Not all life-threatening situations in a combat zone involve being shot at. Some happen just because of the crazy, non-sensical, unpredictable ways that you live under those circumstances. I was assigned to Naval Security Group, attached to 3rd MarDiv in Dong Ha, Quang Tri Province, I Corps, Vietnam, in '68-'69.
There was a Corporal Kulas in my company and everyone called him "Clutch" but I didn’t know why until one day, when I was given courier bag in Dong Ha that was to be delivered to 3rd MarDiv Combat Center in Quang Tri. They handcuffed the bag to my left wrist, which I didn't like because I had visions of being captured and some VC cutting my hand off to get the bag; not a happy thought.
"Clutch" was assigned as my driver. He was driving a 1-ton truck that we called a "Personnel Carrier" (PC). It had a gear-shift lever that would pull out of the transmission by just pulling up on it, which was great because we could put it in neutral and take the gear-shift-lever with us, which would prevent anyone from stealing it.
It had been raining (when was it NOT raining in Nam?) and Route 1 between Dong Ha and Quang Tri was a river of mud. This wasn't a problem until we met a six-by full of Marines headed North toward Dong Ha or probably on their way to Khe Sanh. They were barreling along at warp 4 in the MIDDLE of that narrow, muddy road. Clutch kept getting closer to the right edge of the road as it became clear that the six-by driver was not going to move over and a PC is no match for a six-by in a game of "chicken." Discretion being the better part of valor, as they say, at the very last second Clutch slipped the PC over the edge of the steep muddy embankment and we slid sideways down the bank, maybe twenty or thirty feet, until we came to a stop about six feet from the rice-paddy water. The PC teetered precariously on its right wheels as if trying to decide whether to flip over, then slowly settled back against the bank.
As we went over the edge, I kept leaning to the left and finally grabbed the steering column to keep from falling out. It was THAT steep. When we stopped moving, I looked up at Clutch and he was grinning like he had just gotten off a roller coaster ride. I wasn't smiling; I was in full pucker mode, having just seen my life flash before my eyes. If Clutch hadn't been such a good driver, our names would be on the Wall today. It was then that it occurred to me why he was called "Clutch."
As calmly as if he was pulling out of a parking spot at Walmart, Clutch put the truck in low-double-nuts, turned the wheel left, and began slowly driving. The truck started moving but was sliding sideways more than moving uphill. We slid along the embankment for what seemed like a long way, maybe it was fifty yards or so, then the tires finally found traction and we popped back onto the road. Shifting back into normal gears, he started lead-footing it toward Quang Tri with a big grin on his face as if nothing had happened. Right then, I knew that I wanted Clutch with me the next time the defecation struck the rotating air-mover. Good job, Clutch, wherever you are.
Semper Fidelis,
Mark Van Noy, Sergeant of Marines
3rd MarDiv, RVN, 68-69