I grew up hiding under countless school desks…to protect myself from the threat of nuclear blast. They called these Civil Defense drills. The black and white newsreels, of early Nevada Test Site explosions, etched an indelible image…that our world was not safe.
Propped up against a rice paddy dike, I saw a sight that brought all that back. A column of smoke billowed over the general direction of our base camp (LZ Betty). As it reached high into the atmosphere, it developed into a nightmarish mushroom. This image of nuclear war took my breath away. I said to myself, “We finally did it! The Super Powers have played chicken too long.”
We were in Vietnam to fight the spread of Communism. At least this was our stated purpose. We allied with South Vietnam. The Chinese allied with North Vietnam. The Vietnam Conflict held many similar characteristics to the Korean War. In Korea we breached the threat zone that provoked the Chinese into the battle. I could only imagine the Chinese dispensing limited nuclear war. The cloud before me was humongous.
Our radios brought us, particularly me, back to reality. The ammo dump had taken a direct mortar hit. We were still in a state of conventional war. Although a significant hit, I could deal with that, especially from this distant field.
I returned to basecamp a few weeks later. Every structure had pinholes where shrapnel had entered. I could lay on a cot in our medical tent at night… and literally see the light of stars. I was convinced that the field held the only true safety. We were both armed and vigilant in the field. Our mobility kept our position vague. The rear area held a false sense of security.
You might think my thoughts of the mushroom as an overuse of youthful imagination. But I vividly remember the days my Dad was on high alert, during the Cuban Missile Crisis. My friends, we all live under the shadow of those nuclear buttons. They hold the power of hell. We came out from underneath the chairs…but the mushroom still looms as an ever present possibility.
Currahees…the ammo dump was one of those events we all remember. We remember the day, where we were and what we were doing.
It was so loud, you could not hear it, you felt it. There were multiple explosions all night long. Tom Gaffney, kept his head, and ordered Alpha company to form a perimeter around the CP. Tom was also drinking on a bottle of Jack Daniels. He did not share.
There was one huge explosion as I was walking 2nd Platoon’s line, and then I dove for a foxhole. I landed hard on somebody’s back. After two or three more explosions I got up to leave and apologized to the troop for the violence of my entry but he would have none of it:
“Glad to have you on my back Sir. Stop by anytime.” And, we both started laughing. . .
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I am sure that you made excellent cover for that troop Sir!
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That is certainly what he thought.
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