At the time, he didn’t realize he would exhaust his day’s medical supplies treating them. Johnson and the M60 gunner set off to find them and render aid. 11, 1971: Four members of 2nd Platoon were hit early in the day in an NVA ambush. It’s this kind of composure that helped Johnson survive 11 months in Vietnam, many of them around the murderous A Shau Valley. “I never talked to them again after I medevac’d them,” Johnson said. Life and limb, you hold another human being’s fate in your hands. There’s a strange relationship between battlefield patient and combat medic or hospital corpsman, one of intimate detachment. You never, ever want to say, ‘My God man, I don’t know if I can save you.’” “If I could make my patient laugh a little bit and give him hope that he’s going to see his wife and brand new baby,” he said, “That would usually increase survivability by 50 percent. Johnson’s technique was to make a wounded soldier laugh by saying something like, “I can’t believe that you’re going home and I have to stay here.” He believes a medic must give his or her patients hope. Johnson’s experience in combat taught him that a wounded patient’s perception can tip the person into shock, a state of affairs that can lead to death. Time would put the Bronze Star and two-time Purple Heart recipient’s belief to the test - illustrating the importance of courage, composure and faith. “Because of my naivete,” Johnson said, “I didn’t believe that I could ever get hurt.” One day, Johnson’s father took him aside and said, “You have to be in combat to be a man.” As a result, the son volunteered to go to Vietnam. Courage was instilled in him by his father, a soldier with the 78th Lightning Division who lost a leg during the Battle of the Bulge in WWII. Now 66, Johnson was 18 when he deployed as a medic with A Co., 1st Bn., 501st Inf. Like Kuklenski, courage was part and parcel of Jess Johnson’s kit. Twenty of them went to medics, corpsmen and the like - one out of every 13 conferred. According to the Medal of Honor Society, 259 medals were conferred for actions during the Vietnam War. There are, however, crystal clear stats as to how many medical personnel in Vietnam were awarded the nation’s highest commendation for bravery. He said, “There are no clear statistics on how many medics deployed to Vietnam.” Army’s Medical Department (AMEDD) Center of History and Heritage at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas. Sanders Marble, Ph.D., is senior historian, History Branch, of the U.S. Of those, 645 were killed in action and more than 3,300 wounded. Navy Bureau of Medicine and Surgery Historian Andre Sobocinski, more than 10,000 Navy hospital corpsmen served with Marines during Vietnam. Unable to walk, the powerful fireplug of a man (he was a former star guard on the Dallas Jesuit High School football team) pulled himself along with his elbows treating the wounded as he went, remembering all along the mantra of corpsmen and medics alike: ‘clear the airway, stop the bleeding, prevent or treat for shock.’Īccording to U.S. Three separate times he was hit, incurring wounds to both arms and both legs. Seventy percent of those in his unit were killed or wounded. “They pretty much wiped out our unit,” Kuklenski said. Instead of the usual 30 NVA, more than three times that many showed up. Unbeknownst to the Marines, the NVA saw this and countered with an ambush of their own. May 29, 1969: Alpha Company set an ambush for North Vietnamese Army regulars, 30 of whom had been using a trail on a regular basis. “I’m trying to save his life … and keep some composure.”Ī week later the conscientious objector corpsman’s composure would be put to the ultimate test. “He’s singing ‘Happy Birthday,” remembers Kuklenski, a VFW Department of Texas member and retired businessman in suburban Dallas. Suddenly the critically-wounded Marine broke into song. Goss and Kuklenski tied off what was left to stop the bleeding, then administered morphine. One of the surviving Marines, a former athlete, had lost both legs below the knees. Already there was the company’s senior corpsman, Jim Goss. Kuklenski started out across it to render aid. It was a boot, and in it part of a lower leg. Almost simultaneously, he saw something tumble over his head. May 21, 1969: 19-year-old Navy Hospital Corpsman Michael Kuklenski was three weeks deep into his Vietnam tour - on patrol with Alpha Co., 1st Bn., 7th Marines, 1st Marine Div., when he heard a land mine go off. The scene could have come from the movies. Here are the first-hand accounts of three decorated “Docs” who provided life-saving aid in Vietnam. Beloved by their fellow grunts, corpsmen and medics are the first responders for Marines and soldiers wounded on the battlefield.
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