Vietnam Marine Corps. 1969-70
I flew to Vietnam, on my 19th birthday. First stop was Okinawa, Japan. I was there for almost 2 weeks. In Koza city, I spent my time expertly, exploring all the bars & 3 Flame Red Canoe houses I could find. "4 dollar quick time?". I still remember Seiko...
Then it was on to Vietnam. I arrived In-Country, landing at Da Nang Air Base. As I exited the plane and stepped onto the tarmac, I was wide eyed, anxious, and making furtive glances all around. Took me awhile to realise that I was relatively safe there.
I took in my surroundings with a more relaxed feeling. There was a huge water tower off to one side. I saw painted on the side of the water tank in big black letters 'Philco'. I was starting to get an idea why I was there.
In no time, I was sent to Firebase Ross 3rd Battalion 7th Marines, in the Qu? Son Valley. We convoyed out from Da Nang Air Base in the back of an open Deuce 1/2. We drove through a couple villages. They were just thrown together shacks made of pieces of plywood, sheets of corrugated metal. There were no real 'homes'.
As we passed through, the locals were lining the side of the dirt road. Some were holding out their hands asking for whatever we would toss out to them. Our guys would toss cigarettes, gum, any snacks chips. But the children, simply stood quietly tossing flowers up to us as we drove by. I thought they were beautiful and I felt great empathy for them.
On the outskirts was the naked body of a VC lying beside the road. The locals just let it rot in the sun. That was my first exposure to Death.
Firebase Ross, was a joint Army/Marine Corps base or 'landing zone'. The Army provided stationary M48 tanks & M109 howitzers. The Marines provided security & ground patrols. While at Ross, my main duty was in a fox hole although I was a radio operator.
One evening I saved an extra bologna sandwich, to eat if I woke up that night hungry. And that same night, I woke up to some noise, when a rat about a foot long ran across my chest. He got my sandwich.
My very first time on night watch, I was given a hand held night scope. That scope and my M16 were it in my fox hole. I was scared shitless. Dead black night. No light anywhere, of any kind. No moon. Problem was the battery in the night scope was almost dead. It was useless. Thinking back on it now, this was dereliction by the O.D. This was his job. I made it through my first shift.
On another shift, a firefight broke out about about 75 meters in front of me. We sent patrols out 24/7. We had multiple layers of Concertina wire around the perimeter. Supposed to keep us secure, but not really.
One night after being relieved, I was super thirsty, I needed some water. But I was way over near the Army side of the base and decided to look for a drink of water on their side. No light. To see your way around, rocks were painted white lining the paths.
It was dead quiet at night as always. As I was walking along a path, I heard a faint 'click', then the world exploded. An involuntary yell escaped me. I was physically stunned. I stood there for a moment 'taking inventory'. Then I looked to my left. There was a M48 tank right next to me. I looked up and I could see the muzzle right over my head, ending just where my left ear was. There was someone sitting on top of the tank. He was looking down at me. He said nothing. I found some water then returned to my bunk. To this day, the hearing in my left ear is bad and I have tinnitus.
While there, we all felt like brothers. Our barracks had no real doors or locks on anything. You could leave your money, weapon, watches, rings laying on your cot. You could be gone all day, and everything would still be there when you got back. If goodies from home arrived, all was shared.
Eventually they sent me up to Hill 381 as radio operator for an 81mm mortar platoon. I coordinated with the patrols in the Bush below us. I called in 81mm strikes for the grid coordinates radioed to me from the troops on the ground.
I slept with the radio equipment. The walls of my 'hootch' were made out of empty 81mm mortar shell cases, with a canvas cover. You could not stand up, it was only about 5 feet high. My cot was right beside the radio equipment. When I got there, I was informed that not all the ammo cases were empty...
On the Hill when not on duty, which was almost never, I was on duty up there 24/7, I would wander around so I could stand up and stretch my legs. Often visited the guys in the fox holes.
They had frags, clay moors, M16's and M79s the 'bloop gun'. The M79 sat on a tripod and had a flat canister that sat horizontally on top. It held about 50 or so shells.
When bored, we would shoot the 'blooper' down the hill, "bloop bloop bloop" was kind of a funny sound, but what a bang they made when they went off. Or toss a frag down the hill. Just because. The OD would come running over asking what was up. We would just say we thought we heard something. "Good job Marines, stay sharp!"
Occasionally, once in a blue moon, I would get a whole day off. I would grab a chopper down to Ross, get some better food. All we got up on the Hill were Rats. And there was one meal that I think everybody dreaded, "Ham & Mother Fuckers". Ham and Lima beans. I was convinced that they were left overs from WWII. The canned biscuit surely was...
One time while sitting in the back of a Chinook, the pilots thought we took fire. The CH-47 dropped like 200 ft in 3-4 seconds. We got on the ground and the entire crew jumped out and started inspecting the outside of the chopper. I didn't stick around to find out. Wasn't my problem. I had food to eat.
As an radio operator I rated the 45 cal side arm. I had an M16 as well. While up on the hill I wore the 45 everywhere. Until that is, a shiny new 1st Lt did not like an 'enlisted man' wearing a 45 cal pistol. He persuaded his C.O. to take it away from me. Ass.
This Lt. was a pain. Throwing his weight around when he was the O.D. insisting we all stay in uniform, up on that hilltop, in the heat & sun. We usually stayed bare chest or with just a tee shirt. We did not need this added stress & hassle. He went around writing us up for crap. Until one night, a smoke canister was rolled into his hootch. He was nice after that. He shut up. He got the message.
And all during this time I muttered to myself, "what the fuck am I doing here?"
Hill 381 looked down on Happy Valley with Sniper Valley in the distance. When an NVA movement was detected, we would call in the Marine Corps F-4 Phantoms. They would fly really low and drop Napalm. They flew about 50 meters below us. Then incredible balls of fire exploding and expanding almost all way up to eye level. We called it "instant forest fire".
One day, The Higher Ups, decided to shut down Hill 381, and Firebase Ross. Both were being turned over to the SVA Regulars. I was transferred to the unit guarding Da Nang Air Base.
We had real wooden barracks, metal bunks with mattresses, not cots. Shit, it was the Hilton. Hot food, not heated with C-4. I remember that one guy when I was on the Hill. After heating his Rats he tried to put out the C-4 by stomping on it with his boot. Blew the heel off his boot and knocked him on his ass.
There was just one thing bad about the Air Base. Rockets. 1-3 times a week the VC launched rockets at us. They whistled just like in those old black & white war movies. The whistle started out very high pitched. You could listen to the pitch get lower as the rockets fell closer. The lower the sound and longer it whistled, the closer it was coming. It got so we could 'gauge' how close they came by listening to the whistle.
The thing about the rockets, they usually walked in a line of explosions. So, you could tell if they were coming your way. That told me that the VC lined up the rockets and lit them one at a time.
We would listen for the whistle to stop, then a boom in the distance, maybe 1/4 a mile away. A little longer and lower pitch... a louder boom. Closer. Then even longer and lower and louder whistle and... BOOM. Close enough! And we would scramble into the bunker.
The VC did manage to hit the base occasionally. One time they hit a B52 on the tarmac. It smouldered for a couple days, totaled. Another time they got one of the giant oil/fuel tanks. That thing was a black smoky mess for days.
Off in the distance was a mountain ridge with a base on top. We called it "Freedom Hill". That, was where you went when being sent home. Stateside. Two days up there for processing, then "Goodbye Charlie".
One day after being In-Country for about a year we received word that our unit was drawing down and going stateside. We were done. In 2 days we were going up to Freedom Hill.
We partied for those two days. And partied some more. There is one memory that I buried all these years, but has come back to me.
During our second day of partying I ran into this SSGT I knew. He was a very large, bullet headed super gung-ho Lifer. Big Time "U-Rah!"
He was only in boots & boxers, "issue 3 each, o.d.green" and drunk as hell. But it was this... he had pierced an ear lobe with one of his medals and was wearing it in his ear. Blood was dripping down the side of his face. He was whooping it up hollering & screaming drunk off his ass. But, it was what he was drinking his beer out of.
In his hands was a human skull, with beer in it. He called it "Bucky". I am sorry that memory has come back to me.
So, I'm up on Freedom Hill. Day one up there I don't remember much besides loitering & snacking. But day 2, just before shipping out, was very different. The air base came under a daytime rocket attack. They were usually at night, but sometimes during daylight as well.
I could look down upon my old barracks. There were other Marines in there now. And one of the rockets hit them. I stood there stunned. Shook up. Did the guys get to the bunker? That could have been me. I hoped there were a couple guys that were experienced with the rockets in with the newbies to know when to run for the bunker.
I made it back to Okinawa. There for 4-5 days. My mind set was totally different from a year ago. I laid low, playing it safe, I hardly left the barracks. I didn't bother to visit the ladies again. I didn't even drink. I was just anxious to GO... to California and home. It was a Delta Airlines jet that took us Home.. And, all the stewardesses were blond and pretty.
I survived. That was it. Finished my time at Camp Pendleton and I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
But I got the last laugh. While stationed at Camp Pendleton, I was head Orders Clerk in Headquarters Co. 2/5 Marines at Camp Margarita. That meant I had access to everyone's service record folder, officers included, in the battalion and all of the different blank order forms.
So, I was the one who typed out all the orders for both officers & enlisted for the entire battalion. Including, my own DD214.
If you were leaving the Corps, you were supposed to go to the Separations Unit for 1 week while they tried to talk you into staying. And they treated you like shit there, just because..
But, I typed out my own discharge papers. Our Company C.O. signed them. I wasn't supposed to do that, I was supposed to go to Separations. But I did it anyway. And that was that...
These are my experiences, There. Now, I hope these memories have been exorcised and I can forget again.