Corporal Peter ( Hobe ) Hoban, served in Vietnam from January 1968 through February 1969. He was born April 10, 1948 in Boston, Massachusetts, lived in another town until moving to Milton, my home town while in grade school. Peter was well thought of and was the funniest guy in our geometry class with Mr. Gleason. Peter was smart and was an "All American Football Player" in High School, as a guard. He earned a four year football scholarship at Boston University, all expenses paid. 

     Peter was assigned to H&S through S-2 to Hotel Company as our sniper. It pretty much meant he had his own things he could do when ever there were not any direct orders countermanding his decisions. Peter was attached mostly to second Platoon. I didn't get to see him as often as I wanted as I was in first Platoon and didn't get there until long after Peter had been with Hotel Company, some five months or more. Once I showed up, Peter also made it a point to be with us in 1st. Platoon as well, especially at this Hill Ten or what became known as "Hand grenade Hill" for the number of out going and incoming grenades that took seventy per cent of 1st. Platoon on the first night attack on us. Peter heroically tried to rescue a couple of 1st. Platoon men who had a zapper drop a 20 pound charge of explosives near their hole, unknowingly to Peter, killing both Marines manning the position. Peter evacuated the dead Marines while under heavy fire and grenade explosions going off all around him narrowly missing him and killing him as well. 

     After we held the first siege on our position, the holes that the 1st Platoon were manning were seventy percent empty due to dead and wounded Marines of 1st. Platoon. Myself being in 1st Platoon was ordered to man the hole where Peter evacuated the dead Marines earlier. He found out I was alone in the hole and we were still being attacked, as the NVA and VC were hell bent on destroying us all that night. Peter not having an official hole to man and usually being with 2nd Platoon, left his normal safe area, to come over to my hazardous area and spend the entire rest of the attack, all night, with me. He kept me from actually getting killed or losing my mind, from all the grenades that were being thrown at me, and Peter now, that rest of the night.

   I did say one thing to upset Peter a bit. After carrying two dead Marines to be evacuated, he was covered with their blood from head to toe and smelled a bit ripe I'd say. I told him that and he asked me if I'd rather have him leave which I immediately almost begged him not to go and to stay with me no matter how bad he smelled of death, he was keeping me alive and my sanity as well too. Peter won't say anything about that night, but he actually by telling me when to duck and when to throw grenades, saved my life from being killed by exploding grenades, or another zapper that knew I new nothing and attacking my position again. Peter is more then a friend to me today some 32 years later. No one do I trust so implicitly with anything I have as I do with Peter and to Peter. I'm truly a blessed man for having such a friend who risked his own life to make sure mine would be OK.

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