Speaking of RATS as big as CATS…
Our Counter-Mortar Radar (CMR-11th Marines) was deployed with 2nd
Battalion, 1st Marines at a firebase near Monkey Mountain north of
DaNang, South Viet Nam during January of 1969. I was a Corporal of
Marines, MOS 5931, Ground Radar Technician. The tent I was in
housed eight Marines. We slept on canvas folding cots above hollow
wood pallet flooring. Our few amenities included a small
refrigerator. We had a generator to power the radar so we snaked a
couple of cables over to our tent for lights and to keep the adult
beverages cold.
We did our best to keep the fridge stocked with soda and beer.
Mostly beer. Usually Pabst Blue Ribbon, Bud, or Lucky Lager.
Lucky Lager got me in big trouble one day when I was bartending at
the 11th Marines "O" Club, but that is a story for another day.
Our beer came in steel cans, not the lightweight soft aluminum
containers you can crush like a man. A church key was needed to pop
it open or you used your John Wayne. We'd eat our C-Rats in the
tent and, being Marines, we were not too choosy about where the
leftover food went after chowing down. Remnants of crackers, beef
with spiced sauce, and Ham n' Muthers ended up on top of the pallet
floor. Some of it fell through the slats and wound up on the
ground underneath. Big mistake!
About a week after we pitched our tent, a Marine woke up screaming
around 0200. We thought we were getting hit, so everyone grabbed
their flak jackets and helmets and started to run out of the tent
to our assigned defensive positions. Then we heard, "There's a
fr–king (not the word he used, but close) raccoon in my rack!"
WTF?
Looking around, we found nothing. Eventually, everybody hit the
rack again, only to be awakened an hour later by another guy
yelling about something running across his chest. Flashlights were
broken out and we started investigating. One Marine found
droppings under his rack that looked like dog crap. Then it dawned
on us, we were rat infested. And whoever the infester was, he was
one big son-of-a-b-tch!
The next few nights rustling and squeaking was heard beneath the
tent floor. Not a good sign!
Supply gave us hefty rat traps and we placed them around the tent
to no avail. They'd go off with a loud snap in the middle of the
night. When examined in the morning, all the bait (C-Rat cheese)
was licked clean and the springs were completely sprung. This rat
was no fool. He was laughing at us!
The following day everyone was out burning cr-ppers and filling
sandbags, except for a lone Lance Corporal left in the tent by
himself on sick call. Suddenly, we heard at least ten rounds go
off inside the tent! He'd seen something big and furry running
under the floorboards and opened up on it. He missed.
In seconds, three officers and a Gunny ran up to our tent yelling
stuff like, "Who fired? I'll have your azs for this, etc., etc."
I was senior man. They all looked at me, so I had to do some quick
talking. I explained the shooter had a rat phobia since he was born
in a shack in Kentucky, he was paranoid about rabies, had a
deprived childhood, rats took his baby-sister's food, blah, blah,
blah…" The brass bought my lame story and went away primarily
because no one was actually injured by the rat inspired M-16
discharge.
I didn't want to lose my pending promotion to Sergeant, so I knew
we had to escalate the situation and take out whatever was living
under our floor. Since we had some serious 220 Volt power topping
out at 20 Amps in the tent, I figured we'd just electrocute the
sucker. We're Marines, we adapt and overcome… right? By now we
had dubbed the tent intruder "KING RAT" and we wanted him DRT (Dead
Right There).
I flattened out a steel beer can and soldered a wire to it. Then I
took a 2×4 and tacked it to the edge of the flattened out beer can.
I ran another line up the wood, stapled it to the top, then dangled
the edge over the top of the metal beer can plate. After stripping
the end, I took a glob of the best rat bait we had (peanut butter)
and stuck it around the bare copper wire conductor.
The plan: KING RAT smells peanut butter. KING RAT stands on
flattened metal can. KING RAT bites on peanut butter completing
the circuit. Zap! KING RAT is KIA!
We set the evil device in the center of the tent, plugged it into
our 220V power bus and turned out the lights. All eight Marines
got in their racks and settled down for KING RAT to make his move.
Nothing happened until 0300. Most, if not all of us were dead
asleep by then when BAM! A huge ball of white fire appeared in the
center of the tent. A couple of guys screamed and ran outside
(p-ssies) and the rest of us fumbled for flashlights.
In the center of the tent we found a large blackened circle. Two
pallets looked like something monstrous had burrowed between the
slats and pushed them aside. Nothing was left of the improvised
death machine except burned wires and scorched beer can metal. We
searched around looking for a body for about an hour, but came up
empty-handed. Everyone went back to sleep and that was it. The tent
was quiet and we slept like babies for the next two nights. Three
days later someone said something stinks. As soon as he did, we
all picked up on a truly disgusting stench. It got so bad I
ordered FIELD DAY!
We took everything out of the tent. Weapons, ammo, grenades,
laaws, guitars, 782 gear, C-Rat boxes, stroke mags, racks and
unwashed utilities. We pulled up all the flooring pallets. Lying
on the dirt sub-floor in the farthest corner from where we emplaced
the FSN Mark I Electric Rat Eliminator, we discovered the mortal
remains of the biggest d-mn rodent I had ever seen. KING RAT was
curled up peacefully decaying after receiving his jolt of Marine
Corps justice.
With a pair of pliers, one of our guys lifted up the corpse. KING
RAT weighed at least fifteen pounds and the brave Marine ("Sonny"
was his name) carried KING RAT outside dangling by his tail.
That's when I took his picture.
Postscript:
It was suggested the body of KING RAT should be taken to officer's
country and thrown on the floor of the CO's sh-tter. I passed on
that idea as I still wanted to make Sergeant. Instead, we threw
the carcass into a p-ss tube hole and shoveled in dirt to cover him
up. No memorial service was held. Osama bin Ladin had a better
funeral.
Semper Fi!
Sgt. Jim Hackett, USMC
RVN 1968-70