Vietnam: Psychic Precognition and the 122 Rocket Attack

A rocket attack at Camp Books. Read comment below
 from Mark Harms about this and other attacks.

Near the finish of my Vietnam tour, I was with B Company 7th Motors at the north end of a small firebase called Camp Books. We were separated from the main base by water, pretty much isolating our group except for an access road. I had it good by Vietnam standards, compared to when I was with the grunt battalion. We had plywood buildings to sleep in when we weren't in fighting holes. Every other building had a bunker. The problem was I spent most nights in a perimeter fighting hole.

While with B Company, I was on the receiving end of at least 300 rockets. The 122mm rocket is a killer. The enemy still uses it on our troops in Iraq today. You just don't hear about it much. The 122 is six feet long and carries a 40 pound TNT warhead up to six miles, fired from portable launchers. The 122 is unstable and cannot be set to strike a specific target. They aim it in the general direction and hope to kill you. Many times they did. The rocket can be set for a delay, an airburst, or set to dig in several feet before exploding. The blast always goes forward during an impact, but the blast concussion can also cause severe damage or death.
(The picture above shows the result of a plywood building after being hit with a 122 rocket. The result was one KIA Marines and several wounded. Click photo to enlarge.)

At night, a 122 rocket launch will begin with an orange glow, usually about one mile away. It's about the same as if you were firing bottle rockets only a lot bigger. They sound like a freight train coming with an added evil whoosh noise. All you can do is hope they pass over you. If the freight train whoosh noise stops before you can hear the sound of its passing, you could be in major trouble because it's on top of you. (There is truth to the old saying that you never hear the one that gets you, but it doesn't apply to the 122 rocket.) It may be true for artillery and mortars, but rockets are a bit slower and you always hear them coming. The worst part is not being able to strike back. You get a total helpless feeling mixed with homicidal anger. You have to cringe into a ball and hope the rocket doesn't hit near you.

One night around two in the morning in June 1968, I was in the plywood barracks. I awoke in sudden panic, as if I had been plugged into an electric outlet. I didn't know what had happened. I couldn't shake it. Then, I knew. I ran out to the perimeter where my best friend, Chuck Searles, stood watch in a fighting hole. I told him we were about to be hit and to stay alert. I went to every perimeter fighting hole. They thought I was nuts. Then I ran back to the barracks and started waking everyone. Some of them wanted to shoot me.

About three minutes later, the first orange glow lit up the jungle as a rocket launched. An empty bunker took a direct hit (those marines had gone farther north that day) and we had barracks and truck damage, but no deaths because everyone was up and dug in. Most of the barrage passed over us to the main base where marines from the picture above were killed. We expected a ground assault to follow, but by then we were prepared for it. It never came that night. B Company thought I was Mr. Wizard or something. I can't explain how I knew about the rocket attack. It was my first severe experience with psychic precognition.

Dennis Latham Fiction

A Marine on The Bad Season

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