is NO WAY I can live in that place for 13 months!". Of course, it wasn't a mess at all.  It looked exactly like it was supposed to look like when you put six 105 Howitzers and 300 Marines on top of a mountain deep in the jungle hills of a country ten thousand miles from home and tell them to build their living quarters out of wood ammunition boxes and sand bags. The first thing I noticed, after landing, was that everyone smelled like hell! Of course, within a week I smelled like everyone else and didn't notice it.  Having been trained as an Ammunition Technician, 3 years earlier, I was put in charge of the ammo and quickly discovered all 2,000 rounds needed to be pulled from the bunker, in order to rebuild the shelves, and then re-stacked.  Thanks to Ron Strack, I was able to fake it while picking his brain about what these long, heavy bullet lookin' things were all about.  It wasn't long before I remembered enough of my training to fake it.  Still bummed out about getting pulled from the school,  I settled in to a fairly uneventful routine of work, dirt, bugs, and noise for next couple of months. 
On the morning of Feb 24^th, '69  General Davis, our Division Commander, flew up to the Hill accompanied by a Catholic priest and a Protestant minister. He spoke to all of us... warning that G-2 had discovered that there were twenty thousand NVA in the area, but they didn't know exactly where, or exactly what there plans were, so we were to keep a sharp eye and prepare ourselves. He said we should have no problems defending our position and wished us luck. Then he turned the ministers loose on us.  I watched the religious of us gather in groups for what looked to me to be "The Last Rights". Seeing this didn't exactly inspire confidence in me that the General actually believed we would have no problem repelling this newly discovered enemy force in our area.
Later that afternoon, a large explosion toppled several trees on the hill on the other side of the Grunt hooches, creating a small clearing. We heard wild small arms fire and then saw a Huey appear, descend in to the clearing and rise again with six Recon guys hanging from a rope. Our C.O. ordered three of the Howitzers turned in that direction and loaded with canister rounds. Then he called back to the rear for clearance to fire. Of course, following the theme of the day, clearance was denied.
At about 0200  I was awakened and told that the C.O. wanted me to organize distribution of the ammo to the guns.  Another battery in the area was being overrun and we were firing support.  I put on my boots and headed to the ammo bunker where I formed a line of men to begin distributing the ammo to the guns.  Why we didn't take the hint and realize that we could also be in dire peril, especially after the day's events, I don't know.  I didn't even bother to wear a helmet, or flack jacket and left my M-16 in my bunker!  So, I was completely unarmed when it all started, as were a lot of us.
Everyone froze when they heard an explosion and saw a column of smoke rise from the edge of the Grunt compound.  "Aww, it's those damned Grunts playin' with their mortars again," someone commented.  Ignoring the warning, we again started humping ammo to the guns.  Then another explosion burst at the end of the Grunt compound, this time hitting one of the hooches.  Before we could absorb what it meant, a series of explosions started walking through the Grunt compound, coming straight at us.  Everyone just stood there, frozen, until someone yelled,  "INCOMING" !
Everyone bolted.  I don't think my feet touched the ground twice covering the ten yards from the ammo bunker to the hooch below it.  I just made it inside as explosions burst outside the door and then started raining on the roof.  I don't mind saying that I have never been so terrorized in my life…. But the best was yet to come.

I soon found that I was with a guy named Meecham (I think that's his name).  We were both scared out of our wits as explosion after explosion rained on our roof and next to the outside walls.  The concussion was stunning and after each round I wondered if the next one would punch through and kill us.  This lasted at least half an hour. I presume the NVA were using this barrage to force us to hide so they could approach our wire unnoticed. .  I can honestly say I went to church only one time, when I was a kid, yet I was able to recite the entire Lords Prayer in that bunker!
Between the blasts, I scoured the pitch black bunker, trying to find a rifle, or flack jacket, or even a helmet and came up empty handed.  Then the sounds of the explosions seemed to reduce in quantity and severity.  When Meecham and I heard Vietnamese voices and footsteps outside our bunker, we realized we were being over-run.
"Oh man, we have to get out there and set up the .50 Cal," Meecham said.
I couldn't believe he was saying that!  We were alive in here, but out there… well, that might be another story!  But then my senses began to kick in.  Meecham was right.  Someone had to get out there and set up the .50 Cal. Machine Gun and start a defense of this hill, or we were all doomed.  So it was with heavy reluctance that I said, "Yeah, I guess you're right, Meecham.  Let's go."
As we approached the door, Meecham stopped, politely allowing me to go first.  "Hey, you give me that rifle, flack jacket and helmet you got and I'll go first… otherwise, I'm following you," I said, indignant.  I'll tell you, I really wanted that stuff!  It even occurred to me to pull rank to get it from him, but I quickly realized what I would do if I were in his shoes and someone ordered me to give up my weapon and dropped the idea.  Meecham hunched down and went through the door, with me following close behind.  I can say that I have never had to do anything so hard as to walk out of that bunker without a rifle, flack jacket, helmet, or even a shirt on!  I felt like a naked duck in a shooting gallery.  As it turned out, my feelings were fairly accurate.
We went in to the gun parapet, near the Ammo bunker, I saw the exact place where I almost dove for cover when the incoming started, before deciding to try to make it to the hooch instead.  I saw that a mortar had exploded exactly where I would have huddled against the parapet wall.  It was a chilling realization to see how close I came to becoming red paint and listed as missing in action. 
There were bodies everywhere, seemingly blown up against the walls of the gun parapet.  I knew they had probably been killed by the very mortar I avoided by making that snap decision to go for the hooch.  I realized Meecham and I