“I Heard Tales About…” Tanka 755

I heard tales about

my last time getting shot at

and don’t believe it!


REMFs* said a lot:

none of that remotely true!


  • (Rear Echelon Mother F$%&ers, in this case Division Rear Public Affairs pukes sucking down cold brews just below 1st Marine Division Rear combat operations center – i was one of the only five Americans wounded that day – December 9 (maybe 10?), 1970, and the first combat casualty USMC combat correspondent that year and possibly much of the previous year as well and those Remington Raiders had their panties in an uproar when I trooped in with this big bandage wrapped around the left side of my head, spelling of beer and herbal supplement and sat down to write my last story of The Bush in VeetNahmb! And, no, I was not atop the blasted-apart bunker with a liberated M-60 machinegun, spraying down the onrushing hordes – to quote a favorite Korean War Marine comment: “Hey, Sarge, just how many hordes in your particular Red Chines Platoon?” – nor was I KIA, MIA or POW and being marched off to Hanoi as previously reported/speculated by The Facts Brigade at Casualty Reporting.  I got a cold Bud from someone in stiffly starched jungle utes – utilities: the Army calls theirs fatigues…go figure! – and made a MARS radio-telephone call home to tell Mom and Dad as they were just leaving the house to take a two-week trip to Colorado to visit family that to ignore everything they heard about their middle son, he was just fine, thankee very much.  Hey! It was just my second call from another continent home to dear-olds in my entire time wearing a green pickle suit: the other time was from Toulon, France, making sure mom knew the Joy Parfum was en route so I figured this kinda call would balance the deal, but the on-air MARS radio station censor interrupted when I said: Ma, I got hit…” and he said you can’t say that, so I didn’t and then I said…and he said not that either and I didn’t and then I said see you in a few weeks and he let that skate.  This wounded hero fertilizer ain’t bad at all…and then they hauled my young ass over to the Air Force AirMobileSurgicalEvacuationHospital…and I missed and the fun and games at Charlie Med where hurt Marines generally had to go. The Air Farce was not pleased. Soon there were even less enthralled at my presence and minor things like attitude, examples and ambles.)

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