Fragmented Memories

By Ken DeHaas

2/1 H&S 70-71

Camp Lejeune, late June of 1970. A seabag littered tarmac inhabited by pacing or sitting, very talkative or very silent, letter writing or chain smoking Marines. I’d soon be on my way to stop the communist aggressors from someday invading the USA. Yet something just didn’t feel right. This just didn’t seem like a movie script that John Wayne would sign up for. Where was the patriotic fervor, the impassioned unity and support for America’s men and woman that would once more fight, endure and win at all costs in the name of Freedom?

At last, on the bird to Vietnam. “Tick, Tick, Tick”, with Jim Brown and George Kennedy, was the onboard movie. The first and last airplane flick I’d ever see. Pretty and friendly stewardesses, great chow and cocktails. Lots of bravado filled chatter, common to young men / boys headed off to a world for which they had no means to compare or prepare for in their minds and hearts. Enjoyed the movie, the drinks and all of the other in flight amenities. Too bad reality had to interrupt.

Kadena, Okinawa. Jump off point to the Nam. Prelude to the merciless heat. Shots, shots, and more shots. Jungle issue and tee tee orientation. On to a C-130, converted for Marine transport. I remember red net seats fastened along the bulkheads. No time at all and we touched down at the Danang Airfield. The ramp was lowered and out the back of the cargo plane we filed. Once again, my mind was flooded with the scenes from all of the gung ho war movies I grew up with. Expected to be hit with rockets, automatic weapons fire, sniper rounds, frags. All that greeted us was that inescapable suffocating shroud of heat and little people wandering around in their PJ’s and cone hats, spitting beetle nut juice. Traded in my state side cash for funny money, (MPC-military payment certificates). We were called to formation and got our in-country unit assignments. Before long I was on my way to my new home. As our jeep joltingly sped down the muddy dirt road, that hellish Asian sun was at long last beginning to wane, along with my cockiness. Very soon now I would arrive at 1^st Force Recon to temporarily fill the need for a radio man. Before long I would find myself in their midst as an outsider and even worse, as a FNG. (F**king New Guy). My Tour of Duty was about to begin.

Thirty plus years later my time over there still seems a giant mess of fragmented moments. Some blurry and vague, as though I was shuffling through a fog bank. Others vivid and intense as though they happened just days or even hours ago. I recall memories that I would challenge a computer to remember, yet can’t seem to recollect those that most people would consider run of the mill. Remember a few names, faces, places. Forget or just never knew most of them. Was only 18 then. Perhaps if I had been older that time would be clearer to me now. Seems the older I get the more important it is to me to attempt to retrieve and preserve as many of my in-country memory fragments that I can. Don’t really know why this is so important to me. But it is. The quest gets more intense with every passing day.

Almost out of smokes, where the hell were the cigarette machines? Ration cards. Well that had something in common with a John Wayne movie. One of my first in-country duties, burning human waste in the sawed off 55 gallon drums. Seems the new guys always got the job. FNG’s also almost always got to be point man. I’d take the smell of burning shit any day of the week! Booze, Obesital, Bandoliers of 75’s, 10 Joint Party Packs. Nam Vets sure had their vices. We also had our sounds. Beatles, Janis Joplin, Three Dog Night, Jimi Hendrix, Peter, Paul, and Mary. Being a warrior in the midst of the anti-war love generation was not an easy thing. Yet we did good. You should have at least humped a Pack, M-16, M-79, M-60, Ammo, PRC-25 Radio, Flak Jacket, C-Rats, Socks (never enough), in 100 plus everyday heat, through elephant grass cutting jungle and leech infested rice paddies, before you judged your family members and child hood friends that were doing their best to preserve your freedom. Oh! Forgot to mention that it seemed to rain non-stop three months out of the year.

Who was the enemy in Vietnam? Before my first patrol I only thought in terms of Viet Cong, VC, Victor Charles. You know, those little guys in the black PJ’s that blend in with the jungle and pop out of the tunnels when you least expect them. Got a news flash for you. Here were some of the foes that we encountered, not necessarily in this order. Booby Traps, Booby Traps, Booby Traps. Ambushes. Tigers. Lighting Strikes on radio operator whip antennas. Rocket Attacks. VC. NVA. Lack of support by our Government and the American People. Our Leaders Quit when we could of Won.

At long last it seems that the Demons of Nam have retreated back to wherever they were summoned from. It appears that the witches have lost interest in their sick crusade. Hopefully with no one attending to the cauldron the diseased brew will dry up and haunt us no more.