Oh no, I'm in country!!

"Touchdown in five minutes at Bien Hoa Airbase," comes the deep, gravely voice over the intercom. God, that voice sounds familiar, just like that drill sergeant at Ft. Polk. Your brain churns as you review the past five months of training. What a way to go! Basic was bad but not half as bad as infantry AIT, and that could be no comparison to Vietnam. You'd think a guy would get one break in his life. But who knows, there's always the chance that at the last minute the Army will discover those hidden talents and assign you to Saigon. From what the guys back home said Saigon is all right. Regardless though, at least there won't be any lousy KP or police calls in a war zone.

As the 707 touches down you suddenly realize the rumbling isn't coming from the jet turbines but from hoards of butterflies bumping against the prison walls of your stomach. You look out the window and wish it weren't so dark. You'd like to see the guy who's going to be shooting at you.

The door opens and immediately a blast of heat saturated with ill-smelling odors hits you. The odors and heat are expected but the real surprise is finding out you don't have to low crawl down the ramp. The clincher is the cheering reception committee swarming around the gate. There must be 400 of them, clad in new fatigues decorated with numerous patches and insignia. Then you realize your 707 is their Freedom Bird.

The bus ride to the 90th Replacement Center is on a four lane highway complete with traffic lights. The place sure doesn't look like John Wayne Country.

At 90th Replacement one line succeeds another as you hurry up and wait. The formations: what a hassle. Three times a day just like stateside duty. There are KP and police call with more pots, pans and cigarette butts than you've ever seen in your life.

After three days of stateside-type bull, the big day finally arrives. Orders are down and you'll finally be shipped to your new unit. You wait nervously to hear what it is. Maybe you'll be pulling security around Saigon or go to a unit about to be withdrawn.

All your hopes fade when they announce your unit is none other than the 1st Air Cavalry. You recall what Cav veterans in the states said: "The Cav goes where the action is." "Only the ARVN will be in Vietnam longer than the Cav." You expect a hard time in the bush. The Cav does a lot of humping and you look down at that big gut and know it has to go. The Cav will see to that. Suddenly that stateside rot doesn't look too bad and you have to admit to a certain amount of fear.

At the next stop, the FIRST TEAM Academy (FTA), you learn more about the Cav. Then you spot that huge tower and there's a queasy feeling in your stomach.

The day arrives, you're shackled, and you climb the wobbly ladder. Knees quivering, hands shaking, you walk to the tower edge and the assistant hooks the rope to the D-ring.

"FIRST TEAM" comes the cry as you slither off the tower's edge, only to discover that you're dangling in midair as the rig grabs at your groin. The pain, oh the pain!

The experiences and first impressions keep piling up.

Now luxury is a cold outdoor shower under a 55 gallon drum. The latrine is always an outhouse or outside urinal, and outdoor latrines mean a new dirty detail.

After six days of more formations, classes, training and details the day arrives. You're going to a line company; the jungle is your ultimate destination.

Bags packed and weapon in hand, you board the bus that drops you off at 8th Aerial Port, Bien Hoa Air Base, where you'll ride your first C-123 to Quan Loi.

It sure doesn't look like that 707 you flew in on two weeks ago. Your vibrating muscles and quivering stomach tell you fixed wing just isn't your bag.

Quan Loi comes as a shock when you step off the plane. No comparison between it and Long Binh or Bien Hoa. Cut out of the rubber trees, the basecamp looks like a splotch in the middle of 'no-mans's land.' Red dirt is embedded in everything. Your olive drab fatigues stand out like a sore thumb next to the grimy, worn uniforms of hardened Skytroopers.

You report to your company rear and before you know it you're issued canteens, ammo, frags, smokes, C-rations, air mattress, poncho, and poncho liner. Even with all the equipment though, you think it couldn't be that tough. After all, you camped out and hiked a lot when you were in the Boy Scouts.

The next day you board your first Huey slick enroute to the company. The butterflies are back as you look down from 3,500 feet and see the pockmarks left from shellings. The bird sets down in a small landing zone carved out of thick jungle. You jump, trip and low crawl like never before.

To your surprise the welcome is friendly. Your fellow grunts are happy to see you...too happy! Carrying the radio doesn't seem too bad, but the 300 rounds of M-60 ammo, additional claymore, pick and extra radio batteries make it a real hassle. The rain doesn't add to the situation nor do the mud and heat.

Eventually comes that not-so-magic moment--a burst of AK-47 fire and the company hits the mud. You quickly set up in a hasty perimeter. Blue Max rolls in hot and heavy. Contact lasts for less than 15 minutes but it seems like hours.

Initiation is over. You are now a member of that proud fraternity of men, the infantry of the elite 1st Air Cav Division. Before you know it you'll be yelling that wonderful word, "Short!"

Just off the plane, the new guy moves cautiously. Never can tell when the incoming may start!

The First Team Academy breaks the new guy in. With a hearty cry of "First Team" he leaps off the FTA rappelling tower. If he doesn't do it right the first time, the cadre will be happy to give him a second chance.

There's one nice thing about Vietnam--being away from all those stateside details. Of course, there are one or two unpleasant chores peculiar to in-country duty, with a friendly NCO to give instructions.

In the bush at last, the new guy is wary, alert, and ready for action.

Many months and experiences later, the day finally comes when the once new Skytrooper can think with a smile, "Short!".