If we ever meet it will be an honor to shake your hand, Sir.
As if rescuing downed pilots (and other air rescue crews) wasn't hairy enough, you had Mr. Nguyen Schwartz firing 122mm rockets at your choppers on the ramp at Da Nang.
It's doubtful that you slept underground so, I can only wonder if you ever got a good night's sleep.
It's doubtful that you slept underground so, I can only wonder if you ever got a good night's sleep.
Thanks, HD. Actually, I slept pretty good. I almost did sleep underground. I'll elaborate in a minute.
Ya get used to the sound of outgoing artillery rounds to the point of ignoring them - it's the incoming rounds that can wake one up. I recall asking other guys each time I'd hear an artillery round being fired - Outgoing ? Incoming ? It doesn't take long to figure it out.
The Vietnamese weren't very accurate with rockets but they were pretty good with mortars. Those could disturb ones pleasant dreams. (I slept better then than I do now !)
At first, maybe 3 months, we were quartered in the standard hootch made of plywood and screen but a little later we were moved to a vacant marine compound called Camp Swampy. I shared a quasi-bunker with two other guys (complete with a peace flag flying over it) made from portable runway covered and surrounded with sand bags . It was rat infested but it was probably the safest place to bunk at Da Nang. We took turns emptying the rat traps each night. The rats were the size of Chihuahuas.
Truthfully, many of my memories of Viet Nam are lost in the fog of time. I wasn't ever wounded, never really adapted to the military lifestyle, and never even had a bad dream after returning home. It seems to me sometimes as if it never even happened though it surely did. I consider this amnesia a blessing because I had friends that couldn't get it out of their heads.
Ya know, it was so long ago now that I have a hard time even comprehending the reality of it. I was a kid 20 years old, barely 21 when I came home. Hard to believe it was 41 years ago. I hated war then and I hate it 100 times more now. I suppose that's why I loathe the pencil necked cocksuckers that think its OK to send a 20 year old kid off to some hell-hole 10,000 miles away to die for some corporation(s) benefit.
The same low-life callous political tools that would send 18 yr. old kids off to die then spend the rest of their time stealing the very freedoms they say we're defending. The hypocrisy level in government has achieved historic highs and is off the charts. I couldn't think of a more appropriate karma than for the political scumbags to dodge bullets for awhile - and I think they're considering that a distinct possibility too.
Vietnam seemed like an adventure to me at that time. There were a lot of new and different things going on and much of it was fun. Most memorable was that all of the chicks wanted to give me a "going away present" !!!
In the end it was a very surreal period in my life, as well as the country's.
My favorite music before leaving for Viet Nam was the Doors, Free (Alright Now) Zeppelin, Blind Faith, Steppenwolf, and etc., while in Viet Nam it was Cat Stevens. Most of the guys bought huge stereo systems (and Nikon cameras) the music would blast out into the marijuana scented air all night long. The potheads would keep a lookout while the junkies nodded and puked and the lifers got shit-faced drunk.
I think I recognized adulthood while there even though it took me about 20 more years to grow up.
I went to see a movie not long after coming home, I think it was "Full Metal Jacket" that caused me to break down and cry. Otherwise, no sweat !
I agree about the profiteering warmongers and that the cost of war American style is entirely too high.
And as the sons of privilege sat out the conflict in colleges or cozy national guard slots ("Oy! There were so many blankets to fold!") my brother was exposed to the Dioxen and mental trauma that eventually shortened his life.
And did you know that in the 1950's the very resourceful Viet Minh hauled Howitzers up a steep mountainside in order to fire down on the trapped French at the decisive Battle of Dien Bien Phu? And, when one very brave tunnel rat ("Non Gratis Anus Rodentum" "Not worth a Rat's Ass" was their unofficial Pig Latin shoulder patch slogan) went exploring he popped up in the middle of Gen. Westmoreland's compound?
Had I been there (my brother nixed the idea of me enlisting) I'd have slept much better if I didn't know that them little commie bastards could achieve those things. And, just how does one intimidate or un-psyche an explosives wrapped sapper determined to breach your perimeter? ("Hey Chuck, your betel nut-chewin' mama has black teeth and wears black jammies!"?)
I'm actually relieved to learn that you aren't visited by friend or foe, dead or alive from that theater of the obscene.
It's a shame that beginning in the late 60's the crazed Nam vets were typecast as bank robbers, kidnappers, clumsy but ambitious big time drug dealers and every other ugly criminal mold that pro commie Hollywood could stuff them into. Can you think of a single film where the liberators of Auschwitz came home to form criminal cartels?
Mee neether.
Those TV and film images couldn't have helped the men who were already finding it difficult to cope stateside, while surrounded by folks who couldn't fathom the depth of Asian depravity. And my brother was being "counseled" by at least one VA 4 Effer who I believe was an anti war protester in college as my brother was on patrol trying to draw enemy fire and trigger Bouncing Bettys on orders of his lard-assed superiors.
my brother was exposed to the Dioxen and mental trauma that eventually shortened his life.
I'm really sorry to hear that about your brother. My brother got strung out on downers (Mandrex & Quaaludes) and Cocaine (in Germany) in the Army, brought his bad habits home - dove off of a 120' bridge at the Madison Regatta boat races and drowned there.
Sometimes I know that I sound like a dogmatic old SOB, and I am, I guess. I'm a product of my environment. Some people think that simply because they were born in a particular place they have to adhere to whomever says they run it. I don't believe that anymore. Most of the asshats that think they run the show are the sons of privilege that sat out the conflict in colleges or cozy national guard slots - I didn't forsake this country it has forsaken the lot of us.