Saving Larry
A Job for the Lord
by
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After being in Qui Nhon for about eight days, I observed some Vietnamese children stepping off and writing down their steps on a piece of paper. I informed the First Shirt (Sergeant) of this and he said to chase them away the next time I saw them around. The very next day at dusk…here they came, Sappers and their supporters. They appeared to be hopped up on heroin or opium. They had explosives strapped on their backs. After staying at my primary position which was at a third floor window, I started receiving a lot of fire from the Viet Cong who were hiding on the rooftops of buildings surrounding the hotel. They were there to provide back up for the Sappers and to insure their success in accessing our billets. I caught a bullet in my left wrist, leaving that hand to just flop around. An RPG exploded off to my right side just as I turned the corner where a refrigerator sat and it was full of Ba mu’o’i Ba (Vietnamese beer). At that same time, there was a huge explosion and I saw red, blue, yellow, and green colors. The next thing I knew I was under tons of concrete, buried alive. There was a slab of concrete on my head with my right arm pinned underneath it. My left hand flopped but I had to use it to make myself a breathing hole. The refrigerator was above me now held in place by other rubble and concrete. The beer had burst open and it was dripping down on my face. I inhaled it without even knowing, but it was cool and I couldn’t move. I know that God had to be in that death hole with me or I would never have heard the voices in the distance. “Is anybody in there?” Unable to move, my voice was weak but my First Shirt heard me and responded. He started crawling in to meet me and when he got head to head with me, I said, “I told you so.” He was looking down in my face and started crying. His tears were falling on my face. After clearing enough debris to get me out, and making a way for me to breathe better, he encouraged me “to hang in there” and told me to hold on to his neck with my good arm. He then proceeded to pull me out of the rubble with me hanging onto his neck. I didn’t know how badly I was wounded. Medics were rushing around and one immediately inserted a large dose of morphine in my leg and due to all the chaos he moved on and forgot to tag me. Right away, another medic inserted a large dose of morphine in my leg again. This time he tagged me but I was left at deaths door because of an overdose of morphine. Surely God had to be with me because with all my injuries, loss of blood, and an overdose of morphine…how could I be alive? I still didn’t even know the extent of my wounds. I was quickly loaded onto a three quarter ton truck and taken to the runway. Our billets were about a mile from where we worked on the choppers. They determined my injuries too severe to be loaded onto a helicopter so they put me on an Army Caribou. This aircraft was designed to make a short take off. The engines were revved up so high, we must have taken off in about thirty feet. As I was passing out I heard the medic say, “He’s not going to make it.” I can’t remember anything again until I was being transferred from the Caribou into the 8th Field Hospital in Da Nang. I was so cold. The gurney they had me on went flying across the runway. I only had enough consciousness to feel my body flop and flop again, like a dead or dying fish. My heart thumped hard in my chest and I was cold, so very cold. The doctors worked on me, cutting off my boots and fatigues before I even reached the hospital door. Next they inserted an IV needle in my left arm, my bad arm. I wondered why they were putting the needle in my badly injured arm but I was cold and fading in and out. They checked my dog tags noting that I was O negative blood. As the drip started and blood flowed into my body, I felt the warmth spreading throughout. I had not had any blood but my heart beat, almost in self defense, and once again…I was made alive. Soon I was warm all over. God never entered my mind. I passed out and was told later that I had slept three or four days. The next time I awoke, General Westmoreland was sitting on the side of my bed. He gently ran his fingers through my hair. “How are you feeling, son?” I gave a weak response. “Not worth a crap, sir!” He leaned over and pinned a purple heart on my sheet. Ambassador Taylor was leaning on the foot of the bed. He grinned, saying, “you tell him, son.”
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About the Book
This book tells the true story of a young man who served his country well in both the United States Marines and the United States Army. It gives the horrendous events surrounding his time in Vietnam, his injuries so critical, his death seem imminent. It details his recovery time of nearly three years in Walter Reed Hospital. After returning home, he took whatever job he could find. Later his near death experience in the coal mines cost him another eighteen months out of work. The night of the accident in the mines, just before the kettlebottom fell, he was sure he heard a voice telling him to turn around and when he did, the kettlebottom fell from the roof and crushed his leg. There was no one around to warn him, so where did that voice come from. He had always stressed that he didn't need anyone, but he had a wife and three sons who always felt they were on the outside looking in on his life. Since he couldn't share himself for fear of being hurt, he built a wall and even God wasn't invited in. In 2014, the wall started crumbling when he found himself in a situation beyond his control.
About the Author
Larry Dale Fernatt was born May 23, 1941, at home in Standard, West Virginia. His parents were Ceif and Clara Fernatt. His father was a coal miner, as were his two brothers. His mother was well-known for praying long, meaningful prayers throughout the coal camp. He and his mother were very close. He served in the US Marines and the US Army. While in the army, he fought in Vietnam and was injured to the point of death, spent nearly three years recovering in Walter Reed Hospital. He received a purple heart and a silver star for his bravery in Vietnam. He was released in October of 1968 with 80 percent disability. He went to Embry Riddle Aeronautical University in Daytona Beach, Florida. He studied there to become an air craft mechanic. He graduated from Embry Riddle in 1971. He then returned to West Virginia determined to find a job using his new skills. He went to work in the coal mines in 1971, late summer. He was injured very badly in August 1975 when a large piece of kettlebottom fell from the roof of the mine. A voice had told him to “to get up and turn around,” an action that saved his life. There was no one around. He had been alone in that area of the mine. Had he not turned around, the kettlebottom would have crushed him. He went on later to become a postmaster and after sixteen years with USPS, he retired in 1999 due to a blood allergy caused from “agent orange” exposure. In 2014, at seventy-three he was convicted of three felonies that caused him to be sentenced to forty years in prison with a chance of parole in twenty years. This is his story.