101 days, 11 Sept. ’67, Monday
Last night was nothing (we got to sleep late, but till 8:30 though). A big
truck ran off the road in a convoy yesterday afternoon, and the rest of the
convoy tried to get it out all day till about 11:00 that night. They even had a
tank and couldn’t pull it out. I guess they got scared of being out there alone
at night, so called us out to escort them back into Bao Trai.
I got to drive my new jeep – nice – runs almost as good as the Alpine, but
somehow it’s just not the same. Maybe if I get a 289 . . .
This morning they left us alone; will wonders never cease? Cito is trying
to get the black beret, some of us already wear it, authorized for CRIP. If he
does, he wants me to design a patch we can wear on it. Something to symbolize
the ARVNs and the US
working together – he suggested shaking hands – not original. I thought I’d try
to combine the ARVN patch and our Wolfhound crest.
We did go out today – only the second outing in 9 days. Nothing much
happened except about 4 rounds of stray artillery from somewhere hit so close
we saw the explosions. We did mao (ed). The S-2 boys nearly drowned a VC
suspect in a well before he finally talked. That’s become a favorite means of
getting info form the prisoners we get from the hutches. If they lie, and
there’s nothing where they say there is something, they get shot. Simple as
that.
I’ve been seeing M’s picture in the paper all the time. Also got an article
from M and D about the Teenage America contest. It’s about time she got into
that, should have done it 3 years ago so she’d be in practice for this year.
Best of lick, do a good job, so when we see you on TV I can say “See that? I
know her”! keep doing jazz numbers – you’ll knock ‘em dead.
’67 Cougars are nice, but the draft is 3 years now (I think). No more to
say on that. Glad the Post rejected the letters. Forget Look magazine. Like I
said, let’s keep it local; Dispatch, etc. If anything at all. Oh yes, about
that plastic sac – nice idea, but you forgot the sac!
Happy 39th (?) birthday, Bob
102 days, 12 Sept. ’67, Tuesday
No one bothered us today, and we didn’t go out – back to normal maybe.
There was wind that we were supposed to secure Gladys for 5 days and nights,
then that was cancelled and we were scheduled (4 of us) to go on an all night
ambush patrol. Otherwise known as a suicide mission with only 4 guys).
First I was supposed to go, then I wasn’t, then the whole thing was called
off when Cito found out the “Red Scarves” ARVNs were going too. They’re the
ones that pinned us down the other day and I guess he figured they’d be worse
at night – good thinking.
One of the captains in charge of the compound here put the club off limits
till 5:00 every day, because there are too many people playing pool and he’s
losing 300 paper cups a day at the water cooler. Wish paper cups were the
largest worry I had over here. He says if we have nothing to do, he’ll find
something for us. Where have I heard that before? The bad part is he has
nothing to do with us – he must think we’re working for MACV.
Short letters mean I’m fed up.
103 days, 13 Sept. ’67, Wednesday
The same MACV captain made us go out and repair a whole 100 meter length of
barbed wire fence – go back three sentences. After we were done and all hot,
sweaty, and thirsty, they wouldn’t even let us in the club to get a drink of
water (not enough cups). In fact, it’s off limits all day today. We can clean
it (every morning we have to clean the movie room) but we can’t use it. MACV is
allowed in there today like usual at 12, but we have to wait till 5.
Well, we’re out of the club during the day. Next we’ll be out at night,
too. Where else to go but in the tent? Every five minutes they come into the
tent making us make the beds and sweep the floors “in case someone walks in”.
we can’t even live in our tent in peace. What next?
I’ve seen something like this on TV before. A group doing a good job
compiling a good record, but they are rather unorthodox in dress, habits,
operations, etc. and all this is brought to the attention of the higher up, and
they say “Just imagine the good job they could do it they operated like the
rest of the army”.
They start forcing rules and regulations on the “rebels” making everyone
involved very unhappy. They got along without all that before, why do they have
to do it now, it’s a bother and quite senseless. The morale falls – the unit
falls apart.
All that’s left for us is the last part – we haven’t fallen apart yet, but
give us a chance – we haven’t been out in quite a while, and there’s a new
lieutenant coming yet. I can see it coming; it’s happened before, I know.
(Another short letter).
104 days, 14 Sept. ’67, Thursday
This morning we had a mission. I was to stay back and paint some numbers on
our new (used) ¼ truck. My first chance to stay behind, it seems, that everyone
has had a chance to stay back but me. Everyone was ready to go, then they
called the whole thing off.
They came right out and said it today. We’re not soldiers get despite the
fact we’re doing a good job. We’re not complete solders because we don’t look
good. Doing a good job is not enough to be good soldiers. We have to look good.
The mission was re-scheduled in the afternoon at 4:00 (missed chow). Things
were reversed as the choppers were waiting for us this time. As usual there was
nothing out there, partly because of the bungling of the new platoon Sarge
(been here 7 mos?). by the time we got going in the right direction, all the VC
had di di mao (ed) if there were any.
I told you how much Mahoe likes to march us whenever we go out of the compound
in a group. There was not truck waiting on the road, so we had to walk all the
way to town. Esterline, Farr, Marabello, and me were way up front and walked
all the way to the compound without marching and amazingly made it all right.
But farther back the rest of the group was in formation.
As soon as they got into town, and began marching, so the story goes, they
didn’t call cadence loud enough, so they had to double time all the way to the
compound. Humping all afternoon and then double-timing through town because
they wouldn’t call cadence. If I’d been back there I wouldn’t have done it with
that machine gun – there’s no way! I’ll take an Article 15 if I have to, but
this thing is going too far. I don’t know what Mahoe is thinking of, but I do
know that if it had ‘t been for his bundling in the field, we might have gotten
some VC today. And he talks about being good soldiers!
105 days, 15 Sept. ’67, Friday (37 weeks)
Creighton Abrams was supposed to come today to inspect our barracks. Added
to the usual, today we had to take down all mosquito nets “because everyone
doesn’t have them, and everything has to be uniform”. Also, all the bags we
keep clothes and stuff in had to be put out into the ¾’s trailer – why? Is the
general going to be insulted if he sees our clothes in bags? All we had was our
bunks and weapons in view. If I was inspecting, I’d want to know how the men
lived – no clothes, no ammo, no mosquito protection; nothing!
All that work – a whole morning’s worth – just to impress a general who
probably couldn’t care less. Did he come? Is the Pope Jewish? Why should he?
What’s a 4-star general care about a CRIP platoon? After all we’ve done nothing
outstanding – anything at all - in two
weeks. Pretty soon they’ll ask why CRIP hasn’t done anything lately. Why?
Because they – the people asking “Why” are the ones who won’t let us alone to
have a chance to do anything.
We had a good thing going. Why couldn’t they let it go at that? No, we had
to be just like everybody else – uniform, conformed to army standards. Wonder
if it ever occurred to them that we might do the same job as other units now –
barely adequate? Could it be that there’s something wrong with their standards,
or the way they’re imposed? I can see CRIP beginning to fall apart at the
seams.
106 days, 16 Sept. ’67, Saturday
Up at 6:00, breakfast, police call,
align the bunks, and get on our equipment at 8:00. we walked nearly 12,000
meters total this morning in 3 hours. That’s some fast walking even without 30
pounds of junk strapped to you. Not only that, but it’s been terribly hot
lately, especially today. I was about as hot and tired as I have ever
been over here, when we got back and guess what? Clean your weapons, align,
sweep, police, take down your nets, put your bags in the trailer, get
everything uniform, don’t worry about anything being practical, just uniform;
there’s a colonel coming to inspect! We cleaned the .50 caliber 3 times! Then
here comes a chopper – dust, clean, again.
We stood around all afternoon. Well, the colonel came. He did look at the
tent – as he walked from the chopper to the jeep. I saw him glance at it twice
– then he left the compound. That’s the stuff we’ve had to put up with ever
since Mahoe got here. They say it’s all because o the offices that come down to
see the “marvelous” CRIP, but we had officers come before Mahoe, and never had
to do all this. The fat tub-o-lard! Couldn’t keep up with us this morning; we
had to wait for the pig 3 times.
These pages have been full of very bitter comments; sorry, but what else is
there to say? I haven’t had a chance to write much else but this, and most of
it has been a summary of 2 or 3 days. Three guys have asked to leave the
platoon, and two of them have gone. I’ve considered it, but I’d probably get
the same or worse if I went someplace else.
I feel like condensing all this and writing to Westmoreland myself, but it
would do no good (don’t get any idea). The longer I’m over here getting fooled
with like this, the lower my country’s sincerity in Vietnam
and the honesty of the US
government in its claims of wanting to win here. This war can’t be that
important when they let red tape, bureaucracy in the Army’s higher ranks, and
at the command level, political maneuvers, and inter-agency bickering take
precedence over a sensible execution of the war. Or ding a sensible say of
ending the whole farce. What’ll happen next? Bob
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