Nam Sense Read Free Page B

red clouds of dust. Countless GIs inhabited the camp but very few carried any weapons.
    Camp Evans was named after Lance Corporal Paul Evans, a Marine hero killed in action on December 22, 1966, near the present site of the camp. In 1967, the Navy Seabees built a major portion of the camp for the occupation of the US 1st Marine Division and the Army’s 1st Cavalry Division. In October of 1968, the camp became the permanent home of 101st Airborne Division’s 3rd Brigade.
    Camp Evans was primarily self-sufficient. Besides the airstrip, it had its own fuel depot, motor pool, PX (Post Exchange), post office, ammunition dump, outdoor movie theater and bandstand, a seventy-bed hospital, and a system of gasoline-powered generators to provide electricity. The camp is re-supplied by both truck and air. However, no aircraft were housed there because the remote location made them too inviting of a target for the enemy.
    The closest civilians to Camp Evans were from the village of Phong Dien, located about one mile from the main gate. Primitive by American standards, the village had no electricity or running water. The villagers lived in thatch huts clustered on tiny plots surrounded by hundreds of acres of fertile farmland. The farmer’s most valuable possession was the domesticated water buffalo, which served as both tractor and transportation. Although the villagers were friendly toward us, the only civilians allowed inside Camp Evans were barbers and tailors.
    I was assigned to Company A, 2nd Battalion, 506th Infantry Regiment. But before reporting to my unit, I was officially welcomed into the 101st Airborne Division by the 506th battalion commander. Lieutenant Colonel Brookes was a tall, imposing figure who demanded to be addressed by his radio call-name—Ajax. From inside his huge operations bunker, Ajax stood at a podium reading from notes to me, his audience of one. He gave the customary pep talk I’d heard a dozen times already since I’d been drafted.
    “We have accepted the challenge of a very important mission in South Vietnam. Freedom will come at a high cost, sometimes at the supreme sacrifice, but we are willing to fight for justice and humanity. We will win this war. The tide is turning. There is light at the end of the tunnel. The US Army is the most powerful army on earth and we are making this country safe for democracy by squeezing the enemy from his position and destroying him with swift blows.”
    The colonel rambled on, waving his arms but never making eye contact. I felt as if he was talking to the wall. I started to daydream. Perhaps Ajax fancied himself to be like the Greek warrior of the same name or like the popular laundry detergent so he could clean up Vietnam. Either way, when he finally finished speaking, Ajax shook my hand and directed me to the site that would be my home base for the next year, provided I lived that long.
    The 506th battalion area consisted of ten identical buildings referred to as “hooches.” Lining both sides of a dirt roadway, the hooches resembled the rudimentary huts of a Boy Scout summer camp with walls that were half wood and half screens. Each hooch was elevated about a foot off the ground and surrounded by a four-foot high wall of sandbags. The corrugated aluminum roofs were weighted down with several dozen sandbags to prevent strong winds from blowing the aluminum sheets off.
    The main hooch was the battalion orderly room and field personnel headquarters. A first sergeant and a company clerk manned it. Two adjacent hooches were used as supply sheds, while three others housed rear echelon staff. The five companies of our battalion alternately used the remaining buildings whenever they came in from the field for rest periods.
    Alongside the hooches were two water towers for showers. For toilet facilities, there was an officer’s latrine and an enlisted men’s latrine. Piss-tubes were also strategically placed for optimum use. Beyond that, nothing was done to make the