By Wayne Murphy

Fine Dining – 1970

Fine Dining

Part 2

The mess situation was pretty good if you were in the rear – two or three hot meals a day.  On a firebase it could be almost as good if they had a mess hall bunker.  If not we usually ate C rations (canned precooked food) for two meals and had a hot meal flown in if the birds (helicopters) were available once a day.  

The C rations came in large cartons with a dozen or so boxes.  There was not much variety and were marked like “A-1”, “B-2”, or “C-1”.  We got pretty good at memorizing the contents.  You knew A would have some fruit, or B-3 had chocolate, or C-1 had cheese for example.  When the cartons were distributed, we had the individual boxes face down as the troops picked so you would not get stuck with the lima beans or whatever you hated but had to take a “blind draw.”  There was only one real breakfast – ham and eggs mixed in a can.

You also got several small metal folded can openers, P38s, with the rations.  These were very effective and had a hole so you could attach it to your dog tags.  Each soldier had one.  Sometimes you would also get a sundry pack, filled with a lot of PX goodies.  Unfortunately these were often liberated by the rear guys before they were flown out to the field.

C-rations had a number of things in each box – including a small pack of toilet paper.  There were chicklets (gum) sometimes, cocoa mix, sugar, and candy.  Every box had one more thing — a small pack of filter-less cigarettes, usually “Lucky Strike” or “Pell Mall” or another brand.  I started smoking in Vietnam – mostly to add to meal time.  

If you were humping a ruck sack, you discarded most of the packaging and put the food cans in your extra socks.  They were easier to carry and made little noise.  Recon units got dehydrated stuff in plastic bags like today’s dried MREs (Meal Ready to Eat) that were called LRPs (Long Range Patrol) and with the right amount of hot water they were very tasty.  The chili and rice comes to mind as pretty good.  They did give you heating tabs, something like sterno, to heat a can of C-rations sometimes.  At other times troops would burn C4 plastic explosive.  When not confined the C4 did not explode if lit and gave off a very high heat.  One problem (other than wasting explosive) was that the fumes were toxic.

An excerpt from an unpublished work called “Pop’s War”.

Part 1

I reported into Phu Bai and was given my platoon command.  It was a bit under strength in personnel with only a few NCOs.  My “experienced” platoon sergeant was a short timer in country and had established his place in the rear coordinating supply.  My “field” platoon sergeant was a Staff Sergeant Sikes.  He was a good guy with a wife in Florida, but he only had two years in the Army. We worked well together, but he was soon to move to battalion Headquarters (HQS) in the S-3 section (Operations). My squads were in support of infantry battalions and fire bases (FBs). Besides the one staff sergeant I had several “shake and bake” sergeant E5’s (Smart guys in basic and Advanced Individual Training were given a three month course, declared sergeants and called “shake and bake” because of their lack of experience.) At the age of twenty three, I was the “old man.”

We were based in huts near the second brigade HQ, and had a cot and a footlocker to store stuff when we were in base.  As I mentioned I had squads out supporting infantry battalions operating west and south in the mountains to shield the populated areas from the NVA.  Most were on a fire base (FB) like FB Brick where an artillery battery in support of the infantry battalion was deployed.  My guys were called on for hasty construction, mine clearing, booby trap removal (although the infantry did a lot of that themselves), and LZ (landing zone) construction.  I would visit them and go on some of their missions. The monsoon had started so most of the lowlands were flooded and the operational pace slowed considerably.

The previous year the 101st engineers had been involved in Operation Life Saver which consisted of creating landing zones (LZ) in each 1 km grid square in the division’s patrol area.  The idea was that a unit would be no more than a 1 km from an evacuation or reinforcing spot if they made contact with the enemy.  We had only a very few left to do.  This consisted of rappelling in to the hill top (usually) with demolitions and chain saws.  Half the team went to one side and cut smaller trees with the saws, the other half prepared the large trees with explosives.  When ready we all went to the sawed side and blew the charges on the other side.  We then reversed the process and you had a “cleared LZ.”  There were nice formulas in our manuals to determine the size of a charge, but we usually used “P” for plenty.  The tallest trees were hundreds of feet high and most were dead.  Agent Orange spraying had killed them off.  That could lead to a lot of deadfall problems at odd times.

We also could be called in to destroy enemy bunkers and tunnels if the infantry did not want to take the job on.  We had a “tunnel kit” issued to the platoon – which consisted of a small caliber revolver which was easier and quieter to fire in a closed space and a flashlight.  I remember one time we were not too keen on going down a hole, so we did a cursory look and dropped down some grenades.  The secondary explosion of whatever was down there literally lifted the ground up and sank it.  That scared all of us to death.

Our Division fire bases supported the infantry battalions when the infantry was in contact with their 105mm or 155mm howitzers.  When contact with the enemy was not occurring the artillery would fire H&I (harassment and interdiction) missions. The idea was to saturate a road or suspected enemy area with fire at night mostly to keep the NVA on its toes and limit their resupply and consolidation.  This made for not so quiet nights on a firebase.

Sleep was interesting as we learned to get it when we could.  On a Fire Base you usually had a bunker with shelving or canvass cots to rest on.  In the rear we had real bunks after our move to the Navy site.  When working the bush, you slept where you lay.  In any case we all got to be very light sleepers.  That was something that carried over for years for me when I returned.  Mary Ellen found a very startled reaction when waking me sometimes.

I should mention a bit about communications in a platoon.  Our primary means was through ANPRC 77-like radios.  They were FM radios (line of sight transmission) in a box-like container mounted on a frame for humping in the bush.  Batteries were a very essential re-supply item. We had ANPRC 47s FM radios in the jeep as I recall that ran off the jeep battery.  Your RTO (radio telephone operator) was usually a strong guy who could take the extra weight of the radio and smart enough to use it.  The range of transmission really depended upon the antenna.  Small whip antennas had short range.  On a fire base we would deploy 292s (large, tall antennas) and get quite a range. In any case the radio was our access to supply and support to include fire support.  The radio was a security blanket in many ways.

A Radio Telephone Operator (RTO) was essential, but per Ranger School instruction he never walked too near.  He was a jump and lunge away.  The gooks would target the guy near him as “important”. The SOI (signal operating instructions) gave the daily change in frequencies and call signs (like “eagle”, etc). We were not all that sophisticated and used a call sign like “eagle 26” for second platoon leader, “eagle 6” for company commander, “eagle 25” for platoon sergeant.

Pilots were easy to identify in a transmission as the helicopter vibration would come across in their voices.  It was a bit funny actually to hear.

The frequency range on the radios did not include civilian frequencies (although stateside on the edge you could get TV audio at times).  At night on firebases sometimes a troop would get access to a radio and tune it to the unused edge frequencies and go up on what they called the “BS” (bovine excrement) net.  They had their trucker-like handles and would talk to other firebases on an unauthorized and informal net – lot of trash talk and sometimes bogus info.  Anyway, it seemed to amuse some – but not division intelligence guys.   

About a month or so in to my platoon command there was a fire on Fire Base Arsenal, a large FB southwest of Camp Eagle.  Arsenal had 105 and 155 artillery batteries as I recall and an infantry battalion HQ.  The fire destroyed the mess bunker.  I was flown out the next day and told to rebuild the bunker but this time in a massive way with as many “amenities” as we could consider.  This was great because I got to consolidate most of my whole platoon for the job – about 20 guys.

The S3 (Battalion Operations Officer) had an assistant, CPT Christman (who later was Superintendent at West Point as a three-star General).  He designed an elaborate bunker with 12” X 12” beams and posts, a concrete floor, and a separate cooking bunker lined with sheet metal (to alleviate the grease fire problem).  It was to be massive and strong enough to land a helicopter on it for medevac (complete with a red cross), and to show movies inside at night.  We got to build it.

Since there were no bunkers available for most of my guys on the hill we were put up in a dilapidated storage bunker/shed.  The main problem was rats at night – big suckers.  One of my guys pulled a .45 pistol one night and was going to kill one that ran across his face – problem was the round ricocheting around.  We stopped him, got all to one side and killed the rat.

One of the more difficult problems in Vietnam was malaria.  In I Corps our guys were subject to two types – regular and falciparum.  You took a weekly orange horse pill for the regular and a small white one daily for falciparum.  The orange pill gave most troops diarrhea and getting them to swallow was a task and an inspection was held to make sure they took them.  The white pills seemed innocuous but years later there seemed to be high incidents of Hodgkin’s disease and other cancers in my classmates serving in I Corps.  Agent Orange spraying also may have been a culprit.  In fact one of my USMA cadet company (B-3) classmates, Jerry Hackett, died of cancer in 1993.  

An excerpt from an unpublished work called “Pop’s War”.

By Colonel Wayne Murphy, PhD, PE, Hue, Vietnam

Part II

The Vietnam War was mistakenly fought using draftees and soldiers with fixed individual one year tours.  Reserve units for the most part were not called up for active duty like today, and the National Guard and Army Reserve became another haven for those trying to avoid service.  Johnson and MacNamara apparently did not want to disturb the home front.  18-20 year olds did not vote and did not have much of a lobby.

Unit cohesion was hard to maintain.  Each guy knew his DEROS (date expected rotation from overseas), and some even penned them on their camouflage covers.  We fell in on the equipment and battalion colors and were “the men” for only a period of time.   We had some “lifers” who were in their second or third tours, but usually with a unit new to them also.  For the most part “experience” was defined as being in country for a few months.

Today the Army deploys as units. But in 1970 about a third of a platoon was always new guys (“cherries” or FNGs (F*&%$ New Guys)), a third was in mid tour, and a third was getting short.  Your attitude changed with time.  As a “cherry” you were frightened and were looked down upon by the “vets”.  As a “short timer” you were frightened and only wanted to make it out.  In between for about ten months you were resigned.  The sayings troops used constantly were “there it is, breeze” and “sorry ‘bout that” which were reflections of our resignation and fateful outlooks.

At SERTS (Screaming Eagle Replacement Training School) we were issued gear and went through a week of airmobile training – after all the 101st was now the other airmobile division (1st Cav being the first).  For me it was mostly refresher as Ranger School covered most of it.  We were “slung” beneath UH1 Hueys (called “slicks” by troops), climbed down nets from CH47 Chinooks (called “hooks”), and rappelled from slicks.

Slicks carried 6 to 8 troops with full gear seated on the floor.  There were no seats except ones for the door gunners and crew, no doors, and no seat belts.  If they hit an air pocket you could go right out.  We held on to the same tie down rings we used to secure the ropes for rappelling.  On assaults the birds did not always touch down and we sat in the doors with our feet over the skids as we approached an LZ.  The skids actually bent under the bird in flight, splaying out a bit under the weight of the aircraft on a full landing.  You jumped out as the bird made contact or slowed near the ground.

Later I would learn the 326 Engineer techniques.  When we rappelled out where there was no LZ cleared, we used “Swiss seats” made from a rope and clamp and repelled down in big “bites” of the line to minimize exposure to any fire from about 125 feet.  When we did so to cut out some downed pilot or clear an LZ we also lowered chain saws and explosives. We usually made LZs on a hill top, so we would send half the guys to set charges on big trees and half to cut the smaller stuff on the other side.  When ready we would all move to the “safe side” of the hill and blow the trees; then we would reverse the teams.  Most of our area of operations (AO) in the 101st had an LZ already cut in every 1km square, created in the previous year in operation “Life Saver.”

We learned about SOPs (standard operating procedures) for the 101st , including smoke grenade SOP.  You could pop any type color to ID your position or LZ except red.  Red meant danger and engineers popped it before we set off explosives to warn choppers in area.  When a chopper was trying to locate your position (to land, take out a casualty, or direct fire) you popped smoke.  He then came back on the radio with the color he saw and you confirmed it. That way the gooks could not trick them.  There was “goofy grape”, “alligator green”, “lemon yellow”, etc.   The makers of Kool Aid did play a role in the process for our generation.

We did rappelling training with some ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) troops during my week.  They were Hac Bau or black panthers (Vietnamese rangers).  They were little men and very slight in build.  Their NCOs were really hard ass.  When one soldier apparently refused to rappel from the tower, his NCO put his foot in his chest and literally launched him toward the ground.  In any case they appeared pretty good troops, but then again these were their elite.

We also had to take turns at night on the bunker line – the periphery of the base at Camp Evans.  The base had elaborate wire and obstacles and interlaced bunkers and was pretty safe.  One night I recall a “cherry” soldier freaking out at what he thought were sappers, throwing grenades into the wire.  The next morning there were grenades all over the place, but they all had their pins still in and had not gone off.

On another night a “cherry” troop, who was so frightened at being in country, decided to wound himself in the toe using his M16 rifle to get sent home.  The M16 round had great velocity and when the round hit it literally blew up the flesh.  A demo in training was the shooting of a metal ammo box filled with water with an M16 and then an AK47.  The AK round went through the case and made large holes.  The M16 caused the box to explode.  This was designed to give us confidence in our weapon over theirs. This guy forgot that lesson and really screwed up his whole foot.

SERTS also had a class for NCOs and Officers on drugs.  The problem was pretty bad in 1970 in most units.  The NVA reportedly was funneling cocaine and marijuana in to the area at rock bottom prices, and our troops, especially those in the rear, were taking advantage of the sales.  In 1970 for $5 a troop got a vile filled with cocaine powder – and pretty strong stuff.  Pot was everywhere.  We were required to pass around samples to recognize the smell and taste.  Anyone who ever went to a pop/rock concert knew the smell, but the 101st wanted the leadership informed.  The joke was the troops had their dope, the NCOs had their booze, and the officers their porn.

The final exercise at SERTS was a patrol outside the wire.  We were loaded on slicks and made a combat assault (CA) into a landing zone (LZ) not far from camp.  From there we hiked back in infantry formation through some fields to Camp Evans.  It was a safe area, but we were not so sure and took it very seriously.

During my tenure at Camp Evans we did visit an “O Club”.  It was like West Point East.  I met Bill Taylor (he would be BG Sid Berry’s aide, and in later years the number two guy on civilian side in the Iraq War; he also became Ambassador Taylor to a former Soviet state), Claude Alexander (who would lose a leg in Vietnam and become a real mentor for Iraq wounded at Walter Reed before he died from injuries sky diving at 62), Bob Seitz, Ralph Crosby, and others.  I discussed the latest news on Bill Pahissa with Bill Taylor.  We agreed the news was terrible but somehow it changed our attitude.  What would happen would happen and worrying would not make things better.  I mentally got over the new guy jitters.

We packed up and were again trucked in cattle cars to Camp Eagle and I arrived finally at the 326th Engineer Battalion.  I was a 1LT, having been promoted on June 4 at the one year mark in VA.  The need for officers at company level was so great in the Army that we made 1LT in a year and CPT the next.  Little time was available to be with a platoon.  In Vietnam the war was mostly fought at Infantry battalion level and below.  Most actions were at platoon level.  Engineer companies in a division supported brigades, with platoons farmed out to infantry battalions.  Really, most combat for engineers was at the LT level, and I looked forward to getting a platoon.

An excerpt from an unpublished work called “Pop’s War”.

By Colonel Wayne Murphy, PhD, PE, Hue, Vietnam

Part I

At Cam Ranh Bay we deplaned and were placed into the standard quarters in base camps.  They were plywood, metal sheet, and screen huts.  They were not very sturdy, but they did allow airflow and kept the rain off.

The officers were issued jungle fatigues and some gear.  I had orders to the 101st Airborne Division (Airmobile) in I Corps.  We had to wait local assignment however and I worried about being diverted.  The 101st was still in a combat mode and not in a “stand down” to return to CONUS (The Continental US).  The war was actually winding down for some US troops under Nixon.  The Cambodian invasion in the spring had really hurt the NVA in the south and the real action left seemed to be in I Corps up north near the North Vietnamese border and Laos.  I also had heard a rumor that some engineer officers with Ranger qualifications were being sent to infantry units as platoon leaders.  That was a concern – I had trained as an engineer and wanted to serve that way.  There was no problem and my orders to the 101st were cut as an engineer officer.

We had to use local “tailors” to sew on our unit patches, locals who were allowed to work on base.  The screaming eagles used the full color patch – not the subdued one.  This was a high ranking division decision to “strike fear” in the enemy.  We were the 101st!  The troops called it the “puking buzzard.”  But I do not know what the enemy called it.

This was my first contact with the Vietnamese people.  My initial thoughts were very “deep” — they were very thin and small, and very industrious.  Many spoke French (from the days of French Indo-China), but most spoke their own sing song language and a bit of pigeon English.

(For the most part we had little contact with the Vietnamese.  We often used what is considered a racial slur to describe the enemy Vietnamese, “gook”.  This was akin to “Jap” or “Kraut” to describe the enemy in WWII.  It supposedly had its origins in the Korean language for the term for another countryman.  A Korean might address American soldiers as “miguk”.  While the Viet Cong (South Vietnamese Communist insurgents) were referred to as “Charlie” from the phonetic alphabet term for C in the initials VC, we were up against the NVA in our war and rarely encountered VC.  My story will use “gook” as a derogatory term for the enemy from time to time as we widely used it then, which seems to me the more authentic way to present our attitude toward the enemy.  We had a real disgust for the enemy as they reportedly took no prisoners, terrorized and killed civilians who helped us, and often tried to wound and maim soldiers knowing we would not abandon our wounded – thus taking two out of the fight with one hit.  However, later in the war after close in battle, I grew to appreciate and respect the courage and dedication of their soldiers.)

We boarded C-130s on the tarmac for our trip to Phu Bai airfield just south of Hue in I Corps.  Hue was the capital of the “middle kingdom” complete with ancient fortress on the Perfume River.  It had been the scene of bloody battles for the Marines with the Viet Cong and NVA during Tet 1968.  The 101st was based in the area now – a brigade HQ at Phu Bai, a brigade and Div HQ at Camp Eagle southwest of Hue, and a third brigade HQ at Camp Evans north of Hue.  The Marines were far to the south around DaNang and Hi Van Pass. To the north around Quang Tri and facing the DMZ was a brigade of the mechanized US 5th Div.

The 101st and the ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam) 1st Div basically secured Hue and the coastal plain around it.  Firebases were fanned out around the area, up to the Ashau valley and Laos to the west.   Most all civilians had been moved to along the coastal plain with only a few Montenards and Vietnamese allowed in the mountainous jungle areas to the west.  That area was a bit unearthly as Agent Orange spraying had killed off most of the third layer of triple canopy forest and large dead tree trunks rose through the dense jungle.  It was a “free fire” zone, which meant any indigenous people we did not expect were “enemy” and we could shoot under the rules of engagement (ROE).

There had been a great deal of fighting around the Ashau (e.g. Hamburger Hill) in the prior years, but the division basically now patrolled the “shield” in the near mountains after the Ripcord battle.  Artillery FBs (Fire Bases) and air strikes continued harassing the NVA as they moved supplies in and along the Ho Chi Minh trail to the west.  The local populations were involved in mostly just making a living.

We landed at Phu Bai and were again quartered in holding buildings of plywood and metal construction, but this time with sandbagged bunkers nearby.  The first night we were treated to a movie, shown outdoors on a large wall.  That was the first time I came “under fire.”  The enemy fired some rockets at the base.  These were long range and very inaccurate and hit near the runway.  These are the same rockets essentially the Israelis experience from Gaza today.  No injuries were reported, but I did learn the difference in sound between “in-coming” and “out-going” fire.  There was a kind of crackling in the explosion as the shrapnel ripped the air when it was “in coming.”

The next day we were placed in large tractor trailer open “cattle cars” with MP (military Police) jeep escorts.  We were still unarmed as I remember.  Each jeep had an M60 machine gun mounted for protection.  We were driven north along QL1, the main north south route to Camp Evans, home to a brigade and the Screaming Eagle Replacement Training School (SERTS).  This was an eye opening trip right through Hue.  The road was paved, and most bridges were of temporary, military construction, and each had sandbagged bunkers and ARVN troops guarding them.  The old French steel bridges lay in ruin for the most part, except for the main bridges over the Perfume River.  The city was teaming with people riding bikes and small tricycle type buses.  Some small trucks were also making their way around.  Even the power lines were lower.  I was in Munchkin land!  All in all it was a very busy place.

An excerpt from an unpublished work called “Pop’s War”.

By Colonel Wayne Murphy, PhD, PE, Ft. Belvoir, Fairfax County, VA

Leaving Wife and Home

There are many things in a life that are difficult, and I have always resisted trying to define the hardest for fear the worst was ahead.  The day you drop your son off at college gives you a sickening feeling deep in your gut like no other.  Maybe it is the realization that he is “gone” now – out on his own and nothing will ever be quite the same.  It might be the day you sit by the bed of a parent or sibling as they take their final breaths, knowing that you will never have them with you to share your life’s remaining joys and sorrows.
However, the day I left my wife and unborn child to go to war was perhaps the toughest for me.  At the time I really did not know what to do, so I did as the Army had trained me when a difficult task was at hand — I just marched on and did it.
We were living in a one bedroom garden apartment in Alexandria, Virginia.  Mary Ellen was still in school and I was assigned to the 91st Engineers at Ft. Belvoir – an active duty unit used for “school support” and a transition unit for soldiers coming from or going to Vietnam. We had had an April wedding at West Point and a one night honeymoon at the Plaza in New York City on Saturday.  My formal orders for Vietnam arrived the Monday when we got back to Virginia.  I signed in at the 91st and the S-1 (Battalion Adjutant) said, “Hey, we have something for you L T.” (L T was slang for Lieutenant.)
Our guys at Belvoir were mostly draftees returning from their year in Vietnam with a few months left on their two year tour of duty, or recent AIT (Advanced Individual Training – the extra specialty training after basic) grads awaiting shipment to Vietnam in a few weeks.  In any case both groups were hard to motivate with the attitude – “What can you do to me, I’ve been to Nam?” or “What can you do to me, I am going?”
The war was unpopular with a good portion of the American people and the press at this time.  Only those who could not get deferred for college served along with the “professionals” like me, my West Point classmates, and ROTC types.  Most of my contemporaries in the civilian world who claimed to be “against” the war were, in my view at the time, hiding behind the peace movement to cover the real fear – a fear of actually having to go and risk their lives for their country.
While at Belvoir my unit did get called up to be a ready reaction force as part of an Operation Garden Plot (civil disturbances), when the large Cambodian invasion demonstration was held in DC that spring.  Nixon went out and “met” the demonstrators at the memorials, and the undercover police in the crowd and “peace” organizations helped direct government forces — and they were able to block any real time threat by the protestors.  The most dangerous protestors were channeled in circles and never allowed to merge.  Nothing materialized to threaten the government. We just sat by at Bowling AFB (Air Force Base) in DC and listened over the radio to the “action.”
Ironically, the night before, Mary Ellen and I had hosted and housed her brother, Tom, along with several of her friends, who were in town to participate in the demonstrations the next day.  I do not recall any real fervor, just the college kid “this is a great idea for a road trip.” At 0100 when I got alerted I put on my uniform and gear and had to walk over them on the living room floor.  We said, “See you tomorrow.”  But we did not.
Maybe I cannot blame them in a way now.  We were all kids and they were in no danger of having to serve, just out for some excitement.  Besides we had five years of weekly death tolls, and thousands of burials all over the country.   Hardly a family was not touched by the war and ALL seemed to know someone who had died or been wounded.  And we all were getting the feeling the country’s leaders were going to cut and run anyway.  Maybe I had sold their motivation a bit short.
The best news ever came in late May, or maybe June, for Mary Ellen and me.  We found out that month that she was going to have our first child.  I will never forget the day.  She got the call from the doctor (there were no home tests) and I had just come home for lunch.  She ran across the room and launched herself into my arms.  We were elated!  What did we know?  The world was ours because we had each other.
My final days were spent on leave in NJ and NY visiting my family and hers.  It was hard to say goodbye. I was flying from McCord AFB in Seattle and had to take a commercial jet from LaGuardia to Seattle/Tacoma.  Mary Ellen wanted to go to the airport, but I did not think I could handle that.  We spent our last night in a motel on Rt 4 for some privacy.  It was a passionate, but a fearful night for me.  But we did not speak of the fears – for my life and for her having to bring Sean into the world without me.
I asked my brother, Stephen, to drive me to the airport.  Steve and I were 21 and 23 respectively and still learning about life, and we could put our heads down and just move forward. Saying goodbye to him at the airport would be easier as he was a young man and understood.  Easier I assumed than leaving my Mom or my Pop, and definitely easier than leaving Mary Ellen.  At least I thought so.
I kissed Mary Ellen goodbye at the door of 176 Grayson Place and got into the car.  That feeling of loss is indescribable – to place a life together on hold for so long, or maybe forever.
Steve drove as I recall and we talked about a number of things.  I asked him to look after my lady if she needed anything.  He also agreed to send a dozen yellow roses from me to Mary Ellen on the day of our child’s birth no matter what happened.  The rest is just a blur now.  I would miss Steve’s college graduation in the spring, just as I had missed his HS graduation because of my “duties” – and that made me feel a bit further cheated.  We got to the airport and he dropped me off.  I picked up my B4 bag and Steve said, “Keep your head down.”
When I arrived in Seattle I checked in to a hotel as my MAC (Military Airlift Command) flight left McCord the next day and decided to call Mary Ellen.  It was a repeat of a number of things we had said and maybe not necessary or even wise, but I knew it would be a long time before I spoke to her.  Only voice communications that I knew of from Vietnam were through HAM (short wave) radio guys on the MARS program (volunteers who linked the SW radio with phones for soldiers) and hard to arrange.  The call would go from Vietnam to a HAM operator in say California and he would make a phone call and link the radio manually.  I spent a very lonely night.
Next day I boarded a chartered commercial jet complete with stewardesses.  Officers were in khakis, enlisted in fatigues.  We flew via Anchorage, AK and Japan to Cam Ranh Bay.  On the flight were several classmates from ADA (Air Defense Artillery).
That is significant because they were there on the same plane with some of us who had volunteered for Vietnam.  I was a bit late deploying in July 1970.  Most of the other volunteers were in country already.  In fact, I was to hear soon that a former roommate, Bill Pahissa, had already been killed in action near FB (Fire Base) Ripcord serving with the same 101st   Airborne Division I was going to join — our class’ first poop deck announcement and Thayer Hall plaque.  Bill was from Arizona. He was tall, a rugby player, and a pretty nice guy.
I had separated my shoulder in the first week of Airborne training the previous August (ingloriously jumping off the two foot platform into sawdust) and was “recycled.” I had been a month behind most of my classmates since that time.
Most of the ADA guys had chosen that branch to avoid Vietnam in a way.  At least avoiding Ranger School – nine weeks of hard training that made Vietnam seem easy physically (except for the shooting).  ADA officers were the only ones exempt from the RA (Regular Army) commission requirement to attend Ranger.   Subsequently most went directly from branch school to units.  They often went to the old Nike units that were placed around US in Miami, Baltimore, NY, etc. to shoot down Soviet bombers.  However, their branch head felt that since ADA units were not being deployed to Vietnam (the North Vietnamese air force was not a threat), the ADA guys were at a career disadvantage without combat duty.  So he volunteered his junior officers for convoy escort duty and protection slots using WWII antiaircraft 40mm “dusters” mounted in tracks – not a very safe job.  So, volunteers and non-volunteers from my West Point class ended up together flying into “the Nam.”
We arrived at the end of July at Cam Ranh Bay — a huge logistic base for all services on the coast of South Vietnam.  It was hot and muggy, and the air smelled of burning shit and diesel.

An excerpt from an unpublished work called “Pop’s War”.