Manoi

The pilot was on the loudspeakers, “We will be landing at Bien Hoa Air Base in about fifteen minutes.  The temperature at Bien Hoa is now 104° and expecting a high today of 110°.”  There was a loud chord of disapproval to his information.  This was probably as close to hell as a person could get and still be breathing.  We broke through the clouds and there was land below.  The terrain in general terms was barren.  Occasionally, one could see the scourges of war.  We seemed awful low.  Weren’t they scared of being shot down?  My heart was pumping faster.  Soon the plane was only a few hundred feed off the ground.  Down below were huts and people moving around, dirty streams and patches of jungle, jeeps and trucks sprinkled with motorcycles on the roads, and red dirt.  As we made our final approach, for as far as I could see were helicopters and planes. Every model that was ever made seemed to be here.  The perimeter had a bank built up and lots of barbed wire and bunkers in the bank every so many feet.  Also, tall towers with guards in them.  It came to me that I would be a prisoner of sort.  A prison was designed to keep bad people inside.  My prison was designed to keep bad people out.  At least for the next year, I hope they were successful.  The planes wheel grabbed the runway and I jumped.  A strange thought had just come to my mind.  In the last 24 hours, my life had experienced several firsts, my first time in California, Alaska, Okinawa, across the Pacific, on another continent, and in South Vietnam.  That was enough for one day, but I had the strange feeling that every day for 365 in a row, I would experience more.  The plane taxied to a stop outside a Quonset terminal with no doors or windows.  I watched as some airmen rolled the steps up to the plane and the stewardess opened the door.  Soldiers in the front started out the door.  I got up and moved to the aisle.  Slowly I worked my way to the door.  As I got closer, the light became blinding.  I reached in my bag and changed to my sunglasses.  As I walked through the door, the heat hit me like a two by four between the eyes.  By the time I was down the stairs and into the terminal, I was sweating profusely.  The temperature appeared to be the only thing higher then the humidity.  Inside were rows and rows of benches in front of a stage and a podium.  “Sit down on the benches!” a soldier shouted as we filed inside.  The terminal had a roof, but no walls.  I took a seat, and as soon as everyone got seated, a staff sergeant walked up to the podium.  “Welcome to South Vietnam, gentleman.  As soon as your duffel bags are unloaded, you will leave single file and find your bag.  Then you will come back in and wait for your outfit to come pick you up.  No one is to leave this area. The latrine is to your left, my right.  You may smoke if you want to.”  In about five minutes we were instructed to pick up our baggage.  I had just sat down after getting my duffel bag and I heard an explosion.  It startled me and I looked around to see where it was coming from.  “Get down!  Incoming!” someone yelled.  I didn’t have to be told twice.  Sirens began to blow all over the place.  What the fuck have I gotten into? I thought.  No more explosions occurred.  The sirens quit after about five minutes and we were told we could get up.