... you watch the cherries come in, the replacements. Instead of carrying a combat pack, they have huge rucksacks. They're carrying shaving cream, aftershave, razors. They have undershirts, underwear, notebooks, pens, a ton of stupid stuff. You see them on patrol trying to climb a hill, and they're sliding backward. Then you grab them and say, "Look. You can throw out the undershirts. You won't need them here. THe underpants, too. And the clean socks. You don't take your boot off in combat." A few crazies did take them off at night, but I never took mine off until given new ones. If there's an attack, how are you going to operate without boots in the jungle full of spines and pungi sticks? -Angel Quintana, US Army
Bernie,
I've just finished writing to Mom, so forgive me if this is sloppy or in any way cut short. Hers was quite a letter, as I was apologizing and such.
To answer some of your questions: yes, there are quite a lot of jungles, and quite a few rice paddies, seeing as that makes up most of their diet. There are mountains, covered in jungles, but I've also flown over a few fields of tall grass. Someone told me it was elephant grass; cuts your skin to ribbons. I hope we never have to land in it. The rice paddies are mostly water, with pathways, which we walk on, always a nerve wracking activity, as there is always the chance of stepping on a mine. It's like walking on an explosive tightrope. Camp is a lot of dirt, lot of men, lot of vehicles. We're not a large camp, so there's no airstrip, just a level field where the choppers are kept. I've heard guard duty over there is hell. If you get a post near a helicopter with a hard ass as a pilot, he's either waiting for you when you get out there to chew your ass out, or he checks up on you to chew your ass out, or he comes by when he knows you're getting off to (guess...) chew your ass out. One guy said this pilot did all three once. Said he nearly shot the bastard, if it hadn't been for the fact that not only would he face charges, but the guy was a damned good pilot, by anyone's telling.
Generally, the camp's all right. Yesterday, the rains started so it's turned to a huge mud puddle, but it's not that bad. Our company CO is trying to get us more socks though.
My unit has eleven guys, including me, so we're a couple short, but that's how it is. We've got a machine gunner, a radioman and a medic and the rest of us are your basic rifleman. The sergeant, Gunther Dennison, isn't a bad guy. Gives the short guys (not in height, but time. They're the ones who are going to go home soon) a break on patrols and doesn't make them walk point when they've got only a couple weeks left. Don't get me wrong, he can be a hard ass when he wants, or needs, to be, but he's generally a good guy. Then there's Bruce Greenwood, our machine gunner. He's all right too. As long as you're not on the wrong end of his gun, you're a friend. Scared me when I first met him, but then he started telling jokes and I think I must've cracked a rib, I was laughing so hard. Jordan McArthur is the only black man in the unit. He's usually quiet, but when he does talk, he's funny. He's got a wife. I've seen pictures; she's beautiful. Mark Abel is the radioman. The VC and NVA aim for radiomen, but he never mentions a word about being scared. The guys call him "Markable," and sadly, there's much truth to his nickname.
Who else? Well, there's David, but you already know him. And Stanley Klaiman I've mentioned. He's got a younger brother about your age, too, and a sister, a senior in high school. Just about all the guys (except David) are older than me. By far, Dave and I are the youngest. Danny Jessup is always smiling. Even when we're out on patrol and make contact. He's got a girlfriend, who happens to be a nurse, but she's stateside. He says that as soon as his time is up, he's going to ask her to marry him, soon as he sees her. Clay Goldstein is our medic. Haven't seen him work yet, but I'm sure he's good. I just hope I never have to find out firsthand. Then there's Clark Johnson and Billy Johnson. We call them by their initials, or first name. I've seen those two confuse the hell out of a lieutenant who didn't realize there were two Johnson's in our unit. Both of them are all right, though Billy gets scary when we make contact. He really hates the Vietnamese, which makes me really glad I'm on his side. When we caught fire leaving an LZ yesterday, he was one of the two guys who fired back.
All in all, the guys are good and since I have to be over here, I mind as well have my choice of unit and let me tell you, this would be it.
I've got watch in a half hour and this letter seems to have gone on long enough. Plus I think my hand just might be stuck in this position now.
Love,
John