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By Root 642 0

caught on bushes and vines, he jerked like a cattle prod had been jammed into his wounds, and the GI carrying him was knocked off balance. It was a struggle for him, too, lugging Bleier’s big frame, and Bleier, pressing on his back to relieve the pressure on his stomach, pushing into the rescuer’s shoulder. Every thirty yards they had to stop while the grunt laid Bleier in the grass and tried to catch his breath. Every time they stopped, two or three GIs in the column passed them in the dark. They kept pushing, but fell farther and farther behind, until Bleier collapsed onto the side of the road. He was completely drained; his eyes were brimming with tears. He looked up at his rescuer, mumbling, “I can’t go this way anymore. Get me a stretcher. It’s not that much farther.”

The GI stopped a 3d Platoon RTO and the man radioed ahead to the medevacs coming in. Then he continued on. He was the last man in their column.

The pain became too much for Bleier to bear, each heartbeat thumping through his right foot. He lay there, crying and gritting his teeth, ripping up clumps of grass with his hands. His buddy held onto him, and Bleier squeezed him tighter with each surge of pain. He held Bleier’s hand, soothing him, “It’s all right. You’re okay. We’re going to get there.”

Bleier was sobbing. “We are so alone.”

Time was meaningless, so he didn’t know how long it took for the four men to stumble down with a poncho liner. They were exhausted too, and couldn’t muster the strength to lift him. So they dragged him the last several hundred yards, bouncing over rocks and debris, Bleier’s legs crashing together inside the poncho. The medevac landed atop the hill, and a narrow rocky path led up to it. They shouldered their way through the brush hemming in the path, stumbling, losing their grip, Bleier rolling down the hill and screaming into the night sky. They finally got him to the crest and sank to their knees. Bleier looked up at the helicopter blades thumping above him. “Thank you, Lord.”

The Huey lifted off without him; it was already full. It had taken Bleier six hours to reach the bush LZ, but now he had to wait another two hours for the next medevac. A medic gave him a shot of morphine, but it did no good. The drug was washed from his system by shock, confusion, pain, and fear. “I gotta get another shot!”

“No, I can’t do that,” the medic said.

Bleier raged with all the patience of a man whose foot was being held in a fire. “Why not? I’m in pain. Do something!”

“It might knock you out, or disguise the seriousness of your wounds. The doctors at the aid station will want to know where it hurts.”

“I don’t give a shit. Now give me another fucking shot!”

“No.”

“Well, then get the fuck out of here!”

Bravo 1st of the 46th Infantry got moving again after Charlie 4th of the 31st Infantry passed through. There were four men to a body, carrying and dragging the bamboo litters across the ground. The bodies were heavy and the exhausted men traded every fifteen minutes. After his turn, PFC Calvin Tam walked along, feeling very alone in the moonless night. He was slung with six M16s for men hefting the litters. His mind was blurred with weariness, numbed with fear. When are the gooks going to sneak up and hit us? Where are they? He pictured them lying in the brush, eating rice and sleeping, satisfied with the day’s catch. Lucky us. Maybe they’re out of ammunition. Tam kept plodding.

The column started getting strung out along the trail. Tam noticed exhausted grunts sprawled in the thickets along the side, trying to get a few minutes rest before resuming the march. One GI had cracked, or was at least putting on a good show to get out. Tam passed him on the trail. He was a short, fat guy who, during his two weeks with the company, had complained constantly and loudly that since he was an 11 Charlie mortarman he should not have been assigned as an 11 Bravo infantryman. His grousing had won him the promise that the first opening among the mortar crews on LZ Professional would go to him.

The man was wide-eyed and babbling. A squad leader