Losing a friend

Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother would not have died.

John 11:21

We were pulled back from a fire support base named Rockasan I think. But I could be mistaken.
LZ Sally at camp Evans was supposed to be a rear area, and fairly secure. So everyone kind of relaxed and got ready for some good chow and easy duty. Not to mention a few trips to the PX at camp eagle, a hot shower, clean clothes, and dry boots for a change.
We had been there a few days before the 4th. and were loving it. By then Tom Powers had gone back stateside, and I had hooked up with Steve Pessier, nicknamed Pisser. He worked in fire direction control (FDC) and called the fire commands down to the gun sections. We had started to get friendly on FSB Birmingham a few months before. We spent some time together but didn't talk a lot. I guess that was a common thing, trying not to get too close to someone for fear of losing them.

Sept 4, 1969
It was getting dark and I was in the command hut with Pisser, we were not saying much to each other, as usual. I had gotten a tape from my wife at mail call and had not listened to it yet. I said later to Pisser and went outside to sit in a chair by the right side of the building with my tape deck. To this day, I don't know what made me get up and move to my bunker, but I did. No sooner had gotten inside I heard explosions outside. I stuck my head out and saw red streaks all over the area and explosions where they landed. RPG's (rocket propelled grenades)I looked over at the command hut just in time to see one hit on top of the sand bags right over where I had been siting just minutes before. The chair was almost vaporized. I started yelling incoming as loud as I could, and we all ran for the guns (105 howitzers) to return fire. We started to shoot all around the perimiter of the base. The attack stoped as quickly as it had started and they called a stand down. All of this took only a few short moments to happen. After it was over I went over to see how much damage was done to the command hut and if everyone was ok but the first seargent wouldn't let me inside. All he would say is that someone was down and the medic was with him. I later found out what happned. The RPG that struck the sand bags had exploded outside, but the rocket motor had continued through the wall and ripped Pisser in two at the waist. The man only had a few weeks left to go in that shithole of a country. Why had God allowed him to get so close to going home to his family, and then taken him away from them?

The next day I volunteered to help Doc clean up the hut and pack his things to send to his family. We spent hours picking pieces of him out of the ceiling, walls, and floor putting them into plastic bags to go with his body wherever it is that they send our fallen brothers before they are sent home to grieving loved ones. The hut was a mess, and the smell undiscribable. This was an act that I would not soon forget. Those of his belongings that were too Messed up to send home we took to the dump, soaked with gasoline and burned.
After that I never got real friendly with anyone again, and I would never be the same again. The pain is still there after more than thirty years. It is something that I am still learning to live with, and understand.

But I will never be able to forget

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