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Fucked Up College Kids File 332
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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 `105ø 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
107ø-110ø 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 /´NARCHY
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