In late summer 1966 SLF BLT 3/5 goes ashore in Viet Nam to a permanent base

Civilians at ease

water buffalo, tiger

and cobra observe *

(*From my “USMC Combat Tour Haiku Trilogy” blogged here in

2015)                                       

In late summer 1966, as the helicopters were picking us up at the end of an operation, we knew our Special Landing Force designation was over and we would not be returning to the converted WW2 aircraft carrier USS Princeton that had been our cramped home for the past few months. Before we deployed, we had staged our sea bags to be sent to some squad sized tents that had been set up on shore. The time of our floating days as Battalion Landing Team 3/5 had ended and we were moving to a land base camp somewhere in the suburbs of Chu Lai. 3^rd Battalion 5^th Marines would embark on all future search and destroy operations from there.

For me, the shipboard life had combat seasoned myself and our Battalion, and was part of an "eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die" adventure I'd read and thought about as a child. I enlisted in the Marine Corps mainly because they knew what they were doing from the jungle combat results of the Pacific theater in WW2. 

Our base camp was relatively peaceful, having only the occasional whistling of an incoming mortar round. We were in and out quite frequently on operations and it was nice place to come back to where you could feel better connected to those inhabitants of Viet Nam we were fighting for.

Most of the residents spoke Vietnamese, French, and/or broken English. The only Vietnamese I knew were the swear words, but I did have two years of high school French, and I was as fluent as the two years of paying extra attention to my attractive blond French teacher could have made me.

                       

Our assistant cook, who was Vietnamese and employed by the base, took a liking to me as we got to know each other. Having perimeter guard duty while at the base, I usually ate in the mess hall at different times from the rest of the battalion and had the time to chat with him. One day he invited me to his home for dinner with his family and I said "of course," but first I needed to clear it with the "powers that be," who said okay.

His family was very warm to me and filled me in on their local history. I thoroughly enjoyed the home cooking menu they had prepared which was ox and noodles, barracuda and rice, with local vegetables, both delicious and exotic and much better than the regular mess hall chow.

When the evening of socializing and dinner came to an end, I left their home and walked back to base thinking to myself "what a shame it was the 'state side' reporters never wanted to hear any of the good stories that were available."