By Christopher Ronnau

BAPTISM by means of FIRE

Chris Ronnau volunteered for the military and was once despatched to Vietnam in January 1967, armed with an M-14 rifle and American show traveler’s tests. however the latter quickly proved fairly unnecessary because the inner most top notch came across himself within the thick of 2 pivotal, fiercely fought significant crimson One operations, going head-to-head opposed to crack Viet cong and NVA troops within the infamous Iron Triangle and alongside the treacherous Cambodian border close to Tay Ninh.

Patrols, ambushes, plunging down VC tunnels, seek and spoil missions–there have been some ways to force the enemy from his personal yard, as Ronnau speedy stumbled on. in keeping with the magazine Ronnau saved in Vietnam, Blood Trails captures the hellish jungle struggle in all its stark life-and-death immediacy. This wrenching chronicle can also be stirring testimony to the quiet braveness of these unsung American heroes, many no longer but twenty-one, who had a task to do and did it with out complaint–fighting, sacrificing, and loss of life for his or her kingdom.

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Extra resources for Blood Trails: The Combat Diary of a Foot Soldier in Vietnam

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Nearly all of the buildings had bullet pocks. Out in front of the Xua Honda shop, a child sold red gasoline in wine bottles neatly lined up on a small folding table. In the early mornings, when there was sufficient mist to blur the outlines, and the church bell was ringing, the village was almost attractive, but at any other time it was not. The old administration building was supposedly the seat of district civil government. It had a two-story tower of leprous stucco in the center with mismatched one-story appendages to either side, scarred by age, stray bullets, and mold.

Kit saw his name on the roster destined for overseas shipment. The Paris Peace Talks had done nothing. Now he feared only that his resolve to go AWOL would disappear, and he would obey the orders after all. Then, suddenly one day, he was called to headquarters by a major and told that his application to be an officer had, by some process of military mysticism, been approved. He was dumbfounded. paled beside the best part, which was that he would have to take three more months of training stateside.

Something had gone wrong with all of the things that were supposed to arrange for the defense of Firebase Touch-hole. Touchhole was a lonely little place, Mown out of the jungle just months before. It had forty men and six guns. Not much. When the fighting started in the late afternoon Starret saw some of his men killed, a sight that enraged him, and he fired madly into the trees with the others. No one seemed to have a good idea where the little bastards were. The artillery fired wildly. Starret and the rest of his men fired.

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