It was December 17th, 1969. In 8 days, I would celebrate my 20th
Christmas. I had been in-country Vietnam for one week. At breakfast
this morning I received instructions to check in at headquarters. On
my way there I was in a mental tug-of-war about my purpose for the
trip. On the door of the office was a large notice for everyone to
check the bulletin board nearby for updated Unit assignments. I
wasn’t worried, I still had another week of training due in Bien Hoa,
and the scuttlebutt was that we would not be sent to the field until
after Christmas. But there it was, my name, with instructions to be
at the helipad at the airport at 1300 hours with all my gear. I was
heading to Quan Loi. Now I was getting worried, I had been
assigned as a replacement grunt for the 1st of the 5th. I asked
around and was told Quan Loi was cool and that there wasn’t
“THAT MUCH INCOMING”.
I hitched a ride to the airport and got to the helipad around 12:30
hours. I must have been a sight, fresh fatigues, new haircut, lily-
white skin, and doing my best John Wayne imitation. Jeeps and
deuce-and-halves were everywhere. I literally felt like the proverbial
turd in the punch bowl. Most jeeps were flying by me, not
acknowledging my existence, however occasionally, a couple of
nasty dirty occupants would slow down, drive very close, smile and
laugh, and drive away.
Pretty soon, a guy opened the push-up window in a Quonset hut
nearby and started motioning for me to come over there. I left my
gear and ambled on over trying not to look scared or in a hurry, of
which, I was both. When I got close enough to hear him, I realized
he was asking me where I was going.
QUAN LOI, I shouted over the noise of the helicopters flying 10 feet
overhead. He reached down and ripped a lid off a cardboard box
and printed in big letters QUAN LOI. He then told me to get back to
my gear and hold up the cardboard if a chopper landed nearby.
I was sure I was the butt of a practical joke and soon more jeeps
would be driving by laughing. But it was starting to get hot, and I
was in full fatigues, and I desperately wanted to get off this tarmac.
So, I plopped down on my duffel bag and propped my homemade
travel voucher at my feet. Ten minutes later a UH-1 Slick landed 20
yards away and the door gunner waved me toward them. I grabbed
my gear, my sign, and what was left of my dignity and high-tailed
for the chopper. I threw my gear on the floor, my foot hit the skid
and the chopper lifted off. The door gunner, smiling from ear to ear,
grabbed my sign and let it float out the door. This was my first
helicopter ride, and I was scared out of my mind.
I moved to the center of the slick and climbed up on the aluminum
seat, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. The pilot and co-
pilot ignored me, and the two door gunners just kept smiling. As we
gained altitude, I began to realize that I had a beautiful view of the
unfolding countryside and jungle. It was to be the first of many
internal conversations about how beautiful Vietnam was. After
about 45 minutes we began to descend, and I could see what
looked like a mini-Bien Hoa through the windshield. At one end of
the runway, we were heading for what appeared to be an old
French village. At the other end were a bunch of Quonset huts.
There were choppers and fuel tankers everywhere. The slick landed
and the door gunner, still smiling, pointed me toward a Quonset hut
with a First Cav sign over the door. I grabbed my duffel, jumped out
and turned around to thank the pilots, but they were already in a
steep banking ascent heading for the south end of the base.
As I was heading toward my check-in destination, I realized how hot
it was. I’m guessing it was already over 100 degrees and looking
around I realized how overdressed I was. I had a steel pot on my
head, full fatigues, long sleeves, socks, underwear, jungle boots and
I was trying desperately to keep my duffel bag from dragging on
the ground. Any sense of control or rational behavior had left with
that door-gunner’s smile. I left my gear outside, charged through
the screen door, and was prepared to see another smirk on another know-it-all clerks face.
Surprise, no one was home. As a matter of fact, no one was
anywhere. It was the middle of the afternoon, and too early for
chow so I figured someone would be back soon!
I retreated to the front porch, plopped down on my gear and
waited for my destiny. As I was surveying the circumstances, I began
to form an opinion. This wasn’t so bad. Quonset huts, to sleep in,
latrines nearby, and a huge chow hall. I was just going to have to
get used to the incessant noise of all the aircraft coming and going.
The longer I lounged on the porch the more I convinced myself that
I could adjust, and it wasn’t that bad. No one around here was
getting shot at.
Eventually, the clerk returned, and my in-processing began. I tried
to be cool and act like I could handle anything he threw at me.
However, the one thing I was not prepared for was that this was not
my final destination.
If he could figure out if a slick was heading to the bush, I was to be
on it, ASAP. No dinner, no latrine, no welcome parade, sign here
leave your gear, and you are on the way to Fire Support Base Vivian
somewhere near the Cambodian border. Whoa, say what? I am not
ready for this. Just over a week ago, I was eating an early Christmas
dinner with my family.
The clerk told me not to go anywhere, and he darted out the door.
Go anywhere, I want to go home! Back he came at a gallop, there
was a resupply slick loading now outside the berm. Head out there
now. It was getting late in the afternoon, and I was not crazy about
landing in the Jungle in the dark. The slick was waiting for me, and
the door gunner motioned they were in a hurry. I hopped on. There
were a couple of guys on board plus the two door gunners. The
supplies were blocking my access to the seat in the middle of the
aircraft. Several of the bags were red. I didn’t know it then, but I
was on a mail run. I looked at the two guys, who were ignoring me,
and they were sitting on the edge of the floor with their legs
hanging over the sides. They had their feet propped on the
helicopter skids to secure their ride. There was absolutely no way I
was going to hang my legs out of the door. What if we got shot at?
So, for the next 45 minutes or so I sat on the floor holding on to
the seat frame while watching the terrain getting more rugged by
the minute.
And then we were over LZ Vivian. I looked over the edge and saw
about 100 guys, none with any shirts on, in a swirling dirty cloud of
dust that the slick was stirring up. I also understood that this mass
of ammo crates, mortar tubes, and sandbags was right on the edge
of the Jungle. Hell, I could almost throw a rock into it.
I crawled off the chopper and someone told me to follow the red mail bags which were already offloaded and being carried to the interior of the base. No one paid any attention to me, I was just an FNG, fresh meat. Shortly I was directed to the Tactical Operations Command and told to check in. I ducked into the half-buried metal culvert covered with sandbags. It took me a minute to adjust my eyes to the darkness. A guy who was sitting in front of a radio jumped up and said, “Welcome to Hell”. He was laughing, but considering the day I just had, he had just about summed it up.
He said I was too late for chow, and that I was assigned to Alpha Company who was out, and I would be heading for the field tomorrow to catch up with them. “Heading for the field?” I thought I was in the field.
In the span of about 6 hours, I had been transported from civilization to almost prehistoric times. Everywhere I looked, men were just barely dressed, filthy dirty, and were seemingly unconcerned about their condition.
To top it all off, this was the rear, the safe area. I lost all sense of propriety; I was scared to death. Tomorrow, I was heading “into the bush”.
I was ushered to another half-buried culvert, covered in sandbags, and told to FOB in there. I had no idea what that meant. So, I just crawled on top of some ammo boxes and tried to calm down my imagination. However, my adrenaline high, from the helicopter rides, was now bringing me down to a state of stone-cold fatigue. As I fell asleep, I was slightly aware that other guys were settling in for the night, but I was soon down for the count.
The next morning was a blur, I was issued a rucksack, 5 ammo belts of M-16 rounds, a few LURPs, a couple of canteens filled with water and told to wait at the TOC. Shortly, my trip to the bush began. I was on a chopper with a medic, the mail, and three days of supplies for a line company. It wasn’t long before we were over an open area north of the Fire Base. Down below someone popped a smoke canister, so the pilot could identify that he was in the right place and check the wind direction and then we were on the ground. The mail went one way, and I was sent the other. I was introduced to Sgt Nate Barnes who told me that he heard that I was called Mother. He also indicated that I had messed up his introduction speech. He said that usually, he told a new FNG to the field that HE was their new “Mother”. He winked and smiled, and I looked around. Everybody was looking at me and I have never been more conscious of my existence since I wore red socks to the High School Prom.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was a long way from Indiana. A few guys from my new squad introduced themselves and I was assigned to PFC Mark Hummel from Iowa who was to be my mentor for the next few months. As the days grew into weeks Mark and I became good friends. Every time I would do something dumb, he would look at me and shake his head and say, “We will talk about it tonight”, but we never did.
Welcome to Alpha Company 1st of the 5th 1st Air Cav, somewhere in Northwestern III Corps, Republic of South Vietnam.
Leave a Reply