Kane was a southern boy, but that's all I can say about his origins.  He never said, but I developed a picture in my minds eye of an Appalachian locale far from any town or city, somewhere near where three state borders met.  He was of average height with hair colored a light brown.  I don't remember the color of his eyes, but they were just slanted enough to give him a feral look that was belied by his constant gap toothed grin.  Kane mangled the pronunciation of many words.  Sergeant became 'sarnt', Lieutenant was 'lootnant', and when we said hooch, Kane said 'hutch'. He claimed his schooling stopped before the ninth grade, but he was anything but dumb.  Looking back through more than forty years of memories, I think anyone would agree that if Huck Finn were a real person, he'd look and act just like Kane.

     I went out on my first mission on Will Hartley's track.  I was both excited and scared with my senses overwhelmed with the colors and smells of Vietnam.  Passing through Cu Chi town, I marveled at the Lambrettas, the dilapidated busses and trucks, and the many maimed and diseased people.  For many years I put it down to better western medicine but maybe we just hid our medical problems better.  Between the towns and small villages, I eyed the tiny black clad farmers working in their fields.  I tried to keep every one in view, knowing in my heart that at any moment, one would bend down and come up with a rifle.  It never happened but I still expected it.  Things continued this way all day until we reached our laager area for the night.

     Will had me dig the fighting position that was required for every night time laager.  I can't remember if anyone ever spent the night in these shallow trenches, I think we just dug them as a just in case kind of thing.  Will spent a lot of time with me, he was patient, friendly, and a calming influence on an 18 year old new guy.  Later, when the Lieutenant called for the OP people, Will explained that three men from our platoon would sneak out about a hundred meters and set up to give us a warning in case the VC tried to sneak up on the perimeter.  Will said that it would be a fellow named Kane and two others.  Since it didn't mean much to me, I promptly forgot about it.

    Around 11 that night, I was sitting in the TC hatch pulling my very first guard duty.  I almost died of fright when a small trip flare ignited some three tracks down from mine.  The whole perimeter seemed to hold it's collective breath as a small rabbit was spotted scampering away with fright.  I started breathing again but realized that the flare didn't just scare away the rabbit.  There for all the world, but especially Saber Alpha 10 to see lay Kane and his two companions deep in sleep, about five feet in front of one of the tracks.  Awakening to the roar of "Goddamn it Kane", he and the other two crept out deeper into the darkness.  They had been out there about an hour when the radio call came from Kane.

     Kane whispered over the radio that he had movement in front of his position.  That was enough for me to almost faint with fear and excitement.  Will took over in the TC hatch which put me on the back as side gunner and loader.  I listened in through my commo helmet as Kane and the Lieutenant went back and forth over the radio.  The Lieutenant wanted to know how many there were, what kind of weapons they had, were they wearing uniforms, all that stuff.  Kane later told me that 'the damn Lieutenant wanted to know their damn names'.  After what seemed like hours, the Lieutenant had us start engines and move out about a hundred meters.  Nothing was found, the OP was withdrawn, and Kane promptly went back to sleep at his track.

     As I got to know him better, Kane admitted that there was no VC there that night.  He was just pissed at the Lieutenant and that 'damned rabbit'.  He became the unofficial big brother to me and many of the other new guys.  He would regale us with his war stories, pepper each conversation with his peculiar pronunciations, and claim an almost mystical ability in forecasting the likelihood of us running into trouble.

     The fact that he was seldom right never seemed to bother him or the rest of us.  One of his more memorable exploits involved an empty wallet, a boom-boom girl and an M1911A1 .45 caliber sidearm.  The ensuing crime is best described as theft of services.  Kane said it was the way Bogart would have scratched that particular itch.

     The last time I saw Kane was the day after Thanksgiving in 1967.  On both Monday and Wednesday of that week, the First platoon of A Troop had the last vehicle of our column hit with an RPG as we made thunder runs up and down Route 1 between Cu Chi and Trang Bang. We had several guys wounded and one killed.  On that Friday night, it had just started to get dark when we dropped off a small convoy at Dau Tieng and were hurrying back to the troop laager. We were hit about a half a click outside the wire and this was a much bigger ambush.  The tracks in front and behind ours were hit with RPGs and AK47 fire sprayed across us.  Pop Page, TC of my track, was firing the .50 in short bursts while I tried to burn out the barrel of my M60.  Several of the wounded were helped to our track and I heard some God awful screaming and cursing coming from the ground directly behind us.  Peering over the back, I saw Kane firing away with his rifle while moaning and yelling with his pain.  Our medic was wounded but stopped to give Kane a shot of morphine.  Firing the whole time, Kane started to laugh and claim that it was a million dollar wound.

     Kane must have been right, my last sight of him was getting on a dust off chopper, still grinning and waving to us.  He was only one of the many memorable characters I met and recall from my tour in Viet Nam.  After more than forty years, I still miss him.

John Jerdon
Ocean City, Maryland.

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