1971 Flashback – Rich Arrives Vietnam

I had just turned 19 years old when the Pan Am 707 banked left and turned toward the runway in Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam.  The 150 healthy, clean, and newly outfitted soldiers on board all strained to see what little they could out of the cabin windows, most looking into that fierce bright light for the first time on the fantasy-green country the lucky ones would call home for the next 365 days.

Uncertainty and expectation blended for these untested men in ways unique to each: fear, excitement, dread, crazy macho war-movie fantasy stuff that wouldn’t last.  The possibility of indifference didn’t have a seat on that Boeing flight.

My own journey would start that day far away from my ultimate destination, the war a makeshift stage, a backdrop to adventure, indulgence, joy, loss, and in the end, enough guilt and shame to last a lifetime. But for now, in that moment, my journey would take me north to Da Nang where fate would greet me with open arms.

In 1971 the United States Army was working furiously to turn the Vietnam War over to its rightful owner, the Vietnamese.  Our Commander in Chief, his advisors, and the American people thought this a good plan.

They called it “Vietnamization”.  An ill-conceived plan at best, Vietnamization was supposed to improve and modernize the South Vietnam Army (ARVN), transfer the day to day fighting from the American Grunts to the ARVN, and withdraw all American troops from Vietnam.  Sounds like a great plan — unless you were one of the soldiers there during the process.

There was a black joke that went around in various forms during that time, told and retold, about being the last guy to get killed in Vietnam.  Nobody wanted to be that guy.  The deterioration of discipline and morale for US troops during this chapter of the war was devastating to soldiers and commanders alike. Even new guys like me knew we were leaving Vietnam without finishing the job.  A spiritual malaise spread over our army like a thick fog.  Drug abuse was the fastest growing noncombat death occurrence and race problems had gotten so out of control that it sometimes resembled open racial warfare.

The unit I was assigned to was stationed on the outskirts of Da Nang where we worked with ARVN units to supply and train them well enough to somehow stave off the communist onslaught from the north.  In the end, they would not – but that outcome was still down the road apiece.  All of us would have to lose more, much more, before the final chapter was scratched out.

A thrilling ride from Cam Ranh Bay in a C-130 aircraft got me to Da Nang late afternoon.  Because I was a single replacement traveling alone, it was for me to find a ride to my unit –just the first of many times in ‘Nam that nobody really knew, or cared, what was going on.  I bummed a lift in a Jeep headed for Marble Mountain and finally reported, as ordered, to Company First Sergeant Thomas.

Top, a burly black man with bad skin, is one of those lifer soldiers who fought his way up the ranks and has seen and heard it all.  He is at the end of his career and he is short, meaning he has less than thirty days left on his tour in Vietnam.  A combination that guaranteed he doesn’t  give a shit about anything or anyone.  Predictably, he has no interest in my case and quickly passes me off to the company clerk Coleman who also doesn’t give a shit but has no one to pass me on to.

After a mostly two-fingered typing session called “processing”, Coleman took me to the supply shack to draw my gear and weapon, then told me to find an empty rack in hooch 12 or 13, he wasn’t sure which.  Pointed me down the dirt path and that was it.  I was in.

I knocked on the door of hooch number 12 (it was closer and seemed to have a cooler vibe than 13), the “12” numeral painted freehand on the unpainted plywood by the door.  The hooch was surrounded by sand-filled 55 gallon blast drums, more sandbags piled high on top of them to take the shrapnel from the intermittent mortar rounds that would fall most nights.

The door opened a crack and a black trooper with a fully picked-out afro said, “What?” I told him the obvious, “I’m a new guy and Top sent me down here.” “You cool?”, he asked.  Simple question, but in Vietnam at that time, in that moment, you better be sure.  “Yeah, I’m cool.” He opened the door wide enough for me to throw my duffle in and climb the couple of steps up and into the darkness.