Sixteen Vs, Book Five, Surviving Vietnam

By Victor Cox

Surviving Vietnam is not your typical military rendition of fighting in Vietnam. Although it has some blood and broken bones, they didn't come from fighting the enemy. This book takes you through Victor's Basic Training—boot camp—technical training, to Vietnam, and back home. It's filled with many anxious, suspenseful, and exciting moments. Victor navigates the stress of Basic training along with several Training Instructor quirks. A brief reprieve in the Air Force Drum and Bugle Corps provides several unusual memories. After a, basically, uneventful technical training, he agonizes through several "pass the buck" episodes which deny him the right to delay his Vietnam tour until after his son is born. Combat training prior to Vietnam departure adds to his memory bank. A Christmas Eve departure leaves many questions unanswered. While trying to stay alive from enemy attacks, he narrowly escapes severe racial tension outbreaks. One of his friends didn't—twice. His martial arts training leads to broken bones while a scuba diving excursion almost cost his life. A welcome break in the war is a dream trip to Thailand that fills his mind and camera with memories. Suffering repeated episodes with jelly fish stings, over a ten month period, while snorkel diving collecting unique shells ultimately end in heartbreak. Even trying to leave Vietnam, he falls victim to prejudice and has to make a difficult decision. Through several life-threatening situations, this fast paced, action packed book will keep you glued to the pages to find out how he survived Vietnam.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Victor Cox
• Release date: Mar 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310367496

Victor Cox

Victor Cox is an aspiring writer. After growing up in northern Louisiana, he was drafted into Military service and chose the Air Force as a career. Married at the time, his son was born when he was in Vietnam. His son was eight months old the first day Victor saw him in person. Victor and his family moved to many stateside locations in the Air Force, including one tour in Germany. Victor retired from the Air Force after twenty eight years of service. His military service encompassed being an aircraft maintainer, a flying Crew Chief, aircraft maintenance instructor, and manager. He is a retired Chief Master Sergeant (E9). After completing a tour in Vietnam, he pursued his educational opportunities. After such a precarious start in High School, he earned three Associate of Science Degrees and a Bachelor of Science Degree. He graduated valedictorian from Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. He regrets telling people he was the only one in his family to graduate High School and go to college. He has one son and three grandsons. He presently resides in Powderly, Texas.

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SIXTEEN Vs

Book Five: Surviving Vietnam

By Victor Cox

Copyright 2015 Victor Cox

Smashwords Edition

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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This is a work of nonfiction. However, some names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents, though true, have been changed for privacy purposes. Where applicable, fictitious names are used. If the circumstances match the reader’s, it is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Book cover: Vietnam Memories, Copyright Victor Cox

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 109. Basic Training

Chapter 110. The Drum and Bugle Corps

Chapter 111. Technical School

Chapter 112. Going to Vietnam

A. Combat Arms Training (CAT)

B. The Flight to Vietnam

C. Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam

Chapter 113. Tuy Hoa (TH) AB, Vietnam, Arrival

Chapter 114. The Wheel and Tire Shop

Chapter 115. The TET Offensive

Chapter 116. It’s A Boy!!

Chapter 117. The Tuy Hoa Attack

Chapter 118. The Dentist, Dr. Wright

Chapter 119. Pictures, Drugs, and Alcohol

Chapter 120. Mail Call

Chapter 121. Racial Tensions

Chapter 122. The Rocks

Chapter 123. Rest and Relaxation (R & R)

Chapter 124. Tae Kwon Do

Chapter 125. Jay Lippa

Chapter 126. The Short String

Chapter 127. Leaving Vietnam

Chapter 128. Going Home

About the Author

Connect with the Author

Other Books by Victor Cox

Introduction

Maybe I was first concerned about Vietnam in 1965. I didn't know where that country was, and really didn't care. It could have been on the moon as far as I was concerned. I remember watching our black and white TV a few years later and seeing the results of the war splashed across the screen. It was a faraway place and I did not understand why US soldiers were dying in such a foreign land. Almost daily for several years they painted the number of dead on the screen as the armored soldiers slogged through snake infested jungles and rice patties. I recall asking why? No one had any good answers. Politics was the most common.

NOTE: Many years later, I learned Vietnam impacted American politics the year I was born, 1948. Then president Harry S. Truman was asked by Vietnam to help them spread democracy throughout their country by assisting in removing the French oppression. But, more pressing to America at the time was the spread of Communism generated from Russia. Communism was essentially opposite from democracy. But Russia, the USSR, was much larger and militarily stronger by far than Vietnam. America's agenda to stop the spread of Communism became paramount in American politics and Vietnam took a back seat. Ironically, the French asked Truman to help them in Vietnam to stop the spread of Communism in that country. Truman sided with the French to stop Communism instead of promote democracy. I think America was more afraid of Communism spreading than establishing democracy in such a little country. Vietnam remained a thorn in American politics through the Korean War and the administration of presidents Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, and Ford. Our increasing involvement in Vietnam trying to stop Communism starting before 1964 eventually led to our Vietnam War. The US was fighting Communist North Vietnam being supported largely by China and Russia. The war being extremely unpopular in the US pressured politicians to end our involvement and stop the death tally. Ultimately, in 1975, through several broken peace accords by various presidents and country involvement, primarily from China and Russia, South Vietnam did actually fall to Communist North Vietnam, ending the war.

I watched the news every so often hoping they would tell me why we were involved. It amazed me how the dead count tally kept adding up. I wanted no part of that war. But, by my senior year in high school, Vietnam was a very common word. It loomed as a big black cloud that hovered over all of us seniors. Then one day, I got my draft notice and a part of that dark cloud descended and remained on me. Since I couldn't afford to go to college after high school, I knew it was inevitable that eventually I would get selected and end up in Vietnam. It happened quicker than I expected. I thought the Air Force offered me the best educational opportunities and was probably the safest way to participate in the Vietnam War at the time. I didn't want to become a statistic like I heard about for so many years.

My Air Force basic training was an eye-opener for me. Very stressful at the start and then feathered into not too bad overall. Basic created many memories, some good, some bad. After Basic, I enjoyed my short time with the Drum and Bugle Corps and got to see different parts of Texas, mostly. It was an honor playing with the Core and representing the Air Force. However, all too quickly I entered technical school. Somewhat like basic training, it was stressful at the start. But, I enjoyed learning things and I found the information about the different systems on an aircraft interesting. I learned a lot in my technical school but, unfortunately, was not able to utilize ninety five percent of that information in Vietnam. Ultimately, I cross trained into another type aircraft and did utilize my training. The Combat Arms Training was another interesting sideline that reinforced the fact that we were headed to a war zone. Then, just getting to Vietnam was an interesting ordeal. The trip over the water or across the pond, as it was frequently referred to, surprised me how long it took. We were truly on the other side of the world. Besides, it was a bitter/ sweet exchange. Mostly bitter for us going, since it was our Christmas gift, but I guess it was a sweet gift for those returning. Christmas time? Yes, for me, another why that no one could answer.

Vietnam was nothing like I expected. No matter how much you hear about it or what others tell you, it is quite different to experience it in person. I thought I was lucky to be stationed near the South China Sea because I loved to swim. I was also lucky that I wasn't walking the jungles like many Army and Marine troops. I saw enough of that on TV. But, work came first and the long, hot, hours and long days in the wheel and tire shop reinforced in everyone that a war was going on. Almost from the start I heard about the Tet Offensive and didn't even know what it was. I knew it must be something bad because everyone was afraid of it. I thought I would completely escape the Tet Offensive until about the last possible moment. Then, it happened. Of course, no one is ever ready for it. It was exciting and stressful to say the least. Exciting in the worst sense. I thought I got lucky again to survive such a deadly potential. Wrapped around the fear of the Tet Offensive I rode the roller coaster of my son being born far away and not knowing when. It was a joyous event in such a fearful place and especially during a fearsome time.

Needless to say, medical attention in Vietnam was not anything like the US. That included dental procedures. I must confess however, I had an excellent dentist who took good care of my unusual problem using far less than normal equipment. Another issue in Vietnam was drugs. I didn't do drugs and didn't want to hang around people that did. I didn't know how to get them if I wanted to. I'm sure if I tried I could have got some. I was not interested in drugs and it was an eye opener to learn how common marijuana was. It was the drug of choice. But, it surprised me how easy it was to get if you were trying to. However, most importantly, it surprised me how many people were smoking it, and when. What did not surprise me was the alcohol and smoking. I was one of only three people on base that did not drink, and probably about the same number that did not smoke. However, I did not verify the smoking statistic. I didn't know anyone that did not smoke. Pictures from home were just as important as mail call in Vietnam. Both were especially important to me since I could see my son through pictures and track his progress through the letters I received. Letters were sweet nectar in Vietnam for most people and the source of suicide for some. Either way, they were very powerful to people groping for a slice of normal life. Mail could immediately alter your thinking—both good and bad.

You would think that with all the problems in fighting a war there wouldn't be time for racial tensions. That was not the case, however. It bothered me that there was so much racial hatred in Vietnam. It was in Vietnam! With a war was going on, no less! I grew up in Louisiana and had been around black people all my life. It amazed me how through the years their ethnicity changed from colored, to black, to African-American, and finally seem to settle on black. I was never exposed to the hatred of both whites and blacks until I got to Vietnam. I never saw this type of aggression at any time in my life to this point. What was everyone so mad about? Another unanswered question. It was very disappointing how people could not seem to get along. I went through three significant racial events and considered myself very lucky to have survived without harm.

All work and no play makes for a dull person. I think the Air Force, long ago, knew the stress involved in work and, especially, in war, and provided an outlet for that stress. The enjoyment I received as I learned to scuba dive and ultimately going to the Rocks led to a quite scary adventure. The underwater world was certainly unique, but even more eye-opening for me was the different culture of going to Thailand during a rest and relaxation vacation. I saw a good, bad, and ugly slice of life that I never knew existed. (that phrase was used often, taken from the Clint Eastwood movie popular at the time) Another stress reliever, for me in particular, was the tae kwon do class that I joined. That, coupled with my almost daily swims looking for rare seashells, dissipated most of my stress while in Vietnam. It was a good time for me and although I suffered a broken arm I was glad I had the opportunity to participate.

I think good news does not travel as fast as bad news. However, in Vietnam when good news spreads that you might go home early, it spread as fast as bad news. Fortunately, I was one of the many people that was able to go home early. However, I had to suffer through a personal friends tragedy dealing with the ever present racial problem before I could think about going home. As my time approached to leave Vietnam I fell victim to a common habit that everyone else had. One of the very few times that I went with the crowd which got me in trouble, again. If I had only stuck to my basic instincts, I would not have suffered some grief prior to my departure. So much for following the crowd.

For most people leaving Vietnam it would only produce good memories to talk about. But, I had to suffer another gut-wrenching situation just to leave Vietnam. You would think it would be easy to make that decision, but if you worked for something for ten months, it's hard to let go so easily. Obviously, nothing was going to stop me from going home if I had the chance, so I left Vietnam disappointed, just like I arrived. Then, getting home, it was hard to erase some of the effects that Vietnam had on me. It took some soul-searching and thoughtful effort to change a habit I picked up in Vietnam before I could consider myself back home again. It was a challenging re-learning process. Fortunately, I had my wife to get me past the bad times, and my son to reinforce the good times. I made many memories in Vietnam but have no desire to go back.

Chapter 109. Basic Training

18 Mar 1969 to 2 May 1969

On 18 March 1969 when I got on the bus in Monroe, La, my Air Force Basic training started. However, I didn't know that at the time. Just like everyone else on the bus, I was apprehensive and a little worried about what was going to happen.

Ralph May, my friend from Monroe I met going to get our entrance physical, and I sat together talking. We saw the other guy from the induction physical, George Vaughn, from Texarkana, AR, on the bus. We spoke to him. He was with us at the induction physical in Shreveport. It looked like he had more pimples than before, to me. We left Monroe about 3 PM. The bus went fast on Interstate 20 and it seemed like in no time, we were approaching Shreveport. But, it was only about 100 miles away. We picked up a bunch more guys in Shreveport. We re-lived the pain of separation watching them leave loved ones like we did. After a quick break, we got back on the bus and it filled up. We left there by 5 PM. There was another bus that filled up with people also. Both buses had charter on the destination.

We were told to bring only one change of clothes and minimum toiletries. So, everyone had very little luggage. The two buses left together headed for San Antonio, TX, Lackland Air Force Base (AFB). I didn’t pay attention to the route although I did notice the trees were thinning out. About half way to San Antonio we stopped somewhere. We were hungry. We stopped at a big truck stop and everyone got Cokes and snack stuff. We didn’t stop long enough to order a meal or burgers. We seemed rushed just for everyone to get to the bathroom and get snacks. There was a military guy riding the bus that yelled at us to hurry up as soon as we stopped. In about twenty minutes we were leaving. I didn’t know why the big rush.

The trip to San Antonio seemed like a long ride in one sense, and a short ride in another. The long periods of basic silence coupled with the road hum gave everyone time to think about what we just got ourselves into. I think we all pondered our fates. Ralph and I talked a long time about the impact on our wives and families. We discussed the individual problems we both had concerning our families. There were a thousand little details that had to be thought about and discussed if you were leaving a) forever—like getting killed in Vietnam, or b) for a year-long absence. Until someone has to make those decisions they don’t usually understand what all is required. It’s a lot different than going on vacation for a couple weeks or out of town a few days. Ralph and I discussed the many things we each had to cover before we left. We both thought of a few things we still had to work out with our wife and/or families.

Then, we settled down to long periods of silence. The constant road hum would normally put you to sleep, but very few guys on my bus nodded off. I guess anticipation and anxiety coupled with adrenaline kept us awake. At least, for me, I drifted back to thinking about, and somewhat worrying, about Merlene and how she would manage alone. But, I reasoned, she still had her family and everyone in my family wanted her to stay with them. I was glad she was so well-liked by my family. That gave me some comfort knowing that she had a large support group to fall back on in my absence. The long periods of thought about our futures in the Air Force and if, or not, we returned from Vietnam, seemed to make the time fly by and the trip seemed short.

As we entered the city of San Antonio everyone was awake and looking out the windows and glancing around on the bus. You could feel the tension building in the bus. Everyone knew we were getting close to our destination. It seemed like electricity was in the air. We knew our lives were fixing to change dramatically—at worst, for the short term, and at best, for the long term. It was the big unknown that pushed our anxiety along. We were fairly quiet, just looking at all the lights of the city as we drove through it. It was close to 11 PM. I expect most of us would normally be sleepy, but not this night. Turn after turn our anxiety grew.

Then, just at 11 PM we stopped at a military gate. The large illuminated sign indicated Lackland Air Force Base, controlled entry point. The typical warning signs hanging on the tall chain-link fence with concertina wire—razor blade wire—coiled on the top indicated the serious nature of our entry. A security policeman with a pistol in a holster on his side and holding an M-16 rifle in one hand with a strap over his shoulder got on the bus and walked from front to back looking at us for some reason. He looked ominous and very serious. He didn’t smile. He briefly looked at each of us. I don’t know what he was looking for. What could he be looking for? We were just a bunch of new civilians. Basic recruits. Nobodies, at this point. Just human vessels to be emptied of our civilian problems, hang-ups, fears, thoughts, routines, our very life existence. Then, filled with whatever the Air Force had in mind for us. What could he be looking at us for? Weapons? Prejudices? Evil intentions? What? He went slowly looking from side to side from the front to the back and back front again, looking at the driver a second and scanning the identification card the driver held up, with a flashlight. Then, without a word, he got off and went through the other bus. Eventually, he walked back to the control point and waived the buses through.

Our anxiety ramped up again as we started moving and I heard several guys laughing and discussing how serious the guard was and what he must be looking for? We were all at a loss as to what. We all figured it was just regulations. We made a few more turns as we went by several long buildings I assumed were barracks. There were rocks on the ground spelling out letters and numbers that meant nothing to us at the time. The base seemed asleep except for the entry guards. A few street lights were on, but not like a typical city. We saw several big hangar-like building with lots of lights on inside. We figured they were classrooms since the recruiter told us that training went on from 6 AM to 12 Midnight in three six hour shifts. After a couple more turns, the buses stopped at a big building. The driver got off and immediately started opening the baggage compartments where our overnight bags were.

We saw a guy come out of the building and enter each of the buses. On our bus, he stood in the front and yelled real loud, Get up, get off, get your bags, get in line off the bus. You have one minute. Move!

There was an explosion on the bus as everyone jumped up and scrambled off. The driver had all the compartment doors open and everyone scrambled to find their bag. The people on my bus formed two lines. Another guy was there telling us to form up where he pointed. We faced the building. Most of us put our bags on the ground beside us. I saw the other bus doing the same thing. There were maybe 120 people total on our two buses. It was a little cool at that time of night. Most everyone was in short sleeves. Like me, they probably had a light jacket in their bag, but no one moved to get it. I was glad I sat about the middle of the bus and had plenty of time to get my bag and get in line. The last half of the bus got yelled at to get their bag and get in line. I think we were all in line in one minute.

Then, a guy got in front of us and yelled, I’m Technical Sergeant (TSgt) Briscoe and he’s TSgt Frederick. Starting right now, you belong to us. You do what we say when we tell you to do it. The only thing you do without us telling you to, is breathe. We are your Training Instructors (TIs) until you leave. You will not speak unless you are asked a question. Pick up your bags, form one line, go through those double doors with the green light over them and find a seat at a table and sit down. Move!

There was another quiet explosion. No talking, just a lot of scuffling as everyone picked up their bags and quickly formed a long line going through the doors. We went into a big room with rows of tables. Several guys inside yelled at us to go up front and fill the chairs from front to back. The first row of tables already had a pencil and some papers at each chair and two other guys were putting pencils and paper in front of the other chairs being filled. When everyone was seated they told us to take the first piece of paper and fill out all the blanks. If we had a question raise our hand.

A guy told us to memorize our Military Service Number, or Serial Number, at the top left of the form. It was our identification number in the Air Force (AF). He said we better memorize it now because we will use it our whole AF career. Mine was AF15982147. I repeated it a few times in my mind and memorized it by each two digits. 15-98-21-47. (Note; We used that ID number for about five years before the military switched over to our Social Security Account Number (SSAN) with FR (Force Regular) in front of it. Before I got out in 1997, all official paperwork blocked out all but the last four digits of it. However, the original service number is so burnt into our brains, to this day, I’m certain everyone, especially, Merlene and I, remember both numbers.)

There was probably fifteen pieces of paper we filled out. I don’t know what they were for. After each paper a guy picked it up, glanced over it to be sure it was filled out while we got the next piece. It surprised me how many people, evidently, didn’t fill out all the blanks. The military guys jumped on lots of people for missing something on the papers. They had us fill out one piece at a time checking it out when they picked it up. For each piece of paper several guys got jumped on for not completing all the blanks. How can that be? How can anyone not understand that you had to fill out every blank? This wasn’t a test. It was just personal and family information. It was obvious if you left a blank. How can so many people mess this up? It got to be ridiculous that everyone was held up by several people that couldn’t follow instructions. We couldn’t start on another piece of paper until everyone was through with the present one. It was amazing! I wanted to just fill out all the papers and get on to something else and let them deal with the mess -ups, but no, we had to wait until everyone was finished with each piece of paper. By the eighth or ninth piece of paper, it was downright frustrating. Meanwhile, no one noticed, but the time flew by. About 1 AM we were finally through with the in-processing paperwork.

We formed in lines again outside and walked to the chow hall to eat. We dropped our bags against the wall as we entered. The TIs said we had thirty minutes to get through eating and form up outside in our lines again. They yelled at us to hurry up. We went through the chow line pretty quickly. The people serving the food didn’t ask what you wanted, they just put some eggs and SOS (same old stuff’-military nice for ‘same old shxt’) on your plate. The SOS was white gravy with sausage pieces mixed in it and put on a piece of toasted sandwich bread. They gave us two pieces of bacon and one small sausage piece. We went to a milk dispenser for milk or coffee.

As people sat down to eat there was the constant, hurry up! move! get through! get outside in line! no talking!

Everyone wolfed down the food. When finished, we had to take our food trays to a metal counter and leave them there. Someone inside the room behind the metal counter took them about as fast as we put them down. It seemed that everyone was in a hurry, even those people behind the metal counter. What was the rush? I couldn’t figure it out.

About 1:45 A.M. we were outside in line again. After forming up, we walked in two lines about a quarter mile to a couple barracks and stopped. They called out our name and told us which barracks to go in. By 2:30 A.M. we were in our barracks and standing beside a bunk bed. Ralph May and I tried to stay close together but were separated now. In fact, he went to the other barracks. The TI said he would be good to us the first morning and let us sleep in until 0630 for our first day. From then on, we would get up at 0500 and lights out at 2200, which is 10 PM.

There were foot lockers on the floor. One for each person. He told us to put our bags in the foot locker and get to bed. The barracks were a big open building with fifteen bunk beds on each side. The bunk beds were separated from each other by about six feet. The two lines of bunk beds were separated with a ten foot hallway down the center of the building. I noticed that every bunk bed was situated exactly across from each other and aligned exactly on a certain tile from bunk to bunk. The orderly display of everything in the barracks caught my attention. It looked like everything had to be perfectly located. I figured it was a matter of time before the TIs told us where everything was supposed to be.

Against the wall was a foot locker. It was a trunk-like wooden box about three feet long, two feet wide and two feet deep. When you opened the lid, the top part moved another shelf inside. On the wall above the locker was a rectangular wall locker that had two doors with a clothes rod to hang clothes inside it. It was about three feet wide and about eighteen inches deep. I noticed the clothes hangers appeared to be exactly separated from each other the same distance. I sort of liked the orderliness of everything. It appeared that everything had a place it was supposed to be. I guess it appealed to me being somewhat of a detail person. I figured I wouldn’t have much trouble with these rules, depending on how picky the TIs were.

The floor was waxed vinyl tile. It glistened in the bright lights. It appeared spotless. I saw a few scuff marks from all us entering and getting to our bunks. I figured sooner, or later, we would have to remove all the scuff marks.

I got a top bunk. The beds had a mattress with two sheets, a pillow and case, and a green military blanket on it. The TI told us to make the bed and get in it. Tomorrow would be a long day.

At one end of the barracks was an open shower and open commodes. There was no partitions anywhere. That end was all ceramic tile with a covered drain hole in the center of the room. The floor appeared to slant toward the drain hole. I figured that would help with cleaning. On the side wall were faucets, sinks, and mirrors. We had fifty eight people in my barracks.

The TI said, use the ‘latrine’ (bathroom) and lights out at 3 AM.

There was a flurry of activity with everyone making their bed and putting the pillow in the case, using the latrine, and getting in bed. This was certainly going to be different.

I didn’t like the open showers and commodes any better than anyone else. There was very little talking and only a few people standing by their bunks when, at 3 AM, the lights went off. There was a twelve inch round clock on the wall in the center hallway at the end we came in visible from all the bunks. Those of us in bed were, no doubt, like me, looking at it when the lights went off. And, like me, I imagine we all were too awake to go to sleep. We just laid there in the semi-darkness with our eyes open and minds clouded with our thoughts.

I heard the clock ticking. The several outside street lights cast a feeble light through the windows through the Venetian blinds. I heard the occasional shifting of guys trying to get comfortable in the bunks. The clock seemed to tick louder as the barracks got more quiet. I was about three quarters of the building away from the clock. I only imagined how loud it was closer to it. The occasional cough and sound of the springs moving on the bunks pierced my thoughts. The clock was seemed loud. It kept ticking.

I was tired, and no doubt sleepy, but replayed the day in my mind just laying in the bunk. The clock was ticking. It was a little cool and I pulled the blanket over me. I was thinking about what all tomorrow might bring. Then, I drifted back to Merlene. What was her night like? Probably like mine—couldn’t sleep. Thinking about each other, I imagine. Where was she staying? At her mother’s house, I guess. Maybe at Mama’s. I was tired. The clock was ticking. The blanket was warm. I knew I needed sleep but had too many thoughts. When would we see each other again? Do you get time off during Basic? I didn’t think so. Maybe after Basic. Could we be together during my Technical Training? The clock was ticking.

GET UP! MOVE IT! You got fifteen minutes to be in line outside! MOVE IT!

I guess I fell asleep sometime. The bright lights and loud voice almost shocked us out of bed. Only a couple seconds later the loud voice of the TI and him hitting the railing of the beds with a stick jarred anyone awake if you missed the first yell. Personally, I didn’t think that was needed. He walked about half way up of the barracks center hallway hitting the beds with the stick and yelling for everyone to MOVE IT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT!

There was a rush to the latrine. I saw it was 0630 and almost instantly all our feet hit the floor from the top bunks. Seems like half the guys were getting dressed and half were at the latrine. With only fifteen minutes we knew there was no time to shave or shower. Most of us got tooth brushes, after dressing, and used the latrine. We had just enough time to finish and be outside in time. The last few guys got yelled at even though they were within the fifteen minutes.

We formed four lines with everyone just getting in a line beside someone else. Then the TI yelled, if you are taller than the person in front of you, switch places. That put all the short people in the back. Then, look left, if you are taller than the guy next to you, switch places. That put our group of people with the shortest guys to the back and to the right. It was sort of neat how we were sorted by height. I looked around to see the gradual height adjustment of everyone in my barracks. Being one of the shortest people, I was at the back and on the right. The TI said, this is the way we will 'fall in' from now on. He said, we’ll 'march' to the chow hall. He told everyone to start off with their left foot first. Then, he would call cadence. He yelled forward march. Then, started counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4. Then, Left, 2, Left, 4. This was easy for me since I already knew how to march from the Band at Columbia.

It surprised me how many people didn’t catch on. The TI started yelling at people to get in step while he called cadence. I heard the scuffling of feet as people stumbled around but slowly our steps started smoothing out as people got in cadence and rhythm. Finally, flight halt. I knew what would happen. It did! Several people ran into each other. The TI yelled at everyone. He said we would learn more about drill later. He yelled for everyone to get back in place and put your arm out in front of you and touch the person’s back in front of you. Then, on each side. That was the distance each person should stay from each other. He called it dress for the front and cover for the sides.

We stopped at a street intersection. He told me and three other people we were road guards. He asked us how old we were? We all gave our age. I was twenty, the oldest. He said I would be the Captain of the road guards and train anyone that became a road guard. He told me and another guy that about twenty yards from an intersection we were to run to the street and stop traffic after allowing any car in the intersection to proceed. He showed us how to stand with one arm out, hand up, facing traffic with our other arm behind us and our feet spread apart shoulder width. He told the other two road guards to replace us when the flight was half way through the intersection. The two replacements marched at the rear of the flight on each side and me and the other guy were to march on each side at the front of the flight. We scrambled to our positions blocking the empty street and he started the flight marching again. He said for the first few times he would yell road guards out so we could tell how far away from the intersection we needed to be before taking off. After a few times we would do it on our own without command. The goal was that the flight would never stop marching and go through the intersection. We hustled back to the front when replaced by the rear road guards. We went through a couple more intersections before we stopped at the chow hall.

The TI told the first squad on the left side to go first and as the last person of the first squad passed the first person of the second squad they were to fall in behind them. That put us in a single line with my squad being the last ones to go into the chow hall. We had four squads with about fifteen people per squad. He said we had twenty minutes to eat and be back in formation. Inside he told us to fill up a table before going to another one. The first person at a table would stand behind their chair and hold up his hand indicating empty chairs at that table. The first person held up his hand until all four chairs had someone behind them. Then, all four could sit down and eat. No talking. If there was no one else in line, they could all sit down when the last person arrived. Eat quickly, take your tray to the clipper, the metal opening to put dishes to be washed, then get outside in formation. He told us to side step as we went through the serving line. Then, yelled fall out.

The first squad took off fast. We all filed inside, eventually, getting our tray, plate, cutlery, and a glass for milk or coffee. Everyone moved fast sidestepping when we got in front of the food station. Even though we moved fast, with so many people and us waiting for the flight in front of us to finish up, I saw my flight was running out of time. After fifteen minutes, my squad finally got our tray and cutlery and as we side stepped through the line, the servers just dipped spoons into their food and slapped it on the plate that was in front of them. Of course, we had to keep moving, so if the egg guy happened to be getting more eggs, you went past him and got nothing from him.

The first breakfast for me, I got one ladle of SOS with no bread, two ladles of syrup, that was supposed to go on the pancakes that I didn’t get, and one piece of bacon. I got a glass of milk and went to a table where we needed two other people. They were getting milk. It was eighteen minutes after and before the guys getting milk got to us, the TI yelled at us to get outside in formation. We all grabbed our tray and went quickly to the clipper. I drank my milk while we walked. I really didn’t want the syrup covered white gravy with small pieces of sausage anyway.

When I put my tray down, I grabbed the half cooked bacon stuffing it in my mouth and walked fast, no running inside, to get outside in formation. I saw this might be a problem for me if we went inside the chow hall the same way every time. I was afraid we would.

Everyone had just enough time to get in formation when he yelled attention, but he said, Ten, Hut! He demonstrated and told us all what to do for attention, parade rest, at ease, and at rest. Then, told us about dress and cover again. Dress was getting an arms length behind the guy in front of you and cover was getting the same distance on each side of you. That way everyone was spaced properly. He demonstrated marching. He asked if anyone knew how to march already. I raised my hand. He used me to demonstrate starting, stopping, turning, and the different faces—left, right, and about. He asked me, where did you learn to march?

I said, Band.

He said we would learn more marching commands later in drill but this was the basics. Then, we took off marching again.

He marched us starting and stopping a few times until most everyone got it figured out. He yelled less and less each time. I could tell everyone was getting better as the foot scuffing decreased and we all started hitting the ground with our heels at the same time. Well, almost. The TI yelled at us to hit the ground at the same time and we should sound like one person marching. He called cadence to keep everyone in step. We marched to another big building.

We filed inside falling out by squads again. As I got close to the door, I smelled what this place had. Uniforms! It smelled like a clothing factory. There were several guys behind a counter yelling at us to say our waist size and inseam on our pants. One guy grabbed a duffel bag and threw four pants into it after hearing our waist and inseam size, then threw it at us. We side stepped down the counter a few feet and a guy yelled wanting to know our chest size and arm length. He grabbed four shirts and crammed them in our bag. It surprised me that many people didn't know their sizes. They got jumped on when the guys behind the counter measured them. Then on down the counter, we got undershirts, and boxer shorts, two handkerchiefs, socks, a hat, a pair of jogging shorts, a pair of combat boots that extended just above your ankles, chukka boots that were ankle high boots, and low quarter dress shoes. Next, a rain coat, heavy overcoat, and a field jacket. We moved on down the counter and got AF 1505 uniforms. These were khakis pants, tan colored, with white undershirts and light blue outer shirts. Next, a uniform coat, and tie, with a flat flight cap and a round-top Garrison hat with a short bill. The last things were the two each U. S. insignia for our dress coat and the AF insignia for our Garrison hat. We put them in our pockets.

When everyone had their items, we got back in formation. Everything went fast, but it still took a couple hours to finish. They were a little more precise with our dress uniform checking the coat for chest and arm lengths. We all shouldered our duffel bags and marched down the street. It was a little heavy with all the clothes in it, but no one said anything.

Next stop was the sewing shop. We dug out our fatigue shirts and, single file, went by a counter. A lady made sure how our name was spelled and put our shirts, with a ticket, in a sewing bag. We got back in formation.

We went to the Base Exchange (BX) and uniform shop (clothing sales) next. We got in line to order our plastic name tags for our dress uniforms and light blue shirts. Plus, the TI told us to get any toiletries and shoe polish we needed while we were there. We had to get a rubber stamp set for our clothes and a lock for our footlocker too. He said we had to get ink and put our stamp kit together so we could stamp our clothes. We used our last name initial and the last four digits of our service number. Mine was C-2147. We had to stamp every clothing item where they told us to.

No matter where we went, they were constantly yelling at us to hurry up. Afterward we marched back to the barracks to put the duffel bags by our footlocker and got back in formation for dinner. We marched back to the chow hall with us road guards blocking traffic and the flight did not stop this time at intersections.

We went inside the same way again. The TIs said be back in thirty minutes. I was hungry now but my hopes crashed when I got inside. We formed a long line against the wall slowly working our way through the chow line. I saw we were behind another flight that was about half way through when I got inside. We used up five minutes and no one from our flight was served yet. The TI yelled at us to, stop talking, eyes straight ahead, move along.

One guy in the other flight fell toward a table throwing up all over it. Two TIs jumped on him yelling at him. They drug him behind some double doors and a few minutes later he came out with a mop bucket, mop, and some towels cleaning everything up. He was still cleaning when I went by his location. He still looked sick to me. They continued their verbal lashing on him. I felt sorry for him. No one turned our heads, but everyone watched him cleaning up.

Before we made a turn at a corner, I saw the food being slapped on plates again. Looked like it would be a repeat of breakfast. You got whatever you were in front of. Ten minutes gone and our first guy started getting food. Then, another big noise came when a guy dropped his tray of food. He got jumped on and they took him back for a mop bucket. The tension was high. Everyone was nervous. The TIs were explosive and harsh. It was obvious we were all new and no one knew what to expect from the TIs. It seemed like everything was electrically charged. Especially the TIs.

As we side stepped through the line I saw the time flying by. A guy got jumped on for eating before he sat down. Others got jumped on for not waiting until the chairs were full. The TI made all three of them throw their food away and get outside in formation. TIs were everywhere yelling at someone for something. A couple guys turned their milk over on their tray. Once the TI saw it, he made one leave. The other guy got sat down before he was caught. He left, too. One guy let his fork and knife slide off his tray to the floor. He left. With every mistake, everyone else learned.

Eyes forward, head straight, move along, they yelled.

They couldn’t keep our eyes straight, even though they yelled at us, and everyone watched, and heard, and learned, from what went on, we just didn’t turn our heads.

Twenty five minutes and I was in front of the food line. I saw pork chops on the line. I felt my stomach rumble but knew I was running out of time. I got no pork chop, anyway, but did get the brown gravy for it on some green beans. One roll, and some cherry pie on top of the green beans with brown gravy. There were two people behind me. I rushed to get some milk and when I started for the table the TI yelled for us to leave. I drank my milk and grabbed my roll as I went to the clipper. Two people still standing waiting for someone to come to their table grabbed their trays and, like me, tried to eat something going to the clipper.

This wasn’t right, but everyone was afraid to complain. We formed up again with several people complaining to each other that they didn’t eat anything. The two guys behind me went straight from the food line to the clipper. Several of us said that wasn’t right. It was a waste of food to do that even if you couldn’t eat what was on your plate. We complained to ourselves, but made sure the TI didn’t hear us.

We marched to