textfiles/magazines/FUCK/fuck0332.txt

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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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                        Welcome to Vietnam
                        ------------------

       We left New York City's Kennedy Airport on a commercial
  flight on June 28, 1971  -  there were many young boys on this
  flight. We flew to San Francisco, Hawaii, and Okinawa where
  we transferred to a military transport C-130. As we approached
  South Vietnam, the pilot came over the broadcast system, "Welcome
  to DaNang, South Vietnam, it's approximately `105<30> outside'
  and DaNang is presently `engaged in a rocket and mortar attack.'
  DaNang was the largest military installation in that part of
  Vietnam. Suddenly, the `top' (Staff Sergeant) screamed at
  us to "gear up" in preparation to disembark the plane. Just
  as suddenly, approximately 200 troops jumped up in anticipation,
  hustling our "rucks" (ruck sacks with gear weighed in at about
  60-70 pounds) onto our backs. You could feel the tension build.
  You could see the "flashes of light" on the darkened tarmac
  as we made our approach. There was this odor permeating the
  cargo section of our plane. Guys were "shitting their pants",
  from the true realization of the impending doom about to engulf
  us. We touched down and began to taxi away from the buildings
  where the "incoming" mortars and rockets were being directed.
  The back cargo door opened and the "top" and other "non-coms"
  began to frantically yell instructions to us. We lurched forward
  until we hit the "peta-prime" tarmac (a tar-like substance which
  stuck to the soles of your boots), and began to run some 100
  meters (approximately 300 yards) to the buildings. Before we
  began to "sprint" across the tarmac with full pack, the heat
  came up and grabbed us like a "steam vice". Sweat was pouring
  out of us like a broken runaway faucet. It suddenly dawned
  on me - today was my "Graduation Day" from high school. Happy
  Graduation Day - hope you learned a lot, welcome to the real
  world - Vietnam. While running across the tarmac amid the
  confusion and chaos, a brilliant flash of light and a deafening
  sound broke my concentration. As if in slow motion, one of
  the guys took a direct hit, severing his leg just above the
  knee. He seemed to float through the air, landing several meters
  away, from where his leg lay. His screaming from the pain and
  the frantic calls for "medic", propelled the scene from slow
  motion to fast forward. Someone grabbed him, then another,
  and they dragged him the remaining distance. A medic scooped
  up the remains of his leg and followed them into the barracks.
  Thirty seconds in the Nam and he was going home without his
  leg... Welcome to the Nam. Thus, our initiation to the Nam had
  begun.

       Within a two hour period, we had our deployment papers
  and everyone was departing for destinations unknown. The
  loneliness and fear were overwhelming. There was this "grunt"
  over in the corner chain-smoking cigarettes. He just sat there
  staring, at nothing. When he looked up, he had this strange,
  weird stare, almost like he was looking right through you.
  (The Grunts in the bush called it the "thousand yard stare").
  I would see that look many more times during my tour of duty.
  In fact, I had that stare for much of my time in the Nam.

       It was daylight as we approached our new home. We had
  been traveling for over 36 straight hours and time was a blur.
  Interestingly, as one progressed through his tour of duty,
  accuracy in time became more important as we all charted the days
  left before we could rotate home to the "world". When you were
  officially "short" (90 days or less before rotating out), you
  could tell anyone at any time how much time was left on your
  tour - almost to the minute! We were going to base camp situated
  next to the village of My Tho. We were in the region of South
  Vietnam known as the Mekong Delta, assigned to the 9th infantry
  Division. The base camp had been under attack for over 24 hours,
  The men were tired, frustrated, and zonked out from the "adrenalin
  high". The surge of adrenalin that one experiences during a
  "fire-fight" is amazing. It carries you, propels you, almost
  magically through fatigue, pain and fear. As new arrivals,
  we had no idea what we were getting into. We landed and the
  new guys, also referred to as: "newbe", "new guy", and the
  favorite "F.N.G." (fucking-new-guy), were greeted by the order
  - F.N.G.'s load the "bags" onto the chopper before reporting
  for duty. The bags were body bags which contained the remains
  of the dead guys going home. While handling this repulsive
  task, we were reminded that we could be going home any day,
  in similar fashion. I would one day learn that all of this,
  and what was to come that first day was part of the process
  to initiate me into the unbelievable world of the "bush". We
  reported to the C.O. (Commanding Officer) bunker only to find
  out that he was dead. The "Top" was acting C.O., so we found
  "Top". "Top" was a "lifer" (career army soldier), and we
  realized that he was terribly bigoted and ignorant. We were
  immediately paired off and given our assignments. Our assignment
  (myself and a black guy from Chicago) was to "bury the Gooks",
  who were "hanging on the wire" (concerta wire - strung around
  the perimeter of the camp). The heat in that region averaged
  107<30>-110<31> daily. The bodies were bloated and decomposing due
  to this intolerable heat. All I could think of was home - and
  the amenities I would so desperately miss. Things like a bed,
  soap, toilet paper, and flush toilets, cold liquids, a shower,
  hamburgers, and any hot food. We couldn't stand the smell,
  it overwhelmed us. We began to vomit violently. Naturally,
  we attracted some attention from the weary grunts watching us.
  We were entertaining them. After all, anything would be "funny"
  considering what they had been through. They started to sit
  around us, relaxing, drinking warm beer (Vietnamese or American),
  or smoking joints, watching the "show" - the "F.N.G. Show".
  We couldn't stop, every time we breathed in the odor...and they
  howled at us - Welcome to the Nam.

       After the "show" and our assignment completed, we had two
  more lessons to be learned, unbeknownst to us. "Top" called
  all of the F.N.G.'s together. We stood in a semi-circle around
  him and a dead V.C. "sapper". Outside of the semi-circle were
  some grunts, watching us, "looking through us". "Top" pulled
  out his "k-bar" (army issued knife) and proceeded to cut open
  the body right down the middle. Needless to say, this didn't
  sit too well with "us". He split open the rib cage, put his
  hand in and said "...these here are guts!". Then suddenly, the
  grunts grabbed our hands and forced them into the open body.
  "Get used to them", you don't go out on a "mission" until you
  can deal with it. Shock, anger, and sickness spread among us
  like a plague. How could they do this to us? We're here to
  help them! We were not permitted to wash our hands for the
  rest of the day and night. Nighttime meant sleep, we wanted
  to sleep. But first, we had to be "educated" on how to sleep
  in the bunkers, with the "swamp rats". These rats were the
  biggest, meanest and hungriest rats in the world. "Don't take
  off your boots, they'll bite your toes." You slept wrapped
  in a "cocoon"-like fashion to prevent them from biting you.
  That night, the rats came out. They inspected each warm body
  like a precision army. If you weren't tucked in properly, they
  attacked. Well, my partner that afternoon, "Chicago" wasn't
  prepared for the assault. A rat bit him on the cheek. He
  jumped up screaming and all hell broke loose. We thought we
  were under attack. "Chicago" ran into the compound screaming
  frantically, when a shot rang out. The shot silenced "Chicago",
  it almost blew his head off. He was hit by a sniper, probably
  300 meters out, from within the jungle. We didn't really sleep
  for the rest of the night - or for the rest of our tour. Welcome
  to the Nam - this is your "initiation."



              Brooklyn, and /<2F>NARCHY


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