Memories

Almost thirty years. A long time to remember. A short time to forget. You remember places, not street names. You remember events, not dates. You remember names of some but not all.
You never forget the faces.
Or the sounds.
Or the smells.
Especially the smells.
And the faces.

The sound of a helicopter(we hear them all the time, to this day I hear a chopper and I think of Vietnam. This one is coming in low). The small traffic circle (a triangle actually) outside the MACV compound main gate is where they try to land. Engine trouble or out of gas, I don't know, but suddenly it's not running. They try to auto-rotate down but that doesn't work. The impact is tremendous. Some rush to help, others watch, others ignore. The pilot: dead. The co-pilot: dead. The four WIAs and their Medic, on the way to the 3rd Field Hospital for life or limb saving surgery,: dead. We grab a cab for downtown. Time for a beer.

Hot damn, did you hear? Bob Hope is coming into Ton Son Nhut on his Christmas tour. Kiss some ass, get some time off and we'll see his show. Kissed some ass, got called for PDF. Vern rode escort on the bus. Didn't stop at MACV. Running late for Vung Tau.

Landed at Bien Hoa-Long Bien after coming in through Wake Island (what a trip that was) and the Philippines. When the door opened on that 707 two things I noticed, the smell and my fear. I learned neither would leave me. I just had to live with both. Walked across the tarmac to the biggest shed-roofed area I ever saw. Could have played a football game under there. Two hundred troops came in to catcalls from five hundred going out.
"Hey, Cherries"
"You, efingees ain't nothin' to it"
"Get some, grunts"
Other calls, some worse, some better
"Sarge, what's efingees?" private ask
"F---n' New Guys, that's us, now move on."
"I'm no cherry, I'm a married man"
Here we're all cherries

"ALL PERSONNEL WITH ORDERS ASSIGNING THEM TO THE MILITARY ASSISTANCE COMMAND VIET-NAM, OTHERWISE KNOW AS MACV, FORM UP IN FRONT OF THE CASHIERS CAGE AT THE REAR OF THE BUILDING. OH, THANK YOU AND WELCOME TO THE REPUBLIC OF VIET-NAM."

Exchanged our greenback dollars for Military Pay Certificates. Looks like Monopoly money. Even the change is paper. Loaded on a bus, which looked like one I had seen carrying prisoners to San Quentin. Steel screen over the windows, two armed policeman (in this case MPs) riding shotgun. Moved out for beautiful downtown Saigon. Our MP escort informs us it's actually the MACV Annex compound, Tent City A, which is between Tent City B and the MACV headquarters building, next to the Tan Son Nhut Air Force Base which is next to the Tan Son Nhut civilian airport which is just out of Saigon. Confuse me.

RUMOR CONTROL: Heard twenty minutes after we left Bien Hoa, as the people that were going home started lining up, Charlie threw some mortars at the field. The civilian planes just took off without any body. I hear a bunch of grunts were out there chasing those planes, yelling about not leaving them and even some crying. Seven dead or wounded.

This is your personal weapon and ammo. Sign here. What the hell is this? It's an M-2 Carbine, thirty caliber. Shit, this is a Korean War gun. That's right, but now it's your personal weapon. When you are on PDF you'll get an M-16, but the rest of time this is your weapon. Hey, Specialist? Yes? Can you show me how to load this damn thing?

Pete went grunt. Re-classed to Eleven Bravo (infantry). Wanted to be a hero for God, Mother and apple pie. Said it was for "the adventure". Too many John Wayne movies. Must have saw "Green Berets" again. Woody went native, got a Vespa motor scooter, rented a gook hooch, and moved in a gook hooker. (I'm calling them gooks? Me who walked for civil rights.). Al goes out on week-ends as a door gunner on a Huey. Makes extra money, gets out of the office. Sings in the bar at night. The "White Teddy-Bear of Soul"

Yes, we work in an office. Personnel. Data Processing. Awards and Decorations. Personnel Actions. Records. Lord, a lot of records. We're support weenies, Saigon warriors, titless WACs, REMFs (Rear Echelon Mother F---ers). Mess with us and you go up country. Be nice and you get that cushy assignment. That's what we tell everyone, anyway. Department of the Army official, un-publicized statistics (the Army is great about statistics): for every one infantry grunt in the field, there are 6.5 support personnel (I think I had three or four of those .5 personnel working for me).

Bob was down from Long Binh. Went to school with him at Fort Ben, Indiana then drank with him for three years in Germany, glad to have a chance to have a drink with him in good old RVN. Downtown in a hotel on To Do Street (who could forget that street?). Good night, bad morning. Bob's opening the wooden shutters on our window over-looking the beautiful(?) river, Boom, Boom, Boom, Thump, Thump, Thump, Bam, Bam, Bam, Whatever! (noise or sound cannot be written or explained, only heard and felt, remembered, and dreamed) Shutters slammed in his face from the force.(Found out later Charlie decided to visit the U.S.Army Riverine Forces, the U.S. Navy, and/or the RVN Navy (?) craft tied up in neat rows in the river below us. Their calling card? Six or eight 122s (rockets)). Our companions of the previous evening heeded their sudden urge to visit Grand Ma down south. Time to evac the AO.

To Do Street is completely deserted. Never saw that before. Cabs lined up outside, drivers inside with us. Grab a driver, Gotta go MACV, no can do, Gotta go, no can do, 1000 P, no can do, 2000 P, no can do, Eat this f----n' .45, gook, can do 3000 P.

Nobody on the street. Bob, this is some kind of bullshit. Fast ride down an empty street, driver all the time saying numba 10 GI, Dinky-dau GI, Bad F---n' GI. Bob says bad f---n' gook, just get us to MACV. Dark figures moving on the street. Is that an AK? Shit, ditty-mao papa-san, let's get to base. We're there. Bob pays him 1000 P. Numba 10 GI, he yells, 3000 P. F----off Bob says. He went back to Long-Binh, then home in four days. Lucky son-of a- bitch.

Bob killed himself in 1972. Vietnam? No, martial problems. Cheatin' wife. Nothing to do with Vietnam or this story.

We called it "The Monkey Cage". A small bar walking distance from base. A decent-enough mama-san, fairly clean place, loud music, and not too many girls bugging you for Saigon Tea. Gave Mama-san a quart of Gilby's Gin (cost me 90 cents in the class-six). Partied for three nights and no girls hustling me for drinks. Of course I had to bring my own Jim Beam. (The Only way to Fly). Mama-san furnished the Coke and ice. My regular hang-out the rest of my time in country. Regardless of common thought on the matter, not all Saigon bar girls were regular hookers. The more successful ones could make a living hustling GIs for drinks and being selective on if or when they slept with someone. I saw girls turn down $50 to sleep with someone. The going rate was about $5 to $10. Hwoung, biggest hooters in south-east asia. Does Saigon tea do that? She'll own her own bar soon.

Drinking song:

Viet Cong at Plei-ky
Threw a hand grenade at me
Caught it in my little hand
Saved us all from strife and harm
Viet Cong at Plei-ky
Thanks a lot you SOB.

Actually it's Pleiku but that don't rhyme

Party on the roof of somebody's hooch or hotel, I don't know. Lots of booze and big steaks. Al tried to do some songs. Dry voice. Too much of that "Good" Marlboro. Somebody got Major L's strobe light from his movie camera set-up. We watched as he shined the light down on the street. This is Cholon. The people are running, ducking into doorways. What's up? They think the light is Spooky. Puff, the magic dragon. Al and company have got their own puff. Not for me tonight, still got to ride the Kawasaki back to the compound.

Sorry, Major, didn't see you. (Jesus Christ, this is the scariest looking dude I've ever seen: Red beard, scars all over, guns and knives hanging everywhere, Green Beret. Pete would love this.) That's okay, Sarge. Can you tell me where the hell I can find room 102. I got a records snafu I gotta get straight. Sure, it's right down the hall.(Must be SOG or Research and Development (Phoenix?). That's the only records in that room).

Speaking of the Kawasaki, big party at the My Lan Hotel across from Charlie B's place. Got six cases of beer (Black Label, of course, not too much rust) and three cases of soda tied on the back. Lean into the corner when turning? Not with that load. Beer, Coke, and 7-Up all over the intersection. Skinned-up leg, beat-up bike, and two cases got to the party. C'est la vie. Didn't break my quart of Jim B. Good evening, bad morning.

Al went home. Woody's still native. Pete died in November. He had extended his tour to get an early out. He did. F--- it, it don't mean nothin'! Not a thing! Not a Goddamn F---ing thing.

Hey guys, just got a call from Bob. He's a friend over at Long Binh. You know that rumbling sound last night? The friggin' VC blew-up the Long Binh main ammo dump again. You'd think that the stupid lifers over there would know better than to store all that damn ammo in a big stack. You'd think, but you called it. Stupid lifers. Wait a minute, I resemble that remark

What happened to you Vern? Looks like you ran into a deuce and a half. Hell, I got into it with some ARVNs downtown. You let some ARVNs kick the shit out of you? Found out later these were not the regular ARVN Saigon warriors. Those guys are here because they have the right connections with someone in the Saigon government. Too chickenshit to go out in the bush and fight. The guys Vern got into it with were ARVNs from up country down here for R&R. They're real soldiers.

Getting ready to leave the Monkey Cage, got on the Kawi, looked over my shoulder, dumped the clutch, and did the damnest U-turn wheely you ever saw. Across four lanes of traffic and hit the curb on the other side of the street. Big round of applause from all the street people. Do it again, do it again! Maybe a little too much beer?

Free movies, what a treat. Outdoors under a metal roof. Saw "The Graduate" three times, "Barbarela" four times ( Jane Fonda is all-right for some things). "Green Berets" again; where's Pete?

Sergeant J came in from records. Stan, your safe open? Yea. Pull the cards (our data processing IBM card file) on these three. PCS'd or KIA? KIA. Thrown them in here. Dropped the cards in the can he was carrying, labeled "Classified Waste", already containing three 201 files. I'll burn these myself, this afternoon. No sweat, Jim, just sign here. Can do. See you later. Yea, later. Just like that, three people disappear from the face of the earth.

MACV Provisional Defense Force. What a bunch of bull. That's a fancy name for guard duty. Two nights on, two nights off, for two months, then two months off. Unless they run short of bodies and they're always running short of bodies. This in addition to normal (?) work days; 0700 to 1900 Mon. thru Sat., 0800 to 1800 Sunday (a day of rest?). PDF commander has asked MACV Command Group for authorization to issue and wear; all assigned personnel; one each, headgear, cap, beret type, purple (yes purple) in color, while serving in the PDF. Thank God someone up there had some sense, or were just tight with funds. Request Denied! Drive-on.

Charlie B (from down Texas way. Understand he had a brother, Bobby B. that did some big time money thing) is a civilian, running a bar, just trying to make a living. Hired Jack and I to ride shotgun with him around Saigon and Cholon. Started with a heavy briefcase, ended with a light one. Taxes are a burden on a man trying to get by. Offered us a chance to do some "Capital Investment" when we get back to the world. Read this as black market currency exchange. Green-back dollars were sent to Red China we were told, and used against us. All most of us knew was you could get $40 to $50 in Piaster (Vietnamese money) or $30 to $35 in MPC for $20 greenback. You could also get 3 to 5 in Levenworth. We thanked Charlie B for his offer and went on about our business. Last I heard Charlie B left country in 70 or 71. Bought a villa in the south and lived the good life.

Monsoon season. That's a whole story in itself. Sloshed across what is called a street, water up to my friggin knees, from the office to the enlisted club. New act performing tonight, in from Korea. They can copy popular groups better than most. Filipino are better bands and sexier girls, but tonight Koreans are all-right. They do some Stones, Temptations, et al. Not bad. Maybe I'll stay on base tonight. Club always smells like cold hamburgers, warm piss, and stale beer with a little English Leather and cheap perfume thrown in. I think the Air Cav guys are the ones wearing the cheap perfume. The horse they couldn't ride, the line they couldn't hold, and the color's the reason, wham, split lip, black eye and beer on my head. F--- it, ain't nothin' to it. Good night, bad morning.

There's that SOG Major. Hey, Major Red, have a seat. Buy you a beer? Sure, Sarge, a bombity-bomb (33 a Vietnamese beer. Smells like horse piss, taste like formaldehyde). What's up Maj? Just waiting to go back out. I know I ain't supposed to ask, but how long you been in country? Going on three years. Shit, you don't look that old. Hell, I'm twenty-four. Damn, that ain't bad for making major. Yea, it is bad. I ain't goin' to be around to enjoy it. Ain't no future for us green beanie R&D types. Shit, you'll be alright. I hope so, but I doubt it. Come on Major, we'll help you back to your quarters. You're too shit-faced to make it alone.

Three nights until Tet. After Tet 68 everyone is having shit-fits. All Personnel Restricted to base. PDF NCO briefings. NVA seen north of city. VC south and southwest. Post your guards. Remember your orders.(Standing orders for PDF guards, no bull: Weapons will not have a round chambered unless instructed by a superior. You will fire ONLY if you have received hostile (?) fire, or, again, if instructed by a superior.) Them's the rules of engagement. Two nights before Tet; same briefing. Night before Tet; same briefing.

TET 1969. Nothings on the map. Sir, says the SGM, Where the f--- is the gooks? Our wise briefing officer ( a Finance Major) wisely states: WE LOST THEM! What the f---, over. Dismissed, post your guards. I'm posting a young Spec 4 and his assistant on a 60 nest in the dark corner of the compound. Hey, Sarge, I'm scared. What'll we do. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't sit out here with an empty gun. Right-on. Click-clack, locked and loaded. Didn't know some chicken-shit 1 Lt. was following me around. Up on charges. Failure to obey standing orders. Light Colonel with purple Beret took chicken-shit 1 Lt. and educated him. Charges dropped. No action, my being charged the most excitement that week.

Drinking toast:

Here's to your little thing
and my little thing
and all the little things around the table.
Hope your little thing don't want-to
cause my little thing ain't able.

Hey, DJ, where's your Rolex, man? Some damn gook ripped me off in town last night. Thought you had a leather band to keep it on. Did. The little bastard must used a razor to slice it off. Look at the fringing cuts on my wrist. Jesus, that must hurt. Didn't feel a damn thing until he was already gone, then started bleedin' like a stuck pig. Next time I'll buy a friggin' Seiko.

Tending bar in Charlie B's place. Make a little extra cash plus free drinks and food. There's Major Red with some Air America types sitting with gooks in the corner. Briefcase changing hands? This is not the kind of bullshit for me. Charlie, I'm outta here. I can do without the money.

These L.T.s are something else. MACV SOP is all 2LTs coming in country are immediately promoted to 1LT. What a crock. These dickheads don't know what day it is and MACV promotes them just for showing up. I came here an E-6 and I'll leave here the same (if I'm lucky, that is). Oh, they do also promote all E-2s to E-3. Whoopty-do!

Damn, those jets are making a lot of noise. Those are Fox-fours going out. F-100s I think. No, I think they're Fox-fours. Who gives a shit, pass that bottle over here. I still think they're F-100s. Whatever, some Charlie's going to get nape'd tonight. Yea, get some, Zoomies. Have a drink. Thanks, don't mind if I do. Here's to it. I still think they're F-100s.

Drinking song (stole from somebody):

Bottle of wine
fruit of the vine
when you going to let me get sober?
Leave me alone
let me go home
let me go home and start over.

Maj L is on the rampage this morning. NCOs report to his office. These mother-f---n', son-of-a-bitchin', slime balls are not going to get me.(Do I detect a touch of paranoia?) Whasup, sir?. I'll tell you screams our little Napoleon. Because of reports, I slept in my office last night. (Reports? Probably rumors in the O club. Anytime there are any rumors he stays in his office instead of taking the bus to his quarters downtown. What a chicken-shit.) During the night some one of those assholes out there snuck in and put these on my bed! On each side of my head! I take a look, wa-how, a pair of bright, shiny new Frag grenades. I want the son-of-a-bitch that did this. Of course, nobody knows nothing, nobody saw nothing, and nobody would have the slightest idea who would do such a low-down thing. Most would have pulled the pins. Sing on Teddy-bear.

RUMOR CONTROL: Hear tell the 101 sent a couple of companies out to Phu To race track to interrupt Charlie having a little confrontation with the ARVN and white mice.(The white mice are RVN national police. Undoubtedly THE MOST corrupt police force in the world. Won't arrest anybody, murderer or thief or traffic violation, for a pack of American cigarettes.) Anyhow, one company pulls into the parking lot about 0200 and off loaded. No VC, no ARVN, and no white mice. Spread out, walk the perimeter. Some one hears something and all hell breaks loose. M-16s on rock and roll. 79s going bloop, bloop, bloop. M-60s down and firing. Seems like no one told this company that there was another company on the OTHER side of the race track. Hear tell ten or twelve dead. Here tell over 50 wounded in action. Here tell a certain battalion Ops officer emergencied back to the world. Bad efficiency report? Right! No sweat. Damn lifers. Stupid chickenshit officers. Protect themselves and screw the troops.

RUMOR CONTROL: VC overran Phu To race track last night. Killed three or four GIs and the whole bunch of the ARVN company they were attached to, plus the twenty or so civilians that worked there.

Bob came in from Long Binh. I talked SGM into a day off. Pete and Vern too. Downtown, Downtown. Riding a cyclo around in 95 degrees, 95 percent humidity, poor old papa-san peddling his ass off while Bob and I and company see the sights of beautiful downtown Saigon.(All the time sucking on a bottle, one each, per individual, of Genuine 100 percent Genuine Shmirnov Vodka.) Saw the zoo (fourteen animals counting the rats). Saw the Illustrious Presidential Palace (more animals than the zoo: a dozen white mice and 2 platoons of ARVN Tigers). Saw the United States of America's Official Embassy (Still more animals: a company of US marines.). Damn, that building has a lot of holes in it. Screw, it, let's grab a room, grab some girls, and Party! Pete and Vern wimp out. So what if you got PDF tonight. Poor bastards, I wouldn't want to be in their boots. Guard with a hangover.

Airman Fist Class Allbright! Now that gal can fill out a pair of fatigues. Works up in Awards and Decorations. Drinking beer with her in the club last night, just B.S.ing. Nothing else to do, they made the strippers cover up. Some jerk wrote their Congressman and the shit hit the fan. Sure don't want to corrupt the morals of our fine American fighting men while they are over here preserving democracy. Anyway, Allbright and I are having a good talk and I'm thinking this is all-right. A round eye and a decent looking one at that. I know grunts that would kill for less. So I'm shooting the shit and say what the hell, lets go to the Me Lan for dinner and whatever. So what do you think? I kinda like you and you're pretty cool for a lifer (not me) but I decided when I got here that I was not going to leave here broke. You can't afford me. I'm dating only Majors and above. I'm just here tonight cause LTC B. got called to a briefing. I meet him at 10 tonight. Love is cruel.

Hey, REMF, didn't we kick each others ass last week? I think so, grunt, ain't you 101st? Yea, at that bar on Cong Ly street. Tell me somethin'? How'd you Saigon warriors get bad enough to handle our shit? Cause we have to keep kickin' some grunt's ass cause you f---in' grunts don't know how to act in civilization. I hear that. Let's have some coffee. Turned out to be an okay guy. For a dumb grunt.

Pete says Woody just got thumped bad by some cowboys on the way to the Cholon PX. Shit damn, we round up a few guys that got bikes and off we go, Pete riding behind me on my Kawi with his leg pockets full of cut-up broom sticks. Four bikes, eight men, bunches of broom sticks. There's a bunch of cowboys parked by the side of the road. Pete and I go on alone, the others hold back.

The punks think we are alone so here they come. Our guys come roaring up into the pack that has me surrounded. We start poking broom sticks into front tire spokes and WATCH THEM FLIP! Cowboys and pieces of cowboys all over the place plus their junky little Hondas. We're off the bikes and commence to kick some serious ass until a group of white mice are coming up the street then time to un-ass the AO. If it wasn't for Woody being hurt it would have been a hell of a good day.

Maj L is such a dickhead. Yesterday he tells Jack B. that he wants some bullshit done this way, now he's telling him he wanted it done another way. Excuse me, sir, but Specialist B is right, you did say you wanted it done the other way. OUT IN THE HALL, SERGEANT, NOW! Thru the door into the hall. Door slammed. Don't you ever contradict me in front of the troops again, Sergeant! Sir, Specialist B was correct. I don't want to hear your bullshit! If you ever contradict me again I'll have your Goddamn stripes, do you read me? I f---in' read you, SIR.If you want my Goddamn stripes well here they are, I tear my stripes off my sleeves and throw them on the floor and leave for my hooch. God, what a noble gesture. Sure glad they were sown on lightly. Oh, well, just got 32 days and a wake up. I can do that standing on my head. Even as a private. Hope the asshole don't want to send me to LBJ.(Long Binh Jail). Hello Sergeant-Major wassup? Oh, shit Stan, the friggin Major sent me over with your stripes. Said to sew them back on. Might as well, that's as close as you'll get to an apology and that asshole is leaving in ten days. Hope his F--in' plane crashes. Well, I'm a Staff Sergeant again. Easy come, easy come. Too short to care.

Maj L rotated to Germany. Got his ass kicked out of the Army. Seems he was buying drinks for and making lewd, inappropriate offers to young single MALE soldiers in his command. Dickhead.

Two-wheeled motor vehicles are all over. There must be millions in Saigon. There's six million people and I think almost all of them have motorcycles. Most are little 35 or 50 cc bikes. My Kawi is a Super 100. Hot damn! The cowboys (these are punks who manage to stay out of the military and survive by doing anything possible, like rolling GIs, to make money as long as it's illegal and not hard work) mostly ride 50cc Hondas. My Kawi will eat them up, even when riding double. The sweet young ladies mostly ride Vespas, a step-thru motor scooter. Appealing in their Ao Dias (a dress/pant combination) skirts blowing in the wind. Saw a family; papa-san, mama-san, two kids, and a pig on a 35.

Guys, I want you to meet Specialist B. Jack just transferred down from Americal Division up in Chu Lai. He's no Efingee. He's been in country eight months. Extended six months to get an early out. He and I run together in Heildberg. He'll be working here with us. Be nice to him, he used to be a Computer operator until he got smart and changed MOSs . He's one of the Metrical-for-lunch-bunch. Hey, Jack, remember, old tradition says you got to buy the booze tonight. How old is that tradition? About five minutes. Vern made E-5 today so him and Jack split the bill. Wet down and stamped Vern's strips and Jack's MACV patch. A tradition is born, stamping patches not just stripes (.Stamping a stripe or a patch consist of the individual standing as close as he can to the position of attention while all other personnel file past and punch said stripe or patch with all the vigor they can muster).

Guess the hundred and worst must be having a stand-down. Sure a lot of them in town. Maybe something to do with that Phu To Race Track thing. Damn, there's six of them coming in our Monkey Cage. And of course the bastards are locked and loaded. Oh, great that dumb-ass MP wants to unarm them. Unload you weapons now or leave this bar immediately! F--- Off, pig. Get behind something quick, the shit is going to hit the fan. We're going to go down the street and be back in a half hour. I want those weapons unloaded, or you guys out of here. Right. Smart buck sergeant. Well the grunts are leaving. Let's go downtown and Par-ty. Right-on. Back to my Jim Beam. Ain't nothing to it.

Goddamn Pete, did you leave the water running? It's all over the floor. I walk into the bath room, this is first class Me Lan Hotel room. Not me, man. I think those hookers musta showered for an hour. Left the friggin water running. Splash, splash.splash. Can't even get dressed without gettin' my clothes all wet. I'll dress out in the hall. F--- those gooks, if they ain't seen it before, they will now. Yea, but that ain't much to show them for their first look. Kiss off.

Okay, I want to buy Anderson's Kawasaki. Got to take a MACV test. No sweat, 15 minutes. Downtown to the gook license department. Stand in one line for an hour. Go down the hall to another office. Stand in line for another hour. My turn. You want driver's license? That's why I'm here. You sign here, pay 5000 P (about $10). Go there, take test. You speak Vietnamese? No. You read Vietnamese? No. You pay interpreter 2500 P, he read for you. Okay, can do. You write Vietnamese? No. Interpreter write for you, you pay 2500 P. This man, he watch, sign name that interpreter write what you say. Okay. You pay him 2500 P. Take my money. Test done. You do okay. Go take picture. I know, how much? 2000 P. All done here drivers license but first must post insurance bond. Got me again. How much? 15,000 P. Jesus, the damn bike only cost me forty bucks. The damn license and crap cost me damn near sixty dollars.

New Light Colonel took over the Detachment. Had the SGM fall us out in the street and marched us all to the barbershop. Good bye goatee. Goodbye sideburns.

You sent for me Sergeant-Major? Yea, Sarge, sit down. Coffee? No thanks. Hear tell you're DEROSing next month. ETSing? For sure Sergeant-major, for sure. Why not extended or re-up? Sorry, I've had enough of this chicken shit bull. Oh, it's not that bad. What you going to do if you get out. Go to school, work, somethin'. Look, Stan, (watch out here it comes) we don't have a replacement for you and I don't think we'll get one because of the draw-down. Ill tell you what. See these orders? (oh-oh, careful) Yea. Them's your promotion orders. The day you re-up you'll be an E-7. Thank you Sergeant-Major (can't trust them at all), but I gotta pass. This just ain't for me. Goddamn it then, get your ass out of my office and quit wasting my time. I'm, outta there. Twenty-eight and a wake-up. I can do that standing on my head. I'm so short, I need a ladder to tie my shoes.

Hey Jack, what's up? Got two quarts of Jim Beam and a case of Coke. Grab your radio an lets go out on the deck. All-right! But what are we going to do with all that Coke? No one around so we get a table. Crank up the tunes and pop the bottles. You know, a man can get quite profound setting here drinkin' this good shit and watchin' them flares. For sure. Lookie there, that's a Spooky. Yea, get some,Spooky. What the hells going on over there? That's Cholon, ain't it? Damn close. Someone's getting wasted tonight. Yea, I like our way better, for sure. F--- it, it don't mean nothing! Pore me another drink while I go to the can. Go for me while your there. And grab some ice. Right on. Did you go for me? I tried but you didn't have to go. Shit, have a drink. Don't mind if I do.

Our newly elected President, Mr Nixon, in keeping with his promise to end this war, has announced a reduction in forces. Five hundred personnel will be curtailed and sent home early. All personnel with an ETS before 1 October 69 are eligible. Interested? Damn right I'm interested. Where do I sign? Right there. I'm sure I can get you into this. You do and I'll owe you. No sweat, buy me a beer tonight. You got it.

Drinking song:

L - I - F -
E - R - S
Lifers make the very best
Sooul
jers.

What the hell you mean, courier duty? Spec 5 that was doing it went on R & R. You're the only one with the right clearance available. I'm on PDF. Got you off. What about my job? Jack can handle it 'till you get back. Oh, shit, here we go again. Hitch a ride at the heli-pad. God I hate these friggin machines. Coming into Can Tho, get ready to hop. What the f---, we're taking fire, jump. Shit that was a long way down. think I broke my friggin leg. Where the hell's the bunker? Safe. Hi guys, what's up? No it ain't broke, just twisted my knee. Sign here. Got my reports now back to Saigon. Piss on this courier crap. Whatta you mean, Da Nang tomorrow? When the hell is that Spec 5 coming back? Whatta you mean two weeks.

Words out, supposed to be another rocket attack tonight. No sweat, they never can hit us. I hear tell G2 says the attack is going for Tan Son Nhut. Oh shit, better sit in the bunkers. Bullshit, I'm not going to waste a nights sleep cause some asshole in the head-shed thinks Charlie MAY send us a calling card and MAY be aiming at Ton Son Nhut. Bastards never can hit what they're aiming at anyway. Goddamn 122s go all over the place. Hell with it, let's get a beer. Clubs closed. My hooch ain't. Right-on.

Sittin' here on my ass waitin' for a Goddamn helicopter ride. Just cause some dickhead had to go on R & R. Hey, there's one warming up. Hey, Chief, where you headed? Up country. Great. Can I catch a ride? Gotta go to Da Nang and pick up some shit. No can do, Sarge. This is General Abrahms chopper. Well shit. Back over and park my ass. Whoops, the sedan got stars all over it. Good morning sir. Snappy salute. Always was good at snappy salutes. Back on my ass. What's this dickhead Major want? General heard you're going up country. Yes sir. Well, come on, don't keep the General waiting. Into the chopper, nod my thanks to the big cheese and slide to the door, feet on the skids. Want to be able to un-ass this bird if it's like the last time. Landing at Da Nang, dip-shit co-pilot tells the pilot; lookie here, Bill, six more holes than we left with. Think I'll find another way back. I'm too short for this bullshit.

Dodge City. What a dipshit name for a barracks, even if it is for NCO's. Room divided off by wall lockers. No windows. Right over the mess hall. Burnt grease smell all the time. A hundred stereos and TVs going at the same time. Sometimes I wish I could stay on PDF all the time so I could get some peace and quite. Sleep with forty guys instead of a hundred. 

Drinking Song;

Re-up
and buy a brand new car
Re-up
and show how dumb you are
Re-up
I'd rather throw-up
than to grow up
a lifer
like you.

Went on sick-call. Damn knee hurtin' like a bitch. Twisted knee. How'd you do it? Had to jump out of a friggin' chopper down in the delta last week. It was supposed to hover while I got out, but just as I went to unass the damn thing, somebody hollered "taking fire" and the damn thing lifted off. I thought I was jumping two or three feet and it must of been eight. Sarge, I can give you some pills for the pain but I can't write you up for a Purple Heart. Causality reports for that day said there were no injurys. Shit, I don't care about that. Just give me the damn pills. Back home a Purple Heart and a dime might get you a cup of coffee. F---it, don't mean nothing.

God this town has a lot of GI's roaming around. Yea, I hear at least half of them are deserters. Be careful, they'll offer you some kind of good shit, then roll you when they get you in the alley. Not me, man. I buy all the good shit I want from my hooch maid. Yea, that's not all you buy from her. Screw you, man, she's gotta be 100 years old. Probably not over twenty-five. Yea, these broads age quick, don't they. Roger that, beautiful at eighteen, burned-out at twenty-five. Yea, I can't understand that. Shit, if you had to work and live like they do, you'd look old too.

Sergeant of the Guard, Sergeant of the Guard, Post number five. Post number five, this is command post. What the hells going on, over? And use correct radio procedure, over. Command post, this is Post number five, and the shits hitting the fan. We're taking fire, over. Post five, this is command post. What kind of fire, from where, and how much, over? Shit Sarge, I don't know. Coming from out in front, lots of rifle shots. What'll I do? Post five, sit tight, RF (Reactionary Force) on the way. If fired on you are authorized to return fire, but D.J., be sure what you're firing on, over. Roger that, Sarge, it's quiet now but I hope you hurry the hell up. Roger, D.J., the calvary is on the way. Hang in, over. What did you find, L.T.? Not a friggin thing. I think the kid was hallucinating. I don't think so, sir. D.J.'s a pretty level kid, and besides, Posts four and six reported hearing fire.

What's up Jack. Hey, you know this bullshit about some kind of physical training? Yea? How about we go out and play a round of golf? I don't know anything about golf. No sweat, It's an afternoon off. Right on, let's clear it with the Smage (SGM). So off we go to the Saigon Golf Course and Country Club. Lot's of officers. Screw'em, I got just as much right here as they do. Playing through! Never played this friggin game in my life. It's okay, though. Every three holes we stop for a beer. This is my kind of physical training. Jack and I spend almost every afternoon for two months on the golf course. My game doesn't improve a bit but the beer is always cold. the only problem, here the bunkers are really bunkers, M-60's and all.

What the hell is this coming in? It-s a bunch of Aussies. Her, mate, mind if we join you? Not at all. Have a cold one. Thanks. A few more. a lot more. Aussie says Know what mate? What? The only thing I like better than a good drunk is a good fight. Wham, left hook to my mouth...

This is some great food. Check out the waiter. A gook in a tux. Yea, but wait tell you try this food. Hey, there ain't no hamburgers on this menu. I can't read any of this shit. Hey, Efingee, turn it over. It's in English on the other side and no, dipshit, there ain't no friggin hamburgers. I don't like this oriental stuff. You like mushrooms? Yea, on a pizza. Well, try the sauteed mushrooms with onions. It's really good. Okay, but I'd rather have a pizza. Well, shit, who wouldn't? This is a nice restaurant. Yea, and it's right across the street from Charlie B's.

First time I ever saw anyone volunteer for a detail. What's up? Didn't you hear? They found a whole friggin field of dope on the highway to Long Binh. They getting together a detail to go out and burn it. No shit? Let's go. Nah, they've got enough. Shit, maybe the wind will blow this way. Dumbass, that's too far away. I can wish can't I?

Where you been? Had to go to the dispensary and get a shot. Friggin whore gave me a dose. Not black syph I hope. Naw, shit, just the clap. I've had it three times now. No booze for three weeks. Don't worry Jack, I'll drink it for you. F---off man. That damn medic had to stick that friggin needle in three times before he got it right. Kept saying, whoops, wrong place. I told him the next one better be the right place or I was going to do the Bosa Nova all over his face. Son of a bitch shoved that needle damn near through my ass.

What a stupid frigging detail. Body count? That's right, Sergeant. You, SFC J. and Staff Sergeant F go out on the golf course and get the boss a count on the dead. There should be a lot, we were hit pretty hard last night. Sir, how come the gooks didn't take their dead with them like they always do? I don't know, Sergeant J. maybe we zapped all of them. I find that difficult to believe. What's that, Sergeant? Nothing, Sir, I just said I gotta stop and relieve. What's your count Sergeant ? Well, sir, I counted thirty-two, SFC J. followed me and counted twenty-nine, and Sergeant F. counted thirty-one. Lets, see, 32 and 29 and 31. That's ninety-two. Good kill. No, no, sir. We each counted all the bodies. There was a total somewhere between 29 and 32. Never mind, Sarge, I'll handle it from here, just sign your body count sheets. Hot damn, 92 killed by two platoons. The old man's going to wet his pants. Dip shit captain.

Sarge, you talked me into authorizing five days to clear post and you just did it in two. You bullshitted me. No sweat Sergeant-Major, I just hustled faster cause of this curtailment I got. Bullshit, it's now back to three days. Sorry guys. I'm so short I need a ladder to get in bed.

Jack and I did his James Brown routine at the Monkey Cage tonight. He gets out on the dance floor and lip-synchs to the song and imitates Brown. Does a pretty good job of it. He can do all the spinning and dancing. Even does a split. At the end, he drops down to his knees and I come out with his shirt and put it over his shoulder and help him off the floor just like Brown's manager does at his performances. All the GI's get a kick out of it. Of course, the Vietnamese think we're crazy (dinky-dau GI).

Here comes that friggin Aussy you got into with last night. Oh, shit, I'm hurtin' too much to fight him again. He knocked me clear off the stool. Yea, said the only thing Aussies like better that drinking and screwing is fighting. Well,shit, here he comes. Hey, mate, how you doing? Not bad, you look okay. Yea, but the nose hurts like hell and I can't see a damn thing outta this left eye. You yanks are all-right. I guess you guys are okay, too. Sure, lets have another drink. I'll tell you what. What's that? No more fightin' and I'll share my Jim Beam with you. That sounds like a winner, let's have a go. (guy talks weird) That bottle's done, how about another? I got one behind the bar. Stan my boy, you're a-ok.I want you to have this hat. No man, I can't take your hat. Sure you can. See, it fits. Sir, you do me an honor.

Hold it Sarge. What you doin' out after curfew? Got a pass, Lieutenant, here. Johnson, call it in. Yes sir. What you doing with this pistol. Don't you know private weapons are against regs? Yes sir. Hey, L.T., the pass is ligit. Okay, Sarge, you're okay on the curfew, too bad about the gun. What gun is that, Sir? Oh, yeah, what gun? He puts it in his pocket. See you around. So long (dickhead).

Hey, Sergeant F, how'd that burning detail go? Man, you wouldn't believe it. Half the detail had to guard the other half to make sure the shit got burned and nobody brought any back. Yea, I believe that. I'm sure not a soul brought as much as a little leaf back. Well, we did what we could. Man, you should of seen it. Right out in the middle of the rice paddy where the dope was growing there was this friggin tank, hooked to it was another tank, and behind that was this big old tank retriever. All three of those big old mutha-f---ers was buried in the mud. All you could see was their friggin turrets. This ain't no place for armor. This ain't no place for anything. I hear that.

Where the hell is that fire coming from? I don't know. Can't see a Goddamn thing. There's another round. Fire back. Aim low, aim low. Fire again. What's that? What the hell is out there. Hey, can you guys see anything? Shut up and keep your ass down. Fire if you see anything in front. Fire over there. More to the left. More left. There. Pump in a few more. Sarge, radio says cease fire. Cease Fire! Cease Fire! What the hell was going on? Shit if I know. Yea, we're always the last to know. Alright, knock it off. Anybody hurt? Who cares?

What the hell are those gooks doing in our club? Cool it, D.J., those don't look like regular ARVNs. They ain't ARVNs at all, I think they're Koreans. Yea, I heard the Whitehorse division was doing some liaison training down here. I don't give a damn, gooks ain't supposed to be in our club. I think it's authorized. Not by me. I'm telling them to leave. I wouldn't do that. Screw it, I'm getting them out of here. Hey, gooks. Get the hell out of here. Damn, I ain't never seen anybody kick that high. Shit, let's get D.J. out of here. Hope he ain't got a concussion or something. Told him to leave those guys alone. They're bad. I hear that. Too bad D.J. didn't hear that.

Hell, look over there. Ain't that one of those big-shot TV reporters? Yea, bigger than shit. Wait a minute, I just saw him on AFVN TV. He was reporting from some fire fight down in the Delta. How the hell did he get here so fast? Ah, the wonders of modern science. Here today, here tomorrow. I saw a special on this. It's called overlay. Yea, that's what D.J. does. No, not that. They put a film on and put your picture over it or something. That's kinda cheating, ain't it? Shit, man, welcome to the real world. You think those hot shot reporters are going to leave their fancy Continental Hotel for the bush? They ain't any more crazy that we are. It's still cheating. Oh, BFD.

Hey, Jack. I might be a little late back from lunch. I gotta grab a shower. This heat is killing me. No sweat, man, got you covered. No sweat, shit! A lot of sweat. Back to the hooch, dump the fatigues, grab a towel (still damp from this morning) and down to the showers. Sorry, mama-son, but I gotta use this shower. Yea, you can still wash those clothes. Okay, here comes some more hooch maids. Great, they gotta fix lunch while I'm trying to shower. Yea, just don't use all the hot water. Damn, that nuik-mam stinks. No, thank you, I don't care for any. Just ate in the mess hall. Only place a man can shower with five or six women and nothing happens. Hey, what the hell you laughing about? Yea, okay, no sweat. Just fix your damn fish heads.

Everyone calls it the freedom bird. There it sits outside the terminal, waiting just for me. Me and a couple of hundred other GIs. Vern's seeing me off. Jack's got PDF. Said our good byes last night. Will be seeing him in October when he gets out. There is the call for the plane. So long Vern. Hang in, guy. Yea, sure. Forty-two and a wake-up. Go catch your plane. SHORT! NEXT! Sit down, buckle up. Round-eye stewardess. Round-eyes. Hi guys, welcome to TWA. Hotter that shit in here. Hey, we're moving. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to TWA Flight 442. You are now the shortest people in Vietnam. We are cleared for take off. Hot damn, we're going. Feet stomping on the floor, faster and faster then lift-off. Tremendous yell and clapping. Settle down, long flight ahead, but, HOT DAMN, we're going back to the world. We're going home!

Just finished out-processing at Oakland Army Terminal. Went across the street to a snack bar and had a few beers waiting for final pay. Bastards stole my camera and Aussy hat. Catch a bus? Right out the gate, but watch the protesters. Why would they bother me, I ain't done nothing? What the hell are you assholes throwing stuff at me for? I ain't no baby killer, dickhead. Oh, man, tomato on my shoes. Get on the bus and roll out. F--- it, it don't mean nothing!

Stanley E. Hutchison
SSG 74C40
HQ MACV-AG
Oct 1968 - Aug 1969

Copyright January, 1999 by Stanley E. Hutchinson.  All rights reserved.

MONSOON

A tension in the air so strong
The stillness rolling in, about to break
A heave vibrancy that clings to your nerves
Like a lingering, almost forgotten, headache

The sky cracks with tension, unnaturally silent
And then the rain begins to fall
A silver curtain of water coming down
Blocking all view, a vaporous wall

Torrential down pour sends up sprays of mud
In the red dust of the street
A drummer gone crazy, pounding out the rhythm
Of Mother Natures wildest beat

The company street, flowing like a river
I cross, to go for a beer
The newbies are running, trying to stay dry
It's the first storm of the year

Copyright April, 2000 by Stanley E. Hutchinson.  All rights reserved.

ARE THEY STILL THERE?

Are they still there?
The ones lost years ago
Rotting in a cage somewhere
We really need to know

And isn't one of those ideals
Freedom for all to share
But what of the freedom of the POW?
After all, are they still there?

Copyright April, 2000 by Stanley E. Hutchinson.  All rights reserved.

The Touch of War

It comes back in the night
As fear will usually do
The chilling sweat, the pounding heart
This was nothing new

Copyright April, 2000 by Stanley E. Hutchinson.  All rights reserved.