Chapter 5

I woke up from a dead sleep with the sound of sirens wailing a mournful tune in my still damaged ears. Even though I was “safe” on the Air Base, I was fully dressed and booted up. Some guy in his skivvies was running down the barracks yelling,

“Get into the bunkers!”

I didn’t know where the bunkers were located, but I figured it was a good idea to get out of the flimsy barracks ASAP. Outside, I could see flames rising from a couple of hits inside the compound. I didn’t hear any incoming, so I relaxed a little. Most everyone else was running around trying to get information. The fact that most of these guys were not armed seemed a little foolish to me, but orders are orders. I didn’t see any bunker, so I got down low behind some stacked sand bags. Flares were getting shot up all over the place now and it was almost like daylight. I decided then and there it might be better to find a place to spend the night other than the “safe” Air Base. My first job was to liberate a functional M16 and get myself a pocket gun for back-up in situations like these.

The “Trash Cans” were coming from way out past China Beach. They must be zeroed in pretty good to get them inside the Air Base from such a long distance. I suspect the use of inside spotters was their way of gaining a small degree of accuracy. In fact, they were basically randomly targeted in the general direction of the Air Base. Any success was simply a matter of luck. Just like the German rocket barrage of London was primarily area aiming and not geared to any one target.

I headed out to the “Ville” early the next morning and traded some smokes for a small .38 Cal pistol of Spanish design. It was a cheapie, but I test fired it in an alley. The locals were not amused. Ammo would not be a problem, because .38 Cal was in stock in plentiful quantities in both the US and the South Vietnamese armories. The M16 would be a more difficult problem, but I could see they were bartered out in a lot of “Black Market” operations right on the Air Base. It was easier to get a M16 than it was to get an AK47. I would wait until I found out where I was going first.

I waited in my skivvies in the “Transient” barracks until an elderly “Mama-san” brought back my only set of jungle “Utes” (utility uniform). She was giggling non-stop as I got dressed. I couldn’t understand her very well because her use of pure Vietnamese language was limited. It sounded like she was using a central Vietnam dialect from a coastal area. She seemed satisfied with the “script” (funny money) I paid her with. I also gave her a pack of cigarettes for the quick service. I didn’t smoke, but I always made a point of putting my ration stamps to good use. This was the first time I had been to a base with such luxury items since back in January of 68.

I headed up to the G-2 shop.

This was officer country. There were so many field grade officers rushing here and there that I figured there was probably none left outside of Quang Nam province. That was not really fair because I am certain they were all doing a vital job in the big picture.

I had a Major with a totally bald skull give me the evil eye and ask me if I knew I was “out of uniform”. I politely inquired in which respect and he said I was wearing “unauthorized headgear”. My floppy rain-hat had been with me since day one, so I was mystified with his perception.

I did notice that all the Marines in the G-2 area were fitted up with heavily starched utility caps adorned with a colorful pin which I assumed identified them as being a member of this headquarters. I explained I was just a visitor and would be gone from his sight in a matter of minutes. That seemed to mollify him and he went back to his papers.

I showed my little strip of paper to a young PFC (Private First Class) with that look of confidence exhibited by admin clerks all over the world. He suppressed a yawn and directed me to a corner office occupied by a dangerously thin Captain and a Lance Corporal with the worst case of acne I have ever seen in my life.

The captain never looked up from his book other than to verify I was a lowly enlisted turd. The Lance Corporal pulled out a file from a combination locked chest and wrote down directions for me. Apparently the unit I was assigned to was located at a South Vietnamese compound south of the Air Base. He told me to ask for Sergeant Tran or Captain Lee. The American officer in charge was a General “Bucky” Maddigan. (Not the real name, but not far off) Under no circumstance was I to bother the General unless he asked for me personally. I was OK with that because I figured the further I was from any field grade officer, the better.

Sergeant Tran was a really small guy, even for a Vietnamese. He reminded me of an old buddy of my mine. A little Filipino guy called, “Geronimo”. He was always saying things like, “maybe yes, maybe no” leaving me unsure about what kind of answer I got. Tran spoke pretty good English and his Vietnamese was 100% pure and school taught. He obviously had a lot of education somewhere in an earlier time. I thought I detected a hint of Northern dialect and that was confirmed when a “rumor control freak” in the Liaison office told me to be careful because he was “Chui Hoi” (A North Vietnamese defector) reprogrammed to our side just a few months prior.