21st day, June 23
I got some mail this morning! From my parents and my grandparents. Also something from the Selective Service – something about they had made a terrible mistake but knew I would forgive them because I probably would have enlisted anyway; and also, did I know anybody named Jere Singleton?
I can’t tell you how good it was to hear from the people back in the world. I didn’t know this little diary would get so far, photo-static copies and all, even my grandparents were talking about the butterflies.
I almost forgot about them, they gave me some insect bomb for them, but I found out it took about a 1000 pound bomb to do the trick. All the insect bomb did was kill the insects that the butterflies had under their feathers (feathers?). The enclosed butterfly, which my parents said to send (I hope he didn’t get smeared all over the inside of the envelope) is a small one for two reasons; I caught him on bunker guard the other night where they weren’t so big because bunker guard isn’t really too bad. Also if I had caught a larger one the postage would have been outrageous. Actually I think this one is a moth; probably from all those sandbags.
Seriously, I figure if I get a letter every day, I’ll get along all right. They can really be a lift over here. The poor mail clerk gets hung in effigy every night by those who didn’t get mail; I’m glad I didn’t have to be there today – real glad – it was my turn to be the dummy.
A new man came to recon today. Actually he’s not new; he’s been in recon for 6 months, but for the last two months he’s been mail clerk. He didn’t want the mail clerk job, he wanted back in recon. I can’t believe anybody giving up a soft job like mail clerk for recon. He’s from Elkhart, Indiana, and swears up and down that Hoosier is spelled “Hoo-sh-ier”.
Another guy had a Russian carbine he got off a dead V.C. when he was in the line company when he first got over here. It looked like an old flintlock or something, all rusted and corroded. It’s a wonder it ever could shoot. This is what they’re using against us?
No wonder it’s getting kind of one-sided.
22 days, June 24
Choi Hoi, Last night the platoon went on an ambush patrol. I wish I had my camera. They were all camouflaged and had all their gear, armed to the teeth. Four of them had 400 round belts of machine gun ammo crisscrossed over their shoulders, like Poncho Villa. One carried a bazooka and another carried four rounds for it (90 mm). They all had grenades, grenade launchers, sacks full of flares and claymore mines, and two or three rockets. I’d hate to be Charlie and run into that group. Usually when they go out it’s just with M-16s and machine guns, but this time they were ready for anything. It scared me just looking at them. They set up their ambush about 1000 meters outside the perimeter, but saw nothing all night except rain.
There was some action last night, apparently not where they were, though. Three helicopters were dropping aerial flares and shooting at Charlie with .20 caliber mini-guns. I could see them over the trees way out near where I was a few nights ago on the bunker line. You wouldn’t’ believe those mini-guns. At first they sounded like a lawn mower, then almost like a foghorn, they were firing so fast; no rat-a-tat like a machine gun, just one long continuous sound. The tracers formed one straight line across the sky; I thought it was a laser beam or something. I found out this morning that the gun shoots over 2000 rounds per minute, every fifth round a tracer. I thought at least every round was a tracer, if not more. They have six rotating barrels something like a super Gatlin gun.
There is one thing I like over here – I don’t really like it, it’s just that it’s better than back in the world. The whole approach to the army is different; everything is more casual, no spit shine, no unnecessary rituals, just common sense. There’s no formations every morning, no inspections, no uniform way of dressing or doing things. You wear what you’ve got, or want to wear as long as it’s army issue; jungle fatigues, conventional fatigues, tee shirts, or an O. D. [olive drab] towel when you go to the shower. The relation among N. C. O. s, officers, and enlisted men is also casual, probably because I’ve seen very few second lieutenants (thank God). We call the sergeant by name and sometimes the lieutenant (first lieutenant – they’re a little better).
Yesterday (or was it the day before?) I got my second letter from my parents with a clipping from the newspaper in our old town in Indiana. The girl that lived next door ever since I could remember up to the time we moved got married in May. I saw the picture and the headline – Adams-Mattingly vows exchanged – but didn’t realize what it was about until I read the whole article. The last time I saw her she was a skinny freckle-faced redheaded tomboy, and now – Good Lord! I couldn’t believe it at first, then I was shocked. I felt mad, then jealous, and then I felt like an idiot (actually I wished we never moved away). We used to climb trees together and play cowboys and Indians. She helped me build a motorless go-cart and I helped her pick on her little sister, and now she’s married and I’m in Vietnam. Eight years makes a lot of difference – what a doll! (Not me – her).
Here’s something to add to your collection of invaluable trivia: my DEROS (date of departure from V.N.) was stated as the 2nd of June. I got here the 3rd of June – one day late! Now I have to wait a whole year for the 2nd. If I had gotten here, say on the 31st of May, I could have left after 2 days in country
23 days, June 25
Two of the veterans went back home to Wisconsin today; you’ve never seen anybody happier in your life. For about the last month they have been released from the platoon and were “Sanitation Engineers”. I guess I haven’t mentioned this job yet, probably because it isn’t too pleasant, but then, what is over here?
Under the seats of the latrines are 50-gallon drums sawed in half. Every day these have to be pulled out and taken back away from the hutches. Then they pour gasoline or diesel oil into them, stir it until it is mixed, then set it afire, and let it burn until it is burned to a crisp (sorry, but that’s exactly what they’ve been doing for a month; now that they’re gone somebody else will have to do it). That’s even worse than the astronaut’s Tang (it also adds to the unique smell).
But, like I said, they’re gone and I finally have my own area and two-foot lockers instead of sharing an area and living out of my bags. The hutch is partitioned into 8 cubicles, one man each. Mine is in the front corner, where the wind comes in from two directions and makes it the coolest area in the hutch (except for the one across from me in the other corner). All the others have the air blocked by the partitions and they’re really hot during the day.
The ducks are back in full force! All twelve were running around swimming in the puddles . . er . . .lakes in the compound. I guess those little chickens were actually little chickens. I’d better watch out; I’m a little chicken myself! If they’re still around in April (if I’m still around in April ) I’ll send one to Marlynn for Easter.
Speaking of ducks, some little Vietnamese “gook” with a jungle helmet, sandals, and shorts came around today spraying all the way around each hutch with some foul smelling stuff (nerve gas, I think). I don’t know if he was trying to kill the bugs or the weeds (or us?). Either one is a losing battle over here. Whatever it was the lizards seemed to thrive on it; we saw two about a foot and a half long under one of the hutches about an hour later (wonder what they were doing under there?)
Speaking of leaky roofs (oh! We weren’t? Sorry.) Hey! Guess what! Our roof leaks! It’s built out of aluminum siding and at each joint the water pours in. Fortunately it just leaks in the aisle and not where anyone sleeps, although the water splashing on the floor sprays on my bed a little. I know of one time when it was raining harder inside than outside.
24th day, June 26
The Orient says Hi. Everybody’s out on another ambush patrol tonight, again in driving rain carrying more equipment than I’d care to carry across the company area. Every time they go out and come back wet, tired, and blistered, I feel rather guilty by staying back in our nice semi-dry hutch. Nobody seems to mind though, in fact they say they hope I can stay out of it for the whole year and they wish they had the same luck. A few of the old veterans say that they didn’t have any school at all but sent out after their first few days. I’m glad they made the new rules.
I thought of a title for this whole little ridiculous diary; also someone I could dedicate it to. I’ll work on a few more and maybe I can come up with a good one.
Two helicopters lit over in the area when I started this, and are still out there. I don’t know what they’re doing, but they shut them off and everybody inside disappeared somewhere. Wish I had my camera. I’d go take a shower now, but it’s raining and there’s no roof on the shower stalls.
25 days, June 27
We spent 4 hours taking all the tin off the roof and putting it back on in such a manner that the water wouldn’t’ collect at the point of the roof and leak inside like it has been. Now it leaks everywhere, at the joints and now at the places where the nails had been before. Guess I’ll take the mosquito net down tonight and sleep under my poncho instead.
They go out again all night to night in the rain. They say they only get about 1-hour’s sleep when they go out on these patrols. They spend the rest of the following day sleeping.
Guess I’ll watch TV again tonight.
(yawn)
26 days, June 28
I invented a game today: The rules are simple; just roll the dice and advance along the trail and see if you can make it through the day. First turn off the air-conditioner. If you use coins for markers, use piastres only – actually grains of rice or shell casings work best. (use only one dice cube to make it more interesting).
27 days, June 29th
Everybody got drunk again last night so I went to the movie with a couple other guys. Walking back we witnessed another helicopter battle.
An airplane was circling the area, just outside the bunker line, dropping flares while the choppers and gun-ships circled firing their machine guns. They would criss-cross, the chopper on the right with the one on the left, then concentrating their fire on one spot they would come across each other’s path, blasting the Cong on the ground below. After a while they started shooting their rockets and grenade launchers (400-500 grenades a minute) then the plane with the mini-gun arrived. Shortly afterward everything was quiet. Apparently Charlie doesn’t like the mini-gun.
It was quite a display; flares, machine gun tracers from 4 choppers (2 guns each) rockets, and grenades from the choppers, and the steady stream from the mini-gun (tonight it sounded more like static on a radio). I guess that’ll be my 4th of July celebration for this year.
A few of us gathered around later and began telling ghost stories and all the strange things that had happened to us at one time or another; haunted houses, cemeteries, and monsters on Hoover Dam [A reservoir located north of Columbus, Ohio.] One guy was a real serious believer in ghosts, etc., so after he had gone to bed, a couple of us went over to his hutch and started scratching at the screen, but he didn’t wake up. We went inside and undid two strings on his mosquito net – nothing. We each took a corner of his cot and picked it up and slowly rocked it back and forth. Imagine waking up with your bed gently rolling and that light, tingly mosquito net laying on you after 2 hours of ghost stories. It took us half an hour to talk him down out of the rafters.
Excuse me, but I hear something outside my window out in the garden. “An’ the goblins’ll get ya, if ya don’t watch out!” [Reference to James Whitcomb Riley’s Little Orphant Annie poem.] Boo-b
27 days, June 29
Greetings from Marine Land of the Pacific,
I decided to go to the movie last night, but since our local projector is broken (lose 1 turn) I had to walk up to the other theater (?) about 1 mile up the road. On the way there, one of the guys came by in a jeep and offered me a ride.
There’s a rule on post about having either goggles or windshields on the jeeps. Since recon’s jeeps don’t have windshields, we’re supposed to use goggles – we don’t. The MPs stopped us before we had gone too far for driving without goggles. He didn’t have his license, ID card, or dog tags, so they hauled us down to the station. He laughed, ”Just like back in the world on Saturday night in the police station.” The Fuzz didn’t do anything but the first sergeant got upset and had us filling in a garbage pit today. What makes me mad is that the jeep was not even supposed to be out of the motorpool (that’s what got the 1st Sgt. mad). I was an innocent hitchhiker, and they act like it was my idea to take it out.
It seems that in a combat zone the MPs should have something better to do than arrest people for driving without goggles.
Today had its brighter moments, though. I got paid! $175; that’s $100 more than my biggest army paycheck to date. The next should be a little larger with a full month at PFC and no deduction for my bond. Needless to say I bought a camera - $90 gone.
It’s a Petri FT, if that interests you. Has an interchangeable lens, self-timer, light meter, 17.6 degree anglized view inter-mixer, and an f 7.85 five speed shutter control valve. One model I looked at had all that plus a 1900 c.c.d.o.h.c. diaphragm hop-up kit, and Petri’s exclusive 10-14 second aperture control dial, which serve no purpose other than to add to the looks of your photographic equipment. But I couldn’t see that for $30 extra, could you?
At first I thought whenever I find out who sent my address to the Dispatch [Columbus, Ohio, newspaper], I’d kill them, but now I don’t know. I got one letter from some woman in Lancaster (she probably wrote to find out if it rains in Vietnam as much as it does in Lancaster – remember?) She was 65 years old, had a 70 yr. Old husband, and a 40 year old son-in-law who can’t read and write, but can plow real good. She has lumbago, her husband likes records, but has hardened arteries and heart: plus his age” (as if 65 is that much younger than 70). She buys records at the Goodwill store for 10c or 5c. Her husband’s first wife got killed by a cow . . . It’s weird, some dumb hillbilly. I sent the letter to my parents to show them what they got me into. Too bad she wasn’t some wealthy widow wanting to send me money.
I think I’ll write her and tell her how we wiped out that VC regiment with the slingshots and tweezers. “All the guys had slingshots but me; they shot ball bearings from the wheels of the jeeps. When they ran out of ball bearings, I had to go out and recover them from the bodies with my tweezers.” (You thought I was kidding about that, didn’t you?)
The other letter though was from a girl named Brenda, 17, from Marion-Franklin High. She says “I am 4’11’’, blonde hair and blue eyes.” So what; so was Harpo Marx. She like to bowl and dance and go to the drags. But I figure I might as swell look into this a bit farther, I mean, after all . . . at least Harpo had money.
I got your letter today. If someone wants to print this it’s fine with me, but you’d better straighten out the poor English and spelling that sneaks in every now and then. I don’t know who would want to do it, but go ahead and try. If they do print it, I’ll probably be embarrassed, but I usually am anyway.
Jere’s ‘Beam [Sunbeam sports car] sounds good, but he’d better watch old Uncle Sam, this is no place for 28” Sunbeams. Of course I can’t really think of any place that is. Tell him to at least leave his sweat shirt home when he goes so I can wear it.
What’s Marlynn doing? Going to summer school? I still think she’s making a mistake (sorry Marlynn, I sound like a father; I’ll say it different) I still think she’ll be missing a lot by not going for her senior year. Everybody should be a senior in High School at least once; it’s what’s happening. I wish I was back in my senior year – oh, brother, do I!
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