.
During my previous time in Vietnam, I was scared but not to the extent at this moment. My life is at his discretion. All he has to do is tilt the rifle up and fire. So many things are going through my mind. Was this the last day of my life? Will I ever see my family again? What will happen to the Marine I am treating and the rest of our casualties? These are all split second thoughts.
Suddenly, a thought occurs to me that perhaps he is not going to kill me. I start to feel calmness. I no longer feel fear. I start to look at him as a warrior who is doing what his superiors trained him to do. He does have a conscience, and he is contemplating what is right and what is wrong. He can see that I am treating a fellow Marine. Would he not do the same thing for one of his comrades? I start to feel compassion for him and at that moment I want him to live. I start to yell at him telling him I am a” bac si” (doctor). I tell him “didimau” (go quickly). My Vietnamese is very limited, but I get the point across. I know if a Marine sees him, he will kill him instantly.
The marine I am treating is in a lot of pain. I look down at him, and he is in shock and bleeding out. During my trauma, I look back at the Vietcong and he is gone. At this instant, the chaos of the war returns, and we are no longer suspended in time.
Before I proceed in this story, I would like to explain my Christianity in my love for our Lord. I prayed daily for my protection and for our warriors. I also prayed for our Angel warriors, who ministered to our needs and mercy.
I do not doubt in my mind that God, or my personal guardian, watched over me on this terrible day. So many times, in my tour I could have been killed or severely wounded. Many marines were killed within two to three feet of me. I remember at least three times they died in my lap! I cannot imagine how many times I could have been killed!
Living by Christian principals in Vietnam was important to me; I took the word of God literally. The Book of John 15:13 states, “Greater love hath no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends.” The duties of a corpsman were many; but as a combat corpsman, our main duty was to save lives and treat the wounded. I felt the duties of a Christian and corpsman were synonymous. I should be willing to lose my life to save a marine’s life.
Earlier I mentioned angels standing next to us, separated by a thin veil, another dimension if you will. It might surprise many of you, but there might be at least ten separate veils! Hard to imagine, isn't it? It does not take much research before one realizes there is “evidence” both for and against the existence of a spiritual realm or veil. It comes down to which studies one wants to believe. Most non-believers will not accept this theory, if they cannot see it, they will not believe it. I have been a believer most of my life and I know beyond a show of a doubt that God does exist, and he could have billions of angels under his authority. Angels are fascinating spiritual beings. Not only do they serve a role as God's messengers, but they are also His warriors. They praise and worship God, while also protecting and directing us on His behalf. When we get to heaven, we will probably be amazed to discover just how often God's angels protected us or intervened on our behalf. If you were a warrior in Vietnam, this is huge! Whether you realize it or not, angels are watching over you at this very moment. What a wonderful creator God is. Won't it be wonderful to someday hear the angels’ stories about what was going on behind the scenes in Vietnam?
I mentioned earlier how God had saved my life, not counting other times I was protected. This is what gave me hope when I was in Vietnam. I knew my guardian angel watched over me, not only by faith, but I could feel his spirit. One of the fascinating things about studying angelology is the stories people tell about angelic encounters in warfare, there are many.
Psalms 91:2
"My refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust. For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings, you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler. You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day." Wow, what an amazing GOD!
Psalms 91:112
“God sends angels with special orders to protect you wherever you go, defending you from all harm. If you walk into a trap, they will be there for you and keep you from stumbling. You will walk unharmed among the fiercest powers of darkness, trampling every one of them beneath your feet!”
Back to my story of the dreadful day in the graveyard: This nightmare has haunted me for over fifty years. We started with 90 Marines and only 26 of us walked out that day. I was awarded the Silver Star medal for this operation.
HMCM Ronald Mosbaugh
Retired 31 years
