I watched "We Were Soldiers" over the weekend and got inspired to build a scale model of a Huey helicopter. While doing research on painting and detailing it, I came across this funny story by Sonny Hoffman from his short article entitled "What Are Friends For"
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My biggest fear was of being captured and tortured. Nails dragged across a chalkboard is all it would take to loosen my tongue. For this reason, I asked every man I ever went into combat with to do me in if I had to be left behind or it looked like we were going to be overrun.
I remember one such conversation as though it happened yesterday. It was my last night in Vietnam. I had survived nineteen months and could taste freedom. For recon men, the last thirty days was spent with the camp security forces. It was easy duty, mostly night duty, sleeping in the bunker line, periodically checking the wire and making sure the security forces were awake at their posts.
My last night was anything but easy duty. The NVA had just captured the nearby outpost of Dac To and the battery of 105mm howitzers thereon. Intelligence reports said to expect a ground assault in an effort to capture our camp to use as a fortified position in which to level Kontum with their new guns. Whether out of fear or paranoia, I took these reports seriously. The guys who ran recon did not. I wanted everyone on the bunker line for my last night. Most simply brushed me off or said, "Wake me after the third wave. Have a nice trip back to the world."
I did talk one into joining me. Dave McClary was my best friend. We were close, very close. We talked of everything and planned to link up after the war, get motorcycles, and do the Easy Rider scene. He humored me, but was mostly there to spend that last night with me. We stayed awake all night. Mortar flares lit up the night with just a few minutes between rounds. Each time a new round went off, we'd get our heads in the bunker aperture and scan the wire for sappers.
At four in the morning, I became extremely paranoid. The night gets very quiet during the jungle shift change: night critters doze off, but the day critters haven't awakened. All I could hear was three million NVA soldiers advancing to the wood line. Dave couldn't hear them. I said, "Dave, we've never talked about this, but I think we should. I can't be taken alive, Dave. I mean it. I'll talk. I am asking you as a friend, shoot me if it looks like we'll be overrun."
Dave calmly said, "Sure, no problem."
"Dave, I'm serious."
"I am, too. What are friends for?"
"I mean it, Dave. I can't take pain. If they get me, I'll talk like a jay bird (No offense, Jay Bird). I'll tell them the first lady's bra size. I'll tell "Who's on First." I'll tell them about your tiny dick."
Dave turned in the flickering light from a drifting flare and said, "Sonny, when the first guy crosses the wire, I'll stop whatever I'm doing and put a round right here." He tapped my forehead with a stiff index finger as the flare went out and cast us in total darkness. "Are you happy now?"
We remained silent until another flare went up. We resumed our posts. I said, "Dave, let me clarify something here. I sorta meant after they overrun us."
"Yeah, well I was sorta thinking about doing it when they toot on their bugles."
After a long silence, and during the next dark phase, I meekly said, "Dave, I won't tell them about your dick."
"I sure wish I could believe that, Sonny."
Fortunately, the human wave assault never materialized. Dave helped me through the night, but that's what friends are for.
