Taken from my father’s story.
When I first met Rosco, we would talk a lot on just about everything: life, the people back home and even religion. It had been my observation that a person gets closer to God when the going gets rough, and it was that way most of the time In Viet Nam. On one occasion Rosco had noticed that I was reading the Book of Mormon and of course asked me if I was a Mormon, I told him that I was and then asked him if he wanted to know about the church. He answered that he did and I was delighted to be able to do a little missionary work. His first question, which did not really surprise me, was about the Negro’ policy of the church. He seemed to believe In God and about what I had to tell him. I tried to answer his question as best I could and hoped that he was not offended. While talking with him you could feel the excitement over life that he had. If he could of had more time to hear all that I had to teach him, I know that he would have been baptized. But Rosco suddenly ran out of time.
One day we were out on another patrol. We had been finding signs of the VC all day, but we never made any actual contact. It was starting to get dark and we were ordered by the lieutenant with us to hold and maintain our position for the night. Our defenses were set up and the fox-holes dug. Everyone was a little on edge that night so no one slept.
Then without any warning it happened. The first rocket grenade hit. Its explosion set my ears to ringing. In a daze I jumped into the nearest fox-hole with the lieutenant. By this time rockets were hitting all around us. Flashes of blue, yellow and orange could be seen as the rockets went off, This along with the flares we were using to see the VC, was turning an already horrifying night into a world of eerie lights and sounds.
I looked around to see where Rosco was, There he was laying in a pool of blood about twenty yards from me. I was able to see by the light of the flares, that he was still alive, It turned out that he was one of the first to be wounded that night, and he had been unable to reach a fox-hole.
I don’t know why the lieutenant acted the way he did and I was somewhat surprised, but when I started to go out after Rosco, he pulled me back. “Don’t get yourself killed because of him,” he told me. “Besides, he’s probably already dead,” Angrily I pushed the lieutenant away and, started back out. As I was crawling along the ground, the others of our patrol left alive, gave me what-ever protection they could. Not sure at this point if Rosco was dead or alive I kept moving closer to him. The reddish-orange color of the tracer rounds seemed only inches from me.
After what seemed like hours, I at last reached Rosco, Climbing over the top of him, I looked into his eyes. Rosco was a strong man and not one to cry out in pain, but as I looked at him, tears were running down his cheeks. Looking up to see me, Rosco smiled. “I knew that if anyone would come out after me it would have been you,” he said. By now the VC had seen Rosco and I, and started to advance in our direction, “Oh be quiet,” I told him, “I can’t treat you here, it’s too dangerous.” “OK, Doc,” he answered, I started back with Rosco, pulling him along with me. It was a long hard twenty yards to move back, and somewhere during that time Rosco died. It wasn’t until I was once again in the fox-hole that I discovered what had happened. The lieutenant looked at Rosco, then at me, “See, I told you he wouldn’t be worth it” Choking back my own tears, I cradled Rosco’s head in my lap and said a silent prayer for both him and the lieutenant.
Waiting until morning when the fighting was all over and we had orders to pull back, I picked Rosco up in my arms and started back. It was hard to carry him. He was almost 200 pounds and I was only 130. Others offered to help me, but I refused. It was over a mile that I carried him, but I didn’t seem to get tired. When I arrived at the base, I took him over to graves registration. After cleaning the body and dressing it in clean clothes, I placed Rosco into the casket, The next day he was put on the plane which was to take him home. As the plane lifted off the end of the runway, I believe I could hear him say “No sweat, Doc, and Thanks,”
Posted by Michael at February 12, 2005 10:22 AM