My Second Tour In Vietnam (October 1967 - September 1968)

As before, I was scheduled to fly back to Vietnam in a military chartered airliner leaving from the San Francisco airport. After arriving at the airport, I ate dinner in the restaurant overlooking the airline gates with various planes parked below. Taking advantage of this opportunity and not knowing when I would enjoy a meal like this again, I ordered my favorite steak, with baked potato, salad and pie ala mode


Since I had been in South Vietnam in 1965, I reflected on how much it must have changed. I wondered if it would be safer or more dangerous this time. I decided on more dangerous since there were hundreds of thousands of American soldiers taking the primary load of the war. This always leads to increased casualties and a higher target profile for the enemy. After enjoying my last meal in the States, I began to look for the gate where my plane would be parked.


I don’t remember the name of the charter airline but spotted the chartered Boeing 707 aircraft complete with stewardesses. I took several newspapers and magazines to read during the long flight, which took about fourteen hours. After the uneventful flight, we landed at Tan Son Nhat airfield in Saigon, Vietnam, which handled a combination of military and commercial activity.


One of the things I was eager to see was the men’s lavatory at the airport. When I first arrived in 1965 the urinal was a wall with a trench at the bottom about six inches wide and two inches deep. The trench slanted to the left. We urinated against the wall where it would roll into the trench, running out through a hole at the end of the channel. The opposite wall housed wash basins and the third contained stalls with commodes, a common French design used by the country it occupied until 1957.


Of course, now we Americans had the most influence in the country with our technologies, and I could hardly wait to see the new improvements we brought to the primitive lavatory. After getting oriented, I was able to find the lavatory used when I first arrived in 1965. I opened the door and there, hangings on that unforgettable wall were glistening new porcelain American Standard brand named urinals with shiny chrome handles. What an improvement. America had made a difference, I remember thinking, until I pulled the shiny chrome handle. I stepped back, watching as the six-inch pipe below the urinal dropped everything into the same trench used when I first arrived in 1965. Apparently, the improvements were only on the surface.


Soon, I boarded an army transport plane to Cam Rhan Bay, which was now the army’s primary processing base for all American soldiers entering Vietnam. I remembered flying the first fixed wing airplane to land at the still unfinished base and runway in my Otter, back in 1965. The base, much bigger now, was complete with many buildings for administration and temporary housing purposes.


My new assignment was to fly Mohawks for the 131st Surveillance Airplane Company, at a base near the North Vietnam border called Phu Bai. It was one of the most dangerous assignments in Vietnam for a Mohawk pilot because of the larger and more sophisticated enemy guns in the area.


“Don’t worry,” one of the senior sergeants said, “that unit has all new Mohawks.”


“That’s good news,” I said, to myself.


“That’s because,” the sergeant continued, “they shot down all the old ones.”


It was enough to start me worrying but within minutes a feeling came over me that I wouldn’t be assigned to that unit. For the first two days when I checked the bulletin board my name still showed the 131st unit as my next duty station. Still, I knew in my heart, it wouldn’t stay that way. On the third day, I walked up to the bulletin board to see a red line drawn through the military unit at Phu Bai. Instead, it showed a reassignment to the 244th Aviation Company in Can Tho, located in the delta or southern-most part of Vietnam.


Can Tho

I flew down to Can Tho the next day. The 244th Aviation Company recently arrived in Vietnam and was staffing up to full strength. The airfield, smaller than the ones at Saigon and Nha Trang in 1965, had a runway built of pierced steel planking (PSP typical of army runways in combat areas. Steel plates with many holes in them created a pattern covering several rows. The sides, bent in a tongue and groove arrangement, allowed the planks to attach like Lego blocks, allowing water to drain through the holes, away from the runway surface, when it rained. Unfortunately, when wet, the runway became slippery like ice, creating a major challenge to control an airplane landing during the rainy season.


Our barracks or hooches as we called them were painted white and made of wood. Four pilots lived-in each building, with electricity and a large ceiling fan in each space. About five feet up the walls screens reached to the roof, allowing cross ventilation throughout the pilot areas. Surprisingly, each hooch had an electric refrigerator with a single metal army cot to round out the décor.


With beer and ice in the refrigerator and a bottle of scotch, I thought, this might not be such a bad war after all. Afraid of the drinking water I began to mix the scotch with ginger ale. A little sweet but ginger ale was always available. After a few weeks, I developed a taste for the mixed drink combination. Air-conditioning was about the only convenience we missed.


A Momma San acted as a housekeeper in each hooch. Employed by the base, the headquarters’ unit paid them. They didn’t receive tips or other compensation and were all pleasant people. Many had children but didn’t bring them to the job. Other family members took care of them while the mothers worked.