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the log, as far under it as I could scoot—I had my .45 in ready to fire position—-I could also hear the VC patrol up on the trail which we had just vacated. I could hear their excited voices as they realized what the roar was—just as I did. The big dead tree I was lying under was hollow and it was filled with a bee nest! At about that same time the huge bees began stinging me and swarming all over the area. The VC were alarmed and I could hear it in their voices—THE BEES. I was staying as still as I could—I did my best to cover my neck and face as the bees were all over my body —stinging me thru my clothes—I remained as still as I could as each sting felt like a hypodermic needle —the VC patrol apparently did not see Harris or myself—they were focused on the bees. The VC decided to reverse their direction and go the other way. This was good because, otherwise, they would’ve run right into my platoon. I was in great pain at this point—my entire body was aflame with bee stings—later we counted close to fifty +. I waited as long as I could and quietly worked my way back to the platoon area. PFC Harris was already there and had briefed S/Sgt. Wenger who was in the process of mounting a rescue mission to go get me. I nearly collapsed onto a poncho they had laid out for me—the bee stings looked like golf balls all over my body. Our corpsman began administering steroids to keep the swelling down. We had to hold up there that night as I became very ill with all the poison in my system. By morning I felt a little better but not good. We had to get moving—at this point finding water was our main priority—we were down to approx. 3/4 canteens of water for the entire platoon —we rationed our water so that each Marine could at least get a swallow of water as we searched for a water supply.
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