Chapter One
War – Edwin Starr, 1970
Specialist-4 Tucker landed in Saigon in late December to the worst smell he thought he had ever known. It was like he was downwind from a dump full of human waste or dead animal carcasses. He was told that the stench would get worse the hotter the Sun became.
“Damn, I just got here, and I already hate it,” Tucker told Smithy and the others as they were herded towards an OD Green Bus waiting for them by a smart-ass E-5 Sergeant who was to become their first encounter with a REMF—rear echelon mofo.
The bus was very similar to the ones they had ridden on back in the States, except this one had thick metal screens and bars over the window openings to keep all the crap from being thrown in on them, the driver told them.
“Yeah,” he said, “They’re there for little things like bombs and grenades and other small shit like that, so you Cherry Asses can’t get an early start on that ‘dying thing’ that’s been going on over here, that is not before Uncle Sam gets his chance to use your sorry asses up first.”
“Are you for real?” somebody asked in a wise-ass tone.
All the FNGs were looking out the barred windows at a multitude of Vietnamese people on bicycles, motor-scooters, and elephants who were also blowing their horns at any disruption of traffic flow. That was when a chiseled-faced Captain in the front turned around and said seriously, “Damn straight, he’s for real, and it happens way too often. Look out there. You can’t trust any of these sons-a-bitches around here. They want you dead and will do almost anything to see that you are. Sadly enough, almost every precaution has been taken to secure your safety, mainly from trial-and-error methods. Be sure that if someone gives you any advice while you are in-country, you at least listen and think about taking it to be some serious shit. This is my 3rd Tour, and I still listen and pay attention. If for no other reason, as a precaution, then. You can’t tell the locals from the bad guys most of the time, so don’t take any chances.”
One thing that was for sure was that in 1927 when The Blue Bird Bus Company started, they never figured any of their buses would end up in a War Zone equipped like these here in Vietnam. They had been reinforced and decorated like those you see in a modern-day zombie apocalypse movie.
Their landing had not been the grandiose spectacle of the previous military types who were there years before them. Other troops were flown in as entire Battalions or Brigades or transported by the Navy in troop ships like back in WWII as a complete Unit, equipment and all. Not that they were complaining about being on a commercial airline, but to Tucker, it did seem like a great contrast from what his brother Will had mentioned going through getting there on his transport plane. In this case and on Tucker’s plane, it was more like a mixed bag of Specialists ranking from the low man being E-4s to the Lt. Colonels (although he didn’t know everyone’s particular specialties). It makes one ask themself, “What was this war coming down to? Maybe the politicians were officially going to fight the war from Washington now, completing their own personal agendas, or were we going to drop the bomb and we all were expendable or something?” Tucker didn’t have a clue.
When the Bus stopped, the troops were off-loaded into the reception and replacement station type area. Except for most of the officers and E-6 NCOs and above that were met by someone taking them to their following assignments, they had to listen to the first of many lectures about how to act in this and other nearby foreign countries. All the different branches of service went to their designated areas. They signed in for another lecture filled with more bullshit. Then they were broken down further into MOS categories to hear yet another boring speech about the cultures in Vietnam and to pay the utmost respect to them (right). After hearing how to be a guest in the country and not tread on their cultures, some dude said, “Hey, Major, what do we do if some mama-san or her kid tries to blow our asses up? Or some idiots, perhaps not in their NVA uniform per say, booby traps our hooch. Do we politely say thank you and call it a day or what?”
Everyone in the room voiced their opinion all at once after that. The Major, who looked more like Corporal Radar O’Reilly from M.A.S.H, gave them a moment to vent before he called the room back to order and finished the lecture like he had been doing for months. SOSDD, same old shit, different day.
The Major (Radar O’Reilly) continued by reviewing how the army has broken down the southern half of Vietnam below the DMZ (demilitarized zone) and not the communist side into sections or quarters known as Corps. From a large map, he pointed and explained.
1st Corp, or simple eye-corps, was the northern part below the DMZ and was primarily a mountainous region to the western border and back to the eastern coast.
2nd Corp was considered mountains and foothills west and back to the east coast.
3rd Corp had even fewer mountains at the western border, some foothills, and plenty of flatland and wetlands to the eastern coast.
4th Corp is all lower end, primarily flatland and wetlands west to east.
Next, the kind Major gave them more from the list of the dos and don’ts from the MACV (Military Assistance Command Vietnam) hierarchy.
- Remember, we are guests here: We make no demands and seek no special treatment.
- Join the people! Understand their life, use phrases from their language, and honor their customs and laws.
- Treat women with politeness and respect.
- Make personal friends among the soldiers and common people.
- Always give the Vietnamese the right of way.
- Be alert to security and ready to react with your military skills.
- Do not attract attention with loud, rude, or unusual conduct.
- Avoid separating yourself from the people by a display of wealth or privilege.
- Above all else, you are members of the U.S. Military Forces on a difficult mission, responsible for all your official and personal actions. The comportment that you project ought to reflect honor upon yourself and the United States of America.
Later that same day, our group of Army Specialists, fresh in from Ft. Bliss, Texas, were assigned to their Quonset hut type of housing not far from the airport. So not knowing what to expect next other than more bullshit orientation from the Vietnam Welcome Wagon’s Brigade, the guys just settled in making up bunks for themselves after visiting a supply hut on the suggestion of several E-5 Sergeants that continually walked the area, stopping only to look to see if and when all the shelters were full and giving advice or answers to any and all questions being asked.
When Tucker finished putting his gear away, he stepped outside to watch the planes and helicopters take off and land at the airport. For some new reason, he was now becoming fascinated by the choreography of it all, possibly since he had recently learned to fly—but not literally.
“Someday, maybe I’ll be on one of those bad boys out there kicking some real ass,” he told Smithy and Wallace when they stepped outside to see what he was doing.
“Shit, man, I hope you take to that better than you did to skiing back home, or you’re a dead man walking already, dude,” Wallace said, smiling as he pulled out his new zippo and lit a cigarette.
Author P.S. Bartlett 
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