CHRISTMAS EVE 1968

My favorite Christmas memory

A True story by: Me =)

OOOOH,,,,,,, WHAT?

"Corporal Hale, it's your watch" Dang, already, I thought, as my shoulder was being shaken by Corporal Kosner, the Marine I was to relieve at 4a.m..

It's 4a.m. AND it's still dark. The dirt feels so soft, the grass so warm. "Corporal Hale"? Awright already I said as I tried to "get up' actually "getting up" was more getting down as I merely had to roll down into the hole.

In the big war, that’s what my Dad called it, but actually it was World War II those things were called Foxholes. Well this is 1968 and Vietnam and we call them simply holes.

My name is Corporal Bruce Hale I am a United States Marine currently serving with First Battalion Ninth Marines in the Republic of Vietnam. We are known as "The walking Dead" a name bestowed upon us by a radio personality in North Vietnam called Hanoi Hanna and we are proud of earning that name. I have been here roughly 1 year, 2 weeks, 3 days or thereabouts. I just turned 19 years old and already am considered an old man by the new guys. And after that last operation we have allot of new guys. It is the day before Christmas 1968 and I am short, which means I am slated to go home, stateside, across the pond, back to the casa, soon or so I hope.

I rolled down the short slope into the hole to begin my 4 hour watch. The last of the night and the second since dinner. I was tired but then I had been tired for most of a year now. Tired, but terribly alert, awake, and ready. I worked with a unit that spent all it's time in the bush. We didn’t earn our nickname by sleeping in the rear and working 8 - 5. A year of always being alert and ready can take its toll. But I am, and it is 4a.m. the beginning of another day.

It was warm, with a cool breeze from the East coming off the ocean less than 100 miles away. We were in a position where, if it were light, you can see all the way across the country to the ocean. In fact the horizon was the ocean and across that horizon was home, stateside, Mom, Dad, that pain in the rear little brother that I missed so much. The one who is upset because they won’t let him come to country to be with me until I go home. In a few days I think, and hope.

I am what they call a short-timer because I am less than 30 days from rotation or going home. It's the scariest 30 days of the tour. The first 30 your all gung-ho gonna kick some butt. Then you mature, allot, and it becomes another day, another patrol, another,,,,,,, well you get the idea. The last 30 is scary as hell because, well heck, been here a year or more, home is around the corner, "send me to the bench coach and let me wait for the plane" time. But you are still a Marine, still with 1/9, and still responsible for those 16 men (boys) in your squad. In fact we have an ambush to do tonight. 6 more wake ups and I am supposed to go home, stateside, back to the casa.

I sat in the hole and looked east. Though dark I could still see in my minds eye my Dad and brother going out to do chores, and my Mom starting breakfast. One thing about growing up on a farm. You may work hard and early but you ate well. Breakfast was something to look forward to.

Breakfast on the morning before Christmas. The tree, the lights, the warm glow from the fireplace, I could still remember the warmth of burying my head into the flank of the cow as I milked her. The squish, squish of the milk going into the bucket the soft mew of the little kitty that loved that warm milk. I would turn the tit and shoot milk into her mouth and on her face. She would be opening her mouth, and licking her chops to get it all. A smile crossed my face a tear welled up in my eye. I had learned long ago that it was ok to remember, ok to grieve, and ok to cry even if I was a Marine.

I thought of my Grandma who sent me a care package every month. Socks. shorts, and once a whole gallon of crushed pineapple (that’s a story in itself). She would send those big, thick, soft, athletic socks, enough for a month. A new pair every day. The looks on my compadres faces when I got the first determined the future of those socks. 30 pairs of socks could equal warm comfy feet, and the other 29 could add up to allot of cigs, sodas, etc. etc. Yep, I traded them off for important stuff. Heck we lived out of a pack. We couldn’t carry 30 pairs of socks and shorts unless of course you spread them out to say 29 buddies and they weren't in the pack anyway.

I mentioned my Grandma because she is special to me and I love her but also because I had somehow gotten word out that in the December package I would like some cocoa powder mix WITH marshmallows. We had cocoa powder in the C-rats but no marshmallows. The word must have spread because I received cocoa powder mix WITH marshmallows from everyone I knew back home. Even my sorta girlfriend who hadn't written me in months. Ever since I had written her to compliment and thank her for the box of popcorn she had sent. We had all enjoyed it very much but couldn't figure out what the little black discs were. I ask her and she replied they were homemade chocolate chip cookies. OOPS, but she did send cocoa powder mix WITH marshmallows.

I checked my pack to make sure they were still there. Now that was a well kept secret because I told no-one.

The night was quite, dark, warm with a nice cool breeze but most importantly quite. Thus allowing me to travel in my mind back to that nice warm kitchen, that lighted tree, those Christmas carols back home. Now don’t get me wrong I was still very alert to what was going on around me I was not shirking my duties on watch nor endangering my team mates.

The sun was beginning to show itself out the over the Pacific. The clouds were bathed in purples, blues, orange, pinks and red. Soon this blazing disk was rising from the sea, the sky was ablaze with color, and the Pacific was calling me, saying Bruce we miss you. A tear was forming in my eye.

As it got brighter and I could see the trees around us and watch the line between daylight and dark slowly work it's was across the country towards the Pacific I started waking everyone. After all it was the day before Christmas and we did have an ambush to prepare for tonight. As I woke Klosner he asked if Santa had come by. I said I had been listening, and watching real good but not yet, maybe tonight. He said he had better not come tonight and ruin our ambush.

While everyone was eating or smoking their breakfast I started making assignments for the day. I sent one of the privates down to pick up our supplies of ammo, chow, etc.. I had a surprise planned. Our day was rather routine, after all Christmas or no we still had a job to do and that came first. We sent out our our patrols, watched the perimeter, had a "class" with a couple of the newbie’s and basically went about our day. Until 3 that is.

Since we were to head out to set up the ambush at last light I decided that I would pass out the supplies at 3 and do it my way. After all it was the day before Christmas and I wasn’t the only one looking East this day.

Shortly after 2pm I sent everyone to their position to rest and prepare for the evening telling them I would pass out the supplies and stuff later. I then took out some C-4 plastic explosive and made a fire. Took out some of those cocoa powder mixes WITH marshmallows and started some hot cocoa WITH marshmallows. I broke open some ammo and tied thread around the ends of the individual rounds and hung them on a small pine growing at just the right spot. It was about 3 feet high and in a small clearing that provided an open and inviting view East, towards that watery horizon that just hid home from view. The horizon we had been covertly looking at all day. The smell of warm chocolate was real now and not just a pleasant memory. The crackling fire may have been at my feet but sure sounded like the one in Dads fireplace. The tree may have been 3 feet tall decorated with 223 caliber rounds, condiment packages from C-rats, and whatever else I could find, even the silly star on top I had made from allot of foil saved from allot of cigarette packages. Yeah it may have been a tree that made Charlie Browns Christmas Tree look good but it still looked like the best tree in the forest hung with popcorn, cookies, and store bought decorations sitting in my parents living room with my baby sister and brother pulling things off of it and tearing open things they weren’t supposed to. And I wasn’t even there to teach them how to carefully open them and reseal them again no-one the wiser. Like my brother Randy and I did one Christmas when we were younger. We wanted BB guns so bad and knew that we had gotten them. We just KNEW it and had to open the packages to see. So we did and I must say we did a good job because no one suspected a thing until,,,,,dum,,,,dum,,,,de,,,dum,,,, Christmas morning. Oh yeah, did I mention that after we saw them it just didn’t seem right not to play with them for a little while I mean Mom and Dad were gone.

I had told Randy to act surprised when he opened his after all I WAS 8 and he was only 7. He did well, acted appropriately surprised as did I when we opened those BB guns. The look on my Dads face was not what I expected, something about them being covered in mud and the last we saw of them was my Dad taking them outside.

Anyway, I digress, I sent word down the line that 1/2 of the squad was to come up while the other 1/2 stood watch. As they came into the small clearing looking at the little pine tree I saw some eyes water a bit, some faces showed surprise but such a happy surprise. I had everyone sit down. Explained that this was our little Christmas here on a mountain along the Western border of Vietnam in 1968.

I had everyone take a moment, look out over that Pacific and say a prayer, remember a pleasant thought, or simply think of home and how they were missing us like we were missing them.

How every westward breaking wave out there on the coast brought their prayers, and good thoughts to us. We actually took several moments to do this. A few tears came

to a few Marines eyes that afternoon. We had hot cocoa WITH marshmallows, passed out gifts of ammo, C-rats, mail and a brand new, soft, white pair of athletic socks

with no barter involved.

After about an hour of sharing special moments, memories, and stories I had the other 1/2 of the squad come up and did it again.

Every Christmas, every year since 1968 I remember that, my most special Christmas and the memories, the guys, the,,,,,,,,, dang there’s that tear again.

P.S. Grandma died in 2007 at 101. A great lady and some great socks.

Pray for those who sacrifice so that we may live.