The Smorgasbord Patrol

The Jungle of Vietnam

by Bobby Q

(Bobby Quintana-Sena)

“Older men declare war, but it is the youth that must fight and die." -- Herbert Hoover


The word "tired" didn't do justice to the amount of pain in our bodies, especially our legs, from the constant marching for two days.

We tried to sleep during the day, but the strain of trying to stay awake at night and the constant adrenaline rush awaiting an attack had us on pins and needles.

We had been deep in the jungles, canopied with trees, vines, and other vegetation, making walking an effort in itself. We ran across trails, but did not encounter any VC, however, it was very obvious they had been around. Luckily we weren't engaged and didn't suffer any casualties. That was the only bright spot in the march. 

All we looked forward to was getting back to the base camp in one piece. We knew a shower and fresh food would work wonders in rejuvenating us and making us whole again -- until we had to go out again. It was a vicious circle one could not get used to.

Word came through the line that we were to start walking down the mountainside and find the extraction point a few hours from us. 

As we started off, we were a little upbeat.  Since we were going back to base camp, we could take a break for awhile. One of the guys, Specialist Four Martinez, was talking to a man behind him and he tripped on a vine.  With the slight incline, he almost fell forward, (which would have been a lot less painful), but he tried to use his rifle as a crutch to hold him up. 

Try as he might, he couldn't get his balance and ran smack into a tree with his head. The only reason he didn't get a cracked skull was because he chose to wear a helmet, instead of the boonie hat most of us wore. It was actually quite funny and we all started laughing, which brought the Lieutenant back as the column stopped.  He also laughed, when we told him what happened.

The Lieutenant was just as tired as we were and he said since we had to wait until Martinez got his head cleared, we might as well take some time to eat and relax for the final leg down the hill. 

As Doc was working on Martinez, he found him to be somewhat disorientated, but otherwise in good health. The laughter started again, when Doc showed us the helmet with the dent. 

At this point, Martinez got mad and started cussing.  One of the guys who was eating a pound cake, slung a piece of cake with a bendable spoon at Martinez, hitting him again in the head. Pieces of the dry pound cake were stuck in his hair and the whole gang went wild. 

Before Martinez could get up and retaliate, one of the guys who knew I despised ham and lima beans, hit me square in the chest with a big glob of it. That was the start of one great food fight. 

Beanie weenies, ham and eggs, (you name the food), was slung all over the whole patrol, as we lay on the ground. We had tears in our eyes from the event and all our cares and stress went out the window.

It was like a great wave of relief went through the whole group. We vented our feelings, flushed them out of our system, and enjoyed ourselves without a care in the world. We felt like we could march for another week.

We were all laying around, still laughing occasionally, as we made our preparations to get moving again.  Suddenly, one of the guys jumped up in the air about two feet and commenced to slap himself, making pinching motions all over his body. 

Pretty soon, another guy started and finally, we were all trying to disrobe. It seemed that in our glee of slinging food all over the place, we invited an army of red ants and other creepy-crawly critters to our festival. 

There were some serious ant bites among us and we almost had to undress to get all off them off.  It didn't take us long to gather our belongings and move to a different area so we could clean ourselves us as best we could. The lack of water didn't help the situation and we didn't want to use up all of our drinking water. 

Specialist Martinez's amazing recovery occurred during our hysteria and we were surprised when we noticed he was the first one out of the area.

I couldn't wait to see how this was all fabricated, once we got back to base camp and the drinking started.  I was sure there would be several variations of the tale, none of which anyone would ever believe.

Bobby Q

USAF

Vietnam

Bobby Q

Other Articles by Bobby Q:

Four Months and a Wake Up
That's the Air Force For You ...






“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

Four Months and a Wake Up

Bobby Q

By Bobby Q

(Bobby Quintana-Sena)

This is a short story I wrote when I was in a deep funk and thinking about a couple of guys I saw who were KIA almost 45 years ago in Nam. It happened at Tan Son Nhut on base.

Four Months and a Wake Up

I’ve been here too long and it is time for me to leave – in my mind, at least. I cannot believe I have been here eight months.

I have been here long enough to learn to pray again. I’ve been here long enough to miss my family’s advice, and long enough to know I was not as bright as I thought I was. I always thought knowledge like that was to be acquired when I was in my forties, or even my fifties.

There’s not much here, but close friends, letters from home, care packages, and counting the days … "que lastima".

It had been a cake walk the first two months, just hanging out, getting supplies, doing menial jobs around the base camp, and being a go-for.

The third month, I was assigned to a line unit and I have spent the last two months in the bush. Being scared (terrified) was a daily ritual and I was lucky we were only involved in two firefights.

I got to see my first dead and that is not an experience I would share with anyone, especially when they are American. I never personally met the grunts, but it still hurt, knowing they were as young as I was and that they were going home to unfulfilled dreams and devastated families. That situation is certainly not in my future -- I hope God has better plans for me.

I am from northeast Arizona and we rarely saw rain there. Here, it sees to rain every day. It’s actually quite beautiful and the smell of the trees and plants is real pleasant. The Mekong Delta is actually a beautiful land and the waterways enhance the beauty of it. The only problem is, my feet are always wet and there are not many opportunities to get dry socks to keep your feet dry.

Mekong Delta - Vietnam

The other reality is the constant flares at night and the intermediate mortars, or rockets, that occasionally hit the camp. It makes it hard to sleep when you are not in the field and I have the opportunity to stay in camp for the night.

I usually volunteer for guard duty in the early hours, so I can get some sleep when the sun is coming up. It gives me time to reflect on the world and what I left behind.

Friends I graduated with, went on to college, careers, or they got married and started a family. A few, like me, thought we had a duty to the country and here we are, wishing we were elsewhere.

Today has been just like every other day. We are up for patrol tomorrow and I was thinking about that, when a mortar round went off across the camp. There was no one walking around and only the guard posts were awake, but I got into my bunker, in case the alarm sounded and we got a full-fledged attack.

About twenty minutes later, nothing else happened, so I just sat on the sandbag and waited for the next shoe to fall. It was misty and a little hazy and with the flares in the sky, it almost seemed like I was behind a giant plastic sheet, watching a light show. It was serene and relaxing and, except for my weapon in my hand, I could have been in an auditorium watching a show.

I relaxed and got to thinking about the Fourth of July fireworks at home, when I heard a soft wind and felt a warm breeze across my cheek. Then I heard a soft noise and, at first, I thought maybe a rat had crawled onto the sandbag, but my chest felt wet and so warm.

I started to go into a deep slumber and try as I might, I could not sit up.  As I lay back, I heard some quiet and distant bubbling sounds. The world I was in was such a quiet place; there was no pain, no memories, and just warmness in the air. I just closed my eyes and floated through the scene. God, it was so beautiful.

I knew I was going home. I had an American flag draped on me and I was at peace with myself. I had done my job and I was with my friends.


[This writing was about PTSD and my wish that I would not make it back from my second tour.  It was written during one of my darker periods. No offense meant to any of my brothers and sisters, but post traumatic stress is a real pain.]

 
Regards,
Bobby Q

USAF

Vietnam

Also by Bobby Q

That's the Air Force For You ...


“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.

That's the Air Force For You ...

Conex Supply Container

by Bobby Q 

(Bobby Quintana-Sena)

I remember being in the Arizona National Guard and being issued a weapon.

Then I went to Nam with the Air Force.  

In Nam, I was out in the bush and yet I could NOT have a weapon.  All the Air Force would give us was a weapons card. 

When the shit hit the fan, (and it did), they expected all of us to go to the Conex box and stand in line to draw our weapon. 

The place where I was stationed was about the size of a football field.  We had two M-16's on opposite corners, and another two M-60's at the other corners. 

There was NO concertina wire, just a barbed wire fence (a cow fence?) There were also no claymore mines -- nothing that we could have had whenever we needed it. That was the Air Force for you. 

I traveled all over the country and I carried a bayonet that I had "found", but I never carried a weapon. 

Air Force policy sucked ... and they wonder why I am all wound up and paranoid ... 

Bobby Q

USAF

Vietnam

Other Articles by Bobby Q:

Four Months and a Wake Up
That's the Air Force For You ...

“I am only one, but I am one. I can't do everything, but I can do something. The something I ought to do, I can do, and by the grace of God, I will.” ~Everett Hale


Feel free to comment on this post. You are also invited to write about anything you feel comfortable sharing. Memoirs From Nam is YOUR blog. You are writing America's history, sharing the truth about the Vietnam veteran, and what it was like in Our War.