12
FLASHBACK: NAM DIARY, ARRIVAL
The first ten days: First off, I was a replacement. I sat around the Cam Ranh Bay repo-depot for
about ten days before they sent me down to Third Corps HQ and from there over to Phouc Binh which
is where I pick up my squad. I‟m only five weeks out of Advanced Infantry School, I don‟t know shit
and I am plenty scared.
I can tell you this, flying in to Cam Ranh I, look down and it‟s really gorgeous, I mean this is some
beautiful place except you have all this beautiful green jungle and then you have mortar holes
everywhere. It was like, you know, paradise going to hell and gone.
Anyway, while I‟m in Cam Ranh waiting to get a squad, I hang out with this potato farmer from
Nebraska they call Spud, because of the potatoes and all. He doesn‟t like it much but he doesn‟t
complain either. That wasn‟t too bad because we were both, you know, newcomers, so mostly we
talked about what it‟s like back in the world—the States. Except this Spud, he was really scared. His
hands shook and everything. Then he gets shipped into Indian country, and after that I meet q with
this kid from Wisconsin—a short termer with only two months left to go who is off the line a couple
days to come see his brother who got wounded and is in the hospital. We hook up in this sorry ass
lean-to they call a bar. First off I tried striking u some talk with a sergeant but he just looks at me with
these dead eyes, I mean eyes like hunks of coal, no feeling, no nothin‟. He was scary. I says “hi” and
he looks at me and gets up and leaves, and that‟s when this kid from Wisconsin, who is sitting down
the way from me, pipes up and says, “He‟s a CRIP, they don‟t socialize much.” And I says, “What‟s a
CRIP?” And he says, “Jeeze, how long you been over here?” And I says, “Less than a week,” and he
says, “Shit, you got it all ahead of you,” and just shakes his head but he doesn‟t say anymore about
CRIP; I learned about that later.
Anyway he got off the line to see his brother, only it turns out he‟s been there three days and hasn‟t
been to the hospital yet and when I ask him why he says, “No guts.” Finally after a couple of beers I
walk him down to the hospital mind I wait outside in the hall and there‟s some guy screaming the
whole time I‟m waiting. It gives me the crawlers. I wanted to just up and leave but that wasn‟t right so
I sat there and after a while I put my hands over my ears so I couldn‟t hear it anymore. Then the kid
from Wisconsin comes out and he‟s crying and he‟s like, you know, hysterical or something, and we
get outside and sit down near the hospital and this kid, he‟s really torn up. But I don‟t ask him
anything, I just wait, because already I‟m learning about not asking questions.
About five minutes after we sit down for a smoke this Huey comes over and settles down almost on
the ground and they dump out half a dozen body bags, just like that, plop on the ground and whip off
again. I never saw anybody dead before. I started getting sick and the kid from Wisconsin is sitting
there staring at the bags and finally I says, “Let‟s get out of here,.” and we go down to this other
hooch and have a couple more beers.
The kid gets pretty drunk and finally he starts talkin‟. Real fast, it just comes bustin‟ out. He says,
“Bobby says to me, „Christ, how am I gonna tell Arlene, [that‟s his girlfriend, Arlene,] how‟m I gonna
tell her I ain‟t got any balls left,‟ and I‟m sittin‟ there thinking, Jeeze Bobby, you don‟t have any
fuckin‟ legs left!‟ Ah, shit, it don‟t make no never mind anyways. Arlene married some asshole from
over at the paper mill at Christmas and she never even wrote him or anything. You think I‟m gonna
tell him that? There‟s a lot of Arlenes in the world but Bobby, he only has two legs and two balls.
Now he ain‟t got neither.”
And I just sit there listening because, what are you to say, right? Besides, my insides are really
beginning to churn and I‟m wondering when I‟m going up. And then he says, “What‟s it like back in
the world? Do they really spit on soldiers?” And I says I never saw anybody spit on a soldier,
although once I did see a demonstration and I was in uniform and a bunch of them, y‟know, they shot
me a bird like it‟s my fault I got to go to Vietnam.
Finally I navigate the kid from Wisconsin back to his quarters and he‟s really soused and the last thing
he says to me is, “I‟m afraid to go home, scared shitless here and scared shitless to go home, shit,
they‟re gonna hate me because of Bobby.”
I never saw him again but I know what he means now, about them hating him because of what
happened to his brother. You get so paranoid after awhile. After awhile you get so you think
everybody back in the world blames you for the whole thing.
Like this Jesus freak from Mississippi I meet at the Red Cross. He‟s even worse. He kind of babbles,
you know, runs things to-get her, like he can‟t get it off his chest quick enough, keeps talking about
the kids, about killing kids. “Kids?” I says to him. “Listen,” he says and he‟s whispering, “don‟t ever
shoot a water buffalo, hear? You can kill women arid children but you kill a water buffalo, man,
they‟ll bury you under the brig.” Then he starts laughing. Laughing. Then he says, “Nothin‟ over here
makes any sense. Sometimes I wonder, hey, we the good guys or not? But you ask an officer that,
he‟ll send you u to the psycho ward. I don‟t pray anymore. I‟m too embarrassed to talk to Cod. I got
too much to tell him.” He goes on like that for maybe an hour, shaking his head the whole time.
Always whispering.
By the time I get my walking papers I‟m almost glad to be going into it. This place is nuts. It all
seems to come to a head here at Cam Ranh because you get them comin‟ and goin‟. Everybody‟s a
little crazy. There‟s a lot of questions you want to ask but after awhile you figure out nobody has any
answers, anyhow, why bother.
So anyway, here 1 am in this creepy little town near the river, if you can even call it a town, I‟m not
here five minutes, the lieutenant, who looks about sixteen, red hair and freckles, his name is Carmody,
sits down and pops two beers, and he says, “Now listen good to me. I been out here, it‟s going on
eight months. I got my own way of doing things after all that time, so you do what I say, don‟t even
argue, don‟t tell me you didn‟t learn It that way back in the world, you just do it and I‟ll get you home
alive. You don‟t, 1 give you two weeks, you‟ll be dead or missing something you don‟t want to lose.”
I don‟t say anything, I just listen. I try not to shake but I am real nervous.
“I got a few rules,” he says. “In the beginning, no matter what happens, follow me. If Charlie starts
busting caps, you just follow me. Don‟t talk, don‟t start yelling at anybody else. If I go down, you go
down. Find a pebble or a mound of dirt or a paddy and get below it. Get under his horizon. If you get
hit, don‟t say anything and don‟t move. You do, and you‟re dead. Just lay there, somebody‟ll get you.
That‟s my last rule—we don‟t leave anybody behind. Dead or alive, everybody goes out together.”
I was so scared my stomach hurt.
“These VC are good, goddamn good,” he says. “Don‟t let anybody tell you different because that‟s
bullshit. All that shit they gave you back in Al, forget it. They got tunnels out there, they go on for
miles. They got whole operating rooms under the ground, not just some little pooch hole you throw a