Since there’s a couple of stories about shots that weren’t ours, I have one I still see in my mind, late at night, even after a career doing Rescue, Paramedic and ER.
April 1968, Taking the hill that was to become Firebase Veghel, I corps, VN. I was the medic with 1st platoon, C company, 1/327. We were the trailing segment, and ahead, our lead elements were already spread on-line, engaged fully with the NVA that held the top of the hill. There was a lot of maneuvering, with the first two platoons, spreading both directions to get a flanking and encircling action going, and guys were already coming back on their own, if lightly wounded, or being carried back. They went down at a different angle from which I was coming up. Then, Bob Fleury, the RTO turned to me and said, “They need more medics.” The guys stood aside, and I sped uphill.
When I got to a junction of the trail with the line going uphill, I dropped my ruck, and took my aid kit further uphill, directly to the fight. There, I met the senior aidman, who was directing traffic, a steady flow of men were coming downhill, headed to a clearing below, that had been blown out by the bombing the previous night. I could hear the chopping of machetes, below, and the furious battle raging above. Sr Aidman Gary Loduha pointed at the junction, and said “set up here, and triage the wounded. No dead go past here, walking wounded get better dressings and head them back into the fight, ineffectives (people wounded bad enough to no longer be able to fight) go to the LZ.”
I restated his instructions, as more wounded came our way. He immediately left for the area with the worst fighting, a few yards ahead. Almost immediately I began to patch up guys who just sort of sat down around me. As they took water, got their wounds redressed, and checked over, If they were able, I sent them back into the fight. If not, but able to carry weight, I relieved guys carrying wounded, and sent THEM back up the hill to rejoin their platoons, and used walking wounded to carry the wounded downhill. They were grateful to do so.
The dead also started to stack up around me.
The sound of battle let up for a moment, causing me to look around. I heard a single shot, sounding like a M-16,, and a shit-storm of fire laid on immediately after. WTF?
Soon three guys came barreling down, carrying and half dragging a wounded man.
“Roubidoux’s been shot!”, the SGT said, “It was a gook with an M-16!”
They flopped him down at my position, and I looked him over, since that was all the report I was going to get, and no bandages were apparent. One soldier stayed with me. As I looked him over, the soldier was saying, “He got shot in the face, in the face, Doc, in the face.” Over and over.
Roubidoux was fully awake and alert, sort of of semi-choking, and spitting bloody drool. I finally found a tiny hole in his upper lip, just below the nose. Entry wound. I sat him forward a bit, and found a dime sized hole in his neck, to the left of midline, in his accessory neck muscles. As he leaned forward, he hacked and spit out a huge gobbet of blood with pieces of bone and tissue mixed in. The bullet had gone through his lip, upper gum-line, tore out the roof of his mouth, and exited his neck, having completely missing his spine.
I gave him a canteen and told him to wash but don’t swallow, and he spit out some more. He was thoroughly pissed off, trying to curse the enemy that shot him. I patched his wounds as best I could, and started a IV of Albumen, and carried him, with the help of the soldier, to the LZ. We laid him among the others, and turned him to the left side to keep his airway clear. By then, his bleeding had almost completely stopped. I never forgot that shot. It is in my mind every day.
I hadn’t heard a thing about Roubidoux, for decades, but at a 101 Airborne Reunion, one of his comrades told me he not only made it, but he was fine. No paralysis, rebuild mouth and teeth, and had kids. And grandkids. Too Tough to Kill.
By the by, we took the hill. 14 KIA, 34 wounded. Next day, the enemy ambushed the group of men evacuating the left-over wounded that hadn’t gotten out the night before. It was two of the roughest days I experienced. There were a million things that I witnessed that day, but this was the shot I remembered.
