The Power of CAP
By  ~ Mike  "Deduke"  Smith

As CAP Marines, a lot of us have the impression that we did not contribute as much to the Marine Corps legacy as did other Marines. Were the Marines at Bellaeu Wood, or Iwo Jima, or the Frozen Chosin, or Bagdhad more worthy as warriors than those of us who were able to run around the ville in Tiger shorts? While the grunts were humping around the Arizona, going into unknown territory, we stayed within a few clicks of our ville where we knew every ditch and dike. While the grunts were wishing they hadn't thrown away that can of ham and motherfuckers, we could stop at mama-san's for a bowl of noodles. Were the grunts better Marines than us?

Obviously the answer is no, just as we were not better Marines than Wing Wipers or supply clerks. Those of us in the early CAPs had different experiences than those of us there at the end. There were brave Marines in all CAPs, from beginning to end. L/cpl Miguel Keith, CAP 1-3-2, was awarded the Medal Of Honor for his actions on 8 May, 1970. Other Medals Of Honor were awarded before that and after that, as were Purple Hearts and Firewatch
ribbons. But why are we as much Marines as Chesty Puller or General Hagee?
Here's why.

When guns are quiet, combat power becomes dormant.The purpose of a warrior is to make bad guys go away. Whether we send them to Hell, or back home to China, or to hide in a hole in the middle of nowhere, victory comes when the bad guys go away. The times when we could play with the kids were purchased
in the days before. Our reputation as Marines was earned by our actions.
Combat power was demonstrated as ably by CAPs as by grunts, just as the fight for Hue City yielded the same result as the fight at Guadalcanal.

The power of CAPs, however, was demonstrated when the guns were silent. I can still see the looks on the faces of our kids when we taught them to make fly-swatters. All we did was to stick a piece of C-Rat cardboard into a piece of split bamboo, but when we did, we could see the light bulbs come on in their heads. It was like we had invented the wheel. Pretty soon, each kid had made his own fly-swatter with his own improvements. I can honestly say that, on that day, we made their lives better. It is almost incomprehensible to consider the effects of building a school, or saving the life of a village chief, or of describing life in America. When Papa-san planted his rice, he knew we would be there to make sure he could reap what he had sown.  The seeds we planted were in a generation of kids who had known only war and death and repression. Those seeds grow slower than rice, but they are nevertheless growing.

A lot of effort has gone into killing those seeds, both by the North Vietnamese and by the Americans who denigrate our service. Every word out of Jane Fonda's mouth killed a seed. Every march by a warrior wanna-be carrying a Viet Cong flag killed a seed. Every murder in a Vietnamese re-education camp killed a seed. Every creep claiming to be a SEAL killed a seed. Every bullshit story about American atrocities killed a seed. But they can't kill all the seeds. We planted too many. Our Vietnamese kids, at least those who survived, have told their stories to their kids. They have grown up to see new hotels and medical clinics. They remember what Doc taught them about soap and hookworms. They remember the Marines who tried to make their lives better. They remember how to make fly-swatters.

It doesn't matter that every CAP Marine was not awarded the Silver Star.  What matters is that we all planted seeds.