March 7, 2017

A Sniper in the Arizona: 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines in the by John Culbertson

By John Culbertson

"Morning used to be consistently a welcome sight to us.  It intended issues. the 1st was once that we have been nonetheless alive. . . ."

In 1967, loss of life used to be the consistent better half of the Marines of resort corporation, 2/5, as they patrolled the paddy dikes, dust, and mountains of the Arizona Territory southwest of Da Nang. yet John Culbertson and lots of the remainder of lodge corporation have been an identical lean, scuffling with Marines who had survived the carnage of Operation Tuscaloosa. Hotel's grunts walked over the enemy, no longer round him.

In photograph phrases, John Culbertson describes the day-by-day, risky lifetime of a soldier combating in a rustic the place the enemy used to be usually indistinguishable from the allies, fought tenaciously, and inspiration not anything of utilizing civilians as a guard. even though he used to be one of many best marksmen in 1st Marine department Sniper college in Da Nang in March 1967--a type of simply eighteen, selected from the division's twenty thousand Marines--Culbertson knew that opposed to the VC and the NVA, stable education and adventure may possibly hold you simply to this point. yet his company's challenge was once to discover and interact the enemy, regardless of the fee. This riveting, bloody first-person account deals a stark testimony to the stuff U.S. Marines are made up of.

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Additional resources for A Sniper in the Arizona: 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines in the Arizona Territory, 1967

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Native-born Americans take for granted values inculcated early in life by parents and teachers. I find it difficult to overestimate the importance of the teachers who have been the models for the kind of man I wanted to be. 10884$ $CH1 12-02-04 14:58:02 PS PAGE 17 4 Teachers I n 1945 Sister Mary Rose was a tomboy. She was also a semicloistered nun of the Sisters of Notre Dame, my dedicated 6th grade teacher, and a dozen years older than her charges. I see her on roller skates during the lunch hour, black habit aflutter as she flew around the schoolyard of Saints Joachim and Anne as the ten-to fourteen-year olds marveled at her exuberance and skill, not to mention the pure novelty of a nun giving every indication that she was a fun-loving human being.

You’re a teacher. ’’ The picture of ‘‘my son the teacher’’ had grown on him. Now something else. He shook his head. Again. When I was promoted to colonel in the early 1980s, he was there, beaming. He had recently learned that an Army colonel was the same military rank as a ‘‘four striper,’’ a Navy captain, a big deal to the former sailor. Not many opportunities to refer to me as ‘‘the colonel’’ were missed, even when I was present. It sounded pretty good to me as well. Discussions of ‘‘diversity’’ benefit from the fact that Dad is in his grave.

I looked in the mirror when Pete had finished and found a new look. ’’ And that was that. He had been cutting my hair for almost twenty years and was about seventy when I asked him if and when he planned to retire. He must have been thinking about just that. He stepped between me and the mirror to fix his eyes directly on mine. This discussion was too serious to be trusted to mirrors. The eyes fixed on mine unlocked, drifted, and took on a far away look as he thought back to his boyhood in Italy.

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