What's the point?

Formations come in all shapes and sizes. Geese fly in a V. Elephants walk trunk to tail in single file with their calves in the middle. Wildebeests rest at night in linear bedding phalanxes, ten to twenty animals deep with a clear aisle between their ranks.

Soldiers goose-step past the reviewing stand. The Greeks used the wedge and the phalanx in battle. Roman legions fought in three parallel lines consisting of widely separated maniples (blocks) of 120.

In the jungle, a single file, three feet apart, is appropriate. A nervous point man leads. If he screws up, he could get a hundred guys killed. Our CO travels in the middle of our column with the 1st Sergeant and an RTO (radio operator).

Our senses are tuned to the jungle. The point watches for tigers, snakes and alligators. He checks trees; looks forward, right, left, up, down, like in the cowboy and Indian movies you saw as a kid. A detective in motion, wary as a cat, he has no idea what's about to go down. He interprets ambiguity.

When he's forced to hack through thick bamboo with a machete, the column slows to a snail's pace. Unusual movement, smells, sounds, broken branches or footprints are tell-tale signs in virgin jungle. A cough, a sneeze, a click, a snap. He freezes.

Man-by-man the column halts, coiling behind him like a snake about to strike. The CO has no clue why the column stopped until someone at the front radios back. We stay on our feet because it's an ordeal to get back up again with a ninety-pound pack on your back. When the point starts again, the snake uncoils.

If the column stops for a ten-minute break, then we drop to relax. A few of us stay alert.

If the point spots debris, a trail, a village, an old campsite or any other man made sign, our CO sends out a patrol before moving on. If the point finds a booby trap, we mark it with a stake and pass the word back. Usually they were old, out of commission.

Our Kit Carson scouts usually fell in with the point squad, near the front, not quite on point. They kept to the background, searching for bad situations, booby traps, anything out of place, volunteering information only when necessary. One actually claimed he could smell the enemy.

Less Traveled

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. 

—Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken (1920)

Our main opponents were the NVA (North Vietnamese Army). They were legit—didn't want to get zapped by their own traps, much wiser than the nut-case VC (Viet Cong).

We never followed old trails, new trails or middle-aged trails, always breaking new ground to avoid booby traps and ambushes. If we came upon a trail, we passed the word back. We didn’t cross rivers unless we had no choice, only followed them. We never visited the same area twice, never operated at night, always skirted villages. So, we avoided snipers.

Sometimes it seemed like we were roaming the countryside looking for a lost civilization or buried treasure.

We advanced in a straight line, blazing a trail through rain forest, grassy plains, bamboo and elephant grass, rivers, swamps and mountains. We didn't listen to transistors (radios), talk or joke; our time was spent concentrating on who we were, where we were and what we had to do, maintaining silence despite our heavy loads. This was a WAR zone for God's sake! Those who forgot could become casualties. No screw-balling either, surprising in a company with an average age of nineteen.

In the bush, I had to figure it out for myself because I came with no point training. Unless I was using a machete, I talked to the guys back of me, especially if they were experienced. I wasn’t alone in the world, but I wasn’t used to looking for signs either. The slackman training me a few steps behind was old boots—a vet experienced in country.

The more point I took, the more prepared I became, like a Boy Scout.

The Boogie Man

The first time Bob took point, he missed an NVA coming out of a bomb crater. The man got clean away. Pissed off the vet behind him.

Another time, Bob spied a land mine. He dropped to one knee to present a smaller target. The column came screeching to a halt. The vet behind chastised him for reacting as if it was the enemy, came up to look for himself and dropped to one knee for the same reason. Panic at the disco.

After they informed the CO, a small squad, with its own point man, sallied forth to investigate. The mine was ancient, so they marked it, passed the word back, and on we went.

Prof. Dennis H. Mahan, who taught most of the top officers in the Civil War, introduced the idea of the point to West Point (no pun intended):

The apex, or most advanced point, may be formed of a staff, or other intelligent officer, under the escort of a few horsemen . . . —Elementary Treatise on Advanced-Guard, Out-Post and Detachment Service of Troops (1861)

The first time I walked point, I got yelled at for my excess caution in open grass. Fine! I kicked it into high gear. The column behind me could barely keep up but at least I stopped their bitching.

I never came face-to-face with the enemy, but point was too stressful, layered on top of my other constant worries; life, family, and comrades.

The M-79 grenade launcher was a specialized weapon, ineffective for the point and exempted those who carried it. After I had been on point a couple of times, a guy with the M-79 grenade launcher went back to the world. I jumped at the chance to trade my M-16 and point for the clumsy M-79, despite the weight of the fifty grenades that came with it. In no time, I became an expert with it. Yesactly!

Who's Point?

Point is an unpopular position filled by rotation during the CO’s morning meeting.

Who had point last?

In turn, the leader of the lucky squad christened one of his guys point—often a disposable FNG (fucking new guy).

The officers used compasses and read maps and map coordinates, but the point followed a stream of simple orders from the CO which made its way up the line by radio or word of mouth.

See that big tree 1000 mikes (meters) down there? Head for it.

Roger that.

Point also sent his notable observations back down the line, but he didn't communicate with the CO every time he stopped.

It could be heavy going. We had a famous case in elephant grass. PFC Puget had been breaking bush with his machete in the one-hundred plus degree heat for a couple of hours when he collapsed. We waited while Doc Howe re-hydrated him. Just add water. Captain Rice called the meat wagon (helicopter ambulance) and we continued.

Everything seemed hunky-dory until we found out that CBS had rushed the tape to New York. His mother freaked when she saw her son on the nightly news with his tongue hanging out. The army had been taking the browns to the Superbowl and hadn’t got around to her. That’s how you start a congressional investigation.

Meanwhile, the meat factory (hospital) gave Puget a clean bill of health, informed his mother and he was back in field after his two-day vacation.

Point was not a fan favorite, but neither is suicide.

No one wants to be the kink in the band of brothers.