My War - Installment 6

take to the ball. Besides her not being a registered guest, she just happened to live about fifty-eight miles away from the post. Regrettably my car had been stolen from the post a few days previously. I had purchased a 1947 Plymouth, first class, eh? I figured we could crash the reception line so I asked her to go to the ball.

Graduation day arrived 13 September 1966. Proudly I received my Warrant and more proudly the Wings that I had strove to attain. Along with our new rank we also received our orders. My pride in country soared as the fly by passed overhead. The fly by was a tradition, the next few classes in line to graduate would pass over the celebration below. There could be as many as a few hundred helicopters in the formation.

With my heart pounding, I looked for my name on the posted lists. These lists were our first glimpses as to our fate. Finally after searching I came upon my name. I was assigned to the 90th AG Replacement Battalion in Saigon. What in heaven's name was the 90th AG Replacement Battalion?

Almost everyone else in the class had been assigned to a unit that was recognizable and had a history of combat duty. No one else had drawn an assignment to the 90th. I found out later that day that the 90th AG was not really a fighting unit but a unit that processed new arrivals to Vietnam and shipped them out to units that had a very high turnover rate. Obviously units with high turnover rates were units with large numbers of men becoming either wounded or deceased.

God had brought me this far and I felt that if it was His will, He would see me through to whatever end He had in store for me. So, why worry? Time for the graduation ball had arrived. Being without any visible means of transportation, I hired a taxi for the evening's 232 miles plus or minus of traveling that I would do most with my date. My tour at Fort Rucker had come to an end.

I left Fort Rucker in mid-September and headed for home in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. My brother was going to be married of all things, on his birthday, the seventeenth of the month. He and his fiancée had postponed their wedding so that I could be the best man. Something seemed fishy to me; my brother had never been that nice to me before. Perhaps he thought I wouldn't be coming back from Vietnam and wanted to be nice to me for a change. I did enjoy the experience and was very grateful that my brother and his fiancée thought so highly of me. I remembered the first time I had met my, soon to be, sister-in-law. So the poor girl did not have the slightest idea what I looked like or even if she would be embarrassed by some grotesque figure at her wedding. The wedding went well and I must say I think I looked rather spiffy in my dress blue uniform.

The short time that I had left was spent in relaxation, enjoying the comfort and good food at my childhood home. There is nothing in the world like MOM'S good home cooking. The only thing that I did that was constructive while on leave was keeping a promise to my old recruiter. I had promised to speak at a Civil Air Patrol meeting. That same day I had received all of my shots for going over seas and by the time the meeting came to order I was running a temperature of one hundred and three, probably due to the Black Plague shot.

On Our Way

Days flew by and before I knew it, it was time for my folks to take me to Philadelphia to meet my buddies for our trip across the big pond. I would stay with a friend there whom I had met and got to know in flight school. There were four of us who would stay there the night before we left the states for Vietnam. It was easier to say good byes to my folks under those circumstances and easier for them also.

That evening we spent hours together discussing where each of us had been assigned. We were all at Mac Black's parent's home, in the Broomall area of suburban Philadelphia. There were Chip Ford, Buddy Stanford, Mac and I. They mentioned their assignments and I mentioned that I had been given orders for the 90th AG Replacement Battalion.

"What the hell does that mean?" they asked.

Everyone else seemed to know exactly where they were going.

"I'm going to Vietnam," I said. "What else do I need to know?"

We ate supper with Mac's family and then talked until the wee hours of the morning.

After breakfast we headed for the airport and the contract flight with Seaboard World Airways and whatever lay ahead for us. There were no more Navy troop ships heading to Southeast Asia. There would be no long cruise on which to contemplate our fate, like so many of our predecessors in earlier wars and conflicts.

During the height of the United States involvement in Vietnam a number of companies had obtained contracts with Uncle Sam. Remember, WAR is very good for the economy. There are very big bucks in government contracts. A number of contracts were held by companies owned by high government officials, like President Lyndon B. Johnson.

Airlines had contracted to fly service men and women to and from Southeast Asia. Traveling by commercial airliner was far better than by a MAC (Military Airlift Command) aircraft. MAC aircraft are utilitarian and are therefore multipurpose ships, which can be fitted out in various configurations, none of which are very comfortable for a 12,000 mile flight. The seats in these aircraft, if you want to call them seats, were most certainly not designed for use by any living human creature.

Military contract flights are no different from any commercial airline flight. There are stewardesses and piped in music, regular in-flight meals and the usual condiments of the industry. If I had not known that I was headed for Saigon and the 90th AG Replacement Battalion, I might have been on some vacation flight to the exotic orient, rather than going to the Orient to kill "Gooks.”

Buddy, Mac, Chip, and I met Nathan at the aircraft; we all sat together and waited for takeoff. I settled into my seat beside Buddy and adjusted my headset for the music. The sounds of a popular song "Elusive Butterfly of Life" drifted into my consciousness as the airliner taxied to the runway.

Our flight across the United States didn't last nearly long enough. We landed in San Francisco and stayed just long enough to refuel before continuing on to Hawaii.

Our time was spent in idle conversation about our hopes and dreams, our aspirations and fears. As the aircraft climbed swiftly and started to cross the California coast, ironically the song "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" drifted out into my ears from the headset.

I had heard many stories about Vietnam, stories about crazy GI's that collected human ears, noses and various other "Trophies of War.” I had heard about the thousands of booby traps. I had heard about punji stakes, bamboo stakes sharpened to a razor point and placed at the bottom of hidden pits or trenches. The stakes were covered with human feces so that infection would follow more rapidly. Punji stakes were also used in making other types of booby traps. There were those that were attached to springy trees and triggered by trip lines to slam into someone moving down a path. Another type was made into a spiny ball which when triggered would swing down a path on a vine or rope to stick the unsuspecting GI.

We swapped War stories that we had heard from our IP's, as the endless miles of a calm Pacific Ocean spread out below us. Not all of us on this contract flight were pilots and… interestingly enough not many of these men would see much action face to face and some not at all.

It has been said that an Army moves on its stomach. Many more men are involved in logistics, supplying food and munitions and other supplies. There is really only around 10 percent of the force which is involved in actual combat.

It seemed to me that some of our stories were making a number of our fellow passengers nervous. Apparently they were not as prepared as we thought we were, or perhaps the old adage of ignorance is bliss had been their state of mind up until that time. Those are the breaks.

I realized that the second leg of our journey was coming to a close as the seat belt and no smoking signs were turned on.

"We will be landing at Hickham Field in Hawaii in about twenty minutes. Please move your seats into an upright position."

I had always wanted to visit Hawaii; Hula girls shaking their delectable hips and coconut shell covered breasts to the beat of the drums and other instruments; all the exotic scenery. My imagination was running wild with the possibilities of a brief foray into town to check everything out.

We landed and were told we would only have a forty-five minute layover there in Hawaii. We were confined to the airport area and to top it off it was very late at night so none of us could even see anything.

For some bizarre and unknown reason, our next stopover was at Andersen Air Force Base in Guam. It probably had something to do with someone making money by extending the flight.

In Guam we had plenty of time to relax and walk around and stretch. The temperature was moderate, the sky clear blue, and the air clean. There was only one problem; there was ABSOLUTELY nothing to do or see.

If there was anything to do, there was no way to get there to do it anyway. We were not close to a beach or anything that we were aware of; again we were stuck at the airport.

I had the distinct feeling that we may have been the only living creatures on that island in the Pacific. I did buy some post cards there at the base airport. The post cards were of the most interesting things on the island, all of which just happened to be old stone ruins of some sort, which all looked alike.

As we climbed back on board our aircraft someone jokingly commented, "Well boys and girls, this is the last leg of our journey to hell."

I had heard the quote, "War is Hell" hundreds of times during training. Soon I would find out, first hand, whether or not that statement was true.

The last leg of our flight halfway around the world, vacillated from periods of solemn contemplation and silence to those of boisterous laughter and joking. Almost everyone in his own way seemed to be beginning to cope with the cold hard fact that we all would be in a "WAR ZONE" in a matter of a few more hours. Life was already becoming sweeter for me with the prospect of its longevity being shortened.

**

Sinking back in my seat, I began to drift into thought. I had been raised in a Christian family. I had attended a Plymouth Brethren meeting or Assembly while growing up. There is no minister in an Assembly, the Elders of the brethren take turns preaching and sharing with the assembled Christians in the meeting. We are what would be referred to as born again believers. Not perfect, not sinless, but we hope with God's help that we will sin less. Through Christ we are forgiven and are assured of heaven. The Bible tells us to not worry about tomorrow for sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. (I paraphrased Matthew 6:34)

I had taken part in worship services since I was eleven or twelve years old, and by assuming that responsibility I believe it helped me to be a more mature person in everyday life. I may not have always exhibited the best choice of language and actions since being in the service, but I tried and deep inside I had no fear of death and dying, only an increased appreciation for the moment.

Traveling has always appealed to me and I have always looked forward to seeing new places and things. As a kid I never was able to sleep when we went somewhere, this trip that I was on was no exception. In fact the majority of us aboard the Seaboard World Airways flight had been awake for the entire trip.

Even though there was nothing to look at outside but the clouds and the endless blue of the Pacific, I was afraid I would miss something either inside or outside of the airplane.

"This is your captain speaking. We will be landing at Ton Son Knut air field in Saigon in approximately thirty minutes. You will be advised when to fasten your seatbelts."

"Buddy" I said. "We could have picked a better place to visit on our first foreign excursion. First time out of country and we pick a scenic war zone."

No matter how much you read about something, no matter how much you hear about something or someplace, it is still not enough to fully prepare you for the experiences of WAR. Not everyone functions, or reacts the same to a given situation, regardless of whether it is WAR or not. I would soon be able to observe myself and see how I would do.

We not only had to be able to function in a War, we also had to function in a society and among a people entirely foreign to most of us. Like it or not, we were about to put some of our training, both military and social, to the acid test. My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by our captain's voice.

"We have been cleared for landing at Ton Son Knut Airfield. The smoking lamp will be out momentarily. Please fasten your seat belts. We have been cleared for a straight in approach."

Straight in approaches are common in combat areas. This type of landing is initiated from a higher altitude. Descent is made in line with the runway and at higher speed, therefore lessening the exposure time to enemy ground fire. Normally an aircraft would enter the airport's landing pattern, turn on a downwind leg, turn again on a base leg and lastly turn on final approach, lined up with the runway. You can easily see how long the enemy would have to get zeroed in with all that maneuvering.

I knew this was it. Here I was, one heck of a long way from home, assigned to a unit I knew nothing about, other than it was a processing unit, which would send me where need dictated. I would soon find out where I was really headed in Vietnam.

As the aircraft quickly descended, I noticed, through the windows, what appeared to be thousands of shanty type structures outside of the airport compound. Suddenly the wheels