I appreciate wholeheartedly all the kind words that helped prop me up this week after my rant about Viet Nam. I usually mentally prepare myself for Nov. 9 each year by taking the day off and escaping somewhere that is preplanned, a place that gives me solitude and comfort.

This year when the day came I was overwhelmed with work, the usual stuff we all deal with each day, phone calls, texts, emails and scheduled meetings with people. I found myself impatient and wanted to scream, all I could think about was that day 46 years ago in Viet Nam. We all on occasion forget a friend’s birthday or even a sibling’s birthday. Nov. 9 is a day I have never forgotten each year for 46 years.

I was assigned a new man from the States, as we used to say, “so new, he was still pissing State water.” I was a squad leader and in charge of eight men; Scott was my new recruit. I was on a forward fire base (artillery) for three days getting resupplied for my next mission with my platoon, a mission that would take us deep into a bad area of known VC booby traps and ambushes.

Scott was really scared and was continually asking me questions. Are there really a lot of poisonous snakes over here, do you get ambushed often? After three days of his concerned questions, I told him to remember everything that he was trained for but most importantly to listen and learn from the guys who had been in Viet Nam for awhile. I reassured him numerous times that he was going to be all right.

We left LZ Liz and headed out for our next mission, to an area where the VC had been booby trapping and attacking supply trucks on Highway One with rocket-propelled grenades. Our unit was being sent in to find and engage the enemy.

It was a long hike with heavy gear on our backs in hot, humid conditions. We marched all day through jungles and rice paddies and passed through a couple of villages. Toward the end of the day we picked a small island surrounded by rice paddies that held the remnants of an abandoned hooch complete with old banana trees.

We set up our perimeter for the night with four or five positions fortified with claymore mines, four M60 machine guns, M79 grenade launchers, hand grenades, M72 rocket launchers, and 30 men in our platoon carried M16 automatic rifles. We also had access to nearby artillery bases, and a battleship and aircraft carrier anchored offshore in the South China Sea.

We were all exhausted from our long patrol and I remember having words with one of my men who refused to dig a foxhole because he was tired. I basically told this man he had two things to worry about — the enemy and me — if he didn’t dig his hole. He ended up digging.

I had a bad feeling about this night, so much so that I changed my position to be close to another new man assigned to me who was carrying a machine gun. I wanted to be close to my machine gunner in case all hell broke loose. A machine gun was an important weapon and I wanted to be nearby to make sure this new man wouldn’t freak out under fire and shoot all his rounds off at nothing.

The night was a miserable one with wind, rain and really dark, you couldn’t see a hand in front of your face. Just before midnight we came under attack with two rocket-propelled grenades hitting within our perimeter. I could hear the shrapnel whizzing all around me, ripping through the trees overhead and bushes nearby.

I propped up on my elbows and was in the process of putting my steel pot on my head when a third round hit, sending a piece of shrapnel into the back of my head. It felt like somebody had hit me as hard as they could with a baseball bat, my ears rang and my vision was blurred.

To make a long story short, we had artillery pelt the area where we felt the enemy was located and a medivac helicopter was summoned for the wounded. I remember friends carrying Scott out into the rice paddy where the chopper would pick us up. Scott had a chest wound and he was making grunting noises that sounded like a pig. I held Scott in my arms in the helicopter and told him he was going to be okay. He never spoke; he struggled in my arms and it was all I could do to hold him. Midway through the flight, he went limp in my arms and died.

This is what I thought about today. It was like it happened yesterday. I was supposed to be with Scott that night on guard duty but my uneasiness told me to move, poor Scott was so scared, especially when I told him I was moving. Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay.

Nov. 9 is a difficult time for me and this year I wasn’t mentally prepared to deal with it like I usually do. I had a busy morning schedule and couldn’t handle it; I turned off my phone and disappeared with my dog.

War is a terrible thing, it turns you into a different person. It instills guilt and has left me at times a very impatient man, impatient to deal with situations that are important perhaps to those around me but I find them petty compared to the things I dealt with. I wasn’t old enough to drink alcohol but my country found me old enough to fight.

I live my life in deep appreciation for the beauty of my surroundings. I don’t use my war experience as a crutch, I use it to give me strength when I need it.

Tomorrow is another day that I look forward to because I won’t be thinking about war like I did today, nor will I until next Nov. 9 comes around again.

Albert O. Fischer lives in West Tisbury.