Lunch wasn't much. And didn't change a lot from one day to the next. Moaned my way through the first couple of bites. Must've been hungry. Cheese, hardtack, sausage, nuts, dried fruit and chocolate. Already into my second canteen of water. No low calorie stuff for me. The more per pound, the better. Don't carry anything that doesn't appeal but know for a certainty it'll all get old after a few days. A little under-eating might not be a bad idea. Be so hungry when I sit down it won't matter what's in the pack. Tear into it while praising the Lord or whatever woods god might be hanging around, for the food I'm about to stuff in my mouth and swallow whole. Then spread eagle on the ground all aquiver, eyes sweating, with calories coursing through my veins like Vikings out to pillage. Mmm, mm, that's what I'd call good eatin'.
As to food for thought I packed a half dozen letters Archie sent me from Vietnam. Maybe of no consequence to most but to me they carry meaning. Where he's stationed in the Mekong Delta is a lot like some of the ground I mucked in the Philippines. Rice paddies and swamp. Brings back memories from the safe distance of twenty-five years. Spent most of my time as a medic in the rear echelon spit shining scalpels or walkin' lines of cots tending to those on their way out. Each one of those unlucky men going someplace else as fast as we could dispatch them. States, back to the line or the Promised Land. Hope there was a Promised Land for them all. Wasn't much uplifting about the land they were leaving. Gut shot, sucking chest wound, none too pleasant. Figured the Army was keeping me off the line as an act of kindness toward the wrinkles around my eyes.
Anyhow, one afternoon I woke up after a long night shift and decided I'd had enough of the never ending misery. Volunteered for a new misery with a line company. Fresh air and hiking might do me some good. Didn't last long. By the end of the first month I was back in surgery with a hole running from my left shoulder through the right side of my neck. Can't say being on the receiving end of the knife was much better than the giving. Anyhow, that's enough of that.
Kept Archie's letters stored in their envelopes. Not a stamp to be seen. Guess free mail's one of the benefits of combat these days and am surprised there aren't any lines of eager young men outside the recruitment offices itching to take advantage of a free six cents. Drew the first and leaned against a big toothed aspen, dappled sunlight on the page:
Dear Uncle Emil,
Got my first Article 15 at Oakland Army Base. Seemed they didn't appreciate me showing up three days late. I figured they'd take it as though I'd given it some thought and made a moral decision, decided Vietnam was my kind of war. Said to myself, 'Yes sir, can't wait to sink my teeth into a plateful of combat.' They must have seen through me. Oh well, it took the Lieutenant no more than a moment to fine me, confine me and give me a dose of extra duty. Would've busted me a grade but that wouldn't have done any good. Like all GIs heading to Vietnam, the moment I stepped off the plane I'd have been promoted to PFC.
Spent the next three days cleaning, scrubbing floors, emptying ash trays, washing pots and pans plus polishing every latrine within walking distance. Oh well, I wasn't going anywhere anyhow and needed something to pass the time. On Easter Sunday my orders came down. I grabbed my gear and trotted off to a warehouse to sit and wait for our plane to get ready. It was worse than sitting in a dentist's office awaiting a root canal. Made a couple of phone calls, free of charge, while waiting. One to Lauren, one to my Mom. Miserable calls. Mom was fixing Easter dinner and a little confused that it was taking me so long to get to the other side of the world. I blew it off with Army inefficiency. Lauren's call was a lot harder. The moment was so filled with meaning it overpowered me and I couldn't think of much to say.
We took off at night. The lights of San Francisco were the last things I saw of what I now know as The World. Took us about a day in the air to land at Bien Hoa with a couple of stops along the way. My war's different than yours. Doubt you had any stewardesses on the troop ships you rode. The way they do it these days it's almost a commuter war. 'Bye honey! I'm off to war. Gotta go save the free world from being crushed under falling dominos. See you in a year.'
Should you find any sarcasm in my words you'd be right. My feelings on this war turned sour somewhere back in infantry training. Seemed to go hand-in-hand with the realization of where I was actually going. It's much easier being unhappy about a war when you're going to be in it. I doubt I was alone in my thinking but could be wrong. Not much a soul can do once he's in OD green except keep his feelings quiet or risk spending a couple of years in the stockade. Stockade or combat, that's just the way it is. Not complaining. I got myself into this mess and with luck, will laugh about it someday.
I'm probably not telling you anything you don't already know from your days in the Pacific but it's hotter than hell in Vietnam. About the same temperature as sweat in an armpit. About as fragrant also. With all the money our government is spending over here you'd think they could at least air condition the place.
Once on the ground the few of us heading toward combat assignments grabbed our gear, hopped into a deuce and a half, headed through a dozen miles of hovel and rubble that's known as Saigon and on our way to the 90th Replacement Unit to get sorted out. We were half way through what I took to be a dump when it dawned on me there were people living there. Miles and miles of the worst kind of slums. I'm not sure what's going on here but from all appearances it doesn't look good. Spent a day and a half at the 90th Replacement Battalion awaiting orders for where I am now, the 9th Infantry Division out of Dong Tam in the Mekong Delta. Specifically I'm in Bravo Company, 3rd of the 39th. It's hot here also.
While waiting for orders at the 90th I ran into a friend from training. Earl said the rest of our company had gone off to the 101st Airborne Division. Not good. The war's a mess up there near the DMZ. Large scale combat with North Vietnamese regulars. Don't know what the delta will be like but doubt it can be as bad as up north.
At the moment I'm going through five days of combat orientation. Of course that includes a day of KP. The Army doesn't skimp on KP. Seems that's their way of saying hello. Could be they're using pots and pans to make combat look like a glamorous alternative. Tomorrow I'm outta here. Will write again eventually.
Archie
Carefully folded the letter, slid it back in the envelop and stored it in the pack. Remember, me and Lena had no children of our own. Archie's as close to a son as I've got. We spent a lot of time together. Twenty-four hours a day time. Nearly died together. Laughed a lot together. Watched him dig himself into holes and work his way out. All in all, not a bad human being. Seen worse. Now he's stuck in a war he doesn't believe in, a war that seems bad for all parties involved and faces no way out save surviving.
Sure wasn't that way in my war. Yeah, the only way out was surviving. But at least a man could know he was doing something right. Even honorable. Anyway, that's my take on that mess.
One thing struck me about the unit he's in. 3rd of the 39th, 9th Infantry. Had a dream back on the unnamed lake that had a lot of threes in it. The dream answered a question I had but all the threes thrown in struck me as no more than interesting. Probably just a coincidence but who knows?
Closed my eyes. An aspen's trunk's a good place to take a nap. Combination of ground and bark's a fine alarm clock. Don't know how Rip VanWinkle slept for all those years. You'd think the pain in his backside wouldn't've let him snooze for more than ten minutes. Could be mine is the product of two centuries evolution. A refined kiester. Haven't finished my lunch break and I'm already looking forward to camp on Clearwater. And dinner. And fresh water.
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