Cpl Paul Scimone, U.S. Marines (1964 – 1968)

Xmas Eve 1967 at PhuBai 3rd Med Bn. In triage, where I was an ambulance driver and stretcher-bearer, several casualties came in. We moved one young Marine with a GSW through and through the head back into Shock and debridement where he could pass away quietly and comfortably in the dimly lit room. It was an eerie scene, where he lay as if in state on the litter in the center of the S&D room. Although he had a strong heartbeat and pulse, they were sure I would take him to Graves in the morning. After settling down, I returned to my hooch, where everyone was telling stories of home and crying in their beer. After a few shots of Kessler with beer chasers, I tried to sleep but couldn’t put that young Marine out of my head for some reason. I went back to triage to check and see if he had crossed over yet and was surprised to find him chugging along as he was before. I started to leave when something pulled me back. The thought of this poor kid dying alone on Christmas Eve stabbed me deep in the chest, and I decided he wouldn’t die alone that night. I pulled up a chair and took his warm hand, whispering to him that it was okay to let go. I could have sworn that I felt him squeeze my hand one time but reasoned that it must have been the alcohol. I don’t know what time I dozed off, but early next morning, a corpsman came in to check on him, only to find me asleep and holding his hand, and thinking maybe I knew and recognized him. When I told him why I spent the night there, HE broke down crying and hugged me. Surprised that his vitals were still strong, they readied him for the medevac to Danang. My only regret was that I never knew his name. I fancied being able to tell his parents/family/wife that he was not alone on Christmas Eve. Semper Fi

Read the Military Memories of our Runner-Ups.