Well, yeah. They gave me the Silver Star. But I left it at the Wall. I was trying to give it back to the guy who earned it. I guess it's in the Smithsonian or somewhere, where ever it is that they keep the stuff guys leave at the Wall.
        See, it was like this. Me and Charlie Edelson enlisted together -- we went in on the "Buddy Plan" and the Army said that we'd be training together and all. And we did. We went through Basic together, down at Fort Knox, and we went through AIT at Ft. Benning to learn to be in the infantry. And when that was done we went to Jump School together, too, and learned to jump out of perfectly good airplanes. All along it was me and Charlie, Charlie and me. We were like brothers or something.
        Anyway, after Jump School the Army decided that they needed a couple more grunts in the Nam and Charlie and me got our orders.
        We had a couple of weeks of leave at home, but neither me or Charlie really enjoyed it much. I mean, you know that it's gonna end and that something awful might be waiting.
        So we reported to Ft. Lewis like we were supposed to and only a couple of days later we got in a big silver bird and were on our way.
        The heat at Tan Son Nhut airport was like a blast furnace when they opened the door. We didn't get to think much about it, 'cause they had us off the plane and into trucks and buses double quick. Before we knew what was going on, me and Charlie had been assigned to different units. He was sent down to the Delta and I was sent up North to 156th Airborne Brigade.        
        Oh yeah. We told the folks at the replacement depot that we'd enlisted on the Buddy Plan and that we were supposed to serve together. I think that that might have been the best laugh they had that day. Then a Captain told us that the "Buddy Plan" only applied to training, and training was over.
        When you don't have any choice you just eat what's served. Charlie went South and I went North.
        We wrote back and forth, and we met a couple of times in Saigon and once in Cu Chi and had some beers and talked. Charlie was doin' just what I was: grunt stuff out in the bush.
        Then one day, after I'd been in country for about six months, I got a letter from Charlie's mom. Charlie had gotten himself greased -- he'd tripped a booby trap when he'd been walking point and he came home in pieces. Not that Mrs. Edelson said it that way; she just said that Charlie had been killed on patrol and that she knew that I'd like to know. I found out what happened later from some other grunts who had known Charlie.
        So I was kind of down for a couple of months, but by Tet '68 I was gettin' short and Charlie Edelson was a memory. Then Charlie -- Victor Charlie -- stomped all over us and I got a Purple Heart and the Silver Star I didn't earn.
        It was like this. We were out on patrol, and the Six -- that is, the CO, Captain Walters -- and the First Sergeant and all of the HQ folks were out with us, 'cause it was supposed to be a skate. Well, it was to start with.
        The Captain and the First had been cadre at the Jump School at Benning and they had the idea that everything in the bush had to be done the Benning Way. Now, lots of that is fine but some of it can get you killed in the bush when people are shooting real bullets at you and doing their very, very best to hurt you instead of you hurting them. Like, the Captain insisted that we carry our gas masks on patrol -- but only one canteen of water! And we couldn't roll our shirt sleeves up, much less take our shirts off! But most importantly, he only let us carry the "basic load" of ammo.
        See, usually we'd carry ever piece of ammo we could carry. Ammo and water and food and insect repellent -- I mean, it got really basic out there. But not when the CP staff were with us! Nope! Four grenades, eighty rounds in magazines and twenty more in the rifle -- that sort of thing. Stuff that could get you killed.
        But like I say, the patrol started as a skate. We were bedding down no later than 1600 each day, diggin' holes and makin' bunkers, pullin' guard duty and listening posts just like we were back at Benning. And all the time the Top and the Old Man riding you for dusty boots or a limp uniform. It was a skate, but not a happy one.
        Then Charlie pulled the cork and it really hit the fan!
        We were humpin', following the Captain's route, and we were crossing a clearing when the point went down from a 12.7 mm machine gun.   Then a bunch of mortar rounds chewed up the rear and those of us in the middle were cut off.
        See, that was Charlie's plan: cut off the point, cut the middle of the column off from the rear, shoot up the rear and finish off the center whenever they wanted. Naturally the Captain, the First Sergeant, the RTO and the machine gunner were taken out first.
        Me? I was about four people behind the Captain and saw him go down with what seemed to be about a hundred bullets in him. It was a quick look, too, 'cause I was trying at the same time to dig a really, really deep hole to get into and pull over me.
        Then the mortars started on us and I felt something tear my legs up and rip my helmet off my head.
        I was shooting back, of course. Everyone still able to was shooting back. But we had been there for a while and nobody had any delusions about our chances. We were in it really, really deep, and it wasn't a hole!   There was little chance that we were going to get out of this alive, and we knew it.
        I remember that I noticed that the radio was still working, and I remember that I thought that somebody had better call for help. I was closest, so it was up to me, and I crawled to it, pulling myself along by my elbows -- my legs weren't working very well at all right then.
        Then a piece of metal hit my head and the next thing I knew I was in the hospital back at Quai Nhon.
        The Colonel came in about a day later and told me that I'd saved the patrol and possibly LZ Furrow, where the 156th was headquartered, and that I was in for a medal.
        Well, I asked him what I'd done and he told me. It seems that I had called in one of the pre-planned artillery barrages that Captain Walters had arranged for before the patrol. It was just the right one, too, for it had messed up Charlie's troops bad while it had saved our skins from being cut to shreds.
        In fact, the Colonel had wanted me to get the Medal of Honor, but there weren't enough witnesses.
        I told him that I hadn't done anything of the sort.
        I guess I got kind of wild about it, too, 'cause he said quietly that I was to come to see him when I out of the hospital and he left and a medic came in then and gave me a shot and that was all I knew for a while.
        Anyway, time went on and I was going to be transferred to a hospital in Japan. I asked the Doctor if I could go see the Colonel before I left, 'cause the Colonel had asked me to, and he said it was okay. So I did.
        The Colonel didn't make me salute or stand at attention. Shucks, I probably couldn't have done it if I had to. Instead he pulled up a chair and told the Sergeant Major to get me a beer -- a cold beer -- and that I could smoke if I wanted to and would I like one of his cigarettes?
        I told him that I'd recently given up the habit and he chuckled. Then he told me that I really was a hero and I disagreed again. And then he told me that he could prove it, because he had taped the radio traffic and he had me on tape. And he played it for me.
        It was a weird, really weird experience. I could hear the "Whump!" of the mortars hitting and the shots and the yelling and all, just like it had been. And then there was the sound of the microphone being fumbled with and then, really, really faintly, just on the edge of hearing, I heard
        "Stone Eight Six, Stone Eight Six, Stone Three One . . . our Six is down . . . Top too . . . it's bad . . . we need . . . arty . . . fire Mike Mike Two Three . . . hurt bad . . .
Mike Mike Two Three . . . fire it now . . . tell Mummy I love her . . . ."
        "You see?" said the Colonel. "Concentration MM23 was preplanned fire. You were found with the microphone in your hand. You were badly hurt. Obviously, although you don't remember it, you called Stone Eight Six -- we here at HQ -- and used your radio call sign, Stone Three One. You asked for the supporting fire, we could hear the problem, and we delivered. Son, because of your actions only five were killed and twelve wounded -- and you were the worst! Basically, your actions saved your company. You deserve a lot more than a Silver Star and the thanks of everyone involved!"
        I couldn't say anything. You see, I couldn't tell him that I had no idea of what the preplanned fires had been because Captain Walters never had told us. And I really could not tell the Colonel that I never, ever called my mother "Mummy" -- but that Charlie Edelson always had, and that it was his voice on the tape.