War Story 1: A Christmas Gift

A Christmas Gift to Remember

It’s that time of year again.

However one views it, whether with pain, pleasure or as just another task on the “Honey-do” list, for me, Christmas will always spark my emotions.

It is a time for giving and receiving gifts. It’s also a time for love, family, and God.

Our tree is up and decorated in the living room. My wife, of course, is the architect and designer of our decorations. You could see it from the street, all lit up and, oh, so nice.

My job was to set up our Christmas lights in the front yard of a large, Colonial home in Massachusetts. As is typical, the weather turned to freezing rain. It was classic New England weather: dark, dank, and drizzly, as my Mom would say.

I stepped back to enjoy the fruits of my labor in my yard, and as happens occasionally, a helicopter flies low overhead, most probably coming from Boston. This wasn’t just any helicopter. It was the familiar “whop-whop-whop” sound that got me. It is the kind of sound that stops one in his tracks immediately. It harkens back to a different time…Christmas away from home.

It was called Hawk Hill, a firebase halfway between the 23rd Infantry Division Headquarters at Chu Lai and the old city of Danang, South Vietnam. A bump of a hill, it was home to a battalion of infantry, several batteries of artillery, medical aid stations, helicopter landing pads, and many other units, including dozens of helicopters of all different types. One of their many important missions was the constant re-supply to field units engaging the enemy in “I Corps” from the South China Sea to Laos.

The Hueys flew in and out all day and night in a never-ending procession making the signature “whop-whop” sound. No soldier ever forgets it as they will strain to hear when the Medivac is coming or the Hueys are coming to rescue you from harm’s way. 

More foreboding is when they crank up the Hueys knowing they are taking you back out to a “hot” landing zone or LZ to make contact with the enemy. Over the prior six months, I was on 27 of those combat assaults by helicopter.

Now, after nearly seven months slogging in rice paddies, hiking mountains, crossing rivers, and cutting through jungles chasing the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese soldiers, I was promoted to be a Company Commander at Hawk Hill for the 2nd Battalion, 1st Infantry in the 196th Light Infantry Brigade, in the fall of 1970, my mission was to ensure the safety of all personnel by guarding the firebase, circled with concertina, mines, and defensive bunkers loaded with different kinds of weapons.

It was a rugged Army base with fearsome artillery - huge 155 mm howitzers firing at all times of the day and night. There were dozens of bunkers dug deep and covered in sandbags 3 and 4 levels deep to protect against the routine call of “incoming!” when alarms wailed as enemy rockets came smashing haphazardly into the firebase.

In a few of the bunkers, the soldiers would erect a symbolic Christmas tree which may only be a foot or two high with crude decorations and even a strand of lights and belts of machine gun bullets. This was considered luxury compared to those in the “bush” sleeping in foxholes or on the ground while leeches silently crawled on them. It was also cold and a time of the monsoon season. Mud stalled everything.

Late in December, word came down from Brigade that we were selected for quite an honor. Since we had finished several months of bitter combat, suffering casualties but killing hundreds of the enemy, we learned that we will be transported north to Danang to see the incredibly popular “Bob Hope Christmas Show”.

What looked like a very dismal Christmas now had us really pumped up.

Over a hundred of us loaded up for the hour-plus trip up Highway One to Danang. My worries came back about how to protect against a potential enemy attack, but I would soon learn all would be quiet. We were escorted by MP’s in armored, wheeled vehicles with heavy machine guns in the turret.

In an open theater filled with thousands of troops, for several hours we watched and yelled and laughed as Bob Hope did his magic with his troupe of courageous performers.

The atmosphere was electric. For a brief moment in time, all was well. Everything seemed right in the world.

We wanted to forget the reality of it.

Right then, the world was at peace and life was full of fun again. But reality would return quickly enough.

When we got back to Hawk Hill, the Battalion commander ordered a turkey dinner for us. They really tried hard to make it exceptional under the circumstances – and it was. 

Later, back in my bunker and on my crudely constructed bunk bed, I immediately grabbed pen and paper to write my wife and parents. It really doesn’t seem so long ago that we had no cell phones, Internet, landlines, or Zoom on laptops – just pen and paper.

Soon I could hear the “click-smack” of the dozen or so rat traps I set out under my bunk, as I did every night. I detested having them crawl on me. Often I would get two rats in the same trap at the same time. They were relentless.

Drifting off to sleep, I listened to a few Christmas songs on my battery-powered, cassette recorder. We referred our home back in the States as the “World”. We knew that Vietnam was not in our real world. I did miss home and all that I was missing back there.

Then it happened, “Bang!”

You could feel the concussion of the explosion as it dropped red dirt and dust on me from the roof of the bunker. I can still hear the sound of the projectile screaming on its way to its target. They would be helping a field unit in contact with the enemy. The battles went on and on. Death was on the agenda.

The sounds of war were deafening. I would try to sleep anyway with a bandana over my face.

My celebration was over, but the Christmas memory lingers.

Standing in the cold admiring our home in Natick, MA, I smiled knowing I would sleep in a beautiful, clean, dry, and warm bed tonight. I would sleep soundly and next to someone I loved.

I reminded myself of the incredible gift I received when I left Danang on my flight home after a solid year of combat; that is, I had survived. It was the gift of life.

Now that is something to celebrate every Christmas.

I will also remember those who were not so gifted.