Alan Cornett - Gone Native: An NCOs Story

Table of Contents

For he today who sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.

Shakespeare, Henry the Fifth

This book is dedicated to my father, who stood by me when times were bad and taught me to survive in situations where another person would have failed. He is my mentor and my idol and the greatest person alive. I also dedicate this book to Rey Martinez. It would not have been completed without his pressure to write, his editing, and his advice. I cannot be remiss and forget my brothers: Doug Scherk, Teddy Bear Gaskell, Jaybird McGill, Limey Walker, Marty Dostal, John Chadwick, George Murphy, Walter Bacak, Gunther Bengston, Sully, Hines, Terry Swanke, and all the other old Foul Dudes I served with.

Special thanks to Teresa Oxendale, who guided me through the writing of this book, and to Connie Hills, who has patiently waited for its release. Extra-special thanks to my wife, Lori, who pushed me to complete it. To my children, Alan III, Shannon, Erich, I love you and am thankful you are my children.

I was lying on my back with my weapon across my chest when shots rang out, and green tracers (glowing bullets from enemy ammunition; ours were red) flew over my body and hit Hines. He fell over Limey, and all hell broke loose. I grabbed Hines, rolled him onto his back, and checked to see if he was breathing and had a pulse. He was stone dead. I yelled at Danny Williams that Hines was gone. Hines had been on radio watch and had been sitting up when the incoming fire swept through our area. Bacak yelled for a mad minute (all the team members fire their weapons on full automatic, covering their preassigned areas of responsibility from the defensive wheel), and everyone on the heavy team complied. Limey couldnt find his weapon because I had rolled over onto it. Williams decided to throw grenades through the thick vegetation. The first one got through, but the second one bounced off a bush and landed really close to us. Fortunately, my rucksack took most of the shrapnel. Bacak yelled that we were not to throw any more grenades, then started calling in 81 mm mortars, which were set up on the firebase.

The first round was white phosphorous and landed about fifty meters from us. Too close for comfort, I thought. Then he started working the area around us with HE (high explosives). Saturating the sides of our position with mortar rounds, he moved the fire like an artist with a paintbrush. During all this time, we could hear and smell the enemy around us.

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FOREWORD

My editor wanted me to title the foreword KidsDont Try This at Home! As with most human endeavors, my history in the military cannot easily be lumped into a single moral category. My experiences encompassed the good and the evil, the cherished and the regretted, the honorable and the dishonorable. Ive pride in much of my career choices and military performance. The positive portion of my time in the service earned me a Master Parachutist Badge, Pathfinder Badge, Ranger Tab, Canadian, Cambodian, and Vietnamese jump wings, Combat Medical Badge, two Bronze Stars for valor, the experience of serving with some of the finest people alive, and, most important, friendships that mean more to me than even my own life.

Unfortunately, my military career has also been blemished by several unsavory acts, deeds that have earned me humiliation, guilt, and regret. The worst of them, my attempt to kill an American officer, earned me a general court-martial and time in Long Binh Jail (LBJ), Leavenworth Disciplinary Barracks (DB), and the Army Retraining Brigade (USARB) at Fort Riley, Kansas.

My maturing has given me a clear understanding of how drugs and recklessness can cause irreparable harm and why they have no place in the military, among young men with strong passions and available weapons. But I did the best with what I had and knew at the time, and only hope God and my victims can find a way to forgive my offenses.

PROLOGUE

It was first light, and the rains were a downpour. From where we were hiding, visibility was impossible. We couldnt see or hear anything that might be hostile. The huge leaves that provided cover doubled as spouts for the rainwater, funneling it down on us. The foliage and my rag of a boony hat gushed rivulets that streamed down my body. I was soaked to the core.

A new member of the 302d Vietnamese Reconnaissance Company, I had been lying in triple canopy, waiting and watching for any sign of the enemy. Our group consisted of myself, the only American, and five members of the AK squad, South Vietnamese soldiers dressed in black Viet Cong garb. Our commander, Captain Phong, had picked the area because he knew it to be well traveled by the enemy.

I had positioned myself by a large tree for cover and some relief from the torrential rain. The rain was making every noise I heard sound like the enemy, giving me the impression they were closing in from all directions. My nerves were frayed, and my unfamiliarity with my new team just added to my unease. But as suddenly as the rain had started, it stopped, and the jungle came alive with the sounds of many creatures. So, too, returned the large mosquitoes, which immediately exercised their ability to find their way into every exposed area of the body. Their cohorts in bloodletting, green slimy worms that transformed into bulging red leeches as they extracted blood from the body, were back as well. As miserable as conditions were, we couldnt move. We had to lie there, immobile, drained of our lifeblood by hundreds of the greedy little vampires.

I watched as an ant moved across a large green leaf, only to be snatched midjourney by a lizard with a tongue that would give any man bragging rights in a cathouse. The lizard speared its target with pinpoint accuracy, then lazily consumed the insect. My attention was wandering, but I tried to focus on the trail the team was watching, all the while restraining the urge to swat the areas of my body that were under attack. I was learning to coexist with the rain. When it poured, the stinging vampires disappeared, and I could go to sleep to the sounds of the raindrops dripping from the trees and vines and to the occasional cooing of a spider monkey. But when the rain stopped and the terrain became inundated with these pesky blood-drinking creatures and the false alarm of the fuck-you lizard, I went back to an agonizing state of alert stillness. But without the security I felt with the old team, the agonizing alertness persisted, rain or no rain.

The sight of a dark figure moving through the trail of wet leaves and vines brought me to full awareness. Fear and excitement rose inside me, blending into an anxiety high. Everyone on the team had seen the figures moving through the jungle slowly but with purpose and at the ready.

What am I doing here? I thought to myself. I could be in the rear area, teaching medical classes in the comfort and security of a whole division of American boys.

The figures moved from the trail toward where we lay in wait. As I watched, the thought that there were only six of us and at least thirty of them went through my mind. I wanted to close my eyes and believe they couldnt see me, something I had done when I was three years old. But my eyes wouldnt close. I had to watch and be ready to kill or be killed. My finger moved to the trigger of my AK-47. I prayed it would respond if I needed it. Unlike the M-16 I carried when I worked with an American unit, this weapon had never failed me.