Waiting: One Wife's Year of the Vietnam War

Chapter 8

{Chapter 8} When Lee and I returned to Fort Bragg for the last time after Ranger School, we found Tom Hargrove, a long-time friend from Fisher County with whom Lee had gone to Texas A&M, living on post with his wife, Susan. As couples, we spent many evenings together, sharing our experiences and adjusting to military life. Inevitably, we talked about the pending orders for Vietnam for Lee and Tom. Susan said she planned to return to San Francisco for the year when the time came. I was still at a loss as to where I would spend my time. I had no reason to return to Houston, where I had worked before getting married, and the idea of spending twelve months in my hometown did not seem practical. Ultimately, Susan and I decided that if the timing of the orders worked out we would share an apartment in San Francisco while we waited. When Susan and I talked on the phone again after Lee left, I could detect the symptoms of Tom’s being within days of leaving by her inability to carry on an extended conversation and in her tone of voice. I did not envy her upcoming weeks, so I volunteered to arrive in San Francisco a couple of days after Tom’s departure. Even though Susan’s mother would still be there, I knew, if I had learned nothing else, the importance of nonstop activity during the transition stage, and I would do what I could to create diversions. At least I would understand as no one else around her would. Thinking that I might actually do something constructive lightened my step. Besides, I craved conversation with someone my own age who shared my circumstances. As independent as I like to think I was, I found myself nervous about driving alone to San Francisco. I asked Daddy to go as far as Tucson, where he could see my sister Brenda, and then fly back home. I called [54] chapter 8 Connie to see if she would ride with me from Los Angeles and spend the weekend in the Bay Area. That left only the stretch from Tucson to L.A. to handle by myself. Thinking that I could make it all the way to California while Lee was still safely guarding the bridge, I planned an extra day with my sister and sent Lee my itinerary so he could determine when to change the address on his letters to me. Thecloserthetimecameformydeparture,themorepanickedIbecame about going four days without access to mail from Lee, and maybe longer if his letters had to be rerouted. I tried to calm myself. That effort lasted until I received a letter that reignited my worries: Have been having it fairly easy. Was op con-ed (borrowed by another unit) the other day. Just my plt. The company we were with hit several booby traps—We didn’t hit any—We were in an area supposed to be the worst for booby traps. I feel fortunate—My people are getting good at spotting the traps. So much for the comfort of bridge duty or counting on Lee to stay put. He also said that three more of his men had been hit—this time by “friendly fire” from artillery landing in the wrong place—and that his unit would soon be moving north into the jungle, which, he said, was supposed to be a “bad area.” He finished by writing, “It will be hell up there—No more VC—Plenty NVA. I am confident in my plt however.” The last letter I received in Roby told me that Lee was on “a 6-day sweep of pineapple fields.” A sweep of anything except the floor sounded dangerous to me. My anxiety was at an all-time high. Even the good news Lee included in his letters did little to quell my apprehensions. He wrote that the battalion commander had come to the field to pin on his silver bar when he was promoted to first lieutenant. Nice, I thought, but the colonel really should have been paying more attention to military strategy and less to parade field pomp and circumstance . With the number of men in his command, he could spend his whole tour doing nothing but glad-handing promotions and presenting awards. Who was overseeing this war, anyway? I wanted everyone in Viet- June 1969 [55] nam to concentrate all...