Nam Sense Read Free Page A

clean record so they will have no problems when they reach their units.”
    “How come I’m being placed in an airborne division? I’m infantry!”
    “The NCO squad leaders in the 101st have a rather high casualty rate,” he said seriously, “so they need you guys pretty bad.”
    That was comforting.
    On the second day of training, a loudmouth infantry specialist named Doyen joined our group. He had been in-country for three months when he got wounded. After spending several weeks in the hospital, Doyen’s unit didn’t want him returning to the field without first refreshing his military skills. He resented the decision and made life intolerable for the rest of us by constantly complaining and making stupid wisecracks. While we were on a class break, he noticed my sergeant stripes and decided to direct his anger at me.
    “You’re a Shake-n-Bake, aren’t you?” he asked.
    “Yes,” I answered. “Is that a problem?”
    “You better believe it. You Shake-n-Bake’s are walking death.”
    “What do you mean?” I asked, bewildered.
    “How do you think I got wounded? A Shake-n-Bake fucked up. When I get back to my unit, I’m gonna fix him good. Ever hear of fragging?”
    I had. It was the killing of superiors by their own men, usually by a hand grenade.
    “Yeah, what’s that got to do with me?”
    “Are you kidding?” he laughed. “You better have your GI insurance paid up because you are going to die. Instant NCOs never make it home. You guys come over here, don’t know shit about Nam, and then try to take charge of grunts who have survived for months without you. That’s why there is such a high casualty rate for squad leaders. They get shot by their own men. So I’m warning you, when the shit hits the fan, you’d better look around to see where the bullets are coming from.”
    I stared at him for a few seconds in utter disbelief. My easy-going nature always had me looking at the humorous side of things, but his attitude was nothing to laugh about. I didn’t know how to respond to such an encounter. Luckily, a first sergeant who overheard the conversation from inside the classroom walked out to lead Doyen away. The sergeant gave him hell for trying to scare the new guys and destroy their confidence. He also threatened to bring charges against Doyen for insubordination to a NCO. Doyen never bothered me again, but he certainly got me thinking about how my future subordinates might receive me when I get to the field.
    Upon completion of SERTS training, I was sent to Camp Evans, a permanent duty station 400 miles north of Bien Hoa. There was little comfort in going to a war zone post known as a camp. Especially since this camp was located so close to the enemy’s homeland in one of the northernmost regions of South Vietnam.
    Transportation to Camp Evans was on another C-130 Hercules that proved to be just as nerve-wracking as the first one, except this flight was much longer. I ignored the plane’s unpleasant surroundings and instead fantasized that I was back home with my family. I used to think that my parents were too hard on me, but now I would gladly trade any of their chores or discipline to be free of this situation.
    Suddenly, a desperate feeling came over me as I realized just how good I had it at home and how much I missed everyone. Since the Army had taken away nearly everything that was important to me, I wondered how other GIs were able to deal with it. I wanted to cry, but pulled myself together knowing that my extra military training and strong family ties would help guide me.
    The C-130 landed safely at Camp Evans, a circular tent city nearly one-half mile across, built on gentle rolling hills and surrounded by open grasslands. The camp is defended by perimeter bunker guards and fenced in with dozens of rows of concertina wire. A dirt road splits the camp down the middle. Trucks and jeeps comprised most of the camp’s activity as they traveled back and forth with their tires kicking up