Messenger of Love and War

By Val Dube'

These are stories that were gathered from both origianl documents and oral histories my father used to tell me about his military experiences in Vietnam and stories about his deep love for his family, especially his wife. It is a collection that might make you think about how love and war intersect more often than you think  Some stories will pull at your heart while others will have your heart pounding. Whatever you may glean from these stories I collected, I hope that you enjoy reading them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Away
• Release date: Jul 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201384500

Book preview

By: Val Dube’

Oh, Say Can You Sea...?

As I lay on the cold steel deck of the MSTS PATRICK, I thought back to the first day I boarded her.  Little did I know of the eventual discomfort I was going to experience on that massive ship during my first voyage across the Pacific. 

The sun shone down warmly now as the ship plowed the deep blue waters, occasionally dipping, as it rose and rode large swells.  The spray of the salty deep came up in whispers and brushed my face with a cool, but sticky mist.  Other days had not been so kind, I recalled, as we had weathered a typhoon just days before.  But today was at least refreshing, and I was enjoying the warm sun.

We were on our way to the Far East.  Although the voyage was supposed to be about eight days, we had already spent twelve days at sea.  The captain told us that it would be another five days for sure before we would finally pull into the port at Yokohama, Japan.  I thought I was well over my seasickness; for the most part anyway.  In fact, I had even managed to learn how to walk the deck like an old salt—sea legs and all.

There were some twenty-five hundred men, women and children on this voyage—all waiting patiently for our destinations and eventual departures from each other.  Some of us would depart the ship in Japan; others would continue to other ports in Korea.  I was glad that I was getting off the ship sooner than later.  The sea was simply not my idea of a pleasant way to travel, or any way to travel unless you had to, for that matter.

Late in the afternoon of February 28th, 1957, the gang plank was pulled aboard and stowed and the large craft with its cargo of men and women pulled out of San Francisco Bay.  We sailed under the famous Golden Gate Bridge where I saw it for the first time and wouldn’t see again for at least two years.  The ship sailed around the infamous federal prison, Alcatraz, before pulling out into the open waters of the bay, and into the great Pacific Ocean towards points both East and West—lands yet unknown to me. 

I had bidden farewell to America for the time being and was looking forward to this new land with much excitement and grand expectations.  I had never considered the trip on a ship, but that’s how the military works sometimes, and I was happy for the opportunity to broaden my country boy southern horizons.  I knew this was going to be a voyage I would never quite forget.

The first night out on the smooth waters of San Francisco Bay was nothing.  Although I could feel the gentle rock and sway of the gigantic ship as I lay in my canvas bunk that was suspended from a rail by a chain, it was not too bad.  My stomach was feeling a bit queasy after dining in the ship’s mess area, but this didn’t bother me too much either.  Besides, I was told that many people feel this way on the first day or two out at sea.  I fell asleep once I found a comfortable rhythm and forgot about the whole uneasy feelings until I woke up the following morning. 

At six o’clock a.m., a Claxton sounded to let the troops know that a new day was born, and it was time to prepare for it.  To square things away was the navy’s idea of getting up, washing up, and stowing one’s canvas sleeping rack correctly and neatly in a military manner.  Then one by one, we climbed the ladder to the mess area where a hearty breakfast was waiting. 

Long lines formed quickly, and soon I was to experience my first distaste for the sea, the food, the ship, and the military for that matter.  Breakfast consisted of two hard boiled eggs, stewed prunes, toast, some semblance of bacon or ham, navy beans, and coffee.  It was hardly the breakfast I was expecting, even though it smelled delightful.  I ate as much as I could muster.  I was both hungry and anxious.

The ship rocked and swayed heavily now, and I had to hold on to the handrail in order to maintain balance.  The tables had little wooden rails that extended up from the edge so the trays wouldn’t slide off during the inclement bad weather and unpredictable, rolling seas. 

The Navy had given all of us some paper bags that were lined with a wax coating, just in case someone couldn’t make it to the ship’s railing in cases of seasickness.  I thought it was a great idea, but I didn’t think I would really need to use such a thing.  I was born on a farm with acres and acres of wilderness that my brother and I use to run wild all over.  We ate everything that didn’t eat us on some of our excursions.  I thought I had an iron stomach and could handle anything.  Boy was I wrong!

The greasy smell of the mess area alone turned my stomach, but I was determined to make this voyage as pleasant as possible.  So, I sat down at the ever-rolling table, hoping that this uneasy feeling would dissipate once I got some food and coffee into my system.  

Suddenly, I broke out into a cold sweat, and I could feel the effects of illness coming on.  I was seasick, and I knew it.  I reluctantly slipped my hand into the back pocket of my trousers to retrieve the little waxed paper lined bag I had been given.  Unfortunately, it was too late.  I managed to turn my head away from the table as my tray abruptly slid across it and landed on another mate’s lap during a huge rolling wave that sent me staggering away like a drunk ready to collapse after a few too many cocktails. 

As I left the mess area, I noticed some other men were looking a little greenish, and they were leaving the table too.  I found the rail somewhat comforting, as I could see the horizon come in and out of view at times.  Although the salt spray left a sticky film on my face, it was cool and refreshing after each bout of heaving.  I felt like I simply wanted to die.  My comrades just laughed as they passed by me. 

You guys will be here on the rail real soon, I told them in between a dry heave. 

I can only imagine the color of my face and what I looked like during this horrible event.  I stayed on the rail of that ship for the duration of that day and late into the evening.  And that was only day one.  I could tell that this was going to be a voyage from hell. 

My friends pleaded with me to eat something.  They said I would feel better.  I simply replied with a look of resignation and shook my head solemnly.  The ship relentlessly tortured me and continued to rock and roll and twist in the fitfully tormented sea that surrounded us. 

I tried crawling across the deck and towards the stairwell that led down to my bunk three decks below, but I was barely able to slide down the steps on my stomach as I painfully and slowly inched my way down.  I finally made it to my bunk.  The other guys—many who were seasick also—continued to laugh and snicker in between their own painful groanings.  I could smell