As near as I can figure, the sand Dong Tam sat on had originally been at the bottom of the Mekong River. The Corps of Engineers scooped it up and dumped it on the shore to allow ship passage in the deepened channel. Ship in the bulldozers to flatten the sand out, a million board feet of lumber, etc. etc., and they had a new base from which to protect the Free World. Yankee ingenuity at its best. USA! USA!
Like I gave a rat's ass about that when I stepped off the plane. Didn't know where I was, didn't appreciate what I was looking at. It was all newer than new to an ignorant mind like mine. I was completely dependent on being told what to do from one step to the next. Good thing the Army was used to tellin' new arrivals where to go.
First off I did something stupid. I mean really stupid. I was honest. While I was processing, a Spec. Four clerk asked me if I could type, 'cause they were looking for another clerk. Truth was I was a two fingered pecker just like I am today. In a pinch I could type thirty words a minute but was out of practice. That's exactly what I told him. I be dumb ass. Shoulda said, "You betcha!!! Back in civilian life I worked in an electric typewriter test lab for IBM. Got the job 'cause I could type a hundred and six words per minute. I'm a little rusty now but I think I could still crank out at least fifty till I got my speed back. Also, I've got a hundred bucks a month I don't know what to do with. Would you be willing to take it off my hands? Pretty please." The man wished me a good day and a fine life out in the boonies.
The next few days were spent learning how to be a grunt without actually getting shot at. The instructors all looked like the Army had cookie cut them from a tall, slim, black, sun-glassed, E-6 mold. What I recall being taught was that a banana palm did not make good cover. Wouldn't do more than slime the bullet before it passed through a GI's body. In my mind the green slime on the round, mixed with my bright red blood, would make me feel all Christmas-like. Be lookin' for Santa. When he didn't show, then the real disappointment would set in. Life's not easy for a soldier with a hole in his body.
Oh yeah, before I forget, I got one day off from training so I could pull KP. Made me feel right at home. Seemed like I was the only one in the kitchen who spoke English. There was the Vietnamese help and a couple of soldiers from Puerto Rico who seemed to only speak Spanish. One thing was for sure, they didn't speak pots and pans. But they did keep saying something that sounded like mama veecho (Looked it up on the internet, guess they were saying mama bicho. Look it up yourself if you care.), then would point at me and laugh. I'm not sure what that meant but suspected it wasn't about their mamas.
My indoctrination done, once again I was deuce and a halfed to a destination. This time it was the end of the road at Bravo Company, 3rd/39th, a grunt unit that was out in the field at the moment. Right off I got to meet an old geezer who turned out to be the First Sergeant. He made me feel right at home. Treated me like an actual soldier, which I wasn't. Diamond in the rough and a little on edge about what was coming up. I didn't know shit about anything and I'd have been the first to tell you I didn't, other than I was gonna begin to figure things out over the next eleven months.
The next few days were spent learning how to be a grunt without actually getting shot at. The instructors all looked like the Army had cookie cut them from a tall, slim, black, sun-glassed, E-6 mold. What I recall being taught was that a banana palm did not make good cover. Wouldn't do more than slime the bullet before it passed through a GI's body. In my mind the green slime on the round, mixed with my bright red blood, would make me feel all Christmas-like. Be lookin' for Santa. When he didn't show, then the real disappointment would set in. Life's not easy for a soldier with a hole in his body.
Oh yeah, before I forget, I got one day off from training so I could pull KP. Made me feel right at home. Seemed like I was the only one in the kitchen who spoke English. There was the Vietnamese help and a couple of soldiers from Puerto Rico who seemed to only speak Spanish. One thing was for sure, they didn't speak pots and pans. But they did keep saying something that sounded like mama veecho (Looked it up on the internet, guess they were saying mama bicho. Look it up yourself if you care.), then would point at me and laugh. I'm not sure what that meant but suspected it wasn't about their mamas.
My indoctrination done, once again I was deuce and a halfed to a destination. This time it was the end of the road at Bravo Company, 3rd/39th, a grunt unit that was out in the field at the moment. Right off I got to meet an old geezer who turned out to be the First Sergeant. He made me feel right at home. Treated me like an actual soldier, which I wasn't. Diamond in the rough and a little on edge about what was coming up. I didn't know shit about anything and I'd have been the first to tell you I didn't, other than I was gonna begin to figure things out over the next eleven months.
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