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and see if I could see anything. When I climbed to the top, the only thing I could observe was total darkness, and stars.
“Hey, guys, I see the North Star,” I called down.
“Great, which way is it?” came back the whispered reply.
“That way.” I pointed.
“Hey, dumbass, we can’t see you or which way you’re pointing,” came the reply. Oh yeah, I was so far up the tree that it was difficult for them to see me or me them.
“Okay, listen up. I’m going to toss my canteen down in the direction of the star. Listen for it.” The guys fanned out and I tossed it away from the tree in the direction of the star.
“Son of a bitch, you nearly hit me, pecker-head.”
I got down, and we moved out. Occasionally, we could hear some commotion off in the distance as another team was caught by the OPFOR. We began to see landmarks that indicated we were focusing on the pickup point. We became more cautious, however, when we saw a campfire. Could it be a trick to lure us into the OPFOR? We decided we would move in closer and observe the activities before we approached. We were cold and wet, and that fire looked so inviting. We could see figures standing around the fire, eating hot chow and drinking coffee. After thirty minutes, we decided that this was the pickup point and we should go in. Thankfully, another team went charging in as we were getting ready to move. They were immediately captured and bound! It was a trap. The commotion we had heard earlier was another team being rounded up at this point. We moved to our left and skirted this location, continuing to move north. About a half hour later, we came upon another campfire. This one really was the pickup point, but we exercised the same precaution. Hot oatmeal, powdered eggs and bacon had never tasted so good.
The bus ride back to Hunter Army Airfield and our barracks was marked not by jubilation but by snoring. We were all dead tired but happy because that had been our last exercise. Flight training was over, and we all knew we were going to graduate. It was also the start of the Christmas holidays, and we all would be going home on leave, only to return to Hunter for three days of out-processing. Naturally we would have liked to graduate first to go home as warrant officers, but the Army had other plans for us.
One of our members was from Montana and had been sending his pay home as his parents were not well off and his pay was a big help. He wasn’t planning on going home as he had no money. Before everyone left, he was handed a round-trip plane ticket home along with spending money, courtesy of everyone in the class. We were a tight bunch.
Once we returned from leave, it was a matter of three days of out-processing, which included more shots as we all had our orders to Vietnam. Of the eighty cadets in our class that had gone to Hunter for flight training, sixty-seven would be graduating, the others having quit somewhere in the sixteen weeks of training. Fortunately, we lost no members of the class due to crashes. Some of the class would go on to transition into other aircraft before departing for Vietnam, the other two aircraft being the CH-47 Chinook cargo helicopter and the AH-1G Cobra gunship, which had recently been introduced into service in 1968. We all had our orders. Bill and I were assigned to the First Cavalry Division; Bob was going to CH-47 transition and then to the 101st Airborne Division.
On graduation day, some had families attend the ceremony. The day prior, we were all appointed to warrant officers in the United States Army. My dad had flown in from Morocco and swore me in as a warrant officer. Johnson’s parents were there as well and so proud of him. He had a new pair of high-priced Corfam regulation low-quarter shoes. This was probably the last time we would see our fellow classmates. We left WOC country for the last time, only to return in our memories.
Republic of South Vietnam, 1968–1970
Chapter 5
Welcome to Vietnam
The flight from Fort Lewis, Washington, to Vietnam was fourteen hours with a two-hour stop at Yokota Air Force Base outside of Tokyo, Japan. The plane was a commercial airliner contracted by the government. Most Air Force transport aircraft were carrying cargo and not passengers. We arrived in Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam, in the dead of night.
As the doors opened, the heat immediately penetrated the cabin, as did an NCO. “Welcome to the Republic of Vietnam. As you exit the aircraft, form two lines.”
Once we were lined up, the NCO raised his bullhorn. “Once I call your name, you will proceed to that single-story building behind me and brush your teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste provided. You will brush for a minimum of one minute. You will then exit the building and be told which bus to get on.” And he started calling names.
What! I just arrived in a combat zone and the very first thing I’m going to do is brush my teeth? You have got to be kidding, I thought.
The toothpaste was a highly concentrated fluoride toothpaste, as we would not see a dentist, nor want to see a dentist, for the next year. Dental service in the forward areas was primitive at best, with foot-pumped drills. As we left the building, we were directed to a bus. There were only two of us on the bus, me and Bill Michel, my flying buddy and roommate. The bus drove us across the Cam Ranh Bay base and deposited us in front of a barracks building.
“You will sleep here tonight, sir. Someone will come by tomorrow and get you. Chow is inside.”
Bill and I got our bags and walked into a room that had sixty bunk beds, all made up. We were the only two people in there. Chow was waiting for us, C-rations. We skipped dinner and went to bed.
The morning heat woke us, and after a shower, I walked outside. This place is beautiful! I thought. Thirty feet from the front door just to the west of our building was a large lagoon probably a mile across, with white sand and swaying palm trees. I immediately thought, We should be at a resort and not a combat zone. The water was crystal-clear, reflecting the few white clouds in the western sky. Except for the noise of a faraway airplane engine, you wouldn’t know you were on a military base as there was nothing around our barracks. About an hour later, a jeep pulled up and a young sergeant came in and asked if we were ready for the next leg.
The next leg began with a stop at the Central Issue Facility, where we were given load-bearing equipment, duffel bags, steel infantry helmets and more jungle fatigues.
“Excuse me, Sergeant, but this is infantry stuff. I’m a helicopter pilot. What is this for?” I asked.
“Sir, you are in the First Air Cavalry Division, and everyone, regardless of position, unit or rank, gets this. Welcome to the division,” he said as he handed me a canteen with cup and cover. With our stateside suitcases as well as a duffel bag now, we found ourselves loading a C-123 airplane with about forty other soldiers for a flight to An Khe, First Air Cavalry Division Rear. We climbed up the back ramp and sat on the floor as the plane started up its two gas piston engines, belching black smoke, and rolled out to the runway. No seat belts, no stewardess, no bathroom and no seats. I hoped we didn’t hit turbulence as this would be a really uncomfortable ride.
An Khe wasn’t like Cam Ranh Bay. Located in the central highlands of Vietnam, it was a bit cooler, and instead of white sand, it was dusty red clay and everything was covered in it. Here we would spend five days “in-processing” to the division. To entertain us during this time, we had classes about Viet Cong booby traps, weapons familiarization, and rappelling from a tower. We were issued more clothing and equipment, and our civilian clothes were taken from us and placed in a box. On the outside, we had to put an address for our next of kin. I told the sergeant, “I really don’t have a permanent address as my next of kin is military and will be moving again in the next year.”
“Sir, you have a problem that I would not worry about. You either pick this up when you out-process, or we ship it to your next of kin if you get killed. After that, it’s the US Postal Service’s problem, not yours and not mine.”
After our in-processing orientation week, we loaded a C-7 Caribou twin-engine plane and flew from An Khe to Phuoc Vinh, site of the First Cavalry Division forward headquarters and home to the aviation brigade that Bill and I were assigned to. Bill was going to stay at the aviation brigade’s general support aviation company as he was assigned there as a pilot. I would be going on to a subordinate unit, which was located about twenty minutes southwest at Lai Khe.
Phuoc Vinh just plain sucked in my immediate opinion. It had the same red clay dust on everything that we’d experienced at An Khe. In addition, there wasn’t a tree on the entire base camp, which was all one-story hooches surrounded by sandbags about four feet high. A jeep picked Bill and me up, depositing him at his unit and me at the battalion headquarters to arrange transportation to my unit. There I was informed that it was the battalion commander’s policy to see all new pilots, but that I would have to wait until the next day to see him as he was busy. That was nice that he wanted to meet and greet new pilots, but to make me sit on my ass for a whole day, let alone find a bed for the night, was rather inconsiderate, I thought. A captain that worked in the personnel shop told me to follow him and took me over to a barracks building, where he pointed out a bed that I could use for the night. The owner was on leave back in Hawaii. He showed me the mess hall and latrines and left me on my own.
