Read Online 15 Months in SOG by Thom Nicholson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Thom Nicholson
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mouths of the jugs. A profusion of black bugs scurried out.
“Just the Vietnam equivalent of cockroaches,
Dai Uy,
” Fischer chuckled. “Don’t worry, they left plenty for us.”
“Plenty of what?” I grumbled, as the men produced slender, five-foot-long bamboo shoots which had been converted into straws. The men rammed the straws down through the oily-looking water. With much gusto, they sucked long swallows from the bottoms of the pots and pronounced the stuff fit to drink.
Belching in appreciation, the old man passed me his straw. With bravado overcoming my apprehension, I took a hard pull on the bamboo tube. A foul-tasting, highly alcoholic concoction burned its way down my throat and exploded into a fiery ball in my stomach. “Wow,” I finally managed to gasp. “That stuff sure packs a wallop.”
Sergeant Fischer laughed and reached for my straw. “Beats anything you can buy in the NCO club, for a fact.” He sucked mightily and passed the straw on to the next man in line. Across the way, I saw Lieutenant McMurray happily tapping another pot and resigned myself to the inevitable. It wasgoing to be a drunken afternoon. Just that once, I’d bend my vow to lay off the hard stuff forever. I sure hoped Paul Potter would understand my breaking my vow to him.
After a couple of passes around the circle of thirsty men, the jug was nearly empty. I had high hopes that I’d seen the last of the local “white lightning.” Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The last man to drink just poured in some more water, and presto, another round was ready. My head was getting light as a helium-filled balloon. I missed the first part of the chief’s speech, although Pham was translating it into my ear. His voice just added to the buzzing in my head from the potent brew I was sucking down.
The old chief brought out the new volunteers for my unit, and introduced them to me one by one. They were just kids, most likely fifteen to seventeen years old. They all smiled and bowed politely, pride and a manly determination visible on their young faces. I shakily got to my feet and welcomed them to the American Army. “The Bru are strong fighters,” I intoned, Pham rapidly translating at my side. “Together, we will kill many VC.” My translator must have jazzed up my little speech, because the crowd let out a mighty yell when I finished. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that most of these boys would be dead before I finished my tour. I doubt if half of them ever returned to the village in one piece. Most likely, their only way home was just like the one for the boy I’d brought with me, in a wooden box, with a gaudy little trinket for his grieving family to mark his passing.
The village medicine man now got up and led the cow into the circle of villagers. One of his assistants skillfully slit the animal’s throat and another put a big metal pot underneath the dying animal’s neck to catch the gushing blood. After a mournful “moo,” the unfortunate animal keeled over. That resulted in a robust cheer from the onlookers. The pot of blood was passed around, and everyone took a sip. The taste of the warm fluid should have sickened me, but I guess the effects of the home brew numbed my senses enough to overcome it. Ismiled a bloody grin at Sergeant Fischer as he carefully took a tiny swallow and passed the pot on to the next man.
“Guess we’re honorary members of the clan now,” I told him as I reached for another swallow of the wine. Fischer just smiled and nodded, sucking mightily on his reed straw. I had moved up a tiny notch in his opinion.
Village women stacked piles of brush around the dead cow and set it ablaze. For a while we all drank and watched the fire burn. My body was numb, my tongue thick, and my head spinning. Surprisingly, I was also famished. I made small talk with the village men, using Pham as my translator, occasionally speaking in the pidgin English and Vietnamese they might possess. I
“Just the Vietnam equivalent of cockroaches,
Dai Uy,
” Fischer chuckled. “Don’t worry, they left plenty for us.”
“Plenty of what?” I grumbled, as the men produced slender, five-foot-long bamboo shoots which had been converted into straws. The men rammed the straws down through the oily-looking water. With much gusto, they sucked long swallows from the bottoms of the pots and pronounced the stuff fit to drink.
Belching in appreciation, the old man passed me his straw. With bravado overcoming my apprehension, I took a hard pull on the bamboo tube. A foul-tasting, highly alcoholic concoction burned its way down my throat and exploded into a fiery ball in my stomach. “Wow,” I finally managed to gasp. “That stuff sure packs a wallop.”
Sergeant Fischer laughed and reached for my straw. “Beats anything you can buy in the NCO club, for a fact.” He sucked mightily and passed the straw on to the next man in line. Across the way, I saw Lieutenant McMurray happily tapping another pot and resigned myself to the inevitable. It wasgoing to be a drunken afternoon. Just that once, I’d bend my vow to lay off the hard stuff forever. I sure hoped Paul Potter would understand my breaking my vow to him.
After a couple of passes around the circle of thirsty men, the jug was nearly empty. I had high hopes that I’d seen the last of the local “white lightning.” Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. The last man to drink just poured in some more water, and presto, another round was ready. My head was getting light as a helium-filled balloon. I missed the first part of the chief’s speech, although Pham was translating it into my ear. His voice just added to the buzzing in my head from the potent brew I was sucking down.
The old chief brought out the new volunteers for my unit, and introduced them to me one by one. They were just kids, most likely fifteen to seventeen years old. They all smiled and bowed politely, pride and a manly determination visible on their young faces. I shakily got to my feet and welcomed them to the American Army. “The Bru are strong fighters,” I intoned, Pham rapidly translating at my side. “Together, we will kill many VC.” My translator must have jazzed up my little speech, because the crowd let out a mighty yell when I finished. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that most of these boys would be dead before I finished my tour. I doubt if half of them ever returned to the village in one piece. Most likely, their only way home was just like the one for the boy I’d brought with me, in a wooden box, with a gaudy little trinket for his grieving family to mark his passing.
The village medicine man now got up and led the cow into the circle of villagers. One of his assistants skillfully slit the animal’s throat and another put a big metal pot underneath the dying animal’s neck to catch the gushing blood. After a mournful “moo,” the unfortunate animal keeled over. That resulted in a robust cheer from the onlookers. The pot of blood was passed around, and everyone took a sip. The taste of the warm fluid should have sickened me, but I guess the effects of the home brew numbed my senses enough to overcome it. Ismiled a bloody grin at Sergeant Fischer as he carefully took a tiny swallow and passed the pot on to the next man.
“Guess we’re honorary members of the clan now,” I told him as I reached for another swallow of the wine. Fischer just smiled and nodded, sucking mightily on his reed straw. I had moved up a tiny notch in his opinion.
Village women stacked piles of brush around the dead cow and set it ablaze. For a while we all drank and watched the fire burn. My body was numb, my tongue thick, and my head spinning. Surprisingly, I was also famished. I made small talk with the village men, using Pham as my translator, occasionally speaking in the pidgin English and Vietnamese they might possess. I
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