From Harlem to Viet Nam and Back: Simply a Black Marine's Combat Experience in Southeast Asia

By Enoch Buckery

At the time, I was a twenty-year-old, wholesome, part-time business administration student of six credits at City University of New York, and also employed at the American Iron and Steel Institute as a sales expeditor, when my draft notice came from the U.S. Army. Twelve credits were necessary for a student's full deferment from the United States Military Draft.

I was also newly married at the time, but I was mandated to report to Whitehall Street for induction. Three other draftees were also chosen with me, and we were directed to a separate room and given a test. Upon completion of the test we were then sworn in and congratulated, however, we were welcomed into the United States Marine Corps instead of the Army. The following morning, we reported to Paris Island, South Carolina for boot camp training and then on to chemical and jungle training at Camp Lejune, North Carolina. I was allowed a brief visit back home in New York before my transfer to the Marine Corps based at Camp Pendleton, California for advanced jungle training, where I received west pack orders in route to Viet Nam. The most feared orders a soldier could receive at the time were west pack orders, because that meant the soldier was headed to Viet Nam.

Upon entering the Republic of Viet Nam--shortly after the Marine Corps boot camp training at Paris Island's extensive jungle training at Camp Pendleton, California--our orientation left us Marines with a somewhat superior mental complex that trained us to look down on the Viet Namese people, whether military or civilian. We were instructed to call them Gooks, which is equivalent to calling an African American the N word. So we called them Gooks or Charlie as we entered combat with the Viet Cong people. However, after the many humbling, eye-opening experiences in combat, those of us who remained alive elevated the name "Charlie" to Mr. Charlie, out of a much deserved and commanded respect towards the Viet Namese people.

Unlike anything written thus far on combat experiences in Viet Nam, you will travel side by side with me, Enoch Buckery, with this book from the vantage point of my personal, African American combat experience. You will experience my journey from high school, to one year of college, to military training, and then on to real combat. I was a Marine Corps grunt machine gunner, then a machine gun team leader, and then promoted to the position of machine gun section leader. I present my accounts of the combat operations, ambushes, and fire fights in this book.

So many books have been written and so many stories have been told, yet this is my personal Marine Corps combat experience in that Republic. I still believe that the real truth has not been fully told, especially by an African American who has fought in Americas war in the Republic of Viet Nam. I fought on the front line daily; days as well as nights.

Back in the sometimes oblivious realm of the United States of America--oblivious to the war's on-the-ground harsh and devastating realities for the soldiers and the Viet Namese people--I assumed the position of an advocate and an activist for combat-wounded Marines and other combat veterans for now more than thirty years. I have witnessed the death of so many veterans who survived the battlegrounds of Viet Nam, only to succumb to deaths due to side effects of prescribed medications, or misdiagnoses, or lack of much-needed support. One major conspiracy faced by so many Viet Nam veterans was, and still is, related to the treatments for exposure to dioxin, better known as Agent Orange, for American frontline combat veterans of America's war in that country. I, Enoch Buckery, am one of those veterans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524502348

Enoch Buckery

Enoch Buckery attended George Washington High School in Washington Heights, New York. While also employed part time at first as a draftsman apprentice at Caltex on Madison Avenue. Enoch Buckery studied fine Arts at the school of Visual Arts in New York City, majoring in sculpture as an undergraduate student. He also studied architectural drafting and alternate energies with a focus on solar technology and construction at the New School for Social Research at Parsons, in New York City. He also studied communications at the College of New Rochelle in addition Enoch also studied private piloting ground school at Queensborough Community College and flew aircrafts out of Atlantic Aviation during his private piloting courses and general aviation instruction at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, as well as Caldwell Airpiort in Caldwell, New Jersey. Enoch also flew out of Republic Airport at Farmingdale Airport in Long Island, New York.

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Copyright © 2016 by Enoch Buckery.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016908190

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5245-0236-2

                Softcover        978-1-5245-0235-5

                eBook             978-1-5245-0234-8

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.

Rev. date: 10/29/2016

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgment

The First Law of Preservation

Marine Corps Indoctrination/Brainwashing Gone Wrong

The Middle Passage

Introductions—The Lineup

Viet Nam’s Railroad and the Ho Chi Minh Trail

Phu Bai (The Making of an American City in Viet Nam)

Puff the Magic Dragon

Operation on Mount Mother Fucker (South of Phu Bai)

Race Relations—No Problem Because Respect Reigns

An Encounter with Montagnards

The Native Americans (From the Navajo Nation)

The Rock Pile (A Major Operation)

Our Visit and Briefing From The Commander-In-Chief of the Marine Corps Troops in Viet Nam

Hanoi Hanna

Our Second Encounter with the Native Americans

Our Visit and Briefing from General Walt

The North Vietnamese Army Camp and Hospital in the Mountains

The Most Beautiful Valley

Chu-Lai (The Desert Experience)

Exit the Desert at Chu Lai

Lessons in Perseverance

Replenish

My Seventh Month in Country

Short Stay at Okinawa en Route Back to Viet Nam

Back in Country—My Second Time Around

My Final Exit from Dong Ha

Military Police at Phu Bai—The Wall

R&R (Rest and Relaxation Abroad)

My Short Stay Back in Viet Nam after R&R

Military Police at Phu Bai

Short-timer or Exit Viet Nam

Strange Reception

The Abandonment Of The Wounded Viet Nam Veteran

The Marine Corps Prayer (Unofficially Official)

The Marine Marksmanship Pledge

Glossary

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I WOULD LIKE TO thank my good friend, Ms. Renee Baez, who took the time to type my original manuscript. My niece, Ms. Annette Odom, who served me with so much patience and who was there for me when I needed her most. Finally, I thank my granddaughter, Baquiyyah, who took the time out of her busy schedule to help me download my manuscript from a flash drive and print it

THE FIRST LAW OF PRESERVATION

B ECAUSE OF THE nature of managers, who are officers of the Casualty Company, it created a strong bond between the casualty marines emerged from which was established support networks to feed each other information as to ways in which to combat the forces that were against them, those forces whose only mission being was to see them in Viet Nam regardless of their he alth.

The Casualty Company’s mess hall, which I believe was designated for the Casualty Company, was inferior in terms of its staff, food preparation, and quality of food, when compared to the Naval Hospital’s cafeteria, which discouraged you from eating there. As a result, marines in the company would sneak over to the Naval Hospital’s cafeteria to eat, There, each meal was always an appetizing and nourishing meal.

After eating, a few of us would browse through the wards and encounter some of the wounded from Viet Nam. What is so vivid in my mind was a young slim brother from St. Louis. He appeared to be 18–19 years of age and had been wounded by a mine in Viet Nam. As a result, his legs and arms were swollen and disfigured with pins through almost every joint, while fluids were oozing from the wounds. After listening to him and observing his gestures, it was clear to see that he was simply happy to be home and still alive.

The majority of us had made up our minds, if never before, that Viet Nam was definitely not the place we wanted to go. With that image of that brother so pressed in our minds, we returned to the Casualty Company and relayed to them, the other marines, what we had observed and heard.

Gibson was a young brother from Chicago in the Casualty Company. Everybody had adopted him because of his age. Judging by his age, we knew that he’d forged some documents to join the Marine Corps because the enlistment age is eighteen. Gibson was now seventeen, with one year in service, which meant that he was sixteen when he’d enlisted. He was now in tears because he received transfer orders to a company that was shipping out to Viet Nam in two days.

Gibson had been with us when we’d visited the slim brother in the Naval Hospital. After he had heard this brother speak of Viet Nam, he’d vowed then that under no circumstances would he ever go to Viet Nam as a member of the military personnel. That evening, Gibson approached a group of guys for a solution to find a way as to how to stay out of Viet Nam because his whooping cough that he had was basically now subsiding, so he needed a new niche reason to keep him here. That evening, he suggested that they break his arm—which they did—on the metal railing on a bridge next to the infirmary. He wasn’t seen or treated by medical personnel until seven the following morning. Their diagnosis was that he had a double compound fracture of the arm and wrist—–mission accomplished!.

This might sound a bit underhanded, but there were many stories of sabotage of the individual Marine’s rights by the higher command in Casualty Company. In fact, it was common for marines to be in touch with their congress representatives attesting to or complaining about harassment and the absence of due process in Casualty Company. In Casualty Company, the higher command labeled the marine loafers and malingerers, even though the marines were under doctor’s advice and orders in the first place. In Casualty Company, there are many such stories of sabotage of the individual marine’s rights by the higher command.

MARINE CORPS INDOCTRINATION/BRAINWASHING GONE WRONG

O N TOP OF this, Casualty Company had now assigned a new major, one who had come up through the enlisted men’s ranks. He was a strict disciplinarian. The significance of coming up through the ranks is that it makes for a hungrier person, one who would fight harder than a commissioned officer, and do almost anything to get the bone.

We believe that he was given the assignment to clear out Casualty Company. He was a serious disciplinarian and very strict. Normally, we would have company formations three times a day, but with the coming of this new Major, we would now have formations as often as every two hours, and he would assign us work details, which was a total violation of the policies of Casualty Company.

In my own case, I called home from California to speak to my wife one day. Actually, I called my landlady, Mrs. Byrd, since we didn’t have a telephone in our apartment. When Mrs. Byrd answered the telephone, she was surprised that she was to hear me on the other end and wanted to know my whereabouts. At that point, she asked me to hold on, and she ran to get my wife.

When my wife picked up the telephone, she responded, Is it you? Is it really you? Where are you? What happened to you? Then she informed me that she had received a letter from the Department of the Navy informing her that I had been U.A. (unauthorized absence) for some twenty odd days and that after thirty days I would be declared a deserter. Also, she made me aware of the fact that she hadn’t been receiving her allotment checks.

At this point, I did my best to convince her that I was at Camp Pendleton, California, still in the U.S. Marine Corps, making my daily formations.

The following day, Thursday, was pay call. When my name was called, I found out that next to my name was stated that I had N.P.D. (No Pay Due). Again, it was just another tactic of sabotage to make me as uncomfortable as possible in Casualty Company. At this point, I requested to see the Major, but that request was denied. So I went to see the base Chaplain. At first, he appeared to be a concerned minister. He asked me to sit, relax, and explain the problem to him, which I did. I told him that I felt like I was a pawn on a chessboard, and that even though it was the beginning of the game, I was cornered by the knight, bishop, rook, king, and queen.

His response to me was, Oh, I see you’re a very intelligent Marine. You’re not like those other malignant in Casualty Company. Then he said that my problem was that I was lonely and missing my buddies, whom I had completed training with in my original company—they who were now in Viet Nam. Then he added, Once you joined them, everything would be fine.

After that meeting, I felt like I had no other recourse. In the next day or two, I was reassigned to a company that was en route to Viet Nam. However, I was given the option to join one of two companies. One was being transported by aircraft to Viet Nam and the other was by ship. I chose the ship because of the twenty-one-day journey.

THE MIDDLE PASSAGE

T WO DAYS AFTER I made the decision to join the company that was being transported by ship, we were transported by military truck convoy from Oceanside, California to San Diego shipyard, where there we boarded a ship which was the U.S.S. Walker , a troop carrier. Aboard there were 6,000 Marines, 2,500 soldiers from the army, and a few navy personnel and merchant seamen who operated the ship. We had two naval submarines as escort. The only activity we had while we were on the ship were fire drills, close order drills, and calisthe nics.

Unfortunately, occasional fights broke out between the soldiers and the marines. Personally, I remained in my bunk the majority of the journey because of seasickness and the fact that I had four people, in a stacked position (hammock style), sleeping above me. Whenever I got the strength and composure to walk the half mile to the cafeteria, the little liquids and solids remaining in my stomach were released upon smelling the odors emanating from the cafeteria. Of course, at that point, I would do an about-face and returned to my bunk.

We did make one stop aboard ship. I believe it was the sixteenth or seventeenth day, when we arrived in Okinawa. That was the first time the sun ever came out on the journey. We docked there overnight, and we casted off the following morning for the last leg of the trip across the South China Sea towards South Viet Nam.

During this length of the trip, we did encounter a storm. The orders for everyone were to remain in their quarters and that we should strap down in our suspended bunks. It was a very rough ride. I, being one who’s always inquisitive about seeing my outer surroundings especially on an ocean-going craft, made it to the center of the ship and climbed the ladder all the way to the top to the upper cabin level of the ship and to the helm, where the ship was being piloted. I was able to look out into the majesty of the storm. It was amazing to see the forty-to-fifty-feet-high waves that the South China Sea was producing.

The U.S.S. Walker, if I remember correctly, was about sixty to seventy feet in height. I stood there near the helm and saw the front quarter of the bough of the ship underwater as the ship rode the storm. Knowing that all of the United States Marine Corps’ prisoners who were incarcerated in the brig were in the lowest part of the bough of the ship in that storm.

The following morning, the storm subsided, the sun came out, and the swells were light from ten to fifteen feet in height. It was the first time in my life that I had finally seen what I had read about as a child —flying fish, hundreds of them. It was amazing for me to see a fish ride the top of the waves, and as the waves broke, it would let loose of wave and glided in the air only to skid off the swells and continue to glide, in an attempt to maximizing its ability to stay on air. Aside from the flying fish, the only other life visible in the water were sharks trailing the ship because of the garbage that was thrown from the rear of the ship.

Occasionally, one of the two submarine escorts that we had, which might have traveled 5,000-feet distance from us, would emerge on the horizon.

In Country of Viet Nam

We finally arrived at the harbors of Da Nang, South Viet Nam on the late morning of the twenty-first day of our journey. The first visible people I saw were other foreign merchant seamen. I had a deep desire to kiss the ground and soil of Viet Nam upon feeling solidity under my feet. We disembarked and boarded trucks, which took us to downtown to the beautiful city of Da Nang—a beautiful Viet Nam city. As we climbed from the trucks, I could not help but notice the young Vietnamese children who I assumed were students because of the books they were carrying and their parochial-like uniforms they were wearing. Looking off toward the mountains and at the landscapes, I was in awe to see every imaginable shade of green and the phenomenal rust color of the soil.

There was a sewage-like stench in the air that assaulted my nostrils. At that point, I was reminded of my true purpose or reason for being there, and it was by the sound of roll call.

*

The few people I had befriended on the ship were now assigned to a different group than I was. So again, I was alone to make friends with a new group of marines. We boarded two trucks, which were six-bi (2 ½- ton). Over the cabs of both trucks were mounted 50- caliber machine guns with machine gunners manning them.

Upon receiving the command, we drove through a very rich and exclusive part of Da Nang, which to me was the equivalent of a richer section of Jamaica Estates in Queens, New York or similar to what reminded you of the big houses in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, or Westchester County, New York.

After reaching the outskirts of the city, we drove past some rice paddies and entered what appeared to me like a dike road that we were driving on with rice paddies on both sides. At that point, we were then ordered to insert a magazine into our weapons and to lock and load (meaning to chamber a round and ready to shoot). These two trucks that we were aboard were carrying approximately two dozen marines. The truck driver was moving so fast on this narrow dike-like road that I felt like if we had slowed down or stopped, the truck would have fallen off the road.

At one turn in the road, where the dike-like road widened somewhat, there was a group of kids that was herding water buffalo, Because of the narrowness of the road, the trucks were sort of pushing them and the water buffalo into the rice paddies. With these loaded weapons in our hands and still uncertain about what was up ahead, for some reason, I was somewhat reassured when I saw one of the kids looked up at the truck, looked me right in the eyes, and said, Hot damn, motherfucker! Shit! Soul brother number 1!

After that encounter, we drove on toward the Northwest. We arrived at a C.A.C. unit (a marine-manned compound) and dropped off a few of the marines. Then we continued on route until we arrived at a hill called 190, which was my destination for that day.

I was now officially a Private First Class in Hotel Company, second Battalion, 26th Marines, Machine Guns. Once I arrived at Hill 190, the first person I met was Rodriguez. Rodriguez was a machine gunner team leader, and I was assigned to his squad. What we had in common was that we were both from Harlem.

I was then introduced informally to my commanding officer, Lt. Lucky. He assigned me to the upper level of Hill 190, which was the uppermost north side guarding the northern perimeter that overlooked an extension of the Da Nang River as well as Highway One. This hill, which was our fortress, was made of three levels. The lower level served as home for our support tank battalion, which secured and controlled any traffic on that section of the Da Nang River and controlled and managed any traffic access to Highway One. The tanks monitored all activities on the western mountain perimeter. The tanks also delivered H & I fire (harassment and interdiction) every fifteen minutes to the mountains on the western horizon. This level also allowed you access to the Vietnamese hamlet, which had a population of approximately one hundred people.

The second level of this hill, which was at an elevation of approximately 200 feet above the lower level and which was actually about 500 feet above sea level, was secured by an Ontos (a tank that manned 6-106 recoilless rifles and 50-caliber machine guns and infantrymen). Our shower stalls were also located on this level.

The third level, which was approximately another one hundred feet higher in elevation, housed the infantry troops. This also allowed access to the upper mountain trails for patrols and night ambushes.

The second battalion, 26th Marines, Hotel Company, was also responsible for maintaining and securing another hill on the northeast outskirts of the city of Da Nang. Actually, it was a desolate outpost of in-ground bunkers and barracks on sloping hills, which were located in a farming province. I was told by Lt. Lucky that the Marines had captured it from the Vietcong and secured it for the U.S. Army to maintain, adding. However, he stated