Nov 3, 1965

People often ask what it was like going to Vietnam. Well, I didn't land in Vietnam in a BLT landing. I was a replacement for the 7th Marines; I came directly from the USA through Okinawa, and I landed in Vietnam very ingloriously on a MATs flight. This is the story of my first couple of days 'In Country'.

I was on my way to South Vietnam. It was November 2, 1965, Monday, it was the day I left Okinawa to go to South Vietnam.

I wrote a couple of things in an old notebook that I still have. I found this same notebook, and I read these pages recently. They are very hard to read, because of the constant rains that left us always wet in South Vietnam, and the sweat from my body as I walked for miles in the steamy jungles, or across the water filled rice paddies of South East Asia, and, in some places the blood these pages have received during the time I was in South Vietnam. On these weathered and yellowed pages are also memories of a time when I was a young man. Between the spots of watered marks, and the stains of sweat, and the blood marks there are the penciled words of a very young man and his thoughts. It is these written words from a time-stopped where it is I have left of my memories on the pages.

I remember the first day going to South Vietnam. It was very difficult for me.

We, the Marines going with me and I, were awakened at 04:30 hrs, in Okinawa. We were all going to South Vietnam this particular morning. Together, we had been up, and we were drinking until an hour before we were awakened. Our heads felt like they were bigger than the doors we walked through; they ached like someone had stuck giant pins in our skulls; and, our tongues felt as dry as sandpaper on an old dusty floor.

Slowly, we gathered our things together, and we went to the showers. We awakened under the cold waters that came forth from the walls. We shaved, and we dressed in our combat utilities, and we placed our dress uniforms carefully into the duffle bags that would follow us to South Vietnam. In some cases, these uniforms were never to be used again by the young man carefully placing the folded clothes inside their bags.

We were in a barracks near the transportation office of the United States Air Force Base on Okinawa. The first rays of the morning sun struck us hard in our very sensitive and tired eyes, and we squinted to see the pathway to the transportation offices. We entered the offices, and, after we filed our orders with the Air Force Clerk seated at the desk, we walked through the second door and out to the air departure deck.

No words were spoken at first by these men, nor at that time. We all knew this was the place where we were to catch our plane to South Vietnam. We had said our goodbyes to everyone of importance to us back home, and we would stand our fate as Marines against the odds of battle.

We got our gear together, and, as we walked, we started to talk to one another. We felt every step right up to our temples as our heads throbbed with each step closer to the plane. No one would admit it to the others, but we were all becoming aware of our possible final days of our lives. We were frightened by the prospect of lying face down in some rice paddy with a bullet hole in our chest, and waiting there while our life's blood flowed from us with each and every pint of blood that spilled from our body onto the sand.

We were laughing and we were joking by this time, but this was all the false bravado that is shown by soldiers the world over before the battle. No one wanted to show any fear to the others around them.

I have often thought of that day, and our fears as we walked across the tarmac to the waiting plane. This was the plane that would fly us to an uncertain future, and we all knew that.

I thought about the fear that made my throat more so dry than the alcohol we had consumed that last night on Okinawa, and my stomach ached deeply. I thought of the words I said to the others, and they to me, and I thought how much fear was there among us as we walked those lonely steps to the plane.

We were nothing but boys in uniform. The oldest of us was 21 years old. The youngest, like I, was 18. Very shortly, we would all be dead, or we would all be men, but we knew we would never be boys again.

When I returned to the United States, I talked with people that knew no better. Those people, they told me I was a brave man for doing what I did back then. I was somewhat embarrassed by hearing this, and I wanted to tell them that I was scared, but those words would never come out of me. It was, finally, an old soldier from the Second World War that told me quietly, and with a tear in his eye, that he knew exactly what I felt.

He said, "You were scared weren't you? I was too! That is what courage is all about. Courage is being scared of what you are going to do, but you do it because it is your duty to do it."

Duty! My Duty to my Country! That thought had always stayed with me in my mind, and I felt much better about myself after those words were said to me.

One of the Marines on the tarmac that day was with me in the 8th Marines, so, at least I knew one of the people I was going to go and to face death with. He was an American Indian from Kansas, or Oklahoma, or something like that, and he was a tough guy, but he too seemed just too quiet that day.

We were being flown that morning to the air base in Da Nang, South Vietnam. There we would start our Odyssey of jungle warfare so we thought at the time. I guess no one had said much about the Rice Paddies back then. To us it was a jungle war. It shows you what we knew at the time!

Da Nang was the northern city of South Vietnam where there was a Marine Air Base. It was only about miles south of the DMZ, that invisible line between the countries of North and South Vietnam.

There were twenty-five thousand combat Marines in the northern part of South Vietnam at the time. We, The Marines, were protecting the area called 'I Corps'.

I Corps stretched from Qui Nhon in the south, north to the DMZ. It was a very large area as the map of the country would show, roughly about 300 miles of coast line, and a Hundred miles to the borders with the neighboring countries of Laos and Cambodia, about 30,000 square miles in all.

We had waited on the hot tarmac of Kadena. It was hot to me anyhow, even though the weather was cold that day, and it was not until 11:00 hrs that morning that we finally boarded our flight to South Vietnam.

When we did board our plane, the flight was relatively short compared to the anxiety I felt within me.

We arrived in Da Nang, after a Three hour Thirty minute flight from Kedena. It was as simple as that.

Upon landing at the airfield at Da Nang, we all reported in to the Replacement Headquarters, and both my bubby from the 8th Marines and I were told we had to go some Miles farther south to the air base at Chi Lai to join our unit, the others were distributed among the Marine units in the Da Nang area.

The plane for Chu Lai wouldn't be leaving until the next morning. The clerk in the Replacement Office told us to get some sleep in any of the tents that were opened near the transportation office, and to be there in his office bright and early in the morning for our flight south.

We left our duffle bags in the transportation office, and we toured the area to see what the Na Nang Base was like.

There were sandbag fortified bunkers all over the place, and also around the area of the airfield, and there was a small town of 'camp followers' just outside the main gate of the Marine compound.

As I watched the camp, I saw some beautiful women selling their wares to individuals that were lucky enough to pass through the gates of the compound to them. We were not so lucky, because we were in transit and not allowed off of the base.

After a while of watching the action at the little camp, it was getting dark out, and we walked back to the transport area.

Wouldn't you know, it started to rain, and it didn't stop raining for all the nights that followed, and this was just one sign of things to come.

We were in a tent that had a little water running through the middle of it that night, but, by the morning, the little water was now a flowing river. Everything I was wearing and everything I owned was wet. It was the way things were going to be for the next four months. Nothing would ever be dry for very long in South Vietnam.

I found that it might be One Hundred Degrees Fahrenheit in the daytime in South Vietnam, but it was always 100% humidity, Rain or shine. I was going to be wet in this country from the time I arrived until the time I left.

As I was lying there in the tent over that night, and the rain was playing tag with the heavy canvas roof of the CP tent. It sounded like so many drummers, each drumming a different beat on the roof of our quarters. It kept me awake, and I thought of what I saw on the flight into South Vietnam.

When flying into South Vietnam, I had looked out the window of the MATs transport plane. I really don't know what I expected to see. I saw what looked like grass-roofed houses in a cluster with a jungle of trees and rice paddies all around them. They looked much like little ships in an ocean of green and brown squares.

There were small vehicles that traveled along the light brown colored roads, and a set of railroad tracks, immediately to that road's west that ran parallel to the road all the way north and south as far as the eye could see.

The hills and valleys were neatly carved into different patches of rice fields, and it looked like the artwork of a great artist. I saw so many intricate man-made patterns on the ground. From the air it all looked like a giant 'patch-work' quilt made by a collection of old grandmas sitting in a house by the fireplace hearth somewhere.

There were so many patches of different colors and sizes all woven together into a perfect pattern. There were all different shades of green, and some light and dark browns square patches on the ground so far below the airplane.

I could see the progression of the planting cycle these farmers used from above where I looked down. These planting cycles ranged from dark green to dark brown. I thought that the patterns were incurred by the planting of rice from one section to another. Logically, this would give the people an adequate and continuous supply of rice for the year. The dark greens being planted first, the dark browns being land just turned over for a new planting, and the middle shades of green were for different stages of growth in between.

Sometimes, there were different colors all together. I expected these were crops other than rice, such as sugar cane, or something like that.

What I didn't see around any of these places were bomb craters. Places where there were explosions that had torn up the ground. I also didn't see any rockets flying at my nose as we flew overhead of these villages. There were no signs of tracer bullets coming at the plane either. And, there were no holes appearing in the plane's fuselage, to allow the sun's light to come through the plane's metal skin to light up the darkness within. These last few thoughts pleased me to no end.

Anyhow, the next morning, the morning's sun came over the horizon. We had already heard the morning 'Call to Colors'. After we stood at attention while the 'Stars and Stripes' and the Flag of the Republic of South Vietnam were raised, we walked to the transportation office.

Upon our arrival at the office, we stood on the flight tarmac for the flight to Chu Lai. That flight would take us those miles south of Da Nang to Chu Lai. As it happened, we both were scheduled to join the same regiment, the 7th Marines.

We got on the plane going south at 09:40 hrs, and flew to Chu Lai.

At 10:00 hrs, we had arrived, and low-and-behold there was no brass band waiting for us here.

Flying into Chu Lai was different than it was flying into Da Nang. When we were flying into Chu Lai, we flew in off of the South China Sea. Down below us, I could see small fleets of fishing boats plying their trades in the deep blue waters off the coast. These tiny fishing boats were being protected by the several American ships of war, and gunboats in the harbor that acted like a screen against attacks I imagined.

When coming over the land area though, from the height I was at, I saw an immediate difference from what I had seen at Da Nang. I could see explosion craters in the rich wet earth of the Vietnamese rice paddies. Even with this, the country was still very beautiful. I saw there the same patterns of planting as I had seen flying into Da Nang, but different being the bomb craters that looked like acme on a scenic portrait.

I thought to myself, this is where the war is at, and this is where I am going.

Approaching the landing strip at Chu Lai was more so interesting in itself than it had been at Da Nang. The plane kept its height until it cleared a certain mountain range area, and than it dove down several thousand feet very fast. I felt like I left my stomach behind in the clouds.

I asked an experienced flyer sitting next to me, why the sudden drop?

He laughed at me, and he said, "So we don't get hit by ground fire, Marine! There is a war going on out there, or don't you know about that?" He seemed very happy with himself and his remarks as he laughed at me one more time.

If I wasn't uncomfortable before, I was now!

We landed without incident on the airstrip that only two months prior had been rice paddies. US Navy Seabees had built the airfield, after, and during, the Marines' landing in this section of Vietnam, the few months prior to this date.

The entire landing strip was constructed of these large sheets of metal that they would lay down over the sandy soil of this section of South Vietnam. This was done after they had graded the landing strip level. They told me, the reason they used these sheets of metal was because they could be replaced easily if the strip was attacked by artillery or by mortar fire.

After any attack, they, the Seabees, would go out to the spots that were hit, and they would fill in the area with sand, and replace the metal panels that were destroyed by the explosions. The repairs were usually were done while the battle was going on, and the flights of supplies would never stop for very long.

After a very smooth landing by the Navy pilot flying the plane, we got off the airplane, and we reported to the Flight Arrivals Office. We handed our orders to the Sergeant at the desk, and he got on a phone to some unknown person somewhere in the area, and I listened to him.

"I have two more for your unit here. Do you want to come by and pick them up?" There were a few more words of a personal nature between him and the person on the other end of the line, and finally, he hung up.

He looked at us and said, "Yes! They need replacements there. They have been getting hit pretty hard lately. Take your duffle bags outside the office, and wait in front. Your ride will be here in a short while. Apparently, they need some more warm bodies for an operation they are going on today. By the way, Welcome to Vietnam Gentlemen!"

This was rather unsettling to me. It was the first time that I realized that I did not even have a rifle issued to me as of yet, and the best i could do would be to fight off an attack with my nail-clippers. According to the Sergeant, I was going into combat right away once I got to my outfit. I hoped they would be able to issue me a rifle quickly enough, and maybe some ammunition would be nice too. I said this to my buddy and he laughed. He also looked a little worried.

About ten minutes later, a Marine rode up on a vehicle called a Marine Mule, a small wooden platform vehicle used for the transportation of the 106 RR, with small tires, and a steering wheel in front, where the driver would sit to operate it. There were two petals where the driver's seat was (one gas, one brake). The motor was small and located under the vehicle. I don't think the thing could go over thirty miles per hour. The whole thing was about two feet tall from the ground up.

"You the guys going to the 7th Marines?" The driver asked.

We answered that we were. We threw our duffle bags on the vehicle, and jumped on. The Mule took off with a jolt almost knocking me off of the back end of it. In a matter of minutes we were at the Headquarters of the 7th Marines Regiment.

"Just leave your bags there. Come with me." Said the driver.

We entered the Command Tent, and the Orderly at the desk took our orders. He told us to wait, and he disappeared into another section of the tent. He reappeared shortly, and he said, "The Colonel will see you now."

The Regimental Commander, Colonel Peatross, stood up from behind his desk. He had on starched utilities, and a clean white T-shirt, as well as highly shined boots, and I immediately wondered where he found a laundry out here.

We went to the front of his desk, and we came to attention immediately, and reported for duty. The Lance Corporal spoke for the both of us, as he was the senior Marine.

"Reporting for duty. Sir!" He said in a loud and clear voice.

The Colonel walked over to us and looked at us.

"At ease men. I'm Colonel Peatross. I am the Regimental Commanding Officer of the 7th Marines. You are my Marines now! I see the both of you have seen some time in before coming here. That is good. You may have to go into action within the next hour. The reason you were brought before me is this. I am giving you your orders, and I am telling why they are your orders."

"You are now part of the 1st Marine Division Reinforced. You will be going to Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion of the 7th Marines. It is a good outfit. I want to be proud of you men. Your unit is scheduled to go on an operation within the hour."

"You are not here to fight for 'Mom's apple pie!' You are here because we have a treaty with the government of Republic of South Vietnam. The South Vietnamese Army, we call them ARVN, is in need of a great deal of training. We are here to do our job as Marines, and help them to survive. The Marines' job is to kill the enemies of our government and our government's allies. I expect you men to do your job in the best traditions of the United States Marine Corps."

"You are not here fighting for the flag. You are here at the invitation of the South Vietnamese Government, and you will kill their enemies, or you will die trying. That being said gentlemen, report to your unit Marines!"

We immediately came to attention, and both of us together shouted, "Aye! Aye! Sir!" We took one-step back form the Colonel's desk together, still facing the Colonel, and we completed an About-face, and we walked out of the room.

We were coming out of the Colonel's Office into the Colonel's clerk's area, when we saw there was another Marine in the front office. He had our files in his hand.

"You the guys going to Kilo Company? Come with me!"

We loaded our bags into the jeep he was driving, a Mighty Mite it was called I think, and off we went along the dirt roads to the hills to the west of the base at Chu Lai.

"I have to take you guys to Supply to get rifles and ammunition and web gear. You guys will leave your bags in the jeep. I'll take them over to the company office. I am supposed to deliver you guys to the helicopter LZ, and turn you over to the Company. The Sergeant will assign you to your fire teams. Then you are their problems."

He then threw an M-1 Carbine to us. "Here! If we come under fire, defend yourselves with this!"

The carbine was a short .30 caliber rifle with a thirty round banana clip in it. My buddy picked up the carbine, and he checked the chamber to see if there was any ammunition in the chamber of the rifle. There was! He made sure the safety was on.

"I have a .45 on me." He said to us, and than to me he said, "You'll just have to wait for one of us to get shot, before you can fire back at the enemy Marine."

He laughed like he thought he had said something very funny.

Ah! Marine Salt! I love it! There is always time to pull one on the FNG, the F___ing new guy!

From what I could see of the land we drove over to the company lines, it was all flat, and sand, and small bushes every where in sight. The hills around Chu Lai lay before us and around us as we rode the muddy sand road to the hills five miles to the west of the coast.

After a wild ride in the Jeep, as we bumped up into the air along the way, and the driver hitting every bump and every hole in the road along the way, we arrived at the Battalion Supply Offices of the 3rd Battalion of the 7th Marines, and we were issued rifles and ammunition (only two hundred rounds of ammunition) and two hand grenades. When the Weapons Armor gave us each the two grenades, he told us to return them when we were through with them.

I laughed at him. I don't think he smiled back.

We were than given some 782 web gear. This is the cartridge belt and the magazine pouches for four magazines, as well as a bayonet. We were issued five magazines that were supposed to hold twenty rounds of ammunition in each magazine, and we were given a haver-sack (A type of back pack dated 1942). We were issued a helmet and a flak jacket, and two canteens, and a first aid pack with a battle dressing in it. We were told 'good luck' by the Marine at the supply area, and than we were sent on our way to the LZ.

We loaded the magazines as we were on our way to the Helicopter LZ, and the rest of the ammunition was stored in the Haver-sack. We placed one magazine in the M-14 Rifle, and placed the safety on. The rest of the magazines were placed in the pouches and put on the web belt. The canteens we hooked on to the belt as well, and the medic pack was hooked onto the rear of the belt. The bayonet was hooked onto the side of the belt. Now, we were ready to go to war.

"Put on your flak jackets!" the driver said, "It is the rules! Take the magazines out of your weapons, also the rules, and leave you bolts opened. We're coming up on the LZ. Put your helmets on, again, the rules. You guys will fill both of your canteens with water, and than I will take you to your platoon Commander, Sergeant Chambers."

After we filled our canteens from a large canvas bag of water that hung in the middle of a tri-pod of poles, called a Water Buffalo, we were brought to the platoon Sergeant of the 1st platoon.

"What is this? Why do you want to burden us with these 'fresh fish'?"

Sergeant Chambers was not a very pleasant man!

"Hey Brock! Is your squad short any men? OK!"

He pointed to me. "You go with him!" As he pointed to the Marine he called Brock.

I ran over to where I was supposed to be. Corporal Brock looked at me. "Did you ever do any shooting yet?" He asked me.

"The range and the 8th Marines!"

"Good! You're not green at least! You go with Lance Corporal Barone. He'll be your fire-team leader. When we get out of the helicopters, we'll be splitting to the south. You stick with Barone, and you follow him wherever he goes. If he gets shot, you follow the rest of his men. I am sorry I haven't time to break you in a little more, and to introduce you around to the rest of the men, but war is hell. This is Doc. He is our Corpsman! We are the second wave going in on this attack. The first wave already left a half an hour ago. We're waiting for the 'Helos' to return. OK? Get going to Barone! Hey Barone, got one for you!"

Lance Corporal Barone was sitting with his men. He said, when I came up to him, "What is your name, and your rank?"

"PFC Carey!"

"OK! You stay with Freeman! He is our AR (Automatic Rifle) Man. You know what to do, don't you? If he falls you get his AR, and you cover us! Have you seen any action before?"

"Just Bars!"

"It will be a lot different here. Believe me! Remember! Wherever Freeman goes, you go!"

It was another five minutes before we saw the 'Helos' coming up from the south. Everybody got up on their feet, and we all made final adjustments to our gear, and we checked our rifles one more time. The 'Helos' circled the area once and then they landed in a neat military formation. We all ran in line to the nearest Helicopter. Each helicopter held eight Marines in full battle gear. As I was getting in, Barone said, "Sit on your helmet!"

When I got in, I asked Freeman, "Why do we sit on our helmets?"

"To save your balls when the VC or NVA shoot through the bottom of the Helos. Every little bit helps to protect you!"

There was no argument out of me. I sat on my helmet. I thought, if I do get out of here someday, I would want to have children. Besides, I would miss those areas of my body if they were not with me any longer.

Brock came over to our Helo. He jumped on when we were taking off. Doc followed him onto the helicopter.

"Let me see your dog tags." He said to me, and I handed them to him.

"Ok! Ah-h-h! Carey!"

"Doc! Let me have some tape." Brock took a piece of tape from Docs' hand and he wrapped it around the Dog tags, and he handed them back to me. "Now they won't bang around, and give your position away at night. Barone told you what he wanted you to do, right?" I told him he did.

He spoke to everyone now, "I talked to the Helo Leader. He said the LZ may be hot. He doesn't know for sure. Don't be heroes. Do your job!"

We flew for about twenty minutes, and than, the helicopters started to circle in the air. I noticed the other guys putting their helmets on, and I knew we were going down. So, I put the helmet on and clicked the chinstrap on.

We were about four feet off of the ground, when Brock jumped from the Helicopter, and I followed him out the door of UH 34. I landed with a thump and I rolled over on the ground, and got up on to my feet quickly, and I ran after the other men, and when they all went to the ground, I took a defensive position by falling to the ground in a firing position after we cleared the rotors of the Helo. I turned for a brief second to watch the helicopter leaving the area.

This day, as it happened, we made no contact with the enemy, and we met-up with the Marine units on the ground the way we were supposed to. I finally found out the name of the operation, it was called Operation Black Ferret.

By nightfall, we had expanded our area, with the help of the additional Marines, and we set in to our defensive positions for the night.

During our search of the area, we found many booby traps, and caves in the area. We would send Marines into the caves to see what could be located, and, when it was determined that the caves were empty, we would blow them up, as well as the booby traps we found.

That second day I had heard an explosion, and I found that some Marines were down. It was much later that a found out one of the people hurt was a woman newsperson.

The booby traps were usually pretty well hidden. First of all, a booby trap is something like a grenade or a Panji trap set up to slow down an advancing military unit by either wounding one of the members of that unit, or killing several of them.

In Vietnam, the primary traps were set up with grenades or artillery shells tied to a detonator by a string or a trip wire. The enemy, and our units too, would stretch these thin black strings across a pathway, and when someone tripped over the string, the string would pull the pin out of the grenade and the grenade would explode, either killing or wounding the man that tripped the trap or the people around the man.

The panji stake was simply a sharpened bamboo strip placed pointed-end up in a pit or alone side the pathway. Usually, the enemy would piss on or dip the pointed edge of the stake into some sort of poison of defecation top cause infection in the wound. They were everywhere you could look. If a man stepped into a pit with these Panji stakes in it he would have the sharp strips of bamboo go through his boots or his leg, and he would be required to be Medical-evacuated from the area. This took time, and it slowed down the troops moving toward an enemy.

We would set up booby traps at night when we ran ambushes, but we would pull them down in the morning. The VC, on the other hand, left them there all the time. Sometimes the villagers would find them and mark them with maybe a branch pulled down over the path, or a circle of bamboo along the roadway. They never knew if their neighbor was a VC or not, and the VC would kill anyone that removed these traps, so they would just mark them to protect their fellow villagers.

The most unusual traps I saw the VC use, were the way they would use a live snake. They would hang a Bamboo Viper (a very poisonous green snake) in the trees by its tail, so it would only bite people in the face that were over a certain height. As most the Marines, and the Korean troops too, were over those heights, they would be the targets. We used to call the Bamboo Viper the 'Three Step Snake,' because you only took three steps after you were bitten, and then you were dead.

We searched a village at the end of the day, and we found no weapons or tunnels, so we set in a perimeter around the village, and stayed for the night.

In the morning our commanders called in helicopters, and we left the area to go back to Chu Lai.

It is a funny thing about combat. On this day there was no combat to speak of, but I don't know if you or anyone you know has ever been in combat, but, I eventually was, and during the fighting, you do things automatically. You never really think that you may be the one to get shot or to be killed. I remember that when I was in the middle of a battle, I never felt fear, but when the battle was over, every time, I felt sick to my stomach, and my knees would shake, and I would feel very cold to the point of where I would shivver. I also felt completely exhausted. We never talked about it at the time, but later, I found many men had the same feelings after a battle.

We returned to the Battalion Headquarters at Chu Lai; the Battalion Headquarters was a series of command tents lying at the foot of a set of rolling hills off the sandy flat land of Chu Lai. We disembarked the helicopters, and I was ordered to the Battalion Offices.

The long walk over to the Battalion Offices was quickly done. I asked one of the Marines in the area, which tent was the Battalion CO (Commanding Officer), and was pointed to the proper tent. A small red and yellow (the Marine Corps says these colors are Crimson and Gold) sign indicated I had found the Office of the Commanding Officer of the 3rd Battalion 7th Marines, of the 1st Marine Division Reinforced.

I entered the front tent flap. There was a Marine Clerk at the front desk. He had no rank insignia on his collars, but the sign on his desk indicated he was 'Corporal Tesch, USMC'.

"Where are your orders Marine?"

"I gave them to the Kilo Company clerk on the day of my arrival. I was taken on the operation that day!"

"OK! What is your name? And. your rank?"

I told him the information he needed, and he searched through the stacks of papers on his desk mumbling something here and there. Finally, he came up with my orders.

"OK! Stay alive, and you'll make rank out of here."

Just then my 8th Marines buddy enter the tent flap, and the whole procedure was started again. The exception being, "You're being transferred to Kilo Weapons Platoon, Lance Corporal. You're a Machine-gunner now! Congratulations! Corporal!"

He, the clerk, got up from his desk, and he walked back to the rear tent flap, and reappeared again within a minute. "The Colonel will see you two Marines now!"

We walked in the same as we did for Colonel Peatross at Regimental Headquarters, and stood at attention at the front of the Colonel's desk.

Lieutenant Colonel Bodley was different in many ways from Colonel Peatross. He was not tall. His hair was almost all gone from his head. He was rather squat. His voice was sort of high and nasal. All in all, first appearance, I didn't like him! I don't know why. I just didn't like him!

What he said that day gave me some insight into why this unit was constantly in action. He was what the Marines called 'Gung Ho'. This meaning that he was volunteering his units for almost any assignment he could. The consequences were he was losing his men faster than he could replace them.

The jest I got out of the speech Lieutenant Colonel Bodley gave us was that he was willing to sacrifice every man in his outfit to make the rank of Colonel, and than, after that, General. The other units in the area started calling our unit 'Bodley's Bastards'. Needless to say, we, as a unit, did not like him very well. My personal opinion was that he was a jerk. But, as we say in the Marine Corps, "That's 'Colonel Jerk" to you, Marine!"

A brief walk down the row of tents brought us to 'Kilo' Company Headquarters. We stepped through the tent flap, and there sitting at the desk was the Company Clerk, and we handed him our orders for a second time in the last two days.

We had to sign certain papers, and give the name of our next of kin to the clerk. By the time we were done, the sun had gone down. We were told to find a place in the Battalion area to stay over night, and in the morning we would be brought to our defensive positions in the lines.

That night I went to the 'Slop Chute', and had a couple of beers. While there, I saw a man getting pretty drunk, and in the end, after an argument, he picked-up his rifle and loaded a round, and was going to shoot someone. Well, that was brought to an end when a couple of men jumped him, and took his rifle away from him.

What can you expect when the beer was free?

That was something else I found out when I got there to Vietnam. Each Marine gets two cans of beer a night while in a combat area. This, I thought, was a real mental error on someone's part. Here you have all of these men, usually between the ages of 18 and 21, they have loaded rifles, and hand grenades, and are drinking warm beer. Even at age 18, I knew this was not a good mixture.

Actually, I think they should have given us a couple of cars too, and we would have killed every enemy in the country within one week, just by our drunken driving.

I walked away from the Slop Chute after the excitment in there, and down the line of tents, when a couple of tents away from the Slop Chute I found a warm place to lie down for the night inside a supply tent. There was a light coming from the middle of the tent. I pulled out my notebook and started to write a letter to my Dad.

I told him of my first couple of days in Vietnam, and that I was all right. I finished with a letter to a friend of mine telling him what it was like to be in combat (you know the routine), and when I completed the last letter, almost immediately, the tent light went out.

I thought to myself as I laid there in Vietnam, that night. What a pretty country this is.

I could hear the sounds of the rifle and machine gun shots from the distance, and the artillery firing each hour to far beyond the Marine's perimeter. The shells were fired and landed in some unknown dark place very far from where I was. Occasionally, I would see a flare popped into the sky. This was done to light an area in front of the lines to view for any movement from infiltrators into the lines.

On an outpost some miles south of our position I could see tracer rounds arcing through the dark sky, and having answering tracers as a reply. It seemed the rifles were talking to each other in their own unique language.

We could distinguish between the American made rounds and the Soviet and Chinese made rounds by the difference in colors of the tracer. The sounds of the rifle fire were also very different.

The beer I drank started to work on me a little by now. My eyes started to get heavy. I thought to my self, "Just three Hundred Ninety Two days to go, and I'll be home." I fell asleep.

Very well written, Marine! If you should decide to chronicle your Vietnam experience in a book, I would certainly be happy to read it. Welcome Home, Brother.

Thank you again for your kind words Jim!

Most respectfully,
Joe Carey

My cousin was a Marine in Vietnam. He never talked about it. I was younger and had many questions when he came home on leave one time.
I did his best to change the subject when ever I tried to bring up the war.
I got him to admit that he had been in combat in Vietnam. I wanted to know what it was like in country, and in battle. I'd just seen it on TV myself.
I asked him if he had shot any VC and he said he did not know. My reply was, I've see you shoot crows out of the air with a rifle and deer on dead runs during hunting season. I pressed him and has if the VC he had shot at had fallen and he said that yes they had fallen. What he said next answer all my questions,. He said, Whenever I get shot at I fall down too!
I wonder if my cousins arrival in Vietnam was anything like yours.
Your story has show me what it might have been like for him.
In 1971 I joined the USAF and volunteered for Vietnam. I was turned down as the war was winding down. I did spend 4 years of my 24 year career in West Germany starring down the Communist troopers. Stood alert duty with fighter interceptors and B-52 bombers during my 24 years.
Thanks for spending the time typing your story and thoughts. And thank you for you tough and damgerous service.

quote:

Originally posted by Bullhunter:
My cousin was a Marine in Vietnam. He never talked about it. I was younger and had many questions when he came home on leave one time.
I did his best to change the subject when ever I tried to bring up the war.
I got him to admit that he had been in combat in Vietnam. I wanted to know what it was like in country, and in battle. I'd just seen it on TV myself.
I asked him if he had shot any VC and he said he did not know. My reply was, I've see you shoot crows out of the air with a rifle and deer on dead runs during hunting season. I pressed him and has if the VC he had shot at had fallen and he said that yes they had fallen. What he said next answer all my questions,. He said, Whenever I get shot at I fall down too!
I wonder if my cousins arrival in Vietnam was anything like yours.
Your story has show me what it might have been like for him.
In 1971 I joined the USAF and volunteered for Vietnam. I was turned down as the war was winding down. I did spend 4 years of my 24 year career in West Germany starring down the Communist troopers. Stood alert duty with fighter interceptors and B-52 bombers during my 24 years.
Thanks for spending the time typing your story and thoughts. And thank you for you tough and damgerous service.

Believe me this Bullhunter, I have killed plenty of men, some with my hands, some with a knife blade, and others at the end of my rifle sites. It takes no special skill to kill a man! All one has to do is to believe that the man is nothing more than THE ENEMY, and that to not kill him would mean that he would kill one of my brothers.

I can not, under any circumstances, Murder a man! It is just not in me to do so!

I have not lost any sleep over any man that I have killed! He deserved it! He should have known better to never cross my sites as an ENEMY of the USA, and an ENEMY of Liberty, that was trying to kill my brothers. It is just that simple!

Have I had problems with what I saw in the Vietnam War? Sure I have! I saw villages where the VC and the NVA had gone through it. They took the food of the people that were there; they took the children of people that lived there; and, they most horribly had Murdered those that did not believe in their policies, and it did not stop there. The Communist would Murder the man's family in front of him before they killed him.

What I saw there did nothing but to strengthen my resolve that what I was doing there was the correct thing to do! We were right to be there!

Strangely, someone is going to come on here and say, "What about Mai Lai?" All I have to say is that it did happen, and it was horrible that it had happened. I know that if it were my unit in the same situation, it would not have happened.

The strange thing is, from 1960 to 1973 (the last year of combat troops), there were maybe ten, or eleven, incidents of what was termed atrocitiies committed by American Troops. That is priobably a total number of approximately 500 people that killed that way out of the 2.7 Million men that served honorably in the Vietnam War.

That, my young friend, is worthy of a big Oo-rah for our side, because it was not our policy to harm the Vietnamese Citizen, but, on the contrary, it was established policy of the ENEMY to do just the same as what happened at Mai Lai, but they did it whenever it pleased them to do so, which was often. According to some reports that I have read, the VC and the NVA committed 68,000 Murders.

Even if those numbers are outlandish as they sound, I can verify about One Hundred and Twenty of them from my short time in South Vietnam, with my limited association with the villagers in my relative small area of South Vietnam. With that in mind, I have no trouble believing in those numbers, and I may well think them to be overly conservative in their numbers.

Our shame in that war was that we did our best, and we never lost a major battle to the VC or to the NVA, and yet, we lost the war in our Congress! They could never beat us, but they sure beat the American People with their allies here in this country. Our shame is that we gave over to the ENEMY the Forty Five Million people of South Vietnam, and we turned our back on an ally, and sold them out to the ENEMY!

Even now, in Iraq, and in Afghanistan, I see the same process at work. We have done what no other major power has ever done, we have defeated a major insurgency, we have won a guerilla war, and yet, our Congress wishes to sell out people that belive in us one more time, and in doing so, to condemn the USA to a nation not to be trusted by an ally for the next Forty years of our existance, as they did in South Vietnam.

Freedom is never free! As Thomas Jefferson once said, "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants." It is only when free man are willing to fight for others that Liberty will trump despots in this world, and we are the very best to do so!

Most respectfully,
Joe Carey

quote:

Have I had problems with what I saw in the Vietnam War? Sure I have!

My cousin was never the same after he came back from Vietnam. Family problems, booze, divorce, legal problems, money problems. I now here he is doing fairly well except he is 100% rated with the VA. Agent Orange exposire. Has it in his lungs.
I have not seen him in years. Recently tracted him down and plan on seeing him this fall.

Joe, I agree with everything you have said about the war and the politications.
We need term limits for all congressman and senators like we do the president.

Politations and diapers are the same,
both need changing often,
and for the same reason.

quote:

Originally posted by Bullhunter:

quote:

Have I had problems with what I saw in the Vietnam War? Sure I have!

My cousin was never the same after he came back from Vietnam. Family problems, booze, divorce, legal problems, money problems. I now here he is doing fairly well except he is 100% rated with the VA. Agent Orange exposire. Has it in his lungs.
I have not seen him in years. Recently tracted him down and plan on seeing him this fall.

Joe, I agree with everything you have said about the war and the politications.
We need term limits for all congressman and senators like we do the president.

Politations and diapers are the same,
both need changing often,
and for the same reason.

No! Term Limits would never help! In any organization, for the good or the bad, there will always have to be someone there that understands the working of the government. After all, government is not the Congress, but it is the Millions of government workers and associates that do actually run the government, let's call them the under-governement.

These workers get new bosses every two to four years and a new style of doing things even more so often, but it all goes back to government as usual in the end.

I surely would not want a complete Army of Boots going to war without Senior NCOs, and experienced Officers, as I would never want a Congress with all new blood in the seats. Take this Congress that we have now, what good have they accomplished? Nothing!

Sometimes, when you vote for change, that is what you get! Where before things were done, with change things may well become a muddy path of hard moving and incompetent fools in charge. This is not the first time I have seen CHANGE in Congress, the last time was in the 1970s when we surrendered South Vietnam to the Communists.

Not all change is good!

Most respectfully,
Joe Carey

Joe, don't you find it odd that they forgot to add the COLD WAR to this list of Wars & Conflicts?

quote:

Originally posted by Bullhunter:
Joe, don't you find it odd that they forgot to add the COLD WAR to this list of Wars & Conflicts?

Cold War? No! Not really! After all, there is not a ribbon for the Cold War! There was Korea, and Vietnam, and a hundred little brushfires around the globe, but there was not a real Cold War Campaign.

But, that being said, there was supposed to be a ribbon for the Cold War now, it just has not been authorized by the DoD. Someone sent me a picture of the ribbon that is suppoed to be issued, its nice. I guess if it is ever authorized I will get it to pass on to my grand children when I finally make my way out of this world, but the numbers that would be authorized to wear such a ribbon must be in really short supply in the services right now.

In truth, I don't know if the Pentagon is willing to go the money for such a ribbon and its issue to all the vets that would be within the service eras to wear it. How many would htat be, because this one comes with a Medal!

Respectfully,
Joe Carey

The DOD did provide certificates to military people who served during the Cold War. I'm sure many people have some great cold war stories to tell.
Would have been nice to have that in this forum list.
Don't ya think?

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I didn't make it incountry but I did support the war effort while stationed at Norton AFB, CA between 1971 and 1973.
I worked jet engine section on the flightline. One day I was taken out to a C-141 aircraft parked out in the back 40 for some reason. I was told that some work had been completed on one of the engines and I was to run-up the jet engines to check out the work and systems. This was a high priority mission and the supplies were needed for the war ASAP.
Not a problem as I'd been operating jet engines for a few months.
When I got droped off at the aircraft two crew chiefs were there to assist me in the engine run-up. One would sit the co-pilots set and the other the ground observer. One of the things I was to check was the thrust reverser operation on the engine that was repaired also the other 3 engines.
As I climbed the stairs up into the cargo hold area all the hair stood up on the back of my neck. The whole cargo hold area was packed with bombs. Front to back and top to bottom. I looked back at the crew chief following me up the stair and when he got inside with me he just said Oh ****.
The bombs were not fused so I guess not to dangerous. Our engine runs and maintenance checks went well with no problems and the jet was released to fly. It took off about 45 minutes later.

A few days later I was having lunch in the MAC Passanger Terminal as it was airconditioned. A big group of Marines filed into the terminal cafeateria and as I was eating my lunch I thought I saw someone that I knew from high school.
I got up and went over to the Marines as the were passing through the food line and said to one of the young Marines, don't we know eachother. The Marine looked at me and said yes, your Gary and I'm John and we went to school together. I asked him what he was doing in the Marines and he said, trouble with the law, judge gave him a deal, military or jail.
When I asked him where they were headed he said Vietnam.
We wished eachother good luck. He went off to eat with his troops and I headed back out onto the flightline and another aircraft to work on. Maybe the one John was flying to Vietnam on.

C-141A's_Norton_AFB,_CA_1972.jpg (52 Kb, 1 downloads)

You do know BullHunter, when you mentioned how the Marine got into uniform, I had to smile, and if you don't mind, and it does not bore you, I do have a story about that as well!

Sep 10, 1963

Like anything else, it is a story being a marine, and like all stories it all had to have a beginning as well as the ending.

As I grew older from my times when I swam in the Atlantic Ocean off the beaches of Hollywood Beach, Florida, and I became a teenager, I came to be in trouble a great deal of the time.

As I said, when I was very young, I was in trouble a great deal. I was in trouble so much so that I was placed in the United States Marine Corps on my seventeenth birthday.

I remember that day very well. It was March 16, 1964, and it was my seventeenth birthday!

Ordinarily, I would have been very happy on this day. This birthday I was less than so happy. I was seventeen years old, and I was going away for some time. This was the day I was supposed to go into the United States Marine Corps, per the order of Judge Dorr Davis, of the Broward County Juvenile Authorities in Ft Lauderdale, Florida. The order was given in open court some six months prior to this date. I had been on probation since that time.

I remember when I went to the courtroom that day in September 1963. I remember that day so well.

My parents and I were summons to the Juvenile court by a series of my malefactions in the communities of the Broward County area of Florida. I had been out of control, and I contributed to my present situation by causing numerous violations of the law. As an adult, I would have been well on my way to the State of Florida Penal System.

There was theft, there was aggravated assault, there was fighting, as well as fleeing from the local authorities in the charges filed against me, and there were others that had never come to the light of scrutiny. I was no prize to the neighbors, or to my parents as I lived among them. They feared me for my mal temper, as well as, my disregard of local conventions.

I was sixteen years old, and I knew everything. I was tough, I was brave, I was smart, but I lacked the talent to stay ahead of the law. I viewed the law enforcement effort that attempted to apprehend me as less than adequate to deliver on their promises to bring me to justice. Yet, here I was standing in front of the bench of Judge Dorr Davis.

Judge Davis was old by how I looked at age back then. He must have been sixty. He had a thin face, and a set of piercing eyes that looked right through me, as he watch every move I made over the tops of his half glasses. He had a cold business like approach to the job of being a judge. When he spoke, he had the drawl of a southern 'Cracker'.

The judge's drawl made you tend to disregard him as a less than an intelligent man. To those people that underestimated the Judge, I do feel sorry, for the man was very intelligent, and he did not forget a thing that was said in his courtroom. He was also very innovative in his decisions from the bench. In my case, he saw a person that needed direction rather than punishment. He saw more hope in me than even did I think was there.

After hearing the evidence before him in the matter of Joseph P Carey, a Juvenile Delinquent, he sat back in his chair, and he thought for a while. He than leaned forward, and he straightened out his desk before him, and as he place his elbows upon the desk in front of him, and while resting his head in his hands, he spoke to my parents with that very heavy Southern Drawl of his, asking them if I was a young man worth being saved.

My father replied to the judge that he knew his son, and he knew that his son had made friends with the wrong crowd of people. He said he saw no reason why his son should be locked up. Saying there was a lot of good in me.

He told the Judge of how I had taken the responsibility of taking care of my younger brothers and sister, after my older sister had left home when she was mar