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HONORED ON PANEL 39W, LINE 58 OF THE WALL
MICHAEL FRANCIS BRANIN JR
WALL NAME
MICHAEL F BRANIN JR
PANEL / LINE
39W/58
DATE OF BIRTH
CASUALTY PROVINCE
DATE OF CASUALTY
HOME OF RECORD
COUNTY OF RECORD
STATE
BRANCH OF SERVICE
RANK
REMEMBRANCES
LEFT FOR MICHAEL FRANCIS BRANIN JR
POSTED ON 6.14.2001
POSTED BY: Ben Youmans
CACTI FOREVER
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
POSTED ON 12.7.1999
POSTED BY: Timothy Baranyay
Explosion in the Bunker
It was 31 years ago, May 1968, that I had met Mike Branin. We were at Fort Gordon, Ga., going through intense light weapons infantry training. Training was tougher than most because everyone was an airborne volunteer. Mike was a rugged, muscular 20 year old, with a shy personality and an engaging smile. We were together through jump school at Fort Benning, Ga., and then said our goodbyes and best of luck because we knew our next stop was Vietnam.
It was now August and I was standing in a bus ticket line in San Francisco, when I noticed a soldier a few people in front of me. I had seen the back of that head many times before in the chow line and road marches. It was in fact Mike Branin. We decided to get a room for the night, since we didn't have to report to the Oakland Army Terminal until the next day. We were in no hurry to get to our destination.
Once in Vietnam, Mike and I did most of our processing together, because our names were so close in the alphabet. We were both assigned to Company C, 1st Battalion, 35th Infantry, Fourth Infantry Division at Pleiku. As luck would have it, Mike and I were assigned to the same squad. What a feeling, I was with someone I knew, someone from home, New Jersey even if I had never been to Kearny.
For several months our unit worked off an LZ called Jean. It was on Highway 19 very close to Cambodia. Part of our mission was to support the Duc Co Special Forces Camp. Mike, PFC Buzzard and myself built a great bunker. We reinforced the roof and sides, paying particular attention to the blast wall at the door.
It was the morning of November 13, 1968, when Mike woke me up around 6 a.m. Things didn't look good. We were about to meet this war up close and personal. Around 7 a.m., the first of many 55 mm recoilless rifle rounds began exploding inside our small fire base. I immediately took cover and yelled for Mike to do the same. I prayed that nothing would hit the bunker when suddenly there was a loud whistling noise. The explosion was tremendous, spraying debris and choking smoke over me lifting me off the ground.
Seconds later, I heard Mike screaming for me. The blast wall had been knocked down. I got him inside the bunker with me and tried to comfort him. Mike was hurt real bad and was dying before my eyes. I carried him on a litter to an awaiting MedEvac helicopter. It was a day or so later that I was told Mike had died. I was devastated.
I escorted Mike's body back to the United States at the request of his parent.
This remembrance is submitted by Tim Baranyay 1821 Newark Ave. Whiting, N.J. 08759. (732) 350-1027.
It was now August and I was standing in a bus ticket line in San Francisco, when I noticed a soldier a few people in front of me. I had seen the back of that head many times before in the chow line and road marches. It was in fact Mike Branin. We decided to get a room for the night, since we didn't have to report to the Oakland Army Terminal until the next day. We were in no hurry to get to our destination.
Once in Vietnam, Mike and I did most of our processing together, because our names were so close in the alphabet. We were both assigned to Company C, 1st Battalion, 35th Infantry, Fourth Infantry Division at Pleiku. As luck would have it, Mike and I were assigned to the same squad. What a feeling, I was with someone I knew, someone from home, New Jersey even if I had never been to Kearny.
For several months our unit worked off an LZ called Jean. It was on Highway 19 very close to Cambodia. Part of our mission was to support the Duc Co Special Forces Camp. Mike, PFC Buzzard and myself built a great bunker. We reinforced the roof and sides, paying particular attention to the blast wall at the door.
It was the morning of November 13, 1968, when Mike woke me up around 6 a.m. Things didn't look good. We were about to meet this war up close and personal. Around 7 a.m., the first of many 55 mm recoilless rifle rounds began exploding inside our small fire base. I immediately took cover and yelled for Mike to do the same. I prayed that nothing would hit the bunker when suddenly there was a loud whistling noise. The explosion was tremendous, spraying debris and choking smoke over me lifting me off the ground.
Seconds later, I heard Mike screaming for me. The blast wall had been knocked down. I got him inside the bunker with me and tried to comfort him. Mike was hurt real bad and was dying before my eyes. I carried him on a litter to an awaiting MedEvac helicopter. It was a day or so later that I was told Mike had died. I was devastated.
I escorted Mike's body back to the United States at the request of his parent.
This remembrance is submitted by Tim Baranyay 1821 Newark Ave. Whiting, N.J. 08759. (732) 350-1027.