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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