The Sandbox: A Soldier Lost in Vietnam

By E.M. Satterley

The Sandbox is about a young U.S. Army soldier, Tim Sadler, who is in a non-combative position; however, his immediate experiences convince him that it is not a safe place to be and his subsequent experiences drive him to make unhealthy personal choices that cause havoc to himself, his family and to his fiance back in New York. Look for more of Tim Sadlers adventures in an upcoming sequel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503556010

E.M. Satterley

Mr. E.M. (Ed) Satterley is an army veteran who served in Vietnam during the 1967-68 campaign. He later served in the Air National Guard in New York and as a minister to churches in New York and North Carolina. Ed graduated from Campbell University, nestled in the small town of Buies Creek, North Carolina. Ed and his wife Cathy currently reside in North Carolina close to their three grown children and three grandchildren. Mr. Satterley has written locally published articles and religious instructional courses. The Sandbox is his first historical novel.

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Copyright © 2015 by E.M. Satterley.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-5035-5602-7

                eBook              978-1-5035-5601-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/30/2015

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CONTENTS

FOREWORD

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1: Bend Over and What?

CHAPTER 2: Cam Ranh Bay

CHAPTER 3: Life Under the Big Tent

CHAPTER 4: Details, Details

CHAPTER 5: The Village Idiot

CHAPTER 6: Moving Right Along

CHAPTER 7: Another Move

CHAPTER 8: The Bombs Bursting in Air

CHAPTER 9: Purple Heart

CHAPTER 10: Second-Guessing

CHAPTER 11: Agony and Ecstasy

CHAPTER 12: Another Test

CHAPTER 13: Short

CHAPTER 14: Trials…

CHAPTER 15: And Tribulations

CHAPTER 16: Back to the 192nd

CHAPTER 17: Fort Lewis, Washington

CHAPTER 18: Home Again

GLOSSARY

FOREWORD

The Vietnam conflict lasted longer than anyone had ever expected. What made it worse was the fact that it was a very unpopular war. The American public demonstrated and protested the conflict for years before the fall of Saigon on April 30, 1975. This event marked the end of the Vietnam conflict and the beginning of the unification of the Republic of Vietnam to be governed by the Communist Party of Vietnam. There were over 2.5 million military personnel deployed and over fifty-eight thousand casualties. America believed that these figures were way too high for any military conflict that kept escalating and seemed to be going nowhere. In addition, many people reasoned that the United States had little reason to be involved.

When soldiers returned home, either at the end of their tour of duty or when Saigon fell, Vietnam veterans did not receive a hearty welcome, and many did not feel like the government fulfilled their obligations for continued health care. For example, it took many years for the government to admit that the chemical called Agent Orange, which was used widely in Vietnam as a ground-clearing mechanism, was toxic to the American vets. Only recently have vets been given compensation and/or treatment.

My attempt in writing this book is to bring about a more vivid understanding of what may have occurred in Vietnam through the eyes of the main character, Tim Sadler. Tim was not in a combative unit, but his story enlightens difficulties of war nonetheless. I was sent by the U.S. Army to the growing and ongoing Vietnam conflict in September of 1967. My experiences were mostly noncombative also but indeed a little tense at times. This book is not autobiographical to be sure, but the locations and some of the situations are from my own remembrances. This being said, I must say that many stories in this writing are purely fiction but then again very probable.

My hope is that the reader will have a deeper appreciation for the many facets of military life, especially for those who face extremes in the face of foreign conflict and war.

—E. M. Satterley

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I T’S NOT EASY for a workingman to find the time to write a full-length historical novel. But when an idea comes into my mind, it’s hard to extinguish it. An endless number of nights and weekends were spent on compiling words and ideas into a story which I hope is a thoughtful and well-constructed mixture of fiction and life experience. I cannot claim this book is entirely my own creation, so I’d like to give thanks to my wife, Cathy, for putting up with my late nights and forfeited weekends. She understands for sure, and more than that, she is an encourager and supporter of the things I’ve done and the things I’ve yet to do. Don’t get me wrong, she will tell me when the things I do are ridiculous or not wise, but for the most part, she lends a thought or two toward the project. For all that, I thank her.

My daughter, Jill Marie Harvell, through the course of writing this book, has accomplished some needed research and given me sound literary advice and character enhancement suggestions. Her insight has been more than beneficial, and for this, I thank her.

CHAPTER 1

Bend Over and What?

T HERE WAS A slight breeze and clear sky, and it was about eighty-five degrees when the Boeing 707 touched down at Tan Son Nhut Air Base in Saigon. Before disembarking the airplane, I saw many military aircraft, some I’ve never seen before. It’s really no wonder though. I’m told that this base actually belongs to the Vietnamese Air Force, and we are using it as a major base. Today is Sunday, September 17, 1967, and exactly seven short months since taking the enlistment oath at Fort Hamilton, New York. I may be nineteen years old, but that was an experience I will never forget.

Earlier this year, on February 17, I arrived by limousine—the Checker taxi kind, not the luxurious Cadillac kind with a fully stocked bar between the driver and third set of leather seats. The driver stopped seven times between my house in Coram, Long Island, and New York City to pick up seven more recruits headed for my same destination in New York City. From the crazy way our driver was driving, I wondered if we would actually make it. My trip was uneventful other than the driving techniques utilized; in fact, it was a pretty silent ride. No one knew each other, and it was hard, especially for me, to instantly make friends and start a conversation. It gave me time to think about what I was doing.

I had just celebrated my birthday on the evening of February 11. The Sadler family always celebrated birthdays with cake and ice cream, and this day was no different except that I would be enlisting into the U.S. Army in just six short days. I quit my job at White’s Department Store in Middle Island and told my boss, Vinnie, I was enlisting in the army.

Wow. What a shocker. You’re my best employee! He said this in the rich Bronx accent that he was known for. He grabbed my hand and continued to shake it as he smiled and said, Who’s going to stock my shelves in the plumbing department? Huh? Tell me, Timmy! He raised his voice like he always does when he’s joking around. Apparently, he wanted everyone to hear what he had to say. Well, I guess this means good-bye. Good luck, Timmy!

Even though I didn’t want to, my brain kept thinking about how much I would miss my work in the plumbing department, the ’60 Dodge Dart I was leaving behind for my father to sell, and my family celebrations. Katy Wilson and her friend Maddy and her parents were also at my house that Saturday evening, helping theirselves to my birthday cake. Katy was introduced to me by Maddy several months earlier; we didn’t hit it off right away, but soon we became good friends. I remember the day well. Katy was about five feet two inches tall and had a slender build. She wore dark horn-rimmed glasses that went well with her long dark hair. Katy was a senior at Longwood High School, and she hated every minute of it!

During the last few weeks, we grew closer, boyfriend and girlfriend closer. We would spend a lot of time together in the days before I left for the army. On the last day before leaving, I was beginning to regret having to leave. I told this to Katy, but she understood why I had to go.

Maybe you could leave me something of yours so that I can remember you while you’re gone. At that moment, I could feel that she really cared for me and wanted to hang on to what we shared together.

I had a brainstorm; I slipped off my high school ring and gave it to her. You can have this, Katy. Wow. I can’t believe I did that. I was so proud of my high school ring, and I didn’t have a long time to wear it since graduation.

Yes. Thank you. I’ll keep it close to me, Timmy. I’ll remember you every day with this until you come back.

This was all real nice, but at this very moment, however, I was missing all that I had to leave behind, especially Katy. I had a lump in my throat; I didn’t know it would be this hard.

Fort Hamilton was a small army post located just on the Brooklyn side of the Verrazano Bridge. The Belt Parkway skirted the western side of the fort, and from there, the view of the bridge was spectacular, especially on a clear day when ships and pleasure craft were navigating the channel under the bridge. I’m not sure, but I had the distinct suspicion that Fort Hamilton’s main function was to enlist young men like me and my fellow recruits into the U.S. Army. At least that’s all I saw going on in the short time I was there.

I am not unfamiliar with the army life and army posts like this one because my father is a career ordinance officer. My brother and I traveled with him and Mom to Europe, Africa, the Far East, and several stateside assignments. Actually, Dad is still serving in the U.S. Army and just finished up his tour at Fort Benning, Georgia. He was also just promoted to the rank of major, and with that, he was reassigned. So now he and the family are home in Coram, taking some leave and waiting for further orders. Coram has always been our home of record, and we have always kept up our house there.

As the limo pulled up to the curb at the entrance to building 116, a private first class with a rather stiff businesslike personality and wearing a neatly pressed long-sleeved khaki uniform met us with a smile on his face. Welcome, men. I’m PFC Walter Smith, and I’m here to escort you to where you need to be. Please get your gear, and line up here. He turned slightly and pointed toward the sidewalk in the back of him.

The eight of us were dressed in civilian clothes and heavy jackets. One recruit, a rather large person, must have thought it was still summertime because he was wearing just a pair of jeans and an old Beatles T-shirt. We followed Private First Class Smith like a line of baby ducks following their mother. I was at the head of the line and, naturally, the first to enter the door that would change my life forever. There were a lot of people moving and walking around, some with papers in their hands and some just trying to get somewhere else. Some wore uniforms, both khaki and fatigues, and some, probably recruits like me, wore civilian clothes. Once all of us were inside, a staff sergeant, who never introduced himself, approached our group. Okay, men, put your bags over here, and have a seat in the chairs by that wall.

There were about thirty different colored plastic and metal chairs lined up against the wall with other recruits like us sitting in them. Coincidently, there were just eight chairs left for our small group to sit on. I sat down in a burgundy-colored chair and looked around. The large room was kind of dull-looking actually. There were a few army recruitment posters haphazardly pinned to the otherwise bare pale green walls. Across from our chairs were three cubicles about ten by ten feet with thin office dividers for walls and a curtain that slid across the front of the cubicle facing the chairs. I could see feet under the curtain, so I knew they were being occupied by one or two persons. Curiosity made me wonder what was going on behind the curtains.

A moment later, the center curtain opened, and a young man came out and was led by Private First Class Smith to the end of the room and through a double door and down a long hallway. Through the open curtain, I saw what appeared to be an army doctor sitting on a rolling stool, an examination table pushed against the side divider wall, and a counter with four drawers backed up to the far wall of the building itself. The counter was stacked with forms and record folders. The doctor wore a khaki uniform, much like most of the other people in the room, but most of his was covered with a long white lab coat. The man seemed quite pleased with himself as he sat with a clipboard in his hand writing what I guessed was the finishing touches from the last physical exam. He swiveled the stool around, inserted the completed form into a brown folder, put it in the second stack of records and then grabbed another form from the left side of the counter, centered it on the clipboard, and rose from the chair. He came to the front of his cubicle, looked at the form again, and called out, Mr. Joseph Alvarado. Someone from the far end of the row of chairs rose and walked toward the cubicle and stood there until he was told to sit down on the edge of the examination table. The doctor reached across for the curtain and closed it.

In and out, in and out, young men were being examined and then led down the hall and into another section of the building with small offices on either side of the hallway. The empty chairs against the wall were constantly being filled by others who came in through the front door. It was like an assembly line at the Ford Motor Company. I was getting kind of nervous waiting for my turn in the cubicle. I had already had a physical exam after signing with the recruiter in Smithtown, and I was found fit for service, so what is this all about? Even though I rode in a limousine for nearly four hours without knowing his name, I asked the guy sitting next to me if he knew what was going on. He was as ignorant as I was.

Mr. Sadler. Mr. Timothy Sadler. The doctor had to call out twice because I had been sitting for more than two hours and may have dozed off once or twice.

Yes, sir, I instinctively responded. The doctor turned and rolled his stool to the exact spot that he wanted as I walked into the cubicle.

Close the curtain, please. Are you Timothy Sadler?

Yes.

Take off your shirt, trousers, and shoes and socks, and then have a seat on the exam table. I did as he asked because it didn’t seem unusual for anyone getting a physical exam, and I guess I figured out that’s what was happening.

Look at this form and see if the information is correct.

Again, I did as he asked. Everything is fine.

The doctor took my hands in his hands and looked at the palms and the backs intently. Was he looking for webbed fingers? I had a friend back home that was reclassified by the draft board for having a couple of fused fingers on his right hand. He felt my bare feet, probably with the same idea in mind.

Then the doctor reached for his stethoscope from around his neck, breathed heavily on the end, wiped it off with his lab coat sleeve, and pressed the cold metal end against my chest.

Breathe deep, and hold. He listened, told me to breathe normally, and repeated that sequence several more times on different places on my chest and back. He looked down my throat with a tongue depressor pushing down my tongue.

Say, ‘Ahhhh.’

Wow! Really? He actually