Sniper in the TreelineChapter 4
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Sniper In The TreelineChapter 2 free porn video
The Regional Force/Popular Force base was isolated and in a certain sense that was a good thing because it meant nobody from higher headquarters would be fucking with us anytime soon. Things were still a little chaotic after the Tet Debacle, and it seemed like there was a whole new line-up of high-ranking chiefs making decisions back in Danang. I know it probably sounds strange to be thinking of the head shed being in Danang but that is because the combat elements of the Marine Corps were located in the I Corps area in the northernmost part of South Vietnam. In essence that entire area was what was considered “Central Vietnam” not to be confused with the Central Highlands which was an entirely different region populated by mostly indigenous populations not too enthusiastic with the central government in Saigon any more than the invaders from Hanoi. During my multiple tours of duty, I pretty much got to all the provinces in the Central part of Vietnam but never got down to Saigon to see what the “Hotel Continental” really looked like. Sort of an “inside joke” because it figured prominently in the Foreign Service Institute Language School “Conversations” about subjects in the Vietnamese Language. I was pretty good at school-taught Vietnamese but sucked at the slang that was prevalent in certain areas that still required a translator even for educated Vietnamese from either Saigon or Hanoi. Most of the slang I learned on the ground in Vietnam from common folks working with the government or the people with connections to the American military in all walks of life. I found that knowledge of French was an asset because lots of words either reverted back to French or were partially French in meaning. The slang was the same way because the French were in Indochina for a long time.
The assignment to the isolated base was a bit short-lived because we got hit by some sapper units at night and they pretty much destroyed our infrastructure beyond repair. The Officer in Charge got a bit depressed over the whole affair and he went on R&R to Saigon never to be seen again. I don’t mean he was a casualty, but that he decided his banishment to the isolated base was concluded.
I went back to Danang to touch base with the G-2 but had to hitch a ride because our two jeeps were in need of parts to get them back on the road. The shifty Corporal with his own agenda that centered on the black market and funny weeds to smoke kept telling me the only way we would ever get the parts was to either steal them from the Army or buy them on the black market. I had pretty much ignored him thinking he was way off base, but after a month or so, I had a change of heart and supplied him with some script to get some trading material for getting the parts we needed.
The G-2 was a chaotic cluster fuck and nobody seemed to be interested in who I was or where I was working. In fact, the only ones who tried to help me were some attached South Vietnamese scouts that were, most likely, former Viet Cong or North Vietnamese defectors that switched sides just to stay out the South Vietnamese prison system that had a bad reputation for “losing” inmates without explanation.
I went home with one of them that was a former Captain in the North Vietnamese Regular Army and he used me to better his English which was already pretty good in my estimation. It was better than the barracks near the Airbase because that was getting hit on a regular basis every night by multiple rocket attacks that didn’t cause a whole bunch of casualties but kept most everybody from getting a good night’s sleep. In retrospect, that probably was their intention in the first place. The scout was fixed up pretty good in a cement block house with bars on the windows and a little bomb shelter under the ground that would come in handy in case of emergency. It looked like he had a lot of dependents all of a sudden because there was an old couple, his “wife”, and assorted young ones with big eyes and chatter-box mouths. One young girl in the corner was not Vietnamese but a mixture of Chinese and something else, probably French, and she let her dislike for the “Yankees” show like a badge of courage. I thought she was charming even when she was frowning with a curled lip. Her exact status got “lost in translation” but I got the sense she was foisted on them by some group that organized the street for community good works. I would say “Gang” but it would not be accurate as a description of the intent. Community action in a town or village or even a city in the middle of a war zone was directed more at control of the violence and survival than whipped-up angst about the niceties of some faux picture-perfect society.
It was strange that the older couple was almost like a pair of foreigners in our midst because they spoke a different form of the same language. It relied heavily on Chinese concepts and was probably rooted in the long forgotten past when the main topics of discussion around the dinner table was the price and availability of rice and what the neighbor had purchased for his spoiled children. In all honesty, I felt a lot safer in the middle of that “ville” than inside the barbed wire fences of any base because it was normal in a way that an egg cream was always waiting for you at the corner soda shop as long as you had the money to pay for it. The little ones watched me cleaning my guns and my ammo with wide eyes and silent mouths. It was a ritual with me and I did it even when I wasn’t supposed to be armed inside some “safe” zone where weapons were strictly forbidden.
Most of the scouts had their own motor scooters.
It was cheap transportation and two could ride for the price of one. The things got like a hundred clicks to the gallon and could move almost anywhere with the swift movement of a striking serpent.
A huge cloud of smoke was hanging over the edge of the city and to me it seemed like it originated in the vicinity of the airbase. It must not be too catastrophic was my thought because the heavy transports were still arriving and leaving with the clockwork of a well-orchestrated air-lift to a besieged city. For some reason I thought of the unfortunate French Foreign Legion sitting like ducks in a shooting gallery up in the surrounded Dien Bien Phu unaware of the brilliant introduction of Chinese artillery like some magician’s trick for befuddled minds. The French government wrote them off long before the Americans, but the end result was never in doubt. I had no doubt that Danang was no pathetic Dien Bien Phu, but it was symbolic of the inevitable outcome when one side in a conflict loses the will to continue a war they are unable to win without becoming more ruthless than the enemy.
Josephina
- 15.03.2021
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