Almost Home – But SOS

This is somewhat out of order. My first post takes place toward the beginning of my Army experience in Vietnam. This post would be the coda. I'll try to fill out the in-between as I have time.

So! Two tours in Vietnam. I’m still alive; got all my parts intact (on the outside at least). Several of us are headed from one end of the San Francisco airport to a concourse that serves those flights headed east. When it happens One-Last-Time.

As far as we’re concerned, we’re done. We’re about... to be out. One last stop, sign the discharge papers and go home! Headed in the opposite direction, brand new uniform, haircut and shiny single gold bar, a shavetail LT passes about five of us. He’s headed “Over There” we’re headed home. But he can’t resist. Gotta try out that bar on his shoulder.

I don’t know if he even had the intuition to understand the dynamic into which he was about to insert himself. But, for some reason, the fool takes issue with my hair. My buddies and I are completely unaware of his presence until he plants himself in front of me and says something about the length of my hair along with a half-assed order to see a barber before I did anything else in my life. I was in disrespect of the Class A uniform I was wearing (for the first time in two years).

I’d like to spice this story up and give you some accurate dialogue, but in all honesty, I don’t remember the words, just the irony of the moment. To be confronted 24 hours prior to discharge in a civilian airport by a brand new lieutenant after two tours in hell, I, an E-5, was being braced for a haircut.

I am very lucky I was with friends. They put themselves between me and the shavetail and an E-6 Staff Sergeant I was with took the lieutenant aside and ‘splained things to him. He probably saved me a whole lot of grief – and my carefully tended-for-release locks.

A little piece of drama in the middle of a US airport in June of 1970 was about to unfold – or not.

It had the makings of a major problem – for me. I don’t know what my E-6 buddy said to him, but the shavetail turned pale and got his ass away from us quicktime.

According to several websites, in Vietnam during 1970, the average life span of an Army Second Lieutenant in the field was under 4 days. I wonder if he made it that long or if his subordinates fragged him before then?

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Please bear with us while we put this blog together. In all honesty, We were just trying to log onto another blog and before ya know it - we had our own!

Seriously, though, this blog is for war stories; whether or not they took place in a war zone. The original intent is to gather material from the Vietnam era from Sergeants (and Specialists) rank E-5 and above, though exceptions will be made if the material is good enough.

We want you to post your favorite tales whether funny, scary, sad or ironic. The only real requirement is that they be true (or real close to it). Please include your rank, branch of service and as close as possible to the date and place of the event you're writing about.

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We reserve the right to delete, deny, edit or publish your entries under your screen name or another. Shortly we'll post a few stories we've already gathered to give you an idea of what we're looking for. The website www.sergeants.us will be up and running soon.

The photo is one of our founders and that's not a feather in his helmet - it's shrapnel. Yup, we had IEDs in 'Nam, too. Hopefully we'll get him to post that story soon, it's a doozy!

Thanks for joining us, we're looking forward to hearing from you. Welcome home brother!

The Photo - A Very Vague IED Experience

The folks at VA Med Ctr. are still trying to unfold this one. I worked out of an information Office in Cam Ranh Bay as a Spec 5. But mine wasn't the usual "In the Rear With the Gear" job. I was a correspondent for AFRTS, Stars & Stripes, PR guy for USO tours and "Wall of Fame Photog" for visiting brass. Most mornings it was up at o' dark thirty and off to the slick base where I'd catch a chopper somewhere. If it was a longer distance, the airbase was in the same vicinity and I'd hitch a ride on a C-130 or C-123 to wherever I was off to that day.

I basically set my own schedule and the CO (a good-guy Captain) would rubber-stamp it. I had standing travel orders for anywhere in the RVN. This would have been Jan/Feb of '69 and the day started as usual.

Except I cannot for the life of me remember where it happened or where I was going.

We landed, there was a three-truck convoy headed to resupply a forward base and I hitched a ride out. My plan was probably to do some "Hometown Interviews," take a few photos and head back before dark. Each interview would be matched with the cassettes and sent to the soldier's hometown newspaper and radio station. I don't know if any of them ever got played, I just know it got me out of the office and into a fascinating and beautiful country - usually.

I jumped into the second of three Deuce & A Halfs and we were off, followed by a command jeep with a crew of three guys and a radio. This particular spot wasn't all that lovely. It was flat, dusty and wide open. Not the usual lush green of Vietnam - and no cover if there was trouble. Just as I was thinking that, the lead truck exploded right in front of us. I saw flames and pieces of truck flying at the same time the noise and percussion hit us.

We all bailed out of the remaining vehicles and took cover under our trucks behind the big tires. Meanwhile, someone in the command jeep called it in and a dust-off was on the way with reinforcements and medics.

In the midst of all this destruction and confusion, after a few minutes this little boy of about 5-6 came out of some brush playing with a hackey-sak and hitting us up for candy, cigarettes and the usual. "Hey, GI, you No.1 - gimme dollah."

We all felt pretty silly hiding under the trucks while this kid was dancing around telling us we were "No. 1 GIs." It seemed pretty quiet, so we began coming out into the open to see what had happened, just about the time the cavalry arrived. I think the driver and passenger were hurt pretty bad in the lead truck (in fact I'm pretty sure one of them died). That it could have just as easily been me didn't gel until I was back in my hootch that night.

In looking around and photographing the site, I discovered several pieces of shrapnel - hot and sharp - the IED was probably a 105 shell that didn't detonate. Charlie would take these duds, make them hot, bury them and wait for a likely candidate to blow up. I grabbed one piece of shrapnel, stuck it in my helmet band and handed my camera to one of the other guys. The resulting photo is what graces the cover of this blog. On the back of the photo is "Phan Thiet" in pencil - so I assume it was between the Phan Thiet airbase and some forward pigsty.

That's all I remember. I've got a psychologist trying to dig more out, but I don't know that we'll ever get any further than what I've just related.

Oh! Except one thing. After a while the kid was no where to be found. We figured he lived in a Vil nearby and went home. One of the more experienced guys who was stationed nearby and came in with the reinforcements was convinced it was probably the kid who'd clacked the clapper. Though there were tunnel complexes, there was no Vil nearby - none of us had a clue where he came from... or went to.