Bagman: Always Learn from the Best

By Bill Paquette

Stevie Dyer had a knack for making loads of money from the time he began selling newspapers at a large defense company outside of Boston.

So when he meets CJ Wilson and Billy Toye while in the Air Force, coming up with a get-rich quick scheme is only a matter of time.

Putting their heads together, the three friends form The Black Gold Investment Corp., with Stevie putting up the money to get it started. It isnt long before the three partners are awash in money, but with success comes problems.

I dont know squat about investing, and while Im vacationing in Vietnam you guys mind our little store, Stevie tells them.

Little store! Billy shouts back. In case you are not aware you jerk, our little store is worth over twenty-five million dollars!!!

Filled with romance, rivalry, war stories, and the type of conflict only money can bring, youll be amazed by the twists and turns in Bagman.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781491774236

Bill Paquette

Bill Paquette entered the military after graduating high school. He spent ten years in the Air Force and served one year in Vietnam. Upon returning home, he spent forty years running a machine shop that fabricated engine parts and built engines. He is retired and spends much of his time writing.

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Copyright © 2015 Bill Paquette.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-7422-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-7423-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015912934

iUniverse rev. date: 08/07/2015

Contents

Fun In Vietnam

Black Gold Investments Inc.

Tak It Up… Get Your Hat ’Cause Buddy Gonna Shut You Down!

Stuttering Steve

Rose Lyn Rosie Bean Bags Leonardi

Birth Of The Bagman

Along Came Frankie Ianotti

And Now My Wake Up Call!

Now Back To My Mysterious Visitor.

My 1951 Mercury Montery Coupe’

Bolling Air Force Washington D.c.

Another Tour In Vietnam

Time To Go Home

VIETNAM: HOW JOHN KERRY AND THE LEFT WING AMERICAN NEWS MEDIA TORPEDOD THE UNITED STATES MILITARY COST US THE WAR AND HELPED ETCH THE 58,267 NAMES ONTO THE VIETNAM WALL, AND MORE NAMES ARE STILL BEING ADDED THE WALL ON THE WASHINGTON D.C. MALL.

My leave was about through and I was anxious to get down to Washington D.C. and on to my next assignment; the 1100th Material Squadron, Bolling Air Force Base. I had no idea what I was going to do when I arrived but I’m sure that the air force would find something to keep me busy and out of trouble.

My tour of duty in ‘Nam went by quickly and mostly uneventfully except for the fact that I had almost drowned when I fell through the rotted out wooden floor of a French latrine in the Zion sector of Tay Ninh Provence.

The French ruled Vietnam for a hundred and twenty-five years but then in August of 1954 the Puddle Jumpers got their clocks cleaned by the Viet Minh at Dien Bien Phu.

Yeah I lost some friends while I was stationed in Vietnam but so did almost everyone else who served their tour or tours of duty in country, but my most heart breaking loss wasn’t in ‘Nam, it was back in the world… home. Charlotte Sharly O’Sullivan was not only the girl that I loved with all my heart but she was one of the most beautiful girl that Heaven had ever created.

I suppose I’m fortunate to be returning home with my head still attached to my neck, my neck still attached to my shoulders and still in control of most of my mental faculties. I wish I could say that to about the more than fifty eight thousand dead Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines who were sent home in body bags and for what? The American press and Television news cast made sure that we would never have a fighting chance of winning the war. And the sad part was we had them on the ropes.

When the TET offensive over and the war was about finished so was North Vietnam. They were done for and about to throw in the towel and ready to talk peace! But of course the enemy had access to the American news media and the American news media let it be known that the US forces took a horrible shellacking all over South Vietnam and that was a fucking lie! Thank you Walter Cronkite! Thank you Andy Rooney! I hope and pray that you two are rotting in hell along with the rest of your cohorts that made sure that we lost the war!

And John Kerry came home from ‘Nam with the Silver Star; Bronze Star and three Purple Hearts! He accomplished all of this in less than four months! He was a disgrace to the uniform, the Navy, and the whole military that fought and died in Vietnam.

FUN IN VIETNAM

Now…let me get on with the war. I was a senior vehicle operator assigned to the 3rd Transportation Squadron Bien Hoa Airbase. The base was in the Thee Corps area of operation in the Tay Ninh, Province. I was trained as a heavy equipment driver, but the year that I spent in ‘Nam was behind the wheel of a ten ton International tractor followed by a forty foot Fontaine flat bed trailer. My job was transporting supplies that would help us win the war, empty auxiliary tip tanks for the fighter aircraft, heavy construction equipment, huge dump trucks, just about anything that we could fit on the trailers with absolutely no concern that we just might to be overloading the flatbeds. If the tires were still inflated we on our way.

The truck route went from Bien Hoa south to Long Binh and then up at the Tan Son Nhut Air Base supply area and occasionally east to Zion. Zion or The Big Red One was where the Americal Division was fighting the V.C. who was shooting at us from the other side of the Vietnam Cambodian border.

The Special Express section of the squadron transported ammunition in five and ten ton tractor-trailer convoys from the Saigon docks up to Bien Hoa. That was an ass puckering trip.

On my last month before rotating state side, I had my windshield shield shot out. The funny or fortunate thing was that I was never a smoker, but one of the troops in the outfit, Freddie Whitey White’s wife had a ten pound bouncing baby boy and he handed out more of his shit smelling cigars. He had to have smoked the cheapest fucking stogies sold at the Base Exchange. I turned down Whitey’s generous offer but he smiled, shook my hand and stuffed the rope into my fatigue pocket. I was going to heave it out of the window as soon as I drove off the base.

On my ride back to the base I was slowed down by the traffic as I turned off Highway 1 then squeezed the slow moving, empty eighteen wheeler into traffic, then onto the road that led to the main gate, I didn’t get any argument from the little shit boxes that the locals drove. If I want to I could have run them into the river that ran beside the dirt that road that ran down the middle of the city of Bien Hoa.

Tech Sgt Riley Jefferson (Jeff) told the gear jammers time after time do not, under any circumstances take the exit that went behind the perimeter of the base. It’s too dangerous, but it was the middle of another hot afternoon, the visibility was unlimited and I wanted to get back onto the base, have a shower and a drink. I thought while I was moving at a snail’s pace heading for the forbidden outer perimeter road I would fire up the Guinea rope. While I was attempting to get some fire to the end of Whitey’s generous gift, the wind kept blowing out my Zippo. Everybody whether you smoked or not carried a Zippo lighter, so I lowered my head behind the dash to try and get out of the wind, and when I finally got it lit and I lifted my head back up to see if my rig was still on the road and not in a rice patty, there was a hole the size of a silver dollar shot through the windshield! The bullet went through the windshield and exited through the rear window taking the glass and the frame with it, thank you God and thank you Whitey’s wife!

As I approached the east gate that ran parallel to the flight line Air Policeman Airman 1st Class Ray Boudreau, held out his hand and signaled for me pull my rig over to the side of the road. Looks like someone had you zeroed in, Dy. he said in his soft Cajun voice as he climbed on to the saddle tank and looked inside of the cab at my windshield. Jeff’s gonna ream you a new one, old buddy, you know how he feels about you guys taking the back perimeter road. He ain’t gonna take this all that lightly.

Yeah I know, but I was trying to light one of Whitey’s shit tasting ropes a Gook took a shot at me. If it wasn’t for Whitey’s wife dropping a kid my head would have come right off, Ray.

You’re one lucky Mick. He said as he jumped off my rig and waved me through.

Do me a favor will you Ray? Call Jeff and tell him I’m on my way back with half my windshield shot out? I shouted as I put the truck into first gear, released the trailer brakes gave the big V8 a little gas and slowly let out the clutch.

Are you sure you want me to call him, Dy? Ray shouted back at me.

Yeah go ahead, it’ll give me some time to come up with a bullshit story!

You got it Dy… good luck!

Hey Ray, you gonna drop by tonight? Col. Davys got us a good flick from TASS Headquarters; the Carpetbaggers. It should be good. The book was.

Yeah, I’ll stop by and have a beer.

The flick begins at seven thirty, the Col’s orders. I shouted then pulled my rig into the traffic and was waved through the gate and drove down the motor pool.

Now it was time to face Jeff’s wrath. I still can hear Sgt Jefferson’s voice, the large black cigar chewing Transportation NCO’s voice booming, even now: I just got a call from the east gate you asshole! You’re gonna pay for those broken windows! And the other windows and the frame and any Goddamn thing else I can come up with! If I can swing it I’m gonna make you pay for the whole Goddamn rig! Now how does that grab you Bagman? My reputation followed me from basic training to as far away as Vietnam. He was waiting for me in front the maintenance building while I parked the rig, shut down the engine and climbed out. His hands on his hips and he looked as if he was going to have a heart attack. Ray called Jefferson right after he waved me through. The trip from the east gate to the motor pool took about five minutes. The speed limit on the base was twenty miles an hour.

What are you gonna do, Jeff? Keep me here in Vietnam? I’m already here! Gonna rescind my orders? You would be doing me a favor! I challenged him back. I about got killed and all that you can think of is making me pay for two windows that were blown out of a two year old ten ton International tractor before I got here. That shit box has more bullet hole than all the targets on the firing range! Why not send the bill to Ho Chi Minh? What do you say about that shit, Jeff?

Keep it up hot shit! Don’t write a check with you mouth that your ass can’t cash! Your big mouth is gonna get you in a world of shit I’m gonna take this shit up with Col Davys! Col Davys was the Transportation Squadron’s Commanding Officer. How many times have I told you assholes not to use the back road and the outside perimeter fool? You know how Goddamn’ dangerous it is! Go and ask Philly! He wanted to save some time to, I guess he really needed that drink didn’t he? And look where it got him!

Danny Philips was almost wiped out when his ten ton International tractor ran over a roadside land mine right near where the stretch of road that I took the KC-47 round that took out my windows. He was fortunate. Most of the explosion was absorbed by the rear of his rig, but he still has a back loaded with shrapnel.

Come on will ya Jeff. I have less than a month to go I don’t wanna go back to World with any dumb assed shit on my record. Give me a break will yeah? Come on, please? I pleaded.

Look Dy, Jeff said as he began to calm down, You are one of my best drivers. I don’t want to see any of my guys get killed. That’s all. I lost Goosey Spencer, Buda Jordan, Donnie Bare-ass, (Bare-ass was Donnie Bare’s nick-name), and I ’bout lost Philly Green. I take this shit personal, OK? Now get out of my face! Go take a shower, get cleaned up have a beer or a drink or whatever you want, Danny Mac got back from Saigon an hour ago with two bottles Jim Beam and a three bottles of Gold Coach gin in his locker; throw him a couple of bucks for the vodka and the Jim Beam, alright? Then get something to eat. We’ll talk later, OK?

Okay Jeff, thanks. I can use a drink, I said.

You guys are gonna drive me crazy with all you taking Goddamn chances! I’m gonna end up in the ward eight section at Clark! He said slapping me on the shoulder than went back into the dispatch office. Clark was a huge Air force base in the Philippines.

The ten ton International ten wheelers were an amazingly well engineered truck. You could beat them like rented mule and they would keep on running. No other tractors that the Air Force had in the South Vietnam inventory could take that amount of abuse. They were better than the Ford cab over engines, the Ford Ten Tons, the fifteen ton white Freight Liners, and the Dodge ten ton cab over Detroit Diesels. The Ford cab over’s would run over a road side mine and the whole truck would come apart, the Whites would explode because the metal used to manufacture the fuel tanks were too thin. The Dodge ten tons were good but they were diesels and couldn’t get out of their own way on the other hand the Internationals would take the brunt of an explosion and so long as the wheels were still intact they would keep on going.

Pappy Scott pulled into the motor pool the engine of his ten ton was billowing smoke and it smelled like burning old tires. He shut the engine down one of the mechanics check the oil a found the engine was four quarts low on oil. That meant there was only three quarts left in the oil pan. The truck was towed into the maintenance building, the oil was drained, the oil filter changed seven quarts of fresh oil was added to the five hundred cubic inch V-8 and the International ten ton was ready for another trip.

When I received my orders for Washington D.C. that was just before Christmas, I went to talk to the 1st Sgt. and try to extend my tour of duty for another six months. The 1st Sgt forward my request to headquarters but when Col Davys got wind of my request he called personnel and had my extension request squashed. He called me into his office and gave his reason. Airman Dyer, I want to commend you for wanting to extend you tour of duty, but I feel that another six months here at Bien Hoa would not be in your best interest or for that matter the Air Force’s best interest. Sgt Jefferson told me that you take too many un-necessary chances even a bit reckless so I took it upon myself to red line your request. You will be reassigned to Bolling Air Force Base, Washington D.C. I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking. Bolling is Headquarters Command USAF and only the best of the best are assigned to Bolling and the WAFs are hand-picked. Do you have any questions, Dyer?

No Sir, I replied. "And thank you, Sir

That will be all, Airman Dyer.

Yes Sir, I said flipping Col Davys a salute did an about face and walked out of his office.

Bolling Air force Base, I thought to myself. Washington D.C. and from the way Col Davys described D.C. it’s a choice assignment and It’s not all that far from Boston. It sounds interesting, maybe I’ll like my new assignment and I already have one friend stationed there. I suppose that I’ll find out soon enough. And maybe I’ll meet a girl that will help me try to get over Sharly’s death. There’s a lot of optimism riding on the new assignment.

Two months before I was due to leave ‘Nam a package arrived for me from Bolling’s office of information containing a welcome form letter, a map of D.C. and all the points of interest, and map of the base. Apparently Bolling Air Force Base was expecting me.

We were outside the tents sitting on the picnic tables listening to Danny McCloud’s Radio. The Christmas music was being piped in through The Armed Forces Radio and Television Services. Pretty ain’t it? Benny Polly said as he took a pull from a quart jug of Moon Shine that his brother had brewed up special, packaged up real neat; the bottle was a plastic orange soda pop container so the chances of it breaking were almost nil and the jug was wrapped in insulation covered with masking tape boxed up and mailed out from Bogalusa, Louisiana. He was the only one drinking the one hundred and forty proof rocket fuel. Everyone else was drinking either beer or whiskey. That seventy per-cent moon shine was to heavy most of the guy’s heads or livers.

Yeah the Christmas music sounded pretty and the more you had to drink the sadder you became thinking about home family and friends. This was my fifth Christmas away from home but some of the gear jammers, had a lot more time away from home then I did. Sgt. Jefferson, Tommy Stilly and Pappy Scott hadn’t seen home for Christmas in years. And I still don’t believe Stilly has a home, except for the military, he said he originally came from North Carolina and during the Korean conflict he enlisted. I’ve known him for almost a year and none of us had ever seen him receive one piece of mail, not even an advertisement catalogue.

Maybe he’s on the lamb, The CO mused.

Benny sidled up beside me and sat down. He had a real good buzz on thanks to his brother Freddie’s corn squeezing distillery hidden in the southern Louisiana’s back woods. How are you doing ole Buddy, Buddy? He asked trying to focus me with one eye closed.

I’m doing fine ole Buddy, but don’t light a cigarette or your breath will level the camp. I joked while I took a sip out of my glass of Hiram Walker Ten High rot gut Bourbon on the rocks. Whenever the booze plane from Clark landed at Bien Hoa the good stuff ended up at the Officer’s club and the rest was rationed off at the class V1 store.

Looks like you and me are gonna be stationed together down in the ole Nations Capital, Stevie. How do you feel ’bout that?

I feel good, Benny, how about you?

Well if you feel all that good about going down to Washtoning (He had trouble pronouncing Washington even when he was not swilling his brother’s moon shine) then why did you try to extend your tour for a nother six months? Huh? He said pointing his finger in my face. I thought you and me was buddies. How in hell did he find out? I didn’t tell anybody except for Jeff, in confidence, and I knew he wouldn’t say a word.

We are buddies, Benny but I didn’t feel like I was ready to go home. I didn’t know what I wanted to do but Col Davys squashed my orders.

Well how do you feel now? He asked as he handed me his plastic jug of 140 proof white lightning, it doesn’t take all that much ‘shine to get you totally shit faced but I said no to his offer, that shit will kill you.

I’m ready to go home,

You gonna drive me down to Saigon tomorra mornin’? He said as he put his arm around my shoulder looking at the side of my face; you light a match in front of his lips and his breath could level the tent area.

Fuckin A ole buddy, I said as tried to hold my breath. God Benny, drink something else will ya? I wish I could drive you all the way to D.C."

Ain’t that many gas stations ’cross the ’cific Ocean, He meant the Pacific Ocean. Shit fire, man, we’d be plum out of gas ’fore we got anywhere near Haywyre. He meant Hawaii. We’d be plum out of gas before we got halfway ’cross the ocean.

What you say, Benny, I said slapping on the back. I think it’s ’bout time to hit the sack. 0600’s gonna come soon enough.

Shit fire DY, I can sleep on the plane, He said wrapping his large tanned hand around the bottle and taking a healthy hit from his jug of moon shine.

Let’s go Benny, time to hit the sack, Jeff said as he leaned over the table taking the jug out of Benny’s hand. Dy’s right. O600’s gonna be here before you know it,

FRIDAY, 13 JANUARY 1967 0600 HOURS.

Wake up Benny! I yelled slapping him on the ass. Time to get up, you’re going home today.

Huh? He said slowing opening his left eye. What time is it?

0600 hours Buddy, six in the AM. Come on drag your ass out of the rack. You have to be at Tan Son Nhut Ops no later than nine hundred hours, I could still smell the moon shine on his breath. I phoned the troops at Civil Engineers and there on the way over to flush out your mouth, power wash your teeth and clean up your breath, come on.

Very funny, Stevie, Benny said as he dropped out of the top bunk, opened his locker, took out his shaving kit, towel and left the tent stumbled down the cat-walk and stumbled into the shower tent. His summer kakis were laid out on the bottom bunk. So was his garrison cap with bill spit shined his low quarters were spit shined too and his B-4 bag carefully packed.

Morning Dy. How’s the Moon Dog doing? Jeff asked as field stripped a Pall Mall, let the tobacco fall to the ground, balled up the paper and placed it in his pocket. Even in a war zone we took pride in a clean well organized base.

"Morning Jeff, he’s in the shower tent. It took a little coxing to get his ass up, but he’ll be alright once he gets some coffee and a little food in his stomach.

I can’t for the life of me see how he can drink that rot gut Moonshine, never could, Jeff remarked while he greeted the rest of the drivers as they walked out of the tent and headed for the Red Horse chow tent.

He’s been drinking that crap since he was a kid, he has to be used to it by now.

Yeah I suppose but his liver gotta be as hard as an engine block, He lamented as he grinned and shook his head. See you two at breakfast.

Yeah, we’ll be there in a couple.

By the time Benny and I left the mess tent he was feeling alright but still a bit shaky. At last count he ate a half a dozen powered scrambled eggs left over from the Korea police action, four glasses of frozen concentrated orange juice and three cups of black coffee. Maybe I’ll stop by the mess tent before we left for TSN see if I can scrounge an empty coffee can, he’ll be pissing all the way to Saigon. A medic from Red Horse handed him a hand full APC’s and a package holding twelve air sick pills. Benny and I walked around the motor pool while he said good-bye to the troops and shaking hands to all that were still in the area, hugged the Vietnamese girls shook hand with the Vietnamese civilian workers then he tossed his B-4 bag into the bed of the Ford F-150 climbed into the cab and drove the twenty some odd miles to Tan San Nhut Air Base. I dropped him off in front of the passenger terminal, found a parking space near the flight-line and walked back to base operations. Benny was standing amongst the two hundred or so troops waiting for the call to board the aircraft. The Pan Am 707 was sitting on the ramp the pilots sitting in the cockpit waiting for the troops to board. That’s going to be me in another month and I do believe that it’s time for me to go home. I had done as much as I was going to do here anyway, I’m not going to win the war all by myself and leaving the buddies I had made over the year I can handle and there will always many more opportunities to make new friends.

The buddies that I had made while in country; Benny Polly, Billy Ray Mizel, Tommy Stilly, Leroy Pappy Scott, Ray Simple Simpson and George Goosey Spencer were great guys and a bunch of hot shits, we all were in the same tent. We played cards, swapped bull shit stories, drank, went into town for dinner, there was a restaurant just outside the main gate that served the best water buffalo steaks I had ever eaten. They were better than any steaks my Dad grilled and Dad bought nothing but the best.

Goosey Spencer was the first to go home in a body bag. The Goose took AK-47 slug in the face while he was driving his rig across the dangerous outer eastern perimeter. He didn’t feel a thing. He was dead before his rig crashed through the perimeter barrier and came to a stop a just short of the revetments on the west end of the flight line. His rig exploded in a huge red blue yellow ball of fire. By the time Air Police arrived at the wreck with the fire department with the medic’s right behind them Goosey wasn’t there anymore. Neither was most of the ten ton International tractor trailer. There was nothing to send home except for what was left of his jungle boots and his Seiko Watch. It had stopped at precisely 1600 hours. 4 PM.

The Air Force Honor Guard removed Goosey’s flag from top of his closed casket that was empty except for what was left of his jungle boots, part of his Seiko watch, his dog tags and presented Old Glory to Roy’s family at his grave side service at Cody Military Cemetery, Cody, Wyoming

Goosey enjoyed sharing his growing up days with us living in that lovely city located about two hundred miles northwest of Cheyenne. He and his friends both girls and boys loved exploring Yellowstone National Park, camping out in the winter time, waking up their tents buried in two feet of fluffy new snow. Weren’t ya’lls folks worried about ya’ll being out all night sharing ya’ll’s sleeping bags with ya’ll’s girlfriends? Benny would ask a lewd grin on his face.

Not anymore than your folks worrying about you and your girl friends hanging around a ‘shine still, drinking that crap you refer to as Top Shelf Moonshine," He grinned.

I understand what ya’ll’s saying Goosey, but it’s hotter en a whore’s money maker down there in Bogalusa, ’specially in the summer time so we don’t need no sleeping bags.

So what you do, Benny, romp around the fires in your birthday suits ’till you get good and sweaty then splash around in the Mississippi to cool off? You know Benny I’ve seen some those Southern Bells when I was stationed down at Barksdale Air Force Base, mighty nice.

Wait ’till you get to D.C., Stevie. Benny said looking at me, And you meet my wife. She’s a lovely southern bell.

Hey Benny, Tommy Stilly chuckled taking a hit from his bottle of VAT 69. You know what a Southern Bell is?

I have no idea, Tommy Benny said in perfect English. He could speak as eloquently as any officer or en-listed man when he wasn’t drinking his brother’s corn squeezing. Tell me old friend what is a Southern Bell.

A hillbilly whore with a dong in her.

Benny just sat there looking at Tommy with a discussed look on his face while the rest of us thought the joke was quite amusing. Stilly just shrugged his narrow shoulders and gulped down his Scotch.

Next to get blown away was Budda Jordan and Donnie Bare. Both were killed taking the short cut back to the base and Philly Green got it in the head as he tried to get out of his rig when it flipped on Route #1. He was driving back to the base from Long Bien. His eighteen wheeler flipped when the front tires of his rig were shot out.

The heavy equipment mechanics cooked most of our chow which was usually steak, chicken and pork over a 55 gallon oil barrel that had been cut in half with a welding torch, then we put the barrel half into a pickup then drove into the city of Bien Hoa sand blasted and steam cleaned, then brought back to the transportation tent area, placed on a stand we had fabricated at the base vehicle maintenance shop, half filled the barrel with charcoal doused with charcoal lighter fluid then lit it. The sand blasting cleaned out all the residue that stained the inside of the 55 gallon so the all chow the Danny Mac cooked tasted so good.

Red Horse Construction outfit, the 3rd Transportation Squadron, and the 3rd Civil Engineers were bunked out in tents at the east end of the flight line away from the base across the road from us and. when it came time for chow or enjoying a beer or a shot of whiskey we were pretty much left to our own devises and we took full advantage of our remote situation. We had a primitive outdoor movie screen made from scrounged plywood, nailed together, painted white then nailed to four 2x4’s and pounded into the soft sandy ground. We had movies delivered to us from the MACV office in the main part of the base. Col Davys loved to watch out door movies while he enjoyed his Beefeater Martini. The Old Man had a lot of friends on base and in downtown Saigon. He spent more time hanging around MACV Headquarters (Military Assistance Command Vietnam) than he spent on running the section but he would say: What are they gonna do? Send me to Viet Fucking Nam?

It was a warm late August evening and while we were watching the movie The Great Race a mortar round launched outside the outer base perimeter, buzzed over Bien Hoa Air Base and slammed into the Long Binh Bomb Dump and the ammunition supply center. Long Binh was and Army base located three miles northeast of Bien Hoa. The concussion took down the movie screen and most of the tents plus the latrine. God damn those gooks bastards! Col Davys yelled as he pulled himself up from his wrecked lawn chair and wiped the spilled Martini from the front of his T shirt. Now I’m gonna miss the movie movie and just when it was starting to get good! The next evening the screen was rebuilt set back up, the Great Race was up on the silver painted plywood screen and Col Davys had a new lawn chair with a cup holder for his Martini.

We also had a junked out half ton Ford pick-up that Col Davys pulled out of salvage that we used to transport a 55 gallon fuel barrel that we cleaned out and filled it with ice and beer. We had the 55 gallon barrel welded to the pick-up bed of the Ford and we used it to carry the beer and ice to the outdoor theater. When the mortar took out the screen it also took out the junked out pick-up; there was exploded beer cans and ice all over the compound.

Most of the guys in the section including me had never eaten in the mess hall not just because it was out of the way but the shit they call food sucked! The crap was frozen and thawed out then frozen again and again. Have lunch in the mess hall and until you’re intestines adjusted to the food, you’d be spending your dinner time in the latrine. The eggs were powered, the milk was powered and the bread bought on the local economy and was thick and doughy. The only thing that was edible was the fruits and the vegetables that were grown in country or were flown in from Thailand or Ceylon. We swapped American Whiskey and American Cigarette for the steaks that came in country from Australia and New Zeland. The tent city troops had friends in 8TH Arial Port so when a C- 130’s came in from Thailand or Laos or an Army C-7 Caribou flew in from Vung Tau we were at the ramp ready to conduct business. The Aussies and the Kiwis were billeted in tents between Bien Hoa and Long Binh. The pork, chicken for us and a duck or two for Ramrod came from down town.

The Red Horse Squadron had a pet Boa Constrictor who showed up while tent city was being built. Ram Rod was now a legacy. He was use to eating rats and mice but when the troops began feeding him live ducks and chickens he became spoiled. You’re going regret feeding him ducks, Col Davys observed while the guys were sitting around the Red Horse orderly room drinking beer and watching Ram Rod feasting on his second mallard. You could hear the bones snapping as the snake coiled its twelve foot body around the duck and shipped Daffy, Donald and Daisy up to Duck cartoon heaven. Once that slimy bastard gets used to eating high on the hog, you guys can forget about him eating anything else unless you start feeding him pigs.

Col Frank Davys was the best C.O. the gear jammers had ever served with. He’d sit down with enlisted men at the picnic table, at our make shift drive in, have a drink, he was a big time martini drinker, he would help Airman First Class, Danny Mac, cook dinner, sing along when the shit kickers from below the Mason Dixon Line ambled down to the patio area between the tents with their guitars and amps and belted out fiddle tunes for hours on end. It was Country and Western or nothing. I wasn’t much of a fiddle tune fan, I liked Elvis, Roy Orbison, Motown, the British invasion groups but after a few drinks who gave a shit whether it was rock or country. They knew every country and western or country rock songs that Johnny Cash, Elvis, Carl Perkins, Wanda Jackson, Hank Williams Senior and Junior, Marty Robbins, Jerry Lee Lewis (Who was, in my opinion, almost as good as Elvis) every country music shit kicker that ever played the Grand Old Opry.

Hey! When are you shit kickers gonna lay off the fiddle tunes and get to playing real music? Col Davys would shout at the band after downing a Martini or two. Play us some Beatle tunes, some Stones, how about some Elvis? you know some good ole rock and roll shit!

In your wildest dreams Col Davys

23 FEBRUARY 1967:

The night before I was scheduled to return to the world most of the troops in the heavy equipment and motor pool section that wasn’t on duty were sitting at the picnic tables drinking from cans of Falstaff, Hams, Olympia or Miller High Life, Tiger beer from Thailand, green bottles of Vietnamese ’33 beer, or shots from bottles of Smirnoff Vodka, Ron Rico Rum, Gold Coach gin, Hiram Walker Ten High Bourbon and, on occasion, Crown Royal. The 40 ounce bottles sold at the class six store was cheap. The rot gut vodka and gin cost about sixty-five cents a jug.

The fiddle tune swingers were really wailing and Col. Davys who had a Martini or two streaming through his veins was throwing empty beer cans at them, Pappy Scott, Lou Lascano, Billy Ray Mizel and I were sitting at the picnic table throwing back drinks and talking about family and back home. Pappy, Lou and Billy Ray were due to rotate stateside next month. Danny Mc Cloud had already rotated stateside.

Think you’re gonna like DC, Stevie? Pappy asked. Pappy, Tom Stilly and Benny was the only troops in the section that called me Stevie. We all called Leroy Scott, Pappy, because he was bald and looked older than his forty some odd years. Pappy had orders for Randolph AFB, and he was in his glory. He was