43 days, 15 July ’67
Today as the sun came up, so did the Vietnamese. They get up at sunrise and turn the water buffalo out to the paddies. Weird cows, these buffalo. Big, slow moving hunks of meat – er, smell! They get out in the water and roll around and make the rudest noises. It’s really ridiculous seeing these big hulks being marched down the path by some little 4 foot peanut, with a piece of straw. All the kid does is beat him on the nose to make him turn, go, or stop. Let a GI try that, and he’d get tromped to death.
We had a hot breakfast and then went on to our daytime spot. The engineers are building another road and we sit in our jeeps and watch the paddies for Cong, while the engineers work. We watch the farmer work in the paddies with their buffalo. Women and kids come around to us, selling Cokes and bread. A few have souvenirs and junk jewelry for sale. They stay around constantly and we tease the kids and give them food; some actually speak a little English, if you can get through the accent.
We’re right on the outside of a large dirt area all dug up by the road building equipment – looks like a new housing development instead of a road. The rice paddies are on all four sides. We’re on the edge of the paddies surrounding the construction area.
I don’t know what these people did before the Americans came. All the money I’ve spent today for warm Coke and stale bread – where did they get their money before we came? And their English! If you don’t buy something, they really cuss you out. It’s all in Vietnamese, except for the adjectives that they’ve picked up from the GIs. If some kid doesn’t know any other English word, he still knows enough to cuss you out in your own language. We’ve really brought a lot to these people.
I think I’ve figured out this war, too. The U. S. and the Communists decided to have a war and picked this place because it wasn’t good for anything else – and besides, no one lived there anyway. What a surprise when they found people here.
That’s what the country side looks like. A place constructed solely for the purpose of having wars. It’s perfect – impossible to travel across, hot, wet, dirty, etc. it doesn’t seem that anyone could actually live here all their life. What’s there to do? Get up at dawn, plow the paddies till sundown, and go back to bed, and all you get out of it is enough to barley live on.
That’s why every body’s fighting so hard and refuses to give up - the loser has to take the country – who wants it!?
We got sniped at a few minutes ago (just as I finished the last page). One round hit a tree 3 feet away – three shots all together. I’m on a 106 recoil-less jeep and before we could get the gun set up, one of the M-60 jeeps on the hill behind us opened up on a clump of bamboo about 900 meters out. I don’t know what they hit, but we’ve had no more sniper since then.
A butterfly just flew past, Bob
44 days, July 16
From Uncle Ben’s Plantation. We had some more sniper fire last night. Five rounds at about 10:30 and that was it. No damage done.
We left Gladys – the name of the artillery sight – and went back to Cu Chi to escort the trucks out to the construction site. We were setting up, getting ready for another leisurely afternoon, when we were called to escort some more trucks to another site a few miles down the road.
We got as far as one little village and were told to wait there, the trucks would go on alone and we would meet them again when they came back. We set up under a tree and played with the kids and relaxed all day – the only GIs in sight – waiting. Four little peanuts crawled under our poncho-tent with us and stayed until we left. We gave them C-rations and tried to understand what they were saying, but never could. One wanted a cigarette; he was no older than 4 or 5 and the only English he knew was “cigarette” – like I said, we’ve given a lot to these people.
We were called at 4:00 to come back to the pits; the dump trucks we were waiting for had returned 2 hrs. ago by a different road.
We went back to Gladys for the night – nothing happened all night. I even got some sleep for a change. Usually I had to sleep on the hood or in a seat with a poncho over me to keep me dry. Not too comfortable., not too much sleep.
Last night, however, I was put on a 106 gun jeep. We draped ponchos over the barrel of the gun and thus made a tent covering the whole jeep. One man slept across the hood while I slept across the seats. Very dry and very comfortable compared to the other two nights. Of course, if we had to fire the thing, it would have taken an hour to uncover it.
45 days, July 17
They asked who wanted to go back to base camp today, and I jumped up immediately. Every day they let 5 or 6 people go in for the afternoon to clean up, get their laundry, etc.
I went in and laid around all afternoon. At about 3:00 the rest of the people came in with the news that we were going to spend the night in camp and then go out to a different area for as long as 3 or 4 months.
It might not be too bad, though – they say we’ll be right outside a Special Forces camp with access to a PX, Service Club, and hot showers. Can it be true? Also we’ll probably be in bunkers or hutches, so it’ll probably be like right here. Of course, all our work will be in the jeeps mostly – convoy security – no walking through rice paddies and swamps and mud. There’s supposed to be an artillery sight where we’re going. At night we’ll pull guard around that.
There are six new guys in our hutch, but we kicked them out for tonight. They’ll be in recon when they finish their school (they’re going now, no month waiting like me.) There are 9 guys going back to the world in October, and the new people will replace six of them. They were quite surprised when we came storming in, throwing their stuff off our beds, and telling them to get out of our hutch. Nice welcome for the replacements but after all they were just put there because we were out and there was no other place for them (I don’t know where they will sleep tonight but they’re gone.) We’d been sleeping in jeeps the past 3 nights and wanted our beds back. It’s only fair.
46 days, July 18
All packed and ready for a long stay in the Boondocks; we left base camp escorting a convoy to an airstrip, which I hadn’t know existed. In fact, we drove by it at least 2 times a day while we were going to Gladys, and the ‘Pits”.
Today, however, we took 10 truckloads of line troops out there where they were loaded in about 20 choppers and then flown off to God knows where. After that, we went to Sugar Mill and picked up 2 more truck loads and escorted them back to the air strip. Then we returned to Sugar Mill to set up our camp. All this took about 8 hrs, or all morning and about half the afternoon.
Now we’re in, or rather just outside, a compound known as Sugar Mill. Named simply because it’s a small village centered around a large sugar mill. I don’t know the actual name of the village.
Tonight we sleep in jeeps on the edge of the road; that is if the kids ever go away. Tomorrow we set up our permanent positions. I don’t know where they’ll be, but I don’t see any hutches.
Homeless, Bob
47 days, 19 July ’67
I’m about out of salutations, so, “Hi”
I was right, there are no hutches; in fact there isn’t much of anything. Here’s the picture: we’re about 20 miles away from Cu Chi base camp. To get here, we came thru Cu Chi, plus 2 other fairly good-sized towns, and about 3 or 4 smaller ones (some you can’t tell whether it’s a village or a group of hutches).
One of the villages, Biel Trai, I believe, is only about a mile or so away. It’s one of the larger ones, about the size of Cu Chi. It’s built on stilts, right at the water’s edge. It’s typical of such villages – grass huts about a foot apart, all the same drab brown color. In fact, the whole place is dirty brown – no color at all. All along the river are the houses and fishing nets held out over the water by two poles coming from each side of the river. They’re not stretched clear across, but work more like a dipper. They are supported by poles at all four corners, and are lowered and raised to trap the fish. Many of the villagers fish from bong treacherous looking canoes, made from what appears to be hollowed out logs. At every hutch, there are at least 2 naked kids swimming in their front yard.
I haven’t been inside Sugar Mill yet, but they say it’s pretty nice. The Special Forces troops have added quite a few luxury items. (Fluorescent street lights!) From the outside it looks like a normal village, except for the large smokestack of the sugar mill itself, and the red tile roofs of the Special Forces area, and of course, the street lights.
Along the road, for about 300 meters or so, is the artillery location. Actually, the road has been widened and the guns are set right on the hard ground, with still enough room for the gooks to ride their Lambrettas and for the Army’s trucks. On the other side of the is our location, providing rear security for the artillery.
[Notation that all the following material is “printable”]
Wait till I tell you about our new home. We’re right in the middle of a buffalo field. It’s not a rice paddy, but it’s almost as bad – worse, maybe. The jeeps barely made it out to the bunkers. I don’t know what will happen when we have to get them out. It’s about 100 meters from the road to my bunker, and water and/or mud ankle to knee deep all the way. In fact, you can’t go two steps past the bunker, in any direction, without getting water over the top of your boots. I’ve heard of moats, but his is ridiculous. At least King Arthur had a drawbridge.
The bunkers are about six feet square, and 4½ feet high – on the outside. They’re made from sandbags and artillery shell casings. We’ve draped our shelter halves and extra ponchos over the bunker, and out to the rear to make a lean-to to sleep under. The bunker has only room for one man plus the equipment (Starlight scope, machine uh, ammo, cases or beer and Coke, cooler, etc.).
It’s one muddy mess. Every time we leave the bunker, we have to get soaked at the feet – glad I brought extra socks and an extra pair of boots; tell Mother to send me my spare feet; I think she knows what I mean. I’ll try to send some pictures of this place if I can borrow a 35 mm camera.
That’s what I’d really like to do; just travel around and photograph all the different villages and rice fields, etc, and especially the people here. Everywhere you go you see so many different types, all are generally the same, but yet each one has something unique. The children especially would make a whole year’s worth of pictures; some are ugly, dirty, and obnoxious, but still make good subject matter for a camera. Others are cute, or pitiful (some of the older ones are downright cute) and some have a look of amazement, or joy, or sorrow when they see us go by in our jeeps. They run after us, shouting something in what could be Greek for all I know, holding out their hands; the friendly ones in a salute or wave, the thankful ones in a victory “V”, and the hungry ones palms up for food.
I’d love to be able to go out and talk to these people (if I could) and find out how they live, and what they think – about everything (I sound like Mother, now).
It’s rather confusing; at times I feel this way about them, and at times – like when I first walked out to our bunker – I think that none of this is really worth it, living and sometimes dying, and fighting for this shriveled up, wasted land and its shriveled up worthless people - trying to give them freedom and democracy - something they wouldn’t recognize if you shove it under their noses, much less know what to do with it.
Oh well, I’m here, the water buffalo are about 10 feet away eating grass and scaring the Hell out of the frogs. I’d throw something at them, but they might charge and wreck my tent; - and me. A helicopter flew over here today at about 10 feet off the ground and did wreck the tent – blew it half way across the field (seems something happened like this once before.)
There’s a pig in the village that comes out and chases cars – like a dog. What a stupid place to live in.
Mud bound,
Bob
48 days, July 20
We ran a convoy back to Cu Chi today. What made it interesting were the two armed choppers, which flew right alongside us as extra security. At times they flew figure 8s, up and down the line switching from one side to the other. All this time they stayed at tree-top level.
How could I forget? This was supposed to come first. They received an intelligence report that we were supposed to be hit by battalion size force of VC last night; this meant double guard, half the sleep, and still no VC (thank goodness).
We were laying barbed wire today also in waist deep water – you couldn’t even see the wire half the time. Some kids came out to watch us – in a boat. I picked up a leech – of all things – on my leg. He was just a little feller, and we burned him off with a cigarette and pipe smoke. The medic poured about a half bottle of iodine on the hole and gave me two pills. I wonder if the leech was rabid? We had to throw him away – he was under the legal limit.
There’s a rumor going around now that we’ll be leaving here in 3 days for God knows where. I don’t know if I want to now. This afternoon we made the bunker livable and I made a walkway through the water out of ammo boxes so we won’t get wet feet as much.
I went inside Sugar Mill today and took a shower – boy, did I need that! They have a shower room at the sugar mill itself; imagine a real shower, no straight pipes, with a steady stream that beats you to death.
Then I went to the club and had a couple of Cokes and watched Perry Mason. The club isn’t much. It’s in an old French type building, and will only hold about 15 people in the chairs and at the bar (only one room to it). They have quite a display of VC weapons on the wall behind the bar, along with some pages from a few American magazines (no, not “Newsweek”). The wall is alive with lizards – yes, lizards. There were about 10 little 3-inch lizards clinging to the walls and ceiling, catching bugs. At first, I thought they were plastic, then stuffed, then one ran the length of the wall and ruined a fly – my God! They’re real!
49 days, 21 July ’67
Double guard again last night – mortars and about 5 million VC expected, they way they talked. Nothing happened. I wish we’d see at least a rabid buffalo, to make losing all this sleep worthwhile.
I made friends with a little boy today, named Ho Van Hai – almost sounds Dutch. I had him write a few of the sayings GIs use to talk with the people here. On the cardboard (which I found on the ground by the bunker). The written part is his own writing; the printing is mine. Things like chou hoi, xin loi, chieu hoi, that I wrote to see if I had guessed their spelling right. In case you can’t make out the original:
Chou hoi (joy hoy) – slang, I think. No one really seems to know what it means. Most often used when a good looking girl walks by, or when you see something you like (I’m almost afraid to find out what it means).
Xin loi (sin loy) Literally means, “sorry about that”.
Chieu hoi (chew hoy) Open arms program for defecting VC
Di di mao (almost as it looks – dee dee mow) Use this to get rid of kids – means go away, scram, beat it, split the scene, kid (even worked on a water buffalo once)
Cau cu (boo coo) Many, much, too much. Handy for buying in the villages.
Yeu co dau (would you believe – Dinky dow) The “y” is a “d”, means crazy or sick in the head.
Now let’s see if you studied well. Here’s a GI buying a hat in Cu Chi.
“Chou hoi: How much you sell hat?”
“500 piaster.”
“Xin loi, man; cau cu piaster, yeu dau cu hey co dau. Didi mao!”
“GI cau cu cheapskate.”
“Hey! You VC?”
“Me no VC, me chieu hie.”
In the picture, the little Ho Van Hai is in the middle. The others are, l to r, another little kid that spoke fairly decent English – never did get his name. Roy Raye from somewhere in Mississippi, Hai, Bobby Vance from Oklahoma, and in the rear? Oh, that’s a machine gun mount. The bunkers in the background are the nice ones the artillery people live in. The one you can see way back out in the field just over the corner of the tent at the right is the kind we have – nice isn’t it. The picture was treated, so it might yellow soon.
It’s true – we’re leaving tomorrow for Du Cau (du kwa). All the guys have been there before (that’s where they were when I arrived) and they’re dancing for joy. They say it’s like R&R. Better than some posts back in the States. Water faucets, heated showers, flush toilets, paved roads, and sidewalks; it also sounds too good to be true. What we’re doing is moving there with the artillery. The artillery has been firing support for the 5th Mechanized Infantry, but as the 5th Mech. moves farther out, they have moved out of the range of the guns. The guns have to go to Du Cau which is closer (and drier, I hope).
As soon as Dad gets home and sends me my old camera, I’ve decided to shoot a whole roll on each; kids, ARVNs – I’ve never seen to of these guys in the same uniform; they’re all real characters – then villages, farms, including buffalo, and the adults and the elderly people. Believe me, there’s enough material over here and so many different people that I could shoot 3 rolls on each subject (maybe I will). I could shoot only what I do over here, but I’d rather take pictures of Viet Nam and not the war in Viet Nam. In other words, I just want pictures of what’s interesting and what I want to remember.
I have just come back from the club. Yes, the lizards are still there. They’re like the ones you by at the sate Fair. And change color to match their surroundings. (OK I’ll try it – tell me if I’m right – chamealian).
The place is about the size of your living room and dining room put together. A bar at one end, Coke and beer – no one serves it, you go up to the cooler and take what you want and drop your money in the can – and chairs along the three other walls with the TV on the bar.
This “never happened” last night, but last night the commander of the artillery unit (Killer 9-9) made quite a few calls on his radio. Every time he transmitted, the picture would change to a negative (from black and white to white and black) and you could hear only “Killer four seven, this Killer niner niner. Over.”
He finally made contact and we had to listen to everything he said (you couldn’t hear the other “Killer”) while Bil Cosby and Robert Culp changed races on “I Spy”.
All Charley would have to do is watch TV to know what Killer niner niner is going to do. Wonderful security.
Well, I’ve done it again – said all I was going to say except |good-bye” and left with a whole page to do it.
Always plan-
ning ahead,
B o b (in huge letters, scrawled over onto the back of page, with flourish at end
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