At
the crack of dawn,
a wake-up call issued forth from the CP (command post) by the RTO
(radio operator) to each guard at the perimeter. It was the last in a
series of hourly calls by the RTO throughout the night. Some of them
were like our 49er Mike, a cool cat, polling each platoon radio in a
terse whisper,
Hey you guys out there in Nam Land, this is 49er Mike calling for a sit-rep (situation report).
Robin
Williams made much of this in Good
Morning Vietnam
(1987).
The
sentry then made a squelch (a trickle of static noise) when he hit
the PTT (push-to-talk button) on his microphone.
The
RTO had better get two squelches back tout
de suite or
there'd be trouble in paradise. No reply meant: a) the man's radio
was not working, b) the man was asleep, c) the man's position was
under assault or overrun by the enemy or d) all the above.
The
radio itself weighed about twenty pounds, battery included. It would
keep on ticking if dropped from fifty feet or submerged in water, but
a wet handset would take it down in a heartbeat. One RTO even made a
trip into town for necessaries—condoms which he stretched over the
earpiece and microphone of the handset to prevent condensation and
protect it from rain, mist, and the excessively humid jungle air.
Each
guard would then rouse the men around him who would wake others
domino like until everyone was up and focused on their morning
rituals, and keeping an eye open for the enemy.
Faces
splashed with water, boots on, teeth brushed. Out on the perimeter,
wires taken down, flares and claymores picked up. Shits taken,
sleeping gear gathered and bundled into backpacks. Bunkers
dismantled, sandbags emptied back into the bunker holes dug the
evening before, along with any trash. Envelopes, letters and empty
parcels burned or stowed. No unit identification or home addresses
left behind.
You
could never know who might be watching or what you were up against,
here or at the home front. You wouldn't want those little people in
black pajamas showing up at your parents' home on Christmas Eve,
would you?
Next,a
light breakfast of hot chocolate or coffee, crackers with peanut
butter and jelly or canned bread, maybe a warm beer or soda, as cool
as could be by morning. Gear stowed in backpacks, ammo belts donned.
We saved the best for last—wrestling a ninety-pound pack onto our
backs. You would lie on it and fasten the shoulder straps, roll over
onto your hands and knees, prop yourself up with your weapon and
stand. Or someone would give you a hand
up.
Weapons
checked, magazines locked and loaded, muzzle covers removed. Another
day at the office,
Who had point yesterday?
Breaking
up was easier than making up—only
an hour to get underway after waking, half the time of making camp
the night before.
On
this nice, sunny day, we had recovered from yesterday's march.
Following our point man, immersed in the warm, humid air, no
problems, no enemy contact . . . .
The
Magic Forest
We
humped the jungle, single file, through a beautiful mixed bag of
fifty, sixty, seventy-foot slender, leafy trees and majestic bamboo.
We walked on fallen leaves, black dirt and six-inch weeds stunted by
the overhead growth. Easy enough for us in the jungle, a stroll in
the woods back home. Machetes were stowed in their sheaths, handles
poking out of backpacks, because today we
had no need to hack and slash our way.
The
high canopy of foliage made a convenient tunnel, deflecting the
sunlight, throwing dappled patterns of shade and sun on the guys
ahead. A National Geographic center-fold without the breasts.
Suddenly,
we beheld trees saturated with a strange, dull-gray stringy
substance,
like alien taffy or moss. The
Twilight Zone or
Alice
in Wonderland?
Word passed down the line. Napalm! Odorless and unexploded.
Spent
or inert? That was the question! We had no idea!
Napalm-B
(super-napalm, or NP2) is a nasty jell of 21% benzene, 33% gasoline,
and 46% polystyrene. It burns between
1,500°F and 2,200°F, although it's
more difficult to ignite (therefore safer) than the napalm from WWII.
Thermite,
a chemical that burns at a very high temperature, is used to ignite
it. Napalm
kills three ways: burning, heat, or asphyxiation. People
have been boiled alive in rivers heated by napalm.
On the ground, it can be hand delivered by a flamethrower or spewed from a zippo (riverboat or vehicle). Most often though, it's dropped from low altitude in a large canister which cracks like an egg, exploding, rolling and tumbling along, creating the fiery blanket of death and destruction shown so well in Forrest Gump (1994).
As
we prepared to pass through it, each guy relayed to the next in line,
For God's sake, don't light up! or do anything stupid.
đi đi mau (go go quickly, get out of here),
described
our situation perfectly. We pushed forward like army ants, at a
constant speed and definitely
didn't stop to gawk. Or rubberneck. Even raw, unignited napalm is
dangerous.
Thankfully,
it covered only thirty yards. We moved on to the next section of
jungle without a hitch and to our final objective that day.
Whew!
Postscript
In
the most famous picture of the war, nine-year-old Kim Phuc is running
toward the camera, naked and screaming with napalm burns across half
her body. She's fleeing with a terrified group of children and South
Vietnamese soldiers. A South Vietnamese army unit had sent the
request to napalm her village to U.S. Air Force personnel, who
relayed it to the South Vietnamese air force.
It wasn’t until after AP photographer Nick Út took Kim's picture that she saw him and screamed,
Nong qua, nong qua! (I'm too hot, too hot.)
He gave her water, scooped her up and drove
her to Cu Chi hospital, ten
miles and an
hour away, where he browbeat the staff until they treated what they
thought was hopeless. But she recovered and defected
to Canada in
1992, where she runs the Kim Foundation, caring
for the child victims of war.
Her
photograph and Dow
Shall Not Kill
became icons of the antiwar movement.
President
Nixon on tape,
I'm wondering if that [photo] was fixed.
Chief
of Staff Haldeman shrugging,
Could have been.
