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Get The Point . . .
by Mike Nielsen
It wrapped around his legs, and reached out for his over-stuffed pack.
It’s curved teeth bit into his leg, Just missing the leach, that had been suckling his lily white leg all morning long. It’s long green teeth dug into the side of his neck, letting him know, for sure, it
was over . . . Now, he had no choice but to stop; Take his eyes off the jungle, for that minute, and untangle himself from his hated enemy “The wait a minute vine.”
“The point man blues” begins . . .
He slogs along all day in the oppressive heat; Constantly fighting the jungle, that reaches out around him, always, it seems, trying to take him down. His eyes, his senses, can not leave the jungle for
one second, or he will risk all being killed. Just a moments lapse; One missed sign; Could mean walking one hundred and twenty young men, and one crusty old first sergeant, to their death.
He evaluates each bent blade of grass . . . How long since someone last passed? How many men? Any freshly cut branches? Any trip wire’s? Sometimes he watches a long thin blade of elephant grass (he holds
out in front of him) to see if it has hit a wire? Watching like he watches everything . . . All at the same time . . . Never focusing on any one thing. Taking it all in at the same time. Seeing and
feeling everything at once. Looking for anything that is out of place. Seeing every downed log as a potential bunker face; Smiling up at him with one sinister eye. Knowing that; “the one you don’t see,
is the one that kills.” Sometimes he will walk up close before he notices the bunker; His whole body will jump . . . Feeling like a jolt of electricity was just applied directly to his heart . . . He
silently vows not to be surprised again. He points to the bunker, so the back up man can silently pass the word on. Each man pointing, so the man behind sees the bunker, and will therefore be on full
alert. He hopes the back up man doesn’t notice that he didn’t see the bunker until the last second. The back up man is his teacher. He is a point man graduate/survivor; An old pro (old, at 19 years.) He
carries the compass, and points the way; Leaving it up you to the point man to find the best route.
They (most of the men) think you are crazy . . . Sometimes you wonder if they are right . . .
The point man, from another platoon, gets shot through the helmet. Somehow the bullet rattles around in there, and comes out the other side, missing his head completely . . . How is that possible?
He is so rattled they must bring up another point man . . . You get the call.
Why? Why you? Every squad has a point man; Some two. It isn’t even your platoons turn at the point . . . Why not you . . .?
The whole company has been kept up all night, with cobra gun ships firing around the defensive position (to keep the enemy off.) They call it “bringing piss.” Every fourth round is a tracer round. At
night, with mini-guns firing at a rate of fire that would put a bullet in every square foot of a football field in one fly over. It looks like one straight red line coming from the sky.
The last Division in this area got their asses kicked. That’s why they brought us in. Seems like we get all the dirty jobs . . .
That’s when you realize you got the blues “The point man blues . . .”
Every moment is like the notes of a slow song. Every small piece of the jungle, fits in like notes on a sheet of music. If there is one piece missing from this puzzle, it’s like a guitar string . . . snaps
. . . Your not really what the normal man would call tense . . . your in tune . . . You must be to stay alive. You think . . . This must be how great musicians feel, when they finally have all the notes in place, and hear the perfect beat of their music, playing through all the instruments . . . All in tune; Every note digging far down, to a place in the depths of your soul . . . Where nothing else has ever been.
I guess that’s why they think your crazy . . . I guess you got to be a little nuts to live that way.
Nothing ever, quite, gets you there again . . . Oh! . . . you try. . . You try all right; The heroin (they called it coke in the Vietnam of the early 70‘s, but that‘s another story;) The weed (Cambodian
red, Bon Song bombers;) You try all different combinations of drugs; But nothing even comes close. They (the doctors at the Veterans Hospitals) even try psychotic drugs. The drugs cause you to forget,
for a little while; But it always comes back; Because . . . you got the blues . . . “The point man blues.”
Women, kids, sports, gambling, sex, speaking to groups of one thousand plus, being on T.V., having your own show; They’ve all got their own edge; But nothing even comes close to “The point man
blues.”
If I would have known, I surely would have stayed at home; Or at least tried to stay a little further back in the pack.
WOW! . . . “THE POINT MAN BLUES.” Can you help me get there again?
Writer Mike Nielsen is a Vietnam Veteran who lives in Yucca Valley, CA.
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