The Amulets of Power III the Kennedy Wars Part 2Chapter 14
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The trip from Bangkok back to Korat is about 260 km, more or less by road. We pulled out of Seri Court just after 0830 and made good time once we got out past Don Mung airport. We took the turn to Sara Buri and headed up Friendship Highway. I had a much better view of the trip from the elevated cab of the deuce and a-half then I had had from the pickup truck coming the other way.
It was shortly after passing Sara Buri and before we reached the climb to the Korat plateau that I started to have a funny feeling. My amulet had turned very cold on my chest - never a good sign, and something was telling me to stop and get off the road.
"Pull over on the side of the road and stop," I told the SP/5. His name was Hull.
"You need to take a piss?" he asked.
"No," I answered. "Something is wrong. I just have this feeling that we need to get off of the road and stop for a short time."
"You're crazy," SP/5 Hull said, laughing it off.
"NO," I answered, again. "Every time this amulet turns cold something bad is going to happen." The Thai driver looked over at the amulet while I had it out and turned somewhat pale.
"Yes, we stop little bit," he said and eased off the gas and pulled off at a spot where there was a wide area beside the road. Not a real shoulder, but at least a fairly level spot large enough for the truck to stop comfortably.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Sung?" Hull asked, angrily.
"Very powerful amulet," Mr. Sung said. "If it say stop... !" he never got to finish the statement, as two of the large orange Mercedes buses that travel between major cities in Thailand came around a curve on the narrow two lane road side by side. They took up ALL of the road and there were passengers hanging out the doors and they each had a full load of goods and livestock on the roof. They were racing and neither driver was willing to give way. They passed us doing close to one hundred kilometers an hour and neither driver was ready to give up the race.
"Mother fucker!!" Hull said, as his eyes followed the racing pair in our trucks large side mirrors.
"Yes!" was all that I said in awe.
"Always listen to amulet," Mr. Sung said, very quietly.
We pulled back on the road after that. Between Bangkok and Korat there are the remains of a number of bus crashes, usually they're burned out. We didn't need to be another one.
We had to slow some when we reached the grade to the Korat plateau, but we still managed to make good time as the truck was fairly new and in very good condition. We pulled into the 519th Transportation Battalion's area outside of Camp Friendship just after 1130 hrs. We parked in their large motor pool. We had stopped for fuel for the truck and for us.
"What about that classified container?" Hull asked, nervously.
"Do you think someone will bother it?" I asked.
"But shouldn't someone guard it?" he asked.
"If you want to stay and guard it, that's fine with me," I told him. "It took six of us to get it up into the truck. It will take at least that many to get it out. Don't worry about it. We won't be that long."
Chow at the 519th mess hall wasn't that great, but it was edible. I noticed that Mr. Sung finished all of his.
We were fueled up and back on the road by 1230 hrs. The trip from Korat to the 7th RRFS is just over 300 km. We were able to move fairly well once we cleared the traffic around Korat. Friendship Highway between Korat and Khon Kane had been finished in just the last year or so and was in good condition. We didn't meet any racing buses although we did pass a few non-racers.
Just the other side of Khon Kane, the road narrowed and wasn't in as good a repair. We needed to slow down and proceed more carefully. The final hundred kilometers or so were made at about sixty kilometers an hour.
What had been Detachment 'D' of the 5th RRU until recently and was now the 7th RRFS is located approximately eighteen kilometers south of Udorn, which is also called Udon Tani. We pulled up to their entry gate just off of Friendship Highway shortly after 1700 hrs.
We stopped to show our IDs and my orders to the Thai Army guards and American MP there. From the gate at the height of a deuce and a-half, it was not an imposing site in November of 1966. On the right side of the entry road was an area with a good number of tents on tent frames. There were a few buildings constructed of wood and tin, also. On the left side of the entry road and further back from the highway than the tent area was what looked like the operational area. There was a large shed with multiple peaked roofs and vans parked under it. It was surrounded by a large quantity of concertina wire. There were antennas visible behind it.
There was much bare dirt and some mud visible, but it being early November, the rainy season was about over and things had started to dry out. Instead of mud there was now dust starting to be just as much of a problem as the mud had been. I saw a GI approaching the gate and called out to him.
"Where do you report in around here?"
"You see the tin roof. That's the shitter. The orderly room is near there," he told me.
"Thanks," I told him, and turned to Hull.
"Park over off the road. I'll go report in and see where we can unload the radio and the rest of your cargo." I had learned on the way there that all of their cargo was for the 7th. I soon found the orderly room tent and entered.
"Hi," I said to the man sitting in there without a shirt on. "I'm reporting in."
"Where are you coming from?" he asked with a perplexed expression on his face, as he pulled on his shirt. There were First Sergeants stripes on the shirt.
"I'm here TDY from the 83rd," I informed him and handed him the TDY orders.
"You're a ditty bopper," he said (an 05H - high speed Morse code intercept operator) on examining the orders.
"Yes, sometimes."
"And they sent you up here?"
"Yes, they said that you had put in an emergency request after losing a man."
"Yes, we put in a request, but hardly an emergency one. We had a guy bit by a snake and he was evacuated to the 31st Field Hospital in Korat. That was only a couple of days ago. You're an E-6 and they sent you here to replace a SP/4?" he asked in doubt.
The dawning began to emerge as he continued to speak, but I noticed that my amulet was warm, so I began to believe that there was a reason for this.
"Well, I'm here for six months," I answered.
"OK, sign in and we'll get this straightened out tomorrow. It's too late to do anything today. Those clowns in Bangkok are gone already. Did you bring your records with you?"
"Yes, they're out in my gear in the truck. I also have a classified container with me," I told him.
"Classified container?" he asked with a confused expression on his face.
"Yes, it's classified TS and weighs 300 pounds. I'll need some help unloading it and a place to keep it."
"Fuck," was his only reply. I could see that this news didn't make him happy at all.
"I'll have to round up some people," he told me. "You may as well come along. What the hell is in this container?"
"It's a radio and its support equipment," I told him.
"Three hundred pounds worth?"
"Yes, the container is built like a battleship," I told him. He led the way to a small plywood shack with a tin roof. It turned out to be their club.
"John, Paul, Robert, and Gordon," the First Sergeant called out to those sitting there. "I need you to help unload a classified container." The four men named had been drinking beer and turned to the fifth man at the table when they rose.
"Don't let anyone get our beer, Ernie," one of them said to the last man at the table.
"Where is it?" the First Sergeant asked me.
"On a deuce and a-half out by the front gate."
SP/5 Hull was standing by the truck as we approached.
"You the driver?" the First Sergeant asked.
"I'm the supervisor," Hull replied. "Mr. Sung is the driver."
"OK, move the truck over near the concertina. There is an unloading platform there. Is all of the cargo for us?"
"Yes, everything," Hull responded.
"You'll have to remain overnight then. There aren't any people to unload and store it tonight," the First Sergeant told him.
"Where do we stay?" Hull asked.
"There is a transit tent for visitors," the First Sergeant informed him.
"OK. Mr. Sung, let's move the truck over to the unloading area."
We all headed over there on foot and the truck followed behind us. Once he was backed up and the tailgate was dropped, it was an easy matter to unload the container and the hand truck on to the loading dock. What wasn't so easy was moving it after we got to the bottom of the ramp from the dock. The ground here was very churned up and the wheels sank down into the loose soil making it difficult to push the hand truck.
Somehow the six of us managed to push, shove, and pull it over to the red guard-shack at the entrance to the Operational area. The Operational area was on a concrete pad with six 292 expandable vans under the six peaked shed roof I had seen earlier.
The guards there were upset that none of us had badges on us to gain entrance and called the officer on duty. A lieutenant came out and the First Sergeant explained things to him. The two of them took the container inside while the rest of us waited outside. It moved easily on the concrete pad.
"What's in there?" one of the group asked.
"It's a new type radio," I explained.
"And it weighs that much?" another one asked.
"The radio only weighs about thirty pounds, but it comes with extra modules, TMs, and spare parts for maintenance up to depot level. Also that container is built like a battleship," I informed them.
"What will it do?" some one asked.
"It... ," I started just as the First Sergeant returned.
"All right, that's it. Thanks guys. You can go back to your beer drinking," the First Sergeant told them.
"All right, we'll see you later, Sarge," they told me.
"Where's your stuff?" the First Sergeant asked.
"It's on the truck."
When we got back to the truck, Hull and Mr. Sung were waiting for us. The tailgate was back up and my bags were sitting on the ground along with small bags for both Hull and Mr. Sung.
"Follow me," the First Sergeant told us. Mr. Sung grabbed his bag and Hull's. I took my duffel bag as it was the heaviest and Hull grabbed my B-4 bag.
"This is the transit barracks," the First Sergeant said when we came to a tent with the number eight on a sign at the front. "The mess hall is over there," he said pointing to a large wood and tin building. "Just show your ID and sign the guest roster and they'll get you fed."
"Come with me, Baker. You can sleep in the Senior NCO barracks tonight, and we'll get you settled tomorrow if you're going to be here," the First Sergeant told me.
The barracks were actually tents, either a GP (general purpose) medium or GP large placed over a wooden frame that supported the canvass tent and was raised several feet above the surrounding ground. Inside there were regular GI bunks and mattresses. Each man had a footlocker and storage under his bunk. Uniforms were hung on wooden racks between the bunks. There was screen wire on the tent frame from the floor to where the tent roof began, about five feet up, to keep the bugs out. The sides of the tent were rolled up to allow a draft and to keep the temperature down during the day.
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