3/506th…Boat People

The sands of time fell silently to the bottom of the hourglass. Mobility was the norm in the 101st Airborne, but this trip would bring us all a few firsts. We sat on the grass in our new tropical fatigues, jungle boots, rucksacks and duffle bags. We were instructed NOT to wear our Screaming Eagle patch nor unit insignia. The trucks came to load us for the airport. Military airports via the U.S. Air Force could take us literally anywhere in the world. This flight would take us to California…Vietnam bound. Chatter was sparse as the general mood became reflective. Reality was settling in.

We landed at Oakland International Airport. The battalion moved in columns across the expanse of this international airport. I looked into the eyes of the people taken by surprise, by the sight and magnitude, of this large unit movement. These would be the last American civilians I would see in a very long time. Some looked directly back; some shifted their eyes toward some unknown destination. With the steel pots on our heads, our destination was obvious…nothing need be said. This was my first and last trip to California. Everything looked so ordinarily metropolitan American. The general surprise brought no resistance…more a resignation, of a war that flamed ever brighter in the public’s eye.

At swift cadence, we were hastily loaded on buses that would take us to the dock and our first glimpse of our new home. There she was…the USS General Weigel, a WWII troopship awaiting another generation of warriors. Ladened with ruck and duffle bags, we worked our way up the gangplank to the main deck. The ships internal ladders were more challenging, as we descended deep within its hold. The web bunks were four high, and I found one at the bottom. Possession is nine tenths of the law; it would be my spot for the next month. Once secured, I made my way toward the main deck for an unusual attraction.

We didn’t linger long at dock. Our main equipment had been shipped and boarded in advance. This was a well designed trip. The ship’s movement was obvious to us all. I wanted some last glimpses of our beloved USA . Momentarily, I would wear the eyes of a tourist, seeing this vista for the first and last time.

The Golden Gate Bridge shined in all its glory. It looked every bit as great as the picture books. As we passed underneath, I heard some commotion from the bridge. The ship’s deck narrowed the vertical distance to this bridge, and we could hear quite distinctly. We cleared the bridge. We all looked toward the source.

Directly above was a rag tagged California demonstration committee. They were genuine California hippies in all their glory. I couldn’t read the makeshift banners. But, I could clearly hear them shout obscenities at us baby killers. Everybody had to have their say in less than a minute…we where picking up speed for the open sea.

For a brief span of time…it was us and them. I just knew the return salvo was brewing. Paratroopers excel in profanity.  Every word not found in the dictionary was duly exchanged. Nobody was jumping off that bridge, and we couldn’t reach up to pull one off by their scraggly hair. It boiled down to profane fun. There were more troops packed on deck, than hippies hanging off the bridge. In my biased opinion, we won the day’s skirmish. By the way, I had never seen one of those California critters before. It was quite a send off.

The Weigel plowed into open waters, muting the verbal skirmish. All that was left was a few inappropriate gestures…until the growing distance made them ineffective.  Being a land lover, open sky and sea quickly grew boring. It was time to explore the 622 feet of the ship.

The original members of the 3/506th became known, amongst our own, as the Boat People.  Many would join us over time, but they would be deemed replacements. The originals were and are still held in special regard.  In my opinion, it was far better to go with a unit, than wind up as a replacement within an established unit. Replacements have a learning curve and are looked upon with suspicion. The draw back, to the Boat People, was that the casualties were far more personal. The more you knew a soldier, the more it hurt. In a distant land, losses would soon come.

This post is dedicated to the Boat People. Currahee ( We Stand Alone) my Brothers in Arms!