By Eugene "Gene'o" Csuti and Rusty Moede.
(These stores are NOT available
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written consent of both authors. Contact both for such a request.)
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Some of the context included in these two narratives could be offensive, but it was my intent to keep the text exactly as the writers wrote. it is not my intent to alter anything here, to suit political correctness. If such content disturbs or bothers you, then don't read it. I feel that the following humor more than accomplishes its task of expressing the youthful verve that was so much a part of our combat soldiers and Marines in the bush... Please enjoy our two little stories of the wicked...
||||Gene'os VC RAT|||||Rusty Moede's VC RAT|||||Go Back to Jake's Gedunk||||
By Eugene "Gene'o" Csuti
Not all Vietnam was terror in the bush; it also came to your hooch...
Now everyone has a story about the fabled VC Rat...but there's no VC Rat story involving such a dastardly..cunning..scum suck'n...cold blooded VC Rat...this tale is not for the weak at heart it involves a life and death struggle to the bitter end.....
Now everyone in Nam remembers getting their beloved "care package". Oh the care package from home...remember them? Well this story involves Gene'o and his greatest care package ever...and the dastardly..cunning..scum suck'n..cold blooded VC rat... Ok here goes....well my grandma..bless her...had sent care packages to the men of the Csuti family during war time dating back to WWI..but her finest care package was sent to me...my grandma wrote to me and asked.."Gene'o my grandson, I wish to assemble the finest care package ever and send it to you...what do you want...?" I wrote back....Ok grandma..here is the list...two cartons of Old Golds (see cigs from the *world* had a tax sticker on each pack that made them better)..30 packs of Cool Aid (now I know there are those of you out there wondering why cool aid ???? ask later)..grandma buy two plastic baby bottles and fill them up with Jack Daniels...three packs of jelly beans..a tin or so of rice crispy bars..and gramma...to top it off...two packs of Oreo cookies...modest list, it was but I did not want to financially break my little old grandma...I gave grandma instructions to line the box with a plastic bag..put in my treasured Items...and fill the remaining space with pop corn...see the pop corn served three purposes It protected the stuff in the box. It kept things fresh and dry in the box...and I could eat it....try that with the plastic stuff now....Ok grandma wrote back saying everything was on it's way..every Item I wished for..and she only had added one thing not on my list...she included three pairs of socks..well my grandma was sensible I could put up with socks...
Well the day had arrived...my care package had arrived. It was unscathed...and had not been even opened. I grabbed it in both arms and carried it back to my hooch and opened it...now you guys have to understand..there was a grunt code..."no one..I mean no one..ever took anything from your care package..a care package was sacred.." but what you usually did was share something upon opening the care package...I took out one of the plastic baby bottles of booze and passed it around..we had Jack..pop corn..a couple of Oreo's..jelly beans..rice crispy bars..and to top it off a cig from the *world*..god, it could not get any better..we had died and gone to grunt heaven...ya gotta understand it was these simple things..that turned on a grunt...well the next day we left for a three day patrol..so I closed up my box and pushed it under my rack. It's safe...well we left and came back..when I got to my hooch I reached under my rack and slid out my care package I noticed that some pop corn fell out of a hole in the side of the box. I opened the box up and looked inside..what the hell...a VC Rat had chewed a hole in the side of the box and gotten inside...this VC Rat had eaten pop corn..gotten into every pack of my Old Golds..tasted every pack of cool aid...helped him self to my jelly beans..ate my rice crispy bars...ate holes in my plastic baby bottles filled with jack and drained my booze...and the son of a bitch ate on my Oreo cookies... now not only did he do all of this..the son of a bitch marked his new found food stash....he pissed over everything and took three dumps on my stuff.....the greatest care package ever....destroyed by a VC Rat!! Now that single act was worse than war..that act of wanton destruction violated every law known to a self respecting grunt..nobody...I mean nobody messed with your care package...this is *war*...well I was already in a war..but I now had a private war. I'm on a mission given to me by the grunt gods...
....."Gene'o vs. the VC Rat"....
I realized that this VC Rat was trained good...he knew how to destroy morale... I pondered how many other care packages he had gotten into. That day I decided the VC Rat's ass belongs to Gene'o...this VC Rat has just messed with one of America's trained fighting men..a United States Marine..a cunning 19 year old with no fear...a *grunt*....well through my head ran thoughts of calling in air strikes..artillery missions..stealing a tank to blast the shit out of him...claymore mines.. grenades... machine guns...gotta get the sucker...but one problem..all my plans for the VC Rat ended up blowing up my hooch. I searched for a answer for a whole day...gotta get that VC Rat..gotta get that VC Rat...no surrender...no prisoners...this is what the Marine Corps trained me for.. adapt to any situation...no matter how bleak things are a marine can always figure out a plan...then the answer came to me...a vision from my grandma. I remembered growing up in Wisconsin on a farm...reloading my own shot gun and rifle shells....yeah grandma I see It now. Its all clear. I have formed a plan...I get a full M-16 magazine and take out 10 shells..with a pair of pliers I take out all the bullets and dump the powder out...next I get a big bar of soap. I go to the skipper and tell him I need to fire my M-16...the skipper says Ok. I go to the berm and start loading my bullets. I put 1/4 charge of powder in the shell and jamb it into the soap bar. I load up the bullet into my M-16..take aim and shoot...too much powder..too much noise I lighten up my load to 1/6 charge, load up and shoot...poooof..real quiet..now the test.. I get a "c" ration box and draw a crude picture of the VC Rat on it.. I step back 10 feet and shoot...poooof right through the box...all right..!!!...bring on the VC Rat...the marines are go'n ta kick VC Rat ass...!!!!!!! I lay the ambush..remaining popcorn placed under my rack...each piece of popcorn leading to a Oreo cookie... beautiful. I take up position on the rack across from mine..load up my M-16 with one soap bullet..lay down my stash of 6 soap bullets...put the starlight scope on my M-16...and wait..... yeeeeeessssssssss..the United States Marine Corps laying in ambush....this is what I have been trained for...this VC Rat is go'n ta pay dearly..no surrender..no prisoners. It gets dark..and around 2100 hours through the starlight I see the VC Rat...he is moving slowly towards my ambush...unaware...ahhhhh yeeesssss.. the VC Rat has taken the bait. I patiently wait as the VC Rat stops to eat the popcorn...nah I can not dust him now...not while eating popcorn..he has to pay...go for the Oreo cookie you son of a bitch! I wait.. the VC Rat now sees the Oreo cookie and moves to eat it...yeeeeessssss.......through the starlight scope, I have perfect sight alignment...perfect sight picture..cross hairs on his front shoulder, I take a breath.. lightly caress the trigger...poooofff...a hit...the VC Rat is mine...raise the flag...get your apple pie...kiss the girls...wwweeeelllll folks what happens next is not pretty. It has scared many a battle hardened marine grunt. I see the hit. It's good...the VC Rat jumps 3 feet in the air...he lets out his high pitched VC Rat scream. I stiffen as I know this is the dreaded VC Rat charge scream. I calmly reach for another bullet..but in the dark I can not find my bullets..the VC Rat has now started his charge. It's a classic charge...the VC Rat knows his stuff..he is schooled well..."charge your ambusher" I still can not find my bullets..shit...shit. It's hand to hand for sure I did not bring my "K" bar..or have fixed my bayonet.., I pick up the rack I am sitting on and throw it at the VC Rat...this slows his charge...now in the Marine Corps we retreat in a orderly fashion...not Gene'o..he dives out of the hooch..hits the dirt a runn'n...with the battle declared over and a draw...a Recon was taken of my hooch..no VC Rat body..no VC Rat blood trail..one leg broke on my rack and one leg broke on the one I threw at the VC Rat. It was said that my hooch looked like a bar room brawl happened...the place were warriors clashed..a proud battle ground that is to surely make the Marine Corps history books...ya know I never saw that VC Rat again...but never again did I trust my care packages on the floor. I unpacked them and safely stored them in ammo boxes....so ends the story of the dreaded VC Rat....
Eugene "Gene'o" Csuti
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Go to Rusty's Version of the VC Rat
By Rusty "Short Rounds" Moede
In one of the 22 fire bases that I had the privilege of blowing the heck outta the country side from, we had an actual, almost able to stand up in, built with ammo boxes, hooch. In said hooch there were three greatly used and hauled-all-over-Cambodia-and-Nam cots. Cots placed in the three corners of said hooch on pallets to keep our little feet dry.
After a long night of Fire missions and Ba Mui Ba beer.../AKA/ 33) (plus a bunch of weed), we had sacked out for the remainder of the last hour before dawn. We had, being well trained Army, left C-rats strewn across the floor to a depth of about 4 inches. Just before dawn my cot gave a little wobble side to side. I figured it was one of my well trained, Army Issue, born-in- the-Nam mutts. As I laid there, the movement of said creature, moved up my back side as I was laying on my right side. That is my military right. I knew that this was not one of my well trained Army mutts by the slithering creeping movement of said creature. As the movement of said creature came to rest on the back edge of my cot and towards the corner, I rolled slowly to peek over my shoulder. And there he was, standing on his haunches, peering down at me with those little beedie eyeballs and narrow splintered VC rat teeth. With one awkward blow over my shoulder I knocked said enemy rat into the corner as the hand-to-hand was immediately returned with vigor and the famed fighting scream of our common enemy. He, In a heart beat, jammed out the door of our hooch. My other three soldier buddies hadn't stirred in the slightest, so I began to formulate my tactical strategies. I pulled my M-16 from the corner where the VC rat had been but moments before. As usual, It had a full clip and one in the spout. I hunkered up in the corner, knowing that the VC rats always comes back for re-supply and that they have no fear whatsoever.
The moonlight was now coming in through the door of our hooch and lit up the pallet that was covered with half eaten C-rats. The VC rat approached cautiously as I readied myself for the ambush. He entered the room and moved very slowly, tasting his way along until he got to the main body of food cans. I slowly squeezed the trigger on my trusty M-16.
I did not realize that my trusty M-16 was set on rock & roll (full auto). And as any good Army man knows about the nomenclature of the M-16.. It fires 20 rounds in 1.2 seconds. Well, to say the least, I ripped a clip off through the pallet sending c-rat cans everywhere. And worst of all, I woke up my buddies who thought they were about to die! I spent the rest of that night and part of that morning running around my hooch and the general battery area staying out of Machete reach of my good buddies. No blood trail, no confirmed kill. But alas....a fond memory of the hand to hand with my formidable enemy....the dreaded VC rat.
Rusty "Short Rounds" Moede
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Go to Gene'os Version of the VC Rat
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