Yea Though We Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death We Shall Fear No Evil

By Chief Brian G

The story shows how a group of senior NCOs called Old Soldiers or lifers by the men that served under them used a communication system to barter their way to a soft life in a combat zone. From the leader of the Old Soldiers, Chief Master Sergeant OToole to the Vietnamese woman Fat Mae Ree in charge of the entertainment for the base, the plot takes the reader from fiction to real life and how a young Vietnamese teaches the Old Soldiers how to be conned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524692780

Chief Brian G

The Author spent 26 years in the military. He was an original Airborne Ranger during the Korean Conflict, He also spent a year in Viet Nam. He retired from the US Air Force as a Chief Master Sergeant. His first hand knowledge of the events and time in Viet Nam and the humor that is half truth and half fiction should appeal to anyone who served in Viet Nam and their children. His Unique experience and style should appeal to the Airmen, Marines, Navy and Army who served during the Viet Nam era makes this story a must read.

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© 2017 Chief Brian G. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/22/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-9279-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-9277-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-9278-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017907907

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 Welcome to Na Dang

Chapter 2 Who’s in Charge of This Outfit?

Chapter 3 Meeting the Staff

Chapter 4 Colonel Shackleford’s Game

Chapter 5 Life at Da Nang Improves

Chapter 6 The Finishing Touches

Chapter 7 Tragedy at Da Nang

Chapter 8 Tiny Tim Takes Control

Chapter 9 Holidays

Chapter 10 Vietnamization

Chapter 11 Rotating Home

About the Author

About the Book

Introduction

This is a story about Vietnam and how a flock of the most downright ingenious, mischievous scalawags changed a dismal air force base and manipulated the way it was run until it became the comfortable life they wanted to get accustomed too. The names have been changed by the author in order to keep him from grievous harm by these same villains. The name of the base has been changed so those, who were bigwigs at the time, will not have the chance to get even. The name of the communication squadron at this base has also been changed so that the officers in this squadron, who tried to make themselves smarter than a bunch of crafty NCOs (noncommissioned officers), will not have suicidal tendencies in their dreams. The name of the president has to remain the same, otherwise this story would be a lie.

The first commander of this squadron was the meanest son of a bitch in the entire air force, but he underestimated his top NCOs. The time frame of this mostly true story was the early seventies. If the war had gone on, the North Vietnamese would still be screaming, Uncle. But that will be brought up at a later time.

I hope my wife and daughters will forgive the language, but it couldn’t be helped because it’s the universal language of all those in the military when they are away from their loved ones. What must not be forgotten is that bartering is always prevalent among the enlisted ranks, and not too many officers understand it because it’s not done by the proverbial book. When you put an entire telephone system in the hands of the senior NCOs, this is what happens.

Chapter 1

Welcome to Na Dang

Chief Master Sergeant O’Toole cursed himself for not being able to get his assignment changed to another base in Nam. He knew Colonel Shackleford, the commander of the 876th Communication Squadron, would try and get him sent to Leavenworth for no other reason than the fact that he despised him. The chief knew that as the top-ranking noncom (noncommissioned officer) in the 876th, his balls were going to be dead meat.

Shackleford and the chief went back a lot of years, and none of them were good. It all started when Shackleford had been a second lieutenant and O’Toole had been a staff sergeant at Lackland Air Base in San Antonio, Texas. Shackleford had just graduated from OCS (officer candidate school), and the chief had been an instructor for new recruits. It had had nothing to do with job performance. The incident had happened at the NCO club, and it had involved a woman. O’Toole was downright handsome—just over six feet two inches, with a sharp jaw, coal-black curly hair, and deep blue eyes, which were so blue they looked purple. He had known they would be a passkey to many women’s bedrooms.

It had been 7:00 p.m., and O’Toole had just slopped up about ten beers and had been about to go back to his quarters and catch up on some much-needed rest. He had known enough not to drive when carrying a load, so he had been prepared to walk the mile and a half back to his barracks. He had taken about fifty steps when an Olds convertible had pulled alongside him, and the occupant had asked, Is this the officers’ club?

Sgt. O’Toole had looked in the window at two well-tanned legs. As his eyes had scanned upward, he had looked at well-developed breasts and ash-blonde hair. He had thought, I might get lucky.

No, ma’am. This is the lowly NCO club.

He had heard a small giggle followed by, Can you direct me? Or better yet, hop in and take me to it. I’ll buy you a drink.

I would love to, except they don’t let ghetto crawlers enter their sacred walls.

She had laughed. Then why can’t you offer to buy me a drink and show me how you lowly peons have fun?

O’Toole had laughed. What are we waiting for?

After she had drunk about six double Jack Daniels while O’Toole had sipped a couple of beers, she had asked in a slurred speech, What now? I’m yours for the rest of the night.

I’m afraid I don’t have the money for a hotel room, and my quarters are full of basic airmen, O’Toole had quipped in a sad voice.

We can go to my place. My husband, when he has a sip of the creature, usually passes out on the spot and doesn’t come home until the next day. That’s his MO.

Then lead the way, sweetheart.

In the bright lights on the steps, she had even been more beautiful than while she had been under the dim lights inside.

How the hell can a guy get so lucky while so broke? he had mused.

After a wild night of screwing and telling lies, O’Toole had passed out. He had never asked her name.

He had been rudely awakened by screaming, yelling, and ranting by, none other than, Second Lieutenant Otis Shackleford. And so, the saga had begun. It seemed, after that, their paths had always crossed.

O’Toole had just disembarked from a twenty-four-hour flight from McCord Air Base and was sweating profusely from the hot sun and humidity. His thoughts brought him back to the present situation. He knew he was about to be buried in crap over his head. The stench from the surrounding paddies would gag a maggot. He had called for transportation to his new home over two hours ago, but no one had come yet.

Then all hell broke loose. Sirens started screaming, and someone yelled, Incoming! Take cover! Take cover!

O’Toole looked for something to crawl under, but there was nothing but a trench with flowing water. He dove into the