Humor is where you find it.

Out on patrol, we would spend up to a month at a time in the bush. The Cav would resupply us about once a week or so. Getting resupplied was a lot of work. Sometimes we would find a satisfactory LZ other times we had to cut an LZ with explosives.

On one such resupply the Cav dropped off more food and ammo than we could carry. Fires were built to destroy the extra supplies and one man was detailed to throw extra frags off of the mountaintop.

We sorted through the cans of C rations to take what we wanted then we poked holes in the rest and tossed it in the fire.Finally we were ready to move out again.

I shouldered my rucksack and got in line. there was the sound of a distant pop and I was struck in the side of the head. Burning pain suddenly hit me and I reached up my hand to feel the side of my head. Hot sticky wetness flowed down my face. A moment of panic hit me and I yelled "I'm hit"
as I pulled my quick release, dropping my rucksack. I dove to the ground, certain I had been shot in the head.

Some fire was returned as the platoon reacted to my cry. That's about the time when I realized that the hot sticky mess on my head was not blood but was hot molten peanut butter.

A can had exploded and spun out of the fire with enough force to hurt me. I still take some ribbing for my error and everyone got a good laugh at my expense. I resumed my position in the line and we all moved out again.

Some time later, still with 2nd. Plt. we were moving in the jungle when a sniper stopped us. Everyone hit the dirt and we were returning fire. A man suddenly yelled out "I am hit." and I moved forward to check him out.

He lay there holding his leg which was drenched in blood. I exposed the wound, which looked like a gunshot wound with no exit. Chunks of flesh mixed with blood flowed down his leg. I used gauze to wipe the wound.

That's when it became obvious that he was not shot; but that when he hit the dirt the largest leech I had ever seen had burst open. Blood poured freely from the area, but it was only a minor problem.

There was a lot of relief as well as a generous measure of humor over the mix up. When the grunt saw the blood he had automatically assumed the worst. Now he had to deal with the rest of us laughing. The sniper ran away and we moved out again.

These were the occasional breaks from the daily and ongoing tedium of pushing through dense jungle in the Central Highlands. Life was hard but humor is where you find it.