164 lines
9.6 KiB
Plaintext
164 lines
9.6 KiB
Plaintext
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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
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------------------
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We left New York City's Kennedy Airport on a commercial
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flight on June 28, 1971 - there were many young boys on this
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flight. We flew to San Francisco, Hawaii, and Okinawa where
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we transferred to a military transport C-130. As we approached
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South Vietnam, the pilot came over the broadcast system, "Welcome
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to DaNang, South Vietnam, it's approximately `105ø outside'
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and DaNang is presently `engaged in a rocket and mortar attack.'
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DaNang was the largest military installation in that part of
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Vietnam. Suddenly, the `top' (Staff Sergeant) screamed at
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us to "gear up" in preparation to disembark the plane. Just
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as suddenly, approximately 200 troops jumped up in anticipation,
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hustling our "rucks" (ruck sacks with gear weighed in at about
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60-70 pounds) onto our backs. You could feel the tension build.
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You could see the "flashes of light" on the darkened tarmac
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as we made our approach. There was this odor permeating the
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cargo section of our plane. Guys were "shitting their pants",
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from the true realization of the impending doom about to engulf
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us. We touched down and began to taxi away from the buildings
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where the "incoming" mortars and rockets were being directed.
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The back cargo door opened and the "top" and other "non-coms"
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began to frantically yell instructions to us. We lurched forward
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until we hit the "peta-prime" tarmac (a tar-like substance which
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stuck to the soles of your boots), and began to run some 100
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meters (approximately 300 yards) to the buildings. Before we
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began to "sprint" across the tarmac with full pack, the heat
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came up and grabbed us like a "steam vice". Sweat was pouring
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out of us like a broken runaway faucet. It suddenly dawned
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on me - today was my "Graduation Day" from high school. Happy
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Graduation Day - hope you learned a lot, welcome to the real
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world - Vietnam. While running across the tarmac amid the
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confusion and chaos, a brilliant flash of light and a deafening
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sound broke my concentration. As if in slow motion, one of
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the guys took a direct hit, severing his leg just above the
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knee. He seemed to float through the air, landing several meters
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away, from where his leg lay. His screaming from the pain and
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the frantic calls for "medic", propelled the scene from slow
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motion to fast forward. Someone grabbed him, then another,
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and they dragged him the remaining distance. A medic scooped
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up the remains of his leg and followed them into the barracks.
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Thirty seconds in the Nam and he was going home without his
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leg... Welcome to the Nam. Thus, our initiation to the Nam had
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begun.
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Within a two hour period, we had our deployment papers
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and everyone was departing for destinations unknown. The
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loneliness and fear were overwhelming. There was this "grunt"
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over in the corner chain-smoking cigarettes. He just sat there
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staring, at nothing. When he looked up, he had this strange,
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weird stare, almost like he was looking right through you.
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(The Grunts in the bush called it the "thousand yard stare").
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I would see that look many more times during my tour of duty.
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In fact, I had that stare for much of my time in the Nam.
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It was daylight as we approached our new home. We had
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been traveling for over 36 straight hours and time was a blur.
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Interestingly, as one progressed through his tour of duty,
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accuracy in time became more important as we all charted the days
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left before we could rotate home to the "world". When you were
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officially "short" (90 days or less before rotating out), you
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could tell anyone at any time how much time was left on your
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tour - almost to the minute! We were going to base camp situated
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next to the village of My Tho. We were in the region of South
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Vietnam known as the Mekong Delta, assigned to the 9th infantry
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Division. The base camp had been under attack for over 24 hours,
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The men were tired, frustrated, and zonked out from the "adrenalin
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high". The surge of adrenalin that one experiences during a
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"fire-fight" is amazing. It carries you, propels you, almost
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magically through fatigue, pain and fear. As new arrivals,
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we had no idea what we were getting into. We landed and the
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new guys, also referred to as: "newbe", "new guy", and the
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favorite "F.N.G." (fucking-new-guy), were greeted by the order
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- F.N.G.'s load the "bags" onto the chopper before reporting
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for duty. The bags were body bags which contained the remains
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of the dead guys going home. While handling this repulsive
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task, we were reminded that we could be going home any day,
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in similar fashion. I would one day learn that all of this,
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and what was to come that first day was part of the process
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to initiate me into the unbelievable world of the "bush". We
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reported to the C.O. (Commanding Officer) bunker only to find
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out that he was dead. The "Top" was acting C.O., so we found
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"Top". "Top" was a "lifer" (career army soldier), and we
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realized that he was terribly bigoted and ignorant. We were
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immediately paired off and given our assignments. Our assignment
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(myself and a black guy from Chicago) was to "bury the Gooks",
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who were "hanging on the wire" (concerta wire - strung around
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the perimeter of the camp). The heat in that region averaged
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107ø-110ø daily. The bodies were bloated and decomposing due
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to this intolerable heat. All I could think of was home - and
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the amenities I would so desperately miss. Things like a bed,
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soap, toilet paper, and flush toilets, cold liquids, a shower,
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hamburgers, and any hot food. We couldn't stand the smell,
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it overwhelmed us. We began to vomit violently. Naturally,
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we attracted some attention from the weary grunts watching us.
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We were entertaining them. After all, anything would be "funny"
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considering what they had been through. They started to sit
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around us, relaxing, drinking warm beer (Vietnamese or American),
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or smoking joints, watching the "show" - the "F.N.G. Show".
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We couldn't stop, every time we breathed in the odor...and they
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howled at us - Welcome to the Nam.
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After the "show" and our assignment completed, we had two
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more lessons to be learned, unbeknownst to us. "Top" called
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all of the F.N.G.'s together. We stood in a semi-circle around
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him and a dead V.C. "sapper". Outside of the semi-circle were
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some grunts, watching us, "looking through us". "Top" pulled
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out his "k-bar" (army issued knife) and proceeded to cut open
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the body right down the middle. Needless to say, this didn't
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sit too well with "us". He split open the rib cage, put his
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hand in and said "...these here are guts!". Then suddenly, the
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grunts grabbed our hands and forced them into the open body.
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"Get used to them", you don't go out on a "mission" until you
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can deal with it. Shock, anger, and sickness spread among us
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like a plague. How could they do this to us? We're here to
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help them! We were not permitted to wash our hands for the
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rest of the day and night. Nighttime meant sleep, we wanted
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to sleep. But first, we had to be "educated" on how to sleep
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in the bunkers, with the "swamp rats". These rats were the
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biggest, meanest and hungriest rats in the world. "Don't take
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off your boots, they'll bite your toes." You slept wrapped
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in a "cocoon"-like fashion to prevent them from biting you.
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That night, the rats came out. They inspected each warm body
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like a precision army. If you weren't tucked in properly, they
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attacked. Well, my partner that afternoon, "Chicago" wasn't
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prepared for the assault. A rat bit him on the cheek. He
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jumped up screaming and all hell broke loose. We thought we
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were under attack. "Chicago" ran into the compound screaming
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frantically, when a shot rang out. The shot silenced "Chicago",
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it almost blew his head off. He was hit by a sniper, probably
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300 meters out, from within the jungle. We didn't really sleep
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for the rest of the night - or for the rest of our tour. Welcome
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to the Nam - this is your "initiation."
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Brooklyn, and /´NARCHY
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