Photos US Forces

Ahhhhhh, memories. We arrived around midnight, caught a few winks, then had chow and loaded up in buses that had heavy chain link all across the windows........so the locals couldn't toss a grenade in the bus! Welcome to the 'Nam!
Transient Barracks Travis AFB 1968 - In October 1968 the beginning of our one year guided tour of beautiful southeast Asia. Photo Credit Lance Nix

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Friday, July 5, 1968

The sun’s heat was relentless and combined with the high humidity we were all “out of gas.” Any little effort would cause us to sweat. There were no weather or temperature instruments, and Doc’s glass mercury thermometers were maxed out at 108 degrees in the shade.
A truck pulled into the Kilo compound, coming from the direction of Hill 52. The driver yelled, “Heat Casualties,” and we carefully unloaded 14 Marines. Most of them couldn’t walk, and two were unconscious.
The medical tent was now full, and Doc Furman made a quick assessment of each patient. We had all hands on deck in the med tent, and we tried to cool the Marines by fanning them and giving them sips of water to re-hydrate.
I was working on one of the unconscious Marines and noted to Furman, “his skin is dry and too hot to touch.” Also, his breathing was labored. Doc said, “Carry the cot to the river and cool him off SLOWLY.” At the river we set the cot down and splashed water on him. The canvas cot became saturated and acted like a desert water bag, cooling by evaporation. Returning to the med tent to get him out of the sun, the Marine went into convulsions; he was cramping and his stomach was rigid.
Captain Cavagnol came into the tent and announced, “Medevac is ten minutes out, everyone on your feet.” Twelve Marines stood up and walked out toward the LZ. As we carried the two cots out, Cavagnol ordered the others back into the med tent . . . there was only room for two, and the walking casualties would have to wait.
As the Chinook helicopter landed, a crewman exited and said, “NO COTS.” I lifted the Marine up and over my shoulders (we had trained for this, but I never thought it would happen). Running up the ramp of the helicopter, the Crew Chief was using hand signals, urging me to carry the Marine forward. The deck was covered with wounded and some poncho-wrapped dead Marines. I tried my best not to step on the ponchos, but it was impossible. I laid my casualty down as the Crew Chief was yelling, “GET OUT, GET OUT!”
I literally ran over the dead Marines on my way out and was free from the helicopter as it took off. As I was walking back to the med tent, Captain Cavagnol put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Good job, now go to the river and cool off.”
At the beach I took off my boots and waded into the water with my trousers on and sat down. Someone tapped my arm (it was Trinh) and said, “I wash” pointing to my pants. I took them off under water, and after they had been cleaned, she laid them next to my boots as I sat in the river.
The river was now thrashing with naked Marines (the heat casualties), and I got dressed and retreated to my hooch recliner. Someone had issued the noon C-rats, and I got “Beans and Frankfurters.” I ate the peach halves and laid down in my fighting hole and cried. I was bothered by walking on the dead Marines . . . we never trained for that scenario.

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Thursday, July 4, 1968

Kilo battery was not getting fire missions. Our primary assignment was “general support” for 3rd Battalion 7th Marines, but they weren’t operating within our range of fire. Although their job was to keep Route 4 secure, there were no convoys.
Boredom was killing us, and our only relief was to cool off in the river. During the day everyone went shirtless. It was so hot the mosquitoes would only appear after sunset when we put on our shirts for protection.
None of us wore underwear . . . it just wasn’t practical. We needed more ventilation to reduce moisture. We never used the term “going Commando,” but I did hear references to “free-balling.” Either way we adjusted to the conditions, and it appeared that the Vietnamese did likewise.
Just after sunset, Captain Cavagnol yelled, “Fire Mission.” The coordinates made no sense because we would be firing toward the mountainous jungle to the west. To further complicate things, the altitude was at a high angle, and all the gun tubes we’re pointing skyward. The ammo was WP with a timed fuse. Oh I get it . . . Fireworks!
The guns fired on Cavagnol’s command, and a few seconds later the rounds detonated (3000 feet above). Twilight backlit the white phosphorus, giving us a view of scattered puffs of smoke. It wasn’t the most impressive fireworks display I’d ever seen, but it made us laugh.
The radios crackled with activity as the Marines on Hill 52 wanted to know what was going on. Corporal Diaz, our radio operator said, “Amigo . . . Es Cuatro de Julio.”
myvietnamexperience1968.com

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