At
Tuy Hoa Air Base, I was the Sector Sergeant of the backside of the base. Each time I checked a post, the SP guard would ask when I was going
to shoot up my flare. I told them I'd shoot it at the end of the shift.
They kidded me that I wouldn't make it because we were going to be over
run by "Charley."
I'm not sure why or how it got started, but at Tuy Hoa we had a kind
of tradition. On our last night of duty we would shoot our last slap
flare in country, with out the parachute. It was my turn, my last night
of duty with Tiger Flight. I loved working the Tiger Flight (night shift)
shift. I got the usual complaints about the "Day Weenies"
moving the sandbags in the bunkers during the day to suit their comfort
instead of keeping them in a defensive position. Seems they would pull
them off the sides and pile them up to build a seat so they could sit
and watch over the top rim of the bunker. The Day Weenies just knew they would not be attacked during the day. I complained to the Flight
Chief and Flight Commander countless times, but it did no good. We would
come on at dark and the guys in the bunkers would spend the first hour
putting the sandbags back in place. Hell, it was their lives at stake.
I spent the first couple of hours just checking posts and letting those
who wanted hot "C" Rations warm them on the Jeep manifold.
Now I was getting "those" questions about going home. The
same ones I asked of the troops going home the past year. Like "How
long you going to spend in bed with your girl friend, Sarge?" "How
long you going to be drunk, Sarge?" "What's going to be your
first meal when you get home, Sarge?" Yeah, it was my turn, I'm
going home, freedom bird here I come. I'm so short a grain
of sand is taller then I am. And as I checked those posts and after
the kidding stopped, they would tell me that they would really miss
me. That's when you feel the bond that warriors have with each other.
It's hard to explain it. You just know you can depend on each other
and you would go down fighting for the other. I was going home, but
they were staying: Would they make it home? Not in a body bag.
Not on a Dust Off. But go home in one piece. We all said we would look
each other up when we got home.
It got that
time. Almost the end of the shift. I pulled out one of my Slap Flares.
Pulled the cap off, and dug the packing out. I pulled the chute out
and cut the cord. I called CSC. "Sector One, request permission
to fire a flare."
CSC: "For what reason sector one?"
"Sector One, 'Short timer's flare."
After a pause another voice came over the radio, I believe it was
the Captain's, our flight commander. "CSC to Sector One."
"Sector One over."
"Sector One, do you believe you have short timers in your area?"
"Sector One, CSC, I believe we do. I need a flare to make positive
identification. Over."
"CSC, Sector One, permission granted. If you find a short timer
in your area bring him to CSC immediately, over."
"Sector One, that's a 10-4."
I placed the
cap on the bottom of the flare and hit it against the fender of the
jeep. It shot up in a red stream. About the time it hit its apex to
start down, about 20 flares went up along the fence line. My flare fell
like a rock on fire. The other 20 or so flares popped their chutes and
came down lighting up the whole outer perimeter. As I drove down the
perimeter road past the towers and bunkers, I could hear them saying
"Bye, Sarge", and yelling ,"SHORT", and "I'm
next."
As I pulled
up to CSC, the "Day Weenies" were loading up on the trucks
to go to post. I yelled at them to leave the sand bags alone in the
bunkers. I got a bunch of cat calls and a few "fingers." I
went inside to CSC to a bunch of smiles. The Captain told me to turn
in my weapon and go home. I told him I still had 3 days of out processing
to do. Maybe get me use to sleeping nights again. I knocked on the door
of the armory and asked him to open the window so I could turn in my
CAR-15 for the last time. I went out to the window and clearing barrel.
Cleared my weapon and gave it and my ammo to the armorer. He asked,
with a smile, if I got any snipers last night. I told him no (that's
another story). He said something like, "Cleanest weapon in the
Nam." I said something like, "Yea, and not as many snipers
any more. Got tired of cleaning that thing all the time."
I walked down
to the Post Office to check mail, but had none. Then walked to my hooch,
took my cammies off and went to the showers. Came back and put my shorts
on and walked across to the NCO hooch. They had the outdoor grill going
with steak and eggs cooking. One of them poured me my usual 7 &
7 with ice, and asked how did I wanted my steak. (NCOs sure know
how to live) Then the conversation turned to who was going to take over
my hooch. They still hadn't selected the "lucky" NCO. No one
wanted to move out of the NCO hooch. They didn't have inspections, or
go to the 1st Sgt with one of their troops for screwing up, etceteras.
They had it made. Oh well, not my problem. Three days and I'm
gone.
I ate my steak
and eggs and had another 7 &7. The troops started to come
in from their posts, it was about 0600 hours. The hooch NCOs dropped
by, some ate, some didn't, most of them drank a few. All of them gave
me the usual "Short Timers" jokes. We got talking about the
"flower children" and "hippies" back home. All they
wanted was to stop the war. And in doing so, violated the laws and were
put in jail. Free meals and board at taxpayers expense. We, NCOs had
the solution. Bring them all over here and let them do "their thing"
to stop the war. They could take our place in the bunkers and when Charley
comes through the wire, they could throw flowers and dope and give them
the peace sign. We were hearing stories about them spitting and throwing
things at the G Is coming home.
At 0800 hours
I was at Personnel doing my out-processing thing. While sitting at the
desk of the airman who was processing me, a Captain came over and asked
if I was the Sergeant who took him out to the bunkers one night?
We were
asked to take a lot of people out to the bunkers at night just to
see what it was like. I think they did it hoping to see some "combat",
and they could write home about it. We had two areas that would be
sniped at quite often. Tower #7 was real popular. That's where I always
took them. About every night we would get a pop, pop, pop, pop and
a green tracer would come over.
I said, "Yes
sir, I did." He said, " how do you guys take getting shot
at all the time like that?" He looked down at the airman and said
, "We were shot at out there." I said something like, "Yea
but you guys get the mortars when they come in." I think that made
them feel real good about themselves because we had an attack just a
couple of months prior. Then the Airman said, "Sergeant, have you
been drinking?" I said, "Yes, two at breakfast, what do you
think we do after we come in from work?" The Captain gave him a
dirty look and shook his head, which meant don't screw with him. They
told me that I would have to wear a class A uniform on the Freedom Bird.
And Cammies were not allowed to be worn State Side. I got all my processing
done in one day except for my flight to Cam Ranh Bay AB and my Freedom
Bird pass.
I went to the
terminal to check for flights to Cam Ranh Bay AB, but none were scheduled.
They told me to call in or just come and sit in the terminal and wait
for a flight. I didn't like that, but I still had two days. I went to
the Orderly Room and told them I wanted to sign out. Went back to my
hooch and packed all but the cammies I had on. I folded a set of 1505s
(tan uniform, to you young'ns) and placed them carefully in my B-4 bag.
By this time I was dead on my feet. No sleep for almost 24 hours. I
lay across my bunk and fell asleep.
About 2000
hours some of the guys on my shift who had the night off and
other NCOs came in and rousted me up. "C'mon we're taken
you to the NCO Club."
Well, I had four hours sleep and was hungry, so I went. They had
a band from the Philippines which played and sang country western
and popular songs of the day. We took over the club that night.
We sang all the songs with them and sometimes the same song several
times. Then when they weren't playing we sang some of the "Underground" songs
of the day, like "Up against the wall M... F... er" and
"If I were President." The whole club would join in with
us. We closed the club and went back to our hooches feeling no
pain.
About 0700 some
of my hooch-mates were trying to wake me up. They knew I was going to
try to get a flight out and didn't want me to miss an opportunity of
one going to Cam Ranh. Mammas San was with them yelling, "You
no wakie da sergeant. He get bu cu mad." They kept saying,
"No, Mamma San, Sergeant, he fini Vietnam, he go home."
Thus began my last day at Tuy Hoa. I picked up my B-4 and took it outside
the hooch door. Went back in and walked to the back of the hooch. Our
two mamma sans were busy spit-shining boots. I told them I was going
home, no more Vietnam, fini! They said, "You come back?"
I said, "No, no more Vietnam."
I turned and
started walking up the hooch and stopped at the curtained off cube that Airman Churchill had slept in. Another airman was occupying it
now. I remembered being with the 1st Sgt, cutting the lock off his
locker. I remembered helping him take inventory of his belongings. I
wondered if he made it. He stepped on a mine and a "Dust Off"
was called in. It took me over 25 years to find out he did make it.
I don't know how much damage it did to him, but he was alive. I continued
up the hooch and some of the guys who were still awake stopped me and
we shook hands and patted each other on the back. I walked out of the
hooch, picked up my B-4 and started walking. I was lucky, a sector sergeant
drove by and gave me a lift to the terminal.
I checked in
at the terminal desk and the airman said they had a plane coming in
from a base up north, but didn't know where it was going after landing.
He said I could get on a plane going to Cam Ranh but it could be rerouted
while in the air to another base. It's all according what it's carrying.
Boy, at this rate I could spend another year in Nam.
The plane, a
C-130 came in, unloaded some crates, then took off for Saigon. I told
the airman that I was going to the snack bar for some brunch and would
he call me there if something was coming in. He said he would. At the
snack bar I got some fried rice and coffee, sat down with one of the Doughnut Dollies and talked about trying to get a flight out. She said
it was hard for her to get a flight from Saigon to Tuy Hoa AB. She said
it took her three days . She had been in country about three months.
She laughed about how scared she was when she first got here. They briefed
her that if the base was attacked, and Charley got through, there was
no place to go except to head for the beach and start swimming East.
They also told her that the only people between her and Charley were
the Air Force Security Police.
About two weeks
into her tour they hit us with mortars in the middle of the night. She
said she was too frightened to run to her bunker, so she just hid under
her bunk. Then she asked me about my cammies and the patch over my chevrons.
She said all Air Force don't wear that uniform. I told her that only
the Security Police wore that uniform and the patch was the Vietnamese
QC patch, the Vietnamese Military Police. She looked all embarrassed
and said, "Your in the Security Police?" I said, "Yes."
She said, "I just love you guys. You're the ones that live in those
bunkers by the fence line, aren't you? I've seen you with your guns
sitting in the bunkers. So you're the guys who're keeping Charley out?" "Yup that's us." She grabbed my hand and arm and gave
it a squeeze and gave me a big smile.
Walking back
to the terminal, all I could think about was why couldn't I have met
her about a month ago. I would have loved to have taken her for a ride
to the perimeter on our night shift. What was scary was she would have
gone too!
When I got in
the terminal the airman was on the phone. He looked up and motioned
me over. He said he had a C-130 coming in. The phone rang again. He
picked it up and listened. He looked up at me and gave me two fingers.
I said, "Two?" He nodded. He hung up and said, "Two C-130s
coming in. One carrying troops." Usually that meant the one carrying
troops was going to the Bay.
I sat around
and paced for almost an hour. Then he said, "It's on the ground."
The phone rang and he answered it. He looked at me and smiled. "They
are picking up some cargo and then going to take off for Cam Ranh. They
got troops aboard too." I said, "Get me on it." At the
same time he picked up the phone and asked if they had room for one
more passenger trying to get to the Freedom Bird at Cam Ranh. He put
the phone down and smiled. "You may have to sit on someone's lap
but they'll take you." I signed some paperwork tagged my B-4 and
was out the door.
At the C-130,
the load master met me and asked if I was the one for Cam Ranh. I nodded.
He took my bag and told me to find a seat. I went to the back of the
plane and walked up the ramp. I could see two rows of Vietnamese Army,
most of them carrying the old .30 Cal. Carbines. There was cargo lashed
down between the two rows. They all looked frightened. I walked down
one aisle and could find no seat. I walked down the other. Well it
looks like I'll be sitting on someone's lap.
Just then a
Vietnamese Officer tugged on my QC patch and asked, "You need seat?"
I shook my head yes. He yelled something in Vietnamese and both
rows of solders started squeezing closer together. The office said,
"Here Sergeant, you sit." Shoot, there was enough room for
3 or 4 people to sit and all with seat belts.
The load master
and the pilot came back and checked the cargo, pulling on the straps
that held it all down. Pilot looked at me and said something like "Don't
you feel naked without your weapon?" Told him, "Don't need
one, I'M going home, fini Vietnam." He smiled and said,
"Hope we don't get called to drop these guys in on a hot zone.
They're all brand new, never been in a fire fight." I looked at
him and said, "Sir, please get me home!" He said, "I'll
do my damnedest."
We got to the
end of the runway, gunned the engines and sprung forward. All of us
leaned to the rear of the plane straining against the seat belts and
holding on the seat straps. The wheels left the ground and the pilot
pulled back on the stick. Seems like we went up at a 45 degree angle.
The looks on the ARVN soldiers' faces were pure terror. If there was
a way they could jump out of the plane, I'm sure they would have.
Once we leveled
off, the Vietnamese Officer tried to use his English on me. "You
Quan Cahn?" and pointed to my QC patch. "You go Cam Ranh?" I said,"Yes, I go Cam Ranh, then go home: Fini Vietnam."
He pondered this and said, "You go home. You leave Vietnam.
You happy." I smiled and said, "Yes, I'm happy." I
leaned back and closed my eyes, not wanting to talk any more. He said
some things to his people and they gave some ooos and aaahhs.
I think he told them I was going home.
The flight
was not long and the load master came back and checked the straps on
the cargo again and then checked our seat belts. Told me to get ready
that we were about to land. The plane did another anti-sniper combat
approach at 45 degree angle, only this time down. Then it leveled and
landed. I thought, just one more plane ride and I'll be home.
Before getting off the plane the load master gave me my bag and told
me to hang on to it and not let anyone else carry it till I was completely
checked in on a flight. I thanked him and we waved at each other. The
ARVN soldiers lined up in formation, weapons slung on their shoulders
and their officer marched them off to war.
I went in the
terminal. It was a huge place. Looked for the "out bound"
desk, found it and got in a line about ten-deep. All services were represented: Army, Air Force, Marines and Navy. Orders in hand, I reached the desk.
I handed my orders to the airman, he checked them, looked at a clipboard
ran down the names then asked me for my ID card. I gave it to him. He
looked at me and said, "Your not supposed to be here till tomorrow." He gave me back my ID card and started writing, then he gave me a boarding
pass on a plane leaving at 1400 hours the next day. Then he gave me
the canned lecture: "You'll be responsible for your luggage
till one hour before your plane leaves. At that time you can bring it
to the departure counter and have it checked in. You will be responsible
for your luggage and keep it in your possession at all times. If you
leave it unguarded the Security Police will have it picked up and treat
it as if it were a bomb. You cannot travel in that uniform, you'll
have to change into class "A" before getting on board the
aircraft. Do you understand everything I just told you?"
I shook my head
"yes" and asked if there were shower facilities available.
He made a remark about this not being a barracks and that there were
several latrines in the building. I took my boarding pass, turned around
and looked for a bench to camp out on. I saw a space and dragged my
B-4 over to it. I looked around and it looked like there were more then
a 100 GIs sitting, laying on benches or walking around. It seems all
the Army people were traveling in their fatigue uniforms. Some of them
looked horrible. Their boots were dirty and scratched and some of their
uniforms looked like they had slept in them. Then I noticed an A1C (that's
the old AF E-4) walking down the aisle. His fatigues were clean and
starched. His boots were spit-shined. The strange thing about him was,
he was wearing one of those floppy go-to-hell hats. In it he had 5 or
6 grenade pins and some spent M16 shells. In his boot laces he had
more grenade pins and a dog tag. He swaggered when he walked, like he
was king of the jungle. He walked down the aisle then across the terminal
and back up the far aisle. He made sure every one saw him -- and every
one did see him. Those who didn't see him at first had him pointed out
by the ones who did. Most of them just shook their heads in wonderment,
as I did.
Well I had almost
24 hours to kill. What could I do? I sure wasn't going to walk around
dragging my B-4 bag. I couldn't check it in, so I guess I was stuck
in one place with it. I put it up on the bench and laid down using it
as a pillow. Maybe I could sleep till it was time to change uniforms
and board the plane. Naw, can't sleep for 24 hours. So I laid
there and I did fall asleep.
I woke up with
someone tapping me on the bottom of my foot and calling my name. When
I opened my eyes there were two of the friendliest faces looking down
at me, and wearing cammies with the QC patch. I got up, smiled and asked
what's happening? They asked where I was coming from and where I was
going. I told them the story about me getting there a day early and
showed them my boarding pass. Then they asked if I was hungry and if
I would like to get rid of my bag for a while. These guys were great.
I not only said yes, but hell yes. They were SP Law Enforcement
checking out the terminal. They knew how it was with the bag and all.
In the ride
to the club they told me how they picked up stray cops coming in or
going out. We went to CSC and stuck my bag in a closet. They took me
to the club, dropped me off and said they would pick me up in about
30 minutes. Or if they couldn't make it I could walk to CSC and get
a ride back to the terminal. I had a good dinner and a couple of 7
& 7s and was ready for that Freedom Bird. They came in and took
me back to CSC for my bag. I asked if I could sit around in CSC for
awhile and just BS. Of course they said yes. We told war stories for
several hours, the day shift got off and the night shift came on.
It was getting
late and I was getting sleepy. I told them I was ready to get back to
the terminal. One of the sergeants asked if I was going to sleep in
the terminal. I told him there wasn't anyplace else to sleep. He said yes there is, and you won't have to be afraid of being robbed.
I said, "Lets go!" I grabbed my bag and got in the jeep. He
took me to the SP barracks. His room had two bunks in it. He told me
to take the empty one. He pulled some sheets and a blanket out of a
locker and said, "Ill wake you in the morning for breakfast."
I went to sleep thinking that I will be home in a couple of days. Home,
the good ol' US of A, the land of the big BX, back to the ZI. Fini
Vietnam!
The sergeant
didn't wake me when he got off work, he waited till 0800 hours. He loaned
me a clean towel and I went and took a shower and shave. Came back to
the room and shook out my 1505 uniform. It was wrinkled but I knew they
wouldn't show because the uniform was form fitted. I hadn't worn them
in a year. I put it on and found that I had lost weight. Oh well, I
would still look better then those Army guys in the terminal.
The snack bar
was within walking distance and we went to have some breakfast. It took
a while to get use to walking in low quarters again. After breakfast
we went to CSC and I said my good byes to every one and a big thanks
for being good hosts. They called in a jeep and I was driven back to
the barracks to pick up my bag and then to the terminal. The SP Brotherhood
took care of its own.
In the terminal,
I found some space on a bench and sat down with my feet on my bag. I
thought, Two O'clock departure... turn in my bag at One O'clock That left me with about three hours tied to this damned bench and my
B-4 bag.
I looked around
and found most of the Army guys looked just as ragged as yesterday.
I got so I could pick out the new people coming in. Their uniforms look
good and their boots were polished and most of all, they had no sun
tan. I wondered where that left me? Working nights as I did, you didn't
get much sun. But I must have gotten some, I was tanner then the new
"meat" coming in.
Then there he was, walking down the aisle. Combat Kelley, with his grenade
pins, M16 casings in his hat, grenade pins and dog tag in his boots.
Strutting down one side of the terminal and up the other. I guess he
really impressed the new people arriving from state side.
I carried my
bag to a bench closer to the check in counter. The area was beginning
to fill up. I still had an hour and a half tied down to my B-4 bag.
It was hot and sticky and all of us were sweating. So much for my clean
1505 uniform. Couldn't figure out why the Air Force made us wear a Class
A uniform and the other services could wear fatigues. It was the same
way five years ago when I came to Nam from Clark Air Base, only that
time we carried our weapons without us. The excuse then was, we were flying
in a civilian aircraft. Well here we are five years later and still
flying in a civilian aircraft, but the other services could wear fatigues.
Must have been one of those one-or-two-star general decisions. "To
hell with comfort, my boys are going to look good when they fly in a
civilian airplane." (Any general reading this, I'm just kidding,
the class A uniform is comfortable too. It just didn't look too good
when its covered with sweat.)
I saw some top
three NCOs checking in their bags at the counter, and by the looks of
their boarding passes they were going on the same flight as me. So I
just walked up in line, bag in tow and when it came my turn, stuck it
on the scale. The airman took my boarding pass, wrote out a ticket,
tagged my B-4 and put a claim check in with the boarding pass envelope.
No problems, no back talk, just took my bag, smiled and said,
"Have a good trip home." Two hours to plane time. Two hours
to kill. Two hours with no bag to hang on to.
I walked around
the terminal, went into the latrines a half dozen times to wash my face
in cold water. I walked outside and saw my two friendly Law Enforcement
people who I had met the day before. They were talking to some Army
guys. I yelled at them and they looked up, as if to say, "What
the hell does he want?" Then they recognized me. They laughed and
said, "Didn't know you in those stateside clothes, Sarge."
The Army guys asked if I was coming or going. I said, "Going!"
They were too. I found out from them that the Army didn't let them keep
class "A" uniforms in Nam. That's why they could wear fatigues
on the plane.
It was getting
close to boarding time. The Security Police had left and the two army
guys and myself spent the time talking about our services. "Combat
Kelley" had to make one more appearance and do his usual walk up
one side and down the other. We laughed and wondered if he ever actually
pulled the pin of a grenade and threw it.
Then the announcement
was made! "Passengers boarding for the flight to McCord Air
Force Base, Washington, please have your boarding pass available at
gate number one." Our freedom bird was being loaded. This was
it, going home, fini Vietnam! The two army guys and myself got
seats together on the plane. The stewardesses were all smiles and joking
with each GI as they came down the aisle. They had ALL the attention
on that plane.
Then the army
guy sitting next to the window said, "Look it here!" and pointed
out the window. We all looked out, and lo and behold, there was "Combat
Kelley." He was fighting one hell of a battle. He would grab a
duffel bag off a cart and throw it on the conveyer belt that would lift
it into the plane. Then he would turn and throw another one on the belt.
I saw my B-4 bag thrown on the belt then I sat down in my seat. We adjusted
those little knobs on the overhead to blow cool air over us but it was
still awful hot in that plane.
The engines
whined, and we could feel the thrust building up, then the pilot let
off the brakes. We started rolling down the runway gaining speed as
we went. Then the plane lifted and a huge yell went out from every GI
in the plane. Some of them shook hands and said, "We made it.
We made it." Yes, we made it. This was the Freedom Bird we
talked about getting for a whole year. This was the Freedom Bird that
some talked about but never got a ticket for. Some got another kind
of ticket. Some got a ticket tied to a button hole in their shirt. Some
had it around their big toe. But we made it!
The flight was
uneventful. We talked about the "hippies" and how they treated
the military when they came home. Some of them said they would kill
any hippie that spit on them. I felt the same way. We ate, drank and
slept. Before we knew it we were landing in Anchorage, Alaska USA. The
plane had to refuel. We got off the plane and walked through a long
hallway covered with plywood. On the plywood was a lot of graffiti.
A lot of it was the letters FTA. It was cold in that hall way and there
was frost on the windows. Yes we were in Alaska. We came out into the
airport waiting room. Those of us in Air Force short sleeve 1505s must
have looked strange. It was the beginning of Fall back home, but Winter
here. After refueling we boarded the plane again. Next stop, McCord
AFB.
The army guys
asked where I was going and I told them to my next duty station in Texas.
I was going to check in and then take 30 days leave. They had to go
to Ft. Lewis, get new uniforms and process out before they could go
on leave. Other army had to go to Ft. Lewis, get a new uniform and process
out for good. That was it, fini army.
The "NO
SMOKING" light came on and the pilot came in on the loud speaker.
"Please observe the No Smoking sign. We will be landing in approximately
30 minutes at McCord Air Force Base. The temperature is 70 degrees and
the time is Four O'clock in the afternoon Pacific Standard Time."
Then the stewardess came on. "Please observe the No Smoking light.
Please fasten your seat belts," and she pointed at the seat belt
sign. We started our descent, we felt the thump of the wheels going
down and locking. We made a turn and leveled out. We could see the ground,
buildings and traffic. No cycalos, no motor scooters or motor bikes,
no grass shacks, just your everyday automobiles and houses.
I thought back
to when I was 12 years old. I remembered the ships coming into New York
Harbor, bringing the GIs home from Europe after WW II. The celebrations
and parades down 5th Avenue. Tons of ticker tape falling on the marching
solders. And when they got home from New York City, there were other
parades in their home towns. Many of my relatives were in those parades.
Gee, another generation and another war. My brother came back from Nam
two years ago. He didn't get to march in any parade. Well, I guess I
won't get to march in one either.
The plane bumped
on the runway and a big cheer went up from all of us. The stewardess
came on the speaker. "Please stay seated until the plane comes
to a complete stop. Check the overhead compartments for any of your
belongings." Then she said something I didn't expect. She said,
"Thank you for what you did in Vietnam, and Welcome Home."
Another cheer went up.
We filed out
of the plane and were greeted by three customs inspectors. They led
us into a glassed in area attached to the terminal. They told us to
sit down on the benches and to keep quiet. One of them said, the sooner
your quiet, the sooner we can get this over with and you can leave.
We all wondered what the hell he was talking about. Then he said, "Your
luggage will be coming in at that small door," and he pointed to
a 4 foot by 4 foot opening in the rear of the room. "As soon as
you see your luggage pick it up and put it on the table." There
was a long table that reached from the small door to the front of the
room. Then he gave us a lecture on bringing in marijuana, heroin and
other narcotics into the United States. This went on for a good 15 minutes.
Then we got a lecture about bringing in explosives, and weapons of any
kind into the country. He rattled off how many years we could get for
the different offenses for bringing in contraband. Then to top it all
off, he points to a 55 gallon drum at the back of the room, next to
the latrine. He says, "Any one who has any of the articles I've
mentioned has a last chance before we search you. You can put any of
those articles in the barrel and we will say nothing about it. That
is your last chance to get rid of it and not be charged with a violation.
When your luggage arrives you may take it to the barrel and get rid
of any thing you may think would be classified as contraband. Be sure
to check your pockets."
About that
time the first cart with luggage on it arrived at the little door. Our
"welcome home you dope heads" custom agent then gave us permission
to get up and get our bags. I saw no one go to the barrel. A few went
to the latrine as did I. My bag was on about the third cart. I picked
it up and placed it on the table. I felt sorry for the guys with duffel
bags. They had to take everything out and repack it. Quit a task when
your in a hurry and want to get out of there.
Then it was
my turn. I opened all the zippers and he ran his hands down the side
pockets, then he ran his hands through the main part of the bag, and
aid, "Okay." I zipped it up and pulled it off the table. I
saw my two army buddies and waved good-bye. They waved back at me. I
went out the door and into the main part of the terminal. I was angry
and the others ahead of me were angry too. About an hour ago we were
being thanked and given a "Welcome Home" by a beautiful stewardess.
Then we end up with lectures and threatened with jail. To hell with
them! I'm home!
... me
fini Vietnam.
