The Bridges of Vietnam: From the Journals of a U.S. Marine Intelligence Officer

Chapter 1. Initiation

Chapter 1 Initiation THURSDAY 11 AUGUST 1966-THE FIRST DAY A quick goodbye to my wife in the blackness ofpredawn . My mind spins as I slide into a seat on the bus. The sun will never come up this day because the bus will lurch from Oceanside's darkness into the Los Angeles smog belt, and will slip from there into the fog belt of San Francisco. The driver lets us out for lunch and I sip a glass of orange soda. Before returning to the bus, I buy a paperback book titled The Lost Command about a group of French paratroopers operating in Indochina , and later in Algeria.l I spend the afternoon reading about a war the French lost, and about the warriors they abandoned. Confidentwe will do right what they did wrong, occasionally I doze. Nearing San Francisco, the bus passes several wineries that advertise complimentary tasting rooms. Mywife and I had spoken ofstopping at one ofthose, but never did. It hits me that we and our families should do what we want when we can, because we might never have another chance. I reach San Francisco in time to make the connection for Travis Air Force Base, but a mob of humanity has crowded around the baggage claim counter because of a redcap strike. I hear my bus to Travis being called away, andjump the line to get 1 2. The Bridges ofVietnam my Val Pak suitcase and footlocker from behind the counter. I volunteer a sharp-looking Army sergeant who has the time to help, and we reach my bus just before it pulls away. My words to the sergeant are the first I've spoken since saying goodbye to my wife back in Oceanside. On the bus to Travis, I sit next to a Marine second lieutenant ground officer named Ed, who was just commissioned at Fort Meade, Maryland, and transferred to WestPac Air Forces.2 He is one of the hundreds that the Commandant declared we would commission from the ranks to fight this war. Ed, straw-haired and pale-eyed, has two roles to learn at oncehow to be an officer, and how to fight a war. He looks like a small, scared, skinny kid, but he's going out to do a man'sjob. Travis at ten 0'clock at night is like Grand Central Station on a holiday weekend. Through the throngs, I see a short, skinny Army private at the head of a check-in line who needs shots. He pulls off his shirt and undershirt , gets painted with Merthiolate from shoulders to elbows, and gets needles popped into both arms and both shoulders. A shiver goes down my spine and I swallow twice. You can't look more vulnerable than him. He's going to get sick and sore from those shots, and this isjust the beginning of his year. I commence last telephone calls. My father tells me he is proud ofme, and speaks of new orders mailed special delivery to his house telling me to report to Commander u.S. Military Assistance Command, Republic of Vietnam, whatever that is. Saying goodbye, I search out the Marine Corps liaison counter and hand my orders for WestPac Ground Forces to an Air Force sergeant on duty. I ask if he knows of a change to my orders. He raises his eyebrows, and points at an empty desk nearby bearing a nameplate , "Marine Liaison NCO." "All I do is process passengers," he says. "Ifyou think you have a reason not to carry out your orders, we will assign your seat to somebody else and you can present your case to the gunny during regular working hours after 0800 tomorrow." As a senior captain, I have no intention of telling a gunnery sergeant that I don't think I really am supposed to go to Marine Corps Ground Forces WestPac, so I decide to just carry out orders I have and fly to Okinawa for staging. Mter I complete my phone calls, I meet two other Marine captains. One is Chuck Dawson, returning from a Marine Barracks tour in Iceland, where he was with his family.3 Chuck, five-foot eleven, blond-haired and Initiation· 3 blue-eyed, looks like he hasn't seen the sun in three years. He had thought he was going to Okinawa for duty and was surprised to see his orders modified to...