Friendly fire is something dreaded by soldiers. As welcome as that whizing sound of artillery over your head, equally dreaded not hearing it when you know it is supposed to be there-- oh hell a "short round." And, in Vietnam when it happened, it was routinely reported as enemy fire. Who the f..k wants to be killed by his own people--I know because I'm the FO (forward observor ) NCO (non commissioned Officer). In other words, I'm the guy who calls in the artillery. It was OJT (on the job training). Pretty simple, calculating distances, learning the language. A military artillery observer is responsible for directing artillery onto enemy positions. The artillery battery is often located miles away. I was the eyes of the gunners, calling in target locations and adjustments. We were suppose to have a lieutenant FO. I don't know why we kept losing them. The last one stepped on a booby trap on Christmas day. Bummer. 

How GIs died in Vietnam sometimes takes on a weird, even if a deadly route. In fact, I heard about a guy who got hit by a "short round" while sitting on the "crapper." Wonder how that was reported? But, there is one that sticks in my mind. I had met this guy a couple of times. He was with me at Campbell with the 101st but then got a chance to go to language school. In fact, I applied to go to the same school.  It was in Monterey, California on the beach I heard. Somebody told me he wasn't all that keen on it but the school was in California, so why not. I got it. Maybe he thought he could avoid Nam. Who knows! My unit wouldn't let me go anyway  too valuable  bullshit! Anyway, he disappeared off my radar screen and then one day I was at Camp Eagle which was the rear area for the 101st, picking up some supplies and there he was. We had a little mini reunion. He told me that he was workng with the ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) as an advisor/translator and was loving it. Time was passing and it was interesting work. He must have seen the incredulous look on my face as he said, "really, we don't give them enough credit." 
"Yeah," I replied, "the few times they'd been with us, they were chasing ducks or chickens for their evening meal." I acknowledged that I was probably unfair and let it drop. He wanted to get some Cs (C rations were the staples for the American GI in Vietnam)
off me as he mostly ate Vietmamese chow. I gave him a whole box. He was some kind of happy. No sweat.

And, of all things, we got the shit kicked out of us a couple of days later and to nurse our wounds, somehow mercy was bestowed and we went to Co Co beach, this little Navy supply depot where we were suppose to be pulling security. And, what the hell, I scored the first watch of the night. The commo chief gave me the call sign and frequency of this ARVN unit about a mile away. "Run a commo check," he said. "Don't want the ARVNs gettin spooked." Sure enough, as soon as I got settled in which was at the north perimeter, I checked in. I thought I recognized the voice. "Brown (not his real name), is that you?" I be damn, it was. We broke radio protocol and chatted a bit. His ARVN unit was joining up with the 101st for a couple of sweeps (This is a kind of "walking through," a general area to see if any of the enemy could be flushed out. It was mostly a waste of time).

We signed off and the next thing I knew, it was time for another radio check. I couldn't raise him. For a couple of hours, I kept trying with no luck. Finally I was relieved from duty and promptly made it to a hooch where the company was mostly bedded down. I was out like a light. The next morning came way too fast but the good news is a hot chow, courteous of the Navy, was waiting. Still wiping the sleep from my eyes, somebody said, "Hear about that poor guy whose throat got slit. He was an advisor with the ARVN. The VC (Viet Cong) slipped in and slit his throat. I bet those f..king ARVN did it and blamed it on the VC."
"Was the guy's name, Brown?"
"Yeah, Brown was his name."

I don't know why Brown's death affected me so hard. I hardly knew him but still I did know him. He was an America soldier who died an inglorious death. I was still stewing about it a couple of nights later when I was preparing to prep this little village area in our AO (area of operations). Just to the right of us was this ARVN company, maybe 500 meters or so. Brown's ARVNs who slit his throat. I was firing phosphorus, WP, willy Peter we called it. Fire for effect. I was good. Most thought I was the best FO in the battalion, maybe the Division. Try the Army. I was firing for effect. The combat assault went off without a hitch. I heard that we trapped a whole parcel of VC. High body count! 

I was getting some "rays" when the Company Commander strolled over to me. "What the fuck happened last night?"
"What you mean?" 
"The ARVN Company to our right took a "short round. Killed or wounded the entire headquarters section."
"Damn, what the hell."
"Don't worry about it. Things happen. Better them that us. Probably be an investigation but you know what bullshit that is."

I never heard a word. One of my buddies, Phil Woodall, the Company poet wrote a book after he left Nam. Phil said about all our buddies who died, "they may have died in vain but they lived I'n honor." And,