Reflections - Evil Spirits or Phantom Enemy

A true story that happened in 1970 while I was serving in Vietnam. A strange thing happens while on night watch in a lookout tower. Is it evil spirits or phantom enemy invading our tower?

Of the two long, often frightful years that I served in Vietnam, I witnessed many tragic, many very sad incidents. Many of the things I saw I do not discuss. Some things are just better left where they belong, in the past.

I am one that tends to let go of sorrow, grief, tragedy and pain. I’d prefer to grasp and hold onto those memories that were humorous. Perhaps that’s why I have been able to deal with those painful memories and the loss of fellow Marines somewhat better than some of my comrades.

Not all my time in the war was horror, rather there are many experiences that were quite humorous and still make me smile when I think back about them. This is just one of those that I would like to share with you.

It was another scorching afternoon where our camp was located, some 12 miles north of Danang, Vietnam. The monsoons had stopped a couple weeks before. There was a hot, dry wind blowing and as usual the platoon was looking forward to being off duty for the night and back in our tent. A good cold shower and off to the enlisted men’s club for our ration of the usual 2 lukewarm beers; Pabst Blue Ribbon or Black Label. We all believed the beer was leftover from the Korean War because of the black flakes of preservative found floating in the cans.

I was tired from being on patrols for 3 days and was laid out on top of the bunker just outside our tent, eyes closed. The warmth of the sun on my face and the cool breeze provided by the shade of our tent all combined to relax me. I was almost asleep, when a buddy came over and slapped me on the head saying ‘Come on Blackie, you can sleep anytime’. ‘Okay, okay’, I said, ‘on my way to the shower, be ready in 15 minutes or so’. 'Well hurry up man, last time they ran out of beer before we got ours' he reminded me. I’d just returned from the shower and was barely dressed in clean jungle fatigues when in walked our platoon commander. ‘Crap’ I said under my breath. When he showed up this time of day we knew we were being assigned to some sort of patrol or sweep detail.

The young lieutenant begins by telling us, ‘Intelligence reports a large buildup of forces in the northern sector outside Division headquarters. Reports indicate we may also have NVA in the area with plans to attack the Division perimeter. Blackie take the first and second squads over and reinforce 1/5 security. I said, 'Damn it Lieutenant, you know we just came back in this morning'. 'We need rest'. I was pleading for him to get other squads. 'Sorry, can’t help this one, everyone else is out already. Be ready for pickup in 30 minutes’ he said as he hurried outside. Oh well, so much for lukewarm beers and sleep tonight.

Fast forward, 2 hours. The scorching sun had already set. Only a hint of it remained as evidenced by the scarlet line laid low on our western horizon. The breeze that I had enjoyed earlier had disappeared. There was no wind tonight, which meant the mosquitoes would bombard us like a flight of B-52 bombers. After a short briefing by 1st Battalion, 5th Marines commander, he assigned us to the southern bunkers of the hilltop entrenchment. This included 2 lookout towers, each housing a machine gun and radio. I assigned my guys and told them to check in every hour by radio, unless something came up before then.

After making a final check on the squads to be sure they were situated and mentally making note of where everyone was located, I started up the tower ladder. I had assigned a friend to the tower watch with me. He wasn’t a happy camper, but that’s the great thing about being senior to others, you can assign whomever you like, and I had complete trust in my friend, something you always want in a bad situation.

Everyone hated tower duty. They were often marked as first thing targeted during an attack. You don’t think about that sort of thing after awhile, you just do your job and hope for the best.

My buddy was from Azusa, California, nicknamed by our platoon as Harley Hawley. This name came about due to his constant talk about his Harley Davidson motorcycle back home. Not the typical figure you expect to see when you think of Harley motorcycles and leather jackets in the 1960s. Harley stood about 5’ 9” tall, medium build and the one of the highest voices for a male I had ever heard. One would be mistaken to think the voice was a weakness for old Harley was tough as nails, I can assure you.

Harley was a draftee and hated authority of any kind, especially military officers and any police. He was the funniest guy I’d ever met at that point in my 19 years and we worked well together. He had tagged me with the nickname Willie Sutton, after the infamous criminal, due to an incident I had been involved in early on in my arrival in Vietnam. Perhaps another story someday.

A little background info concerning the tower we were standing watch from. It was about 50 feet tall. The platform on top was typical wood floor construction approximately 8x8 feet square, with 2x12 joists and plywood flooring. The walls were constructed out of a triple layer of sand bags standing approximately four to four and a half feet tall around the four sides, then posts went further up supporting the shingled roof. Between the sandbag walls and the roof the structure was open air, no windows, etc.

Inside these walls were located a table 2x2 feet in one corner and a standard army cot on the back wall and next to it stood another small table with the radio gear on it. Located in the center of the front wall was a light machine gun. We also had our M-16s and a grenade launcher as part of our arsenal.

Fast forward, 3 hours. I told Hawley take first sleep and I’d wake him in 3 hours. Truth was I’d probably stay up all night because when I was in a tower I just couldn’t sleep. It must’ve been about 2300 (1100 pm civilian time) because the mess hall crew delivered midrats.

Midrats was short for midnight rations, which consisted of a sandwich made of a couple slices of unknown meat slapped between 2 pieces of stale bread and usually warm milk in a small carton like we got in elementary school. Few of us ate them. When we were assigned the bunkers on the opposite side of the hilltop, we would throw our sandwiches over the wire fencing and down into the ravine. In the early morning hours, long before dawn, we could hear deep belly growls from the local tiger coming for its nightly snack. We called him Phantom because none of us ever actually saw any sign of it except for its tracks, but we often heard its rumbling growls at night.

I just finished radio check in with the other tower and the bunkers. I shook Hawley to see if he wanted to eat his crusty sandwich. He mumbled ‘later’ and rolled over on the cot and returned to his soft snoring. I had tossed the sandwiches and milk cartons onto the small 2x2 table that was located in the corner of the tower.

The night air was cool and crisp. A slight breeze was blowing but the skies were clear. The moon was about ¾ full and the stars were brightly twinkling. There was plenty of light shining from exploding munitions in the distance and about every 30 minutes or so, tower one would fire up an illumination round to light up the valley below. This was just in case some of our friends from the other side tried to sneak up on us from the surrounding jungle in the darkness of the night.

As I sat watching the soft twinkling stars in the sky, I wondered why intelligence people thought we’d be attacked tonight of all nights. It wasn't even close to the kind of weather the VC favored. They prefer rainy or cloud covered nights, as well as those with no moon, so they could use the shadows and extra darkness to their benefit.

After tiring of fighting off attack by the deluge of mosquitoes, I broke down and splashed a handful of the rancid smelling GI issue repellant on my face. As the attack slowly abated, I began to think about earlier in the day, when I lay on the bunker with the warmth of the sun reflecting on my face and the cool gentle breeze drifting through the shadows of the tent. I must have dozed off for a few minutes because my head snapped forward waking me abruptly.

Rubbing my eyes, I stood and checked the time.  It was still twenty minutes before the next radio check in. As I sat there, it appeared to me one of the sandwiches was slowly moving across the table. Rubbing my eyes again, I thought to myself, ‘Damn it man, you have got to quit smoking that weed, it’s getting to you’. I leaned forward and the sandwich quit moving but it was now sitting about a foot from where I had placed it on the table. Was I losing my mind? Just to be sure, I moved the sandwich back to the inside edge of the table against the sandbag wall. Leaning back, I watched it out of the corner of my eye and it stayed put. Again I thought to myself ‘That’s it man, no more weed for you’.

I had just finished the radio check in and settled back to watch the valley below. Suddenly, the sandwich was moving again. I quickly slapped Harley out of his sleep and shouted ‘Harley, quick look at this sandwich, it is moving man’. He looked at me, still half asleep, gruffly laughed and said ‘Blackie, what are you talking about? Quit screwin' around bro’. Quickly jumping upright, his feet hit the table and the sandwich quit moving. He looked at the table where both sandwiches sat perfectly still and looking over at me he said ‘Man, Blackie you gotta quit smoking that weed Bro, it’s getting to you’. I thought great Harley, thanks for your support.

Finally I told Harley, I must be really tired and asked if he was ready to take watch for a while. I needed to get some rest. We traded places, him taking my stool and I taking the cot. We were just talking about another wasted night with no lukewarm beer and no sleep courtesy of the good old Intelligence folks. All of a sudden it happened. The sandwich began quickly moving across the table.  Suddenly it appeared to fly off that table through the air and stuck between two sandbags in the opposite corner of the tower wall.

I grabbed Harley by the seat of the pants just before he jumped over the tower wall to the valley below. I was shaking like a leaf and trying to hold onto Harley by the pants while shining my flashlight down on the sandwich. It appeared to be stuck right in between those two sandbags in the corner. Harley looked at me and I looked at him. Had we been closer to the ground I think I would have jumped, too.

Finally, we found the source of our fears. To our surprise and great relief, the sandwich was not alive at all.  Nor were there evil spirits from phantom Viet Cong haunting our tower. As I shined my flashlight into the corner lighting up the sandwich, there between those 2 sandbags were two beady looking eyes staring back at us.

It was just a hungry rat that had somehow made its way to the top of the tower and took up residence between those two layers of the sandbags. It had made tunnels all over the place. The VC and North Vietnamese Army were well known for their use of tunnels in the war. Seems even the rats learned this trick.

With a sigh of relief and a hearty laugh, I looked at Harley and he said  ‘Blackie, I need to go down below and clean my shorts out now’. Laughing I looked back at Harley and said ‘Harley, you hurry up and get back here, I need to go below, too buddy’!