My Last Day in Vietnam and Coming Home

It was late May, 1972, and I was stationed at Vung Tau and had been here for the last two months. I had previously spent seventeen months at Phu Loi.

Vung Tau was a nice seaside base where you could actually get a pass and go into town. Of course the town was full of honky-tonks, bars, bar girls, and pick pockets. I had been here for almost two months. Due to a “misunderstanding” with my commanding officer I was detailed to ride shotgun on convoys to Long Binh during the day and perimeter guard at night. The NVA’s Easter Offensive was in full swing. Fortunately we were spared almost all of the fighting. I say almost because we did experience some sniper fire during our various forays to Long Binh. Every convoy ended with a race to get back to base before darkness fell. Although I was tired from being out on the perimeter the night before I managed to stay awake and alert for the drive both ways.

I either sat next to the driver or stood in the back of the deuce and a half we drove. My M16 at the ready, selector on full automatic, smoking cigarette after cigarette. The beauty of the countryside always impressed me even now. As we drove I always enjoyed watching the farmers working the fields. I would worry when no human being was visible. They usually knew something I didn’t.

We would stop half way to Long Binh at a little roadside market we called the halfway house. There we would grab a snack of something that we had no idea what it was and a beer. We grabbed a second beer and head back down the road. When the beer was finished we just tossed the can over the side. Nothing like being in enemy territory with a buzz on.

The week before I left I was relieved of my convoy duties and allowed to clear post, but was still required to do perimeter guard. I was out on the bunker line the night before I left Vietnam.

My position consisted of a one-man foxhole. I had my rifle, a field phone, and two flares. The next position was about fifty yards away. Due to a lack of manpower this late in the war, the perimeter was moved back and the runway was actually in front of me, outside our defensive positions. We didn’t have enough men to properly guard the base, but we did what we could. My last night I took my position at around midnight and relieved the evening guard. I was sick, suffering from amoebic dysentery. I was tired, just completely worn out. And I was angry. I wasn’t angry at anything in specific, I was just angry. Angry at everyone and everything.

My shift began. The last one. May 22nd, the day I get out of here. I sat in my hole and watched the darkness. Watched and waited. Waited for the unknown. The runway was in front of me with its evenly spaced runway lights. Then something caught my eye to my far right. One of the lights blinked off then on again. A dog maybe? A few minutes later the next light blinked off then on. Shit! I watched the next light intently. It blinked off then on. Whatever it was it was walking along the runway towards my position. My heart started to race, palms sweating. I don’t need this shit, I thought.

I slipped the selector switch from safety to full auto. I crawled out of my hole set up my position ten yards further down and waited for the next light. It blinked, getting closer. I aimed my M-16 over the small ridge of sand in front of me and focused on the next light. He was almost at my position. I saw him then. I sighted in, ready to fire. “HALT!” He stopped. “What? I am bringing out water.” “You stupid son of a bitch! I almost shot you.” He muffled some apology and I told him that you never, ever walk in front of a firing position. I damn near kicked his ass but after a good dressing down sent him on his way.

I got up and went back to my hole. My breathing returned to normal but then the cramps began. I doubled over clutching my lower abdomen, grunting in pain. I was able to crawl out and scoop out a hole in the sand and proceeded to have diarrhea until my cramps subsided. Dysentery or stress? Either way, it kicked in. Then I returned to my foxhole.

I sat there catching my breath and trying to relax the tension in my body. It took a while but I finally settled down and watched in the darkness for anything moving. In the distance to my left, up the coast I could see a firefight in progress. I could not hear it but I could see the crisscross exchange of orange and green tracers and the occasional flash of a grenade. Tomorrow, I would be gone but the killing would continue. No end in sight and no way to achieve any kind of victory. It was obvious that no one cared anymore. No one in the military wanted to be the last one to die in Vietnam and no one at home wanted anything to do with the war or us.

My last night — I thought I would be scared, nervous, apprehensive, elated, or happy. But, in reality, I didn’t give a shit. I was just tired of it all.

I sat in that hole and slowly watched the sun rise over the South China Sea. The dawn of a new day. My last sunrise in Vietnam, the last of so many. I remember thinking about this, and about the enormous waste. All the dead, all the wounded, all the lives changed forever. For what?

The sunrise was scarlet and beautiful. The sky was clear and there was a slight cool breeze coming from the South China Sea. The heat would come with the sun. At this point I was so used to it that it didn’t bother me.

With my back against my foxhole and my rifle across my knees I watched the stunning beauty of the sun slowly rising in the east. What a contradiction. The beauty of nature and, yet, in the distance, the deaths of the men in the firefight I had watched earlier. In truth, the entire war was a contradiction, and still is today.

My shift over, I walked over to the company area, went to supply and turned in my rifle, helmet, ammo, and flares. All my gear was packed the night before so I really didn’t have anything to do but get the hell out of there. It was a short walk over to the airfield where I caught a Huey to Tan Son Nhut. My final ride. I threw in my gear and hopped on board not bothering to fasten a seat belt. The ship took off and flew west. As I flew over the sun glinting and shining in the rice paddies, I looked down and appreciated the beauty of this country so ripped apart by war. They will never last three years after we leave I thought. Oh well, xin loi.

I checked in, showed my orders, took the mandatory pee test, showered, changed into khakis, and reported for my flight out of there. My war was over.

I was informed by the Air Force sergeant at the Military Airlift Command that I would have to wait three days for a normal commercial flight or I could catch a hop on a C141 cargo plane. The difference is I won’t be able to go through Oakland and get a steak dinner and new dress green uniform. At This stage who the hell cared about steaks and uniforms. I chose the cargo plane. Little did I know I should have waited.

The first leg of my odyssey was to the Philippines. The plane itself was full of crates of varying sizes and red jump seats along each side. There were about twenty of us passengers. As the jet roared off the runway we careened eastward and soon were out of Vietnamese air space. No cheers, no announcements. Nothing. Just a quiet plane with its cargo, human and machinery.

We had an uneventful flight and a smooth landing. I have no idea where we were. I assumed Clark Air Base. I guess I could have asked but I was tired and didn’t really give a damn. One or two passengers left the flight here. The rest of us had to stay on the plane. A customs issue I imagine. After taking on some fuel and a few passengers we took off for Okinawa. I have completely lost track of time over the years but I seem to remember we were in the Philippines at night. We flew over Okinawa in the daylight and I recall looking down at the countryside out the small window and marveling how beautiful the countryside was. It was hard to image the horrible battles fought here in 1945.

This was the last stop for this plane. I checked in at the passenger terminal and was told I needed to get to Japan to get a flight to the states. Fortunately there was a flight leaving shortly and there was room on it. Yokota Air Base was the final destination of this flight. When we landed at Yokota I was surprised how quiet the terminal was. Both times flying to Vietnam this place had been packed with G.I.’s. I tiredly checked in for a flight. I hadn’t slept since before my shift at Vung Tau and boy was I tired. I forced myself to stay awake so I wouldn’t miss my flight.

Finally it came time to board another C-141 for my final leg to the good old USA. There were twelve passengers and many crates down the center of the aircraft. We took our seat and buckled in. A quick check and I noted that I was the lowest ranking man on the plane. I was a lowly SP5, E-5. The rest were staff NCO’s or officers.

As we took off for Travis Air Base we passed Mt Fugi in the distance and I took a quick photo out the portal. As darkness fell we were over the Pacific. There was no way to sleep in this cold, noisy plane. I unbuckled my seatbelt and crawled on top of a crate, pulled out a deck of cards I carried and started playing solitaire. Solitaire for hours on end. The crew had box lunches, nine of them. Guess who didn’t get one.

A couple hours into the flight there was a large boom and the aircraft shuddered and rocked back and forth. Holy shit! I thought. The sleepy crew was now wide awake! The crew chief staring intently out a starboard window where I could see flickering red and yellow lights. I jumped down off my crate and looked out a window. Those weren’t lights, the outboard engine was on fire! Holy shit! I thought again. I can’t believe it, After nineteen months in Vietnam I am going to die over the Pacific on my flight home.

The crew was able to put out the fire but this meant a change of flight plan. We were going to divert to Hawaii. Sounds like a good place to be stuck but it wasn’t. I was sure glad to get my feet on the ground again but I still had a long way to go.

I tried to buy a drink at the bar but I was only twenty so no dice. Nineteen months in Vietnam and I couldn’t get a drink at the bar. Amazing. After what seemed like a million hours waiting for another flight I was finally successful. Another C-141 was heading to Travis Air Force Base and they had a spot. I was glad to get it. I was the only passenger and that was a good thing as I was starting to be a little ripe.

My flight landed at Travis Air Force Base and I caught a bus to San Francisco Airport. The bus ride seemed to take forever. None of the other passengers would sit next to me and I don’t blame them. Our first stop was Treasure Island, then the Presidio. The airport was the last stop and I was more than happy getting off that smelly bus. As I exited the bus I realized that the bus didn’t stink, I did.

I walked into the airport with the intent of changing into civies, wash up, shave and brush my teeth. I had left Vietnam three days prior and had not been able to clean up since. I also hadn’t slept in three days. My khakis had big sweat stains under the arms and I looked and smelled like hell.

As I walked into the terminal I looked for a bathroom to make myself presentable. I passed a ticket counter (I can’t remember what airline) and thought What the hell, I might as well see when the next flight to Chicago is. I asked the lady working there and she checked her screen and her face lit up. There is a flight ready to leave with one seat! “Mam” I said, “I look like hell and need to clean up.” “Nonsense” she said. “Here is your ticket, hurry they are pulling the stairs back up to the plane.”

I hustled to the gate and watched them push the stairs back up to the plane. I waived my ticket at them and hustled up to the aircraft and showed my ticket to the stewardess. It was a First-Class seat. Oh hell, and I stink.

I went to my assigned seat and it was next to a starched Army Major. He proceeded to give me a real dirty look. Hmm. I buckled in and looked at him. He glowered at me, a lowly Spec 5 in First-Class. I leaned over and looked at his chest for any ribbons. Just a Reserve ribbon and National Defense. I looked away, shook my head and said “Tisk, tisk.” Just then the stewardess came up and asked me if I wanted a drink. “Why thank you. I will have a Scotch on the rocks. Double.”

After another double the lack of sleep caught up to me and I passed out. I slept like a baby. The cocktails helped. I awoke with a start to see an empty seat next to me. A new stewardess was standing over me. “Are you getting off in Chicago?” “Yes” “Well you better get off the plane. We will be boarding for Toronto soon.” Holy crap! I thought. I grabbed my bag and ran off the plane, still a little groggy. Damn, I never had a chance to call home and tell them I was coming.

A payphone in O’Hare is pretty easy to find and I had some change. First call was to my dad. No answer. Called my brother. No answer. Called my old friends Gary & Jim. No answer. Dammit. A cab was my only option now.

The cab ride was a short one. There was my dad’s house. Our beagle, Penny looked out the window and started barking. There was just one problem. No one was home and I didn’t have a key. Being the resourceful G.I. I was, I dragged a garbage can into the gangway under one of the bedroom windows. My dad never locked this window, at least I hope he didn’t today.

I climbed on top of the can muttering a slew of cuss words and jimmied the window with apiece of flat iron I found by the garbage can. If any of the neighbors saw me they would have called the police. Up it went. Slowly but up. I crawled through the window landing on the floor with a thud, Penny barking at me from the doorway. She didn’t expect me home either.

My first job was to unlock the door and bring in my bag. Second was a beer. At this point I needed, no deserved a beer. Opening the frig I was truly shocked to find it devoid of beer! What the hell??? Oh well, time to shower and change which I did in short order. In clean civies still drying my hair I picked up my dad’s black, dial phone attached to the kitchen wall and started to make some calls. I had to find someone to welcome me home. I called my brother, my friends Gary and Jim. I even called my grandmother! No luck, not a soul I knew was home. I know it was Saturday but what the hell?

Well, I could either go to sleep or go get a drink. Drink won. I left the house (leaving the back door unlocked) and headed to Fast Eddies. Fast Eddies was the local watering hole. It’s real name was Pacific Liquors and they served anyone. I knew they would not check my ID there even though I was still only twenty. They didn’t check anyone’s ID. I think a six-year-old could buy a shot and beer.

I walked into Fast Eddies and saw the familiar Hamm’s Beer scrolling clear blue waters sign and picked out a stool halfway down the bar. I ordered a beer and was served a cold one. Typical of the old days I was not carded. No one paid any attention to me. Just another mid-day drinker.

I figured I would have a beer and then try the pay phone. I would continue until I was exhausted then wander back home and pass out. After the first beer my brother answered the phone. “Are you in San Francisco?” “No, I am at Fast Eddies.” “Dad and mom are here, we will head over right away!” “I will be home, bring beer.”

Tom lived 40 minutes away so I had another beer then walked back home to meet my family. Passing the familiar streets and houses. Feeling more than a bit of a buzz. Where the hell was I? The sights and sounds all too familiar yet all too foreign. I slowly proceeded to Pioneer Street looking at the children playing in the streets and backyards. The adults chatting, grilling and drinking a beer. None of it mattered. No one cared. The war was the farthest thing from their mind. Those still fighting the war might as well be on another planet.

I finally arrived at my dad’s house. Penny barked. She still didn’t remember me. Shortly thereafter my family arrived. Laughter and hugs welcomed me home. And they brought beer.