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Friendships and Departures
April 13, 2011
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I'm standing alone in the aromatic darkness of Trang-Sup,
gazing off to where Nui Ba Den looms dimly against
the starry sky. The muted noises of the camp go on
behind me. And, as always, the almost subliminal
rumbling of continual bombardments underlies the
background of camp sounds. Some guys in the little
club, backed by a pretty good guitar player, are
singing their own version of the Ballad of the Green
Berets. Barry Sadler never thought up those words.
Something rustles faintly off to one side near
the sandbags. I suddenly remember that I'm standing
alone in the dark, and that I hate snakes, although
I don't think (hopefully) that a snake would be
making any noise. I decide it's probably a foraging
rat and briefly wonder where Tu Do is. Tu Do is one
of the camp mascots, a medium size, nondescript
black and white mutt that dearly loves to chase and
kill rats. You only have to point one out to her and
she's off after it like a shot.
Why am I out
here by myself, communing with the spirit of the
Black Virgin that dwells inside Nui Ba Den? It's
because my friend Larry shipped out today. There's
not even the satisfaction of knowing that he's
returning safely home, since he didn't go home. He
just moved on to another A Team camp. Somebody noted
that the last three camps Larry had been on were
overrun shortly after he departed. Now, there's a
pleasant thought to contemplate.
[Fortunately, Trang-Sup broke that string of bad
luck; its walls remained intact and unbreached
during its American occupation. Finally, the Air
Force detachment was deactivated in the spring of
‘68, and then the Special Forces A Team left
sometime later. Det. 7 and A-301 ceased to exist. I
had been gone for nearly a year when the American
presence on Trang-Sup began to end. I had gone to
Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines. Gone, but
not forgotten. I had the signal honor of being in
charge of the crew that was sent to retrieve the Air
Force electronic equipment from Trang-Sup after
Detachment 7 was deactivated. Obviously, I had not
moved far enough away. When my old hooch mate
introduced me to the Air Force Commander, the CO
said, “Ah, the notorious Sergeant Woodfork!” as he
was shaking my hand. I decided not to ask what he
meant.]
“Don't form close attachments,” they
said; it's too painful should a friend be killed.
True enough, perhaps, but Larry is very much alive,
just gone somewhere else in Vietnam. Anyway, does
anybody ever really fully observe that supposed
taboo? In later years, after listening to ‘Nam vets
talk about their friends and experiences, I
definitely doubt it.
I doubt it even while
I'm still in Vietnam. There's the indelible memory
of some of the Special Forces guys on Trang-Sup
weeping in anger and frustration while they listen
to the radio as another A Team camp fights to keep
from being overrun. Most of them had served with the
people in that camp at one time or another. These
seasoned troops were not shedding tears for casual
acquaintances. They identified closely with those
men.
As for me, I would have thought that I
had long ago become inured to the departure, if not
the death, of friends. After all, I had spent years
on remote radar sites, where people came and went
almost constantly. Most Air Force people don't go
PCS in units; we move about singly, particularly
among small radar squadrons like the ones I was
always part of. I certainly should have been used to
losing friends to redeployment.
I stand there
gazing into the humid night, wondering if there's
really something extra special about friendships
formed in a war zone. In spite of the caveats
against it, do we become closer, form a special
bond, because of the circumstances of our shared
existence in constant danger? That danger is always
there, regardless of where we happen to be, or what
we are doing. I wonder...does it hurt as much, does
the pain last as long, if a friend is killed away
from your sight and hearing?
Hell, I'm no
philosopher; I don't know. So I give it up, leaving
Nui Ba Den to the perennially surrounded Americans
in the radio relay station on its summit and the VC
infesting its slopes. I go in to join the singing in
the club: “Jesus was a lifeguard at the Third Army
pool, Jesus was a lifeguard at the Third Army pool,
Jesus was a lifeguard at the Third Army pool – Jesus
saves, Jesus saves, Jesus saves.” |
 By
Thurman P. Woodfork
Copyright 2007
About
Author...
Thurman P. Woodfork (Woody) spent his
Air Force career as a radar repairman in places as disparate as
Biloxi, Mississippi; Cut Bank, Montana; Tin City, Alaska; Rosas,
Spain and Tay Ninh, Vietnam. In Vietnam, he was assigned to
Detachment 7 of the 619th Tactical Control Squadron, a Forward Air
Command Post located on Trai Trang Sup. Trang Sup was an Army
Special Forces camp situated about fifty miles northwest of Saigon
in Tay Ninh province, close to the Cambodian border.
After Vietnam, Woody remained in the Air Force for nine more years.
Visit
Thurman P. Woodfork's site for more information |
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