Within the ranks of the military, there exists a certain rivalry between those who serve on the front lines and those who serve in the rear with the gear. While all jobs contribute to putting Americans in the fight, the Marines have long prized their beloved infantry above all.
In modern terms, it is referred to as the "grunt versus POG debate" with POG referring to "persons other than grunts." In Vietnam, one might have heard the term REMF.
Whatever one might call those in the rear, it would serve students of history well to hold their tongue before calling men like Army mess hall cook Wilson Watson a POG or REMF. Little would they know that they would be speaking of a former Marine who fought the Japanese Army alone for 15 minutes on Iwo Jima before the rest of his platoon caught up.
The cook serving up a healthy dose of SOS on a plate had previously served up violence on Iwo Jima that would lead to the deaths of 60 enemy soldiers. Yes, quite literally, the soldier cracking eggs in one war was a Medal of Honor recipient Marine in another.
Wilson Watson was born in 1922 in Tuscumbia, Alabama, to Charles and Ada Watson. While they looked upon their newborn baby with adoration, little did they know he would one day earn the nickname "The One-Man Regiment." In a family with twelve children, it is likely safe to assume that Watson had to do his share of fighting growing up. He spent much of his youth working on his father's farm and was only able to complete seven years of grade school as a result.
When his nation was thrust into the fray of World War II, Watson didn't hesitate to do his part. August of 1942 saw him at a United States Marine Corps recruiting station in Little Rock, Arkansas, where he began his journey towards a Medal of Honor Marine. He attended basic training at the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego before eventually deploying overseas with his fellow Marines, ready for the fight.
Although Iwo Jima was where he would earn his unique place in military history, Watson gained experience as a combat veteran elsewhere throughout the Pacific. Serving with G Company, 2nd Battalion 9th Marines, he saw action in Bougainville, Guadalcanal, and Guam. When the Marines finally hit the beaches of Iwo Jima in February of 1945 for their most iconic battle, they had no idea that a one-man regiment existed among them.
Nearly a week after the initial landings, Watson and his fellow Marines had already witnessed what level of savagery it would take to overcome the island. The Japanese were well dug in, with a zealous commitment to fight to the death.
Fortunately for America, the Marines were more than ready to match their aggression. As February 26 dawned, Watson's squad became pinned down by enemy fortifications that poured withering fire into the Marines. Upon his own initiative, Watson rushed the first enemy pillbox alone.
After pinning down the Japanese with rifle fire, he approached the opening of the pillbox and tossed in a grenade. Then, for good measure, he ran around to the back of the enclosure in anticipation of those retreating. When they arrived as expected, he cut them down with a lethal burst of fire. Not yet done with his acts of gallantry, Watson charged into action again when his fellow Marines came under fire from some Japanese soldiers on a small hill.
Watson scaled the rocky escarpment, killing every enemy that crossed his path. The Japanese, who were none too pleased with his presence, began to pepper the hill with mortars and grenades. Remarkably, Watson could be seen standing erect, gifting violence right back to the enemy the entire time.
For nearly 15 minutes, Watson stood alone on the fire-swept hill, although wounded multiple times by bullets and mortar fragments, holding the position until the rest of his platoon could catch up. On that hill alone, it was estimated that he had killed nearly 60 Japanese. Thus, the legend of "the one-man regiment" was born. In the attack, he was shot seven times and was hit in the shoulder by mortar fragments. He was evacuated from Iwo Jima after he suffered a gunshot wound in the neck on March 2, 1945.
On October 5, 1945, Private Wilson Watson was presented the Medal of Honor by President Harry S. Truman at the White House.
Following his discharge from the Marine Corps, he enlisted in the United States Army Air Force, and then the United States Army as a Private, where for a time he served in the mundane role of mess hall cook. He eventually reached the rank of Staff Sergeant and finally retired from the military in 1966.
He was married to wife Patricia, with whom he had two children: Ricky (b. 1953) and Darlene (b. 1962).
Wilson "Doug" Watson-the man that an entire Japanese garrison on Iwo Jima couldn't seem to kill eventually passed away as a local hero and legend on December 19, 1994, in Russellville, Arkansas.
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Maj. Gen. Sidney Shachnow survived three years in a Nazi concentration camp, he deployed twice to the jungles of Vietnam, and he was the top U.S. Army officer in Berlin at the end of the Cold War.
Along the way, the general became a legendary Special Forces officer, revered by many in the close-knit community of Green Berets.
Born in Lithuania in 1934, Shachnow faced oppression in his homeland and found his calling in the U.S. Army after immigrating to America in 1950.
He enlisted in the military in 1955 and served for more than 39 years, including 32 in the Special Forces community.
His top posts included leadership of the John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center and School and U.S. Army Special Forces Command at Fort Bragg and U.S. Army-Berlin in Germany.
"Maj. Gen. Sidney Shachnow truly lived the American dream," said officials at the Special Warfare Center and School, which the general commanded from 1991 until his retirement in 1994. "He came up through the ranks from private to major general through hard work and selfless service to this nation and the men and women under his command."
"Even in retirement, Maj. Gen. Shachnow remained committed to the Special Forces Regiment, serving in a variety of volunteer roles and serving on a number of boards," officials said. "He continued to provide sage guidance and sound counsel to commanders throughout the enterprise, and specifically here at the Special Warfare Center and School. Maj. Gen. Shachnow cast a long shadow, and we will miss him dearly."
As a 7-year-old boy, he was among thousands of Jews imprisoned in the Kovno concentration camp near Kaunus, Lithuania.
For three years he endured countless brutalities in the camp and was forced to watch helplessly as almost every single one of his extended family were slaughtered.
To increase his prospects of survival, young Shachnow performed heavy manual labor under harsh conditions. He narrowly escaped death only days before Kovno' s gruesome "Children's Action" of March 27 - 28, 1944, when Nazi troops rounded up all children in the camp and marched them to The Ninth Fort for execution or to Auschwitz to be gassed.
"Our camp did things the old-fashioned way," he said in a speech at Elon University, in North Carolina, in 2014. "Several bulldozers would dig a ditch; people would be asked to move to the edge of the ditch. In most cases, they were naked. Automatic weapons would kill them. They would fall into the ditch, some wounded and not dead, and if you were lying on the ledge, an individual would throw you into the ditch."
After years of escalating brutality (in one instance, a guard beat him with a shovel), his family devised an improbable but successful escape plan for him. Leaving behind his weeping parents one morning before dawn, 9-year-old Sidney hid under his Uncle Willie's long coat as the uncle, with Sidney moving in rhythm with him, walked through the gates, passing guards and a work detail that was often sent outside the ghetto. Shortly afterward, children at the camp were liquidated.
When he and his uncle reached the streets beyond the gates of the ghetto, he said, his uncle gave him a prearranged signal to emerge from under the coat and find his contact, a woman wearing a red kerchief. Following the route he had been given, he found her and followed her to temporary safety - in a storage room of a building with a table, chairs, and a toilet.
Afterward, he was taken in by a Roman Catholic family and lived with them for several months. He was then reunited with his mother, and his younger brother, Mula, who had been smuggled to safety disguised as a girl. For a while, they lived in the family's house in Kaunas with Soviet officers; the Red Army had by then taken control of Lithuania.
But fearing that the Communists would seal the country's borders after the war, Sidney left with his mother and brother on a six-month 2,000-mile trek by foot, wagon, and train through Lithuania, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Austria before settling in Furth, Germany, near Nuremberg, in the fall of 1945. His father, who had been fighting the Germans with partisans, rejoined them, and they charted a path to the United States.
To make a living in war-torn Nuremberg, Shachnow resorted to pirating black market contraband such as nylon stockings and chocolate. It was during this time that he learned to speak German.
"After I finished that experience, I was very cynical about people," he said. "I didn't trust people. I thought that there is a dark side to people. If you leave things to people, they'll probably screw things up."
In 1950 the family left Germany on a Navy transport ship and arrived in Boston. Sidney, his parents, and brother settled in Salem, Mass., where relatives had preceded them to America.
Sidney attended high school but dropped out in 1955 and joined the Army. He married Arlene Armstrong - a Jewish-Catholic union that his parents opposed.
After moving to the United States, Shachnow began a new life with his family in Massachusetts but dropped out of school to enlist in the Army, despite hardly being able to speak English.
He later attended Officer Candidate School as a Sergeant First Class and was commissioned in 1960 as an Infantry Officer. He served with the 4th Armored Division until 1962 when he volunteered for Special Forces.
He served with the 5th Special Forces Group. He commanded the secretive "Detachment A," a small team of Special Forces soldiers who operated in Berlin during the Cold War and prepared for a possible war with the Soviet Union. Many of its members later went on to help form Delta Force (B-52).
His status grew as Special Forces grew, rising to the rank of Major General, receiving both a master's and an honorary doctoral degree along the way. He traveled the world, from Vietnam to the Middle East, Africa, Europe, Korea, and back to Germany as commander of all-American forces in Berlin when the Berlin Wall was toppled, near the end of the Soviet Union.
"Here it is the very capital of fascism and the Third Reich. The very buildings and streets where they were goose-stepping and heil-Hitler and the very system that put me in the camp and killed many people," he said. "Here we are 40 some-odd years later, and I come back to be Commander of American forces in that city and a Jew on top of that. It sorts of adds insult to injury, doesn't it?"
While serving in Infantry, Airborne, Airmobile, and Special Forces units, he also earned degrees from the University of Nebraska and Shippensburg State College in Pennsylvania. And he received an honorary doctorate from the Harvard Executive Management Program.
Shachnow was inducted as a Distinguished Member of the Special Forces Regiment in 2007.
During his military career, his awards and decorations included two Distinguished Service Medals, two Silver Stars, the Defense Superior Service Medal, the Legion of Merit, three Bronze Stars, and two Purple Hearts, among other honors.
He also was honored with the U.S. Special Operations medal for outstanding contributions to the special operations community and is included on the honor roll in the Infantry Officers' Hall of Fame at Fort Benning, Georgia.
Following his retirement, Shachnow authored a best-selling autobiography, "Hope and Honor," which was published in 2004.
The late Col. Aaron Bank, known as the "father of the Green Berets," once called Maj. Gen. Shachnow, a "determined, dedicated, dyed-in-the-wool Special Forces officer."
And Bob Charest, a veteran of Detachment A who twice served under Shachnow, said the general would be remembered as one of the greatest leaders in Special Forces history. "He stood out throughout his career," Charest said. "He is quite an icon among Special Forces troops."
Maj. Gen. Shachnow, 83, who lived in Southern Pines, died Sept. 27, 2018, and is survived by his wife Arlene, four daughters, and more than a dozen grandchildren.
But his legacy lives on.
During WWII, an American fighter pilot saw combat over all three Axis territories. By war's end, he had destroyed Italian, German, and Japanese planes.
That man was Louis Edward Curdes, who was born on November 2, 1919, in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Though an engineering student at Purdue University, he joined the Army Reserves on March 12, 1942. In his third year, he dropped out of college to take up flight school at Luke Field, Arizona, which he graduated on December 3. He was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant and sent to Europe in March 1943.
In late April 1943, 2nd Lt. Louis E. Curdes flew his first mission in a Lockheed P-38G Lightning for the 95th Fighter Squadron, 82nd Fighter Group. Over Cap Bon, Tunisia, his flight ran into a group of Messerschmitt Me-109s. Curdes got behind one. "I could see my tracers curving right into his nose," he said. "I broke off at 100 yards and passed in front of the '109, which nosed over and went straight in. There was a big splash and an oval of white foam."
Separated from his flight, Curdes spotted three Messerschmitts chasing a Lightning just above the water. He attacked the right-hand plane. "My tracers went into him, puffs of black and white smoke came out, and he did a wingover straight in," he reported. The remaining Germans were still pursuing the struggling P-38. "I made a 30-degree deflection shot at the leader, closing to 20 degrees and making about 350 mph. The '109 bursts into flames, exploded and flopped into the water." With three kills on his first mission, Curdes named his P-38 Good Devil, adorning its nose with an image of Lucifer wearing a halo.
On May 19, after the 82nd escorted B-25 Mitchell bombers to Sardinia, eight Me-109s engaged the Americans over the Mediterranean. "My leader chased one ME 109 off the tail of the first element, and another came in at about a 30-degree angle," Curdes recalled. "I shot him down. We were attacked again, and everyone seemed mixed up. These M.E.s were fast and persistent, and three dived at us from the rear." Curdes turned into their attack. "I fired at the first M.E. and missed, but he took off. The second one I shot into the sea." After just two missions and a little over a month of combat, he had five swastikas painted on his P-38.
Curdes opened his account against a second Axis power on June 24th, shooting down an Italian Macchi C.202 over Sardinia. In August, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, but later that month, his luck ran out.
On August 27, the 95th tangled with 50 enemy fighters over Naples. Curdes claimed two before his Lightning was hit. He crash-landed in enemy territory and was captured. That should have been the end of his fighter pilot career. Days later, however, Italy withdrew from the war, and the Italian prison guards simply went home, leaving the prisoners to fend for themselves. Curdes made his way south, and on May 27th, 1944-nine months to the day after being shot down, he met up with the advancing British Eighth Army.
Regulations forbade a former POW to risk fighting on the same front, lest he be recaptured and tortured to reveal the details of his escape and evasion. But the war wasn't over, and Curdes had plenty of fight left. He transferred to the Pacific.
On January 6, 1945, U.S. forces landed at Lingayen, in the Philippines. Flying with the 4th Fighter Squadron, 3rd Air Commando Group, Curdes named his P-51D "Bad Angel." On February 7th, 30 miles southwest of Formosa, the lieutenant completed his hat trick, downing a Mitsubishi Ki-46 twin-engine reconnaissance plane.
Just three days later, Curdes made history during an attack on a Japanese airstrip on Batan Island, in the Formosa Straits. His flight of four Mustangs shot down two enemy fighters and got three others on the ground. After his section leader was hit by flak and bailed out over the water, Curdes messaged home to bring more fighters and ordered his wingman up to 15,000 feet to radio for a flying boat rescue. Then he headed back down to strafe the airfield to keep any remaining enemy fighters on the ground.
When Curdes came up again, he spotted a twin-engine transport approaching the field at a low level from the east. Noting the American stars on what appeared to be a Douglas C-47 Skytrain, he at first thought, "Those damned Japs have patched up one of our buggies and didn't even have the grace to take the markings off."
"The P-51 pilot had to decide whether it was one of our own planes that were lost or a Jap-built DC-3 (Showa/Nakajima L2D), with American insignia," explained General George C. Kenney, commander of Allied air forces in the Southwest Pacific Area. "He flew up alongside and satisfied himself that the pilot was not a Jap."
Curdes also recognized on the Skytrain the markings of the "Jungle Skippers," the 39th Military Airlift Squadron of the 317th Troop Carrier Group. The transport had taken off from Leyte for Manila with eight passengers, including two nurses. Rough weather had carried it far off course, and after almost five hours in the air, the C-47 was low on fuel and couldn't raise any help via radio. According to the after-action report: "We received no bearings or response of any kind. The airplane continued until 1150 hours and was still over water. The pilot then informed his passengers that he was in trouble and would set the airplane down on the first land he saw." Unfortunately, the crew didn't realize the island they headed for was enemy-held Batan.
"I tried to contact the pilot by radio," Curdes noted. "This failed."
"He then dived in front of the transport to keep it from landing on the Jap-held strip," related Kenney. "The pilot of the transport circled again and again started to glide in for a landing. The P-51 pilot then decided on a desperate measure."
"The gear was put down," the report continued, "and at 150 ft altitude, with the airplane at half flaps and about to be put down, six strings of tracers came up in front of us."
"I shot across the nose of the ship," Curdes said, "but still, he came on." In what he later referred to as a "last resort," he then closed to 20 yards, took careful aim, and used his machine guns to take out the Skytrain's right engine. Still, the transport held course. The passengers and crew inside must have been horrified to see the Mustang then sideslip over to port and shoot up their left engine.
That did it. "We ditched 300 yards from shore," they reported. "Four rafts were put out. One was perforated by bullets and sank. The 12 of us got into the three rafts. The P-51 circled us for an hour but did not fire again."
Curdes dropped them a message: "For God's sake, keep away from shore. Japs there." By then, however, everybody had figured that out. "We were out about a mile when machine guns and rifles opened up on us from the shore," the crew noted. "We were out of range, but the shooting continued for 30 minutes."
Curdes and his wingman flew back to base but returned to Batan before dawn to find the life rafts, including that of their section leader, still bobbing in the waves west of the island. The P-51s flew cover until a PBY-5A Catalina arrived and picked up everybody.
"They were all quite put out at the action of the P-51 pilot until the situation was explained to them," remembered Kenney, "but from then on, the kid was the greatest hero of the war as far as they were concerned."
Back at base, Curdes was shocked to discover on the C-47 passenger manifest the name of a nurse he had dated the night before. "Jeepers," was his comment-or at least that's what the reporter who wrote up Curdes' story for the August 1945 issue of Air Force magazine recalled. "Seven 109's and one Macchi in North Africa, one Jap, and one Yank in the Pacific-and to top it, I have to go out and shoot down the girlfriend."
Curdes repeated the maneuver twice more, but the plane was determined to land on the Japanese airstrip. Desperate to stop it, Curdes fired at its right engine, but the thing just kept on going. So, he took out its other engine, forcing the plane to land on the water. Out came a dinghy, not far from La Croix's own. Shortly after, people started climbing on it-they were Americans, not Japanese. Relieved, La Croix paddled over and explained the situation to them.
The plane had gotten lost in bad weather, apparently, and its radio had stopped working. Running out of fuel, the pilot made a beeline toward the landing strip, not knowing it was Japanese. Overhead, Curdes kept watch until more U.S. planes came to the rescue.
"The P-51 lad already had painted on the nose of his airplane seven Nazi swastikas and one Italian insignia - as well as a Jap flag for a victory in the Pacific," Kenney recalled. "He added an American flag in memory of his latest exploit." But since the C-47 was not counted as an official victory, Louis Curdes' final score stands at nine.
In recognition of his quick thinking and sharpshooting, he received an Oak Leaf Cluster to his Distinguished Flying Cross. General Kenny said, "I awarded him an Air Medal for the job and told him I hoped he wouldn't feel called on to repeat that performance."
After World War II, he joined an Air National Guard unit at Baer Field and remained there until 1948. In Allen County, Indiana, April 2, 1946, he married Svetlana Valeria, one of the passengers of the C-47 he shot down in the Philippines. Curdes returned to active duty, this time again with the United States Air Force. He participated in the Berlin airlift during the opening stages of the Cold War.
He was promoted to Major on September 1, 1951, and retired from the Air Force as a Lieutenant Colonel in October 1963. After he retired from the Air Force, he started a construction company under the name of Curdes Builders Company.
Louis Curdes died on February 5, 1995, at the age of 75, and was buried at Lindenwood Cemetery in Fort Wayne. His widow Valeria died on October 10, 2013, at the age of 87.
On Oct. 7, 2001, less than a month after the Sept. 11th terror attacks, U.S. warplanes bombed targets in Afghanistan in what would be the opening offensive of Operation Enduring Freedom, the effort to drive the Taliban and al-Qaida from the country and install a democratic government.
CIA operatives and U.S. Special Forces teamed with the mostly-Tajik Northern Alliance to take Kabul, Mazar-i-Sharif, and other cities under an air umbrella that was provided primarily by the Navy and used Joint Direct Attack Munitions to devastating effect.
Then-Marine Brig. Gen. Jim Mattis led Task Force 58, consisting of the 15th and 26th Marine Expeditionary Units, on an air assault that eventually resulted in the taking of Kandahar, the birthplace of the Taliban movement.
By Dec. 9, 2001, the Taliban had collapsed, and leader Mullah Omar had fled to Pakistan. Then, the U.S. focus turned to the invasion of Iraq.
On Oct. 7, 2018, the military endgame for the U.S. in Afghanistan was still an increasingly difficult and long-term work in progress. That date marked the start of the 18th year of war in Afghanistan-a war that has claimed thousands of American lives and shows no clear indication of ending.
The resurgent Taliban is back and firmly in control of large swaths of territory. Osama Bin Laden is dead, but U.S. and Afghan special forces are still on the hunt for elements of al-Qaida. The new terrorist factor is the ISIS offshoot called Islamic State-Khorasan Province, or "ISIS-K."
The "blood and treasure" costs to the U.S. continue to mount.
Last week, Army National Guard Spec. James A. Slape, 23, of Morehead City, North Carolina, was killed by an improvised explosive device in contested southwestern Helmand province, the center of Afghanistan's thriving poppy trade.
He was the seventh combat fatality and eighth overall for the U.S. this year. Since the war began, at least 2,414 U.S., 455 British, and 686 troops from other coalition nations have been killed in Afghanistan for a total of 3,555, according to the website icasualties.org.
Depending on who is doing the counting, and how it is done, the estimates for the costs of the war for the U.S. since 2001 have generally exceeded $1 trillion. The Pentagon estimates the U.S. will spend at least $45 billion on the war effort this year.
Since 2001, U.S. policy has changed radically. The main goal is no longer to drive the Taliban out of Afghanistan but rather to drive them into a negotiated peace settlement to end the war, according to Army Gen. John Nicholson. He recently turned over command of U.S.-Forces Afghanistan and the NATO Resolute Support Mission to Army Gen. Scott Miller.
At his Senate confirmation hearing in June, Miller said he would not talk about turning points "unless there is one" and that he could not guarantee "a timeline or an end date" to the war.
The estimated 14,000 to 15,000 U.S. troops in Miller's command are operating under a new strategy for Afghanistan announced in August 2017 by President Donald Trump.
At the time, Trump acknowledged that his first instinct was to withdraw all U.S. forces. Still, he agreed with the advice of Mattis and others to initiate a "conditions-based" approach with no timelines that would put more focus on counter-terror raids and airpower to back the increasingly stressed Afghan security forces.
On Sunday, the top headline for Afghanistan's TOLO news agency was from a Pew Research Center report: "Study Finds Americans Feel U.S. Involvement Has Failed."
The Pew poll of 1,745 people, conducted Sept. 18-24, showed that 49 percent believed the U.S. effort in Afghanistan to be a failure.
Also, on Sunday, veteran diplomat Zalmay Khalilzad arrived in Kabul as the new U.S. Special Representative for Afghanistan Reconciliation. His remarks echoed what other U.S. envoys have said going back to 2001.
"I will cooperate with Afghan officials and other influential Afghans to reach a peace" to end more than 40 years of conflict in Afghanistan stretching back to before the Soviet invasion in 1979, he said.
"We in cooperation want to make a peaceful Afghanistan," he said, "where all tribes see themselves included, have the right to choose and will try to achieve a result that should deserve the sacrifices made during the years."
In 1961, President Kennedy described the counterinsurgency in Vietnam as "another type of war, new in its intensity, ancient in its origin, requiring a wholly different kind of military training."
At that time, traveling from the Philippines to the Bay of Siam (now the Bay of Thailand), 20-year-old Marine Cpl. David Crandal, like most Americans, had never heard of Vietnam.
Crandal enlisted in the Marines in 1959. After boot camp in San Diego, he was sent to Camp Pendleton for infantry training and then back to San Diego for communications school.
He was then shipped off to Okinawa and, shortly thereafter, to Japan's Mt. Fuji for cold-weather training.
"I'm not sure how long I was there," he chuckled, "but it was long enough to know that I didn't like it."
After returning to Okinawa, Crandal spent much of his time on daily military maneuvers as a member of the Artillery Battalion of the 3rd Marine Division, 12th Marines. At night, the Marines enjoyed "Cinderella Liberty," so named because troops had to be back on base by midnight.
"One day, we returned from maneuvers at 3 p.m. and were told there would be no liberty that night. We were instructed to pack our field transport packs and put everything else into our sea bags, which we might never see again. There was an enormous amount of ammunition and artillery in numerous bunkers," he said. "We spent 24 hours a day for four days carrying heavy ammunition cases from the bunkers to ships."
The Marines were flown to the Philippines, and eventually, Crandal found himself on a Marine helicopter carrier bound for the Bay of Siam.
During his service off the coast of Thailand, Crandal had two occupational specialties (MOS). Aboard the Marine Corps' only helicopter carrier, he trained Marines in radio communications, maps, and coordinates. The primary task of the carrier was to take on damaged helicopters, replacing them with reconditioned choppers.
"One day, I was on deck when an approaching helicopter dropped straight down into the water just as it reached the ship," Crandal said. "Immediately, lots of little sampans rowed out from every direction to rescue the pilots. It looked like a wagon wheel with spokes. 
The pilots were saved, but they were really shaken up. Many of the helicopters we got had been patched up in the field with duct tape. At this time, we were supposedly just 'advisors' in Vietnam; but people were being killed, and these helicopters all had holes in them."
Crandal's second MOS was as an artillery forward observer for communications with naval gunfire. To respond quickly to a situation, the military devised battalion landing teams. The teams were comprised of specialists from different companies who were versed in radio communications, Morse code, artillery observation, and spotting. These versatile teams were called in as reinforcement when the Navy needed to get things done quickly. As a forward observer, Crandal went ashore and directed the ship's gunners to specific targets, giving them the coordinates and then correcting fire after observing where the artillery hit. During his two years overseas, he served on 11 different ships.
Crandal returned to San Francisco from Southeast Asia by ship in 1962. He did not encounter demonstrators since most of the country was still unaware of any U.S. military action in Vietnam. However, his was not a joyous return.
"We got off the ship, and there was nobody there, except for a few parents," he recalled. "My parents were 3,000 miles away. It was not much of a homecoming."
On Saturday, Oct. 6, 2018, Americans had a second chance to welcome home their patriots. Early that morning, 92 Vietnam War, seven Korean War, and three World War II 
veterans gathered at Asheville Regional Airport, excited about the day's adventure made possible by Blue Ridge Honor Flight - a trip to visit the memorials of Washington, D.C.
Blue Ridge Honor Flight was founded in 2006 by Jeff Miller of Hendersonville. Miller co-founded the national organization, Honor Flight Network, which has escorted almost 300,000 veterans to Washington, D.C.
Saturday's excursion held special significance for Miller.
"This was our first official flight of Vietnam War veterans," he said. "For all of us at Blue Ridge Honor Flight, it was special knowing the appalling treatment these veterans received when they returned from Vietnam."
The veterans were accompanied by volunteer guardians, Honor Flight staff members and a support team of medical personnel.
Unfortunately, the departure was delayed for more than three hours due to fog, and several stops in D.C. had to be omitted; however, every cloud has its silver lining. Clark Murray, of Brevard, viewed the delay as a blessing.
"It enabled me to talk to the other veterans," Murray said. "It was very interesting to hear their experiences. We didn't get into the politics of the war. It was where you were, what you did, your rank, observations as you were serving there, the weather hot, cold, humid the mosquitos, and the rats. I hadn't really talked to anyone much about my experience in Vietnam for more than 40 years. The time with my fellow veterans was a healing experience."
When the American Airlines flight finally landed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, the veterans encountered enthusiastic, cheering crowds as they filed off the plane into the terminal.
"I said to myself, 'Wow, what's going on here?'" said Crandal. "It was so unexpected!"
Murray added, "It was a serendipity moment. What a great way to start the day!"
Other highlights included a "water salute" by fire trucks at both Reagan and Asheville airports; a police escort with sirens by officers who had volunteered their time (the four buses did not stop for a red light throughout the day); a unique ceremony at the Lincoln Memorial where an Army general and an honor guard thanked the veterans; and a visit from WWII veteran, 95-year-old U.S. Sen. Robert Dole, who personally greets as many honor flights as possible.
But the top of the list of memorable moments was the visit to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, or "the Wall." The experience moved many veterans and guardians to tears as the group slowly walked along the black granite wall bearing the names of the 58,000 American men and women who died in the Vietnam war.
"I had never been there," said Crandal. "What strikes you the first time you see it is that it's huge, with so many names. I was surprised that the first casualties listed were in 1959."
Murray had visited the Wall twice before the Honor Flight excursion.
"The first time I just bawled," he said. "This time was a very meaningful experience knowing that everyone around me had served in Vietnam. I thought about all those families devastated by the death of their loved ones."
As Vietnam War veteran Larry Moore gazed somberly at the Wall, he commented to his guardian, "They left as idealistic young men and women, and they returned as cargo."
It was, indeed, a sober and emotional experience for veterans, guardians, and Honor Flight support staff. While nobody greeted David Crandal when he returned to San Francisco in 1962, seven years later, Murray's experience in Seattle was the opposite.
"We noticed a large, noisy crowd as we came down the exit," he said. "We thought they were cheering, welcoming us home. Instead, they were screaming and jeering. We had no idea of the intensity and magnitude of the protests going on at that time. It was a confined area, so close that I was spit on several times. We were in shock. We thought, why are they angry? We're home; this is a time of rejoicing."
Fifty years later, on the evening of Oct. 6, 2018, Crandal, Murray, and 90 other Vietnam veterans finally had their moment of rejoicing as they returned to the Asheville Regional Airport.
Miller described this long-awaited homecoming. "Bands, bagpipes and drums, Honor Guard, and throngs of thankful family, friends, and admirers waving flags, holding up signs, shaking hands and yelling 'thank you for your service' greeted them as they made their way through.
"This time, there were tears of joy and smiles on the faces of those who never had the welcome home they so deserved."
'When Can I Stop Running' is the author's second book, and like his first best-selling, award-winning book 'Cherries,' it is mostly a work of fiction. Still, the many events described in the book come from Podlaski's actual experiences during his tour of duty while serving in Vietnam in 1970-71.
In this book, Podlaski brings back John 'Polack' Kowalski, the central character in 'Cherries,' and introduces Louis ('LG') Gladwell, his irrepressible black friend. Polack and LG are a 'Salt and Pepper' team and best buddies and brothers in a way that only those who have fought side-by-side in a war can ever truly understand.
The vast majority of the book itself takes place as the two buddies spend a very long night in a Listening Post ('LP'), some 500 meters beyond the bunker line of the new firebase.
Their assignment as a "human early warning system," is to listen for enemy activity and forewarn the base of any potential dangers. As they were new to the "Iron Triangle" and its reputation, little did they know that units before them lost dozens of soldiers in this nightly high-risk task and referred to those assigned as "bait for the enemy" and "sacrificial lambs."
With visibility at less than two feet, sitting in the pitch-black tropical jungle, John's imagination takes hold throughout the agonizing night, and at times, transports him back to some of his most vivid childhood memories - innocent, but equally terrifying at the time.
To avoid complications of interlacing events and places in the same chapter, the author first writes a chapter about the night on the LP, followed by a chapter of his most heart-pounding childhood escapades.
Of the many books I have reviewed about the Vietnam War and war in general, I can honestly write this is among the best. I highly recommend it and its companion piece 'Cherries' to those who want to gain a new perspective on the Vietnam War and war itself.
To be sure, readers will relate to the humorous childish antics with amusement; military veterans will find themselves relating to both the entertaining and compelling recollections.
Reader Reviews
In a brilliant follow-up to his novel 'Cherries,' John Podlaski weaves frightening events of his youth into a vivid depiction of a terrifying night as an infantryman on a Listening Post during the Vietnam War."
~Joe Campolo, Jr., Author of "The Kansas NCO" and "Back To the World."
This tome draws the reader into the experiences that only combat personnel can usually hold witness to, broadening our understanding of the true sacrifices our military makes for us and our freedoms every day. 'When Can I Stop Running' should be on all of our 'must-read' lists.
~Jerry Kunnath, Writer
What makes 'When Can I Stop Running?' a different read from 'Cherries' are the interludes where Polack, his memories brought to the surface. Warily he watches for any movement near the LP, recalls his many adventures with school friends, some terrifying, some funny while growing up in Detroit during the1960's. It is in these stories, so familiar to those of us of the Boomer generation that the author treats us to some of his finest writing. His childhood comes to life in his rich, poetic descriptions. It is a lost world that haunts all of our generation's memories, just as we are haunted by our memories of the central and defining event of our generation, the Vietnam War. Highly recommended!
~Christopher Gaynor, author of 'A Soldier Boy Hears the Distant Guns' and countless newspaper articles including a feature story and photos in Time Magazine
Warrior and Vietnam author John Podlaski pulls out the stops in a very personal story interweaving some of his childhood experiences with his unnerving telling of his night spent in a listening post. A vividly written yet tasteful account of a nightmare experience; hair-raising and touching at the same time. It's a night he'll never forget.
~William E. Peterson, International Best Selling and Award-Winning Author: Missions of Fire and Mercy
Chopper Warriors
The Hornet's Nest
John does a magical job in his second book of weaving the terrors of boyhood adventure with the terrors of war. His words had me laughing and crying while recalling and reliving some of my childhood adventures and the terror of pitch-black nights alone on the floor of jungles in Vietnam. Thank you, John, for another great adventure!
~Stephen Perry
Author of Bright Light: Untold Stories of the Top Secret War in Vietnam
As I read 'When can I stop Running?' and got deeper into the story, it brought all the images forward of those things I feared most - total darkness, rotting jungle, insects, and strange noises. I cringed at every turn, often asking myself if I had the bravado to do what they were doing. Today, Soldiers use Night Vision Devices to see in the dark, quite a contrast from the Vietnam Era when soldiers only had their hearing, sense of smell, and a vivid imagination to guide them in the pitch-black jungle. I also appreciate the author's stories of his youth; the adventures are both frightening and funny, yet, I could relate to similar experiences while growing up. This book is the real deal! Great job, Mr. Podlaski!
~R. Scott Ormond
(Sgt-5 ReCon Scout and Tank Section 3d/33d Armor, Germany 1971-73)
About the Author
John Podlaski served in Vietnam during 1970 and 1971. He served as an Infantryman with both the Wolfhounds of the 25th Division and the 501st Infantry Brigade of the 101st Airborne Brigade. He was awarded the Combat Infantry Badge, Bronze Star, two Air Medals, and a Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry.
He has spent the years since Vietnam working in various management positions within the automotive industry and has recently received a Bachelor of Science degree in Business Administration.
John retired in 2013 after working ten years for a Global Belgium company that supplies gears and shafts for transmissions and diesel engines. John is a member of Vietnam Veterans of America Chapter 154 and lives with his wife, Janice, in Sterling Heights, Michigan. They own a 1997 Harley Davidson Heritage and are both members of the Great Lakes Chapter of South East Michigan Harley Owners Group.