I'm assuming that memories may be related here as well. Not all war time was bad time. My name is Steve Neff and I served in the United States Marines from August of 1962 to August of 1970. I was in Vietnam as a "Battery Powered Grunt", i.e. a radio operator that served mainly with the infantry - or the grunts. The single most memorable piece of my war time service is I came home alive. And dang glad of it. The following is about a fellow Marine and I's discussion, after the battle of Double Eagle II, of our relative concerns regarding safety. I still have to chuckle when I think about it -

One night I was drinking like a fish, yes I used to do that, and me and my partner Delbert got into an argument. Well Delbert wasn't the sharpest tack in the box but he knew better than to drink and fight. I, on the other hand, was not sober enough for that thought.

So I picked a fight with him. Now Delbert and I had some issues from a past incident in which I ended up hung up in canvas with VC grenades landing around us and he ended up safe in a fighting hole. It was at Tam Ky and we had set up on this polo field. Nice neat rows of shelter halves. Whoever thought that one up wasn't thinking.

Well when the grenades and machine gun fire started Delbert went out of the puptent at high port with his M-14. I was a tad slower and ended up tangled inside this freaking tent. I had not forgotten the incident. Matter of fact JD was at this fight and remembers it quite well. Anyway - back to the rear with the beer

We were discussing the finer points of consolidating our efforts in returning fire and I thought it best we BOTH be out where that could occur - Delbert, however, was not quite of the same mind. He figured when the shooting started the best thing to do was to cover his ass first. (He'd later pay a price for that - Kharma is a wicked stepmom.) And he had done so that night (covered his ass while leaving mine exposed).

I'd drink another beer and get louder and he'd tell me, "Eliot, don't do this." I, of course, was older and wiser and was bound to get my point across whether he liked it or not. I finally got to my feet and took a swing at him and he ducked it - then the asshole punched me in the eye! I was dumb founded! How the hell did he do that? So I took another swing and he punched me again.

Shit - this was not going well so I closed for the kill. He, in the meantime, was trying to get me to quit and I was just getting madder. Well he closed both my eyes for me. Couldn't see a dang thing - but I could feel his knuckles wacking me. Finally Lance Alstrom and another Marine took me in tow and hauled me to the Doc's hootch.

Well the Doc's thought that was pretty funny. And figured if I was so drunk that Delbert could whup my ass they could have some fun also. Them knotheads decided that I might get an infection, it had happened before (take a stroll through Elephant Grass and see what happens a couple of days later), and I couldn't argue with them.

So they shot me full of penicillin, put ice on my eyes, and put a couple of stitches over my right eye to close off some of the bleeding. Well Lance and the other guy, wish I could remember his name, hauled me back towards the tent area. On the way I suddenly stopped breathing. Well crap - now what? I was so drunk I don't think I knew what was happening. But the world was getting more than weird from my side.

Back to the Doc's hootch. They were a tad PO'd that I was disturbing their beauty rest right up until Lance mentioned I'd stopped breathing. Those two miracle workers figured out I must be allergic to the penicillin and gave me a shot of something else real quick. I started coming back around again and one of the Docs asked me if I'd ever had a bad reaction to penicillin. Told him not that I knew of.

So he put a drop of penicillin on my eye and it turned red - he said that penicillin has this thing with some people? That after a bit you can't take it anymore. Well that fight, and that shot, was my limit.

Delbert felt like shit for whupping my ass, well not REAL bad cause I pushed him into it, but I was still pretty drunk and was going to go after him again when cooler heads prevailed. I suspect the Company Gunny had showed up by this time - "No beer? Get that worthless fuck to bed and get quiet - NOW assholes."

Loved them Docs - they did a good stitch job - if you don't know you can hardly see the scar. No report of the fight, the fixing, or anything else - but my medical record suddenly sported a bright red "ALLERGIC TO PENICILLIN" stamp.

What a way to fight a war - no VC? Hell let's try to kill each other!

Semper Fi
Steve