Excerpt

After a briefing, during which I received an interpretation of what those orders meant, I learned that I had been assigned to the 1st Air Cavalry Division and had to fly to their Headquarters up at An-khe (13.57oN, 108.39oE) for in-country training. I had heard just enough stories from my buddies in West Germany and the troops on the plane on the way over that this was a gung-ho outfit when it came to engaging the enemy, and that it had been involved in action in all the sectors of South Vietnam. I knew enough to know that their division patch was a huge, golden-yellow shield with a black slash across it with the black silhouette of a horse’s head in the upper corner of the shield.

Our transportation to An-khe would be via an Air Force C-130, a four-engined turbo-prop cargo plane that was, and continues to be, a real workhorse for the United States military and throughout the world as well. That was ‘ok’ by me. The plane had a good rep for safety and taking punishment, and I knew it could get in and out of very short and rough runways.

Loading took place at 0400 hours the next morning after a restless night with little sleep and throbbing wrists. We grabbed our duffel bags, marched up the loading ramp into the cargo hold, and straddled our bags in rows from one side of the plane to the other, filling the plane from front to back. The loadmaster stretched a cargo strap from one side of the plane across each row and hooked it up to the other side forming a safety belt of sorts. The engines sounded good to me on warm-up, and the take-off was uneventful. It was still dark as we climbed to altitude, and I had yet to see any part of Vietnam with the exception of a small patch of the huge sandbox that was Cam-ranh Bay.

We had been told that there would be a stop before An-khe, and that landing and take-off took place without incident during the early morning sunrise. As we approached An-khe, the pilot informed us that they experienced a lot of problems at this base with the enemy taking shots at aircraft during take-offs and landings. For that reason, he warned us that the approach, landing, taxi procedure, and subsequent take-off would be a bit out of the ordinary. The reality of the situation meant that our approach was at a very steep angle (translation: I was glad we had that cargo strap across our laps!), and the landing speed was much greater than that of the previous stop. Now the real fun began as the pilot cruised up to the control shack and cut the two left-side engines while the loadmaster lowered the back cargo ramp. We had been warned that the plane would not stop and that we had to jump off while the plane was still moving. Keep to the right, please, as those who were taking this plane to other destinations would be running to jump on. What a giant cluster fuck this turned out to be as those who were getting off jumped out into one big long pile of bodies and bags. When I landed on the pile, I noted that the plane already had all four engines wound up and was making a hasty and steep take-off while I tried to figure out just what had happened. I also noted that our exit performance was cause for great merriment on the part of those standing around watching the FNGs look like the idiots we were.

An-khe was a fairly large base with quite a few structures enclosed within the wire. Like all other bases I visited (with the exception of one Navy area), this one was also completely defoliated. Some of the structures were wooden barracks with corrugated metal roofs (my temporary barracks was of this type), Quonset-style buildings, tents, and a variety of other wooden structures. Drab does not even come close to describing what this place, and all the other bases and camps, looked like. By defoliating the area, all that was left was dirt, and seeing how this was now the hot and dry season, dust was everywhere and covered everything like a blanket. In short, the place looked like it was made out of dirt. It looked, smelled, felt, and tasted like dirt. More on all of this later.

Now, once again, the usual routine kicked in with the administrivia and assignment of a bunk in a transit building (usual steel Army bed with thin, cotton mattress). We dumped our bags and fell out to meet our in-country training cadre who promptly indicated that our first order of business would be brushing our teeth. Say what?

Small brushes and tubes of paste were distributed, and we loaded up the brushes as ordered. By the numbers, please. Several minutes of vigorous brushing on the lower left, move to the upper left, and so on. The purpose? Well, we were informed that there would not be a dentist behind every rubber tree or in every rice paddy and getting your hurting teeth looked after was a big deal over there, necessitating travel to some base where there was a dentist. Therefore, to help prevent dental problems while you were out in the field, this preventative measure was taken with a paste having a higher than normal concentration of fluoride. Add this to the final check of our teeth to make certain our dental records were accurate (for identification purposes), and it was clear that the military held your pearlies in high regard.