So Many Disappear

By Lochlin Walker

December 1968.

Specialist E4 Nathan Cobb, a Southern bread baker, arrives in Vietnam and is assigned to a company near Nha Trang, a safer base than most in Vietnam.

But nowhere in Vietnam is safe.

Nathan suffers from the relentless pressure of military rule and soon experiences the traumatic Tet offensive. To escape

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pigtown Books
• Release date: Nov 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781733175074

Book preview

PART I — Initiation

Chapter 1.

Miles above the South China Sea, a jet-trail inched through endless blue sky. Nathan Cobb yawned and looked out the window. Far below, blue sea spread to the horizon where it merged with the deeper blue of the sky.

The Boeing jetliner had flown out of Clark Field in the Philippines several hours earlier. Nathan looked at his watch: six-thirty-five. Less than an hour’s flying time before their arrival.

Nathan glanced at his friend, Tim Collins, snoring, sprawled in the next seat. He and Nathan, both from North Carolina, had grown up within a hundred miles of each other. Basic Training brought them together. During the past year, they had been stationed at military posts all over the Southeast: Fort Bragg, Fort Lee, Fort Gordon. Now, together, they were en route to Vietnam.

The other men around Nathan began to wake up, yawning, stretching. They stared around with bloodshot eyes, muttering curses. Several stewardesses moved down the aisle, serving coffee. A scowling staff sergeant staggered toward the latrine in the aft-section.

Nathan looked out the window again. A void below, a void above – no points of reference anywhere. He thought of all the years he had spent trying to avoid this experience. The whole tangled affair of dodging the draft. The appeals, the waiting, the refusals. The summer in Canada – Montreal, Toronto. No jobs, no money, no luck. Then giving up, going back home. And, finally, induction.

Shit, he told himself in a whisper.

But he had always taken the path of least resistance – the easy-going, familiar path. Now he was reaping the consequences.

A stewardess, a well-groomed brunette, stood over his row of seats, pouring coffee. He took a cup, sipped, and grimaced. Lukewarm and bitter.

Tim jerked in his seat, groaned. Slowly he raised his head, opened bloodshot eyes, and wiped a hand across his mouth.

What’s happening?

Coffee, Nathan replied. Take some of mine. It’s awful.

Tim took the cup, sipped, and grimaced.

Guess they’re trying to sober us up, Nathan said.

Tim sat up straight, looking past Nathan. Wow!

Nathan smiled, following Tim’s gaze. Glowing vastness, absolute blue, ocean and sky indistinguishable but for the thin line of the horizon.

Beautiful, Tim remarked, gazing dumbstruck out the window.

●

Gentlemen, we’re making our final approach and we’ll be touching down in about five minutes, the pilot’s Midwestern voice related over the intercom. On behalf of the entire crew of this flight I’d like to wish each of you the best of luck. Take care of yourselves, and we’ll pick you up twelve months from now.

Wonder how many of us’ll be blown to shit next year this time? a voice snarled somewhere near Nathan and Tim.

A flurry of nervous laughter was the only response.

●

The vast airfield shimmered with heat as the jetliner taxied past rows of camouflaged Phantom Fighter Bombers parked neatly between high, metal blast walls.

When the front and rear doors opened, a wave of heat wafted through the interior, along with a strange, pungent smell – the acrid aroma of Southeast Asia. It was December, nearing Christmas, but it was hot.

A tall noncom, an E-7, appeared among the front rows of seats. Gentlemen! There’re buses waiting outside the aircraft to take you to the Replacement Center! Officers will ride in the front bus! Enlisted personnel will ride in the remaining buses! Any questions? Move out!

●

Nathan and Tim were the first to arrive at the last bus in line. The bus driver was a sun-browned PFC with a thick red mustache, faded fatigues, and a battered cap pulled low over sunglasses.

Howdy gents! Welcome to the Nam! Climb in!

They took the first seats. It was a Japanese-made bus with seats designed for smaller people than Nathan. His knees pushed against the back of the driver’s seat. Tim, shorter than Nathan, was more comfortable. Others climbed on the bus behind them, stumbling down the aisle.

Heavy wire mesh screens covered all the windows except the windshield. Nathan leaned forward and tapped the driver’s shoulder.

What’re the screens for? Feels like jail.

That’s to keep ‘gooks’ from throwing in explosives.

●

Across the road from the Replacement Center, white sand dunes reflected the sunlight. Warm breezes occasionally whisked over the sand, rippling the smoothness of its texture. The winds carried ocean fragrances.

Two separate groups stood in ranks before the platform in front of the replacement center. Everyone was sweating. Nathan and Tim’s group was composed of those who had just climbed off the buses. In the other group, men were being assigned to work details.

A staff sergeant, strolling among the ranks, growled loudly to another staff sergeant who stood on the platform. I want these virgins ready for work by noon!

The staff sergeant on the platform laughed. We’ll have ’em ready for you, sarge!

In front of Nathan and Tim, an Airborne corporal muttered, You’d think we’d just come off a slave ship.

●

One by one, the detail squads marched away. Soon the formation of new arrivals was the only group in the assembly area. The staff sergeant on the platform picked up a megaphone.

Okay, you new guys, he rasped. Here’s the lowdown! Most of you’ll be outta here within twenty-four hours! Those of you with an eleven-bravo MOS will be kept on hold here for a few days longer!

Eleven-Bravo (11B) was the MOS – Military Occupational Specialty – for infantrymen. They had the worst of all possible jobs in the military and were treated more carelessly than anyone else.

The infantrymen would spend a week or more in the Replacement Center sweeping, cleaning, and scrubbing before being sent out to the jungles.

Suckass way of doin’ things! Tim muttered beside Nathan.

Nathan nodded, not without a sigh of relief. He and Tim were in Quartermaster.

As for the rest of you, the sergeant went on, you’ll be on your way to permanent units by tomorrow morning. Now, gentlemen, you’ll move into the input building on your left for further briefing! Starting with the first rank! Move out in single file!

Across the road, a group of Vietnamese women were filling sandbags at the base of one of the dunes. Amber-skinned people in black silk trousers, various colored blouses, sandal-footed. Nathan heard them chattering among themselves – a clicking, flowing language. None of them appeared to be working very hard or very rapidly.

●

A large MERRY CHRISTMAS sign was posted above the doorway of the input building.

A staff sergeant stood at a podium in front of the room: a fortyish, gray-haired E-6, a career soldier. When everyone had found a place at one of the tables, the staff sergeant barked out instructions.

Okay! There’re two-hundred-and-six of you in this room! I’m gonna issue two-hundred-and-six pencils! When we’re finished, I want two-hundred-and-six pencils returned to me! Anybody that don’t return his pencil’s gonna be put on work detail immediately!

As if we ain’t gonna be on work detail anyway.

They spent the next hour-and-a-half filling out forms and receiving further briefings. They were lectured about everything from the use of malaria pills to the use of contraceptive devices. And they were told that if they had any pressing personal problems they could go talk with the goddamn Chaplain.

●

At the finance office, they had their United States currency exchanged for MPCs – Military Payment Certificates.

Greenbacks, the pale finance clerk informed them, are hot-selling items on the black market. The Vietnamese’ll do anything to get their hands on them. You’ll not be allowed to retain any. The army’s very careful about keeping them out of the hands of the locals."

●

Nathan passed through the customs inspection without any problems. The few books he had – a novel and a volume of poetry – were not sleazy enough to arouse the inspector’s curiosity.

Next, they were sent to their assigned input barracks, where they located their bunks, and changed from their dress khakis into work fatigues. They were to report to formation at noon.

The barracks were crowded; the air close, the heat fierce. The sudden change of climates, from North America to Southeast Asia, was telling on everyone.

Fuck this heat!

Turn on the air-conditioner!

Welcome to hell!

Hell ain’t this fuckin’ hot!

Chapter 2.

A large formation stood on the metal sheeting of the assembly area. All eyes squinted painfully against blinding high-noon sun­light – sweat dripping off everyone; their clothing was damp. A few men here and there talked, but most remained silent, waiting.

The sergeant first class had a long list of work assignments. Each squad was led away by the noncom who would supervise it.

I need six men to work baggage claims!

I need ten men to repair the bunker wall!

I need twelve men to work at the officer’s mess!

The ranks were dwindling. Sunlight danced furiously off the metal sheeting. The air reverberated with the heat.

To the rear of Nathan and Tim, someone fainted, crashing down on the metal sheeting, a dull clunk. A smirking noncom strolled over. Vietnam heat a little too much for this virgin, huh? Fuckin’ softies.

He instructed the two GIs to pick the man up and take him to the first aid station.

●

Tim went off with a squad to build bleachers for a movie theatre. Nathan went off with six men pulled to form a garbage-pickup squad. A truck waited for them, a sleepy-looking GI behind the steering wheel.

Gentlemen, the young E-5 in charge, a buck-sergeant, said, the man sitting up there behind the steering wheel is Specialist-Fourth-Class Eric Wade, the U.S. Army’s most renowned fuck-off.

Wade waved indifferently.

Wade’ll take you guys out on garbage pickup. I’d tell you guys not to work too hard, but I know Wade’s not gonna work too hard anyway. So I’ll just say look busy, and don’t get caught loafin’.

As the squad members climbed up into the truck bed, Nathan swung up onto the running board.

Mind if I sit up front with you?

Whatever turns you on.

The truck started off with a jerk, lunging and coughing.

Fuckin’ rat shit vehicle, Wade muttered.

Several minutes later they were driving near sand hills. Glaring light reflected off everything, blurring the landscape until it was floating, vibrating. The truck hummed along smoothly, Wade’s brown hair blown back by the wind. A heavy mustache drooped at the corners of his mouth. He was wearing no shirt, his skin tanned a deep brown. A peace symbol hung from a strip of rawhide encircling his neck. No dog tags.

How long you been in Nam, Wade?

Seven months, man. Seven months, five to go.

Wish I was as far along as you.

Wish I was further along than I am.

Beyond the white sand hills, Nathan caught a glimpse of the sunlight sparkling on the bay.

What’s Cam Ranh like?

Oh, not so great. But there’re worse places. Cam Ranh ain’t really Vietnam. It’s an army base. There’s only one Vietnamese ville on the whole peninsula, and it’s off-limits. All you ever see here’s fuckin’ army.

But like you said – there’re worse places.

Oh, hell yes! I ain’t complaining. It’s just that the lifers here’re always raising hell about haircuts and polished boots and clean fatigues. Stateside bullshit. I get tired of all the spit-and-polish hassles.

You don’t look so spit-and-polished.

Wade laughed. That’s why I stay in trouble all the time. Our first sergeant says I look like something he pumps outta his asshole everyday.

●

After visiting a dozen encampments and emptying hundreds of garbage cans, the squad rode down a dirt road into acres of smoldering trash. Grimy black smoke hung in the air. Bulldozers – the drivers wearing surgical-gauze over their faces – plowed through debris.

An army beautification project! Wade exclaimed, covering his mouth and nose with a kerchief.

Nathan’s eyes began to sting and water. The others in the rear of the truck sitting on top of the garbage coughed and gagged.

Wade swerved the truck among piles of rubbish and backed up close to the edge of a yawning garbage pit. He threw open his door and jumped down from the cab.

Okay, you guys! he yelled. Shovel that shit out and hurry!

The air was swarming with flies. They worked rapidly, coughing the whole time, wiping their eyes. The sweat covering Nathan’s body became grimy. They spent five minutes raking, shoveling, and digging as hard as they could. Each of them cursed furiously the whole time. Finally, the truck bed was bare.

Okay! Wade yelled. Let’s get outta here!

He roared off, gunning the engine. The truck bumped and banged over the rough dirt road, jostling those in the rear, slamming them against each other. The cursing rose to a higher pitch. The truck sounded like it was flying apart.

When they finally reached the hard-surface road, Nathan wiped black sweat from his face with a handkerchief. Whew! Good place to escape from. You go out there often?

At least once a day. I’m a big-time garbage man. Full time, all the time.

You should apply for another job!

Naw, Wade shook his head. Wouldn’t wanna give my first sarge the pleasure of saying no.

●

Wade had a certain way of holding his cigarette, a familiar style of smoking. The sleepy eyes, the peace symbol dangling from his neck, the drooping mustache. Back in the States, Wade would have been called freak. Ever since getting off the plane, Nathan had been hoping to meet someone like Wade.

Ah, Wade? Tell me something. Where would a person get himself some . . .

Don’t even ask, man, Wade said. I know exactly what you’re lookin’ for.

Gonna turn me on? Nathan grinned.

Be a pleasure. Wade had kept a perfectly straight face; now he smiled, slyly. Tell you what. He glanced into the rearview mirror at the others. I’ll drop these guys at the snack bar. It’s a good hole to hide in for a while. Then I’ll take you out to my favorite place. Get us smoked up. Been needin’ to refresh myself anyway.

I’m ready!

Wade laughed. I know. I remember my first day In-Country.

●

The snack bar was in a low-roofed, louvered-walled building, doubled-screened all the way around against insects. A single door, also double-screened, opened and closed beneath a Coca-Cola sign. Clusters of off-duty GIs stood around outside: young men in olive-green. Empty Styrofoam cups, covered with flies, were scattered on the ground.

Next to the snack bar, propped against the doorpost, was a souvenir-gift shop with a CRISTMAS BAERGINS sign. It was the first of many strange phonetic spellings Nathan would see in shops frequented by soldiers. Beach towels hung from coat hangers. Swim trunks, diver’s goggles and flower-patterned shirts were on display. An elderly Vietnamese gentleman, fanning himself, sat in a chair by the shaded doorway.

Let’s go in and get ripped-off, one of those climbing off the truck said.

Don’t you guys forget evening formation! Wade yelled.

What evening formation? someone shouted back.

We’ve lost interest!

Wade drove away laughing. Me too. Me too.

●

Wade and Nathan drove toward the tip of the peninsula. Sand hills and brush, blurred by sunlight and heat, surrounded them. Wade finally turned off the hard surface onto a partially overgrown dirt road. The truck bumped along slowly, scraping against brush, dipping into shallow ravines and climbing out of them.

When they arrived at a large outcropping, Nathan followed as Wade climbed up over the warm, piled-up boulders. Footing was easy and handholds plentiful. Both, however, were sweating profusely when they reached the summit, fifteen or twenty feet above a narrow beach.

The bay was a wide body of greenish, sun-flickering water. Far away, jungle-covered mountains loomed up into shining blue sky. Not the muted scene of some cool northern hemisphere; but hot, glowing, blue-green tropical expanses.

Nathan found it difficult to pull his eyes away. I’ve never seen a place like this. It’s beautiful.

Wade pulled a plastic bag from one of the side pockets of his fatigue shirt.

A five-dollar bag, he said, dangling the bag from his fingertips. It’s really cheap over here. This was about a half-pound bag when I bought it.

From one of the side pockets of his fatigue trousers Wade pulled a pipe, a briar with a deep bowl and a long curving stem. He dipped the pipe into the bag, scooping up a bowlful of the reddish-gold marijuana. Several grains spilled over the rim of the pipe bowl and trickled back into the bag.

Nathan shook his head. Excess!

Wade passed the pipe to him. Ain’t it nice?

It was excellent marijuana, instantly effective. The tingling sensation scurried over Nathan’s skull: quick, searing flashes behind closed eyelids.

Whew! Good dew! He began coughing.

Nathan, after three or four more bowlfuls, felt as if he might levitate. For the first time in days, he felt utterly relaxed.

You happy, brother? Wade asked.

Yes, sir, Nathan replied, a beaming smile on his face.

●

What’d you do back in The World, Cobb? Wade asked as they drove back.

Several times that day, Nathan heard GIs refer to the States in this manner. I’m going back to The World soon. What’s happening back in The World?

This is the War, the phrase seemed to suggest. They were In-Country. The World was somewhere else, remote, almost imaginary, a blissful paradise to which some of them would never return.

Oh, went to school, Nathan replied. Worked a part-time job. Dodged the draft. The usual.

Looks like you were about as successful at dodging the draft as I was.

They stopped at an intersection while a convoy of grumbling dust-coated trucks passed before them. The drivers and guards were heavily armed and as dirty as their trucks. MPs directed traffic.

They’ve been inland, Wade explained. You can’t get that dirty on Cam Ranh.

When the intersection was clear, the MPs, with their robot-like gestures, motioned for the other traffic to proceed.

School, huh? College? Wade picked up the thread of conversation.

I’d been going for almost six years. Draft board said I wasn’t makin’ what they called normal progress.

Wade turned toward Nathan. How old are you, man?

Twenty-four.

Damn! You survived a long time!

Nathan sighed. Not long enough.

●

Wade pulled the truck up along the curb near the assembly area of the Replacement Center.

Well, here you are, he said, glancing at his watch. You have exactly forty minutes before evening formation.

Hope they’ll have some departure orders for me, Nathan said.

Patience, my man. You won’t be here long.

Stepping down to the ground, Nathan swayed for a second, unsteady on his feet. Whew! You sure know how to get a person stoned, Wade.

Glad to oblige. Enjoyed myself.

Wade smiled, extending a hand. Nathan extended his own, but Wade was not intending to shake hands. He slipped two small cellophane bags into Nathan’s palm. Each bag contained a dozen cigarettes.

You can buy it already rolled and ready to smoke. Wade flashed his sly grin. You take care of yourself, brother.

Nathan smiled warmly. I will.

As the truck sputtered away, Nathan hurriedly slipped the small plastic bags into a pocket, then waved.

Ratshit vehicle! Wade shouted above the engine noise. The truck turned at the next corner and disappeared.

Chapter 3.

Tim found Nathan on the outside stairs of the barracks, halfway between the first and second floors, gazing off toward the evening glow in the western sky.

What’re you smiling about? he asked, placing a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. You look like you’d just had yourself a good roll in the hay.

Nathan laughed. Not that exactly. But I’ve had something almost as good. Some righteous smoke! I’ve had myself a ve-e-e-ery nice afternoon.

Nathan, I hate to be the one to spoil the fun.

Nathan felt his mood shifting, the high shifting into a vague dread.

I’ve received orders, old friend. They’re shipping me outta here. I asked about you, but they wouldn’t give me any info.

Shit!

They stood together on the stairway, staring at each other. Three men, talking rapidly, came up the stairs behind them, passing around them.

It was Nathan who broke the silence. We should’ve known they’d screw us. Where’re they sending you?

"Long Binh. Down south, near Saigon.

That’s supposed to be an okay place. Safe. You could’ve done worse.

Tim shrugged and made no reply.

When do you leave?

Tonight. Twenty-three hundred. There’s a group of about thirty going. Over in another barracks. I had to move my gear.

Nathan blinked, pulled off his cap, pushed fingers through his hair. Damn! Can’t believe it!

Suddenly, the intercom popped, blaring with a rasping voice. Formation at eighteen-hundred hours! All unassigned personnel report to the assembly area at eighteen-hundred hours!

Well, that’s me, Nathan said. Where’s your new barracks?

Tim pointed down the row of pale-green buildings. Third down from here. Number Twelve.

I’ll meet you there after formation. Okay?

I’ll be waiting.

●

They have any orders for you? Tim asked after Nathan found Tim in his new barracks.

Nope. Standard bullshit. I’m gonna be on baggage detail all night. You all packed and ready to go?

Barracks noise droned around them – voices, radios blaring, rock-music from the Armed Forces’ radio station in Saigon.

Yeah, I’m ready, Tim said, sullenly. But I’m tired. Running outta steam.

Nathan grinned. Allow me to refuel you. He slipped Tim one of the bags Wade had given him. Maybe you’ll get a chance to try one before you leave.

●

It proved to be a long night. Between the incoming flights and the flights carrying the troops out beyond Cam Ranh, the members of the detail squad found themselves with nothing to do. They sat about in a backroom of the baggage-claims office beneath a shadeless, low-watt light bulb, talking among themselves, dozing, or sipping putrid coffee. Mostly they dozed – curling up on the floor in a corner or tilting back in a chair, hats pulled down over the eyes.

●

Shortly after midnight, a staff sergeant woke up a man sleeping on the floor near Nathan’s chair. Nathan, half-awake, heard the instructions. Number Twelve, Long Binh group.

Nathan jerked himself awake and touched the man’s arm.

I’ll go for this group, he said. Gotta friend going to Long Binh.

As he walked over to the other barracks, a clear, star-glittering night sky stretched beyond the moon’s radiance, the sand between the barracks bathed in moonlight. Nathan felt so strange, so far removed from himself. A balmy wind tugged at his clothing.

Flight’s ready! He shouted as he came through the door of Tim’s barracks.

Two dozen men jumped to their feet, bustling about and gathering their gear. Tim sat on the edge of his bunk hurriedly tying his bootlaces.

Got any orders yet? he asked.

No.

GIs stormed around them, talking excitedly, slinging duffel bags onto their backs, hurrying toward the door.

Want me to carry something?

My AWOL bag, Tim said. I’ll hump the duffel bag.

Their boots were loud on the wooden walkways. They moved along with the other men, shadows obscuring them one moment, moonlight illuminating them the next.

●

A Spec-5 waited for them, clipboard in hand, at the assembly area.

There’ll be a bus here in about five minutes to take you to the airfield. Stand at ease. Good luck to you.

Good luck’s unauthorized in this fuckin’ army! someone spat out. Laughter. They relaxed then, gathering in groups of three or four, talking quietly among themselves.

Wish it was twelve months from now, Tim said.

Wish I could go into a coma for twelve months, remarked Nathan.

Tim laughed. Speaking of comas. I smoked a couple of those ready-rolled numbers you gave me. Wow!

I told you it was good medicine.

I’m planning on getting a full prescription.

They heard a bus engine in the distance. A few seconds later, headlights swung into view.

Their eyes met. They clasped hands, then hugged.

Take care of yourself, Nathan. Write my folks and get my address.

I will. I’ll write you as soon as I can.

The bus door opened. Tim mounted the first step and turned back to Nathan. See that you do.

His remark came out weakly, tinged with fear and uncertainty.

Chapter 4.

It was a lusterless, muggy morning. Nathan found the records office in less than five minutes.

My name’s Cobb. Spec-4. Hear you’ve been calling for me over the intercom.

A Spec-5, the records clerk at the desk, a microphone propped in front of him, shuffled through a stack of folders. Spec-4 Nathan Daniel Cobb. M0S94D20?

Here in person.

Have a seat. The clerk flipped open the folder and pointed to a chair Looks like you’re going over to the 501st Personnel Company. You’ll either be staying here on Cam Ranh or shipping out to one of the support units. Probably Camp McDermott.

Nothing about a permanent unit?

Don’t worry. You’ll either be stationed here on Cam Ranh or within fifty miles of Cam Ranh. Good territory, my friend. There’s worse, believe me.

I’m sure there is. It’s just that I’m rather tired of being in limbo. I’d like to . . . He stopped. I suppose I shouldn’t gripe.

No, man, believe me. You’ve had some luck.

Okay. What the hell, limbo’s reality.

The clerk closed the folder. Go get your gear and stand by at the assembly area. There’ll be a truck around in about twenty minutes.

Nathan was moving toward the door when the clerk called to him again.

What’s 94D20, Cobb? That’s not an MOS I’m familiar with.

Bread baker.

The clerk raised his eyes, a faint smile. Bread baker?

Yep. Dough boys. Flour and yeast – that sort of thing.

The clerk laughed, shaking his head. Weird. But better than shuffling paperwork.

Nathan nodded. I’d have to agree.

●

The clouds had thickened. Southerly winds were pushing a dense grayish haze across the sky. The air smelled damp, a faint tinge of sea brine. Occasionally, rain would sprinkle down.

There were a dozen GIs in the hooch – transits like himself waiting for assignments to permanent units. Nathan took a top bunk above another Spec-4 named Stewart Crowell, a man from New York City. Like Nathan, Crowell had once been a student.

Everyone in the hooch finished making their bunks, then headed for the showers. Even without hot water they thoroughly enjoyed themselves, whooping and yelling and dancing about like madmen on the wet floor of the shower room.

After lunch, they reported again to the orderly room for detail assignments, but there were none.

Stay around the company area and take it easy, the company clerk told them. We’ll let you know when we need you.

No one hesitated. They all returned to the hooch, each of them thought of only one thing: sleep.

●

He was awakened two hours later when Crowell rolled out of the bottom bunk. Two other GIs joined him.

We’re gonna slide over to the PX for cigarettes, Crowell said. Wanna go?

They had been told to stay around the company area, but they were restless. At the moment, they were not inclined to worry about infringements and punishments.

Whatta they gonna do? one of them asked. Send us to Vietnam?

●

The PX, the Post Exchange, was a high-roofed warehouse with windowless, sheet metal walls. Armed MPs stood guard outside the entranceways. Everyone entering had to show their identification cards.

It was brightly illuminated inside, glaring fluorescent lights. The shelves were filled with stereo sets, television sets, tape decks, cameras, jewelry, cooking utensils, food, tobacco, suntan lotion, magazines, and a whole rack of pornography. Armed MPs strolled among the crowds. Young Vietnamese women and girls waited on the GIs. The air throbbed with noises – blaring radio sets, televisions jabbering, tape decks whirling, cash registers ringing.

Goddamn! Crowell exclaimed. This ain’t a PX! This is a shopping mall!

They all began talking at once.

Fuckin’ place has everything!

Jesus! Look at this! Chocolate chip cookies!

Campbell’s soup!

A wine counter!

They were gazing around, wide-eyed, open-mouthed.

Wonder where the war is?

It ain’t in here.

●

The next day, an hour before sunset, a courier appeared in the doorway of the hooch.

Anderson! Brennan! Cobb!

The orders and their records were stacked on the company clerk’s desk. He gave them their folders.

Anderson, you’ll be going to a transportation company here on Cam Ranh. Brennan, you’ll be shipping over to a signal company here on Cam Ranh. Cobb, you’ll be traveling a little bit. You’re going to a supply-and-service company up at Nha Trang, thirty or forty miles north of here on the coast.

How’d you pronounce it?

N-h-a T-r–a-n-g. There’s a big base there.

Safe?

"It’s not as secure