"And we would all go down together"

Forty years ago, I was a Lance Corporal serving with a United States Marine Corps infantry company in Gio Linh, South Vietnam. Gio Linh was a coastal outpost hard on the DMZ that separated the two Vietnams.

I remember two things about Gio Linh. First, forty years ago last Saturday, I scrambled into a bunker during an enemy artillery barrage. The bunker, which we had been reinforcing, sustained a direct hit and, incredibly, barely held. Being on the receiving end of a direct artillery hit is, well, indescribable, so I won't try.

My second recollection of Gio Linh was the ongoing the aerial spraying of the dioxin laced defoliant Agent Orange around us, on top of us - everywhere. Secretary of Defense Robert MacNamara had decreed that the entire DMZ be defoliated so that enemy penetration could be monitored.

Where was Rachael Carson when we needed her?

This past weekend also marked the annual Knotts Island Hunters' Feast - several thousand men wandering around the bay eating all manner of meat and game, drinking beer, and generally having a good time. It is a fundraiser for a local children's home. The gross this year was over $100,000. The weather was spectacular.

Several years ago, Terry Tillery decided that he would use the Hunter's Feast as a destination for our Charlie Company brothers. This year we attracted brothers in arms from California, Oklahoma, Texas, North Carolina, and Virginia. We had a blast.

The group began arriving Wednesday. I spent the morning having routine blood work done at the Veterans Administration in Hampton, then beat it over to Norfolk airport to begin grabbing the guys. By Thursday evening we were assembled in a small hunting lodge not far from my garage. Knotts was and is a serious place for duck hunters.

I thought it might be fun to have everyone over to show off my new grill, but I was seriously trumped by Johnny Barnes, son of the lodge proprietor, denizen of the pool house without a pool (across the way from the lodge), and without argument, griller extraordinaire. It would be easier to describe the aforementioned 155 mm enemy artillery round than to even touch that which Johnny produced for us over the following days.

Thursday was fish - fried fresh (like just pulled from the water) scallops, ma hi ma hi, some things I wasn't sure of, and grilled fresh tuna steaks with a freshly made crab sauce. Add to that corn bread, cole slaw, beans, etc. All but the tuna were deep fried. The tuna was cooked in a cast iron skillet over flame (this is all outside, now.) We stayed up most of the night dancing and keryokiing to an Eagles concert CD on John's home theatre setup (we're still in the pool house without a pool.)

Friday morning was bacon, hash browns, and eggs on the skillet (I'm sure I forgot something.) Friday night was steak night. Pound upon pound New York strip thrown on the Green Egg (oval green grilling device heated with some special wood.) Baked potatoes, backed beans and - well - please forgive any gastronomic details that I may have overlooked.) Somewhere in there we spent several hours with a tape recorder laughing and mostly crying about the grand young sons with whom we served. Each year it becomes increasingly unimaginable for me to process that these were all teen aged boys.

Saturday was the Hunters Feast on nearby Blue Pete Haven. It was a glorious day.

As the sun set, after a needless stop at Pearl's Bay Marina, we struggled back to Johnny's to be greeted with Egg fired Italian sausage slathered with his outrageous caramelized onion thing that he does on the skillet.

Incredibly, we all eat again and that is that.

Nobody moves.

Nobody speaks.

The Eagles concert is running on a closed loop, but few are singing.

We've all been had.

Sunday, the trips to the airport began anew. My last drop was Tuesday morning. Limping back to Knotts Island, I stopped by the post office to say hi to Bonny and pick up my mail for the first time in a week. I was greeted by two envelopes. I opened the one from the Veterans Administration without interest or curiosity to scan my lab results from the previous week.

Several sentences on the second page struck my eye, "your diabetes is directly related to you Agent Orange exposure..." "you will get a meter to check your blood sugar at home," I've referred you to our diabetes support group."

Blah, blah, blah.

I have diabetes.

Forty years ago this week, as I ran for cover, all of our young lungs absorbed the deadly dioxin around us. I survived an enemy artillery attack, but my real enemy was in the air, just as surely as if it had been a 500 pond bomb.

Forty years from today, a 60 year old Iraq/Afghanistan combat veteran is going to walk into a local Veterans Administration Hospital because he doesn't feel right.

Then it will be his turn.

This does not stop.

As long as we insist on fighting wars in strange faraway places, we will expose our troops to strange faraway ailments - like those eminating from the dioxin laced defoliants and napalm manufactured by the Dow Chemical Company of Midland, MI, USA.

Thank you for visiting.

Jack