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LETTER FROM VIET-NAM


Gaius Octavius

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You might remember the 'Mac' of an earlier Journal who was commander of the failed raid on the Coast Guard bank.

 

Mac was graduated from school as a 2nd Lieutenant in the U.S. Army. He became a reconnaissance pilot and was sent off to Viet Nam. I was supposed to follow as a combat engineer, but lucked out.

 

The following is a letter Capt. Mac [b.] sent to me in 1963.

 

 

"13 Jan. 63

 

Howdy Tom,

 

Greetings from a hospital bed in worn torn Viet Nam. Nope. No bullet holes. No V.D., no rare tropical disease, but chicken pox!! Yep - 17 KIAs last month, 42 WIAs, 5 MIAs & I come down with chicken pox. Kind of embarassing but nonetheless restful. Also gives me a chance to catch up on my mail. This is the first time that I've had two days off in a row since coming to Viet Nam. It's also the first time I've been able to go to sleep at night and know I'll sleep safely. Son, if you own any stocks having anything to do with property in Viet Nam, sell them. I don't think the commies will honor your stock receipts. I'm not saying that we are losing the war; (that would be sedition), I 'm just saying that we're winning it slower than the other side. The Viet Cong (V.C.) are going to be tough to beat.

 

When I first came to V.N. I was stationed with Special Forces at a town called Pleiku in the central highlands. At that time the V.C. would shoot at me with home made rifles or even throw rocks but we've made improvements since then. Now they use 40 mm so we're certainly developing and civilizing a portion of the country anyhow. It's my humble opinion and I certainly can't prove it but I believe Special Forces are the only bastards fighting this war. In earnest that is.

 

Anyhow, I got orders to leave beautiful Pleiku and go to a coastal town (Tuy Hoa) where I managed to unpack one morning, flew 5 1/2 hours for MAAG there and then received orders the same night to move down here to the Delta. For one reason or another, the powers to be saw fit to move the 9th Rep. of V.N. (ARNV) Div.to a town called Saolea[?] and I was to command an L-19 section in support of them. The nearest airfield being at Vinh Long, that is where my trusty section abodes, consisting of 3 L-19's, each equipped with one crew chief and one pilot, one radio operator, and myself.

 

Military red tape being what it is, I find I belong to the 73rd Aviation Co. at Nha Trang, under the operational control of the Delta Avn Bn at Can Tho; attached to the 114th Air Mobile Co. at Vinh Long; in Direct Support of the American Advisors with the 9th, but I live MAAG Tm 52, who are advisors to the civil guard and Special Defense Corps of the Vinh Long Province Chief (a political appointee) with rank of Lt/Col. This gives you an idea of how the war is being won.

 

Anyhow, the mighty 9th[ARVN] has been bloodied several times in the Delta and the papers say they are winning battles. So who am I to disagree, never getting closer than 200 feet to the battle lines.. Generally speaking, the ARVN ground pounder is a gutty little hell bent for leather scrapper who can whip his weight in wildcats, but he appears leaderless. In almost every operation I've witnessed, the V.C. are contacted, the ARVN (whether superior or not) call for artillery and fall back and wait until enough units come up to surround the V.C. But this may take anywhere from 6 hrs to 3 days. And always, always, there is a hole left for the V.C. to escape. It's damn frustrating to call the American advisor. Let me give you a dialogue:

 

 

Me> 9 Bonus throw charlie, this is Advance Guard 86, over.

 

Ground> 86, this is Charlie, go.

 

Me> 86 here, approximately 76 V.C. leaving tree line and moving south along the beach toward the swamp. Request fire from LCVP's (boats) offshore, over.

 

Gd> Roger 86, this is Charlie, eh, how do you know they're V.C. over.

 

Me> 86 here. Because they're running away from you, and shooting at me over.

 

Gd> Roger 86, request you make a low pass for confirmation, over.

 

Me> 86- Stand by...Charlie, I got low enough to hear them shooting, made four of them duck. They're dressed in black and shooting at me. Request Arty or Naval fire, over.

 

Gd> Eh 86 - Are you sure they're not our advance party, over.

 

Me> Charlie, 86 here. Would your advance party shoot at me, over.

 

Gd> (after some delay) Roger 86, stand by to have your observer adjust Arty, over. (I roger)

 

Me> (Time passes) Charlie, 86 - They're almost in the swamp, better get them while we can. (No answer)

 

Me> (Much time has passed) Charlie, 86 - the lead elements are in the swamp, over.

 

Gd> Roger 86, stand by, we've called for an air strike that'll be here in 4 hours, out.

 

 

All this time I've been circling perhaps 2 VC companies which were supposed to be surrounded and was just about out of gas. Imagine it - almost 4 hours over the enemy and didn't get a single round near them. Oh, well, maybe the VC will give up.

 

I've just reread this and there's a lot in here that could hang me, so don't spread it around.

 

Just once, I wish I could be flying over an American unit so that when fired upon, I could get hits on target within five minutes. It would make me feel so good.

 

Well this is getting long winded so I'd better ring off. Pardon the writing but it "taint" up to snuff lying in bed with a fever. Be sure to give my warmest regards to your parents and don't be afraid to write, I'll answer it.

 

Your Friend,

B."

 

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I used to laugh when I read this letter, now I am crying like a baby.

 

Lt. Col. Mac, USA, passed to Glory on 30 April 2007 at about 2 PM, MDST of bone cancer. Dormit in Pace. We'll knock back a couple of shots together - soon.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Sound familiar?

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What a wonderful letter! My condolences to you, on the loss of your old friend.

 

This made me smile: "I've just reread this and there's a lot in here that could hang me, so don't spread it around." Wouldn't Mac laugh, to see how you've "spread it around," knowing there's nothing the army can do to him now? :rip:

 

-- Nephele

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Mac actually spoke in that phlegmatic, ironic, cynical style. Would have screwed 'Ground's' head off if he got his paws on him. (In 1963, the V.C. didn't have a kite to fly.) He was big enough to do it. Used to look down at me. He could fly an airplane, but I couldn't teach him how to drive my car when we were in school. Once, he told me that he had no idea of how far off the ground his plane was when he was landing it. Neither did anyone else. Controlled crash. Asked me to send him drawers when he was at Pleiku as they always rotted away there. Always beat me at chess. This Scotsman could turn a dead pan face into a murderous scowl when I would beat him at Brisk. Mac had a still in the back of his house. (We both were studying chemical engineering.) The stuff that came out of it was blue with what looked like beaten egg whites on top, and some brown gelatinous gunk on the side of the jar. Once, we made perfume for the girls. Smelled great to begin with then it turned into flatulence. They put contracts out on us.

 

One day, I will tell you about our 'experiments' with gun powder.

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N.C., bank on it. He is probably thrashing the guys who were holding the 'light at the end of the tunnel'.

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