The following is a condensed version of some of my
memories of Namphong. Each in itself is
not long enough for a good “war” story, but they tell some of what we did.
I remember standing switchboard watch for
twelve-hour shifts. Anytime any base in
the region, not just ours, had any type of
“sapper” activity, the switchboard would light up like a Christmas tree.
I remember being backstage at the Bob Hope show and
talking to some of the entertainers.
One of the girls asked one of the grunts what in the world he carried in
all the pockets of his jungle utes. He
replied that he carried extra ammo and c-rats (he probably did.). After he walked away, I told her that I
carried M&M’s and comic books in mine.
I also talked to Redd Foxx. I
remember telling him that I, like him, was from Missouri. He asked me where and I told him Middlebrook
in southeast Missouri. He told me he
knew right where that was. I later
believed that he probably didn’t really know since Middlebrook isn’t even on
most maps…but I was sure proud that Redd Foxx, a famous TV star, was trying to
make me feel good.
I remember being issued M-16’s and that we kept ours
locked up in a connex box. We took them
out once a week to clean and stand rifle inspection.
I remember being assigned to Reactionary
Platoon. We never really did anything
other than train to put down riots. We
had to have our weapons and combat gear and stay in an assigned hootch. I remember that one night, while looking out
past the perimeter of the base, I heard small arms fire and saw tracers
bouncing around. I still don’t know
what that was all about.
I remember the morning I passed out in
formation. We were standing at Parade
Rest and I remember the adjutant reading something or other to us. I had suffered from the “jungle squirts” for
a little over a week. Y’all remember
those, don’t ya? Suddenly, darkness
took over daylight. I woke up in the
hootch and the guys were giving me salt water from a vodka bottle. I got to ride in the meat wagon to sick bay
where I received several stitches in my chin.
The CommO called me in later and laughed and said, “Sgt Warren, that is
not what they meant when they said Fall Out.”
I remember sitting in a bar at the San Francisco
Airport with a few of my friends that rotated with me. I was in my tropical uniform with a great
tan. I was wearing my Sergeant stripes
and Vietnam ribbons for the first time and was feeling proud as a peacock. When we ordered drinks, the waitress carded
us. As it turned out, I was not old
enough to order a mixed drink. It sure
embarrassed and angered me, but my buddies all had a hoot over it. Welcome Home!