The Sergeant & The Chevrons
An Khe Vietnam
May 1968
Copyright 2011
By
Robert A. Chapin
Smashwords Edition
I was originally drafted in 1966 which would have been a two year enlistment - and a guaranteed tour in Vietnam. I had two weeks in which to make up my mind by applying to the other services to see what they had to offer. I was not too keen on the Air Force, definitely not the Marines, I couldn’t see myself wearing bell bottom pants in the Navy, so I took advantage of the Army’s new 4 year enlistment program.
They promised that if I were to commit to a four year enlistment (under a new plan initiated by The Army), I definitely would not see service in Vietnam. So…I enlisted for 4 years in Germany. Following 16 months in the position of civilian status, I was abruptly pulled out of my comfort zone in Frankfurt and ordered to Vietnam.
I attempted to convince the uniformed Major who appeared at my apartment that I had a contract, to which he replied: “Sue us, by the time your case gets to the military courts you’ll either be dead or have already returned from Vietnam.” Uncle Sam was generous and offered me one month’s additional vacation pay and also gave me the option of remaining stateside for an additional month with pay then leave for Vietnam. I finally accepted the assignment and wanted to get it over with as soon as possible - so it was off to Vietnam in May of 1968.
I arrived in Vietnam at a processing center known as An Khe. It was here where many of the 2,500,000 who served in Vietnam awaited their assignments. My previous assignment was in Frankfurt, Germany where I was stationed as a cryptographer - dealing with top secret messages between our post in the I.G. Farben Building in Frankfurt to Vice President Hubert Humphrey’s office. My primary position was to transmit information concerning Russian troop movement in the Balkans - during the Cold War years.
We worked three days from 7:00 AM to 3:00 PM, the next were three days from 3:00 PM to 11:00 PM, and the last leg was three nights from 11:00 PM to 7:00 AM. After 9 straight days of working in the crypto center we were given three nights and four full days off then we would begin the process all over again. The sensitive work stipulated that we wear civilian clothes, live in an apartment and wear our hair fairly long. Not as long as The Beatles, but long enough that a group of us were the envy of our comrades stationed at other outposts.
We were exempt from wearing military issued uniforms and inspections. In all, there were 8 of us who lived in 4 moderately furnished 2 bedroom apartments just a stones throw from the Henniker Brewery. On Saturday mornings, the brewery invited American G.I.’s to enter the small dining area and drink as much German beer as we wanted. Recognizing the fact that we did not have a lot of money, the brewery also supplied small rounds of bread to assist in soaking up the alcohol known as brochens for 1 pfennig each (equivalent to a U.S. penny) There were several conditions: we had to possess a valid I.D., not drive, and absolutely no hootin’ and hollerin’. If any of these terms were violated, our superior officers would be notified of our inappropriate behavior and we would risk the chance of being re-assigned to another unit where we would have to wear uniforms. Needless to say, even the unruly among us - and there were two in particular who obeyed the rules.
It was a time of absolute pleasure, 19 years old, single and carefree, I had the world by the tail. A friend and I purchased a Volkswagon Beetle and on one particular four day break we traveled the country roads from Frankfurt to Bern, Switzerland. If I recall, the car cost us $200.00 American dollars.
Along the way we stopped at various farms in the Germany and Swiss countryside and asked a farmer if we could work for food and somewhere to stay for a night. We were quite surprised at the response as we were two young men eager to enjoy the countryside. We would assist with the cutting and storing of hay, help with the milking chores, feed the hogs, chickens and goats and enjoyed our several days away. We worked like mules and as part payment we got to enjoy the huge dinner at noon - which we in the U.S. consider lunch.
No! There weren’t any daughters as the old cliché’ suggests, but we ate well. I believe we were just over the line in Switzerland with a view of the majestic mountains hills and valleys, a picturesque scene worthy of a calendar shot. The farmer’s wife set the long wooden plank table (with space for at least ten) for the four of us with a roast beef which must have weighed 15 pounds. The boiled potatoes, green beans, homemade bread and butter and ice sold milk right from the milk cooler in the barn was such a delight. We had not had a home cooked meal since leaving home for Germany 16 months earlier. We were encouraged to eat as much as our stomachs could hold, and when feeding to two young soldiers - she didn‘t have to twist our arm.
To top it off the Mrs. brought out a hunk of chocolate and what looked like an ice pick, chipped off a good size piece and offered the same to us. Had I known the chocolate was so delicious I would not have stuffed myself with the beef.
AN KHE VIETNAM
MAY 1968
In An Khe, practically every soldier was chosen for some type of daily work. The duty sergeant could assign you anything from filling sandbags, to handing out cold water, to the worse of the details: working a grueling 8 to 10 hour day in the mess hall - or burning drums of human waste in a far off field.
Each day, following reveille we were nothing more than a mass of olive drab uniforms - hundreds of men. Once in formation, which was approximately 200 men, a duty sergeant standing on a platform about 5 feet high - sort of a miniature gallows, would stand calling the group to attention - then with a sweeping motion of his hand would order this half - or that half off to specific duties for the day. On this particular day I was in the half that was sent to the mess hall (why should I have thought otherwise!) and this was only the beginning of a back breaking day of peeling potatoes then on to the pot scrubbing detail. Sometimes there were dehydrated powdered potatoes and at other times they would actually drive a dump truck up to the mess tent and unload what seemed an endless mountain of spuds.
In one corner of the mess there was an old cement mixer cylinder - something one would see on a truck hauling concrete. It has been retrofitted and coated with a grit on the inside. When potatoes were loaded in and the switch flipped, a nearly half pound potato was reduced to the size of a tennis ball and sometimes as small as a golf ball. I was confident this was the machine I was to be assigned - but Uncle Sam had other plans! It seems that the art of hand peeling was potatoes was to be my vocation for the day.
Some other guy and I sat with knuckle busters in hand and dug into the mountain of dirty potatoes. After approximately 2 hours some corporal entered our area and began to scream that we weren’t working fast enough. The faster we peeled the more potatoes they dumped . Finally, after about four hours of nothing but peeling and with fingers that resembled white prunes, we were relieved of our duty and it was onto the pan washing detail. Yes! They did have industrial machines to do the washing, and again, I was of the notion that I would be nothing more than a button pusher, but again - Uncle Sam had other plans for me!
I was about to spend another 6 hours or so washing pans and as always with an ass chewing that I was not moving fast enough. At one point - being young and a smart ass - I quipped back to the corporal that he might want to shove a broom up my ass and I’ll sweep the floor at the same time. That is when I learned that sometimes you might just get what you ask for. Although I did not have to wear the broom, I was ordered to sweep the floor of the mess hall. What a day! After about 10 hours of back breaking, bone weary, muscle aching, exhausting work I was allowed to leave for the day. The corporal told us he was cutting us a break and that most details remain on duty for up to 12 hours. I ate, showered and passed out.
On day two I found myself in the same position as the previous day, and was certain the duty sergeant would not send the same half off to the arduous back breaking mess hall detail. Well, I was wrong! The seasoned sergeant once again with a sweeping motion of his hand sent the half I was in off to the mess hall - again!
The routine was the same as the day before and even at the tender age of 20, I was so bone weary that I almost passed out from sheer exhaustion. Following another 10 hours of this steady stream of ill-treatment of the previous day, I ate, showered and it was off to bed at 10:00 PM only to be awakened by an air raid siren two hours later and forced into a covered ditch.
Some seasoned veteran shouted that Charlie was outside the perimeter lobbing mortars and rockets into the compound. Another faceless voice shouted for as many as possible to work our way to the front of our protective underground trench and observe the First Cavalry Division (Airmobile) Huey’s unload a barrage of lethal 50 caliber rounds into their suspected stronghold. Bullets tipped in red dye when fired in rapid succession created a trail of red light to its target. It was truly an awesome sight.
It was 1:30 AM when we were allowed back into our barracks only to be awakened by another sergeant at 6:00 AM barking orders to shower, shave, eat, and be in formation in 45 minutes. This morning however, I was not about to be chosen for Kitchen Police (KP) or any other detail for that matter. Prior to formation, I complained to my platoon leader that I was running a fever and needed to report to sick bay.
The method we used to fake a high temp was to use a cigarette lighter and just pass it over the mercury in the thermometer and the temp would shoot up instantly. One good thing about the old mercury type thermometers was that it had to be shaken vigorously in order to have it drop to the desired degree.
The young doctor did not want to be in Vietnam and with a wife and baby back home - had no idea of where he would end up. With a line of guys extending a city block he looked at my thermometer ordered bed rest for the remainder of the day. I gave the sick call slip to my platoon sergeant exempting me from the grueling work once and for all.
While the others awaited their destiny with the duty sergeant I was able to sleep for at least 4 hours! When I awoke, I devised a plan that would allow me to supervise as opposed to performing grunt work. Located in the compound was a small tailor shop operated by the Vietnamese - a place where trousers could be shortened, buttons replaced on shirts and they also sold the metal insignia. I picked out metal sergeant insignia which did not have to be sewn onto a sleeve. All one had to do is push the pin through the collar on your shirt place a fastener on the back and you were an instant sergeant.
The next morning, well rested, dressed in a clean set of fatigues and wearing the all important sergeant chevrons (sergeants were exempt from work - and were used in a supervisory position) I positioned myself about two rows back from the front of the formation and waited for the sergeant to begin barking the orders.
Suddenly, the duty sergeant noticed me and in a stern voice motioned me to approach and climb the 5 steps of his podium. It felt as though I was going to my execution. Climbing those 5 stairs may as well have been the 13 for a condemned man. The huge black Sergeant Major - a 22 year lifer looked as though he would have no trouble pulling you through the vent window of your car if he were to stop you for a moving violation.
By this time I was trembling. Had he noticed me from the previous two days, and what punishment could he hand down to a counterfeiter like me? As I approached I could see anger in his face, and when he shouted, tiny miniscule bubbles of spit would occasionally land on my face. His sleeves were neatly rolled around his biceps and the size of his arms were like tree trunks.
The flare of his nostrils made me realize he was extremely unhappy with me, and I was about to find out.
“How long you been a sergeant boy?” he barked into my face.
Now trembling I had all I could do to provide an answer.
“Uh! Two days sergeant!”
By this time my legs felt like two rubber sticks.
The sergeant placed his arm behind my back and slowly pulled me toward him without losing eye contact. I was almost ready to throw in the towel and confess to my dishonorable deed when he reached for the chevrons.
In a whispering voice he said:
“You got them goddamned things on upside down! This is how you wear em”
“Now you get your ass back in formation before I change my mind!”
Once placed to their proper position he sent me back to formation where I was eventually selected for ice water duty consisting of the passing out icy cold water from the back of a duce and a half. It was a stroke of luck that I was not sent back to the mess tent as a supervisor.
What I did not know is that the duty sergeant who admonished me for wearing the chevrons improperly was also awaiting assignment. As destiny would present itself, several weeks after I was assigned to The First Cavalry Division (Airmobile), at Camp Evans in The Central Highlands, this crotchety soldier was assigned as my First Sergeant - and he never remembered that I was the soldier with the fake chevrons - and I never brought it to his attention.
In the 12 months I was in Vietnam I was promoted to staff sergeant and he and I got along quite well.
I hope you are enjoying these short stories with a nostalgic twist. I would also like to invite you to sample the two novels I have published here on Smashwords: Orphans Of The Mourning and my latest work Murder In Ogunquit. I believe the price is favorable at $1.99 and would appreciate your loyalty.
Thanks,
Bob