July 26 - July 31 1967

53 days, 26 July ’67

My first chopper ride – wow! Really a lot of fun. We went to Bao Trai air strip (not the one in our front yard – the one mentioned before we went to Sugar Mill.) and waited an hour for the choppers.

The choppers came in a single file – entered from the rear of the strip and hovered about a foot off the ground as we climbed in. They shuddered and shook, and suddenly they were gone. Those things get up – it seems – almost instantly, then they lean to make a turn and you swear you’ll fall out. There’re no doors, just a big opening about the size of a garage door on each side.  The air and the noise, plus the open space makes you feel like you’re flying yourself, by yourself. You sit on a little bench, big enough for 6 people; two guys sat in the door, with their feet dangling in space; the way the slightest wind or turbulence will affect these things, slowing them down and shoving them around like feathers, I don’t see how they sit there. Worse yet, there are no seat belts on the benches either. The gunners sit in little seats, about half in and half out of the chopper – they have belts. They fly a rather tight formation, probably 30 feet apart, or so. You look out, and, if it weren’t for the unbearable noise, you could talk to the guys in the next “bird” – to the guys on the bench beside you, for that matter. Quite an experience!

They came over our landing area, and dropped from 10,000 feet to about 6 feet, as rapidly as they had clum (climbed?). Where’s my stomach? We jumped, and immediately sank to our knees in mud – right in a rice paddy. This was a real bad moment for me. The lieutenant’s radio operator was back at Cu Chi on an appointment, and I was given the 40# radio to carry on my back, the second day; bad news: I would have been all right, if it hadn’t been for the first 200 meters across the paddy to high ground. The mud was sometimes hip deep! The water was only 2 feet deep.

The first 100, I was fine, but I couldn’t make the second 100. I was stuck, waist deep in mud! Both legs were immobile. They had to come back, get the radio and help me out – to high ground. I’ve never been so tired – or so humiliated, in my life. I could hardly stand, once I got better footing, I almost collapsed right there.  I held up the whole movement about 10 minutes, and what’s worse, everybody else make it with comparatively no sweat.

Sergeant “Rock” was kinda mad, but the lieutenant was a little more human than the average army sergeant, and gave the radio to someone else. I think he realized that I’m not used to that kind of thing yet. If I had been on dry ground I could have handled the radio (I got it back later). Or if I hadn’t been carrying the radio I could’ve made it through the mud. I just hope it doesn’t happen again.

We went into the village. (I got lost for a few minutes in the bushes – more embarrassment). Actually it’s not a real village – just a large area of farm housed. That’s the way it works – acres of water and rice, surrounding little islands, where the farmers make their homes.  We searched every house we came to, and the ARVNs questioned anyone who happened to be around (I wish I had my camera). At one house we – or rather the ARVNs – found 16 mm & M-16 ammo clips – loaded, and several lengths of fuse and wire. They captured 5 VC and 4 more suspects right in this one area. These little guys really know their stuff; they found these things hidden in places we would never have thought of.

We were sitting around eating coconuts, sugarcane, bananas and pineapple, plus a few other things I couldn’t identify, and, in a general way were relaxing and having a good time – waiting for orders to move on. From out of nowhere there came some shots, real close. We all jumped behind anything available, and really didn’t know what was happening – at least I didn’t. It was an ARVN running toward a clump of bamboo. There were more shots – from the bamboo – and the ARVN disappeared in the grass. I saw him again crawling toward the clump. The VC stood up and aimed his pistol right at the ARVN (we call him Number 10) and pulled the trigger – empty, just like in the movies. Number 10 jumped up and let the VC have a full round in the head. Pretty gruesome, but that’s what happened. (Number 10 had borrowed the lieutenant’s radio man’s M-16, and had if full automatic. The 20 rounds were out before he knew what was happening.) Good thing he didn’t miss; he didn’t know how to reload the thing!

There was nothing left of the VC’s head – just a lot of blood, brains and shattered bone. (burp) Number 10 was pretty proud of himself. Quite a brave little guy. The excitement over, we settled sown to lunch again. 15 minutes later we were fired on again, from the other side of the clearing. Again the ARVNs ran right to the spot – this time we were right behind. Again Number 10 unloaded a magazine, wounding one VC and killing the second. I don’t know how these guys can find where the VC are hiding. I never saw them at all till they pulled them out of their holes.(the preceding two paragraphs are quoted in Andrew Carroll’s book, Behind the Lines.)

This time, we started back toward our pickup area. We went across the river – hard bottom, neck high water, 20 feet across, and through another barnyard. Across some more water – canals – jungle – into another barnyard. That’s the way they’re laid out – little clearing with  barnyard and sometimes house, more jungle and then another “ranch”. We found one with a corral-type fence, a separate barn for animals and a clean yard. The inside of the house had a tile floor (brick and tile) and pictures on the wall. A regular “Ponderosa” compared to the rest. This gook had money; he served us a bowl of rice with pork gravy – delicious.

We were supposed to take any men old enough to tote a gun, but this guy had an ID card saying he was straight, so we let him go. The ID cards are given to honest VC by the government so they won’t be mistaken for enemy VC. I don’t know how they determine such things. (Maybe the same way they call a truce on New Year’s.) I thought everybody out there was an enemy. Maybe they’ve been captured once and cleared. We inspected a couple more houses, and then we were shot at again. There was a slight commotion among the ARVNs and we ran over to where they were congregated. Right in the middle of the group was Number 10 with an empty, smoking M-16 at his feet, in a small foxhole, and at the bottom of the foxhole was a messed up body of a VC (Number 10’s quite a tiger). We searched a little while longer, and then were picked up by the choppers in a VN cemetery.

We had a party tonight with the ARVNs and the USs. Here, I found out, that this is the first time that the ARVNs and the USs have been integrated, so far as having both squads in a platoon. We’re called C.R.I.P. (or Operation CRIP) for Combined Recon. Intelligence Platoon. It’s an experiment aimed at eventual total integration of forces; with hopes that as soon as the ARVN are experienced enough the US can pull out. That’ll be the day.

These guys are really “cool”. I keep saying “LITTLE” – actually they’re our age, or more, but about 2 feet shorter. They look like a bunch of Boy Scouts, or dwarfs, or something. We call their lieutenant “Pee-Wee”. There’s “Number 10” of course, and some cat we call “Little Joe”, another we call “Kirby” – as “Kirby” in combat, because he carries a B.A.R. They all know the names we have given them, and they use them themselves. Only the lieutenant speaks any English, but still everybody understands everybody else pretty well, and we get along fine.

They had a ball at the party. They laughed their fool heads off at a Roger Williams record – “Do Wacka Do” (“I wish I had your happiness, and you had my do wacka do”).They’d sing then roll on the floor giggling and laughing. We put on a Ventures record and a couple of the guys got the little guys to dance (Twist, Frug, etc.) They weren’t sure what was happening, but they liked it. It’s really an interesting experience working with these guys. It’s nice to know that they know what they’re doing, too – I didn’t mention this, but they found and captured or destroyed the weapons and ammo they wanted, and they killed three VC and captured 5 others, all on their list.  Everybody they wanted, they got. One platoon did more in 8 hours than the whole battalion has done in the past week (hence the party).

It’s hard to write every day, I’ll confess. “Today” is actually 10:30 the night of the 27th. This whole letter is a remembrance of the past two days. I’ve just put down what I remembered, and what I thought of at the time these things happened. It’s rather hard to do, and not as accurate – or perhaps as interesting – as if I wrote the same day, but so far, that has not been possible. I think I’ve covered everything pretty well, though, even if it has been like something copied out of an encyclopedia, instead of my own thoughts. On the next letter . . . . I’ll see what happened today (my first firefight – shooting and shooting back for about 15 minutes) and tomorrow and probably the next day. Mailing out is no problem. I can mail from here, but incoming mail has to wait for someone to bring it out from Cu Chi. I wish we could have it sent directly here. Xin loi.

Leaving you in suspense,

 

55 days, July 27

(Written July 28 from Cu Chi

We had the same type mission today, only this time we didn’t land in knee deep mud, and everything was all right. The choppers are a ball to ride in; you feel as though you’re flying on your own power; you’re so close to the outside – I sat on the door edge with my feet dangling out like a damn fool.

Dad, tell Bill Moore at Western Electric that I’m ready to go up with him now.

Vietnam from the air looks like one of the Kansas floods, or something – that’s right, a disaster area – miles of flooded countryside, with little islands of farms or villages. I saw Cu Chi base camp. It’s really big! Like Ft. Knox in size (just the main part of Ft. Know). It’s also an island. I could see the road. I could see the road we travel on all the time, and the “pits” where we were for those first days I the field. The Gladys artillery site is on island with five gun positions arranged in a perfect star (guns at the points).

One other thing, when the choppers come in low to land, you ought to see the rhinoceroses run, dragging gooks behind them like rag dolls (sorry, I mean water buffalo).

We went into a little village area with a few more houses than the other place, but with the same mission – capture all men without ID cards, plus any weapons found. We had a photographer with us all day today, taking pictures of everything. Maybe this ARVN/US experiment is important after all. I wonder how that guy got his job. He had an arm band saying “Combat Photographer”. Wish I could get a job like that. It’s still dangerous, but is suits me better, much better.

We searched the whole village and surrounding bushes and houses, and found two land mines, 10 VC (or VC suspects) plus about 4 or 5 VC tunnels (I found one). We were all digging around, trying to find things, and the ARVN were questioning the women. Really curious isn’t it? There are plenty of women and millions of kids, but no men in sight. About every ten huts, there’d be an old man, or someone with an ID card.  You ask, “Where is Pappa San” and they say, “Pappa San go to Saigon.” You know that they don’t know where Saigon is, much less have a way to get there. Still, there’s no men in the huts or in the fields.

We were all gathered on the road getting ready to go back to the pickup point, when automatic fire come from the road. Quicker than I could know what was happening, everyone had turned, and we were assaulting the wood-line on the other side of the village. One long line of ARVNs and USs sweeping through the village, firing M-16s, M-60s, .45 pistols, l38s (privately owned – slightly illegal) M-79 grenades, ARVN B.A.R.s & .30 caliber carbines, and Thompson machineguns. A lot of fire power against one sniper. We were firing right through the village at the woods. Pans and dishes, etc., were falling off the walls and tables in the huts. (I think we got a couple of chickens and pigs.) I don’t know how the women and children weren’t hit; if they had stood up to see what was happening, I’m sure we would have hit them. The sniper must have been dug in pretty well. All that lead going in his direction, and all those M-79 grenades, and he still managed to return fire; he couldn’t get up high enough to see what he was shooting at – consequently he missed everything.

The bad part about the whole deal was we couldn’t see him either. It was about 5 minutes before I fully realized what was happening – I thought it was a whole VC company and I didn’t see how they could tell even what direction the fire was coming from. (I shot a butterfly)

We pushed on, toward the woods, and got to within about 5 yards (meters) and saw smoke coming from a bush. Every gun in the platoon opened up on that  bush; my 20 round magazine (all tracers) went directly into it – I know, how did we miss fire? We stopped firing and he didn’t fire back. We approached where he had been, but found not even a trace – only empty shells and foot prints. We searched those woods for half an hour, and never found a trace.

A firefight like that is rather frightening, especially for Charlie, I would imagine. I imagine that within 10 minutes we must have unloaded 2,000 rounds of ammo. It was a constant roar of gunfire, with the occasional burst of a grenade, and a couple of guys losing their minds, trying to find a rifle rod to unload their M-16, M-30, .45, .30, BAR ammo, plus I know of 8 grenades I heard go off. It was a constant roar of gunfire with an occasional burst of a grenade and a couple of guys losing their minds trying to find a rifle-rod to un-jam their M-16s (mine worked like a charm – it was clean!) Needless to say, the photographer went crazy – especially when a disturbed elephant (I mean, water buffalo) charged him. The fool stood there and took pictures of him coming while we threw rocks at him (the buffalo) to make him turn. We couldn’t shoot, for fear of hitting one of us.

We went out to the pickup zone finally, and loaded everybody, including the VC (captives) into the choppers. Those VC were really scared! The pilots were doing all kinds of things to scare them. If they could have flown upside down, I’m sure they would have. I don’t think the VC were any more scared that I was tho’.

This didn’t happen, but I’ve heard of people pushing VC out of the choppers because they wouldn’t talk. Interpreters especially will push out a couple \who won’t talk, to scare the others into talking. (Ow!)

The choppers dropped us in the rice paddies, and we had to walk to Bao Trai, 1000 meters across the fields. I thought that was quite rude of them. I did discover that they grow peanuts in Vietnam. They grow in the same kind of fields as the rice, and are on the roots of the peanuts like a radish or potato or something, only there are many to one plant. Also I saw a couple of women catching huge bull frogs and tearing off the legs and throwing the rest back One ate the legs raw!

56 days, 28 July ’67

We were supposed to go out after two squads of VC reported to be in the area today, but the lieutenant came in and told us to pack, we’re going to Cu Chi. I was kinda glad. It eased some of the tension. I was confused enough yesterday, with the sniper; I don’t know what I would have done against a whole squad. It’s pretty bad when someone’s shooting at you, and everybody else is shooting, a and no one really knows what they’re doing. You feel like a fool, not knowing what to do for sure, and feeling suddenly alone and forgotten.

We are going to Duc Hua and run convoys to Cu Chi for a couple of days; then back to Bao Trai and the elfish ARVN. Who knows, every time they say “4 months.” It turns out to be “4 days, now they say two days – yeah now you’ve got the idea – now it’ll be two months.

They all left at 1:00 p.m., except me and another guy. We went to a “demolition school. Why? Beats me. I guess we’ll go out tomorrow when they come in with a convoy (back to riding jeeps again!) The school was just a repeat – re-run – of what we had in replacement school. Ridiculous. I suppose now  we’re demo experts – on paper anyway.

“Home” again for awhile,

Bob

Note to Mother Hughes

Here’s your article – I forgot to send it before --, plus a cartoon from the Chattanooga Times. Vietnam & latest riots good examples? And man turning off Bad News and saying “I think I’ve found the missing link between animal and civilized man ---us”)

Tell Phil S. I thank him for the subscription to Competition Press. I’ll write him later.

57 days 29 July 67

Mot

From Duc Hoa,

I’ve sent my first two roles of film – all are quite good. There’s only one difference – now my foot locker has a picture of a Lotus Elan beside Marlynn. I guess I won’t be able to get any more pictures of the replacement school area (I’l explain later). I bought  Unsafe at Any Speed at the PX. I’ll finally be able to read it. I got about half way through it once, but my career interrupted my reading.

We’ve got a new C.O. and he’s a real dud. He’s one of these guys that likes everything by the book S.O.P. Now (all this has taken place since I was in last time) they have a police call formation at 7:00 every morning – revelry at 5:30 – we had none of this before. That got everyone in Recon pretty mad, to begin with. We left again for Bao Trai and came back yesterday. I was the only one in this morning (Demo school). Everyone else was out at Duc Hoa. They got me up at 5:30 (I promptly went back to sleep after the clown – whoever it was – left) and again at 7:00 for the formation.

Later this morning the platoon come in after running a convoy, and the C.O. came around inspecting the barracks. He was disturbed because there was live ammunition in the hutch and on the jeeps – what did he expect, blanks? Seems he wants all ammo in the bunker, “even if you’re only in for five minutes”. Also – all shoes under the bunks will be polished, there will be no clothes or equipment hung on the walls, the partitions will be torn down as they are not in the building plans, and are a hazard to escape in case of fire. The canvas at each end of the hutch to keep out the rain is, also, not in the plans – it has to go. We had to cut all the weeds along the hutch, and worst of all – the Playboy calendars had to go!

Things like this are asinine. (Sensenbrenner for mayor!). The Lt. Col. got a little angry about the whole thing and now we’re moving out of Cu Chi altogether. Bunks, trunks; everything we own will be taken with us anywhere we go. The only time we go to Cu Chi is for maintenance on the vehicles, mail, and pay day.  That’s why I probably won’t have time to get my pictures of the mines and booby traps school – too bad – they had some interesting displays.

I’m glad we’re not going to stay here any more. It was all right while I was there but all this started, I think, a couple of days after I had gone to the field.  If it had been like this before I would have gone to the school and begged for a class. The field is no fun and a lot more dangerous, but at least it makes a little sense and you’re doing something important (although it is unnecessary) and nobody goes around giving you a lot of trouble with spit shine and harassment like you get in Cu Chi nowadays (basic and AIT also). I don’t feel I’m in training now. I’ve had enough harassment in basic and AIT and I can’t take it here – I’ll take my chances with Charlie!

So now we’re in Duc Hoa (that’s the correct spelling – Doo Qua). We’ll be here supposedly fro about 3 days, running convoys to Cu Chi, then we move back to Bao Trai.

We’re in a large troop tent that looks like someone has been shooting a shotgun through the top. At least we have a wooden floor – it looks like a civil war hospital, too. One guy set up his pup tent inside the big tent to keep dry. Again, we’re right in the middle of an artillery sight and the tent leaks every time a gun goes off – even when it’s not raining. There’s a lot of mud and sandbag bunkers and gun en-placements, all crowded into one small area, and it’s quite congested. I haven’t been to the club or PX (yes, a PX) yet, but they say it’s even nicer than Bao Trai – R&R, even.

Bao Trai didn’t have a PX. As in Sugar Mill, the goodies are inside the compound, and we’re outside, but at least they’re nearby. Also, like Sugar Mill, the compound is a village occupied by gooks and Special Forces and ARVNs, surrounded by a brick wall, with us and the artillery all around (no guard for us though).

58 days, 30 July ’67

Ba

Went to the club last night. Beautiful! I’ve seen worse places back in the world. The village surrounding the compound is just a normal “seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all” village. But the compound itself is all stucco buildings with grass lawns and sidewalks. Like Bao Trai, there is a yard with palm trees and lawn chairs and umbrellas. The club has a complete bar – walnut and leather and brass, beer on tap, mixed drinks, Cokes, etc. You can get sandwiches ranging from a hamburger to tuna fish. There are slot machines, soft chairs, air conditioning, and stereo music. It’s about like Bao Trai, only a little more plush and complete. I hope the pictures I took come out, so you’ll believe it. They have Vietnamese girls waiting tables and working behind the bar. Just like downtown.

Remember I said that our tent looked like someone had been shooting a shotgun through the roof? It rained last night and the tent hot only leaks at the 4,125 B.B. sized holes, but every place else; there’s no waterproofing; might as well sleep under a mosquito net. Remember, also, I laughed at the guy who had a tent inside the tent? Last night there were two – his and mine. There is a 3 foot-high wall of sandbags around the inside of the tent. I put 2 corners of my poncho under the top layer of bags, and tied the other ends to the center tent poles. I had a section of pup tent pole in each of my boots, and used them to support the sides.

Wonderful! No rain, no leaks. I was just about asleep when the tent fell in – not mine, the whole tent. First I thought it was just my poncho caving in, then another rope pulled out and one of the main tent poles fell across my forehead, and all the water which was being stored in the dip in my poncho gave me a midnight bath. Now the whole heavy tent was down on top of everybody. It took us an hour to set it up again – 12:30-1:30. I guess the ropes were too tight and shrunk, pulling the stakes out of the mushy mud.

By the time it was put back up, I had to go pull an hour’s guard on the jeeps. I think I managed about 3 hours sleep all night, and not a dry moment.

We had a bit of bad news this morning. Last night the ARVNs (just pronounce it “Arvin”, as in the electric fan brand) were out on an ambush patrol and got hit by two platoons of VC. They killed about 5 VC and captured quite a few. But the American advisor, Capt. Barkman, was wounded slightly, and the ARVN lieutenant, the one we called Pee Wee, was killed.

If we hadn’t been here in Duc How for these two days, we would have been out there with them. My reaction to it was mixed; shock and relief that we weren’t there. I guess you don’t think like that though. Everybody else is screaming for blood. They feel that they should’ve been there where they were supposed to be, and where they would have done some good instead of sitting here doing nothing. Because the battalion HQ doesn’t know what they’re doing and keeps moving us around.

I can see their point. If we had been there with our superior fire power, it might have been a different story and we could have saved Pee Wee’s life. Of course, it could have been one of us, but like I say, you’re not supposed to think like that over here. We would have doubled their size in number and tripled their fire power – VC wouldn’t have much of a chance. It’s a shame. Maybe this is an example of the great morale you hear about over here.

We took choppers back to Cu Chi today for supplies. Every time I get inside one of those things, they’re more fun. This wasn’t one of the big UHBs; it was the little bubble cockpit deals – aviation’s answer to the sports car.

I guess the lieutenant’s serious about leaving the Cu Chi camp for good. At least until we receive a direct order to come back. We took everything out of the hutches – they’re bare now – and took it out to the field. Now we’ll never have to come in to pick something up, or to spend the night. And they can’t bother us with their little games they like to play while we’re in – police calls, putting guys on guard, and KP, even if they’re in for only one day – yech!

It’ll be a true rat patrol now. Even the division commander calls us the “rat pack” (from the TV show “Rat Patrol”). We have jeeps and do about the same type of work as TV’s Rat Patrol does. It’s getting to be a unit something like a McHale’s Navy, only a little more serious. Nobody wears the same uniform, etc.

I don’t know what will happen later this noon or tonight, so I’ll stop here and add the rest later. I’m writing early ‘cause I might not have the time or the light later on.

Nam

Nothing went on all day. The lieutenant went to Bao Trai to find out a little more about last night. The story now is that the platoon was out on an ambush patrol, and on the way to their planned ambush sight, they were ambushed by two platoons of VC. Their lieutenant was killed as they were withdrawing.

It’s really sad around here. The whole atmosphere reminds me of the time President Kennedy was assassinated. Nobody can really believe it happened. We were only associated with Pee Wee and his platoon for a few days, but he left quite an impression on everybody. They’re planning a full military funeral. If they have it in Bao Trai, our whole platoon will go. If they have it in Saigon, his birthplace and home, only the Lt. Col. will go.

No word on when we go back to Bao Trai or if we will at all, after this. One death usually doesn’t interfere with the war, but in such a specialized operation as this was, and with the ARVN lieutenant dead, and the American Advisor wounded, it might slow thing sown for quite a while. Pee Wee was the backbone of the whole 5-2 platoon. (Actually his name wounded like “Kiwi Loom”, although I have no idea how they would spell it. We just called him Pee Wee; S-2 is a short code name for the ARVN recon platoon.).

Since my old camera is broken and can’t be sent, I was going to buy an inexpensive ($30-$40) one on payday, but the guy I borrowed the camera I’m using now has offered to sell it to me for $20. He got it for $30, original PX price is $43 – US price is probably about $65. It works fine and has hardly been used, so I think I’ll get it and save about $20. Only thing wrong is no lens cover, but don’t sweat the small stuff. Just to satisfy curiosity, it’s a Petri 7-S; 2.8 f., 45 mm lens. Big deal!

In Mourning,

Bob

PS Hey Marlynn! For the first time in three issues your picture wasn’t in the P.O. Let’s get on the ball over there. 

 

59 days, 31 July ’67

Last night we had some ARVNs come to our tent trying to sell or buy most anything. The guy I was going to buy that camera from sold it to some clown for $45. Another guy sold a radio he bought used for $5, for $30. These were more typical ARVNs, unlike our S-2 boys, they’re kinda dumb and greedy – actually they’re pretty foolish.

One of the ARVNs could speak pretty good English and I had quite a conversation with him, trying to learn a little Vietnamese pronunciation. I especially wanted to find out how to say things like “banana” and “pineapple” so I could ask for them when we’re out in the jungle and the ARVNs are gathering lunch. The pineapple is delicious wild, and the bananas are only about 3 inches long but about the same thickness as ours, and are real sweet.

There are three 155mm guns about 50 meters outside our tent. They’re mounted on what looks like a tank – actually they’re just self-propelled guns. When they fire, the whole thing raises about 2 feet off the ground. I guess I should be used to this by now, but these are closer than any before – and bigger. When they shoot, it lifts you right off the bed. Today they fired a 4 round volley, and the sandbag will around our tent collapsed. Fine mortar protection!

Hooray! Today was payday. For some reason I got $343. I should have gotten $182. There’s an item on the voucher entitling me to $161, but no one knows what it means. I’ll probably find out when I only get $10 next month. Oh well, I sent $250 home and bought a camera and kept the rest. That $250 is a good start on my Lotus Elan fund.

A little excitement on the way back to Duc Hoa from Cu Chi. It was quite windy and rainy (whitecaps on the rice paddies). We were doing about 50 mph as usual; bouncing over the bumps and holes, holding on for dear life, when of the jeeps caught a hole wrong and flipped on its top in a paddy. Everyone was thrown clear, but the driver broke his hand and another guy scraped his arm pretty bad on the gravel there. Probably the only graveled section of the road in VN! The front fender of the jeep was pretty well crumpled. Think you can handle it, Jere? The machine gun mount served as a great roll bar, only it wasn’t too good on the machine gun. The jeep was propped up on the mount and the gun was completely buried under the muck.

When we got back, they had some VC prisoners locked up in a little chicken-wire cage. Sorry bunch of gooks, all dirty and worn out. One had a big gash on his shoulder and another had been shot in the chest, but was it appeared, in fairly good health. They just sat there like a couple of morons – didn’t even blink. They had a carton of C-rations in there for them, but they weren’t opened. Probably forgot the can opener. That’s pretty rough on prisoners – especially wounded ones; throwing them in a cage then giving them C-rations – insult to injury? Maybe it was humane, after all – leaving out the can opener.

Bao Trai

Bell Compound MAC V
(Military Assistance Command Vietnam)

Bell Compound is the living area that we lived in within the town of Bao Trai and worked out of each day, located in the middle of the town. It was occupied by our platoon; an approx. platoon sized, (20-30) element of signal guys; and a group of soldiers who were assigned to command headquarters in Saigon, Called MAC V, and came directly under the big brass; Gen. Westmoreland and company. (about 30-40 guys) The town of Bao Trai was a province/ district headquarters. A meeting town for the big brass from all V.N. and U.S. agencies. (Description provided by Leonard "Doc" Brooks)

Airstrip

July 22 - July 25, 1967

50th day, July 22

Mot

Hi (that’s original)

Got up this morning and went to KP. I was lucky though (despite the fact that I ran into a roll of barbed wire in the dark, and ripped a hole in my pants – and me). I only had to work for the morning meal, then they tore down the mess tent and let me off.

It was really quite amazing – in three hours the whole area was completely torn down and packed and ready to go. The artillery people had quite a complete bunker system, but destroyed it in about an hour. I thought it would take all day. All the sandbags were ripped open and burned, along with all the ammo boxes and everything else that they couldn’t take with them. We tore down all our bunkers and burned everything (so Charlie can’t use anything left behind against us – they’ll make hand grenades out of Coke cans.)

Of course, the whole artillery and security had to be in operation all night, for they had to do all the work the day they moved. The artillery fired all night as usual and we stood guard as usual. It’s funny – at first when one of the guns would shoot, I’d bounce clear off the air mattress, and never sleep. But now it doesn’t even phase me, yet I’ll wake up every time for my guard before they come to get me.

Hai

All the guns and heavy stuff were airlifted by Chinook choppers. For about one and a half-hours these monsters were constantly landing and taking off with a load.

They’re about as big as our house, only narrower and twice as tall (maybe a little longer). Those big double blades kick up a 120-mph windstorm when they come in; one blew a loose 155mm round across the road, and a large iron skillet from the mess hall. Another surprised a little kid who got too close and threw him into the rice fields. Didn’t hurt him; just scared the Hell out of him. It served him right though. He was one of many trying to steal food from the pile of supplies the mass hall had ready for pickup.

We ran a column of trucks into Cu Chi and here we are. We’ll stay here tonight and probably tomorrow night, then – what, I don’t know. Looks like that 4-month stay at Sugar Mill turned out to be slightly less than 4 days. That’s the army.

Guess I’ll explain four letters in one day. I’ve been writing every day where possible, but there’s been no place to mail the letters. So, I’ve put the dates on the envelope.

Ba

Hope you opened them in the write/right order. I also got an accumulation of mail (for July 18-22) so I have quite a bit of reading and answering to do tonight (8 letters including your latest letters). Tell the Dispatch that the biggest morale factor here is the knowledge that they only have to spend a year over here, then go home. Also the increasing quality of the services in mail, PX facilities, benefits, savings, etc. They almost make it worthwhile. Also, I suppose the fact that now we’re bringing smoke down on Charlie and he’s losing on ever turn adds to it. From what I’ve seen the morale is high, but I will say there is no one who likes it over here. All this about the wounded soldiers in the hospitals wanting to get better – not to go back home but back to the fighting – I just can’t believe unless maybe there was brain damage.

The big thing though is the 1-year limit on your time. You hear it at least ten times a day from ten different guys “I got 232 days left”, or “I got 12 days left” (would you believe I’ve got 315 days left?)

As far as personalities are concerned, it was Jonathan Winters. He was terrific. It they meant military personalities, I’ve met Sgt. Rock and according to him, Sgt. Rock is the only important person in V. N. (Oh, yes, I had a brief indirect encounter with Gen. Westmoreland, but let’s not mention that any more).

Bon

My reactions to every and anything, you’re getting every day; at least I’m trying to. That, I can promise you.

I’m glad Marlynn Is having a good time at O. C. [Otterbein College] I was her picture in the P. O. [local newspaper] (Wow – you look like a college girl!) in connection with - ? - ? – something about a rhinoceros (sorry I can’t remember exactly). It brought to mind the fact that I‘ve never seen Marlynn perform in public on stage (sorry, again).

Mother said Marlynn is “growing up so fast”; said she saw her drive into the driveway (well, congratulations, at least you missed the fire plug and birch trees.) and “she looked like she was 23 instead of 16 – gray hairs already. That’s nothing, you looked 19 when you were twelve.

Jere, buddy, you’d better hope you can get to school before you get grabbed – then again they’ll get you when you get out, but maybe this will be over by then. The way it’s going, it could be over before I leave. But as Ho Chi Minh says, “We (NVN) can afford to lose longer than the US can afford to win.” Grim truth. 

Nam

Yes, I got your butterfly letter – airmail, of course. Also, what cartoon of a duckling? I remember so such animal. Maybe I was asleep too. Too much morphine sulfate?

Back in Charlie, Charlie (radio code for Cu Chi base camp)

P.S. I just had a [light bulb]. In addition to the bad habits, language, etc that we’ve given these people, we’ve made them swindlers, cheats, thieves, etc. They’re also drunks, dope addicts (in the field the beer’s free for GIs) and 75% of the female population from age 12 to 25 are prostitutes. Maybe Jere would like it after all.

51 days, July 23

That’s right, we’re leaving tomorrow; again for about 4 months. This time we’ll be attacked to a group of A. R. V. N. doing, for the first time for this platoon, the platoon’s actual mission – recon. In fact, the lieutenant says he’s never heard of any recon platoon anywhere doing recon until now.

We’re going to an area where no Americans have ever been. The place used to be lousy with VC, but it is generally uninhabited now. We’re supposed to gather intelligence from the area with the help of the ARVN, and National Police, about the area and possible VC left there. We’ll be living in an ARVN compound, I hope, and doing work on jeeps, on foot, and by helicopter. We’ll be on our own. Nobody over us except our own lieutenant – that part should be beautiful; the lieutenant is a great guy and a good officer.

That’s all I know, except they did say that they would try to have mail every-other day, if possible.

We had the day off today, to go to the PX, etc. Just hot and lazy all day. I’m no longer the “new guy” now. Three new guys have been assigned to Recon. They only have a half a month in country, and are going to the field already – guess I was lucky; they didn’t get a waiting period, they went to school the second day they got here.

I should be getting some pictures back soon, which I’ll send home as soon as possible. Also, Dave Ogg is sending my Argus slide camera to me, so now I’ll be able to take pictures out in the field.

I hope you noticed my writing is a little bit improved. I think it’s the paper. I just got it today and it has a special sheet with heavy black line so I write straighter and a little clearer maybe.

The thing is I write the same way I talk, too fast and I get mixed up in both, and make mistakes – leaving out letters, adding letters, misspelling, thinking one thing and writing another. At times I’ll make a mistake and cross it out, make the same one again, cross it out, and so on. Or throw the whole page away and start over.

It’s also the way I think my writing – the things I say – is spontaneous. I put the first thing down that comes to mind. If it happens to be the right thing, I can think of a few comments to go along with it; if I’m in the wrong mood, or just happen to put something down that doesn’t ring a bell or something – nothing happens, dull letter. If I try to stop and think what I’m going to say before I write it, I draw a blank.

Everything has to be spontaneous if it doesn’t come to mind instantly it doesn’t have a chance. I often think of something I should have said afterward, but it’s too late. It it’s a real gem, I write it down and save it for some other time, hoping that writing it down will make it stick; I never look at it again, usually.

About the only pre-planning I do is to jot down high points of the day and trust my reactions and comments too memory – it usually turns out pretty good. It isn’t hard, while I write I try to think of what I would say if talking to you in person – anything I ever say is the same way – anything that pops into my weird little mind – and I stress “little”. On the move again, Bob

PS  I know this is short but I thought I’d send it so you’d know what’s happening and you’d know why you might not get another for a few days – it might take a while before I can mail any more, but I will write if I can, if I have to summarize two or three days together.

53 day, 25 July ’67

Mot

From the Bao Trai Hilton,

We moved out this morning headed for the field once again. Our base of operations was supposed to be Gladys (artillery sight we were securing a few days ago) but the lieutenant didn’t like where they tried to put us – it was as bad as Sugar Mill, only with tents. He said no thank-you and we came to Bao Trai (Bow Try – bow as in bow-wow) where our headquarters were. They gave us a shed for our barracks and now here we are – Bao Trai Hilton. Only thirty steps away from the Bao Trai International Airport.

This place is all right. We’re right inside Bao Trai itself in an ARVN compound. It’s more like a resort area in a way – palm trees and grass, concrete sidewalks, stucco buildings, flush toilets; there’s a garden with picnic tables and umbrellas on a patio outside the club.  The club is more than adequate; TV, movies, pool, drinks from Coke to martinis, mixed by real Vietnamese bartenders, and sandwiches, hamburgers, etc.

There’s a girl that comes around every morning and picks up any laundry and sweeps out our hutch. Laundry is one-day service. All this cost 500p a month per man.

Our hutch isn’t really that great. Just a wooden building about 20’x16’. Has a tin roof and concrete floor. The sides are solid about three feet high, then the rest is open up to the roof, “screened-in’ by lattice work. There’s a shelf at one end for the equipment. We’ve got about 18 guys sleeping on the floor on air mattresses. With everybody all sprawled out, it looks like a Civil War field hospital. Nearly everyone has their mosquito net up, and all their clothes, weapons, and equipment hanging on the wall, from the rafters, or on the lattice work.

It’s really nice, though; dry and comfortable. They’re going to let us bring our cots; and foot lockers out soon. The club is open from 12 noon to 12 at night. Only one thing disagreeable with the compound; we’re right beside the helicopter pad. This is bad, not only because of noise, but when they come in and take off, they blow all the clothes, etc., off the lattice.

We’re free to wear just about what we want. Everybody has a hat (similar to mine) and a few have camouflage fatigues to match or contrast. It’ll make quite an interesting group portrait.

Hai

If course there’s a catch to all this. Our job is recon. We’re attached to a gung-ho group of ARVNs and American advisors. They move (mostly on foot) quickly and precisely. When they get intelligence reports of VC, they go out, try to find them, and when they do, they drop back and call support. If they don’t find them, they come back in. If they have to fight, they will, but their captain, an American, has priority when calling artillery in. Instead of calling a couple of rounds at a time as is the normal practice, he’ll call in all ten guns, sometimes six round each. Even for 5 or 6 VC, it’s 10 guns, one or two rounds each. They don’t play around.

Most of the time it is find the VC, drop back with as little contact as possible, and call in either artillery or gunships. We’re not to engage them in a firefight while waiting for support unless there’s no other way out. In 9 months since they started this, they’ve either captured or killed 300 or more VC – quite a record for a 20-man platoon! They’re a good group.

Now they’ve got our 26 men plus four gun jeeps, our .50 caliber machine gun on the ¾ ton truck and our 106 jeeps.

We went out this afternoon. They call it humping. We drove sown a deserted road and stopped. Everybody loaded up with grenades and ammo. Everybody had at least 100 rounds of machine gun ammo across his shoulders. We started out across the rice fields in a line, 26 men abreast, 10 meters apart, covers a lot of ground. The ARVNs went ahead of us about a hundred meters in the same type of formation.

Those rice fields are murder. A foot or two of water, on top of six inches to a foot or more of mud. They’re all plowed up and you can’t step without stumbling or tripping over the clods of mud. You can’t see where they are, because they’re under water. You just plod along hoping you hit a good spot each time. With 200 rounds of machine gun ammo, you really sink.. Then you have to pull your feet out each step.. You’re tired in the first 10 minutes.

We humped the paddies for an hour, then came to some hedgerows and thick jungle.

Ba

This stuff is impossible to get through. It’s so thick you have to stay within double arms-length of each other to maintain contact. Even then, it’s only voice contact – you can’t see three feet to either direction. The bamboo and thorns cut you to pieces – I ripped a pair of pants so bad they can’t be mended. I might as well rip the other leg and make shorts out of them.

Somehow we made it out of the woods and started across the fields again. Hadn’t gone far before we received two rounds of sniper fire from the wood-line we had just been through. We turned around and went back in and found nothing (except butterflies)

.

The captain decided to go back in and call it a day. As we left the woods for the last time, we looked back and about a hundred meters to our left we saw a gook casually walking from the wood-line, carrying two baskets on each end of a pole across his shoulders. I’d bet a month’s pay he had been shooting at us a few minutes before.

On the way back I learned from the lieut. that if you walk in the irrigation ditches in the rice field, it’s easier going. The water’s deeper by a foot, but the dirt underneath is nearly solid – not plowed up like the field itself. Once in a while you’re lucky and can walk a little way on a berm, high and dry.

There are many wells all over the area – dug, used, and abandoned, but still deep and full of water. Usually you can tell them because they are distinctly round and you can avoid them. A few are not so definite. I found one such well when I was jumping off a berm into the fields – right into a well. I never did touch bottom, but somehow managed to keep my head above water and climbed out. It felt good, actually – I was hot, but as the water evaporated I was cool the rest of the way back. That was really and unexpected surprise.

We came to an area with signs posted: “Tu dai”, meaning booby trap area. One boy missed stepping on a booby-trapped hand grenade by about two inches. The medic and I found an uncovered punji pit, about 2 feet cubed, with only two stakes in it.

We passed some old farm huts way out in the middle of nowhere. They had people living in them! VC, no doubt. As we came out of a hedgerow, we were faced with three angry water buffalo. When you see one of these things staring at you, stomping the ground and tossing its head, it looks more like a rhinoceros. They never charged but we were ready with our M-16s on full automatic, our machine guns and M-79s with canister rounds. We could have finished off a whole herd in about two seconds. Only bad part was we had them surrounded as we walked by; it they had moved, we would have shot each other as well as the elephants.

Tonight (and every night) we sleep – no guard. Tomorrow – who knows what? I feel pretty good about the whole thing really. I didn’t think I would. Part of it’s probably the fact we have nice quarters. Getting sniped at doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. In fact, I found myself one of the first going back into the woods after the guy – I don’t know what I was thinking of. The whole way these people operate and think – it’s great to see such confidence; it gives you confidence in yourself – that’s something I’ve never had before. Of course, there’s still the flutterbies,

but I think that’s only natural and healthy. When you stop seeing them and get too confident, that’s when you’re in the most trouble. I don’t know what I’ll feel the first time we get in a firefight. Hope the artillery has plenty or ammo.

I’m finally earning my money, Bob

PS. Copy those phrases I sent and send them back (keep the original cardboard for a souvenir). I forgot to copy them myself.

53 days, 25 July ’67  

Mot & Hai

H’lo

Today was real lazy. We were supposed to go out, so we sat around and waited, but nothing ever happened. I don’t know what to think about this whole situation yet, but I do know that these ARVNs are tough. They were way ahead of us yesterday, and weren’t as confused as we might have been. They work differently that US troops. When the sniper hit us, they dropped back, which is their usual procedure. We went in after him. They thought we were very brave for the; I think we were kinda stupid (although I did it anyway.)

They’ve brought in the news that we are going out tomorrow, at 8:00 – by chopper! There’s a village north of here where they’ve had reports of 7,000 pounds of weapons and ammo, and they have a list of about 8 VC they want captured or killed. Looks like I’ll see some stuff tomorrow.

July 15 - July 21, 1967

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