Journey to South Vietnam

By John Williams

This book provides a different perspective on the Vietnam conflict. Journey to South Vietnam is a story of real life events, including my career in the military services—the United States Marine Corps (USMC) and the United States Air Force (USAF). These compelling and life-altering experiences seemed to defy the imagination. I was also searching for my god. I volunteered for South Vietnam when the United States was in turmoil and the military was not respected by the media or the American public. I worked behind the lines at Da Nang Air Base and not in the field where the action occurred, but still, a bounty was placed on my head for $10,000. While serving in the Marine Corps, I was transferred to the Caribbean Sea, in an operation during the Dominican Republic crisis, CARIB 4-65. During that time, my friends and fellow marines were being killed on a mountain known as Monkey Mountain, or Hill 621. This hill is situated south of the Son Tra Mountain Range. It overlooks Da Nang Harbor and China Beach in the Republic of South Vietnam. Their base camp was overrun by the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and the Vietcong (VC). After I was discharged from the marines, I felt I needed to get more involved in combat. I wanted to go back into the military to be placed into the “gauntlet of fire.” It wasn’t until much later that I realized I was struggling with PTSD. I joined the air force and, within a few months, volunteered for Da Nang, South Vietnam, near where a lot of my friends perished. I tried to inject a little humor in the work situation, but it was always misinterpreted. During this phase of my life, I had many close encounters, but God’s presence was always there. As I look back, I now realize that God intervenes not just in my life but in all of our lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781684098422

John Williams

John Williams was born in Cardiff in 1961.He wrote a punk fanzine and played in bands before moving to London and becoming a journalist , writing for everyone for The Face to the Financial Times. He wrote his first book, an American crime fiction travelogue called Into The Badlands (Paladin) in 1991. His next book, Bloody Valentine (HarperCollins), written around the Lynette White murder case in the Cardiff docks, came out in 1994. Following a subsequent libel action from the police, he turned to fiction. His first novel the London-set Faithless (Serpent's Tail) came out in 1997. Shortly afterward he moved back to Cardiff, with his family, and has now written four novels set in his hometown - Five Pubs, Two Bars And A Nightclub (Bloomsbury 1999); Cardiff Dead (Bloomsbury 2000); The Prince Of Wales (Bloomsbury 2003) and Temperance Town (Bloomsbury 2004). He has edited an anthology of new Welsh fiction, Wales Half Welsh (Bloomsbury 2004). He also writes screenplays (his ninety-minute drama, A Light In The City, was shown by BBC Wales in 2001). An omnibus edition of his Cardiff novels, The Cardiff Trilogy, is to be published by Bloomsbury in summer 2006.

Book preview

Journey

John Williams

to South Vietnam

How Jesus Intervened in My Life

Copyright © 2017 John Williams

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2017

ISBN 978-1-68409-841-5 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68409-842-2 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter 1

Perseverance

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,

When I put out to sea.

But such a tide as moving seems asleep

Too full of sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,

When I embark.

For through from our bourne of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crossed the bar.

Alfred Tennyson

Finally, I boarded a Pam Am Boeing 707 International flight to Camp Da Nang Air Base, South Vietnam! I had to report to Norton Air Force Base (AFB), California, not later then 1800 hours on June 10, 1968, and I made it. As I leaned back in my seat, I glanced around and noticed over two hundred plus other young men were headed to Vietnam also. They all looked so young. I was an old man at twenty-four years of age compared to them.

As the aircraft lifted off the runway, it was eerie with the silence that enveloped the interior of the aircraft and its occupants. Obviously, everyone wasn’t happy and must not have willingly volunteered to go like I had. Closing my eyes, I asked Jesus to watch over all of us during this forthcoming year. We needed it.

Now I was able to relax and think about the long journey that resulted with me being on my way to Vietnam! Would I survive and get to see my new bride of nine days again?

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I leaned back in the airplane’s seat and thought back on the journey I had taken to be seated on this particular aircraft flying to Camp Da Nang, South Vietnam. The flight was going to take about seventeen hours, so I had a lot of time to think.

Our society retains a relic from our pioneering frontier days; we like to believe we still have that pioneering spirit of independence. You hear the words, Look what I’ve done! I’ve heard this remark from CEOs, white-collar workers, blue-collar workers, and even from the high school kids serving hamburgers. As we mature and succeed in life, we sometimes forget all the mentors and friends who helped us get to the position we’re in today in our life and the decisions we have made getting to where we are today, but what I failed to realize in my own life was how God had worked and intervened over the years, until just a few days ago when a woman asked me, "Why are you still alive?"

She totally caught me by surprise, and I was speechless. By the quizzical look on my face, she gestured as if to say, Aren’t you going to say something?

So I blurted out, I guess Jesus doesn’t want me yet.

As I was driving home during rush hour traffic, I pondered the question, how has God intervened in my life over the years?

What is God? you may ask. Is God the intelligence behind the creation of the earth and all humans as the Holy Bible states? How do I know that God really exists? These are some of the questions I have asked myself, and here are the answers I came up with.

I know electricity exists even though I can’t see it. I’m certain with a flip of a switch my electric lights will illuminate the room I’m in. I can’t see the wind around me, but I know how destructive wind can be, especially in the form of tornadoes, hurricanes, or typhoons. Consequently, I can see the results of God, the results of electricity as well, as the results of the wind all around me. That’s why through faith, I know God, electricity, and the wind really do exist.

John 20:29 in the Holy Bible (KJV) says, Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen [me] and yet have believed (KJV).

Was I religious? I don’t know. The neighbor started taking me to church with her when I was in the sixth grade. She told me it was better to go to church with her rather then standing on the street corner, getting in trouble. I felt I had been saved by saying a prayer that went something like, Dear Jesus, I know I am a sinner. I believe you died and rose again for my sins. Today, I put my trust and faith in you alone as my Saviour and receive your gift of eternal life. Amen.

This event occurred while I was attending Vacation Bible School (VBS). I felt I had been saved because I felt a shiver go up and down my spine. I didn’t know that Mark 16:16 in the Holy Bible said, He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved (KJV). That to have salvation and have your sins forgiven by a loving and gracious Jesus, more was expected of me than just saying the sinner’s prayer. Baptism is required for salvation as Acts 2:38 also tells us, Then Peter said unto them. Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost [Holy Spirit] (KJV).

Even at that early age, I thought I had Jesus on my side. I believed from my heart that if I prayed to Jesus, he would hear me, answer my prayer, and guide me on the straight and narrow path.

The first time I remember Jesus helping me, I was in the third grade. I contracted a rare degenerate eye disease (Ocular Histoplasmosis capsulatum) because I played in the chicken coop once to often while living in central Indiana. According to my ophthalmologist, I caught this disease in both eyes. The disease in my left eye covered the retina directly behind the pupil, whereas in my right eye, the disease was located on the retina around the edge of the pupil. So the center was free of the disease. Then this ailment suddenly went into remission. The doctor explained how this cannot happen due to the contagious nature of this particular disease, but somehow it did. Do you see Jesus working behind the scenes in this?

So behind the pupil of my left eye, there are about eight scars wiping out about 98 percent of my vision. I have 20/800 corrected to 20/400, so I am legally blind in that eye. My right eye was not spared the disease, and there are four scars around the pupil. Miraculously, I’m able to see. My vision in that eye is 20/400 corrected to 20/20; I am still legally blind without my glasses. The doctors tried to convince me it was impossible for me to see, but with Jesus’s help, I can and I have a driver’s license to prove it. I wonder whether my visual impairment makes me a handicapped person, or is a handicapped person just a state of mind?

I remember during my grade school years, I broke my glasses. My parents could only afford one pair because they were so expensive. The replacement glasses took six weeks to arrive by mail from San Francisco—the only place that could create glasses that powerful back then. The schoolteachers didn’t believe me when I couldn’t read the chalkboard from the front row seats. They thought I was playing games, so I learned early on not to confide in my teachers or to trust them. I received no help from the school system at all, only scorn. Did it hurt my grades? Sure! Did I develop an attitude early on? Yes, I did.

Jesus must have felt sorry for me at this time because he gave me a very keen memory. During seventh grade, my teacher really embarrassed me by telling everyone in class I had a near-photographic mind. Boy, did I ever get teased about that. The youth became afraid of me because I was different and pretty much left me alone. I found it rather difficult to make friends, so to be normal, I had to play dumb.

I dropped out of school in the eleventh grade and joined the United States Marine Corps (USMC). Without my knowledge, the marine recruiter told my parents I couldn’t possibly pass the entrance physical to get into the Marine Corps. He told them he was only sending me to Chicago to satisfy my curiosity and get it out of my system. My parents were informed I would be back home in a few days.

My father walked me to the electric tram—the Lake Shore Line that ran from Elkhart, Indiana, to Chicago—and said, Keep your head up and look everyone in the eye. You are just as good as any of them. Then he turned around and walked back to the car as I boarded the train.

The 120-mile trip took four hours to complete. It seemed to take forever, so I had plenty of time to think of my life-altering decision of joining the United States Marine Corps. I must have been out of my mind! If I flunked the eye examination, then I would head back home. Deliberately failing the eye exam was definitely something to think about. These were the types of thoughts swirling through my mind as I slowly made my way to Chicago, stopping every half mile or so, picking up passengers.

Upon arrival, a windy, cold January day slapped me in the face. I felt frozen just walking across an alley! The wind penetrated to my bones and I began to violently shiver, and my whole body didn’t want to function like it should. Wow! No wonder Chicago was called the windy city. I found the old hotel I had been directed to clean, but I felt as if it had seen its glory days, perhaps back in the 1940s.

A matronly lady showed me to my room, which was to be shared by three other young men. She didn’t smile and, in a matter-of-fact voice, told me, Here are your keys; don’t lose them. You will get up at 0400 hours, and you have ten minutes to get dressed and be downstairs for breakfast. Then you will board the bus for your physical, so be sure and take all your belongings with you. She turned and walked away as if she had been through this routine a thousand times before.

The following day, I passed all the written tests with flying colors—that is until I had to take the eye examination. After listening to some of the young men talk about joining and belonging to something that was bigger and greater than themselves, I knew I wanted to become a marine too. I had always wanted to become a warrior, but I knew my eyes would keep me out. What could I have done? Suddenly, I remembered in the book of James in the Bible, chapter 5, part of verse 16 says, The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much (KJV).

I knew right then what I had to do. I removed my glasses and placed my face into the machine as I stared at the letters, I closed my eyes and asked Jesus in a prayer. It went something like this: Jesus, I need you now. If it is your will, I must pass this eye test so I can get into the United States Marine Corps and get out of Elkhart, Indiana, and make something of myself. Jesus, I need you to help me on this eye exam. In Jesus’s name I pray. Amen.

As I opened my eyes, to my astonishment, I could read every single letter—not just in one eye but in both eyes. Wow! So that’s what seeing in both eyes is like. How wonderful! With Jesus’s help, I read the entire eye chart with both eyes!

The doctor shook his head and said, That is impossible! You can’t see that well. You must have this chart memorized. Stay here. I have something for people like you. And he departed through a door in the back of the office.

I thought to myself, This is not good. The ophthalmologist would certainly know what my capabilities for sight really were. I better play a little strategy here. I knew the minimum requirements to get into the military, so I thought I better use that knowledge now. I thought if that screen became clear as a bell again, then I better only read off to one level above the minimum requirement for my left eye. Then in my right eye, I would read what I normally would read to prove I do need my glasses to correct my vision in that eye. I must remember to be consistent in the subsequent examinations he would perform on me.

He came back again, smiling, and gave me a test using numbers. Once again I closed my eyes and prayed to Jesus. I thanked him for helping me before but asked once again for his help. When I opened my eyes, the screen was perfectly clear again in both eyes. I could have even read the bottom line, but I followed my strategy. Thus far I had passed. The doctor smiled and said, I thought you might have a photographic mind and had that last screen memorized. The results on this screen is much better, but you still can’t see that well! I have some more tests for you.

The next test was circles with pieces missing from them, and the doctor eventually gave me every test he had in his inventory and he still couldn’t understand how I was passing these tests. He shook his head and looked perplexed. He asked for my permission to take pictures of both my eyes and have all his interns examine and diagnose me. Afterward they all got together for a brainstorming session.

Finally, after three and a half hours, the doctor sat down before me, placed both hands down on the table in front of him, and said, I really don’t know what is happening here, but you have passed the eye examination. You are supposed to be completely blind. I gave you a couple tests that no one has seen, so you couldn’t possibly have memorized them.

I pulled out my driver’s license and showed him and said, Then how is it I have a valid driver’s license and can drive a car?

He just looked into my eyes and replied, I can’t. You are not supposed to be able to see. You are blind. He handed me the slip of paper showing I had passed the eye examination and got up and walked back into his back office, shaking his head.

I grabbed the paper and screamed out loud, Yes! I said a heartfelt prayer of thanks to Jesus for answering my prayers so quickly. That was the first time I had ever witnessed an event as extraordinary as having a prayer answered by Jesus! I was floating on air, but the thought occurred to me: what was Jesus now expecting of me? The important thing right now was the fact I was in the United States Marine Corps (USMC)! Well, almost in the Marine Corps. I still had thirteen weeks of basic training and four weeks of infantry training (ITR) ahead of me, but I knew I could survive that too. I really did have Jesus on my side after all.

However, I didn’t consider myself to be holy. I have a firm belief there really is a Jesus watching over all of us. So why did Jesus answer my prayers so quickly like that? Months later when I asked my mother, she only said, God has a plan for you.

After basic training, I finished my schooling at the Naval Air Technical Training Command, Memphis, Tennessee. The schooling consisted of Aviation Familiarization Course, Aviation Mechanical Fundamentals Course, Class A, and Aviation Structural Mechanic Course, Class A. Six months later, I was transferred to the Marine Observation Squadron 6 (VMO-6), Marine Aircraft Group (MAG) 36, Third Marine Aircraft Wing, AIRFMFPAC, Camp Pendleton, Oceanside, California.

Camp Pendleton consisted of 125,000 acres of terrain for marine training and testing. VMO-6 was located in the San Margarita Valley in what everyone (laughingly) called the USS Neversail—a small air strip for the Kaman HOK helicopters and some O1-E Bird Dog fixed wing aircraft as well as a couple T-28s trainer aircraft.

The HOK also known as the OH-43D is highly maneuverable helicopter and easy to land in rough terrain, whereas the Cessna O1-E is a single-wing light plane of the type you used to see parked at civilian air strips. It’s twenty-five feet long and has a wingspan of thirty-six feet and had a 265 H.P. Engine. This small, very maneuverable aircraft can cruise at 110 knots.

The squadron was divided into a cadre system, simply known as A, B, and C—Alpha Cadre, which consisted of the months January through April; Bravo Cadre, the months of May through August; and Charlie Cadre consisting of the remaining four months of September through December. I arrived at the base in November, and of course, I was assigned to Charlie Cadre.

The cadre system and personnel are assigned to a rotational draft. VMO-6 receives personnel and trains them, pilots and ground crews alike. Any man assigned to VMO-6 at Camp Pendleton spent about a year there and another year with VMO-2 in Okinawa.

This would develop team spirit, a cohesive force where everyone would work well together, especially in a combat situation. The idea and concept was great! We actually knew where we were going to be for the next two years. A person could plan events and activities maybe even a year in advance! We were so lucky! The air wing did have something to offer after all.

I was eventually offered two medical discharges based on my poor eyesight at 94 and 96 percent disability within the first six months after arrival. I turned both of them down by saying something like, I can’t possibly accept a medical discharge as that would not be the honorable thing to do.

That must have been what the authorities wanted to hear because they let me stay in the marines as long as I qualified with the rifle, which I did in basic training and my last year in the corps. I qualified as marksman in basic training using the M-1 rifle, and my last year I qualified using the M-14 rifle.

I fell in love with California and spent a lot of time at the beach near the Oceanside pier. The Oceanside Surf Club surfed in Oceanside, the Carlsbad and Solano Beaches as told to me by an avid surfer; Koko. Sometimes I also surfed at San Onofre Beach at Camp Pendleton. I loved watching the surfers glide silently over and around the ocean waves and surf. While living at Camp Pendleton, I developed a natural affinity toward the ocean. I loved the sound of the breaking waves as they crashed on the beach, the brilliance of the sun, the musical sounds of the seagulls conversing with one another, and the wonderful smell of the offshore breeze. The whole experience was spellbinding. I sat on the beach for hours, absorbing the experience.

Most of the surfers carried their own long surfboards on top of their autos and would drive up to the beach. They were always waxing their surfboards, and when someone yelled, The surf’s up! the deeply tanned young men and women would run to the water, carrying their surfboards under their arms, and dive into the churning waves.

Naturally, my first thought was, I can do that! Never realizing how dangerous surfing could be, I ran over to the small building rimmed with surfboards and laid some money down and rented one. I grabbed the board the way the surfers did, with the left arm extended along the left side of the board and the right arm holding the right rear side of the surfboard close to my body. I ran toward the surf and was the last one to splash in.

I watched the surfers’ every move, from the way they climbed on top of the board to the way they walked back and forth on it. The way they twisted the board in and around the waves was truly amazing! Boy, did they ever move fast on those waves! I feigned a couple of lesser waves and the people around me yelled for me to have patience and wait for the big one. Maybe they sensed I was new at this fun sport.

Now, how was I to know which wave was the big one? Without thinking, I yelled back, Which wave is the big one? Instantly they knew I was only a novice, a beginner. How humiliating. I could hear them mumbling, one to another.

Then someone yelled back, It’s about every seventh wave!

I allowed that big one go by and found myself alone. I finally caught a nice wave and felt the surfboard lift. I was thrilled beyond belief. So I pulled myself upon the board, stood up, and instantly, the board shot straight up into the air as I fell back into the water. I looked around and wondered aloud, Where did the board go? Then all of a sudden, something hit me hard right on top of my head, and I went under the water, gasping and choking. Apparently, I was floundering in the ocean swells and didn’t know it, drowning.

Through the haze, I saw a strong, tanned young woman holding one of my arms and a muscled young man holding the other arm. They dragged me upon the beach, where someone opened a folding chair and they plopped me into it. They ran back to their surfboards and were gone into the swells once again as if nothing had happened.

I had a gash on top of my head, and blood was running over my face. I don’t remember much, but I woke up in my barracks with my head stitched and throbbing. In that deciding moment, I knew I was not a surfboard surfer but would perfect body surfing instead. Being a surfer is dangerous, especially using a long board.

Later I remembered the other surfers saying how lucky I was. In fact, I could have drowned, they said.

Could Jesus have intervened into my life again? I thought. Maybe he did. I should buy myself a Bible and start reading it. I didn’t realize at that tim that a person doesn’t buy a Bible to read but rather to study. I was saved from the expense when my Aunt Fern bought one for me. How nice. She must have been reading my thoughts.

Charlie Cadre rotated to Camp Futema, Okinawa, on December 1. I was stationed with the Marine Observation Squadron 2 (VMO-2), Marine Aircraft Group 16, First. Marine Aircraft Wing, AirFMFPac. We had 01-Es, fixed-wing observation aircraft and the OH-43Ds Kaman helicopters (the old HOK).

When I arrived at Camp Futema, we were in a two-year drought. It seemed the new reservoir built in the porosity soils of Okinawa did not hold water until a new coating was applied to the bottom of the reservoir, thus sealing it. In the meantime, we were on water rationing. That meant the water on base was only turned on one hour each day. Taking showers and refilling water tanks and barrels took place at that time. This was my first experience with water rationing, and soon I realized the camp’s activities revolved around water. The lesson I learned is not taking the availability of water so much for granted.

Camp Futema was an old World War II Japanese airfield. Their old concrete hangars were still visible on the opposite side of the base, which was off limits to us. As you climbed up the hill and passed through the armed entry point of the camp through the gate, the old aircraft hangars were located along the left side. If you looked hard, you could see the outlines of three of the hangars through the dense foliage. This camp was located on the highest part of the island because everything went downhill from there.

The barracks we resided in were built with berms of earth around them for protection from the typhoons that frequented the area, and 1964 turned out to be a banner year, with over thirty typhoons hitting the South Pacific. When the first typhoon hit, we were instructed to remain inside the concrete barracks for protection.

I remember I was terrified, but the old-timers assured me I had nothing to fear. The wind howled and roared outside, and we had sustained winds of 55 knots. I gingerly stepped outside the barracks and really wanted to walk in that strong wind just once. I guess I wanted to just prove that I could do it—another challenge to accomplish. On the leeward side of the building, there was no wind, but I sure could hear it howl as I stood there watching, listening, and observing.

I stepped out into the storm and tried walking against the wind. I was bending more then forty-five degrees and still had a hard time moving against the terrific wind gusts. I heard a tree crashing somewhere and decided I could be killed, so I entered the safety of our snug barracks.

This is almost the same kind of wind I had experienced during tornadoes back in Elkhart, Indiana. The only difference was, the tornadoes are here and gone in a matter of hours and seconds, whereas typhoons are a different story. This one had taken days to finally reach us, and these intense winds have been roaring and howling since the previous day and they were still intensifying hourly, even every minute.

A couple of days later after the typhoon passed, our squadron sent people to the surrounding community helping to clean up the damage the storm had caused. The eye of the typhoon came over the city of Naha and the harbor there. This was where the last US amphibious campaign of 1945 during World War II occurred.

I volunteered to help, but my skills were needed to repair our aircraft. One of our O1-E aircraft needed work, so I had to rig it. That was required to make sure the internal cables were at the correct tension strength so the flaps and ailerons would work like they were designed to do. No one else seemed to have the patience for this tedious type of work, and I could accomplished this job in three and a half hours using a tensionometer for calibration!

We had a variety of work to accomplish not only on these aircraft but also in the sheet metal shop, such as stop drilling cracks in the plexiglass bubble windows of the helicopters and drilling very small holes along both sides of the crack using very thin 0.020-inch copper wire to stitch it tightly. I would mix shaved plexiglass particles with acetone to make a glue to spread over the stitching of the crack to seal it.

I used silver solder to meld two dissimilar metals together for aircraft repairs, which may not have been IAW with government regulations, but it worked very well. In Okinawa we had a lot of corrosion on the transmission of the OH-43D helicopters. They were painted with epoxy paint, which was very difficult to remove, so we could treat the corrosion.

Naturally, there were the routine repairs of cracks in the horizontal stabilizers, where we stop drilled the cracks and fiberglassed them, and in an emergency, I would feather a nice rectangle piece of black ordnance tape, rubbing it well, removing all air pockets, and then painting it. No one could tell the difference, and I also noticed a year later that the repair was still holding.

We also utilized the metal shrinker and metal stretchers, and using SO aluminum (almost pure aluminum), we would fabricate a bracket and heat treated it to the T-3 or T-6 metal hardness we needed for the aircraft repair. When the skin needed repair, we would replace the area or place a flush patch or a scab patch over the damaged site.

Racial discrimination was subtle but detectable. I, being a Caucasian and working for a Caucasian supervisor who unfortunately had the same name as I did—Corporal Roy R. Ward—had witnessed that as soon as I came abroad to Marine Observation Squadron-6 (VMO-6 ) at Camp Pendleton, California, how badly I was humiliated and harassed by Sergeant Williams. I tried to ignore him and carried on as normally as I could and still maintain a positive attitude. Roy found this hard to understand or to believe.

Once we arrived in Okinawa, he asked our commanding officer if he could be my supervisor. The answer came back that yes, he could, if he wanted to. He came to me one day and asked, Lance Corporal Williams, I’ve noticed how badly you’ve been treated by the sergeant there, so would you be willing to work for me even though I’m black?

I answered, Of course I will, Corporal Ward. I don’t care whether your black, white, or green. You are the best NCO [noncommission officer] I’ve seen around here. He was too, always so squared away, looking sharp and neat. I never saw him drunk or do anything to discredit the Marine Corps or himself. A fine man I would be proud to work for.

We had one of the best chow halls (mess halls) on the island, and we were the envy of every other marine stationed in the other camps scattered around Okinawa, like Camp Hansen, Camp Smedly D. Butler, and Camp Schwab. We were noted because the other marines thought we were served steak every Friday while they ate chicken. We did have a large sign plastered on the wall as you entered the serving line that said TAKE ALL YOU WANT BUT EAT ALL YOU TAKE.

What the rest of the marines on the island didn’t know was our chow hall may have served steak every Friday, but they only served one hundred of them. So if you weren’t one of the first hundred, then you got chicken like the rest of the men on the island. I very seldom received a steak for supper. I could probably count on one hand how many steaks I ate during my twelve-month tour.

The mothers and wives of the navy developed a strong lobby. They became so strong, they pressured the navy to limit the time their young husbands and sons spent off the bases on liberty. So if we (the marines, which is a branch of the navy) were below the rank of corporal (E-4), we all had a curfew and must be back in the camp by 2300 hours (11:00 p.m.). Either we weren’t to be trusted with our free time, or the wives felt the people off the base were not to be trusted with their men. Either way, all the guys weren’t happy with this new setup.

These new regulations occurred about two weeks after I arrived, and I almost felt they were directed at me. I was a little agitated. If I could die for my country by fighting in the Marine Corps, then I should be able to decide for myself how late to stay out off the base and not be hindered by a curfew.

My friend Fred and I began studying a way around this curfew problem we faced. We began scouting the edge of the camp, seeking a crawl space under the chain-link fence that surrounded the base. A crawl space we both could squeeze under to go off the camp after curfew. We discovered the perimeter of the camp was patrolled with security dogs except for several hundred yards overlooking Naha Harbor.

I inquired about this unusual situation and was informed security didn’t patrol this area of the fence because there were to many sinkholes. It was pointed out to me that a person could fall into one of those holes and never be heard from again as some of them were very deep. This new information captured our interest, but it was still too dangerous to traverse this area at night with no moon to show the way. I know I had no interest in this area.

One night Fred convinced me to accompany him through the field of sinkholes so we could crawl under the security fence and spend all night off the camp, maybe with a girl of the night. Apparently, there was a whorehouse out there somewhere he wanted to visit. There was no moon and the night was very dark. This was good because we may not get caught in this off-limits area. Otherwise, if we were caught, we could be court-martialed and reduced one rank. As we entered the area, I told Fred, I am getting on my hands and knees to ensure I don’t fall into one of the holes.

Fred answered that he was not doing that but he would be careful by testing each step. We moved carefully along, whispering to each other.

Something didn’t seem right; it was just to quiet. I whispered to Fred but received no answer. A foreboding feeling swept through me and a shiver swept up my spine, yet I was fully alert. My body tensed as if it was paralyzed; either I was afraid to move or I couldn’t. I whispered a little louder for Fred, and still, perfect silence enveloped me in the total blackness of night. This was not good at all. What was I to do now? Stay put until daylight and get caught, or leave Fred and go back to the barracks as if nothing had happened? Then he could die.

Could I live with myself if Fred died out there someplace? I finally said out loud, FRED, WHERE ARE YOU, DAMMIT! Total silence. It finally dawned on me Fred had fallen into one of the sinkholes, and we hadn’t even brought a rope! You know, you always hear of stories happening to other people, but you never think it’s going to happen to you. I asked Jesus to help me find Fred, please.

Well, I was not about to stay put until daylight and get caught and busted (reduced in rank), and I was not going to leave Fred out there alone without attempting to help him. So I very carefully crept forward in the direction where I last heard from him by the sound of his voice. I patted the ground in front of me, constantly and approximately three feet from where I had been I felt the edge of a hole. I thought I heard a faint sound, so I edged closer. I stuck my head over the rim and whispered, Fred, are you in there?

I immediately heard an answer. Thank God that’s you, John. Help me out of here!

That sure is strange how well I could hear him, but just three feet away, I couldn’t hear a sound. That coral and limestone sure soaked up the sound waves. I thanked Jesus and reached down and barely touched his fingertips. We conversed about how we were going to get him out of there. We came to the conclusion that he would somehow have to get a little higher. Then, I would see if I could reach down and pull him out; that hole was deep. I didn’t have the desire to fall in with Fred. I patted the ground around the hole to make sure it would not crumble under our combined weight.

After several attempts, I managed to get a good grip on his hand and began pulling. His dead weight was too much for me, so I told him he was going have to climb using his feet while I pulled. Together we succeeded in pulling him from that deep, dark hole. We lay there gasping for breath and feeling grateful and a bit surprised we were successful. Fred was insistent about going off the base that night, but I refused and said, Absolutely not! I’m going back to the barracks with or without you.

I retreated but noticed he was following on his hands and knees too. Then later I heard he made it off the camp with someone else and didn’t get caught by security or fall into another sinkhole. I thought, Good for him. He should have been thanking Jesus we were so lucky that night. I know I sure did.

Another day, I had just arrived back at