{"product_id":"very-crazy-gi-isbn-9780804115988","title":"Very Crazy, G.I.!","description":"AMERICAN BOYS AT WAR IN VIETNAM--AND INVOLVED IN INCIDENTS YOU WON'T FIND IN THE NATIONAL ARCHIVES\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn this compelling, highly unusual collection of amazing but true stories, U.S. soldiers reveal fantastic, almost unbelievable events that occurred in places ranging from the deadly Central Highlands to the Cong-infested Mekong Delta.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Finders Keepers\" became the sacred byword for one exhausted recon team who stumbled upon a fortune worth more than $500,000--and managed, with a little American ingenuity, to relocate the bounty to the States. Jorgenson also chronicles Marine Sergeant James Henderson's incredible journey back from the dead, shares a surreal chopper rescue, and recounts some heart-stopping details of the life--and death--of one of America's greatest unsung heroes, a soldier who won more medals than Audie Murphy and Sergeant York. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhether occurring in the bloody, fiery chaos of sudden ambushes or during the endless nights of silent, gnawing menace spent behind enemy lines, these stories of war are truly beaucoup dinky dau . . . and ultimately unforgettable.Kregg P.J. Jorgenson spent seven years in the U.S. Army; three as an infantryman, four as a journalist. After surviving a number of missions as an LRRP with Hotel Company, 75th Infantry (Airborne), Jorgenson transferred to Alpha (AKA Apache) Troop, 1st of the 9th Air Cavalry unit, where he walked point for its reaction force, the Blues. He has the singular distinction of having been shot while on a patrol that was mounted to show TV journalist Richard Threlkeld what the \"real war\" was like, then being interviewed by Threlkeld as he was evacuated. He is also the author of Acceptable Loss: An Infantry Soldier's Perspective and MIA Rescue: LRRPs in Cambodia.\u003cb\u003eDEAD RECKONING\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ePerhaps one of the deadliest threats to anyone sta-tioned\u003cbr\u003ein Vietnam during the war came from Viet Cong or North Vietnamese Army\u003cbr\u003emortar or Katyusha 122mm-rocket artillery fire. At any moment and,\u003cbr\u003eseem-ingly, any facility, the \"incoming\" (as it was better known) could\u003cbr\u003erain down and wound or kill anyone within its deadly radius. In this\u003cbr\u003estory, you'll come to bet-ter understand another aspect of that\u003cbr\u003efrightening reality and, too, the terror of getting hit. In war, you\u003cbr\u003ewill die like a dog for no good reason.\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e--ERNEST HEMINGWAY\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eDong Ha, Vietnam\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe North Vietnamese Army's Van An Rocket Ar-tillery Regiment had it in\u003cbr\u003efor the Marine 3d Recon Bat-talion. At least, at times, it felt that\u003cbr\u003eway. The base camp at Dong Ha seemed to be one of their favorite target\u003cbr\u003eareas and, too, maybe one of their easiest. Dong Ha was located on\u003cbr\u003eHighway 9, less than ten miles from the DMZ in the I Corps Military\u003cbr\u003eRegion, the northernmost of the four corps tactical zones into which\u003cbr\u003eVietnam was divided. The DMZ was the infamous and misnamed Demilitarized\u003cbr\u003eZone that separated North Vietnam from South Vietnam, and it was\u003cbr\u003eanything but demilitarized. The North Vietnamese Army used it as a\u003cbr\u003espringboard for attacks in I Corps, and since their rocket artillery\u003cbr\u003erounds could easily cover the distance, Dong Ha was not only a target of\u003cbr\u003echoice for the NVA artillery gunners but a target of opportunity as\u003cbr\u003ewell.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis time, they were walking the Russian 122mm rockets into the base\u003cbr\u003ewith such precision that even the uninitiated could see it wasn't a\u003cbr\u003erandom attack. The deafening explosions of the forty-pound warheads\u003cbr\u003eerupted in an evident pattern as specific sites were being targeted.\u003cbr\u003eWith their vast spy network throughout the re-gion, the Communist\u003cbr\u003egunners knew the Marine facility well and took full advantage of the\u003cbr\u003eknowledge.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHowever, even before the first rocket slammed into the tents or\u003cbr\u003etin-roofed barracks hootches, and split sec-onds before the base camp's\u003cbr\u003ewarning siren began build-ing into a screaming wail, Sgt. James P.\u003cbr\u003eHenderson recognized their distinctive whoosh, like a truck's tires at\u003cbr\u003ehigh speed on a wet road, for what it was and yelled at his people to\u003cbr\u003eget to the protective sandbagged bunkers outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Incoming!\" the wiry noncommissioned officer yelled, pulling Marines out\u003cbr\u003eof the barracks and shoving them toward the nearest bunker, just around\u003cbr\u003ethe corner of the hootch. \"Go! Go! Go!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe rockets were falling in rapid succession, dancing across the base in\u003cbr\u003edeadly, macabre steps. Whoomphs fol-lowed the screaming whooshes and the\u003cbr\u003ethundering roars of secondary explosions that told of direct hits. Hot\u003cbr\u003eshrapnel rained across the camp, ripping and tearing through anything\u003cbr\u003eand anyone in its way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRising black plumes and the acrid, oily odor of burn-ing fuel confirmed\u003cbr\u003ethe NVA gunners' accuracy. Since the bases and camps were stationary,\u003cbr\u003ethe ranges had long been defined and plotted by the Viet Cong and NVA.\u003cbr\u003eBe-sides, they'd had years of practice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother 122mm rocket slammed into the next hootch over, tearing through\u003cbr\u003ethe sheet-metal roofing and gutting the wood-frame building.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomeone was screaming for a corpsman, then the call was drowned out by\u003cbr\u003estill another series of whoomphs and explosions. The impacts and\u003cbr\u003edetonations sent tremors across the base.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis rifle in hand, Henderson grabbed his flak jacket and steel-pot\u003cbr\u003ehelmet and took off in a dead run, follow-ing the others. If a ground\u003cbr\u003eattack followed, he would damn well be ready. The North Vietnamese Army\u003cbr\u003esome-times attempted a ground assault after a shelling, hoping that the\u003cbr\u003eAmericans' defenses had been weakened or were inadequately manned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHenderson had just turned the corner of his hootch and was within a few\u003cbr\u003efeet of the bunker's opening when a rocket exploded a few yards behind\u003cbr\u003ehim. The blast slammed into his back, and the intense heat, splintered\u003cbr\u003emetal, and concussion lifted him up off the ground forcefully and threw\u003cbr\u003ehim down limply like a discarded doll.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe pain was intense and overwhelming, and when Henderson tried to lift\u003cbr\u003ehimself up and turn over, his arms and legs wouldn't respond. They\u003cbr\u003ecouldn't. There was too much weight on his legs and back. Lying facedown\u003cbr\u003ein the hard-packed orange earth, he wondered what had fallen on top of\u003cbr\u003ehim. Building debris, most likely. But why was it so heavy?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis breaths were shallow, and he was soon struggling for air, fighting a\u003cbr\u003edark current that threatened to sweep up and overpower him. His chest\u003cbr\u003eburned, and the air that somehow squeezed through to his lungs only\u003cbr\u003efanned his pain. In the distance, someone was yelling for a corpsman,\u003cbr\u003ebut the voice seemed too far away to matter. He knew he was hurt, but he\u003cbr\u003ecouldn't determine how badly. What was on his back?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe couldn't see any debris, but then he couldn't focus either; every\u003cbr\u003etime he opened his eyes, a searing light burned through his sockets. It\u003cbr\u003ewas too bright and blind-ing to let anything else in. Then, in an\u003cbr\u003einstant, the light began to fade, and a shadowy world took its place\u003cbr\u003earound him. He was fading into black.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMost of his hearing was lost, and what sound filtered through was\u003cbr\u003emuffled by the blood he could feel flowing from his ears. He would learn\u003cbr\u003elater that his eardrums were shattered. Between the shaking from the\u003cbr\u003efollow-up explosions and the cool shuddering earth, he could feel the\u003cbr\u003eburning pain of his broken body.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomething was flowing down the side of his face and spilling into his\u003cbr\u003emouth. The droplets tasted like warm copper droplets, and memory\u003cbr\u003erecognized it instantly. It was blood. He wanted to spit it out but\u003cbr\u003ecouldn't even find the strength to do that. Instead, he managed to use\u003cbr\u003ehis tongue to push it through his lips, and it dribbled to the ground.\u003cbr\u003eHe could feel it pool in the soil beneath his cheek.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen he tried to call for help nothing came out. The shallow exhaled\u003cbr\u003ebreaths didn't allow words, and in a terrible, frightening instant, he\u003cbr\u003eunderstood his fate. He was dying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePanic began to take over, but it was too late for that, too. The shadows\u003cbr\u003egrew darker, and the pain lessened, drifting off, actually leaving him\u003cbr\u003ein the cold tide of dark-ness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll around him, the rain of rockets fell, then finally danced off to\u003cbr\u003eanother part of the base. Through the earth, he felt their rumble\u003cbr\u003ediminish, moving away in big, labored steps.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMoments later, it was still. Too still.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing for Henderson. No\u003cbr\u003esudden rush of life's reruns or re-grets. Nothing but white noise and an\u003cbr\u003einternal pounding that replaced the exploding artillery rounds. The\u003cbr\u003einter-nal pounding was his pulse, and he could sense that the beats were\u003cbr\u003elessening.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen he still couldn't see, but he could feel someone at his side gently\u003cbr\u003eturning him over, and he heard a yell, \"Over here! Head wound!\" The\u003cbr\u003eMarine sergeant could barely hear the other wounded and dying Marines\u003cbr\u003ecry-ing around him, but that was enough to bring back the panic.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I can't get a pulse! Don't die on me, you son of a bitch!\" he heard\u003cbr\u003ethat someone say as though in the dis-tance, and although Henderson\u003cbr\u003ecouldn't see the Marine shaking his head wearily or see the man's\u003cbr\u003eblood-drenched hands, he could sense what was happening next as the man\u003cbr\u003elowered him back to the ground. \"Ah, Christ!\" the man said, distant and\u003cbr\u003efaint.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Don't go! I'm not dead!\" Henderson yelled in his mind, only no one else\u003cbr\u003ecould hear. The back of his head was broken open where rocket shrapnel\u003cbr\u003ehad pushed his steel pot back into his skull like a baseball shattering\u003cbr\u003ea window.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJames P. Henderson's world and life were bleeding away, swirling\u003cbr\u003esteadily toward a small opening of light propped against a dark sea\u003cbr\u003ebackdrop. He was being sucked into a whirlpool, and he fought it until\u003cbr\u003ethere was no choice but to spiral with it; he didn't have the strength,\u003cbr\u003eand he realized it with a reluctant acceptance. He wouldn't go easily,\u003cbr\u003ebut he was going. Within sec-onds, he was gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKilled In Action.Author of Acceptable Loss","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301606412517,"sku":"NP9780804115988","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780804115988.jpg?v=1767743423","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/very-crazy-gi-isbn-9780804115988","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}