“AUTHOR’S NOTE”    

First of all I have to set the record straight about something that has some wondering.

I was not given a “Recon Marines’” MOS, I was made an 0311. Of which most of our Company and Battalion was made of. As we didn’t have any skilled training in Recon, it was some harsh on the job training. Our hard core Recon Marines were up in Dong-ha before joining the rest of us at Quang-tri, Force Recon. We were given grunts mainly for FNGs, so I hope I’ve answered any questions you may have as to the authenticity of my writings. You just don’t become a Recon Marine you have to attend a school. So yes I was a supply man who became a grunt in a Recon unit, and I’ve told my story.

                   “Now The Rest of the Story”

We were on the hill site of the VC bunker complex just outside our home base, Quang-tri, when I fell flat on my face.

I didn’t know what was going on. All I know is that, I thought I was going to die. As the burning in my guts and all over my body, seemed like the end. I can remember bits and pieces of what occurred.

I can remember Doc yelling, “Get a medivac, he’s had a heart attack!”

Now to some this may sound as if I panicked or just went bonkers laid down afraid scared out of my mind.

To that I say I wasn’t a “cherry” of contacting the enemy in a firefight, on the contrary. I had several incidents where enemy contact was made prior to this event. Mostly during night ambushes outside the lines at our first location of our base camp site and some other very close calls.

The first time? Hell yes I was scared out of my wits. And from that point on I understood what a firefight was like, of which not two are ever the same.  I got scared every time, if I didn’t I wouldn’t be human, even though not quite as bad as my first one. I grabbed the Marine in me and went to battle. Afterwards?, I relived each one, then I got scared, shaking and puking.

If any Marine who had the terrible occasion to encounter a firefight will tell you, ”Yeah, let’s get it on”, the adrenalin is pumping so hard you aren’t afraid until it’s over, the fear vanishes for awhile. But when it’s over, it’s a different feeling. If any Marine will tell you, “Nah, I wasn’t scared” I don’t think he’s been there.

As I said there are never two alike, but you do learn that it’s either you or them, and I preferred “me”, and I’m not bragging. It was survival, you or them, which made you want more and more to be on the winning curve, if there is such a thing.

The next thing I remember was this large old Korean type USMC chopper landing on top of the hill above the VC encampment.

Then this super bright light hitting me in the face. I had heard of after death experiences, and I thought I was there, gone over to the other side.

Somebody was taking all my clothes off, and it sounded like echoes coming out of their mouths. I couldn’t see anyone. I was so sick to my stomach I remember I vomited laying on my back, all of a sudden I was turned to one side.

The question’s that was coming from them were like super slow motion, and voices from somewhere with a drone sound, ”Where do you hurt? What’s wrong? What did you eat?” That’s about all I can remember from that moment.

Thee next thing I recall was a Navy Corpsman trying to put and IV in my arm. I passed out or went semi conscious, I think I vomited again and lost control of my bodily fluids.

Then this man, maybe a doctor, I don’t know, was sitting straddling me as I was on a stretcher or something flat. I can remember him saying something like, ”I’ll get the damn thing in, he need’s fluids bad, his skin is like leather.”

Then I don’t remember anything for some time.

It seemed as if I had been laying in this Quonset hut for a very long time, as I finally awoke. Everything was blurry, I was thirsty, I had small tubes running it seemed everywhere I looked.

I was dizzy and my guts were still on fire. This Corpsman came in to do something with an IV or maybe he took out my catheter. I asked him how long have I been there. I don’t remember what he said except I think he said something like,  “The doctor will be in to see you in awhile.”

I told him I had to use the head. He helped me up, I wasn’t very steady, grabbing this rod with bags hanging from it on wheels. He helped to the head. I don’t remember anything again until this Navy doctor came in.

“Cpl Bailey?” he asked. Hell I didn’t even remember or couldn’t remember if that was me or not! He told me again in that slow motion way, like a very deep droning sound, “You have a severe intestinal infection, we’re going to send you to a hospital ship, then home.” That I can say for a fact was what he said.

Being a gung-ho hard charging Jarhead Marine, I remember asking him.....”Do I have any holes in me?” “Was I shot, hit with shrapnel, what the hell am I doing here?” He just said again what he was going to do.

I told him in no uncertain terms, ”If I ain’t got some holes in my ass, I ain’t going to no damn hospital ship. I’ll be damned if you’re going to send me home! I want to go back to my unit.” He said something, I don’t remember.

I don’t know how long I stayed in there, I was cold, sweating, hurting, couldn’t make it to the head on several occasions.

He returned. I told him again what I had said. He said, ”I’m strongly against this, you’re very sick, we don’t know exactly what from, you need to be treated more by what they can do on the hospital ship.” I was steadfast, not giving an inch. I repeated once again what I wanted.

 Then he said, “I can’t force you, do you have a Corpsman in your team?” I told him yes, and a damn good one too.

The next thing I remember I woke up I was feeling better, but I had diarrhea so bad, I stumbled fumbled, till I got to the head so many times.

To me the days and nights were mixed up. I didn’t know which was which. Then a Corpsman came in and said, ”You’re being released back to your unit, the doctor has given you med’s for your bowel’s, and he wants you to drink plenty of fluids.”

I was weak and still light headed. I asked the Corpsman, “Where’s my clothes, my gear, my rifle?”

He said, ”It’s in a pile out back.”

I asked him, “Well, do you have anything for me to wear?”

“Nope”, he replied.

I asked him, “How am I going to get back to my unit without any uniform to wear?”

He said something to the effect,  “I guess you’ll have to call your unit, maybe they’ll send somebody, or I guess you’ll have to find your own way back.”

This was unreal. Here I am sick as all hell with no clothes, stark naked, and I had no idea how to contact my unit. I thought, “Well,  I guess I’ll just have to wrap this sheet around my ass and hit the road.”

I don’t think I ever felt so helpless in all my life. I went to the front desk and saw this nurse or Corpsman, I just remember she was a woman. She did help with, “Here’s your outfit’s number. You can use that phone there, give it a crank, tell them who you want and they’ll connect you.”

 The voice on the other end said, “Echo Company, First Sgt Cone”, came across loud and clear!

“First Sgt, this is Bailey, I’m at…” I paused and had to ask where I was, “3^rd Med. Dong-Ha.”

“How ya feelin’ Bailey?” he asked.

I said, “I’ll manage if maybe someone could come and get me? First Sgt”, you did not call him Top,”could they bring me a uniform too?”

“I’ll send the company driver to get you”, he said.

I was wrapped up in a white sheet, sort of looking like a monk or someone from India. I asked the woman at the desk, ”Is there a uniform anywhere?”

I got the same reply as before, “Yeah, outback. If you want to try and go through the mess.” I couldn’t believe this. I thought, “I want my gear, damn it, why can’t somebody get it?”

So I went out back. Holy crap! Weapons, web gear, boots, covers, helmets, piles and piles of bloody torn bullet riddled clothing ripped and jagged. There was no way was I going to be able to find my gear.

Finally our Company driver showed up.

“Did you bring me anything to wear?” I asked him

“Nope, nobody told me to.” I found out later that the First Sgt. Told him to get me a uniform but he just didn’t do it.

I wrapped the sheet around me, got in the jeep, and I looked like a ghost rider sitting in the passenger side. I was embarrassed and I felt humiliated. I got to the point where I didn’t give a damn anymore. I was glad to be getting away from that horrid place and going home where I felt I belonged.

I reported to the First Sgt. “What on earth? Where in the hell are your utilities?” he asked me.

I just said, “He didn’t bring me any.” He jumped all over the company driver.

I gave him my paper work, and walked barefooted with my Ghost Rider outfit and hoping a sniper wouldn’t take a quick shot, since I was such an obvious odd, maybe intriguing target. Or maybe he was laughing his ass off, wondering, “WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY DOIN’ NOW?”,

I walked down to my team’s tent. There were only two people I can remember from before, Doc and this L/Cpl from Philly. He was now the team leader, but of what about the rest of team? I didn’t see anyone else. The L/Cpl was only temporary and short, and the Sgt team leader I had along with others had rotated back home.

It almost took an act of congress to get any uniform to wear from battalion supply. To this day I never have figured out why it was so much trouble. Finally, I had to call my First Sgt and he told them what they had best do. I got my web gear, rifle, ammo, magazines, from our company supply.

Doc told me I had total bed rest for something like 14 days or so. The trot’s finally stopped. Well, the usual persisted, just not as intense. Doc treated me very well giving me med’s, checking my temp and vitals. Made sure I drank plenty of fluids, no alcohol yet.

Eventually I regained my full strength and went back to doing what I really wanted to do, being a Recon Marine.

It wasn’t for many years did I realize what had made me sick. I’ve often wondered if my brothers in arms have had the same health problems I’ve had since that wonderful little High School Senior trip to Oz.