The final airlift of Alpha Company was uneventful and every soldier made it back to Cu Chi safely. When exiting the chopper and clearing the rotor wash, the warriors stopped and turned for a final look at their chariots. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, the infantry soldiers came to attention and saluted the pilots. The grunts held the airmen in high esteem, as the pilots had always been there for them in their time of need.
It was finally over! There would be no more humping, ambushes, eating C-Rations, and having to carry the weight of another person on your back. Goodbye Vietnam! Good riddance, and good luck!
They soon discovered, however, that the war was not over for everyone.
~~~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY
In Cu Chi, the grunts learned firsthand about those rumors circulating during the last few weeks in the bush - some were true, but others were way out in left field. Yes, it was correct that the 25th Division was pulling out of Vietnam and returning to Hawaii, but not everyone was receiving an invitation to come along.
The official cutoff time was nine months, and only those soldiers with nine - or more months - in country were leaving with the division. Some of the men in this grouping were receiving early discharges from the service, returning home as civilians. Another portion received orders to various stateside bases, reporting after a thirty-day leave; the luckiest ones would be relocating to Hawaii with the division flags. The unlucky ones who had less than nine months in country, were transferring to other units within Vietnam - the same destiny as Rod when the First Cav went home. Clerks were distributing the new orders on the following day.
John, Sixpack, BJ, and many of the others in the First Platoon did not have the minimum time in country; they were transferring elsewhere in Vietnam to continue fighting the Communists. All were required to return weapons, rucksacks, and all other military supplies received since their arrival in the 25th Division. The supply sergeant and his staff reviewed, verified serial numbers, and accounted for all equipment originally signed out to everyone. The troops would have to wait until arriving at their new duty station for weapons and other supplies needed for the bush.
Those men scheduled to leave Vietnam celebrated everywhere within the base. The PX sold out their entire inventory of beer and liquor, and all the clubs (Enlisted Men’s Club, Non-Commissioned Officers Club, and the Officer’s Club) already had long lines of people waiting to enter. Those remaining in country were not in a partying mood and spent their time within the battalion area. Most of the First Platoon sat around on cots in assigned tents.
“This blows! They wouldn’t even let us keep a poncho liner to cover up with tonight.”
“It is a bitch, but what are you gonna do, Polack?”
“It’s just like it was when we first arrived in country, Sarge. Only this time, we’re not Cherries anymore. We’ve already danced with the devil and I, for one, don’t really feel comfortable without my rifle.”
“Don’t lose any sleep over it, buddy. I think they’re doing this more to protect us from ourselves. This is the perfect time for someone to go off the deep end after drinking all night, especially someone not going home who might feel there was nothing to lose. Would it surprise you if a person planned to get even with someone or shot an officer for not letting him leave this hellhole?”
“You’ve got a good point, Sixpack. I’m not too happy about staying here, but I heard some guys missed the cut off date by only days and the officers won’t let them go home.”
“No shit? That is a hard one to swallow. They would probably be the ones to do what Sixpack just mentioned.”
“Just keep your chin up, we’ll all find out tomorrow where destiny will take us.”
“It’d be nice if they kept us all together. I’ve been getting used to you guys.”
“Don’t count on that happening, Ski. I think the brass will scatter us all to the wind. We’ll just have to wait and see.” John replied.
Sixpack closed up his sea bag, comfortable that all his treasures were still inside. “You guys do know that we have a formation first thing tomorrow morning? The colonel wants to talk to us before leaving.”
“Yeah, we heard all about it, Sixpack.”
“Good. There’s also going to be some special parade and presentation. After all that, we’ll get our marching orders. This will all happen very quickly, so be prepared!”
After a short parade to retire the battalion colors and pass on the baton to the ARVN, the Battalion Commander, Colonel Bill Morgan, walked to the podium and a quiet hush fell upon the crowd.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to thank you all personally for a job well done. You should all be very proud of your accomplishments. Let me take a few moments to share some facts with you. First, I would like to say that since March 1, 1968, the Wolfhounds had killed 4,165 of the enemy and captured 585. Your extreme efforts made it possible to uncover several tons of munitions, firearms, and food staples in many caches throughout the jungle. You have dealt the enemy a terrible blow and severely restricted his attempts to force a Communist regime upon the people of South Vietnam. Our campaigns last May and June in Cambodia were highly successful. We destroyed many of their staging and supply areas, eliminated their sanctuaries, lessened their power with the people, and destroyed their morale. If not for these successes, our foe would have had ample supplies, would be more motivated, and would be highly effective in missions against us. Unfortunately, we too, have suffered high losses during the same period, but far fewer than those suffered by our enemy. At this time, I would like to ask for a moment of silence in remembrance of our fallen comrades, who have paid the ultimate price and had given their lives so that others may be free.”
Heads bowed, and some men made a sign of the cross before saying a small silent prayer in their memory. After a brief moment of silence, he continued, “The Wolfhound organization is a proud and fierce fighting machine. I was exceptionally proud to have served with you in the First Battalion. Even though some of you are leaving for other units, remember in your heart that you will always be a Wolfhound. As a remembrance of this service, I have a small token for each of you. I have in my hand a scroll dedicated to all Wolfhounds. It briefly outlines the history of the First Battalion since their arrival in Vietnam. Please keep this remembrance and look back at it ten years from now. I guarantee you will get cold chills and feel proud all over again. For those of you going back to the states with the division or to other stateside bases, brace yourself, because stateside duty is nothing like this. You all remember that spit shine stuff, don’t you?”
Snickers and war whoops arose from the crowd.
“And to those of you who are, unfortunately, staying behind, you’ll receive your orders for reassignment immediately following this ceremony. Wolfhounds, I wish you all the luck in the world, and God’s protection for a safe return home to your families. God bless you all. Gentlemen, I salute you.” He raised his arm and held a salute to the men standing in groups before him. The men quickly came to attention and returned the colonel’s salute. When he dropped his arm, Colonel Morgan turned and left the podium.
The crowd cheered wildly for a couple of minutes, and then it was over. Upon leaving the area, clerks handed out the souvenir scrolls to each soldier walking by. Some unrolled the scroll, stopping to read it, however, most everyone else hurried back to their company areas, anxious to find out where they were going next.
For those leaving with the division, their orders read to report to their new duty station, Hawaii, after a thirty-day leave. They would begin out-processing tomorrow and leave the country before the end of the week. Those reassigned would start out-processing immediately and leave for their new units in the morning.
John opened his orders and after a moment of reading, dropped the document onto his cot. “I’m fucked now!”
“How so, Polack?”
He retrieved the document, reading it aloud, “It says here that I’m to report to my next duty station in Phu Bai, Republic of Sou
th Vietnam, where I will be assigned to the 101st Airborne Division.”
“Where the fuck is Phu Bai?”
“My orders say the same thing.”
“Me too!”
“Hey, I’m going there, too.”
“Looks like a bunch of us are all going together,” Ski confirmed after several other members in the First Platoon reported.
“What’s so bad about the 101st?”
“Ski, ever since I’ve been in Nam, everything I’ve either heard or read in the military newspapers about the 101st was that they were always getting their asses kicked somewhere up north. It’s also very mountainous there and close to the border of North Vietnam (DMZ).”
“It can’t be any worse than what we’ve been through,” BJ added.
“No, guys, I think this is going to be a whole new world up there and the way of fighting is also going to be different.”
“You may be a hundred percent correct about what you’re saying, Polack, but until I get there and see for myself, I’m not going to get worked up over this. I still got eight months left and it’ll just be like joining another new gang.”
“I wish I could look at things the way you do, Ski. It would make it all that much easier for me. But looking at the bright side - with this many of us going to the same place – there’s an excellent chance of some of us staying together in the new units.”
“Hey Malcolm, where are you and BJ reassigned to?”
“Some place called Chu Lai in the Central Highlands with the Americal Division.”
“Me too,” hollered Tex. “Where is Chu Lai?”
“It’s in the Central Highlands.”
“Where’s that?”
“How the fuck do I know? Where’s Phu Bai?”
“It’s up north.”
“Up north where?”
“Somebody find a map of this fucking country so we can see where the fuck we’re going!”
Sixpack walked into the tent and threw a rolled up map of Vietnam onto his cot. “Here’s a map, knock yourselves out, guys.”
There was a mad scramble, everyone gathering around for the geography lesson.
“Who’s going up north to the 101st with me?” Sixpack asked. A dozen hands shot into the air.
“All right! We’re leaving for Bien Hoa Airport tomorrow morning at 0800 hours. And for those of you not knowing the date - tomorrow is Tuesday, March twenty-fourth.”
“Sixpack, any idea what happened to the L-T?”
“Not a clue, Polack. I haven’t seen him since arriving in Cu Chi.”
“Neither have I. Isn’t that strange?”
“Not really. Remember, we’re back in the rear and he’s probably lying around with the other officers and getting shit-faced with them at the Officer’s Club.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
That night, First Platoon had a going-away party to celebrate their time together – one last hurrah. Doc was the luckiest in the group, as the government granted him an early discharge from the military. If all went as planned, Doc would be a civilian by the end of the week. He was ecstatic and the men were all very happy for him.
Before things really got going and the beer started flowing, the grunts exchanged addresses and agreed to follow the same plan: when known, they would mail the new in-country addresses to the parents of their friends and they, in turn, would forward the information to the grunts in the next family letter to the war zone.
In the morning, most of the men still felt the effects of the late night party. Some still tried not to stagger when they walked, and it was obvious that they found the harsh sunlight unbearable. Others were fighting nausea; all were not looking forward to a bumpy truck ride and then flying in a cargo plane.
Almost one-hundred soldiers from the battalion were going to the 101st Airborne; many friends accompanied them to the waiting area. Some of them were leaving for home or other units themselves later in the day. The transportation, a caravan of four Deuce and a Half trucks, turned the corner, stopping next to the group. The men said their last goodbyes and hugged one more time before climbing aboard the trucks. Thirty seconds later the vehicles whisked the soldiers away, leaving Cu Chi for the very last time.
John opened his duffel bag and pulled out the souvenir scroll from the colonel, unrolling it, and then admiring the document. At the very top was the Wolfhound crest - a raised gold wolfhound head profiled on a black background. The Latin words, ‘Nec Aspera Terrent’ (roughly translated meant, ‘And They Fear No Hardship’) stood out in gold letters below the head. A thin gold line framed the black and gold crest.
It read as follows:
KOLCHAK – KING OF ALL WOLFHOUNDS
GREETINGS
To all true Pups, wherever ye may be:
Know ye that from the hazardous environs on Cu Chi, across the Saigon River, from the perimeters of Fire Support Bases Lynch, Kien, Beverly, and Carol, come a staunch and true bearer of the crest, who has washed the jungles of the Ho Bo, the Boi Loi, the Michelin Rubber, the Iron Triangle and Cambodia with the sweat of righteous terror, dared the treacherous crossing of QL 1, bathed in the semi-solid waters of a monsoon-filled bomb crater and had, through arduous practice, developed the gunship flinch to the satisfaction of his superiors.
Be it further known that since this gallant challenger of Hanoi’s agrarian reformers and the Viet Cong local roustabouts has looked unblinkingly into the tunnel mouths of the enemy, known the ecstasy of being a sniper’s target and the object of suppressive fires, has been duly initiated into the association of the air-lifted, ambushed, and smoke grenade asphyxiated and accepted into intimacy by the virtuous sisters.
Be it therefore proclaimed that
John Kowalski
Has been found worthy to be admitted to the
OMNIPOTENT ORDER OF KOLCHAK AS A REGAL BARKER
Be it therefore ordered that all Wolfhound Warriors get all the honor and respect to which he is entitled.
Signed, (with a paw print)
Kolchak V
King of all Wolfhounds
John, pleasantly surprised by the contents of the scroll, smiled broadly. He didn’t quite understand some of the terms, but he got the general picture.
“Did any of you guys get to read what’s in this scroll?” He asked those sitting around him.
“Yeah, I did,” replied a couple of soldiers sitting across from him. “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“Hell, yes! It’s almost like a summary of everything I’ve done since being here.”
Sixpack finished reading John’s scroll and handed it back to him. “I couldn’t have summed it up any better myself. It’s a nice keepsake.”
“This is a treasure!” John reverently returned it to his duffel for safekeeping, and could not wait to show it to his family and friends when he returned home.
~~~~~
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The replacement center in Phu Bai was almost becoming overcrowded. Experienced soldiers were arriving from various locations in-country, new replacements were still arriving from the states- hundreds of Cherries came in on as many as three flights a day.
“None of this makes sense to me. Why are so many new guys still coming into the country when entire divisions are going home?”
“It’s not for us to understand, Polack. We’re only supposed to follow orders and do what the brass and politicians want us to do.”
“This is stupid! All those guys in the 25th had lots of experience and were battle-hardened. If the politicians want to shorten the war, they should have sent them here with us instead of sending in more Cherries.”
“Cool it, Polack. Just let it go. It’s something you don’t need to worry about.”
“He’s right though, Sixpack. The President is telling people back home that entire divisions are withdrawing from Vietnam. I remember seeing the parades and ceremonies on TV back in Cu Chi. The media was showing all these guys leaving on jet planes, but they weren’t showing a
ll the replacements that came in on those same planes.”
“All that pacification shit they’re talking about is bullshit, too.”
“There isn’t anything that you can do about it. So just focus on staying alive and doing what you’re told until it’s time for you to go home, too.”
The entire American concentration of troops was now operating in the northern most part of the country. Since the First Cav and the 25th Division had pulled out of the war, the responsibility for securing much of the southern half of the country rested in the hands of the ARVN. Only small units of Americans were actively involved in those areas surrounding Saigon. However, the northern half was swarming with Marines, the 101st Airborne, and the Americal Divisions.
The in-country transfers were only in Phu Bai for a couple of hours before receiving new orders. Sixpack, John, and a half dozen former Wolfhounds were staying together in the 1st Battalion, 501st Infantry Brigade; the group was traveling north to Camp Vandergrift in the morning.
Sixpack and John returned to the barracks where they had left their duffel bags earlier. John reached in and pulled out a paperback book, then lay back against his duffel to read.
“Goddammit! Fucking sons of bitches!” Sixpack hollered, frantically searching through his duffel bag.
“What’s wrong?” John asked, startled by his uncharacteristic outburst.
“Some sorry, no good bastard stole my six-pack of brew!”
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