|
On
the wings of a stoned white dove We boarded the plane to Vietnam,
nothing but a first class flight for America's boys who were on their
way to war. It was some sorry assed looking four-engine prop job and we
were jammed into that tin aircraft asshole to belly button. My knees
were high in the air and wedged between the seats, my feet never touched
ground till we landed in Guam. The food on this flight was served in a
brown paper bag dripping like an old cheese steak hoagie. What the hell
right? We were Marines on our way to fight for freedom, it was only
fitting that some nasty old crusty assed meat-something sandwich was the
evening fare. The droning of the engines put us to
sleep, but in reality I think it was the fumes from this antique bird
they were flying us in. Most of us closed our eyes for
self-preservation; I swear the wings were flapping. Once in a while we'd
hit an air pocket and the plane would drop like a rock. When the plane
hit good air again the wings shot straight up and gave each other a high
five before leveling off. It was truly a Miracle of postmodern
aeronautics that we survived. Despite the odds, which were none to one
at this point we landed in Guam for refueling and they let us off for a
few minutes to stretch our legs. When I finally got to where I could
take two steps in a row I hobbled down and out and stood on the tarmac,
it was like stepping on a hot griddle. Though It was early morning in
Guam the temperature was a hot and humid 110 degrees. Little people
about four feet tall were running all over the place trying to get us
refueled and back into the air. I looked around for the yellow brick
road, Todo and the Tin man but they were nowhere to be found. This
wasn't the Land of Oz, and clicking my heels wouldn't get me back to
Kansas. I thought to myself, if Vietnam is like this the heat might kill
us before Charley does. A fleeting thought ripped through my
fume filled mind… Man the heat here stunted the hell out of these
people. No fear of smoking for them. I then lit up a smoke and boarded
the plane. Next stop Danang. In a matter of hours we would be in the
shit. No one slept. O wee yo-way, O wee yo-way!
We're off to see the wizard The skitzo-plane flop-landed at
Danang and creaked to a stop. The plane groaned, then puked on the
tarmac just before the wings fell off. I figured if I survived the
Sardine red eye flight outta Guam I would be all right in the Nam. Shit
yeah a piece of cake! Then just when I thought I was safe the greeting
party showed up. There to meet us were those who had been in the boonies
for a while and they herded us into A Quonset hut where we would be
dealt out like a deck of dog-eared cards. After finding out what unit we
were going to be with, some of us were loaded into trucks and sent
north. My draw was Phubai. After a hot and dusty trip we
finally got there and were once again told to gather round and listen up
for our name and company so that we could get on with the war. Then the
Gunny shouted out" do we have any Marine Corps 0311 Licensed
drivers here, and I raised my hand. He said, " report to motor
"T". They need drivers for the radio jeeps". I thought
Hell this isn’t so bad and followed the gunny down to the tent. He
said, "are you prepared to drive" and I said hell yeah Gun's,
and he said there's your jeep get in it and follow Sgt MacDugal". I
did and we hauled ass heading south on route one. We drove like a bat
out of hell to a small outpost about twenty miles south of Phubai. Man
it was isolated; wire was strung out all over the place. Fox holes were
whispering to me," Come on cherry boy it's your turn to
squirm". After I stowed my gear I was directed to a foxhole. Shit!
Here we go, I just got here and I'm gonna be stuck in a dirt hole
overlooking a rice paddy surrounded with barbed wire and claymore mines.
Then I met the100 pound redneck I would be sharing the hole with. He
looked at me with those
wild eyes and said "Welcome to Nam Pencil neck," at that
moment I knew it was gonna be an interesting tour |