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Red

By Tony Cokely

I can't remember your name. I wonder if I ever knew it. Actually, there are a lot of things from those years I don't remember. All I remember is that you had red hair and I didn't like you much. I tried to find your name on the Vietnam Wall. I hoped something would ring a bell when I went through the Marines who had died at the right time and place to be you. I also hoped to find nothing. There was one name that caught my eye. Ironically, the listed cause of death was "accidental homicide".

If I killed you, it was an accident. I didn't like you, but not enough to kill you. It is hard to remember we were both boys with very little time in-country or in combat. I mean, we were in Vietnam for, at most, a year on our first tour, so neither one of us could have been there very long. I thought of you as older because you were there when I arrived. That is not fair. I was one of the oldest Marines there, except for the officers or lifers. I was 22 and older than half of the Americans killed, who were 18 years old.

It was June or July 1970 when I was sent into the bush. Trucks took us off Highway One and dropped us at a rice paddy dike with a broad path on top. I was the low man of four on the second machine gun team. I was the second ammo humper, and you were the first ammo humper. We walked away from the road and were nearing an intersection of patty dikes when there was an explosion that took out our team's machine gunner and the assistant gunner. I didn't know their names, and they were gone.

Our platoon leader consolidated the remaining machine gun team members, and you became the assistant gunner, and I became the "first ammo humper". A few nights later, a VC or NVA patrol walked into our position while we were digging in for the night. We were digging sleeping holes on our side of the perimeter when all hell broke loose.

The shout came, "Machine gun up". Our new team leader took the M-60 to the other side of our perimeter and opened up with it. Shortly afterward, the shout came, "ammo up". You handed your belts of ammo to me and told me to take them to our gunner. I was thinking, "You are the assistant gunner, you take it up". When I wouldn't take it, you threw a belt of ammunition towards the gun. Then the confusion was over, it seemed that the enemy had blundered into our position on their way elsewhere.

A few days later, I became the assistant gunner. You were gone, and I was moved up. I never saw you again. I wish I could ask someone what happened that night. Days later, the gunner was injured, and I became the second team machine gunner. All this happened during my first 45 days in combat.

The night I beat you, we were in a night position after walking all day, and we were on 50% watch. Half of the platoon stood watch while the others slept. You drew first watch, but I saw you keep falling asleep. I got up and told you I would take first watch. You slept for several hours, then I woke you for the second watch. For some reason, I didn't trust you to stay awake, and I kept checking on you. Each time I checked, you were asleep. I kept waking you and telling you to stay awake. You still kept falling asleep. I was really tired. It was way past midnight.

I hope I warned you. I hope I told you not to fall asleep again, or else. I could have even said that more than once. I would like to believe that. Anyway, I finally fell asleep and then woke to find you sleeping again. It is hard to articulate what happened next. I think that was when I lost whatever was left of my innocence. I took my helmet, jumped on top of you, and began to beat you. And just now, when typing this, I started to type "I took my helmet, jumped on top of you, and beat you to death".

You see, this is my dilemma. I never saw you again. I was now the assistant gunner, and you were gone. The best way I can describe my actions is that I went into an insane rage. I don't remember much after the beating started. I certainly don't remember anyone stopping me or questioning me about what happened. I know others were afraid of me afterward. I can't remember anything else about that night. Some people have suggested you were likely court-martialled for sleeping on watch; rather than that, I killed you. I hope that is true.

Whatever happened, you were just a boy and deserved none of what you got, including the beating I gave you. I had never done anything like that before. I never knew I had that sort of rage reaction in me. I was like a pit bull in a ring fight. How can this be me? I am a gentle person. I never wanted to be a Marine. I never wanted to be in a fight. I didn't want to be in Vietnam, and I certainly didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't know I was capable of such things. But now I know I am capable of anything. That scares me. I won't have a loaded gun where I can get to it because of what I am capable of.

Who would think I could attack another human without regard for the consequences? I'm sorry I hurt you. I hope I only hurt you a little, and it got you away from that shitty little war. I hope the beating just caused you to be transferred to the rear. Maybe you had some laughs about how you were safe and dry, and I was up to my ass in the mud, muck, blood, and gore.

I guess I have to forgive myself for what happened. Maybe I can do that. What I don't think I will ever be able to do is to feel safe that I won't have that same savage rage. I worry about that often.

I don't like to think of myself like this, but in the words of Popeye, I guess "I am what I am". I'm sorry for any harm I may have caused you. I hope you survived the war whole and had a good life. I lost my innocence, and I truly miss it. It is hard to explain to those who were not there.

Tony Cokely was drafted into the Marine Corps and served from 1969 to 1971. He retired after 29 years as a government employee, proud union member, and officer. He lives in the California foothills.