VIETNAM NOTES Part Three continued. One day we heard a burst of automatic fire coming from inside the perimeter. We found out that a newly arrived replacement had fired a burst from an M16 into his foot. He was flown back out before any of us had even met him. Maybe he was the smartest of us all. **** His chiseled features and steely gaze were matched by his powerful physique. His eyes appeared to miss nothing as they traversed the terrain. The impression conveyed, was one of immense strength and competence. He was a Westpoint graduate; a Captain in the United States Army, and he also happened to be an idiot, a very dangerous idiot. He had been my company commander and in Vietnam for only a very short time. At present my company was moving from the outskirts of Kontum, located on a plateau in the Central Highlands, to a new firebase on the side of the mountains about eight miles away. Most of the move had been accomplished, but some assorted sheet metal and other items, of possible use to the VC were still laying around and had to be moved up the mountain to our new area. Several of us had been chosen to drive our trucks back to the old area and do the job. There was quite a bit of junk to load, and by late afternoon it was obvious to us that we would have to finish the job the next day, if we were to make it back to the firebase with some daylight to spare. This was very important because Charlie owned the night, and to be on the road after dark was an open invitation to be ambushed and killed. For some reason the Captain had chosen to oversee this job in person, and I mentioned to him that it was getting late, and we'd better be heading out soon. The infantry had dug in to secure the area, and there was no need to worry about the items that would be left. He told me it was none of my concern, and to get back to work. As the sun dropped lower, I figured he planned on staying the night and started constructing a ring of old sandbags to bed down in, for the evening. He noticed this, and came over saying; "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" I said "I'm building my bed for the night." He replied. "Where did you get the idea we were staying the night? As soon as these trucks are loaded, we're heading back up the mountain!" I couldn't believe it. He was serious! I tried to appeal to his sense of efficiency by suggesting that if I stayed until morning, I could police the area and have some good light to make sure we'd gotten everything. He told me to shut up and get my ass in gear, if I didn't want to end up in LBJ for refusing an order. (LBJ stood for Long Binh Jail, a prison near Saigon, where your time toward the mandatory year in Vietnam was suspended until your sentence was completed. This threat was fine motivation). That was when I realized what he was up to. He was out to live up to his fantasy, of what a brave soldier did in war, and in his own mind he was going to be the epitome of that soldier. He'd be damned if he was going to let a few little slanty-eyed gooks scare him and what better way to show it, than to drive alone through the dangerous night with no more protection than a tough expression, his superior intellect, and a 45 automatic. Now this was what it was all about for a real soldier! I can't describe the chill that went through me at the realization of this insanity. He was enjoying my obvious fear, and so chose me to join him in his juvenile and irresponsible folly, in order to savor it all the more. I'm sure that in his twisted mind, my fear proved his bravery. He made sure that the other trucks were loaded and left with just enough time to spare, to make it back before dark, while holding me back to watch me watching the sun go down. As the sun dropped below the horizon he got into his jeep and said, "Follow me!" in a strong and unwavering voice of command. We pulled out toward the road very slowly, and continued at probably 15 mph toward the town. I wondered what he was up to, but figured he'd speed it up once we got onto the road, so we could get back to the relative safety of the firebase as soon as possible. It didn't happen. By now we'd reached the center of the pitch-black town, and he was still driving at the same speed. Several bursts of automatic rifle fire suddenly erupted a short distance away to my left, and that was the end of this bullshit for me. I sped up and got right on his ass trying to get him to move faster. He wouldn't. Okee doke, I figured. Better to face his wrath later than to continue to tempt fate now. I ran him off the side of the road, hit the throttle, and began one of the most nerve-wracking rides of my life. I drove like a bat-out-of-hell, with my lights off when the road was relatively straight, but had to use them now and then to see when it got curvy in places. With all the racket that poor truck was making, I don't know how much good my blackout would have done if someone had actually been waiting around, to waste any moron stupid enough to be out at night, but it gave me a small sense of security anyway. As I drove, the road and vegetation formed a surreal nightmare of flowing, creeping shadows, and every one of them seemed to make my hair stand on end. There was a Green Beret firebase between home and me, and I was hoping they might let me stay the night and save me the drive into the mountains until daylight. The base was constructed in a circle, and the road went in one side of it and out the other. During the day, the gates were guarded, but open. Now they were closed tight and I was met by chain-link fence, concertina wire, claymore mines, and bunkers bristling with barrels and full of Montagnard (the mountain people of Vietnam) troops. A Montagnard soldier appeared and began waving me off and yelling at me in what I suppose was his language for "Get the fuck out of here you stupid GI!" I began yelling back that I couldn't turn around, and needed to be let through the gates to get back to my base. A Green Beret sergeant walked up and yelled at me to "get the hell out", as he couldn't let me through. I said. "Fine, lock me up for the night if you want to, just let me in until morning and I'll be out of your hair." After a few minutes of haggling, he said. "Let the sonovabitch through, but make it quick!" I pulled through the base and continued on my way. Finally I reached my firebase but still had to drive several hundred feet by our perimeter bunkers full of what I was hoping weren't trigger-happy buddies. I reached the way in, and the wire was pulled aside for me to get inside. I was greeted by "What in the hell is wrong with you? You got a death wish or something?" I headed to my tent, downed about three warm beers, smoked a joint, and waited for my doom. After about a half-hour, a guy came in looking wide-eyed and scared. He said "Flynn, the Captain wants to see you right now, and he looks ready to kill you! You'd better get over there quick!" I headed to the command tent, figuring that I'd be leaving in the morning for LBJ. I was scared, but so enraged at what he had done to me that I really didn't care. I ducked through the flap and entered his lair. He was sitting behind his desk talking to the first-sergeant, and made a point of ignoring me for a minute or two. Then he slowly turned a seething gaze on me and just stared awhile, absolutely furious, but also trying to put the Fear-of-God into me. It was somewhat successful, but I'm sure my anger was at least equal to his, so it came far from achieving the desired effect. He began a tirade about cowardice, insubordination, patriotism, and anything else that came to mind that lasted long enough to make me nauseous (I suppose the warm beer and weed didn't help). He then grabbed my rifle, inspected it, said it was filthy, and told me to get my ass out of his sight, clean it spotlessly, and be back in front of him damn quick. I cleaned my rifle and returned, having downed another beer or two in the process. He grabbed the rifle again, didn't even really look at it, and told me it was still filthy and to clean it again. This process went on for four or five times until I had become so enraged with what had happened to me, and fed up with the childish tantrum he was throwing, that when he told me to go clean it again I said. "No sir, it's clean." His eyebrows rose in an incredulous face, and he said. "WHAT DID YOU SAY, MISTER???" I repeated. "No sir." He then began blasting me with threats ranging from bodily harm to jail, and finally wound down, telling me again to go clean my rifle. I said "No sir!" and he just sat there looking amazed. After a moment he said. "Are you DRUNK?" I said. "Yes sir, I imagine I am." He then said "Get out of my sight!" and that was the last I ever heard of what had happened. Sometimes in quiet moments I think of what happened that night and then visions of all the dead, wounded, and mutilated bodies of the casualties of every war ever fought drift through my head. Visions of human beings and the unique mosaics that made up their lives. All of the precious and lost memories of good times, loved ones, and dreams of the future that existed inside every individual who was ever destroyed by war. I think of how much of that destruction was unnecessarily caused by people like the Captain. People guided by childish, self-centered egos, wanting to be some kind of hero to themselves and the world, almost always at the expense of others. When I think of that, I feel very sad.   Vietnam Notes Part 4 All copyrights reserved

Robert Flynn can be contacted at: netcatalog2@aol.com