Free Sony EBooks: Free ebook sample of "War Stories From The Nam" by Gusdavis Aughtry

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There's something about being with individuals that you were literally in combat with that's different than any thing else. It is a strange feeling. There we are looking at each other, most of the time, age has either crept in or hurtled headlong at us. Most of us have put on a few or lots of pounds and male pattern baldness has, without mercy, leapt on us. But, for us, we are as we were in Vietnam. We have pictures and memories. We have war stories. And, as someone has said, "there is always an element of fiction in our war stories." Recently several of us convened in Reno, Nevada and among many things we did, we told “war stories.” I've tried to keep a count of them, especially if they are unusual or I can relate.

DRUGS. One of our Lieutenants recalled a significant day, one whose anniversary of his death took place while we're together. A soldier in his platoon who was known for his involvement with the weed and his sharing of it was shot by a sniper through the heart. It was suspected that he was high on pot which made him less sharp, more vulnerable to his own stupidity. He stood up, walked past a prong soldier on alert for enemy soldier spotted to their front and who,  at the time, said to him, you better get down or you're going to take one. He did.

A Company Commander, a Captain, revered by his men and a no nonsense type who was unrelenting in his attempt at protecting his men while accomplishing his mission assembled his platoon leaders inside a village hooch. Outside he stationed a soldier (the one who is telling the war story) with the instruction not to let anyone in or out. Once they were inside, The Captain took out a pouch of pot and meticulously rolled a joint. He then took a long draw and passed it around.  Some of the Lieutenants began to get a little giddy. The Captain said, "see what this does to you. It makes you stupid, crossed eyed and will get you killed or your men." The captain began to slap the Lieutenants, poke them in the chest, "Understand me Lieutenant," he began yelling over and over. If I catch you or your men smoking this poison, I will waste you."  Point made.

KOREAN SOLDIERS. Here's one about the Korean soldiers in Vietnam. I didn't realize there were this many and this is related by another soldier. He said there were 50,000 in Vietnam. He talked about how tough they were. I remember even today, their training in Korea, running barefoot through the snow till they were on the edge of frostbite which I can verify as I saw them train in Korea. Anyway, the war story. This was in the late sixties before S Korea became democratic as then they were more ruled by Sighman Rhee, a dictator,  probably. Anyway, they had this big compound in Vietnam and the VC (Viet Cong) mortared them. The Korean general sent out the word that his wife was coming to visit which I guess they did. But, if the VC mortared them again, he was going to level every village within a five mile radius. The VC would always get into a village and fight from there. The idea was that they could disguise themselves if the Americans or ARVNs (Army of Vietnam) came after them. Anyway, as the story goes, the VC shelled the Korean compound again. The Korean General got this giant earth mover/ bulldozer, I guess and for five miles in every direction, he destroyed their villages which was about twenty. The Americans could hardly believe it. Vicious.

GOING TO SAN FRANCISCO

Getting ready to go to Vietnam was one of those surreal times. We were at Fort Campbell, KY and talk about all shook up, we were beyond “shook up.” It was like a bunch of, “zombies.” We had been planning and training for so long and here it was.

We had heard the general give these bullshit speeches about service to country, how we were fighting communism and fighting for our country. To be honest, I half listened. I was putting one foot in front of the other. Being raised in an orphanage, you learn to do that quickly.

I knew this guy Johnson. He was a bullshit artist to the max. I liked him though. He was from California, I think. He kept saying that he didn’t want to go to Vietnam. “Well why did you join the military?” “Damn if I know. It was something to do. I was going to be drafted anyway. Let’s go to Canada”, he said right out of the blue. “Are you f…ing crazy.” “No, I’m serious.” I knew he was and I got to thinking about it. Why was I going to Vietnam? I began to think I don’t have anything against anybody. I decided that the next time Johnson mentioned it, I was going to call his bluff. I didn’t know exactly how the whole Vietnam thing was going down anyway. I guessed we would be loaded in buses, driven to wherever the planes were and take off. Johnson was at the snack bar, chomping on a Payday candy bar the next time I saw him. I sat down. He said, “Let’s take off. Really. Let’s do it. Let’s go to San Francisco. I’ve been reading about what’s happening in Frisco. It is flower power. Pussy is everywhere.” He got this wild look in his eyes. I was thinking. “You got any money?” “Some.” “OK. We’re doing it.”

We were on the bus for what seems like days till San Francisco. I was blown away. In Kentucky at Fort Campbell, it was cold. Here, there was sunshine and just perfect. Kids about our ages or maybe a little older were everywhere. They had long hair, some of the men had pony tails. All had on dirty jeans. Some were playing the guitar, one was strumming on a banjo. All the men had scruffy beards or fuzz. The girls didn’t have on bras. I thought, “These were the hippies I’d heard about. We must be where the flower children are.” “No, you nut, this is the bus station. We got to get us a ride to Haight and Ashbury where it is ‘party’ time,’ ” Johnson whispered to me. Johnson was talking to a group, they were trying to get bus fare. Suddenly a school bus pulled up and a policeman got off and yelled for us to get on the bus. Seems like about ten of us piled on. We came into this street where more and more were about our age. They were flashing peace signs. Johnson had told them we had gone AWOL from the Army because we opposed the war and after this stop, we were headed to Canada. They were slapping us on the back. The girls hugged us. They were saying, “right on, man. Go man.” Johnson was eating it up but I was less so. I really didn’t know what to say and then I was so naive and young, I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground. To be honest, the next week or so is kind of blurry to me. I did a little pot but not much. Johnson disappeared. When I saw him a couple of times, he was stoned out of his head and claimed that he was having sex with three or four women. I was crashing in doorways or on stairs or an occasional couch. Everyday in Golden Gate Park, they would have these song festivals, speeches, flag burning and Johnson once, burned his draft card. He was like a big hero. We sat up on the stage. I don’t know what happened. I lost it I guess. I was more offended than anything. I was an American and I couldn’t go for them burning the flag. I had buddies back at Campbell in the 101st that I had gone to jump school with. They were being dishonored. I grabbed the flag and tried to put the fire out. Johnson was yelling for me to stop. This big hippy guy ran up to me and I “cold cocked” him with a right and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Those around the stage seemed stunned but then they started yelling. A policeman ran up to the stage and hauled me off. It gets kind of fuzzy from here on out.

I never saw Johnson again.

I told the policeman I was AWOL from the Army. He looked at me like I was crazy and brushed me off but I guess I must have looked persistent or something as he got on his radio and called somebody, then he told me where to go for the paperwork. I walked to this police station not far away. This policeman gave me some forms to sign. I’ll never forget what he said, “You damn soldiers are costing me a lot of time.” They then put me on a bus and the next thing I know I’m at the airport and on the way to Fort Campbell. In Kentucky, I was met by a Sergeant. There were several of us. He chewed our ass out. He could care less about the fact we’d been AWOL rather the work we’d caused him. It was the first of several ass chewings I was to get. The Captain was merciless on me. How could I do this? He had even let me be his driver. To him, a singular gift reserved only for the special. It went on and on. Then I went to the Battalion Commander who sent me to the general who appealed to my patriotism or lack thereof. How could I go to California where the people made a habit of bad mouthing their country and denigrating the Army, not to mention cursing God and “Oh by the way, we are busting you from E4 to Private.

I thought it was finally over until the Captain called me in and said that your job in Vietnam until we meet the enemy is “shit burner.” And, literally I was for a month until we went up north to the fighting.

DO YOU HAVE CHANGE

Recently, I was at the phone store and some young college student was helping me. I was running my mouth, telling him that I’d just come from my Vietvets reunion. His interest peaked and he says, “Do you have any stories.” At first, I didn’t understand but then figured it out. He meant, “Did I have any war stories?” I was impressed that he was interested. In fact, I do. A good one and illustrates exactly what Vietnam vets encountered when they came home. Warren is, without a doubt, the biggest hero I know. The only Asian in our airborne infantry battalion, he spents the entire miserable year in the field as the RTO (radio operator) for the Commander; wounded, a paratrooper, highly decorated. He comes home to San Francisco. He lives just off Geneva and Mission Avenue. He finds himself over by the old bus station, close to the Embarcadero and Ferry Building. He boards a bus but doesn’t the correct change. The bus driver says, “you have to have the correct change.” He offers to give a dollar for his ride. The driver says no. The bus is full of people. The Sergeant asks those on the bus if anybody has change. No one offers anything. The driver throws Sergeant Chan off the bus.

If the Vietnam Veteran has any legacy, it is that he was treated so badly when he came home from Vietnam, that thinking and caring Americans are determined not to let it happen again.

BRUSHING MY TEETH

I was a big nut about brushing my teeth and shaving. To me, it was more than hygiene. Plus, the Captain required it. He said it showed we had pride in ourselves and our Unit. And, I'll have to say that he led by example. This one morning we were I'n this big grove of trees, kind of peaceful. I walked over and scooped a steel pot full of water out of one of the bomb craters, which were pretty numerous. I dropped a couple of water purification tabs in.  The water gave a kind of silky, putrefied look. The taste was nauseatingly iodine but a little "sweet," I thought. You get use to it. Being raised in foster homes and an orphanage, I could adapt to anything and did. War was a "piece of cake." I proceeded to brush my teeth first and then I'd save part of the water for shaving although this was a nice little well of water and so there was plenty. In the distance, walking by the men and chatting was our first sergeant. He was a giant of a man, over six feet tall and a vet of over three years in the Nam. He wasn't always in the field but sometimes stayed in the rear doing paperwork. His trademark was a gigantic chew of tobacco stuffed in his jaw and spitting these gigantic globs of tobacco juice everywhere. He claimed that he could spit on a streetlight if we had one. This boast was usually followed by a big belly laugh and a demonstration of his spitting prowess. Our Captain was always saying, "Top, if the VC wanted to know where we are, all they got to do is follow your "bacca" juice. The Captain always emphasized "Bacca" because he said that is the way they say it in Kentucky. We had tremendous respect for "Top" and nobody messed with him. His presence could be noted with a trail of tobacco juice/spit. 

I was brushing away when he got to me. Chan, he said, as he spat a big glob of chewing tobacco spit into the water in my steel pot. "Damn Top, why did you do that?" With those comments, he cleared his throat again, let go with the entire chew right into my well. If I hadn't had so much respect for him, I would have wanted to kill him. He must have seen the look on my face as he motioned me over. I didn't want to get too close as I might be temped to throw him in. I walked over and he took me by the arm and forced me to look down into the bottom of the crater. I almost threw up. At the bottom were two decomposing bodies of enemy soldiers. How in the world had I missed it. I'll never forget that morning of brushing my teeth.

THE MULE

There are a few instances in Vietnam that I'm definite not proud of. We were In the rear area for a couple of days. The Company had been hit hard and we needed a little break. I was running around doing a few admin jobs and came up on the "Captain". He stopped me. With him was this black guy in the Company. The Captain said, "take Smith, (not his real name) and be gone an hour."
"What for?"
"Just do it. Ride out to the end of Sally (which was headquarters of the Second Brigade, 101st Airborne.)
"OK." Smith hopped on the back of the mule and we took off. The mule was nothing but a little flat bed vehicle with something like a lawn mower motor. At Camp Sally,  they were like ants, everywhere. Anyway, I rode out for about 30 minutes, turned around and headed back. The Captain met me again, Smith jumped off and they disappeared in the direction of the captain's tent. I went about my business and didn't think any more about it. Later on, I discovered the real story, a girl from the village accused a black guy from the Company of raping her. The Captain probably knew it was probably true. However, she had to identify the soldier. We only had two black guys in our Company (about a hundred and fifty soldiers). The one the Captain had me take on the mule ride probably was the guilty one and the other one stayed behind as he wouldn't be identified. This sort of thing always bothered me. Basically the girl would be paid off. She would suddenly get more money than she could have possibly dreamed. I heard the Captain made the soldier pay off big time. I was talking to one of my buddies about it, and I thought he was very insightful. "Have to think of things like this as a casualty of war." The irony of it is that when we went back to the field, Smith was walking along and a sniper put one right through his heart.  WC
RIGHT OR WRONG
This reminded me of something that happened to me. We got this new battalion commander. He was really different from the previous one. The old one seemed to be into his career on the one hand but also into the war on the other. He was always talking tactics, moving the Companies around like chess pieces. And, he didn't much care for anything but making war. I'm sitting in my tent at Mongoose, which was nothing more than a few scattered tents and then a long underground sort of bunker. Somebody said that it had been one of the old French bunkers. My tent was across from the helicopter pad and just down from me was the Doc's tent. He mostly stayed in the rear area but did come out of his tent for an occasional breather, which he probably needed as his tent was also his AID station. When he had the Red Cross flag up, it meant he was open for busy. I was just coming in from the field, when the Doc popped his head in and said, "Chaplain, I have a big problem."
"Yeah?"
"This Vietnamese family is claiming the daughter was raped by four GIs." I kind of stared at him. My mind immediately went to the four soldiers accused. To be honest I don't know why I didn't think of the poor Vietnamese they had raped. This was the scenario that I played out in my mind and relayed to the Doc. The soldiers are identified, hauled in, shipped South to LBJ (Long Bien Jail) to await court martial. Under the old commander, he would avoid and close his eyes and let the family be paid off. With the new one, I didn't have a clue what would happen. I knew he went to Mass a lot. Damn if I knew what to do. I didn't have to do anything. What is my problem? What is not my problem?

The doc wanted me to talk with them. They stood outside my tent like sentinels. The first guy I knew real well. He immediately burst out crying. I had seen him at my services and also the Priest's Mass. His story was that he didn't do anything, he just pretended too. The second guy was kind of resigned. Said his buddy said she was a  prostitute. The next one was pretty solemn. The last one didn't have much to say at first. But, then I think he was probably the ring leader, said she was just a gook, prostitute, wanted money. I gave them them a bigtime lecture. "What do you think you're doing. These people are innocents, they didn't asked us to come over here and mess up their country. We march through their villages, we disturb their way of life. We rape their daughters. You are going to jail and you deserve it. Get out of my sight." I didn't know if I meant it or not and told myself I did. This war had really changed me.

The doc came back in looking forlorn. It matched my spirits. "What are we going to do?"
"Doc, I don't think its our problem. I feel bad but you are the battalion surgeon and I'm the chaplain. Looks like to me, it is a command problem." He just sat there. Finally he said, "these guys are all due to go home in three weeks."
"They should have thought of that."

The company commander called me and asked me to come to his location.  "Chaplain, I need you to help me out here. " I don't want you to think I condone this even if they are innocent. These are four of my best soldiers, two of them are on their second tours and a couple have been wounded and could have avoided coming back. If they get nailed for this, even if they get exonerated, they'll be here for months  I know this is not your problem but I have nowhere else to turn." As we were talking a sniper cut loose and we hit the dirt. For what seemed like an hour, every single time we tried to move, the sniper fired off a couple of bursts. Finally the FO says, "I think I have his position." As luck would have it, the sniper wounded one of the supposedly rape perpetrators. He took a hit right through the hip. As the company watched the artillery barrage, the medics were calling in a medivac. 

The next day, I went to see the rape victim. Their hooch was set into a row of about six, right beside the road, QL 551. Amazing how even today I remember the road and made a mental note that GIs had easy assess to these folks. I was pretty resigned, however, and not a little weary of this sort of thing. It was time for me to go home. There were three daughters, the middle one was the accuser. Through the interpreter, I tried ro talk to the girl. Basically, it kept being the father he was talking too and it seemed to go on forever. Finally, exasperated I said, "tell her we are so sorry." The interpreter said, Dai-uy, pronounced, Di-wie, means Captain, the father wants to know, "how much money?" I got it. It did come down to money. Not right or wrong. Money. The next day, the Doc and I delivered about $5000 American dollars to this family. The four soldier's  money which they had probably gotten from every GI in the Company. I never saw the young girl again. The Vietnamese father was ecstatic. The 3  GIs were shipped South and then home. The Doc was happy. I had angst. This sorry war continued.