Just a Boy

The jungles of Vietnam were no place for boys like Sean Delany to go to become men, but Uncle Sam thought otherwise. Sean was our medic. Drafted fresh out of high school where he led his football team to the state championships, he was only seventeen. His family owned a wheat farm in Kansas where he grew up on hard work, stern discipline, and biblical teachings. We all liked Sean. I don’t think the boy ever met a stranger. He’d crawl up in a foxhole at dusk, and with what light remaining read the little pocket bible he carried with him. The boy said his plans were to attend seminary once he got out of there. I didn’t have the heart to tell him if he got out of there. I’ve done four tours as a Sargent, and I have seen more than my fair share of boys like Sean go home to their mother’s in coffins.

We returned to base camp after a routine reconnaissance mission one day, Sean's first mission. We were lucky that we didn’t run into Charlie on that mission. Even when you don’t come across the enemy, you’re glad to be out of the jungle. The canopy made it stifling hot, and the humidity didn’t help. The terrain was rough and sleeping on it was uncomfortable, not that anyone’s nerves let them sleep, or the insects for that matter. The shadows and the creatures that live in the jungle play with your mind. You start thinking you see things; makes you believe you are hearing things. Charlie knows the jungle all too well. If the boogeyman had a name, it would be Charlie. They jump out of the shadows, they pop out of the ground, they hide in the trees, they mimic the animals, so we never knew where they were or when they were coming.

Anyway, the boys were excited to be back at base camp. They went straight to the kitchen for some grub, some real food: bacon and eggs, coffee, orange juice. I could hear their lifted spirits from Colonel Dreyfus’s tent. I had followed my LT, a very green young man fresh out of West Point, over there when he was summoned. I had the pleasure of breaking the news to the guys that at twelve hundred hours we would be taking a boat up the Meng Kong River into an area known for heavy fighting along the Cambodian border. The news dampened their spirits. They finished their breakfast in silence then went to replenish their gear.

You could feel the tension as we headed upriver. Everyone was quiet, alert, their heads on a swivel. The bush was heavy along both sides of the river. I could tell Sean was particularly nervous despite his trying to put on a brave front. That was his second mission. He hadn’t seen any real action and I tried to prepare him the best I could for what was about to come. Stepping off that boat was surreal, though. It was like stepping into one of those haunted theme houses. It looked disturbing. It felt wrong. You knew something was going to jump out at you, but you didn’t know where or when. The boat operator must have felt it too. As soon as the last man was off the boat, he sped off, leaving us with no choice but to push forward. I looked to Sean and he gulped hard as he watched the boat leave.

It was as bad as I said before. Maybe worse since everyone was expecting a fight at some point. We couldn’t tell if the motion in the shadows were just branches blowing in the breeze or if Charlie was moving into position. We couldn’t tell if animal noises were Charlie communicating with each other or actual animal noises. At one point, a private by the name of Jackson Bishop lost his cool and opened fire at nothing. I got the young man calmed down, but Corporal Hayes raged on about letting Charlie know where we were at. He was right, the kid gave away our position for sure.

We carried on for another quarter mile to where the jungle opened up to a small village consisting of bamboo huts with pitch roofs. The villagers sat silently, motionless as we began to search the area. Charlie surprised us, popping out of rice barrels, jumping out of haystacks, firing down on us from the trees. The chaos confused us as villagers ran for cover, screaming in their native tongue. Bullets sent dirt into the air as donkeys hawed and chickens squawked.

Private First Class Nick Spagnoli was shot in the thigh. Sean pulled him to cover and stopped the bleeding. The LT ordered us to fall back into the jungle. Sean hoisted Nick onto his shoulders and carried him. It seemed like the Earth was giving birth to the North Vietnamese behind us as we ran. When the LT saw the corporal take a bullet to the shoulder, he ordered us to find cover and return fire. He then called for Danny Thompson, our comms officer, and they ordered the evac. Sean laid Nick in a ravine and returned for Hayes. He bandaged him up, put him on his shoulders, and ran him to the river. When he came back, the LT was bleeding heavily through the abdomen. Sean got him bandaged up and quickly moved him to the river. When Sean returned, Private Don Howard was dead. He had taken a bullet to the head. I was shot in the arm. He bandaged me up then I ordered him to get Nick out, who was fighting but could not walk. While Sean was gone, Thompson and Bishop each were shot in the chest. It was just me and our sniper, Dale Lewis, holding Charlie back.

Sean came back with word that the boat had arrived. I ordered the retreat. Sean threw Thompson on his shoulders and Dale grabbed Bishop. We went as fast as we could, firing behind us as we went. I was shot in the back. Sean turned around and grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me along with Thompson on his shoulders. The river was within sight when I saw Dale go down, dropping Bishop. He had taken a bullet to the calf. He rolled over screaming, spraying bullets everywhere hoping to keep Charlie off him. Sean dragged me to the boat, laid Thompson in, got me in, and ran back into the jungle. He reemerged dragging both Bishop and Dale, Dale still firing like a man gone wild. Sean got both men in the boat.

Sean went to step in the boat when a bullet struck him in the back, causing him to fall backwards. The boat's gun opened fire as Charlie swarmed the bank. I saw Hayes lean over the boat, reaching for Sean, but the boat sped away nearly as fast as Sean hit the ground. I propped myself up and looked back. Sean was crawling. Charlie surrounded him and beat him with their rifles until a commanding officer decided to shoot him in the head with a pistol. I think that was the first time I shed a tear for one of the boys who died under my command. You go into war expecting them to die. But it seemed as if God was on that young man's side as he dodged bullets dragging us all to safety. Perhaps God was on our side, sending him to save us.

I’ve seen a lot of boys sent home to their mothers in coffins during my time in Vietnam, but never one as heroic as Sean Delany. Never have I seen one act so valiantly. Never have I seen one die so brutally. Never have I seen one not shipped home until him. There was nothing Sean could have done about Don, but those of us he could have saved, he did without hesitation. Once we were all healed and discharged, we paid a visit to the Delany farm and shared the story of his bravery with his parents. His parents and sister wept, saying, “This time we are crying tears of pride and joy for the man our son grew up to be. We hope you boys make the most of your lives in his memory.”

We started a charity in his name for vets in need.