Vietnam, Chap. One

Vietnam, Chapter One

We were on river patrol out of Qua Viet, Vietnam, 1968, where all was well and we were giving Charlie a run for his money. Believe it or not, I was having the time of my life. And right in the middle of all this fun, I came down with my first bout of Falciparum malaria.

Next thing you know, I'm medevaced to Quang Tri to the MASH unit and for the first time in a long time, felt the coolness of sheets and air conditioning. Here we go again. That was the good news. When I came to I noticed that nobody in the ward would talk to me. At first I thought it was because of my delirium from the high fever. Then I realized it was something much deeper, and to the Marines on the ward, more serious. They say there are no atheists in foxholes, but I can tell you in combat like in sports, superstition runs high. Come to find out, everyone that had been put in that bed before me had been taken out in a body bag. So like in the field, no one wanted to be too close to a dead man. It might rub off, you know!

Through many trials and tribulations I finally made it to DaNang, the 5th Evac hospital where I ran into my worst nightmare, my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Dietrich in a nurse's uniform! The following week was a blur of constant burning fevers, ice cold showers and a lot of screaming, hollering and cursing. I would rouse to find the lovely Nurse Cratched/Dietrich by my bedside, which gave me chills worse than the malaria.

As I got better and went into rehab, I wandered around the compound and one afternoon, stumbled into The Club by pure accident where a Korean Band was rehearsing for the night's festivities. I can still remember the band playing Wilson Pickett's "Knock on Wood" with a Korean accent. The music was great, they could carry a tune, but the words somehow just didn't come out right. At about this time, I happened to notice that the bar was unattended and better yet, unsecured, so I commenced to help myself to some shots of Canadian Club and some cold draft beer. The more I drank, the better the band sounded and the closer I got to home. It was about this time I was to rotate back to the field when I discovered the club had a storage room. And so I began my daily regime of sleeping in the storage room at night and drinking all day with the band. Of course, all the drinks were on me!

But like all good things, this too had to come to an end, when by accident I ran into my favorite nurse, who began to chew my ass out like a Marine Corps Sergeant Major, with the bottom line being, "Where the hell have you been all week?", and the threat of being charged with AWOL. I looked her straight in the eye and said, "Where the hell have you been, 'cause I've been right here. And, by the way, I know the punishment under Article 15 of the UCMJ." Come on, where did she expect me to go in hospital pajamas and robe? In actuality, the punishment would have meant I would have been kept in the rear for 14 extra days of duty, which to me equated to 14 more days in the club. So, I begged Nurse Cratched/Dietrich to please charge me.

With that I was on a bus within an hour and at the flight line on my way back to the bush. She got me in the end because it was policy for all evacuees to get a new set of jungle fatigues and boots when they left. She made sure I got the same clothes I came in with. I never knew how badly I stunk until I had to put on those wretched jungle fatigues.

I took it all in stride, though, just another day in the 'Nam and as we all learned to say over there, "it don't mean nothin'."

JSV