Letter from Feb 12th

This letter of February 12^th begins with my explaining that long gaps between my letters are because “we don’t always get a bird in out here, so I may have to wait several days before I can even mail the letter.” I then write again about paying off my debts from my pay that is being sent home. I also mention to my folks that I had taken some pictures and that upon returning to LZ Rita, I would send them home to be developed. It’s interesting to me now that my family had seen the pictures before I did, at least I assume that to be the case. I end the page with this; “So you’re proud of me, huh! Well, I’m even more proud to be your son and that’s no lie.” Then I tell them it’s getting dark “so I’ll finish this later.” The “proud to be your son” quote took me by surprise. I don’t think I ever expressed anything like that before or after.

As I begin the letter the next day, I complain again about Peni not writing. In my mom’s letter to me she asks if it would be good to send Kool-Aid. “Yes, Kool-Aid would be fine. Usually it’s too warm, but at night the water in the canteens gets kool enough for Kool-Aid. Be sure to send the pre-sweetened stuff. No, you don’t have to send books. I’m too far behind in letter writing to read.” I then answer a couple more questions from her most recent letter. I wonder if the spelling of the word “kool” was intentional.

“You ask about the nearest base camp in Quan Loi. It’s LZ Rita. And we’re going in tomorrow. The birds will come get us tomorrow morning.” I repeat some info from the last letter about Rita being hit by rocket and mortar fire. “They don’t do much damage and they’re building LZ Rita up all the time. And no sweat, mom, I’ll be home by next Xmas.”

I didn’t usually hear directly from my father and I expressed appreciation for a rare letter from him. “It’s tough here, dad. I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t. We’re forced to live like animals – and we’re treated like pack mules. Whether I’ll benefit from it or not, I don’t know. That’s the military with a passion. But like you say, this assignment is not as bad as I expected. We’ve had only a little contact and several nights ago our own artillery did us more damage than the gooks could hope to do. Every night when we set up we give the artillery our location and big guns fire rounds around our position. If the NVA attack, we call artillery and they clobber the gooks outside the perimeter. But several nights ago they put a round close to our platoon. Result – 4 wounded. One of the guys was Tom Allen our machine gunner. A piece of shrapnel went right through his foot and tore hell out of it. He was medevaced out the next morning. I helped bandage his foot and we fed him darvon tablets all night long to help him sleep. He was hurt the worst and was only a few feet from me when he got hit.” I continue by commenting on dad’s business (waterproofing, flooring, etc.). The artillery (I believe they were 105mm howitzers) unit fired one round for effect and then adjusted from that first round. That was the round that landed close to us and gave Tom what we called a million dollar wound. The million dollar wound got you sent home.

The next paragraph is devoted to my wondering what I will do when I get out of the army. “I still don’t know what I really want to do. There are a number of possibilities. I know you hope I go back to school, but I’ll be 26 when I graduate and I’m in a hurry to get started into something. I know I mentioned teaching, but I don’t know if I could take the rut. I feel like that is taking the easy way out. Sometimes I think I’d like to work with dad. I eventually want to be my own boss. I hate people telling me what to do. And I’ve come to hate it more since I’ve been in the Army. I just don’t know, but I’ve got a lot of time to work things out.” As it happens I DID try working with my dad. That was NOT a great experience. I DID go back to school, and I DID eventually become a teacher after a few bumps along the way.

Here’s an interesting quote in the next paragraph that comes after I’ve been bitching about Peni again; “I should marry a European girl. They know how to make a man feel like a man.” Since I had never dated a European girl, I don’t know where the hell that thought came from. A lot of anger in that paragraph in the letter directed at women. A therapist could probably tell me where that was coming from.

I finish the letter with this; “Take care and good luck – I don’t know why I said that. Everyone is jumpy as hell since the other night and every time we hear the whistle of an incoming round we dive into the hole. Wow. Take it easy.”

I don’t read these letters until right before I type, so for me it’s like reading a book. I never know what’s coming next even though I had lived it. See ya next Monday.