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We agreed to draw lots with some sticks to see what watch we’d have, I got the second watch, but wasn’t tired as when you looked out from the bunker, you could see all these illumination flares being fired out in front of our position, lighting up the whole area. None of us knew weather this meant there was enemy activity in the area or not, but the three of us sat up for quite some time before I laid down to catch some sleep. There were two cots inside the bunker, no blankets or anything and as it got later in the evening, it got colder, so sleeping was difficult, as it was hard to believe after it being so hot during the day, how cold it could be at night. I couldn’t help thinking what the area was going to be like where we were going to join our outfits. I wondered if they were out in the middle of no where or if they had some kind of area like we were at now. Regardless, it must be pretty hairy where they were, as they were suppose to be out in what the Marine Corps referred to as “Indian Country”, meaning a hostile area loaded with NVA and VC. It seemed as if I had just dosed off when this guy was shaking me telling me it was my watch. What time is it I asked? "2300 hours, your watch goes until 0100 hours then you wake him up", as he pointed to the other guy in the bunker asleep as if he were back home somewhere, just sawing logs and snoring like a sick cow. Anything I need to know, I asked him? "Yeah, don’t shoot your weapon without clearing it first on the hand line, which is that telephone-looking object on that box there by your feet. Pick it up, crank the handle in a clockwise directions a few times, then when you here someone on the other end answer, that’s when you ask for permission to fire your weapon, or throw a grenade. Be sure and identify yourself, and what bunker we are so they will have some idea where the trouble is coming from". The hand line was a phone that ran to the Sargent of the guard. He would answer it, and then he’d contact someone else, and by the time they said yes or no, you could be having a late dinner with a few North Vietnamese soldiers. Who were just dropping by for a friendly visit and instructions on how to use chopsticks with your C-rations. Is it quiet out there, I asked sheepishly? "Yeah", so far he said, "or I’d have gotten you up a lot sooner. Just stay awake, as they check lines up here and if your sleeping you’ll be heading for the brig. If you actually see something or hear something throw a grenade and wake us up, the hell with the court-martial. I don’t feel like dying just after I get here", he said as he lay down on the cot to catch some sleep. I grabbed my weapon and a couple grenades as I left the inside of the bunker to sit on top of it to be able to see and hear better. Flares would occasionally go off, and then you’d scan the area really good, as the flare slowly drifted by a small parachute to the ground. You’d be sitting there, and hear a whistle, and a pop. That was the signal of the sound of a flare being sent out by a mortar tube, as someone most likely called for illumination. Either that or they just put a few up every so often at irregular intervals, to catch any NVA or VC from trying to sneak up on you unnoticed. The whole thing kind a reminded you of the fourth of July, without the explosions and the fancy colors. These flares were bright, so when you heard the whistle, you’d lay flat and close your eyes until you heard the pop. This was to keep the sudden burst of light from temporarily blinding you to what ever might be moving out there. Usually the only things moving were rats, and objects your own imagination came up with, as your first night standing lines had you having visions of an all out NVA assault, right through your bunker. We laid on top of the bunkers, as it was easier to survey the area, and you didn’t have to listen to two snoring individuals, that might put you into such a deep trance, there would be three snoring individuals. Every so often though, you’d go down into the bunker to check things out and the moving around helped keep you awake. I checked the watch, 2320 hours. I could hardly keep my eyes open, but was too scared to close them, as I had no idea how hostile an area we were in. Everything in front of me made noises or moved, but after watching it for a minute or so, you’d see it was a bush or rats the size of a rather plump house cat, back home, that was regularly feed. The rats were more eerie at times then the shadows you thought you saw moving. I sat silently with a grenade in one hand and my M-16 in the other, lying still on top of the bunker as another flare would go off and you’d be scanning the area again. You wished you’d been able to see what was out there during the day light hours, then you’d have a better idea what really were bushes and what weren’t. Oh Well! It didn’t do any good to wish now, what was, was, and nothing could change that regardless of how much wishing you did. It had been a long time, and I glanced at the watch again, 2350 hours, that’s all I thought! is this thing working right! It seems I’ve been staring out at these shadows and rats moving around for at least a couple of hours anyway. Time sure went slow. Especially so when every sound had you ready to jump out of your skin. I wasn’t in any hurry to throw my grenade either, as all I’d probably kill is a few rats, then I’d be off to the brig. I figured I’d eat a can of C-rations I had brought with me, that will waste some time and keep me busy I thought. I felt for my John Wayne can opener that was attached to my dog tags I wore around my neck. These little can openers are nifty little gadgets that come in every carton of C-rations. When you open the C-rations, there are individual packs, labeled with the name of the meal on them. Contents in a package have cigarettes, chockolate, or gum, toilet paper and the meal. There are also packets of sugar, salt, pepper, and once in a while in some of them you will have a packet of coco, but always a packet of coffee, with cream. The crackers are hard as slate, they were lethal as if you ran out of ammo, you could scale these at the NVA or VC, if you hit him, it probably would kill him. They expected us to eat these dry chunks of steel they called crackers. Most of the meals were OK. Nothing to write home about, yet everyone did anyway, as trying to explain to the people back home what you survived on called food took a particular talent, as words in our language weren't invented to describe what really was in these boxes of food. They were "space food" to me, not anything from beyond, but food that went down into your stomach and just took up space, hence, “space food”. I found my John Wayne can opener attached to my dog tags and jumped off the bunker to go inside away from billions of mosquitoes to eat what it is I had grabbed as food. The can opener is very small, with a little side sharp area you pull out, and then with a strong wrist action, you puncture the can, and in an up and down circular movement, force it around the top of the can until the top comes off. Pretty ingenious the way it works, plus it will open bottles and anything else you can stick it in or hook it on. I was opening some pears, World War II vintage; they had to be OK right? Well they wouldn’t issue us food that was bad right? Well it smelled pretty good to me, even if pears weren’t my most favorite, they were cool from the evening chill in the air, and wet and yeah, even tasty too. As I ate my pears, I leaned against the inside of the bunker, with a chorus of snoring bellowing behind me, letting me know I wasn’t alone. I was getting to the bottom of the can and as I slowly lifted it up to drain all the juice from it---WHAM, BANG! An explosion went off which sounded as if a freight train just crashed into your bunker. Dust was all over the place, and my ears were ringing like crazy, I couldn’t hear a thing. My heart stood absolutely still, frozen, as my body jerked straight up about three feet, and I was awake as awake could be. WHAM, BANG! I jumped again, and the guys inside were scrambling to get on top of the bunker with me as the second explosion went off. Our rifles at the ready, scared stiff, and staring straight out into the pitch black night, my ears still ringing as if I had a bell place over my head and rung loudly. “Is that incoming or out going”, one of them said to me? How the hell do I know, I’ve never heard one come in or go out before, I answered him as I looked around to see where the can I was holding had landed when I threw it a mile into the air after the first explosion. WHAM. BANG! Again, another gigantic explosion, right behind us. One of the guys scrambled down into the bunker and grabbed the landline and started yelling into it, “is that incoming or out going?” He yelled franticly into the receiver of the phone. He was still yelling into it when out of no where this Marine appeared. First night boots, he asked with a laugh in his soft-spoken voice? Yes Sir we replied. He then casually said, as if nothing was wrong, “those are the eight inch guns up behind you”, someone’s calling in a fire mission. It happens a few times every night about this time and again around 0300 hours, as that’s when the NVA or Charlie like to hit us, when we are suppose to be at our most exhausted state then. I guess when they put you here they didn’t think to tell you about them. They do it to all the new guys, it’s a standard joke around here to break you in, kind a thing. WHAM, BANG! We jumped again, as the Sargent stood as if nothing happened, but even knowing they were going to fire, I still jumped a couple of feet in the air. They’ll fire a couple of missions a night if it’s hairy out there, the Marine said, don’t pay any attention to it, you’ll get use to it. Use to it, I thought my heart had literally stopped. I was still gasping for air. I’d had the life scared out of me, my pear can was in Hanoi some where when I flung it, and he says will get use to it, Yeah, when we’re ready to go home? I was still shaking all over and felt like I had a pear stuck in my throat. “I’m checking lines” the Marine said, “but I guess I don’t have to worry about you guys falling asleep. If you do hear something, don’t just yell into that phone, you have to crank it on the side first, then tell them what position you are so they’ll no where the trouble is coming from. Just yelling into it tells Charlie or the NVA exactly where you are so he can lob a Chi Com on top of you. Regardless of how scared you are, don’t be yelling into the phone. Use procedure, got that?” Yes Sir, we all said, as he walked off and we could here him laughing a bit under his breath as we just stared at each other WHAM. BANG!, another round was shot out. Morning finally came around, and we were all still in one piece. I’d been dreaming I’d been home and was late for school and had an exam. I thought that was bad but waking up here was worse. Today I’d be going out to Hotel Company, 1st platoon, wherever they were. Hopefully not in front of any eight-inch guns like this bunker was. This was definitely a night I was going to remember for a long time to come. I gathered what gear I had and rolled it up in a big ball as I headed towards where all the hooch’s were. I had no idea, which was my area, the night had screwed up my reference points, so I began walking half asleep dragging my stuff when I heard this voice, Hink! Hink! It was Peter. See
you stood lines by the eight-inch guns. Yeah, I responded, still half asleep.
I’ll walk with you to your hooch where you can leave all that stuff and
then we’ll get some chow at the mess hall. You’ll be going out on Choppers
to Dong Ha. Once there, you'll catch a boat up to "Camp Big John" Hotel
Company's rear area. From there they load you on "Otters" to bring you
out to where the Company is actually located. It only takes a couple of
hours from here to there, as most of the time you'll spend waiting for
transportation. You'll get use to it Hink, Peter said as he nugged me on
the arm, things just run a lot slower here in the heat. I’ll be going out
later as the Top has some information for me. I’ll be out when they bring
evening chow out to you. Mean while lets get something to eat I’m starved,
Peter said as we headed to my hooch where I could lessen my load.
Stay
tunned for "Arrival III" as there are five parts to this "Arrival section
These
stories, athough actual and true do not in anyway refelect the opinions
of the members of Hotel Marines 1968, just the author, me.
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