Cherries - A Vietnam War Novel - Revised Edition

by Podlaski, John

  Bill Sayers, raised in the back woods of Tennessee, spoke with a heavy southern drawl. He was the third eldest of nine children who shared everything from chores to clothes while growing up on the family farm. He had never experienced the feeling of receiving new clothes–all he had ever worn were hand-me-downs from his older brothers. When the Army issued him the first five sets of new fatigues, he treated them as if they were made of gold.

  “C’mon Bill. I’m just giving you a hard time and didn’t mean anything by it.” John wrapped his arm over his buddy’s shoulder and pulled him tightly. “You have to admit - it was funny as hell!”

  Both men shared a hearty laugh.

  “Have you found a bunk yet?” Bill asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Great, then come with me, I have a cubicle all to myself.”

  “Lead the way.”

  John followed Bill to the other side of the building and then through the maze of cubicles for another ten minutes before reaching the smaller room with six bunk beds.

  “Looks like it’ll be nice and quiet here.”

  “Shit, it is now. Yesterday, you couldn’t hear yourself think.”

  “And why was that?” John inquired.

  “I had to share this cube with ten other guys who have been together since Basic Training. All they did was party the whole night.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They left on the first flight this morning. So I guess it’s just you and me until new neighbors move in.”

  “I’m okay with that. Have you seen anyone else from our AIT Platoon yet?”

  “Yeah, matter of fact, yesterday, I bumped into Joel McCray and Larry Nickels. Do you remember them?”

  “I do. Where are they?”

  “They left this morning with those other guys. And you’ll never believe who else was with them.”

  “Who?”

  “Sergeant Holmes.”

  “No shit? I thought he was returning to Fort Polk this week to start training a new platoon of recruits.”

  “That was his original plan, but he had his orders changed during his leave and volunteered for a second tour.”

  “Why did he do a fool thing like that?”

  “He told me that he was fed up with the civilians and all the hippies. He said that while he was on leave, people spit on him and got into his face yelling that he was teaching soldiers to be baby killers and then sending them off to Vietnam. He said there was not a day gone by without somebody picking a fight with him. After the cops had jailed him for the second time for disorderly conduct, he went and signed the papers.”

  “The world is filled with jerks. Too bad, he had to volunteer for Nam to get away from it all. Did you know he was wounded during his first tour?” John asked.

  “Yeah, I remember him telling the story about that big Tet offensive in ‘68. He got some shrapnel in his back from a mortar round, but also said that the fighting is not at the same level as it was in 1968 or earlier, so we all have a good chance of making it home in one piece.”

  “I hope that’s true.

  In the AIT Company, everyone liked Bill because he always had something good to say about others. Stories told about life in the big cities fascinated him to no end. It was difficult for him to imagine doing things that many city folks took for granted as part of their everyday lives. He walked everywhere, including the three miles each way to school and back. In fact, the first time Bill had ever ridden a bike was in the Army.

  Bill and John became very close while serving together in the Army. They had developed a friendship that made it easy to confide in one another on sensitive issues. John had promised to visit Bill in the hills of Tennessee one day, but only if Bill agreed to visit him in Detroit. Bill was ecstatic and could not wait; he continued to remind John periodically of this agreement.

  All the excitement of the day was beginning to take its toll. Both were tired and struggling to stay awake.

  “I had it rough last night.” John began, “My mother gave me a going away party yesterday. All of my close friends and relatives were there. After dinner, we all sat in the living room and talked while the news was on TV. Everyone quieted down when a bulletin came on from Vietnam. It seems some outfit ran into an ambush. They showed helicopters burning. Dead and wounded soldiers were carried past the camera, and the commentator sounded so nervous. The women looked over at me and started crying. They all ran over and hugged me.”

  “Damn,” Bill said with a sympathetic look upon his face.

  “Well you know me.” John continued, “I put on the brave act and told them that nothing was going to happen to me while I was in Vietnam. I told them that we’d all be back in this same living room in a year to laugh off those worries.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Everyone started to leave for home before it got too emotional. When everyone left, I went up to my bedroom and tried to sleep, but just couldn’t. I kept thinking about that news story and got all shaky and nervous.”

  “Polack, you aren’t alone in that feeling. I’m scared too.”

  Both sat quietly for a few moments.

  John lay back on his bunk and glanced to his watch. It was 3:30 in the morning. He thought about everything that had happened since leaving Detroit only fifteen hours earlier. Everything seemed to be “hurry-up-and-wait.”

  On the flight to California, he had been the only military passenger. The flight attendants and fellow passengers had made him feel special. When they heard he was en route to Vietnam, they bought him drinks, offered him magazines and candy, and wished him luck on his tour. He was very proud and felt honored by the way he was treated. His fellow passengers respected him, and not one person had treated him as Sergeant Holmes had been treated.

  “Hey Polack, get your lazy ass out of that bunk!” Bill shook him a few times.

  Startled, John jumped up from the bed quickly, bumping his head on the frame of the upper bunk.

  “Damn you, Bill, you scared the shit out of me,” he grumbled, rubbing the top of his head. John looked at his watch and noted that it was 1330 hours.

  “Jesus, Bill, its one-thirty. When did you get up?”

  Bill looked at his watch, “about six hours ago.”

  “Why didn’t you get me up sooner?”

  “Hell, I’d have been wasting my time. I know you city boys like your sleep. You would sleep all day long if somebody let you. Besides, it wasn’t necessary for both of us to check the shipping manifest for today.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “Both of our names are listed, and we’re leaving for Vietnam at ten o’clock tonight.”

  ~~~~~

  CHAPTER TWO

  “This is your captain speaking,” the voice announced on the public address system within the Pan American jet, “we will be landing in Bien Hoa, South Vietnam, in about forty minutes. They are reporting sunny skies, temperatures of 97 degrees and 100% humidity.”

  Whoops and cheers erupted from the military passengers. “Welcome to Hell,” someone called out.

  The captain continued, “As you know, we’ve passed through several time zones since leaving California, so let me take this opportunity to get you all up to date. First, there is a time difference of thirty-one hours between Vietnam and the west coast of the United States. For example, in Oakland where many of you started your journey, it is 8:30 on Friday morning. And right now in Vietnam, it’s Saturday, August seventh, and 4:30 in the afternoon.”

  Again, some comments referring to a time machine and blasting into the future echoed from the rear seats.

  “After we touch down, we’re asking everyone to remain in their seats until the plane comes to a complete stop. There will be no need to panic and rush for the doors as this airport is in one of the more secure areas of South Vietnam. It is very safe where we are landing and nobody is in danger. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the scenery.

  “On behalf of the crew, we hope you have enjoyed your fli
ght. We do wish you the best of luck while you are here in Vietnam, and God’s speed for a safe return home. Thank you for flying Pan American Airlines.”

  “Yeah right, like we had a choice,” one of the soldiers uttered loudly to his companion across the aisle.

  John was looking at his watch and trying to do the math in his head. “Bill, do you know it took us almost twenty-six hours to get here?”

  “Hard to believe isn’t it? You may also want to think about us being on the other side of the world from Tennessee. It just blows my mind.”

  “I thought China was on the other side. Didn’t you ever hear people say that if you dug straight down in your backyard, you’d end up in China?”

  “Who is going to do a damn fool thing like that?”

  “Nobody is. It’s just a saying that I grew up with.”

  “You city folk have some strange notions about things!” Bill returned to watch the scenery passing below the cabin window, hoping to see something more than just clouds and ocean.

  Prior to leaving Oakland, an Army Doctor had given Bill some tranquilizers to take prior to departure. On the first leg to Hawaii, he sat in a half-comatose state in the window seat next to John. The effects had worn off an hour before landing in Hawaii, and after fully regaining his senses, Bill found flying to be rather enjoyable. He would tell everyone that his favorite part of flying was the takeoff, and how he enjoyed the same sensation as the astronauts must have felt when they left for the moon.

  During this long flight, he had spent most of the time looking out the window, enchanted by the view from that height. It was a new world to him, and he savored every minute.

  Bill grabbed John by the arm and pulled him toward the window. “Look, Polack, you can see land,” he said excitedly.

  John leaned over Bill’s legs to see for himself. The word spread quickly and everyone started crowding the windows for their first look at their destination. After flying over water most of the time, it was a pleasure to see land below.

  From fifteen-thousand feet, Vietnam appeared as a vat of shimmering colors. Bright blue threads snaked through shades of green, brown, and yellow-colored earth. A large mountain chain was visible in the distant northwest and seemed to cut the country in half. It became quiet throughout the cabin as the laughter, talking and singing suddenly ended. The steady roar of four jet engines continued but was unnoticed as every passenger fixated on the scenery unfolding below.

  As the altitude of the plane gradually dropped, the vistas below changed in shape, color, and became more recognizable. Soon, the sprawling city of Saigon and its neighboring villages took shape and grew in size as the jet approached and flew overhead. Cars and trucks appeared as they inched along the roads. On the final approach for landing, the tiny, ant-like moving dots took the shape of thousands of people moving about.

  The plane landed smoothly and taxied toward the terminal. A few moments later, it stopped abruptly and the engines began their dying throes. There was an absolute hush on the plane, and the rapid heartbeats of two-hundred new arrivals hammered in unison.

  Suddenly, a loud noise erupted in the front of the plane when the cabin door slid open. Everyone on board was fidgeting about, trying to get a better look at the doorway.

  An Air Force Major walked through the opening; he was dressed in his best Class-A uniform with several rows of battle ribbons proudly displayed over his left breast. Following him inside were two Army Captains, dressed in green jungle fatigues and baseball caps. The trio walked up the aisle, stopping at the forward flight attendant station.

  They stood for a moment, surveying the new arrivals. The major stepped to the side, lifting the microphone from the mounting plate on the wall.

  “My name is Major Brown and joining me are Captains Willis and Sharkey. We welcome you to Bien Hoa Air Force Base in the Republic of South Vietnam.” All eyes fixed upon the major as they listened intently.

  “Our job today is to get you men off this plane, through Customs, and finally loaded onto buses that will transport you to the Reception Center. We want to complete this portion of your in-county training safely and in an orderly manner. After disembarking this aircraft, I expect to see everyone joined up and standing in four perfect ranks out on the tarmac. When we are certain that everyone is present, we will then proceed to the baggage area inside the civilian terminal. There, you will secure your duffel bags and proceed directly to the area marked ‘Customs’. The officials will have you empty the contents of your bags onto counters and perform a search of your body. The MP’s will be looking for drugs and any other illegal contraband that you may be trying to smuggle into the country.”

  At that moment, many soldiers exhibited some nervousness. Some frowned and rolled their eyes. Others stirred anxiously in their seats with a panicked look upon their faces.

  The major continued, “If anyone is concealing contraband, then I strongly suggest you drop it in your seats as you leave this aircraft. There will be no questions and nobody will come looking for you afterwards. This is also your only warning. Once outside, there are no second chances. If arrested, we will take you to LBJ – which is Long Binh Jail for you Cherries. There, I can guarantee you will serve some hard time for your foolishness.

  “When you clear through Customs, you will then exit the terminal and board the awaiting buses. They will transport you to the 90th Replacement Center in Long Binh, which is about a three-mile drive. There, you will begin final in- processing and assigned to your new in-country unit.

  “At this time, I would ask that all officers aboard, please stand up and begin to disembark at the front door.”

  As they moved up the aisle way, John and Bill noticed a few items left behind on the seats. Bags of weed, pills, and other unidentifiable items lay openly or tucked between cushions.

  Bill and John shuffled down the aisle toward the front of the plane. “Look at this stuff. Do you think these people carried it with them all the way from Oakland? I seem to recall that some of us were searched before getting on the plane.”

  “No, I don’t think so, Bill. It would have been too risky in Oakland. The guys must’ve bought this stuff during our three stops along the way. There were a lot of shady characters in those terminals, and I remember seeing a lot of money flashed around.”

  “You’re right, now that you mentioned it. I can remember overhearing some people talking on our stopover in Guam. They were talking about having a big party once they settled into their new digs, but I didn’t think it would be with grass and drugs.”

  “Shit, Bill, dope users are on the rise. This stuff is getting really popular back home and more people than we know are turning to it. Just give me a beer or a mixed drink and my cigarettes and I’ll be happy.”

  “I’m with you there, partner. I wonder if anybody is going to try and smuggle some dope into the country.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Each person walked out of the air-conditioned plane, hesitating briefly on the top step of the boarding ramp as the full impact of hot and humid air engulfed him. For a moment, it was difficult to breathe. Some made a feeble attempt to re-enter the plane, but the rush of exiting personnel pushed them back out.

  There was a green hue outside as rays of silvery sunlight reflected from everything colored olive drab green: helicopters, planes, gun emplacements, and buildings with sandbagged walls surrounding them.

  Dozens of helicopters were lifting off and landing in areas next to the runway. Small green, single-seat Piper Cub airplanes and larger Phantom Fighter jets were also moving about and taxiing toward different areas of the airport to wait in lines for their takeoff.

  Bill and John cleared Customs easily and walked out to the waiting buses. The vehicles were identical to those used during training on the American bases and were painted olive green like everything else around, with one distinct difference - there were no glass windows. Instead, bars and chicken wire covered each framed opening.

  The two
close friends took a seat in the first row behind the driver.

  “Why is all this shit covering the windows instead of having glass?” John asked the driver.

  “It’s there to protect the passengers from grenades or any other foreign objects that might be thrown in from the side of the road,” he answered.

  “Protect the occupants? It gives me the feeling of being a criminal on the way to prison.”

  “We are in prison, my man,” the person behind John said with a smile. “Think about it. We’re all locked up in this country for the next year and there’s nothing we can do about it but serve our time.”

  “Yeah, you right!” Some of the other passengers agreed.

  Once the buses loaded, the drivers closed the door and started the engine.

  Two MP jeeps pulled alongside, stopping next to the lead bus. Each had long fifteen-foot whip antennas swinging from the two rear corners and dual M-60 machine guns mounted to a cross bar behind the front seats. The soldier standing behind the guns was busy loading them and ensuring they were in proper working order while the other guy talked casually into the handset of the radio.

  “Look at the Rat Patrol jeeps!” John exclaimed.

  “What’s a Rat Patrol jeep?” Bill asked.

  “Don’t you remember seeing them on TV when we were young? They were always kicking the shit out of the Germans in Africa during the Second World War.”

  “You know I never had a TV,” Bill said quietly.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. Just take my word for it, Bill - they were a bad ass outfit.”

  The procession of five buses began to move, and both gun jeeps raced to the head of the line and fell in. As the convoy picked up speed, red dust from the road swirled through the air, making it difficult to breathe - the horrible residue immediately coating everything. As if on cue, the new arrivals began choking and gasping for clean air. The passengers quickly pulled out handkerchiefs or used shirts to cover noses and mouths in an attempt to filter some breathable air from the thick red fog.