Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Christmas circa 1967


Christmas inside a Bunker

By Carl R. ToersBijns

 

 

The breakfast serving on this holiday was the usual simple yellow powered egg and biscuit and gravy meal commonly called shit on a shingle by us. We could always depend on the cooking to give us a startling and rude awakening for the morning tasks. Cleaning and packing our gear to be ready to go whenever we got the word, we could smell the holiday food being cooked inside the large mess tents. Weapons cleaned and beddings made we turned to relax a little and enjoy the sacred holiday with peaceful mind and somber moods as we thought of those we loved in the free world and so far away.

 

Moments before we scrambled into the bunkers at the beginning of the attack, we had settled in for a game of cards and listening to the cassette tapes playing our favorite songs. It seemed that the enemy knew exactly when we would be most comfortable and settled in to begin their attack on the area. It was like a terrorist scheme that was hostile, deadly and often frustrating as they appeared to aim at anything that might have people inside of it including the first aid tent and pre-op where the wounded laid waiting for evacuations by helicopter.

 

On a day like this, even without the shelling, the low clouds and rainy weather was so bad and the fog was so dense helicopters and other aircraft were reluctant to fly and stayed on the ground until the weather cleared up or it was safe enough to leave the bunkers and go back to business as usual inside this first aid camp set up to support the infantry units that secured this god forsaken but USA owned real estate.

 

Little did we know that moments after the 10 o’clock hour we would be under attack and we knew it would be long time waiting before we would get a taste of the holiday meal? As we learned in the past, early morning rains can last forever and along with the wet came the chilling air that reminded us it was not pleasant to be confined inside a sandbox hole.

 

The era was December, 1967 and the weather was a typical cold and wet December day when we were told to seek shelter from incoming hostile 122mm rocket rounds inside the impregnable sandbag bunkers situation on the perimeter of the stinky town of Chu Lai.

This above the ground protective shield was designed to withstand the impact and blasts of those Russian made rocket propelled grenades and Chinese fabricated mortar shells that found their targets day and night. Their main focus appeared to be the aircraft targets down the way a bit where the Marines had their aircraft lined up and a large ammo dump existed that if hit, would simulate a explosion similar to an atom bomb as there was enough powder there to create a sensational 4th of July celebration.

 

Huddled with the masses, we waited for the shelling to end as it was clear the enemy had chosen Christmas day to attack our perimeter and harass us on this foggy and drizzling Christmas Day. Armed with a loaded M 16 semi automatic rifle and spare ammo just in case, we had to make ourselves comfortable as much as we possibly could inside that dark, musty and bleak sandbag bunker.

 

Typical rounds of harassment could last for at least four hours at a time, if not longer and the C rations packed inside the crates of these rectangular above the ground makeshift sand filled with fabricated steel roof structures would be the only meal we would receive unless we get the “all clear” signal from above. Although water was plentiful, it tasted foul and sometimes murky with sediments of sand mixed with the liquids.

 

No lights, no electricity and no ventilation with open entries allowing the cold and damp air to enter freely, these bunkers were nothing compared to the soft cots and coolness of our porous but rain resistant straw thatched hutches.

 

But until the enemy decided to cease fire, we knew we would be stuck here for a long time. Every now and then we would receive updated messages via a radio that would tell us of what was happening around us and as we settled in to make it tolerable, we found the blankets to wrap us in to stay warm littered with small chewed holes in the fabric where the rats decided to eat whatever they could because of extreme hunger.

 

Inside the bunker, we expressed our intense desire to return back to our living quarters as it was getting monotonous and excessively boring to just sit there and wait. Tempted to peak outside the bunker, it was a game of cat and mouse as you never knew when and where these rounds would land as the barrage was constant but inconsistent in tempo.

We would try to guess when the next round came in and made it a game as we bet minutes and seconds to be the one to guess it right. Too dark to read the letters from home stuffed inside the breast pockets of our damp and smelly BDU’s we could only make small talk to pass the time away or go to sleep and nap as the rounds outside blurted out a blast to get our attention we were still at war.

 

Confessions were common as we passed the time away. Although we had an unduly concern for each other as we knew as long as we remained inside this bunker, we would be safe but also time made us irritable and grumpy. It was presumptuous to think that anything less would be safe as the enemy had a keen eye for human targets.

 

As long as the day was, it was nearly dinner time before the “all clear” signal was given and all was safe. The day, pretty much wasted at this time, had only a few hours left of daylight and as soon as we returned to our living quarters, we were told to get ready and go to the mess tent to eat Christmas dinner.

 

This holiday we spent huddled together thanking the good Lord for our blessings and safety. We heard traditional Christmas music on the loudspeakers fed by a radio station far away but welcomed none the less. The food was good and the spirits soared as we celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ with sharing pictures and letters from home and pretending to be home with loved ones for just an imaginary moment.

 

November 20, 2012

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