astoundingly fearsome opposition. The question you have to answer is this: Do you want to kill for your country, for your fighting brothers? Do you want to fight your way through this or just get through it until your twelve months are up? Youâre going to be asked, in so many ways, are you a shooter or a shaker ?â
I donât know if I will ever meet a simpler question my whole life. I am here to kill, and I know that. I am fine with that. I am all over that.
Sergeant stands there, looking us over, back in his troop-reviewing, semiofficial, wide-legged stance, hands clasped behind his back. He smiles broadly. Meanwhile, the bus that has brought us in is rapidly filling with soldiers it is bringing right back out again. There seems to be less tension in that population than in ours.
Suddenly, there is another, stiffer sergeant standing right behind him, carrying a full duffel bag. He starts nudging Smiling Sarge with the bag. Smiling Sarge does a quarter head-turn to look at Scowling Sarge, who scowls.
âWhat are you doing with my recruits?â asks Scowling Sarge.
âToughening them up,â says Smiling Sarge.
âLast call!â shouts the bus driver. âDestination: Oakland, California!â
The bus erupts with cheering. Smiling Sarge turns and grabs the bag from Scowling Sarge, who gives him a strong and â if it is possible â warm salute. Smiling Sarge simultaneously grabs him in a painful-looking crush of a hug around the neck.
âThis is not Standard Operating Procedure, sergeant,â says the sergeant, slightly strangulated.
âThatâs because I am no SOP, sergeant,â says the smiler, before breaking away with a big wave and a âgood luckâ to all of us.
I believe we solved the mystery of the uncommonly happy noncom.
Which is not what we face now. Oh, no we donât. No mystery, and no uncommon happiness.
âSTOP! SMILING!â are the first two words we get from our new leader.
It feels like an order that is supposed to last exactly twelve months.
MORRIS,
I CANNOT BELIEVE IT. ALL THIS TIME, MY WHOLE LIFE, REALLY, I WAIT TO FINALLY ARRIVE AT WAR WITH THE ARMY ⦠AND IT TURNS OUT TO BE THE NAVY! NO JOKE, MAN, I AM STATIONED ON THIS BIG MOTHER OF A BARRACKS SHIP CALLED THE BENEWAH THAT IS PART OF YOUR NAVYâS RIVERINE ASSAULT FORCE. THEY DID PAINT THE SHIP OLIVE GREEN, WHICH IS A NICE TOUCH AND REMINDS US THAT THE NINTH DIVISION IS STILL ARMY, JUST HERE TO BAIL YOU BOYS OUT WITH STUFF YOU CANâT HANDLE.
AND ANOTHER THING. TURNS OUT THIS TUB IS A CONVERTED LST â THAT IS LANDING SHIP, TANK, JUST IN CASE THEY HAVENâT TAUGHT YOU THAT IN THE NAVY â FROM WORLD WAR II. I MEAN, IT JUST MIGHT BE THAT I AM LYING HERE INSIDE A SHIP THAT BROUGHT MY DAD AND HIS MEN OVER TO SAVE THE WORLD TWENTY-WHATEVER YEARS AGO. AND EVEN BETTER, THE THING WAS BUILT AT THE NAVAL SHIPYARD RIGHT IN BOSTON.
IT ALL FEELS SO RIGHT, DOESNâT IT, MORRIS? LIKE WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW?
HEY. WHAT ABOUT RUDI? SHOULD I FEEL GUILTY
I tuck the letter under my pillow. I will finish it later. Or not, maybe. Sometimes you feel like you have done a letter just by writing it, maybe, and sending itâs not so important. Sending it is kind of weak, even.
And anyway itâs not time for yakking, itâs time for work.
We are stationed at a port called Vung Tau, which is on a peninsula in the South China Sea. It is the point at which all the fun of this war just begins to open up. But there is an undeniable crossroads feel to the place that tells me this is a transitional area, a Navy area, and that we, the Ninth Infantry, are intended for bigger and better things farther in-country.
So the initial days and duties have the feel of one last bit of on-the-job training before we get into the deep heat somewhere else.
I am assigned to a patrol. We have two express objectives, which are commonly referred to as H&I. That stands for
I donât know if I will ever meet a simpler question my whole life. I am here to kill, and I know that. I am fine with that. I am all over that.
Sergeant stands there, looking us over, back in his troop-reviewing, semiofficial, wide-legged stance, hands clasped behind his back. He smiles broadly. Meanwhile, the bus that has brought us in is rapidly filling with soldiers it is bringing right back out again. There seems to be less tension in that population than in ours.
Suddenly, there is another, stiffer sergeant standing right behind him, carrying a full duffel bag. He starts nudging Smiling Sarge with the bag. Smiling Sarge does a quarter head-turn to look at Scowling Sarge, who scowls.
âWhat are you doing with my recruits?â asks Scowling Sarge.
âToughening them up,â says Smiling Sarge.
âLast call!â shouts the bus driver. âDestination: Oakland, California!â
The bus erupts with cheering. Smiling Sarge turns and grabs the bag from Scowling Sarge, who gives him a strong and â if it is possible â warm salute. Smiling Sarge simultaneously grabs him in a painful-looking crush of a hug around the neck.
âThis is not Standard Operating Procedure, sergeant,â says the sergeant, slightly strangulated.
âThatâs because I am no SOP, sergeant,â says the smiler, before breaking away with a big wave and a âgood luckâ to all of us.
I believe we solved the mystery of the uncommonly happy noncom.
Which is not what we face now. Oh, no we donât. No mystery, and no uncommon happiness.
âSTOP! SMILING!â are the first two words we get from our new leader.
It feels like an order that is supposed to last exactly twelve months.
MORRIS,
I CANNOT BELIEVE IT. ALL THIS TIME, MY WHOLE LIFE, REALLY, I WAIT TO FINALLY ARRIVE AT WAR WITH THE ARMY ⦠AND IT TURNS OUT TO BE THE NAVY! NO JOKE, MAN, I AM STATIONED ON THIS BIG MOTHER OF A BARRACKS SHIP CALLED THE BENEWAH THAT IS PART OF YOUR NAVYâS RIVERINE ASSAULT FORCE. THEY DID PAINT THE SHIP OLIVE GREEN, WHICH IS A NICE TOUCH AND REMINDS US THAT THE NINTH DIVISION IS STILL ARMY, JUST HERE TO BAIL YOU BOYS OUT WITH STUFF YOU CANâT HANDLE.
AND ANOTHER THING. TURNS OUT THIS TUB IS A CONVERTED LST â THAT IS LANDING SHIP, TANK, JUST IN CASE THEY HAVENâT TAUGHT YOU THAT IN THE NAVY â FROM WORLD WAR II. I MEAN, IT JUST MIGHT BE THAT I AM LYING HERE INSIDE A SHIP THAT BROUGHT MY DAD AND HIS MEN OVER TO SAVE THE WORLD TWENTY-WHATEVER YEARS AGO. AND EVEN BETTER, THE THING WAS BUILT AT THE NAVAL SHIPYARD RIGHT IN BOSTON.
IT ALL FEELS SO RIGHT, DOESNâT IT, MORRIS? LIKE WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW?
HEY. WHAT ABOUT RUDI? SHOULD I FEEL GUILTY
I tuck the letter under my pillow. I will finish it later. Or not, maybe. Sometimes you feel like you have done a letter just by writing it, maybe, and sending itâs not so important. Sending it is kind of weak, even.
And anyway itâs not time for yakking, itâs time for work.
We are stationed at a port called Vung Tau, which is on a peninsula in the South China Sea. It is the point at which all the fun of this war just begins to open up. But there is an undeniable crossroads feel to the place that tells me this is a transitional area, a Navy area, and that we, the Ninth Infantry, are intended for bigger and better things farther in-country.
So the initial days and duties have the feel of one last bit of on-the-job training before we get into the deep heat somewhere else.
I am assigned to a patrol. We have two express objectives, which are commonly referred to as H&I. That stands for
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