James W. Fous 1946-1968

JAMES WILLIAM FOUS is honored on Panel 60E, Row 11 of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

Full Name: JAMES WILLIAM FOUS

Wall Name: JAMES W FOUS
Date of Birth: 10/14/1946
Date of Casualty: 5/14/1968
Home of Record: OMAHA
State: NE
Branch of Service: ARMY
Rank: PFC
Casualty Country: SOUTH VIETNAM
Casualty Province: KIEN HOA

My name is Larry Reid (US 53909075) and I was drafted into the United States Army in Nashville, Tennessee, on 11/2/67. I was trained in infantry weapons and tactics at Ft. Campbell, KY, and Ft. Lewis, WA. After arriving in Vietnam I was assigned to Third Platoon, Company E, 4/47th Infantry Battalion, 2nd Brigade, 9th Infantry Division. The platoon was out on a mission when I arrived aboard the barracks ship USS Benewah (to the best of my recollection) and I met another raw recruit named Jim Fous. The platoon had seen intense combat during and after the 1968 Tet Offensive. Jim and I were replacements for casualties sustained during that period.

We talked about our hometowns and our families. One of the commonalties we shared was that we both had younger sisters of whom we were very proud and protective. Jim was the first friend I made in this deceptively beautiful place called the Mekong Delta.

Within a few days we left on our first combat mission. I have taken the liberty of excerpting the Medal of Honor citation and will comment as appropriate:

MOH
For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity in action at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty. PFC Fous distinguished himself at the risk of his life while serving as a rifleman with Company E. PFC Fous was participating in a reconnaissance-in-force mission when his unit formed its perimeter defense for the night. PFC Fous, together with three other American soldiers, occupied a position in a thickly vegetated area facing a wood line.

LR
This was our first night in the field and we were very nervous about making some sort of fatal mistake. There were two other combat veterans in our NDP (night defensive position) to advise us in case of trouble. I believe their names were John Sharp and Oscar Bunch. The sky was brilliant with stars as there was no moon that night. The four of us were sitting out in a rice paddy facing a wood line. Anyone in the wood line could observe us without being seen.

We had decided the order of watch, since someone had to be awake and alert all during the night. While I took the first turn, the four of us talked in hushed tones about what sort of problems might be likely in this area during this night. It was a reassuring moment. Sharp and Bunch had agreed to take the last watches of the night because enemy attack was more likely in the hours just before dawn. I was wearing a wristwatch with numbers that glowed in the dark and agreed to let anyone use it during the night to keep track of their two-hour sentry duty.

After my two hours had elapsed, I handed the timepiece to Jim Fous. Sharp and Bunch were still awake and decided to stay up a little longer during the first part of Jim's watch. I lay down and tried to figure out how to sleep in a wet rice paddy which seemed to be crawling with unidentified life forms and was also within range of enemy weapons. I looked at the stars for a while, then shut my eyes tight for a while. I realized that I was never going to get any sleep in either of these modes. I began to wonder if I could stay awake for a year.

MOH
PFC Fous detected three Viet Cong maneuvering toward his position and, after alerting the other men, directed accurate fire upon the enemy soldiers, silencing two of them. The third Viet Cong soldier managed to escape in the thick vegetation after throwing a hand grenade into PFC Fous' position. Without hesitation, PFC Fous shouted a warning to his comrades and leaped upon the lethal explosive, absorbing the blast with his body to save the lives of the three men in the area at the sacrifice of his life.

LR
My best and only friend in the platoon had gone to the Other Side and I was left to calculate the odds of surviving a year of combat in this tropical paradise. I missed him then and I still do. I believe we will meet on the Other Side and I look forward to giving him a big hug and thanking him in person.

MOH
PFC Fous' extraordinary heroism at the cost of his life were in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service and reflect great credit upon himself, his unit, and the United States Army.

LR
I bless and honor your memory Jim. My remaining days on earth were purchased by your willing sacrifice. I feel the obligation to pass along that spirit of giving one's best. You taught me that giving time or money is nice, but our impact on each other and the world is greatest when we give of ourselves.

Thank you Jim. See you on the Other Side.

Larry Reid
Albuquerque, New Mexico
March 5, 2000
Posted by: Larry E. Reid
Email: gaian2000@yahoo.com
Relationship: I served with him in Vietnam
Sunday, September 17, 2000

Jim Fous...he was a friend of mine.

I remember that day...

Posted for: THOMAS STEVEN HUGHES: Thomas S. Hughes

I met Lt. Hughes just days before an operation that started on 5/15/68. The little-known May Offensive was underway with whatever forces the VC and NVA could scrape together after their Tet Offensive losses. The MRF (Mobile Riverine Force) had been moved closer to an embattled Saigon and we were to be inserted by ATC several clicks (a click is equal to a kilometer) south of the city.

I clearly remember the ride down the canal the morning of 5/17/68 to our insertion area because we were treated to cold chocolate milk in cans. That was extreme luxury for us line grunts. It was soon after dawn and the sun was already making its presence felt. I remember the condensation running down the side of the can.

I got to know a little bit about Lt. Hughes during our brief cruise. His physical appearance was as though he were a long lost twin brother of Robert Redford. As if that weren't enough, he mentioned that he was inducted into the army in Las Vegas, Nevada. Tall, blonde and handsome, he exuded an air of confidence. That feeling was reinforced when I noticed the Ranger patch on his left shoulder. This gave me the instant image of a man who knew what he was doing in the confusion of battle and would obviously be going home in one piece. All I had to do was stay close to him and do as he told me. I was ready.

Third platoon exited the boat with no resistance and moved into an area of rice paddies with a few treelines in the distance and scattered clumps of nippa palm. We lined up and moved toward one of those clumps with Lt. Hughes immediately behind the two point men. Standard procedure had always been for the Platoon Leader and his RTO (radio man) to position themselves at the middle of a column to improve survivability. Ambushes almost always mangled the first few men in the front of the column. Seeing the question mark on my face, he explained that if any trouble started and we were at the front of the column, we wouldn't have to get up (exposing ourselves to enemy fire) and run forward in order to determine the situation. I had complained about this unpleasant experience to our regular Platoon Leader (who was currently in the hospital recovering from wounds) on more than one occasion. This man obviously knew his stuff. I found myself becoming optimistic about surviving another day in combat.

The clumps of nippa palm became thicker until they were taller than us and so dense you couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction. There were several trails and we picked one figuring they wouldn't all be mined. There was a clearing and a solid wall of green beyond that. As the two point men went through the wall, Lt. Hughes and I stepped into the clearing. Gunfire erupted a few feet from us shattering the morning stillness.

I saw Lt. Hughes drop flat into the clearing. Not believing that this was our best course of action, I leaped into the nippa palm to my right. I knew this was always dangerous because usually those other people would prepare the ambush site, placing mines and sharpened stakes along the side of the trail. But I sought cover even in the face of such knowledge.

When I hit the ground my helmet bounced off. I didn't want to raise up to look for it because pieces of foliage were raining down on me, which told me that bullets were doing their weedeater imitation directly over my head. I looked to my left to catch a glimpse of Lt. Hughes.

From the puzzle parts I could make out through the jungle, he seemed to be lying still. This didn't seem right and I briefly considered going to him. But at this point the dictionary definition of "pinned down" would have been incomplete without a picture of my present predicament. Bullets were hitting the ground around me and shredding the jungle above me. I groped around a little and found my helmet.

Apparently my rucksack had shifted when I hit the ground and now, with my helmet on, I couldn't raise my head at all. I could picture, in my mind's eye, a small oriental soldier in black pajamas standing over me with a big rock in his hands. He could have had his way with me at this point and I was so unutterably embarrassed about the possibility of being killed in combat by a little guy with a big rock that I took my helmet off again. I looked around and, much to my relief, there was nobody standing over me. I then wriggled out of my ruck, pushing the radio and other gear to my right.

An amazing thing happened. The blind fire that had been aimed at me shifted to my right. Then I remembered. Just for that mission I had attached an optional external speaker to my PRC-25 radio. They had been firing at the noise of the radio! I was beginning to lose a certain amount of confidence in my abilities as a combat soldier. But it occurred to me that, with the radio out of the way I could wear my helmet properly. I heard a thump nearby and drew my arms around to shield the part of my face that the helmet didn't cover.

WHOOM! A grenade detonated just on the other side of the radio. If the ground had not been muddy, this would have been a very painful experience. But apparently it sunk into the mud enough that the
shrapnel went up and not in my direction. At first I assumed it was a chicom (one of their grenades), but by now it was beginning to be clear that I was only a few feet from the people who were so noisily
shooting at me and the rest of the platoon. That meant that my comrades, trying to help, were firing at targets invisible to them and very close to my present position. It could have been one of our
grenades. I had to move. But how? And where?

WHOOM! Another grenade went off in the direction of Lt. Hughes. I later learned that this was a fragmentation grenade that he had readied just before he was shot three times in the forehead. His grip loosened and it exploded. At this moment the two point men came bursting through the green nippa palm wall (which was actually part of the enemy position) and grabbed Lt. Hughes on the run.
Somehow they got out of the clearing without life-threatening wounds. I can't explain that one.

I found my M-16 and bandolier of ammunition. Somehow that seemed to comfort me. I began to look around for a way out of there. On the other side of the clearing I saw Sp/4 Alton working his M-60 light
machine gun like a jackhammer. He was reloading and looked at me just as a bullet opened up the skin on his forearm in a smooth line about a foot long. As blood gushed from the wound, he rolled off the
gun, the assistant gunner rolled into his former position and pulled the trigger. The machine gun spewed death into the enemy position and the whole scene seemed so smooth that it must have been rehearsed beforehand. They didn't lose a second due to a serious injury. These guys were incredible.

I couldn't help but hear the words "alpha sierra" on the radio's external speaker. Now, any FNG (F**king New Guy) RTO knows that "alpha sierra" is coded language which means that the United States Air Force is on the way to rain fire and brimstone from the heavens. Of course they need a target to drop their bombs on and since one clump of nippa palm looks pretty much like another, we would toss a smoke grenade to give the flyboys a reference point.

I distinctly heard the word "yankee," which meant that someone was marking the target area with a yellow smoke plume which was visible for miles from the air. Suddenly I could see nothing but yellow smoke.

My fear of "friendly fire" in the guise of a scintillating napalm bath was instantly supplanted by the obvious fact that if I couldn't see two feet in front of me, neither could those other people who were earnestly trying to kill me.

I grabbed my M-16 and ammo and ran in the direction I could still vaguely see as the yellow cloud spread from right to left. This was the direction from which we had just come seconds, minutes...hours ago (I had no idea how much time had elapsed).

I realized that the sudden appearance of someone running from the ambush site could cause one of my platoon comrades to panic and shoot me. But I had no time and few options at this point. So I took
the chance.

I have recently learned that our Company Commander, Ron Pease and his RTO, Larry Flowers were actually in the nippa palm calling in napalm on the ambush site after third platoon withdrew.

I was pretty numb at this point. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, so I was beginning to shake. The fact that Lt. Hughes was dead seemed impossible. Weren't we just speaking to each other a
few minutes ago? Wasn't he the most knowledgeable man in the platoon about the dangers and wiles of combat? How could he be dead? He was just too f**king pretty to die. It wasn't fair. I knew next to nothing about combat. How could I survive when he died? It just wasn't fair. I wanted to cry.

I went to the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial in Washington, D.C., on 7/4/87. There I saw Lt. Hughes' name engraved as on a tombstone. Many feelings came rushing back to me, along with a good case of
survivor guilt. Why did he have to die? Why not me? What have I done, who am I to have survived that ambush? I haven't found a cure for cancer or made millions of dollars that I could give to save
starving children or help drug addicts. It's just not fair.

I still feel that way, minus the guilt. I know that nothing I could have done would have saved him. He might have stayed in that clearing for any number of reasons, but I'll never know what he was thinking. I suppose I did well to get my young ass out of there in one piece. I remember being very surprised to find that I had no holes in me while we were waiting for the medivac chopper to pick up Lt. Hughes,
the two point men and Alton.

That is all the story, from my perspective. I only knew Thomas Hughes for a few days, but he made an impression on me that hasn't faded with the passage of time. I would love to meet members of his
family some day. Maybe I could get a picture of him to hang on the wall of my study. I could tell people, "That's my friend First Lt. Thomas Hughes. I'll never forget him."

Larry E. Reid
US 53909075
9th Infantry Division, 1968-69

Posted by: Larry E. Reid
Email: gaian2000@yahoo.com

Relationship: We served together
Sunday, July 28, 2002

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The Monster in the Holler

Probably circa mid-1930s, Macon County, TN
By Larry Reid © 2009

When Clyde Reid was barely a teenager, he normally tricked his brother Connie (yes, Connie!) into doing his chores so little Clyde could hang with his friends and have fun. One time the gang found an empty barrel and a large section of tanned animal skin. They set out to make a drum and have a counsel fire in the tradition of the red man. They did this and were soon bored. Little Clyde had an idea.

He had picked up a chunk of rosin which had been left by a fiddler after a dance. They took some heavy string, tied it to a small twig and punctured the drum head so that the string was fixed inside the barrel but could not slip through the hole. The noise made by rubbing the rosin down the taught string made the hair stand up on the back of their necks.

They hid the apparatus and agreed to meet back at their camp after sunset. That night a legend was born. They were on top of a ridge which formed one side of a long holler, as we say in Tennessee (or "hollow" if you are a yankee). They knocked the bottom out of the barrel and pointed it toward the holler, then began experimenting with various string tensions and any variation they could invent to make different sounds.

The bellowing that came from their improvised speaker was horrifying. It was very loud and could sound like a gigantic bull calling to his sweetheart. Quick, short strokes sounded much like the heavy breathing of some sort of unknown behemoth.

People began to talk about the Monster in the Holler. Some said they had seen it and it was as tall as the trees. Others seem to have found colossal footprints of some unknown enormous beast. It's amazing what you can find when you think you know exactly what you're looking for. The legend spread and hunting parties were organized.

Of course, the gang heard about this and decided to lay low for a while. There was talk that the beast must have a secret lair in a cave where it could escape the daylight. The hunting parties always came up empty. The boys learned to point the open end of the barrel different directions to throw the beast's voice and make it seem to move around.

If this story has an ending, Dad never told me. I assume that things became a bit too hot and they destroyed the evidence so that the legend would live on. No one was seriously hurt and the boys had a fine time creating their very own mythical beast.

I suppose that is the happy ending.