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Just Another Night In The ‘Nam
April 21, 2011
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It was hot and humid, and in the wee hours of the
night, with Nui Ba Dinh brooding against the stars.
Too hot for comfort, too far from home, too
uncertain of what the next few hours might bring.
The camp was asleep and as quiet as it ever got.
Only the ever-present, distant rumble of somebody
getting the hell blasted out of themselves out of
sight over the horizon intruded on the quiet
darkness. I wondered if Charlie was near, slipping
ever closer through the shadows, watching the
sleeping camp. “Just another night in the ‘Nam,” I
thought, eyeing the M-79 grenade launcher hanging
above the screened porch opening.
From where I sat on the Team House porch, I could
see down a narrow corridor into the dimly red-lit
commo bunker. I knew somebody was in there, but he
wasn't visible at the moment. I was also sitting
almost in a direct line with my machinegun position,
which was a few yards behind the commo bunker. I
sighed unconsciously, taking a deep breath, and
suddenly became aware again of the camp's
distinctive aroma. “Damn,” I thought to myself, “I
guess you can get used to just about anything.”
Almost one a.m. – five more hours to go as Sergeant
of the Guard. As I squinted at my watch, a slight
noise announced the arrival of the CIDG interpreter
who would accompany me on my hourly check of the
perimeter. The screen door swung open and he entered
the porch smiling, his teeth showing white in the
dark oval of his face. He looked wide awake. “What's
he got to be so cheerful about at one o'clock in the
morning in Vietnam?” I thought grumpily as I got up.
My thought was shattered by a loud, metallic
explosion accompanied by a flash of light as the
mess hall roof erupted, flinging chunks of metal and
wood into the air. What the hell! The entire camp
was wide awake and active now as men raced to
defensive positions, calling out to each other. I
had activated the alarm, the switch was on a post
close to where I had been sitting, but there was
hardly a need for it. The interpreter almost
magically vanished as I ran for the barracks and my
gear, on a circular route to my machinegun bunker.
Amazing how quickly one can transition from grumpy
boredom to nerve-tingling alertness.
Shortly after I reached my defensive position, the
cause of the bombardment was discovered. Somebody on
a nearby fire base had gotten the coordinates
garbled for a fire mission and sent a few rounds our
way by mistake. Fortunately, we had suffered no
casualties, only some damage to a couple of roofs;
no harm, no foul. But a lot of heartfelt curses.
I was soon back on the Team House porch as the camp
returned to apparent slumber. I looked at my watch –
almost two a.m. – four more hours to go. It was
still hot and humid. Nui Ba Dinh loomed massively in
the always faintly menacing darkness, an almost
living presence. I think I'd have only been mildly
surprised had I heard it suddenly inhale. I wondered
if Charlie had witnessed our false alarm and decided
it would be a great idea to launch an attack once
the camp had relaxed its guard and settled down
again.
I stretched, sighed, wiped sweat from my neck and
scratched myself absently. I had kept my gear with
me. The muted thunder of detonations rumbled off in
the distance. Somebody was still getting hit for
real. I sighed again; just another night in the
‘Nam. |
 By
Thurman P. Woodfork
Copyright 2010
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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