After going out for lunch one day, I walked back into my office and discovered someone sitting on my desk, that is on my desk, not at it. The man was wearing what looked like a Korean dress uniform but I had no idea who he was or what his rank was. There were all sorts of insignias and things attached to his uniform but while they looked impressive, I did not know what any of them meant. His uniform was definitely not inspection ready, being a bit wrinkled, and also he needed a shave.
As I walked in, he slid off my desk and asked it I was in charge. I said that I was and asked what he wanted. I knew that he was authorized to be there, otherwise, he would not have gotten into the building. He said that he needed some specific information about an area that the Koreans were operating in. I sent an order out into the research room and got a comment back that it would take at least half an hour to find the data and put it the data into a report.
I got a spare chair and offered the man a cup of coffee. He sat down and started chatting while we waited. He was very interested in American sports and told me that he had lived in the US for more than a year. Then he said that he was very much taken with American women and told me some raunchy stories about his experiences in American bars. With all the expletives deleted, there would have hardly been any story left.
The report was finally finished so he took it and left, after thanking me for the report, the coffee, and the conversation.
About 20 minutes later, a Lieutenant from our administrative unit came in asked me if I had seen
Br. Gen. Yi Byong-chool, the commander of the Korean 2nd Marine Division. I said that some enlisted guy had come in and told me dirty stories but I had not seen any general. The LT asked me to describe the guy. When I did, the LT said that was the General and went running out to patch up the protocol.
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
Saturday, October 28, 2017
Sergeant of the Guard
First Tour
One of my occasional duties was to be Sargeant of the Guard at Battalion Headquarters. Most nights it was very boring but occasionally there was some excitement.
One night I was sitting with the Officer of the Day and an enlisted man who operated the telephones and the radio. Suddenly the phone rang with a call from one of the guard towers saying he could see movement in the no-go area.
Before going into what happened next, I guess I should describe the compound. There were 10-foot high concrete-block walls on three sides with the front gate in the middle wall. A sandbagged bunker guarded the gate and there were three guard towers with sandbagged positions at the top, one on each of the remaining sides. On the left, a dirt road nestled against the wall and beyond that a field that contained nothing but old junk of all kinds. On the right was a lumber mill. I had been told that the owner of the mill paid off the VC not to attack his property and that he got the money from us so I did not have to worry about that side. The back of the compound was the most interesting. Our land ended at a 10-meter wide river and the no-go area was a large field on the far side. A boat dock with an old outhouse with a hole to deposit the goods in the river were the only structures on our side, except for a barbed-wire fence. The guard tower was in the middle of this side.
The Officer of the Day, a 2nd Lieutenant who looked like he was not old enough to shave, said that maybe we would come under attack and that we should do something about it. We started discussing what we should do when the phone rang again. The guard sounded panicky so the LT told me to go find out what was going on and report back to him. He mentioned something about the possibility of shooting and how as Officer of the Day he should stay in the protection of the guard force headquarters.
I took off for the guard post and quickly reached the bottom of the tower. Looking across the river, I could not see anything and decided that I should climb up to the top to get a better view. I have never climbed a ladder so fast.
At the top, the very nervous guard, a PFC, pointed out the area where he had seen the movement. I could not see anything definite but there did seem to be something there. It appeared to be about 100 meters away and moving extremely slowly with long stops between movements. Whatever it was had made no aggressive moves and had not gotten any closer.
I phoned the LT and he said to stay there until we determined what it was. About fifteen minutes later, it finally moved to a place where we could see it clearly. A farmer, who was staying in the shadows so that he would not get shot, was feeding his water buffalo on the lush grass. At least this time I did not damage my camera.
One of my occasional duties was to be Sargeant of the Guard at Battalion Headquarters. Most nights it was very boring but occasionally there was some excitement.
One night I was sitting with the Officer of the Day and an enlisted man who operated the telephones and the radio. Suddenly the phone rang with a call from one of the guard towers saying he could see movement in the no-go area.
Before going into what happened next, I guess I should describe the compound. There were 10-foot high concrete-block walls on three sides with the front gate in the middle wall. A sandbagged bunker guarded the gate and there were three guard towers with sandbagged positions at the top, one on each of the remaining sides. On the left, a dirt road nestled against the wall and beyond that a field that contained nothing but old junk of all kinds. On the right was a lumber mill. I had been told that the owner of the mill paid off the VC not to attack his property and that he got the money from us so I did not have to worry about that side. The back of the compound was the most interesting. Our land ended at a 10-meter wide river and the no-go area was a large field on the far side. A boat dock with an old outhouse with a hole to deposit the goods in the river were the only structures on our side, except for a barbed-wire fence. The guard tower was in the middle of this side.
The Officer of the Day, a 2nd Lieutenant who looked like he was not old enough to shave, said that maybe we would come under attack and that we should do something about it. We started discussing what we should do when the phone rang again. The guard sounded panicky so the LT told me to go find out what was going on and report back to him. He mentioned something about the possibility of shooting and how as Officer of the Day he should stay in the protection of the guard force headquarters.
I took off for the guard post and quickly reached the bottom of the tower. Looking across the river, I could not see anything and decided that I should climb up to the top to get a better view. I have never climbed a ladder so fast.
At the top, the very nervous guard, a PFC, pointed out the area where he had seen the movement. I could not see anything definite but there did seem to be something there. It appeared to be about 100 meters away and moving extremely slowly with long stops between movements. Whatever it was had made no aggressive moves and had not gotten any closer.
I phoned the LT and he said to stay there until we determined what it was. About fifteen minutes later, it finally moved to a place where we could see it clearly. A farmer, who was staying in the shadows so that he would not get shot, was feeding his water buffalo on the lush grass. At least this time I did not damage my camera.
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
A Terrorist Attack?
First Tour
I missed the truck to go back to my billets because I was finishing up some work. I knew that, if I walked out to the main road into town and stuck out my thumb, someone would stop and pick me up probably taking me right to my door.
I happened to have my camera with me so I was taking some photos of the area. Suddenly, through the lens, I saw a bicycle coming towards me. I put the camera down so that I could check out the rider. There were reports of people on motor scooters and bicycles staging small-scale attacks on GIs. The most common was to shoot at the GI with a pistol and then to escape on the bike. There were also reports of such people throwing hand grenades at Americans.
The man who was approaching me had something in his hand. It was about the size of one of the cylindrical type grenades I had seen in Basic Training. So, I watched him very closely as he got nearer and nearer. Just as he passed me, his hand came up and the grenade arched through the air, coming right at me. Without thinking, I leaped over the low concrete fence on my right. As I went over it, I was aware of my camera hitting the fence. Flattening myself on the ground, I waited for the explosion.
After about half a minute, nothing had happened so I got up and looked over the fence. There was nothing there, except an empty coke can, the hand grenade.
I was very glad that no one had seen this and I did not tell any of my coworkers about the incident. However, I did have some difficulty explaining why the filter mount on my camera had a big dent.
I missed the truck to go back to my billets because I was finishing up some work. I knew that, if I walked out to the main road into town and stuck out my thumb, someone would stop and pick me up probably taking me right to my door.
I happened to have my camera with me so I was taking some photos of the area. Suddenly, through the lens, I saw a bicycle coming towards me. I put the camera down so that I could check out the rider. There were reports of people on motor scooters and bicycles staging small-scale attacks on GIs. The most common was to shoot at the GI with a pistol and then to escape on the bike. There were also reports of such people throwing hand grenades at Americans.
The man who was approaching me had something in his hand. It was about the size of one of the cylindrical type grenades I had seen in Basic Training. So, I watched him very closely as he got nearer and nearer. Just as he passed me, his hand came up and the grenade arched through the air, coming right at me. Without thinking, I leaped over the low concrete fence on my right. As I went over it, I was aware of my camera hitting the fence. Flattening myself on the ground, I waited for the explosion.
After about half a minute, nothing had happened so I got up and looked over the fence. There was nothing there, except an empty coke can, the hand grenade.
I was very glad that no one had seen this and I did not tell any of my coworkers about the incident. However, I did have some difficulty explaining why the filter mount on my camera had a big dent.
Sunday, October 22, 2017
A New Building for the Center
A couple of weeks into my tour, the Combined Intelligence Center was moved to a new building. It was newly made from reinforced concrete and was air conditioned so it was a great place to work. They said that the roof was mortar-proof, but I suspected that it was not. We were no longer on Tan Son Nhut Airbase but quite near. To get to the new building, we first passed the entrance to the South Vietnamese military's golf club, for officers only. The gate was in the traditional Vietnamese style but it had been covered with sandbags and contained at least two machinegun nests and a squad of armed men. I could see the sand traps around the green on the 7th hole from my defensive position outside one of the rear doors to our building.
After the gate, we turned off the main road and followed a dirt road along the side of a soccer field. I never saw anyone play soccer there. Once passed the end of the stands, we entered a small graveyard. Sometimes there were people there putting offerings on grave sites or interring the newly deceased. The dirt lane then continued through a small copse before reaching the parking lot of the Center. Graveyards and copses, even without the R, were not particularly comforting when you were in a combat zone.
The building was one-story and surprisingly large. There was a hallway that ran all the way around the inside of the building, separating it into an inside and an outside. My workplace was inside. There were two large rooms. The one on the right containing the American analysists and the other the Vietnamese. There were two small rooms. The one next to the American side was for the CO and administrators. The other was where I worked.
The outside rooms contained the Center's staff, a computer, rooms for the Vietnamese staff and an arms room where we could check out .45 cal pistols or M-1 rifles if we had to travel.
I now headed the editorial section and had a staff of one under my command. It was the first time since I had entered the Army that I was actually in command of anyone. However, the E-4 typist was in the Air Force which meant he was only partially under my control. We worked 12 hours a day but only during the day shift. About a third of the analysists work at night so that the Center was in operation 24/7.
After the gate, we turned off the main road and followed a dirt road along the side of a soccer field. I never saw anyone play soccer there. Once passed the end of the stands, we entered a small graveyard. Sometimes there were people there putting offerings on grave sites or interring the newly deceased. The dirt lane then continued through a small copse before reaching the parking lot of the Center. Graveyards and copses, even without the R, were not particularly comforting when you were in a combat zone.
The building was one-story and surprisingly large. There was a hallway that ran all the way around the inside of the building, separating it into an inside and an outside. My workplace was inside. There were two large rooms. The one on the right containing the American analysists and the other the Vietnamese. There were two small rooms. The one next to the American side was for the CO and administrators. The other was where I worked.
The outside rooms contained the Center's staff, a computer, rooms for the Vietnamese staff and an arms room where we could check out .45 cal pistols or M-1 rifles if we had to travel.
I now headed the editorial section and had a staff of one under my command. It was the first time since I had entered the Army that I was actually in command of anyone. However, the E-4 typist was in the Air Force which meant he was only partially under my control. We worked 12 hours a day but only during the day shift. About a third of the analysists work at night so that the Center was in operation 24/7.
Friday, October 20, 2017
It really is a war zone
One morning during my second week at work, when our truck reach the gate of Tan Son Nhut Airbase, we discovered a squad of armed American soldiers in addition to the usual Vietnamese guards. They waved us through, saying that there had been some trouble during the night.
When we reached our building, the nearest airplane was surrounded by fire trucks and still smoldering. I noticed a fairly large number of bullet holes in the walls of my workplace, all from small arms, probably an AK-47. Many of the members of the night shift were outside and all were carrying M-16s. We newcomers soon got the whole story.
During the night, a suicide squad of ten VC and snuck into the airport. Once inside, they had separated and then simultaneously started shooting at ten different locations. The building where I worked was one of the targets but luckily no one was hurt, The VC shooter had hid under a nearby aircraft, a fighter of some kind, I was not in the Air Force so I did not know its name. He used the wheels as protection against return fire plus there was a certain amount of hesitation by the Americans about shooting at such an expensive airplane. Maybe the Army would take the cost out of the person's pay. When it had become apparent that the position had become untenable, the VC fighter, a young teen according to those who saw him, stood up and held an explosive against the plane until it exploded, killing him and destroying the multi-million dollar airplane.
After a half hour or so of gawking and talking, we went back inside and put paper over the holes in the walls so they would not effect the air conditioning. Then, got to work, in spite of all the excitement, there was still a war to fight.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
Surprise!
First Tour
About a week after starting work, I arrived at the Center and found a number of armed soldiers moving around the area. As I turned a corner to enter the center, I saw an airplane a couple of hundred meters away. It was on fire, a complete wreck. A fire truck was there and its crew was working to extinguish the blaze.
I hurried into the Center to find out what happened and found that no one was working they were all standing around talking. It was change-of-shift time so everyone was there, standing around in little groups. I went over to my area and asked what was going on. Everyone started talking at once so it took me a while to get the story straight, but there had been an attack during the night.
A squad of VC had made their way into the airbase and had attacked in a number of places, using mostly two-man suicide teams. The plane had been blown up when I young man had run up to it and held a bomb against it until it exploded. Luckily the plane had not been armed or the shrapnel would have hit our Center. The Base Security Officer claimed that they had all been killed.
I noticed that there were some bullet holes in the wooden walls of our building and realized that I was very happy that I had not been there.
About a week after starting work, I arrived at the Center and found a number of armed soldiers moving around the area. As I turned a corner to enter the center, I saw an airplane a couple of hundred meters away. It was on fire, a complete wreck. A fire truck was there and its crew was working to extinguish the blaze.
I hurried into the Center to find out what happened and found that no one was working they were all standing around talking. It was change-of-shift time so everyone was there, standing around in little groups. I went over to my area and asked what was going on. Everyone started talking at once so it took me a while to get the story straight, but there had been an attack during the night.
A squad of VC had made their way into the airbase and had attacked in a number of places, using mostly two-man suicide teams. The plane had been blown up when I young man had run up to it and held a bomb against it until it exploded. Luckily the plane had not been armed or the shrapnel would have hit our Center. The Base Security Officer claimed that they had all been killed.
I noticed that there were some bullet holes in the wooden walls of our building and realized that I was very happy that I had not been there.
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
My New Job
First Tour
The next morning after breakfast I met the other commuters and we went to the truck together. Only the driver knew where it was because he often took it out at night. I never got to know him or to learn where he went, but the truck was often in a different place in the morning than we had left it the night before. Apparently, he worked at some other place on the airbase as did many others of the commuters. I never even found out what his job was.
I was very surprised when we approached the truck. The others in the group started carefully inspecting the truck, even crawling underneath. Someone checked to see that the lock was still on the gas tank and that it was still the same lock. On the way to work, they told me that it was quite common for the VC to put bombs on trucks. One favorite trick was to activate a hand grenade and the hold the lever down with elastic bands. This would then be dropped into the gas tank where the elastic would eventually dissolve and the grenade would explode, making it very unhealthy to be in the truck at the time. We had to be careful, even when there was a lock, because they would cut off the one that was there and replace it with a new one.
After about 20 minutes we arrived at the Combined Intelligence Center. I was told that my job was going to be the editor for their products. I would organize jobs that were spread around to different people, proofread and edit, all the text, make sure that everything necessary was completed, and finally to send the products to the printers. I had to laugh because the US Army had spent two years training me and then put me in a job that had absolutely nothing to do with that training.
Our main products were based on the standard 1:50,000 scale maps that the military used. We started with the basic map and then developed overlays that gave additional information. For example, we had overlays that showed all enemy installations, right down to foxholes, the vegetation in more detail, the ease of movement on foot, on wheeled vehicles, and on tracked vehicles, all sightings of enemy troops, likely routes for enemy movement, and much more. Each overlay was supplemented by written material explaining the content and its implications. These sets of overlays were redone every few months to keep the information on them as up to date as possible. If there was enough lead time, we would revise the sets in preparation for some specific operation.
The Center also produced WET (Weather, Enemy, and Terrain) studies on demand. These concerned specific subjects that were of interest to the commanders in the field. For example, we did studies of rice growing practices so that the troops in the field would be able to tell what was real and what was not. The unreal often being a tipoff that there was a trap or ambush waiting. During the second half of this tour, I produced many reports myself and I will discuss them in more detail in later posts.
The next morning after breakfast I met the other commuters and we went to the truck together. Only the driver knew where it was because he often took it out at night. I never got to know him or to learn where he went, but the truck was often in a different place in the morning than we had left it the night before. Apparently, he worked at some other place on the airbase as did many others of the commuters. I never even found out what his job was.
I was very surprised when we approached the truck. The others in the group started carefully inspecting the truck, even crawling underneath. Someone checked to see that the lock was still on the gas tank and that it was still the same lock. On the way to work, they told me that it was quite common for the VC to put bombs on trucks. One favorite trick was to activate a hand grenade and the hold the lever down with elastic bands. This would then be dropped into the gas tank where the elastic would eventually dissolve and the grenade would explode, making it very unhealthy to be in the truck at the time. We had to be careful, even when there was a lock, because they would cut off the one that was there and replace it with a new one.
After about 20 minutes we arrived at the Combined Intelligence Center. I was told that my job was going to be the editor for their products. I would organize jobs that were spread around to different people, proofread and edit, all the text, make sure that everything necessary was completed, and finally to send the products to the printers. I had to laugh because the US Army had spent two years training me and then put me in a job that had absolutely nothing to do with that training.
Our main products were based on the standard 1:50,000 scale maps that the military used. We started with the basic map and then developed overlays that gave additional information. For example, we had overlays that showed all enemy installations, right down to foxholes, the vegetation in more detail, the ease of movement on foot, on wheeled vehicles, and on tracked vehicles, all sightings of enemy troops, likely routes for enemy movement, and much more. Each overlay was supplemented by written material explaining the content and its implications. These sets of overlays were redone every few months to keep the information on them as up to date as possible. If there was enough lead time, we would revise the sets in preparation for some specific operation.
The Center also produced WET (Weather, Enemy, and Terrain) studies on demand. These concerned specific subjects that were of interest to the commanders in the field. For example, we did studies of rice growing practices so that the troops in the field would be able to tell what was real and what was not. The unreal often being a tipoff that there was a trap or ambush waiting. During the second half of this tour, I produced many reports myself and I will discuss them in more detail in later posts.
Monday, October 16, 2017
My First Day in Downtown Saigon
First Tour
The next day I was taken back to the headquarters compound to get my duty assignment. Back at Admin, I was told that since my MOS was 97C, Area Intelligence Specialist, I was being assigned to the Combined Intelligence Center where I would be doing studies on WET, weather, enemy, and terrain.
The First Sergeant took me aside and told me confidentially that no one knew what a 97C's job was, so they had just assigned me to an open position that seemed somewhat related to the name. He also told me that the entire unit had arrived by ship and that the officers and most of the enlisted men, himself included, had had only minimal training in Intelligence, except for those with 97D MOSs. He added that a lot of people fell through the cracks and I was one of them.
Since there was no transportation between the NCO billets and my workplace which was on Tan Son Nhut airbase, I was being assigned to a room in downtown Saigon. There was a group that also worked at the Center and traveled by three quarter ton truck each day. I could go with them.
They found a jeep and a driver, an E-4 who was happy to get away from the compound. He first took me to the airport and waited while I report in at the Combined Intelligence Center. It was in a large wooden building near the edge of one of the runways. They took my orders and told me to report back in the next day when I would actually start work. I also met the E-7 who drove the truck and arranged for transportation starting on the next morning.
The driver then took me to my billets which were on a back road in the center of town. It was an old hotel and my room (Yes, I had a room to myself) was on the second floor and had a view of the railroad yard. I realized that I was actually in a war zone when I noticed that all my windows had tape on them to prevent a lot of flying glass in the event of an explosion. I should also note that I was not issued a weapon.
The driver hung around as long as he could but finally left. I settled in, again taking only a few minutes. I had been told that I would get my meals at a larger hotel out on the main street, so I went out to find it. I had to pay for my meals but I got an allowance that more than covered the amount. It even covered some of the beer that I drank.
As I was eating, an E-4 from the Air Force came over and sat down. He said his name was John Flyguy (remember all the names, except mine, of course, are fake news, a term we are seeing a lot lately). We hit it off and he asked me if I was free for the rest of the day. I said I was. He had a car and wanted to show me around town.
After driving around for a while, he pulled into an alley and then went through a gate and we were in a large walled-in property. There were two buildings and stretched between them was a large sheet of plastic. This created a dry space which was occupied by a pool table. He said he often came here to play pool because the table was usually unoccupied. There were many roadside pool tables around but they were almost always in use by groups of young Vietnamese men.
We started to play and a few young women came out of one of the buildings. We ordered some beer and went back to the game. We were quite evenly matched so the competition was fierce. I was enjoying myself for the first time in a couple of weeks. The young women hung around flirting with us and bringing more beer. Both were nice.
Eventually, I had had enough beer that I needed to find a toilet. John directed me to one and, as I walked by an open window, I glanced in. Inside there was a completely naked woman with a GI on top of her. She was casually eating an apple but looked up and waved to me. A bit shocked, I did my business and returned to the pool table. I expressed my surprise to John. I had not realized this was a whorehouse, a veritable House of the Rising Sun. He said that he came here often but only to play pool and to drink their cheap beer. He thought that most of the women had VD so he would not use their services and suggested that I should not either. I didn't.
On the way back, John told me that he was shipping out in about a week and that he would gladly sell me his car for just a few dollars. I declined the offer.
I did not see John again because our working hours were different. Nor did I go back to the House of the Rising Sun.
The next day I was taken back to the headquarters compound to get my duty assignment. Back at Admin, I was told that since my MOS was 97C, Area Intelligence Specialist, I was being assigned to the Combined Intelligence Center where I would be doing studies on WET, weather, enemy, and terrain.
The First Sergeant took me aside and told me confidentially that no one knew what a 97C's job was, so they had just assigned me to an open position that seemed somewhat related to the name. He also told me that the entire unit had arrived by ship and that the officers and most of the enlisted men, himself included, had had only minimal training in Intelligence, except for those with 97D MOSs. He added that a lot of people fell through the cracks and I was one of them.
Since there was no transportation between the NCO billets and my workplace which was on Tan Son Nhut airbase, I was being assigned to a room in downtown Saigon. There was a group that also worked at the Center and traveled by three quarter ton truck each day. I could go with them.
They found a jeep and a driver, an E-4 who was happy to get away from the compound. He first took me to the airport and waited while I report in at the Combined Intelligence Center. It was in a large wooden building near the edge of one of the runways. They took my orders and told me to report back in the next day when I would actually start work. I also met the E-7 who drove the truck and arranged for transportation starting on the next morning.
The driver then took me to my billets which were on a back road in the center of town. It was an old hotel and my room (Yes, I had a room to myself) was on the second floor and had a view of the railroad yard. I realized that I was actually in a war zone when I noticed that all my windows had tape on them to prevent a lot of flying glass in the event of an explosion. I should also note that I was not issued a weapon.
The driver hung around as long as he could but finally left. I settled in, again taking only a few minutes. I had been told that I would get my meals at a larger hotel out on the main street, so I went out to find it. I had to pay for my meals but I got an allowance that more than covered the amount. It even covered some of the beer that I drank.
As I was eating, an E-4 from the Air Force came over and sat down. He said his name was John Flyguy (remember all the names, except mine, of course, are fake news, a term we are seeing a lot lately). We hit it off and he asked me if I was free for the rest of the day. I said I was. He had a car and wanted to show me around town.
After driving around for a while, he pulled into an alley and then went through a gate and we were in a large walled-in property. There were two buildings and stretched between them was a large sheet of plastic. This created a dry space which was occupied by a pool table. He said he often came here to play pool because the table was usually unoccupied. There were many roadside pool tables around but they were almost always in use by groups of young Vietnamese men.
We started to play and a few young women came out of one of the buildings. We ordered some beer and went back to the game. We were quite evenly matched so the competition was fierce. I was enjoying myself for the first time in a couple of weeks. The young women hung around flirting with us and bringing more beer. Both were nice.
Eventually, I had had enough beer that I needed to find a toilet. John directed me to one and, as I walked by an open window, I glanced in. Inside there was a completely naked woman with a GI on top of her. She was casually eating an apple but looked up and waved to me. A bit shocked, I did my business and returned to the pool table. I expressed my surprise to John. I had not realized this was a whorehouse, a veritable House of the Rising Sun. He said that he came here often but only to play pool and to drink their cheap beer. He thought that most of the women had VD so he would not use their services and suggested that I should not either. I didn't.
On the way back, John told me that he was shipping out in about a week and that he would gladly sell me his car for just a few dollars. I declined the offer.
I did not see John again because our working hours were different. Nor did I go back to the House of the Rising Sun.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
The 519th MI Battalion
First Tour
With my Boston bag in hand, I got off the bus and walked through the gate of the 519th MI Battalion's headquarters. I was a bit surprised that there was no guard on the gate. In fact, there was no one around at all, at least that I could see. However, I quickly located a small sign that led me to the Admin Section. There were a couple of enlisted men at the front and a lieutenant at a desk in the back of the room.
I introduced myself to the sergeant and gave him my orders. He suggested that I go over to the mess hall and have something to eat or I would go without until the next morning. The food was what I expected, the reason they call the mess hall the mess hall.
When I returned, the sergeant said that I would be staying in the NCO billets, which a bit farther out into the boondocks. He lived there, too, and would give me a ride as soon as he finished up his work, maybe in half an hour. He suggested that I wander around the compound and familiarize myself with it because, if nothing else, I would be pulling guard duty here, and as sergeant of the guard, I would have to know the layout of the compound in detail. He also said it would be a day or two before I would get a duty assignment.
The sergeant drove me to the NCO billets in a jeep. It was truly much farther out into the countryside. It took us more than 15 minutes of fast driving to get there. The sarge told me that driving slow was dangerous because a VC (Viet Cong) operative could drop a hand grenade into the vehicle as we passed.
We finally pulled into a parking space in front of a three-story building. It was of the typical construction that I had seen on our drive from the headquarters compound. The floor plan was rectangular and the two long side were solid concrete without windows. However, the two short sides had no exterior walls at all. This was to allow the breeze to blow through the length of the building. The internal walls were all about 2.5 meters high with an empty space at least that high between the tops of the walls and the ceiling.
I was given a room with a bed, a fan, and a cabinet. The sergeant suggested that I get settled and then meet everyone on the third-floor balcony. I put my stuff away, a project that only took a couple of minutes since I had so little with me.
When I reached the balcony, I was given a can of beer and then introduced to the five or six other NCOs present. We sat there chatting for awhile and then one said that I was very lucky because tonight was 'show night'. They would not tell me what the show was going to be, saying I would have to wait and see for myself.
A few cans of beer later, someone said that the show was starting and pointed to a young woman starting a fire under a 55-gallon drum that was behind the building across the street. The excitement level seemed to rise and someone opened a bottle of whiskey and passed it around. After a little while, the woman came out again. She stirred the water with a stick and then stuck her hand in the barrel, obviously testing the temperature. It must have been okay because she put out the fire. Then suddenly she stripped down and started to wash herself with hot water from the barrel. Once well scrubbed, she turned toward us, waved, and climbed into the barrel for a soak. We all stayed on the balcony until she had climbed out, dried off with a towel, and waving to us again entered the building. I was told that the building across the street was a bar and restaurant and that she was the waitress. She took a bath like this every other night when it did not rain and all the NCOs who were off duty sat on the balcony drinking beer while enjoying the show. A couple of the NCOs said that they had approached her for a date, really meaning sex, but that she had turned them down. However, she did not mind being leered at by the guys.
With my Boston bag in hand, I got off the bus and walked through the gate of the 519th MI Battalion's headquarters. I was a bit surprised that there was no guard on the gate. In fact, there was no one around at all, at least that I could see. However, I quickly located a small sign that led me to the Admin Section. There were a couple of enlisted men at the front and a lieutenant at a desk in the back of the room.
I introduced myself to the sergeant and gave him my orders. He suggested that I go over to the mess hall and have something to eat or I would go without until the next morning. The food was what I expected, the reason they call the mess hall the mess hall.
When I returned, the sergeant said that I would be staying in the NCO billets, which a bit farther out into the boondocks. He lived there, too, and would give me a ride as soon as he finished up his work, maybe in half an hour. He suggested that I wander around the compound and familiarize myself with it because, if nothing else, I would be pulling guard duty here, and as sergeant of the guard, I would have to know the layout of the compound in detail. He also said it would be a day or two before I would get a duty assignment.
The sergeant drove me to the NCO billets in a jeep. It was truly much farther out into the countryside. It took us more than 15 minutes of fast driving to get there. The sarge told me that driving slow was dangerous because a VC (Viet Cong) operative could drop a hand grenade into the vehicle as we passed.
We finally pulled into a parking space in front of a three-story building. It was of the typical construction that I had seen on our drive from the headquarters compound. The floor plan was rectangular and the two long side were solid concrete without windows. However, the two short sides had no exterior walls at all. This was to allow the breeze to blow through the length of the building. The internal walls were all about 2.5 meters high with an empty space at least that high between the tops of the walls and the ceiling.
I was given a room with a bed, a fan, and a cabinet. The sergeant suggested that I get settled and then meet everyone on the third-floor balcony. I put my stuff away, a project that only took a couple of minutes since I had so little with me.
When I reached the balcony, I was given a can of beer and then introduced to the five or six other NCOs present. We sat there chatting for awhile and then one said that I was very lucky because tonight was 'show night'. They would not tell me what the show was going to be, saying I would have to wait and see for myself.
A few cans of beer later, someone said that the show was starting and pointed to a young woman starting a fire under a 55-gallon drum that was behind the building across the street. The excitement level seemed to rise and someone opened a bottle of whiskey and passed it around. After a little while, the woman came out again. She stirred the water with a stick and then stuck her hand in the barrel, obviously testing the temperature. It must have been okay because she put out the fire. Then suddenly she stripped down and started to wash herself with hot water from the barrel. Once well scrubbed, she turned toward us, waved, and climbed into the barrel for a soak. We all stayed on the balcony until she had climbed out, dried off with a towel, and waving to us again entered the building. I was told that the building across the street was a bar and restaurant and that she was the waitress. She took a bath like this every other night when it did not rain and all the NCOs who were off duty sat on the balcony drinking beer while enjoying the show. A couple of the NCOs said that they had approached her for a date, really meaning sex, but that she had turned them down. However, she did not mind being leered at by the guys.
Friday, October 13, 2017
At the Replacement Center
First Tour
The replacement center was a tent city. However, the buses did not take us to the tents but instead to a row of Quonset huts. My bus stopped in front of one of them and we got out and stood in formation in the sun, sweating. As one of the most senior men on the bus, I was soon called inside. They checked my name off a list, took my orders, gave me a tent and bed number, and finally told me to walk over and find my tent. They said I had nothing to do until the next formation.
As I walked the few hundred meters to the tents, I was again glad that I had brought almost nothing with me. There had been people on my plane with TV sets and two or three heavy bags. My Boston bag was more than enough.
After only having to ask directions a couple of times, I found my tent and my bed. There were wall to wall beds with only enough space between them to squeeze through. At least the sides of the large tent were raised, so a bit of a breeze came through. With nothing else to do, I sat and chatted with the other NCOs. There were no privates in the tent.
A couple of hours later, the PA system announced that everyone should fall out for a formation. We made a formation in a large open area among the tents. No one seemed to care where we stood as long as the lines were straight. As soon as we settled down, an officer mounted a platform, picked up a mike and started calling out names and serial numbers. This elicited a loud, "Here", in response. Those called were to report to the Quonset huts within 30 minutes of the end of the formation. After all the names were called, the officer released everyone except those for whom this was their first formation.
Once the others had left, the new people lined up again but closer to the officer. He then proceeded to tell us the camp rules. There were four formations a day and we had to appear at all of them. They would not check attendance but, if your name was called and you were not there, you would be in deep trouble. He put it a bit more graphically. He went on to say that meals were served three times a day and, if you did not go, you would not eat. NCOs had no other duties, but the privates had to pull guard duties on the camp perimeter, weapons to be issued at the guard sites. Later, I walked over to check out the perimeter and found that there was lots of barbed wire and periodic bunkers a few hundred meters from the tent area. These completely encircled the tents and Quonset huts. The officer also told us that, in the case of a mortar attack, we should just hit the ground and stay down until an all clear was sounded.
It was so hot that I was not at all unhappy to spend my time half-asleep on my cot. By the third day, it was, however, beginning to get a bit tiresome. Finally, just after lunch, my name was called and at the administration Quonset hut I was informed that I was being assigned to the 519th Intelligence Battalion whose headquarters were in the Saigon suburbs.
A group of us were loaded into a bus that delivered each of us to our newly assigned duty station. I was one of the last people to get off so I was given a nice tour of the city before being dropped off at the front gate of Battalion headquarters.
The replacement center was a tent city. However, the buses did not take us to the tents but instead to a row of Quonset huts. My bus stopped in front of one of them and we got out and stood in formation in the sun, sweating. As one of the most senior men on the bus, I was soon called inside. They checked my name off a list, took my orders, gave me a tent and bed number, and finally told me to walk over and find my tent. They said I had nothing to do until the next formation.
As I walked the few hundred meters to the tents, I was again glad that I had brought almost nothing with me. There had been people on my plane with TV sets and two or three heavy bags. My Boston bag was more than enough.
After only having to ask directions a couple of times, I found my tent and my bed. There were wall to wall beds with only enough space between them to squeeze through. At least the sides of the large tent were raised, so a bit of a breeze came through. With nothing else to do, I sat and chatted with the other NCOs. There were no privates in the tent.
A couple of hours later, the PA system announced that everyone should fall out for a formation. We made a formation in a large open area among the tents. No one seemed to care where we stood as long as the lines were straight. As soon as we settled down, an officer mounted a platform, picked up a mike and started calling out names and serial numbers. This elicited a loud, "Here", in response. Those called were to report to the Quonset huts within 30 minutes of the end of the formation. After all the names were called, the officer released everyone except those for whom this was their first formation.
Once the others had left, the new people lined up again but closer to the officer. He then proceeded to tell us the camp rules. There were four formations a day and we had to appear at all of them. They would not check attendance but, if your name was called and you were not there, you would be in deep trouble. He put it a bit more graphically. He went on to say that meals were served three times a day and, if you did not go, you would not eat. NCOs had no other duties, but the privates had to pull guard duties on the camp perimeter, weapons to be issued at the guard sites. Later, I walked over to check out the perimeter and found that there was lots of barbed wire and periodic bunkers a few hundred meters from the tent area. These completely encircled the tents and Quonset huts. The officer also told us that, in the case of a mortar attack, we should just hit the ground and stay down until an all clear was sounded.
It was so hot that I was not at all unhappy to spend my time half-asleep on my cot. By the third day, it was, however, beginning to get a bit tiresome. Finally, just after lunch, my name was called and at the administration Quonset hut I was informed that I was being assigned to the 519th Intelligence Battalion whose headquarters were in the Saigon suburbs.
A group of us were loaded into a bus that delivered each of us to our newly assigned duty station. I was one of the last people to get off so I was given a nice tour of the city before being dropped off at the front gate of Battalion headquarters.
Monday, October 9, 2017
First Tour - A bus ride in the countryside
The officers disappeared into the air-conditioned interior of the administration building but we enlisted men had to stand on the tarmac for about 20 minutes. Finally, some buses arrived and we boarded them. I used the old standby, RHIP, rank has its privileges, and got on the first bus and took the front seat next to the driver so I could see out the windshield. Of course, there was no air-conditioning, but at least we could open the windows. It turned out that I was a little bit better off than the others because the driver kept the door open so I had a good breeze.
We left the Tan Son Nhut airport in a convoy but about 10 minutes later the driver pulled over to the side of the road. After getting out to consult with the other drivers, he came back and told us that the gunship that was scheduled to fly cover for us had developed mechanical problems and we would have to wait while they located another helicopter.
After a wait of about 20 minutes, the driver started the engine and, sure enough, we were almost immediately buzzed by a helicopter and off we went. At first, we traveled through a well-populated area with lots of women and children beside the road. This was the first time that I had seen an ao dai, the traditional clothing worn by Vietnamese women. It was also the first time that I smelled nuoc mam, the fish sauce that the Vietnamese seemed to put on everything, like Americans use salt and pepper.
Soon the houses disappeared and were replaced by open fields. We were speeding along the inside lane on a four-lane highway. The driver told me that he kept the speed as high as possible so that snipers would not be able to get a good shot at us. I watched the expression on his face as he said this and I believed he was serious, not just feeding a line to a newbie.
The cars in front of us slowed down and the driver moved into the passing lane. I could not see the speedometer but we were obviously going quite fast, faster than I would have driven in that traffic. After a couple of minutes, we caught up with cars in the passing lane so the driver simply slid over into the passing lane for the cars coming from the opposite direction.
I looked out the windshield and saw cars speeding toward us in our lane and the lane we should have been in was full of cars. The driver casually did the obvious thing and move over again. Now we were speeding down the inside lane on the opposite side of the road. More oncoming cars and another shift and we were speeding along in the dirt at the opposite side of the road. We stayed there for at least a couple of miles before the driver made his way back to the inside lane where he should have been so that he could make a turn.
I stopped shaking before the bus stopped at the repo depot.
We left the Tan Son Nhut airport in a convoy but about 10 minutes later the driver pulled over to the side of the road. After getting out to consult with the other drivers, he came back and told us that the gunship that was scheduled to fly cover for us had developed mechanical problems and we would have to wait while they located another helicopter.
After a wait of about 20 minutes, the driver started the engine and, sure enough, we were almost immediately buzzed by a helicopter and off we went. At first, we traveled through a well-populated area with lots of women and children beside the road. This was the first time that I had seen an ao dai, the traditional clothing worn by Vietnamese women. It was also the first time that I smelled nuoc mam, the fish sauce that the Vietnamese seemed to put on everything, like Americans use salt and pepper.
Soon the houses disappeared and were replaced by open fields. We were speeding along the inside lane on a four-lane highway. The driver told me that he kept the speed as high as possible so that snipers would not be able to get a good shot at us. I watched the expression on his face as he said this and I believed he was serious, not just feeding a line to a newbie.
The cars in front of us slowed down and the driver moved into the passing lane. I could not see the speedometer but we were obviously going quite fast, faster than I would have driven in that traffic. After a couple of minutes, we caught up with cars in the passing lane so the driver simply slid over into the passing lane for the cars coming from the opposite direction.
I looked out the windshield and saw cars speeding toward us in our lane and the lane we should have been in was full of cars. The driver casually did the obvious thing and move over again. Now we were speeding down the inside lane on the opposite side of the road. More oncoming cars and another shift and we were speeding along in the dirt at the opposite side of the road. We stayed there for at least a couple of miles before the driver made his way back to the inside lane where he should have been so that he could make a turn.
I stopped shaking before the bus stopped at the repo depot.
Sunday, October 8, 2017
First Tour - Arrival In-country
The pilot announced that we would be landing in Saigon in about 20 minutes and we should get ready to disembark. I had a window seat and stared out the window, thinking about how I had gotten here.
In 1963 I was a senior electrical engineering student and had had problems with two of my instructors. Of course, I believed that it was their fault, however, regardless of what I thought, they had to power to assign grades while ignoring test results and they did. I failed both of their courses and, as a consequence, lost my student deferment. A visit to my local draft board indicated that I would be called up in the August draft call. The very kind woman there said that I would probably be put in the infantry and sent to the DMZ in Korea. This did not sound very appealing. I knew that summers were very hot there and the winters extremely cold plus you occasionally got shot at by the North Koreans. Within a couple of weeks, this became a real possibility because my processing for the draft started.
However, I soon received a letter from the Boston Counterintelligence Field Office suggesting that I come in for an interview with the possible goal of enlisting for intelligence rather than getting drafted. Eventually, I agreed and was enlisted at the end of July. After Basic Training at Fort Dix and counterintelligence training (MOS 97B) at Fort Holabird in Baltimore, I joined the Newark, NJ, Field Office. I was promoted rapidly, reaching E-6 in 1965 after two years and four months of service.
Undecided about what do with my life and uninterested in returning to college, I accepted a large reenlistment bonus. As part of the deal, I was guaranteed Area Intelligence (MOS 97C) school and a tour in Vietnam, which at the time was still a small war but an intelligence heaven where careers were being made.
"Please buckle your seatbelts and extinguish all cigarettes. We are starting our approach to Tan Son Nhut Airbase." The plane suddenly became graveyard quiet. In the year and a half since I had reenlisted, Vietnam had become a real war with hundreds of thousands of American troops who were now fighting, rather than advising. The probability of at least some of the men on this plane not coming back was real.
Looking out my window, I could see the individual trees, houses, and even people. The plane was very low, already approaching the runway. Suddenly, the plane banked and changed course. The pilot announced that two fighter planes had priority and would land before us. We would circle around at this low altitude and then continue our landing. I got to see a lot more of the countryside, in great detail since we were so low.
There was a half-hearted round of applause when the plane touch ground. As soon as we stopped moving, people started to disembark, the officers who had been sitting in the front first, then NCOs from the middle, and finally the privates from the back of the plane. I decided that I was in no hurry to stand around in the sun, so I waited and got off last.
Once I was standing on the tarmac, I realized that the ground crew and the stewardesses (the cabin crew was all female so this word is appropriate) were standing under the plane looking up at its belly. I wandered over to see what they were looking at, mainly because there was shade under the plane. They were looking at a row of neat little holes. Someone with a machinegun, judging by the size of the holes, probably an AK-47, had managed to hit the plane.
In 1963 I was a senior electrical engineering student and had had problems with two of my instructors. Of course, I believed that it was their fault, however, regardless of what I thought, they had to power to assign grades while ignoring test results and they did. I failed both of their courses and, as a consequence, lost my student deferment. A visit to my local draft board indicated that I would be called up in the August draft call. The very kind woman there said that I would probably be put in the infantry and sent to the DMZ in Korea. This did not sound very appealing. I knew that summers were very hot there and the winters extremely cold plus you occasionally got shot at by the North Koreans. Within a couple of weeks, this became a real possibility because my processing for the draft started.
However, I soon received a letter from the Boston Counterintelligence Field Office suggesting that I come in for an interview with the possible goal of enlisting for intelligence rather than getting drafted. Eventually, I agreed and was enlisted at the end of July. After Basic Training at Fort Dix and counterintelligence training (MOS 97B) at Fort Holabird in Baltimore, I joined the Newark, NJ, Field Office. I was promoted rapidly, reaching E-6 in 1965 after two years and four months of service.
Undecided about what do with my life and uninterested in returning to college, I accepted a large reenlistment bonus. As part of the deal, I was guaranteed Area Intelligence (MOS 97C) school and a tour in Vietnam, which at the time was still a small war but an intelligence heaven where careers were being made.
"Please buckle your seatbelts and extinguish all cigarettes. We are starting our approach to Tan Son Nhut Airbase." The plane suddenly became graveyard quiet. In the year and a half since I had reenlisted, Vietnam had become a real war with hundreds of thousands of American troops who were now fighting, rather than advising. The probability of at least some of the men on this plane not coming back was real.
Looking out my window, I could see the individual trees, houses, and even people. The plane was very low, already approaching the runway. Suddenly, the plane banked and changed course. The pilot announced that two fighter planes had priority and would land before us. We would circle around at this low altitude and then continue our landing. I got to see a lot more of the countryside, in great detail since we were so low.
There was a half-hearted round of applause when the plane touch ground. As soon as we stopped moving, people started to disembark, the officers who had been sitting in the front first, then NCOs from the middle, and finally the privates from the back of the plane. I decided that I was in no hurry to stand around in the sun, so I waited and got off last.
Once I was standing on the tarmac, I realized that the ground crew and the stewardesses (the cabin crew was all female so this word is appropriate) were standing under the plane looking up at its belly. I wandered over to see what they were looking at, mainly because there was shade under the plane. They were looking at a row of neat little holes. Someone with a machinegun, judging by the size of the holes, probably an AK-47, had managed to hit the plane.
Introduction
I have recently finished watching Ken Burn's series about Vietnam and have decided that it is time to put my experiences down in writing and make them available. I did two tours in Vietnam during the war: 24 October 1966 to 5 October 1967 and 24 February 1971 to 18 January 1972.
In this blog, I am going to write my experiences as I remember them which, of course, means that my words may or may not reflect what actually happened but rather what I, in 2017, believe happened back then. This will be the truth as I know it but memories often change with time.
I will change all the names to protect both the guilty and the innocent, but mainly to protect myself from being sued if I write something negative about someone, and there will be negatives.
I should also note that I was never in combat and, to my knowledge, only came under fire once, a mortar attack during my second tour but I will save that story for later.
I will try to add a few new anecdotes each month, some will be long, others very short. Each entry will contain a single anecdote and will be clearly marked to indicate which tour I am talking about. I will not give specific dates because I no longer remember them.
In this blog, I am going to write my experiences as I remember them which, of course, means that my words may or may not reflect what actually happened but rather what I, in 2017, believe happened back then. This will be the truth as I know it but memories often change with time.
I will change all the names to protect both the guilty and the innocent, but mainly to protect myself from being sued if I write something negative about someone, and there will be negatives.
I should also note that I was never in combat and, to my knowledge, only came under fire once, a mortar attack during my second tour but I will save that story for later.
I will try to add a few new anecdotes each month, some will be long, others very short. Each entry will contain a single anecdote and will be clearly marked to indicate which tour I am talking about. I will not give specific dates because I no longer remember them.
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