Based on a true story The story starts out while in a line company in the Central Highlands of Vietnam where he was a standout machine-gunner, getting the praise and slaps on the back he so cherished; by killing the enemy and keeping his fellow soldiers in a safe zone by not allowing the enemy to be the aggressor when he could, and the few times the enemy did a full scale assault on their position he would again take control of his area allowing his fellow soldiers to get involved in the fight, while staying alive. He was "recruited" to join the Reconnaissance Platoon where he and four others went out on 3 to 5 day and night missions, looking for an enemy that was looking for them. Most of the time they were able to move through the thick jungle without being detected, but not each mission ended that way. There were times they had to fight their way out of a bad situation; sometimes using their support (mortars, artillery, and bombers), you had to know what you were doing when you called in, a 20 meter mistake could end up killing yourself. Going out on a mission with little time left wasn't his idea of anything smart; but it still was his job to go. The 40th reinforced Artillery Regiment surrounded them; they thought it was all over for them. They had them surrounded and were crawling their way up to where they were. Lt. Hadley was among those that came to relieve us and 30 minutes after we were back safe at the firebase the enemy began firing rockets into those that came to save us. In a short time, 15 young men including Lt Hadley were slain. APACHE RECON Because of the Brave By MICHAEL L. MOOMEY AuthorHouse Copyright © 2010 Michael L. Moomey All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4490-8290-1 Chapter One IN COUNTRY We were out humping the jungle-covered mountains and valleys of the Central Highlands of Viet Nam in August 1967. I was carrying a M60 machinegun while in the second platoon, Company D, 3/12 Inf., 4th Infantry Division, a unit I had just joined. The Point stopped and pointed up into a tree, where we saw 2 legs dangling through the leaves. My Platoon Leader told me to give him a quick burst where I thought the body was. It didn't occur to me at the time that I was about to kill my first human being, but I was about to start what I would continue to do for the next year. I opened up with a burst of 10 or 20, down he came, along with a SKS rifle with a round in the chamber, he didn't scream or yell, didn't even moan, which I thought odd. I went over to look at him, and was surprised to find an adolescent of 13 or 14, with crew-cut hair. One of the bullets had entered his right eye; there was a bloody mash of brains and bone splinters covering his upper-back torso, along with a fist sized exit wound, which revealed that his skull had been cleaned of cerebral matter by the pressure wave of that bullet. He was also hit in the chest and legs but the damage was by that 1 bullet, which ended his short life. I felt some sorrow for him until I went back to my platoon and was greeted as if I had just scored the winning touch-down, that made my day, as I hadn't really accomplished anything in my short 19 years, and it felt good to get that praise and the slaps on my back as I passed the guys who didn't know what I would do in battle as it was my first day, I was told that I was OK, which finally gave me acceptance, which I devoured and wanted more. Most of the new guys, me included, were ignorant of the ways of battle, as the enemy was treacherous, and sneaky in getting their results, it was nothing like what was taught in the states. It was something you could never learn it all, because it would change every day, sometimes, every hour. It really wasn't the kill that made my day, but the fact when it happened and I solved the problem by killing these people; I was raised up high enough that I was at last someone special, and on my first day. I figured I had to kill the most, I wasn't going to become just another soldier I had big plans for myself. I was going to remain the Star in my Company and maybe the whole Battalion. After awhile it became apparent that I had to kill and not let it bother me, as I was getting the praise I desired by doing this, I demanded it. In addition, it kept all the others and me alive. This story I'm telling, is an account of a small group of young men living in a violent new way of existence for them; which went against everything they were told at a young age, that was to kill another, and to feel no remorse for doing so, I didn't like the person I had become, but I relished in the praise I received. It's a hell of a thing to kill someone; you take everything he was or was going to be, you take away sometimes a father, son, brother or husband, sometimes all of them it one person. I couldn't allow myself to feel anything as I killed. But if I didn't kill them then they surely would have killed me, I was not to be killed while there. I was going to kill e