The Long Road Back From Hill 55
Chapter 4

Copyright© 2017 by RWMoranUSMCRet

Sometime in the summer of 68, the armor unit I was attached to was disbanded. It was a real strange feeling to be “disbanded”. We were down to only 3 tanks in first echelon operation order. A couple of others had different systems working OK but some systems not working at all. Several other cannibalized hulks of metal were a stark reminder of the high levels of stress placed on the tanks to support operations in Central Vietnam. The manpower was reduced to some 40 to 50 survivors out of an initial manning level of about 120 men. Some of the men were not 100% for full duty because of a myriad of problems from dysentery to twisted ankles and bad backs.

I had a back problem as well, but I kind of kept it to myself. A second and less spectacular land-mine episode had caused a plate metal hatch to crush down on my helmeted head and sent me down into the turret on my ass. After that episode, it was difficult to turn or lean to my left side without a lot of pain. I started taking some pain-killers, but would not touch the hard stuff that makes you into a zombie.

This flared up on me pretty bad about six weeks after I returned State-side. I was walking up the stairs of a subway exit in New York City and felt the same familiar stabbing pain in my back. It was really funny how I could not even stand up straight. I looked like a character out of a Dickens novel. I was going out on a date and really surprised my date when I showed up at the door. I went to the VA hospital on Kingsbridge Road in the Bronx and I got some good advice from a little Filipino Doctor. He told me don’t let any doctor near me and to go to a chiropractor to get it adjusted. The results were almost like a miracle. It is chronic but manageable and I think that Doctor gave me the straight scoop. That VA hospital has got a bad reputation for that period of time, but I always felt they did well by me and did their best to help me.

So we were officially disbanded. What few officers we had, disappeared overnight. I have no idea where they went. Probably figured being associated with a “disbanded” unit was not a plus for their career.

The rest of us just wandered around the compound the next few days, trying to avoid the shit details as best we could. I started to scoop up the discarded C-Ration items that nobody wanted and put them into an orderly fashion. It was so strange that one guy wanted more sugar and one guy wanted more cream and they both would throw away that which they did not want. I guess this was the syndrome that was the root of the scourge of “Rat-Fucking”.

One of the strangest rituals of the Vietnam experience was the dirty job of “burning the shitter”. Anyone who has been In-Country will appreciate this observation. The standard latrine construction consisted of plywood; screening and 50 gallon drums cut in half, fitted with handles and filled with a small residue of diesel fuel. They were pulled out a safe distance and lit up to burn off the waste material. The black clouds would rise into the clear, humid air and you did not want to be anywhere near the operation with a queasy stomach.

As rudimentary as it might seem, the concept was very effective.

We all got called down to the Battalion S-1 tent about a week after being disbanded and we each were handed a little strip of paper. The Lance Corporal-in-charge (Admin clerks were like little Gods in some units) told us not to lose them because they were our “orders”. I think we were all on a single sheet of paper and they cut us up for our single line entry. Instead of giving out 40 sheets of paper with our individual name highlighted they just gave us the line pertaining to us individually.

I was assigned to a unit called G-2, MACV Advisory Group 2, RF/PF. I had absolutely no idea what it was or where it was located. The Lance Corporal told me it was probably best to head back to Danang and ask at the G-2 section and to “please not bother him with silly questions anymore”. I liberated a “grease-gun” ( .45 Cal MG with a folding stock) and a Carbine with several filled magazines. I had to turn in my sidearm. A .45 Cal 1911 automatic which I had never fired at any enemy. I really wanted to get my hands on a M16, the best firearm in the world, bar none. Not even the touted AK-47. I always felt the AK was too awkward, the Ammo too heavy, and the range not ideal for long range engagements.

 
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