"Phubai Vietnam, actual tower where I spent nights at the listening post"

Have  you ever spent a night anywhere when the hair on the back of your neck stood out straight as Porcupine quills. I mean Scared and uncertain as to just what the hell you were doing in a such position where all you had, was your back to the wall? To make it worse the wall that you had your back to had bullet holes in it. Well this was the Nam and this was my life for a number of weeks in Phubai. We made our way to the tower each evening, my buddy and me along with the patrol . Together we would trek to the clearing in the jungle where this stone edifice was and, the patrol would melt back into the jungle. We would make the journey up the raggedy old stairwell and position ourselves in the blown out windows, readying ourselves for another long night at the listening post. Gloomy, Yeah, hopeless hell yeah, that's how we felt when we were settled in. When darkness fell it was like being swallowed alive by a living, breathing entity, suffocating the life out of ya in ways that you could not imagine. Our eyes frantically searching the surrounding area for  anything out of the ordinary for reference points. fruitless it was, because when the lights went out in the jungle we could not see past our own pupils. 

We listened to the sounds of the jungle and to the beat of our own hearts. Staring out into the pitch black clearing, scanning what may or may not be the tree line and wondering if we in turn were being watched. We dared not breath to loud, nor cough or smoke, so we existed in silence becoming one with the night. Our ears were tuned to everything around us and we prayed that silence would not come upon our position, silence was deadly in the jungle.  We were hundreds of yards away from the front lines, two Marines in limbo waiting for the unusual to happen, so that we could radio in the impending attack. We knew that if we were to indeed become the early warning device, we would have to fight our own way or out or die.

 We became as ghosts in the bell tower slowly and silently gliding back to back from window to window. Each step carefully placed to avoid sending the sounds of gravel being crushed under our boots into the night. Trying with all our might to remain calm and to keep our wits about us as well as to survive another night, some before us had not been so fortunate. We were young Marines, we knew what to expect, and we expected to live.

The tower; unnerving, haunting, unforgiving. 

Nightmarish to this day...

Boon...