"Saddle-Up!" The call went out from the squad leaders, as some of us were taking a short break since coming back in from having been on an ambush all night. Ambushes were not quite like basic training. A small squad would maneuver out into the jungle just after dark and find the place we were designated to set in. At that point, barring hitting any booby-traps, or being ambushed ourselves, we'd set in as quietly as possible. First part would be a 100% alert. That meant everyone was up in their position and awake and alert, no talking or moving about. This we'd do until around midnight, then one man from each team had about a two hour watch limit, while the rest slept near by within hands distance, just in case someone spotted something, they could easily wake someone up. You'd stand about one or two watches a night, so that you never got more then four hours of sleep a night, and they'd be the longest hours of your life, while on watch. Boredom was one problem to over come, the other exhaustion, as you had usually had one big day time patrol that day, either with the Company or squad size. These ambushes rarely developed into anything, other then a night of fighting off mosquitoes, and trying to occupy yourself with all kinds of memories of what it used to be before reality set in. Usually smoking a cigarette kept you awake, as the elaborate system of disguising it that you went through kept you busy. By the time morning came around, you would be glad to be heading back for the "Tree Line" our base camp of operations or CP. Hopefully you'd be able to catch an hours sleep or so, or not have to run a patrol. 

    It was at Camp Giger, at Camp Lejeune where I learned to hate the sound of the words "Saddle Up". The other was the sign of a closed fist held high and move up and down, which meant to stop walking and start jogging at a fast pace. The jogging wasn't so bad, but in sand, with boots on and a heavy pack on your back, we'll picture yourself in deep sand on a beach, how difficult it is to walk, then put on some combat boots and a 50 lb. pack, and try running in it, that should give you some idea. 

    When you heard the cry of "Saddle Up" all across our area it meant anything from a platoon to a Company patrol and they would be long ones, usually lasting most of the day. The Skipper was famous for going on these hikes with the Company that when you were done, you'd swear we'd been to the edge of the city limits of Hanoi. He was older then we were, but in terrific shape, or appeared to be, if he wasn't you couldn't tell by the marches we went on with him. 

    This particular sound of "Saddle Up" carried all over our area, like a continuos echo, so it sounded like a Company size patrol, or march or just the longest hike you'd ever been on in your life. A lot of the ground cover around us was like that of Camp Geiger, back at Lejeune, sandy and very difficult to walk in, especially for little guys as we carried everything with us but the island we were on, it seemed like we did anyway. We had our cartridge belts, with four canteens of water in it, a gas mask cover without gas mask as you put your chow in that, and your pack, which had everything you owned in it. You'd also have your M 16 and I carried 4 bandoleers of ammo. One bandoleer held about six clips or magazines for your rifle with 18 M-16 rounds in each one. Then you carried a LAW, usually a couple of them as they were light compared to the other stuff. The LAW was a small anti tank weapon that I fired twice in Vietnam, neither one ever worked. You'd also carry 50 M60-7.62 rounds , a starter belt for the machine guns, Clay-More mines, possibly a starlight scope that weighed more then the M-16 rifle itself. By the time you were done, you had to be carrying 80 lb. of gear, that ripped and tour at your shoulders and under arms, as well as strained continuously on you upper back. God you couldn't imagine walking with all this let alone having to move out quickly if you were told to. To top it off, do this in the hot sun when the temperature is 120 degrees in the shade, and the humidity is 99%. You didn't just walk on a patrol, you staggered for your life, and prayed you didn't get heat exhaustion, something if you didn't take your salt tablets you could be court marshaled for, and I couldn't take salt tablets as they made me throw up violently. 

    The Corpsman would come around every morning and give you salt tablets, and halazone tablets for your water, which most people didn't use as it made the water in your canteens taste worst then it already was. He'd also pass out Malaria pills, but we'd stick them in our mouth and pretend to swallow them, when he moved far enough away, we'd spit them out. Malaria meant a hospital and clean sheets, in an air conditioned ward in Da Nang. Catch it three times and it was a ticket home. 

    We began to get all our gear on and stand by, that was the usual procedure. Solomon was busy running around like a chicken with his head cut off making sure we all had everything. The only thing we didn't have was the actual dirt or sand we were occupying, I was waiting for them to tell us to load our own little section so we'd feel at home on the road. Alfa Squad was to walk point squad for the patrol. That meant I'd be closest to Lt. Meale again, after the the night 2nd platoon ambushed us I wasn't feeling too hot about that idea. One thing I could say though, the Skipper must have gotten on all the brass as they were as loaded down as we were, the Skipper was too. We all knew that that the Skipper was former enlisted and it was his second tour over here, so for once we felt we had a lot of confidence in our leader, not that we didn't before, it just seemed that the Skipper being former enlisted knew what we were all about and the crap we suffered, so no one questioned him in our presence. A Capt. was a god amongst his Lt.. or it appeared that way, they'd hop all over the place at the mention of their name by him. We didn't move that fast for him, but we moved without question.Well we took point, the only people who knew where we were going was the Squad leaders, and CP. Group, and of course Jay for some reason, he always knew. He would fill me in on our first rest stop, and also grill me on radio frequencies, medevac procedures, and he was always a good teacher, he never ever raised his voice, too educated for that. He'd just say in a normal tone, "your out of my squad", and you were. He grilled Fred and myself on every aspect of radio, point, and squad leader performances, until we were dreaming about them with the nightmarish sound of "Your out of my squad" you'd wake up with a cold sweat from a deep sleep with those erie words being spoken to you in your sleep. Jay, you wanted to be with, his skills as a bush men grew in us as he passed into our ability to learn on a daily basis. Every day our respect for him grew as well. You wanted to please him, and never wanted to hear, "Noooo, now think about it"! he knew more than I was capable of forgetting about the bush and everybody's responsibility in a squad or platoon. SSgt Carl King taught Jay a lot of bush smarts, as there wasn't anyone smarter in the bush then our platoon sergeant, SSgt King. If he came to say he needed volunteers to go on a mission that they'd never come back from to Hanoi, Jay, Fred and I would be the first to raise our hands, as we knew with him, we'd be coming back intact. A bond was establishing, a strong bond that would be separated for 29 years and then be reunited to be as strong as the day it was separated from us physically but never mentally. 

    We were walking along a river, the Countryside was beautiful, the river seemed to have a lazy flow in it as it wound it's way to the ocean, it's where they all end up eventually, rivers and oceans. The water looked so good and cool, I wanted to dive in. We'd been on patrol about an hour or so. To our left was trees and jungle, high grass lined the edges of the river, green as it could be. The air unfortunately hung thick and stale, as the mugginess could literally be cut with a knife. My shoulders were killing me as we moved along in a slow methodical pace. One thing about Vietnam, you never went running along as you see John Wane do in the movie about the Green Beret. You'd be dead in a heart beat, most likely from a booby-trap, or run smack dab into an ambush. The NVA were good, second to us I'd say as they had been fighting in Vietnam literally for thousands of years before we came over to take them on. He could literally pop out of nowhere and disappear as quickly as he appeared. Just in time to put one square in the side of the head of your Capt. or Lt., he knew our order of march as well as we did, he used the kids as his source of intelligence, when we'd think they were just being friendly, those kids were smart and put America's youth to shame, as they cared more about the survival of their Country then their ego's being damaged by peer influence. They'd die in a heart beat for their Country, and feel proud they could, and had. We wondered why they never ambushed us when the kids were around, well it was because they were waiting for the kids to come back with the information they needed to ambush us down the way or have someone else ambush us as we would begin our patrol again. When you fight for a 1,000 life times you learn some sophisticated techniques your enemy is totally unaware of and will even embrace in the name of diplomacy and to establishing a good image. No wonder they thought of us as dumb Americans. Our country was divided over our job in Vietnam, and rebelling every chance they could, as playing revolutionary was a fun game for them. This was America, you have the freedom to do whatever you want as long as you get a permit. Yet they rebelled against the very ones who died for that right so they could play there silly games regardless if it meant killing the soundest, toughest, and most loyal segment of their Country, then reject him when he came home by spitting on us, swearing at us, and ridiculing us as baby killers and monsters. The idiots! Didn't they know they were destroying the back bone and central fiber which made the USA the greatest Country on the face of the Earth? My heart still bleeds for that era in my life, we ourselves killed the greatest society probably ever developed in the history of mankind. 

    Walking along with the shade of the nearby tree line along our left and the river on our right made it seem as if it was a beautiful country indeed, all you needed was for your mother to call you to come in for lunch. 

    Crack! Crack! Crack! In a heart beat everyone's down and scanning through the tree line to see who is sniping at us. You could hear people yell out to their squads, Anybody hit? Answer up, Anybody hit? Everything OK here in Alfa Squad Jay and Solomon yell up. Crack! Crack! bullets just skimmed the earth near their heads. This guys sights must be off as you don't get any closer without scoring a kill. I want that man, SSgt King yells out, Now! He's not pinning down a whole platoon while we get flanked our artillery finds us. Jay lifted up with his blooper, Crack! Crack! as Jay ducks down as the rounds all but burn his skin they pass by his head so closely. I see where he's firing from, Jay yells out. Well then Vincens, kill him Now! Jay raised up as a round hit in front of him and a piece caught jay in the eye, "Damm!" he said as he fell back, I can't see a thing out of my eye and it burns like crazy. "Mother Up" someone yelled, Not Now! Jay yelled out, I don't want to loose this guy. Jay pops up really quick, bloop! Smack!, he quickly reloads another and lifts up and fires, Bloop!  Smack! That's two right directly where I saw him Jay yells out. SSgt King yells anyone else hit? No Sir comes the reply, then Corpsman get your butt down to Vincens location and take care of that wound, Now! The doc hesitantly rises up waiting to here a Crack! from the distance but everything was very quiet. Move Out! SSgt King yells at him, ASAP! As he moves up to us, not a sound is heard from the sniper. Everyone is lying around as "The Boss" stands up. SSgt King, his nick name "The Boss". Not a shot fired. Get this Platoon moving right now Alfa Squad, nobody called for a rest break. He is either dead or wishing he was "The Boss" says loudly, nice going Vincens, show them how Marines do it, we don't just come close to get you excited. I want to cross this river and be on the other side "The Boss" says, and even our Lt. responds yes sir. He was "The Boss" and nobody confronted that issue when the chips were down or we were in the thick of it. We started heading out as the corpsman finished putting a battle dressing on Jay's eye. How does that feel said the Doc to Jay, it burns but I'll manage. We were slowly moving along the edge of the water when the sound of "Hold it up" came up. SSgt King was furious and you could cut the tension with a knife in the air. What is holding you up Solomon, SSgt King said. The Lt. is trying to figure a way across the river.  

    SSgt King slides down the river bank into the water and begins to wade across holding his shot gun above his head. He make it across without any problem, and disappears out of sight for a few minutes, then returns. Cross right there Lt., send a gun team over first to set up cover fire with Alfa Squad. He yells at the platoon, get your butts down, just hanging out ready for a sniper to get one of you in the side of the head. Set up a rear guard and security from your side with a gun team so you'll have security on both sides of the river. Move it! Move it! It was unusual for "The Boss" to say something twice, normally he was a quiet man, but you'd hang on every word he spoke as he was where the word Bush Warrior was coined from. He made his bones up North at Khe Sanh, Yankee Station, Con Thien, and all through the DMZ. His reputation definitely proceeded him when it came to Bush Smarts, he could smell NVA or VC long before anyone else would have a clue they were in the area. 

    After everyone got across, we went from point squad to tail end charlie of the platoon. It was nearing noon and we stopped for a break. We never heard from the sniper again, obviously Jay got him, but sending a fire team out to hunt for a confirmed kill was ridiculous as it could have been a trap, and we had other matters of I guess more importance. Where we stopped we had found two dead bodies, they had to be a day or so old, it was a strange place to eat your chow, but nobody had any problems. Before continuing on, we booby-traped the bodies with grenades, something they themselves regularly did, and you never know what will turn up. 

    Most of the rest of the day was long and hot. Incredible how hot it gets over here, you wonder how the locals deal with it as they work in the rice paddies from sun up to sun down. It never seems to bother them, they don't even appear to sweat. We passed a lot of locals working in gardens and rice paddies, checked out a few villages but didn't find anything out of the ordinary. We made it back to the "Tree Line" around four o'clock, still miserably hot and now mosquitoes were beginning to come out along with the ever menacing flies that landed or swarmed every cut and sore that was exposed constantly without ever letting up. Hopefully we'd be in tonight as we were out the last two nights on an ambush and it was our turn to stay in, which didn't mean anything when it came down to it. 

    We got the word we'd be staying in, so some of us cleaned our rifles, while others wrote letters home. I still hadn't received any mail from home yet, I guess it was just a matter of time before I would. The Otters brought hot chow out to us from Camp Big John, boy it was good. You had to eat with one hand while swatting flies with the other. We got soda, but it wasn't very cool, each person got two so I saved one for when I would be standing my turn on watch. At night the temperature drops down to the 60's but that is cold when it was 120 degrees all day in the shade. It cools the soda off enough to actually seem as if it were cold, so I had one thing to look forward to on watch tonight, drinking a cold Coke. 
     

    This will continue on with more events that took place while Hotel 2/1 was at Cua Viet. The opinions in this story or solely the opinions of the author and do not reflect, or in-dorse, or mirror the feelings or thoughts of the members of Hotel-Marines 1968. Hope you'll keep tagging along, as not every day was a day of battle in Vietnam, but when they occurred, you weren't excited for another one. Nothing is more real then actual combat, your adrenaline pumps beyond imagination, and suddenly all that matters is living and not dyeing on a foreign soil. 

    Author: Bobby Hingston (June 1998)