By the Grace of God: Chapter 5

Not just a company of Marines, we were a family

Corporal Malcolm Windermere was a special kind of asshole, not stupid but not smart where he needed to be, if you see what I mean. He always figured himself to be smarter than everyone else and treated those around him accordingly. When you act in that manner, you not only do a disservice to those around you, you make costly assumptions and mistakes. Makes an ass out of you and me, ya know? Windy’s mistake cost every one of us at camp.

His words put me into a speculative mood. I saw how veterans understood their government’s stance on the War in Vietnam. The spoils of war and collateral damage incurred by the US in Vietnam drove their agenda forward, but those serving didn’t have to agree with it.

In one breath, the government told their soldiers how vital they were to the war effort, in the next treated them as nothing more than used diapers, disposable and dirty.

Loo understood that dichotomy and did what was necessary to keep himself and his men safe. I think that’s what I admired most. Lieutenant Walters governed his own men, on his own agenda, only bringing the higher-highers in when necessary, which wasn’t often. I respected him for that.

Loo reflected on long-buried memories that reinforced his belief that he disappointed himself and his family.

Those memories were reminders of how their own government mistreated them and to recognize that mistreatment was to acknowledge their victimization in Vietnam.

They portrayed the veterans as the aggressors and villains in the media when they were in actuality victims of their government’s bureaucracy.

Sarah, I learned how to be an effective leader as a boy in Troop 498. I served as patrol leader every year but my first, then I became a troop leader when I grew too old to be a scout. Scoutmaster Wayne Belmont was our troop leader and the one who taught me to keep it in the unit. It didn’t matter what happened, Skip Belmont dealt with it in our troop. He only took issues and problems to the Scout Council or parents when circumstances demanded, which wasn’t often. We knew how he worked, so we worked with him.

That became the model I followed with my Marines. I only involved the higher-highers when I needed help to sort something out. My guys knew how I worked and they worked with me, except Corporal Windermere. He worked juxtaposition to me, and the entire unit, every step of the way. He reaped the consequences of his actions.

Aside from Skip Belmont, General MacArthur and General Patton were my other leadership mentors. I remember researching their leadership styles and theories while working on a badge in scouts. They were such inspirations. Neither one allowed others to dictate how they dealt with their troops, but they still worked within the expectations of the military. The way they dealt with things within their own ranks inspired me when I became a leader in Vietnam. That management style was what I needed to be an effective leader. It was what my men needed to do their job well. It was what the unit needed to run as a well-oiled machine when most of the force within Vietnam was falling apart.

I suspect that’s one reason my camp became a base camp for units passing through our territory. The higher-highers knew I could handle it.

Windy’s time at Camp WhoopAss was less than stellar. He never tried to fit in and never tried to change his underhanded ways.

This one day he was trying to cajole Jeepers into helping him scoff parts off a visiting Colonel’s jeep. He wanted to sell them on the black market. Windy was always working one angle or another, looking for ways to cheat someone out of their money. Jeepers told me he refused to help him. He told Windy there was lots of stuff in the jungle to sell on the black market if you looked hard enough, so we didn’t need to steal from ourselves. Windy laughed at him and did it on his own. It wasn’t his best decision. He got caught by the General’s MP detail, and they were understanding guys, as always.

His sarcasm wasn’t lost on me and I watched as images flashed through his mind, the emotions playing across his face reminding him of the havoc left behind by the Vietnam War. Those memories made me privy to insights and moments denied many and he honoured me by sharing them with me.

That wasn’t the worst part of it. The worst part was the decision he made when he got caught.

He ran.

He bolted towards the jungle, the engine parts clutched to his chest. The MPs didn’t chase him. They pulled out their sidearms and started shooting. Windy didn’t stand a chance, the jungle was too far away. I couldn’t protect him this time, he was the one who involved the higher-highers, not me. It was impossible to keep it in camp. He signed his own death notice home.

That was not an easy letter to write, the letter to Windy’s family. It was difficult to tell them of his death without maligning his memory or denouncing the war. It pains me to admit, but I didn’t have many good things to say. Puck helped by sharing his memories of Windy, but he dug deep to find the good ones.

Windy’s death altered the make-up of our unit. We were as cohesive a unit as ever, but with less respect for the Corps’ methods. They were not our people, if you know what I mean.

Lieutenant Walters became a true hero when he chose his men over the brutal methods of his beloved Marines. He led his men rather than overpower them, a fine distinction lost on many.

Sarah, I took care of my men. From the minute they entered my unit to the minute they left it, regardless of how they left it, I took care of them and they took care of me. We were not just a company of Marines serving in Vietnam. We were a family, Puck saw that when he joined our ranks, but it took him time to become one of us. Windy never saw that. He never saw Camp WhoopAss as a family. Never became one of us, he never wanted to, but I still took care of him until the end. He was one of my men and deserved nothing less.

Loo, why do you think Windy ran? Did he expect to escape the MPs?

Lieutenant Walters shook his head. A derisive chuckle told me how he felt, regretful but not surprised it ended the way it did.

Well, that’s a good question, isn’t it?

Nearest I can figure, he grew up in a rough patch of Chicago, among gangs, and he grew up dodging the cops. It was what they did. If you didn’t run, you got caught. No one wanted to get caught. Or end up a snitch. Windy lived his life according to the rules he learned on the streets of Chicago. Those street rules made life in Vietnam both easier and more difficult for him. Easier because he understood life in the jungle better than most of the guys, more difficult because his rules didn’t take the Vietnamese lifestyle and morals into account. The hierarchy and code of ethics of the Corps were juxtaposition to the way Windy lived his life. The poor kid didn’t stand a chance in the Marines, or any branch of the military.

If he had changed his mindset, he may have made it, but he chose not to alter the way he dealt with things in Vietnam or the Marines. That was his biggest mistake.

Continue reading with By the Grace of God: Chapter 6 here:

To start at the beginning, see By the Grace of God: Chapter 1 here: