Hope your move will be ok, really rough the older one gets. Columbia seems to be a nice area, good luck.

Good Luck on your move. Don't lift anything heavy!!!

I have to be careful about getting to emersed in this stuff because of what it does to me. I SALUTE ALL who were in country.

This thread was in danger of slipping down so I hope this rescues it in more ways than just a bump.

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Front sight and squeeze

Yes. Wonder how his move went……
SFVet….if you have your “ears on”, check in… let us know how you doing….…

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"Your other right........."

I sent home the obligatory picture of my M1A1. As a tanker, I had the luxury of taking it with me to augment the grease guns. The battalion commander wanted it, he never found it.

Attached Images

Cambodia 1970.jpg (36.4 KB, 271 views)

The long time bride of an officer I served with, and much admired, told this story of their Christmas 1969:

"I arrived in Hawaii December 21, and spent a couple of days with family in Kanehoe Bay on the windward side of the island. On Christmas Eve, hours ahead of the time I needed to be there, I arrived at the reception center at Fort DeRussy. Not the modern Fort DeRussy with high rise Hale Koa Hotel, but the old WWII wooden barracks version that existed in those days. One of those old WWII barracks had been converted in to a reception center with a snack bar at one end. We had to check in with an NCO to see what flight our soldier was coming in on. I checked in and Charley’s name was not on the manifest. The Sgt looked at me and said “don’t worry honey it happens all the time.”

I went in to the snack bar and sat down to have breakfast. Sitting next to me was a beautiful young woman, with gorgeous gray eyes, and we soon began chatting, albeit a little nervously. We discovered that we were both married to pilots and felt so fortunate to have husbands that were doing what they loved and not tramping in the mud and the sludge of the jungle. Her’s was an Air Force fighter pilot and mine was a Wobbly One, Army helicopter pilot. The loud speaker soon told us to check in, if we hadn’t already done so, with the duty NCO; the buses were inbound from Hickham. I checked with the same Sgt and he looked at me and smiled. “Happens all the time.” There was a single name on a single sheet of paper, but it was the name I wanted to see. Charley’s name was on a page by itself.

The buses arrived and all spouses that have gone through tough deployments, know the feeling of that rib crushing hug, that first embrace after a long tough separation. The speakers told the military personnel to exit through a door in to a small room and get their malaria pills and continue to the area where their bags were being held. Taxis waited to take us wherever we were going. Charley left to get his pill and bags and I turned and saw my breakfast partner sitting on a metal folding chair at the end of the barracks; next to her stood two men in uniform. Her face was buried in her hands and as I approached her she stood and with tear filled eyes, took my hands and told me “treasure this Christmas, it may well be your last.” Christmas R&R in Hawaii was magical. Christmas dinner was a huge banana split, as ice cream was nonexistent in Vietnam and Charley savored every bite of it. We knew the time would come when he would get back on that plane and return to hell. Riding in the taxi to Fort DeRussy to get on his bus to Hickham, he said “I guess I’ll have a seat on this plane going back.” I asked what he meant and he told me that he had flown in standby. Someone else didn’t make it."

Once again, this thread triggers old memories.

R&R was the military term for "rest and recuperation", short periods of leave for servicemen in Vietnam. There were a couple of in-country R&R centers (Vung Tau and China Beach) that I knew about, fairly basic accommodations with some recreational activities and a decent mess facility. Out-of-country R&R was authorized for a week stay in Bangkok (Thailand), Hong Kong, Tai Pei (Taiwan), Australia, Hawaii, perhaps a few other places. Charter flights provided for the service members, but family members coming from the US had to pay their own transportation. Lodging and other expenses were out of pocket.

Each unit had an allocation of space-available slots for the R&R flights. Competition could be rather fierce, seniority (time in-country) counted heavily, disciplinary problems disqualified some guys, and there were no guarantees (standby status was common, no airplane seats went unfilled but a lot of disappointed guys were left behind). Typical allocations were one "in-country" and one "out-of-country" R&R per tour (one year).

Lots of married men chose Hawaii and spent a ton of money for a week with their wives in expensive hotels. Lots of single guys chose Hong Kong, Bangkok, or Tai Pei for incredibly inexpensive lodging, meals, booze, and incidental entertainment.

A common term for the troops was I&I (intoxication and intercourse).

My choices were Tai Pei (first tour), Sydney Australia (second tour). One week each, and each of those weeks could turn into a short book of experiences. Nuff said.

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Life of the party until 8:00PM

A lot of guys would bring SW-Colt wheel guns and even buy them at PX on R and R. Model 19 357 mag popular and airweight J -frames. One South Vietnam General made the M-38 humpback infamous on National TV. Buying watches like Seiko,Gylcene, Rolex was popular on R-R too at the PX.

Well, it was a pretty abrupt decision one day, last summer, "...enough off just thinking about selling two homes and moving to be near our son and his wife and 5 and 8 year old sons...", so bought a new home, sold the two others in a week, packed about 200 boxes, and moved in.

Just love it here, Lexington, SC, a smaller town adjacent to Columbia. No more stairs, no more yard to mow, no more trees to trim, no more weeds to pull, no more mud to wash off the driveway, and our pool will be in before long. Got my reloading bench set up, cranking out 357 mag and shooting my 28 and my new Henry Lever in that caliber, and have joined a local gun club which has 13 different ranges! Moved my army truck out to the airport into a hanger with about a dozen other vintage military vehicles, plus a full machine shop and just great guys to be around.

We are finishing up a climate controlled finished walk up attic space, and before long I can set up my projector and scanner, and get back to looking over my slides of my military experience. I have greatly enjoyed the contributions of so many others on this thread.

Our two grandsons spent the night here, and this morning were out digging in the mud of a next door home construction. Boys and mud just seem to attract one another.

Life is just wonderful, and I'll be back soon. SF VET

Good to here that the move went well and the area is to your liking

Sent from my SM-G991U using Tapatalk

Glad to hear all is going well. Your experiences and pictures have been missed.

Thanks to you and all who served and are willing to share your experiences.

Old Tanker - your post was appreciated and was a bit hard to finish as the words were getting blurry for some reason.

SFVet — good to hear from you.

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"Your other right........."

Not yet able to set up my scanner, so thought we could share stories of our military years.

Graduated from Nebraska in May, 69, and as a Distinguished Military Graduate from ROTC, I was on active duty the very same day. Immediately after that ceremony, (first) wife and I left with our son for Benning's Infantry Officer Basic. I think it was something like two months. All of us rookie Lt's were programmed to then immediately begin the three week Airborne School. I was apprehensive because we were required to do seven pull ups, something I was never able to do. But the SGT told me "good enough", and I passed.

I was a bit scared of the huge rattlesnakes that were all around our Benning Infantry field exercises. Years later had a "bad experience" with a big timber rattler at Bragg.

We had to do a lot of pushups for every sort of minor infraction, causing lots of scratches on my brass buckle, causing even more pushups. With the runs and such, I was pretty exhausted by the end of the day, and didn't have the time nor energy to try to Brasso the scratches away. So went to the QM sales, and bought a bag of buckles, which I then boiled to remove the lacquer and then buffed them. The second week of Tower was really exhilarating, to drop from one off the three towers dating back to I think the New York World's fair.

Then lastly to the airstrip, where we boarded C119's, the Flying Boxcar of Korean and then RVN wars. A decade before, one of the following C119's had an engine failure, and had descended thru the troopers, killing quite a few. Our class also had newly enlisted troops, none of us wearing any rank. Many of them had never been on an airplane, and when they exited the door, many held their noses as when they had jumped into their swimming holes. I think five jumps, then we had our wings pinned on right there on the drop zone. One my first jump, I fell into the billowing 'chute of another jumper, and it folded up around me, but my own chute then fell off to the side, and yanked me free.

On the ground, there were jeep medic teams racing around to jumpers who looked like they had impacted poorly.

Oh, one of my early days there, I saw an grizzled SGT approaching me, so when he snapped a perfect drill SGT salute to me, I responded with my three finger boy scout salute.

One thing I was sorta glad of was, was back in ROTC, one of our TAC officers was the SAO for a recent NU graduate who had been killed in a mortar attack. The TAC officer said I was about his size, and the family sold me all of his nicely tailored and faded fatigues for I think ten bucks. So I at least didn't look like a newby LT. My wife cried when I snipped off the dead Lt's wings and tags and patches.

So much for that sympathy, as it turned out.....

Then to Ranger School, classs 5. SF VET

Old Tanker's post #757 made me cry. So very sad.

I didn't make my R&R. However my wife came to Japan where I was in the Hospital. :-)

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Paul
Salome, AZ

Immediately after the three weeks of Airborne, I reported in to the Ranger class HQ. While I will post of of my adventures in that 8 week Course, what I subsequently realized was that the training back then, how to patrol and enter a Vietnamese village, that sort of thing, really wasn't what we were to learn in Ranger School.

The experience was for us to learn that every soldier, esp ourselves, has some limit to their ability to carry out a mission. It was designed into the program. For one, it was exhausting and so tiring to go so long with exertion and without brief rest and sleep. So the school set us up for frustration. We would pause in a patrol, all of us barely able to stay awake, and then set up our perimeter, and designate who was to be on guard, and who could close their eyes. Our patrol leader would tell us we where to remain in place for three hours, such a welcome thing to hear.

But after a brief time to set up our security, and just after some of us would fall sound asleep, the word was passed ".... ruck up, we are moving out." Just to teach us how to deal with disappointment. It was all planned for just those experiences.

And we also learned how sleeplessness would inevitably cause us to have mental confusion. When it was our turn to be the pace man, keeping track of our distance traveled, with the trick of moving a pebble from one pocket to another, after learning our own pace-for-distance, we would be so mentally tired that we couldn't even count. The pace man would whisper "... what comes after six, I can't remember.". The reply might be "...I think seven, maybe eight, I can't remember myself...."

A leader has to know, to learn for himself, how he and others function with physical exhaustion and extreme fatigue. And that is what we were to learn in Ranger School.

Once, my patrol paused on a mountain trail, and I looked back at another student, who was carrying a stick instead of his M14. I asked '....where is your rifle?" He dumbly looked down at the stick he was carrying, and slowly replied, "...I think I left it back there."

Ranger school was and is no doubt a very demanding school.

I learned some useful things about myself and the men I might someday command in that School. More adventures later. The snakes, the lost radio, the hunger, the Fawn, the bear, the KIA Lt, and boots that were too tight. SF VET

Just a short story. As in a prior post, before Ranger school I had gone into Fayetteville (AKA FayetteNam) to Ranger Joes, and bought a nice custom sheath for my Buck General sheath knife, the long bladed one. Same one I wore in my later RVN Advisory tour. Anyway, one cold day in Ranger School, somewhere up in the Georgia mountains, another student had to secure some sort of line to a tree for some task. Watched him stab his big KABAR into the tree, and then give his imbedded blade a little push, and his knife immediately snapped off at the hilt. So I decided while KABAR's were really historic and tactical looking, they really weren't suitable for some tasks. I would keep my Buck.

The Fawn. Before, when I had been in ROTC, we watched a lot of army training films. One of the staff NCO's was actually in one we saw, where prisoners escaped, and what survival tasks they employed. One was shaving a pine tree, to scrape off the thin underbarrk, and use that for "food." Yeah right....

The same NCO had been in Germany in the same platoon Elvis was in, at the same time. He said Elvis was a model solder, and when Elvis saw how the troops had to cut the grass with scissors, he bought the company a power mower.

So being very hungry in Ranger School, resting against a pine tree, and recalling that Army movie, I pulled out a blade, and shaved off a strip of under bark, and proceeded to chew on it. The Army was wrong. It was like sucking on a terpentine soaked rag. Awful, burning, searing... Mark that suggestion up to avoid at all costs.

In the same mountains, out on point with another student, we came upon a tiny fawn, hidden in the brush. He and I told each other we should kill it, and find a way to cook it for our patrol team. But neither of us was an experienced hunter, and as we stood over the tiny, helpless fawn, each telling the other to kill it, the fawn grew tired our discussion, leapt up and was gone in a flash.

Next, the Granny Knot.... SF VET

SFVet was a young officer commissioned upon completion of ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps) during his college education, as compared to the traditional career officers coming out of the US Military Academy at West Point. Reserve officers far outnumbered West Point graduates.

Following my first tour in Vietnam I was sent back to Fort Benning, Georgia and assigned to the Infantry School as a junior instructor. My specialties were map reading and land navigation using the magnetic/lensatic compass. Keeping track of distances by counting strides, while focusing on terrain features and visible landmarks was a basic skill to be learned, along with use of topographic maps with varying scales and contour lines to identify terrain and orient oneself to the ground and plan routes.

I was a tall, slender, handsome young (about 20 years old) sergeant with a combat unit patch on my right shoulder, Combat Infantryman Badge, Parachutist Badge, and Pathfinder Badge on my left breast. Standing tall, looking good, perhaps even mildly intimidating to some of the new lieutenants.

The majority of our students were Infantry Officer Basic Course, brand new second lieutenants with reserve commissions upon college graduation from college. Most were 21, 22, or 23 years old and seriously trying to find a way to complete their military service obligations with minimum disruption of their life plans and dreams. In short, very few problems for me to deal with. I regularly reported to the class leaders, referred to everyone as "gentlemen" or "sir", explained the basic requirements to be met, and offered encouragement and suggestions rather than demands. A delicate balance in the military world, which has helped me adapt to other challenges over the years.

Culmination of my couple of weeks with each group was an overnight land navigation problem. Teams of two students with a compass, a map, and a series of checkpoints requiring several miles of hiking through the hills, forests, and swamps to reach a final objective. SFVet has mentioned the little problems with wildlife, such as rattlesnakes (eastern diamondbacks and timber rattlers); perhaps he will also remember the "wait a minute vines" that seemed to wrap themselves around a man with hundreds of thorns piercing the flesh to encourage you to "wait a minute". Mud, bugs, and creep-crawlies of several types added to the experience of an overnight in the Georgia swamp lands.

At dawn the instructors and cadre usually spent several hours searching and trying to account for all the new young lieutenants. We did not want to lose any, if possible, because the US Army had urgent needs for new replacements for Vietnam.

I called them my secret weapons; a second lieutenant with a compass and a map. There was never any way to tell where they might strike.

Some classes consisted of Infantry OCS (Officer Candidate School). Many of the candidates had a few years of enlisted service, frequently sergeants or staff sergeants selected for advancement, and some were combat veterans with more experience than their young instructor.

One class included West Point cadets in their final year. Almost without exception these were arrogant, rude, and annoying to deal with. A group of 5 decided that it was demeaning to their exalted status to be herded around by an enlisted man (me) and presented their complaint to my commander, a major with 20 years or more of service including 10 or more as enlisted prior to his commission, also one of the original Special Forces troops (not to mention combat service in Korea and Vietnam, and a ribbon rack capped off with the Silver Star). The Major listened patiently, allowing the young cadets to state their case, then calmly explained that the Army had assigned them to complete this class, that the Sergeant was instructing the class, and they would complete the class to the Sergeant's satisfaction or report back to West Point to explain why they had failed to complete their assignment. There were no further questions or complaints, 100% participation was the new order of business.

About that time I was reassigned for Warrant Officer Flight School. The Army tried unsuccessfully to teach me to fly a helicopter and become a junior warrant officer, requiring my extension of active duty for several years. Next stop was Vietnam, again.

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Life of the party until 8:00PM

I think we were at the ranger base at Benning for maybe a week or so. We "ran" thru the chow line, gobbling up our food so by the time we got to the end trash barrels, we dumped what was left and ran to the next formation. But that evening, our TAC officers, Lt's Burton and Burnie, informed us that we were wasting the fine cuisine prepared for us, and hence forth, the biggest student was placed at the trash can, and was to himself eat what was tossed. So, we gulped our whole tray down, so we didn't have to face the wrath of a huge student.

We had pugil stick fights in the pits, using padded clubs to batter one another; surely I got more than I gave. And in the pits, instruction in hand-to-hand fighting, how to flip an enemy, and then we had to kick the downed fighter in the small of his back. In my later MD years, I sometimes wondered how many students peed blood after those pugilistic sessions.

I was never an athlete, but somewhere developed a relentless drive and focus and absolute commitment to accomplish what I was tasked to do. On one run, back from a field exercise, about 30 or 40 in my platoon were run back to the barracks. As one by one, students fell out, the NCO mocked us by telling us in a prior class a Lt had died on the same run. I thought why mock the dead Lt, if it actually happened, since he gave his life trying to complete the run. I kept running, because I wanted the NCO to be in trouble when I too died, but I wasn't going to fall out, no matter what. It was my motivating factor to never stop.

I am color blind, as are 8% of males (never females), so while I see vivid reds and greens, if not so, they just look dark to me. I found this out in HS, which is why I went army ROTC and into the Navy program. There is a myth, that color blind men can perceive camouflage from real nature better than others. But for some reason, I could visualize the brown contour lines on our maps perfectly. I could see the ridge lines, the ravines, the saddlebacks, the elevations and depressions as if they were in full relief in front of me. Maps were three dimensional to me.

On patrols, on point, I could run and see the trip wires for flares as if the wires were florescent. Maybe something to the color blind thing. Later it was difficult for me to make out the red dropzone panels in SF Jump Master School. I had to look for patterns. So who knows.

The Benning woods were just crawling with snakes, the copperheads were everywhere on our solo map courses. Never step over a log. I don't recall if any students were struck.

Our move into our new home is going well, always more to do, mostly pictures and mirrors and such now. I am restoring a nice surplus rolling tool chest out at the hanger where I have my Army truck, along with the Bofer's restoration crew, and the Half Track, and so much more.

Next, Mariah, and the Bear... SF VET

I am not an artist of any sort, and much of that talent is simply lost to me. But there are some songs that can bring back memories of long ago. In the '51 play, Paint Your Wagon, later a movie, an almost haunting song is "They called the wind Maria". I can identify with some of the words in my own life.

In the song, rain is Tess, fire Joe, and the wind, Maria. In the army we added another name, Bear for the cold, and Hawk for the wind. Statements like "...the Bear is out tonight, and if the Hawk comes too, we are in for a rough night.'

After a week or so at Benning's base, we were loaded onto deuce and a half trucks for the trip to the second phase, at Dahlonega, GA. We rolled out our sleeping bags and slept soundly until we were kicked out and formed up. Mountain base was about 20 or so small cabins, alongside a dirt street, with bunks for us. First, we were instructed on repelling, using our short ropes around our waist and crotch, with an issue D ring. Primitive by what mountaineers use today. Had to be sure to tie with a square knot, because if the instructors fond a Granny Knot, we had to knock out pushups.

Being winter rangers, we were issued two C Ration boxes for each day of our usually 5 day mountain patrols. Always moving, cold, wet, exhausted, always trying to keep up on our maps where we were, for when we were appointed patrol leaders. The C rats had little packets of coffee and creamer, and I kept mine for some days, and would dump them into my canteen cup, pour a little water in, and drink the nasty, foul concoction for the caffeine. On one patrol, for some reason, I developed an acute case of diarrhea, adding to my misery.

One cold and dark night on a wooded mountain side , we paused and feeling the urgent need to relieve myself, I dropped my ruck, and moved out a few yards, accomplished that task, and was back at my ruck, when the word was quietly passed, "..push out the perimeter." It took a moment for me to realize this, and in those seconds the adjacent ranger low crawled out a few yards, and before I could caution, he swore "...Bear XXXX, I've crawled into Bear XXX!" I decided to say nothing, and keep my mouth shut. What good would it be to tell him it was no Bear it was me.

We had some days left on that patrol. I kept my secret.

If we had come across any real bears, I am sure they hear us and moved off.

I am sure that ranger student has his own memory of that patrol.

Not sure what phrases troopers use now for the cold and the wind, probably something for the sand, I suppose. But I think all of us were near hypothermia from the GA mountain Bear and Hawk.

Next, the night my fatigues caught fire! SF VET

SF Vet, a lot depends on the tree you eat. In western MT we have some ponderosa pines that the natives used to eat the inner bark of. When you smell them up close they smell like butterscotch or vanilla. They are much better than chewing spruce needles or bark.

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Front sight and squeeze

Montana has more edible and tasty trees than apparently the Georgia mountains do. Now, off to Daytona in the AM for the Rolex 24. SF VET

When we step out for a few minutes in cold weather, we are quite comfortable in light clothing. Our body heat has plenty of reserve, but cold temps can over come our metabolism's ability to keep us warm and comfortable. Fall into icy water, and it is a brief time, as when the Titanic swimmers jumped into 28 degree water. In those conditions, their hearts fibrillated in about 15 or minutes, with an unconscious drowning.

But just being cold, esp if damp, if unremitting, can also induce numbing cold, or even dangerous hypothermia. In the mountains of Georgia, I became sweat soaked, and when our patrol stopped for awhile, and I began to shake uncontrollably, I was fortunate that an Australian ranger student had an actual wool blanket in his ruck and I was rolled into it until my shivering stopped. I don't know if would have been able to just move out without that restoration.

Cold body temps make our thoughts sluggish and our activity likewise slow. In the wet, near freezing temps of the Georgia mountains, and later in the Eglin Florida swamps, I became, like the other students, unable to find warmth. The cold had seeped into my very bone marrow.

One night, at a pause, I covered myself with my poncho, and lit a candle, and in that tiny air pocket felt the warmth begin to put me to sleep, such that I let my self down over the flame, and awoke with my whole crotch jungle fatigues on fire! I leapt up and batted out the flames, glad that I was wearing issue boxer shorts, because the fire charred out my fatigue pants, such that only the upper part of my buttoned fly held them up, and my upper legs and privates were totally undressed. I continued for several more days like that, with half of my trousers gone.

It could have been much, much worse.

It was another test of my willpower and perseverance SF VET

When I was finishing ROTC at Nebraska, found a slightly used pair of "jump boots" down in the underground range at the ROTC building, just happened to be my size. The staff range NCO told me to go ahead and take them.

I later decided in the Florida Eglin AFB phase to wear them, for some reason I can't now recall. They seemed snug, and pretty tight. Soon, in the cold and wet temps of Eglin, my feet began to swell up, something called trench foot, where one's feet don't freeze, but are constantly wet and cold. The boots got tighter and tighter, and as the days passed, my feet became numb, where I couldn't even feel them when walking. I knew if I took those boots off, I would never get them back on. So for days, I just propped my feet up on logs and tree trunks at every possible pause. When I finally unlaced them, after days and days, my feet were waxy, swollen and totally insensitive to pressure or even pain.

After Ranger School had a brief leave before my wife and I shipped out to Germany, so went to a navy clinic near my parents' home, and the MD there had never seen anything like it, and wrote in my medical records. "...peripheral neuropathy second (med-speak for caused by) to edema....

I had no experience that would have cautioned me that prolonged "hiking" can cause such swelling of one's feet, esp if the boots are too tight to begin with.

That nerve injury has bothered me ever since. I still can't sleep with any weight, even bed sheets on my feet. My feet are hypersensitive to any pressure, so I am very judicious when I buy any shoes or boots.

In Ranger school my platoon had a very short Japanese Lt, perhaps five feet tall. Maybe less. When on patrols and we had to climb over obstacles like downed tree trunks, he just couldn't get over them, slowing our progress. So another Lt and I took to putting his ruck sack on top of ours, the other carrying his rifle so he could better keep up. I don't recall anything more about the small Lt. He was doing the best he could;, it wasn't his fault.

Not long after I was in Germany, at Schweinfurt, 3d ID, and was out at Graf, or Hoenfels, or perhaps Wildflecken on maneuvers, and several of us were reading the Army Times, and looking over the casualty lists, and I saw the name of the other Lt, the one who alternated with me in carrying the rifle and ruck of the Japanese LT. I never knew more about the LT's death, but given his relentless support he gave to a fellow student, I am sure he was heroic in his last minutes.

Any trooper who has ever been at the three major German training areas knows that no matter the season, it is always cold and wet and miserable there.

I will be away while we set up our about-to-be finished climate controlled attic space, where I will set up my slides and scanner soon. In an hour or so, taking my new Henry Lever rifle with some of my own 357 158gr cartridges out to see how it shoots with a new peep and taller front sight. Be back here pretty soon.

Be careful, and all the best... SF VET

I can attest to that- each time I was on an all expense paid trip to those 3 training areas, it was cool, wet. Always thought being miserable was one of the training objectives:-)

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Guns + Dogs= Bliss

about ten months ago we moved to near Columbia, SC, to be closer to our son and his wife and their 5 and 8 year old sons. It has been a great decision, and every day is filled with joy and excitement. And far more "work" to make our new home what we want, since it will likely be our last home. I have set up my projector and scanner and decided to sort thru thousands of pics so our kids don't have to do it. Plus, scan a few for this thread.

So..... I spent the first 6 months in Kien Phong Province, pretty much in the middle of the Mekong Delta, bordering Cambodia, and much of my Province was in the vast Plane of Reeds. We had some roads, but it was a pretty quiet sector, and much of the "traffic" was on the canals and waterways. I was a MAT leader, typically would be dropped off with one SGT at some outlying post to try, usually in vain, to teach completely uninterested Vietnamese local troops, sort of a militia. As far as I could tell, it was just a way to provide some employment and pay for young men, who were not otherwise suitable or interested in actual warfighting.

I traveled to and from places, if not via "Slick" then by jeep or a Boston Whaler. My province was quiet, and was mostly used by Chuck to travel on their own way hither and yon.

When I would run up to Camau, to our Province MACV HQ, where the US there lived the Life of Riley, it was fastest to go by a Whaler. But had to be very cautious to avoid swamping local sampans filled to the gunnels with women and children on their own shopping trips. The men and boys grew up in the water, and could swim well, but it was unthinkable for growing girls to learn to swim. If one of these filled sampans swamped, invariably the women and female children would thrash about and sink and drown.

So you can see how careful we had to be to avoid a tragedy. This is on Ectachrome, and is just a bit color changed.

More later. SF VET
[IMG][/IMG]

Good to see you back

Sent from my SM-G991U using Tapatalk

What duane_wade said ^^^. Great to see this thread renewed and as always, look fwd to hearing more of you stories SF VET.

The difference between my first six months, in Kien Phong Province, mid Delta, just south of Din Toung Province, which was hotly contested, and my second six months in An Xuyen Province, way south, along the edge of the U Minh Forest, was night and day.

In Kien Phong, it was quiet, and the local troops, for want of abetter term were completely unmotivated to do anything. At their little 20 man outposts, supposedly guarding the small road bridges and such, they just lazed around. Never patrolled, or were out and about, but just sleeping and cooking and sunning themselves, drinking Basiday rice booze. Their defensive positions were untended, their wire broken, their Claymores lying in the mud, their weapons stacked and rusting away.

Sometimes I would accompany a local leader on an inspection tour of these forlorn, neglected useless outposts, and he would roust the sleeping troopers out, and they would stagger out and try to form up for his pep talk. Like this little group of worthless soldiers.

I tried to remind myself that these ragged, shabby troops had never known a time of peace, since before they were born, their country had been involved in conflict, first with the Japanese, then the French, and now the US propping up an unpopular government. Perhaps of necessity, they had woven war into their personal lives. They had been born into war, lived their lives with it, and it would likely go on in endless fashion.

So they drew their pay, gave most of it to their local corrupt leaders, and just existed the best they could. The monotony of it must have been mind numbing.

I was however aware that from time to time, Chuck would set up some roadside ambush, and kill American Advisors driving past. I had to accept that I was just as vulnerable in my jeep, so we drove as fast as we could, dodging traffic and the pot holes and ruts in the failing asphalt roads.

Now, for some gun related content; since our move, I have added a really fun Henry Lever rifle in 357, which I reload, and just got a SIG 229 with an Optic, my first such pistol, and will shoot it tomorrow in an IDPA. Lots of dry fire trying to learn the very different way an optic pistol works for me. Palmetto State Armory is about 15 minutes from me, so will drop by later today to pick up several more magazines for it.

Later today, will slip into our new pool with a beer, and soak up some sun. Did I say I just love living here?

All the best.... SF VET
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A straight forward and accurate description of many of the local Vietnamese units we dealt with regularly.

The armed forces of the Republic of Vietnam consisted of ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam, a primary standing force), RF (Regional Forces, comparable to National Guard units), PF (Popular Forces, loosely comparable to local militia units). As SFVet commented, the Vietnamese people had no real history that did not include conflict and warfare. French colonial period, World War 2 (Japanese occupation, essentially slave labor conditions), Post-WW2 return of French colonial forces (concurrent with separation between North and South Vietnam delineating spheres of influence for the communist revolutionaries and a heavy-handed southern regime known for corruption and abuse). Putting it very simply, the Vietnamese people were largely resigned to simple survival mode, doing whatever was necessary to facilitate life on a daily basis.

Although I was a junior sergeant, my position and training was in operations and intelligence so I was routinely exposed to the realities of planning and conducting operations. We had very little doubt that many of the Vietnamese forces in our area, particularly the RF and PF contingents, were essentially interchangeable with the Viet Cong insurgents and North Vietnamese Army. Civilian populations included large populations relocated from contested areas and resettled with little attention to histories, tribal, or ethnic affiliations, much less any official vetting.

We considered everything to be classified and need-to-know. We utilized Vietnamese personnel as interpreters and scouts, but there was never any doubt that whatever those personnel were allowed to see or hear would be passed on to the bad guys as fast as possible.

Several programs were operational simultaneously. The Chiu Hoi program actively encouraged hostile forces to surrender and come over to the ARVN side. Some of those (Hoi Chans) became scouts (Kit Carson scout program), some were employed as local assets essentially functioning as liaison with local populations, some were used as propaganda tools. None were ever trusted to any degree. Disappearances happened with great frequency; never any way to tell if someone was taken and killed or simply returned to their true units and reported what they had learned.

Naturally, US and ARVN intelligence units recruited informers and a very active marketplace was created for information in exchange for cash. All the intel summaries I saw resulting from these efforts was little more than weeks-old BS, but the money kept flowing anyway. Probably more than a few careers were enhanced by facilitating the flow.

We frequently shared supplies with Vietnamese units, including weapons and ammunition. There was little doubt that much of it went directly into the hands of hostile forces. Efforts to encourage locals to turn in ordnance (in exchange for cash, of course) sometimes resulted in buying back the same stuff we had supplied to RF and PF forces recently.

A half-century later I have no animosities for the Vietnamese people. They were dealing with the realities of life in the best ways they could after several generations of suffering.

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Life of the party until 8:00PM

Welcome back SF VET. Glad to see you back and this thread resurrected.

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"Your other right........."

My ground pounding Vietnam combat veteran Marine uncle Eric died late last year from cancer (agent Orange?), I know he was receiving VA benefits for it but he would never talk about anything except leave in Saigon and that he was happy to be back. Thanks to all over there with him.

well said lobo.

SF Vet, your narratives and pix are of, I believe, remarkable historical significance, even worthy of a book ! If you don't mind, would you share the info on the slide scanner you're using -- I gather the original plan of using a slide scanning company was unsatisfactory? Thanks for your time and efforts to educate us !

musket44, thanks for your kind thoughts. I use a MAC laptop, hooked to an older Epson V600 photo long bed scanner. When my wife and I attended a National Geographic photographer course a decade or so ago, I asked the instructor how they did their slides for their magazines; back then it was before high resolution digital cameras. He told me they got tired of scanning their own, and started sending their slides off to a company called Scan Cafe, who will do whatever you send them, pics, movies, slides, prints, negatives. Return the to you cleaned, and scanned with high resolution gear, on a Disc or a flash drive. Really high quality, and not very expensive.

But now I just use my own V600, has a plastic tray sort of thing, clips onto the bed, chose in the soft ware what it is I am scanning, chose the resolution in DPI, scan, move to my picture album, tweak if necessary, and then post to a free site, Post Images, from which I can then attach a link in my posts. So easy, "even a cave man can do it." Believe, me, I am no Geek.

Here is the workhorse of small US outlying posts, a C 7 Caribou. Capable of pretty short landing and takeoff, with good cargo capacity. After about four or five days in processing at the MACV compound in Saigon, hopped a ride down to Can Tho, the big capital of the Delta, IV Corps, and later hitch hiked a ride to my first assignment, mid Delta, the Captain John R Tine compound, named after a KIA officer lost in that area a year or so before I got there, me in Oct of '71. Getting around the Delta was very informal. Just mosey over to a flight OP's area, and ask around if anyone had anything going my way. Usually involved hop scotching around here and there, and getting dropped off at some way point.

So climbed on this C7, which soon landed at a deserted PSP airstrip by a river, and I hopped off with my rifle and pistol, (and probably no ammunition yet,) and my little handbag. The Caribou turned around, and took off. I was totally alone. No greeting US, no local troops, no villagers, nobody. I felt kinda lonely, wondering if I had gotten off at the wrong place, and would have to find my own way to Cau Lanh, my first place, a MACV compound.

I just stood there, hot and sweaty, wondering if I should get all tactical and pretend to be armed, in case some roving VC group happened along. But soon a jeep pulled up and I hopped in and was soon at my little compound. My war had begun.

All the best,.... SF VET
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SFVET, glad you are situated in your forever home and back with us. Looking forward to more of your life stories!

SF Vet, many thanks for the scanning info -- you've given me a good reference point from which to get started. It appears to be a time consuming effort, so being selective seems to be a prerequisite ...

Just as an aside, I had an Army aviator tell me, many years ago, that the Army wouldn't let any pilot over 30 years old fly the Caribou because it was just too much tail for anyone over that age -- I'm sure his tongue was firmly planted in his cheek !!! (P.S. -- one needs to look at the plane from the side to get the politically correct jist of his remark).

I was sent south to An Xuyen province for my second six months "in country", after turning down a staff position in some HQ somewhere in MACV; I don't recall much more than telling my then higher that I wanted to stay out. I was comfortable with that sort of life, and besides, I was beginning to plan to somehow, in a few years, begin a career in medicine when my four year commitment for my ROTC scholarship at Nebraska was up. That was a year or more away. I was living on ten bucks a month, just my rice and soy sauce expenses. Army provided anything else I needed.

So wandered down to the Song Ong Doc District, joining a Major and SFC, who were in the process of tearing down their quarters and moving inside a newly constructed "outpost." I replaced a departing Captain, an intelligence officer. Shortly after my arrival, the Major went to Hawaii to see his wife, got sick, and with the drawdown, never returned. So I moved into his District Senior Advisor slot, sort of funny, actually, because I had only one staff, SFC Tom C. He and I got along fine. He always stayed back when I accompanied the operations, on radio relay. He was into Harly "Choppers" back home.

I didn't really have much to do, as there wasn't any "advising" I could do to teach the seasoned, experienced, and in that TOC, dedicated Vietnamese team. Mostly I just filled out the early sort of computer forms, I think they were called the HESS system, a way to tabulate how the pacification and "wining of the hearts and minds" was going in my District. As I recall the questions were stated so that the only way to answer them was in a positive, reassuring way. I couldn't add that the VC had just beheaded a village chief a Klick up river, or that 20 or so local militia had just deserted their post just down the river, and "gone over", weapons and commo and all. Or that one of the posts just across the river had been overrun, and the troops and their wives and girlfriends and kids there had all been killed.

Probably pretty much the same sort of optimistic evaluations that were sent up in Iraq and Afghanistan. You want to know how things are going, ask the Lt's and Sergeant's. The colonels will tell you what you want to hear.

My little compound had a small "cafe" where I often had lunch, some Ramen, with peppers and some flecks of fly spotted pork, made by pouring boiling river water over the concoction. It was really good, salty and spicy. The kids were the wait staff and the kitchen crew, mud floor where the discarded food was dumped, and I could get a Beer 33, chilled with river ice, with the melting ice letting the debris settle to the bottom of my glass.

Life was easy, relaxed with an occasional adventure, and I was quite happy, and the place seems like home to me. Partly because no one was telling me what to do. Life for me was pretty "low intensity."

Here, our little cafe. Several of the young girls were war orphans.

By the way, I still really like ramen and rice and soy sauce, but my wife has greatly curtailed that for me as my blood sugar acts up with that much carbohydrate.

All the best... SF VET
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A chap I was with was just about to take a swig from his Beer 33 when He held it up to the light. There was a huge decomposed grasshopper like bug in the bottle. I don't I ever had a local beer again.

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Paul
Salome, AZ

This pic is a bit "cheesy". but the back story is illustrative of what life was like on my little two man Advisory team, deep in the Delta. SFC Tom C and I did not have any US issue rations or food; we had a Vietnamese widow who did our housekeeping and cooking and cleaning. We called her CO', which is Vietnamese for a single young woman. She went to market every day for our chow, and cooked it fresh, or what passed for fresh down in the village market. We did not have refrigeration, as we ran our generator only in the eve. Usually some sort of duck or market pork, with lots of rice and soy sauce, and lots of candy from our PSP field support packs.

I shot this pic of me holding up a steak with my faithful Buck 110 open on our hootch's table. One day, a chopper dropped by, and tossed off several nice steaks for us. Don't recall if something they did on their own on a fly-by, or something sent down from our HQ up in Camau. Up there at the US compound, they lived the life of Riley, great food, entertainment, (movies and strip shows), AC, while the two of us lived a step up from the Vietnamese in our little compound.

It was such an amazing thing to actually have steak to cook on our little outdoor grill, that I just had to take a picture of the whole exciting event. Never happened before or after. I was so used to our near vegetarian diet when I got back to Bragg that it was some time before I could make myself even swallow American food. Hard to explain how I just couldn't make myself eat anything with protein. Took a while.

Here, on our table, we have rice, a bottle of rot-gut soy sauce, bread, and hanging on our wall our loaded rifles and an M79, with a bandoleer and a satchel of grenades for SFC T. And a pic from the Rise Shaving Cream girl. When I look back over my slides of our home life, I note that almost always in our home I was shirtless. I didn't have any shorts.

Now, I am working with my big smoker to become a Pit Boss, and have my short rib rib recipe just perfect, will be doing two racks this weekend.

Guns and knives are a man's basic essentials.

all the best, SF VET
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My Dad (just passed away last month at age 90) took two knives with him to Vietnam. A Case and a Buck. Upon his return, he swore that he would never buy another Case knife, since it rusted and the Buck didn't.

He stuck to this, and never bought another Case knife, even though I tried to explain to him numerous times over the years that the Case was CV and the Buck was stainless.

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Only a cold warrior

SFVet's photo displays something that may not be recognized by those who were not exposed to the practice. The aircraft is on an improvised runway made by laying PSP (perforated steel plate), a heavy-gauge rolled steel sheeting with interlocking sections that can be laid down on soil with little or no other preparation to provide a durable surface for aircraft operations.

Combat engineer units could create a functional LZ (landing zone) for cargo aircraft like the C119 Caribou or C130 Hercules in very little time with nothing more than a grader or bulldozer and a few pallets of PSP. I'm sure there are still many acres of southeast Asia covered in the products of American steel mills producing PSP by the shiploads.

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Life of the party until 8:00PM

My little compound, deep in the Delta, was just south of the U Minh Forest, where Rocky Versace, who was later awarded a posthumous MOH, and several other US advisory personnel were captured in '63, and held until their escape in '68. One of these was Nick Rowe, later author of the book Fife Years to Freedom. One of the Vietnamese interpreters on the 'chopper that picked him up, not killing him when they realized Nick had a beard, something Vietnamese do not, was later one of my two interpreters. Son, my interpreter, told me that when then picked up Lt Rowe, he was unable to speak.

Anyway, my compound was alongside a small river, the Song Ong Doc, ie, River Mr Doc. I have no idea who Mr Doc was, past or present. The river had a lot of commercial traffic, small ferries, barges, small sampans, and of course, me in my Boston Whaler, with two Johnson 40's, two, because I could usually keep one running. I actually got pretty good at tweaking the carbs on the fly. Since the Vietnamese mechanics up in Province, at Camau, typically used metric fasteners instead of SAE, parts were always vibrating off the motors. My Whaler was pretty waterlogged from the holes in it. The Local VC often stopped river traffic for taxes and supplies.

Sometimes, in the evening, on a slack, easy day, some of us would go down to the river and just shoot some of our firearms. I had an assortment of SMG's, but not enough mags to make them
useful in the field. I just cannot for the life of me recall ever carrying or shooting my issue M16. But I did carry my issue 1911 wherever I went, and out on op's with the Vietnamese.

Here, a 2nd LT officer, the compound intelligence officer, is shooting my 45. I can make out my name, COPPLE on the green armory tape on the slide. I actually did shoot my sidearm often, and still like to shoot my 1911's in IDPA competition. Here, the slide is in full recoil, but even blowing up the picture, I can't find the ejected case somewhere in the pic.

I kept my 45 well oiled because it was an old WWII handgun, and the parkerizing was worn off, making it very susceptible to rust if I din't oil it down pretty much every evening,. My last day when the chopper was inbound to pick me up with my little gym bag with my earthly possessions I went down to the river to fire off my several mags, and sure enough, the first round was a squib! I turned it in to ordnance up in Saigon along with my M16, telling the armorer that a round was struck in the barrel.

By the way, about 15 years ago, I "got into" reloading for my pistols and rifles, and by now I think I have "rolled my own" about 40K times or more. I was out shooting a new SIG this AM, learning to shoot with an optic, my first such. Yesterday, was out with the same SIG, and my 357 Henry Lever, of course, I haven't bought any ammunition in at least a decade.

All the best... SF VET
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At the risk of annoying our friend SFVet (which I do not intend at all), I will share a few more memories of my time in Vietnam.

Photography was a common hobby and interest among US forces. Excellent quality cameras and equipment was easily obtained at very low prices via PACEX, the Pacific theater area service of the Army & Air Force Exchange Service with outlets on most major military installations and providing a catalog ordering service rivalling anything Sears or Montgomery Ward delivered, back in those days. Top-of-the-line 35mm SLR cameras by Asahi Pentax, Ricoh, and (a relative newcomer with many great products) Canon (as well as major European brands). Major base camps and HQ areas offered photo lab facilities for servicemen pursuing photography as a hobby, we could process our own film and use good printers if we had access to such areas. Films from Kodak and Fuji were readily available thru PACEX and processing/printing could be had at minimal costs with mail service.

Lots of jokes, particularly in the outlying bases and combat units, about American GIs being "tourists with guns", constantly photographing everything and everyone around them. A trip to Da Nang, Cam Ranh Bay, Saigon, or other major installations showed more GIs with cameras than M16s. Every unit seemed to have a few wannabe professional photographers, and it was not unusual to see photos published in Stars & Stripes (the military newspaper) with credits to individual soldiers.

My point, such as it is, is that we were mostly kids, adolescents and young adults, just beginning to figure out what life was all about and how we might fit into the big picture.

My personal favorite was the Asahi Pentax SLR, thru-the-lens focus with light metering allowing easy settings for correct exposures, and interchangeable lenses for just about any use. Served me very well for many years until I upgraded to a more modern camera about 1990 or so. My personal interests led me more toward wildlife photography than other uses.

More rambling, done for now.

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Life of the party until 8:00PM

Thanks SF VET, Lobo and all the others for resuscitating this fine thread. It would be a shame to let all this personal history wither and dry up.

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"Your other right........."

My sentiments exactly. Many thanks for your memories

Sent from my SM-G991U using Tapatalk

Well said Fordson, being born in 1962 and growing up with the first televised war I really appreciate hearing from those who were there. Straight honest recollections of what happened.

Very nice. Loved the stories...

Outstanding thread as posted by several of us RVN Veterans. Our unit was responsible for “ turning over” vehicles, equipment , shops and tools to “Marvin the ARVN”. We delt mostly with their officers and few Sgts. that could speak english. Will leave it at that. Centuries of war had “ worn down” Vietnamese society….

Oh no! This old thread ain't going away yet.

Interesting visit with a VA doctor couple weeks ago. He made a comment on field conditions in Vietnam, probably based upon the popular conception that it was always a hot steaming tropical jungle experience. I shared with him my recollections of huddling under a poncho in the bush, monsoon rains pouring down 24 hours a day for weeks at a time, overnight temperatures dropping into the 40s, teeth chattering cold, praying for dry socks and underwear, getting back to a base camp and having the skin of my toes slide off with my rotting socks, infected rashes in the armpits and groin (I think the GI diagnosis was crotch-rot).

Yeah, heat and humidity were the usual expectations, but monsoon season brought along some new experiences.

Went to Vietnam at 18 years old, 6 feet tall, 145 lbs, handsome, dashing, probably irresistible to women. Came home at 19 years old, 128 lbs, fully capable of humping a 60 lb. rucksack and full load of weapons, ammo, steel pot, and flak jacket while running 5 miles in rough terrain. Furrs Cafeteria offered all you can eat for $3.95, but I probably put them out of business.

Being a natural-born slow learner, I managed to repeat the experience the following year, finally getting back to the US a few weeks before my 21st birthday, still too young to vote or order a beer in a bar in most states.

Fast forward to the 1980s, watching Army recruiting advertisements on television enticing another generation with slogans like "It's not just a job, it's an adventure!", and "We do more before 7AM than most people do all day!". Almost made me want to run down to the recruiting office and re-up.

More old memories.

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Life of the party until 8:00PM