Pete Garza was telling me, “this is where we were ambushed a couple weeks ago” when the automatic weapons opened up on us from the summit of the hill just ahead. We were in a saddle between that hill and the one we had just left, and there was a fairly fresh shell crater to our right. We dove into it, as did the Pathfinder who was with us.

It was early evening and overcast, and darkness was coming on fast, as it always does in Vietnam and everywhere else in the tropics. We were facing a serious problem, because the hill from which we were receiving heavy fire was the one where the two platoons were planning to spend the night. We should have known there were enemy there.

The Pathfinder, whose name I no longer recall, got on his radio, switched to the company frequency, and learned there were casualties. For Garza, the senior medic with the unit, this meant it was time to go to work. He wrestled out of his ruck sack and other gear and, armed with just his medical bag and pistol, crawled out of our sanctuary to go care for the wounded. Read more »