Jan Woodson 'in country'

Woodson’s Fairy Tale, August 1967 thru August 1968 (A historical fiction, so my notes from in the day suggest.)

I (Jan, Who is sometimes called Leland or Lee) blinked once or twice, rolled over on the edge of the dark green canvass of a field cot. I ran my fingers over the canvass underneath me, “Yep, I am still here.” I had nothing on and the mosquito netting rubbed against my skin. A tiny lizard darted past and I blinked again, thinking ‘Great, he was probably crawling on me all night.’ (But, I quickly learned that these little guys were a blessing as they ate their weight in mosquitos every night.) My body seemed to ache everywhere as I sat up and began to focus my mind.

It was only yesterday that I arrived here and where is here? It is a place somewhere on the South China Sea called Chu Lai, in a land far, far away. Sounds like a fairy tale and in hindsight, I think it was for all of us. A tale that we would run through our minds from time to time, over and over again, but never really share with anyone, because we don’t know how.

This was a guerrilla war, with many base camps and no front lines and then there was the TET offensive in Saigon and throughout all of S. Vietnam, starting on January 30th 1968. I had the misfortune of being in Chu Lai on that fateful night of TET when the N.Vietnam major offensive began. There are stories of incoming and flares overhead, but they will have to wait for another time. (Yes, listening to music from those years always takes me back and the sound of helicopters seem to make me alert, I am suddenly in the base camp again in my head still.)

Who won the Tet offensive? Click here.


Most of the time life was rather routine for me, day in and day out, indeed as war is sometimes described as days of boredom interspersed with moments of stark terror. That about sums it up, while I did agonize over moral dilemmas and took action that affected many people’s lives, forever, when there were incoming rockets or mortars that the Viet Cong sent our way that got your attention instantly. All I can say is that when the rockets were exploding only a few yards away, fear gripped me for sure. But, in the moments of my young life, as I think back it was more than a mere fairy tale and I call it ‘The Great Fairy Tale,’ Grimm’s perhaps. As you never remember exactly what happened in those moments, you reconstruct as best memory will allow.




'Charlie' leaves his calling card!




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It was already dark when the tires had touched down softly on the tarmac and then the drag of the flaps took hold as the engines roared and the brakes heated up. “Vietnam, well you’re here baby!” I thought to myself. Trying to see out the window as rows of buildings roared past as we began to lean forward in our seats as the brakes took hold and we slowed to a snails pace and rolled to a stop. We landed at Tan Son Nhut airbase in Saigon, South Vietnam, and traveled by bus, with wire screens on the windows to protect from grenades, to Long Binh, 30 kilometers or so outside of Saigon.

The last little while had been a blur for me emotionally. A million thoughts, they seemed to be always in the form of a question, one after another, non stop. Where would I be assigned? What part of South Vietnam? What kind of command? What duties? Would it be in the outlying area of some zone of operation, or some town or city? I wondered what it had been like for my father arriving in France during WWII? Was he afraid when he arrived? There would be plenty of time to come to know fear, but I did not know this then. I still wondered about what lay ahead? How would my family handle being separated for so long? Will I be killed or survive? Woodsons have served in all the U.S. wars with no loss of life, would I be included among them? On and on it went, images of my wife, my daughter, my parents, jumping in amidst the list of questions. None of which I could answer until I arrived and some I would never answer, but the mind is a marvelous thing, it just never shuts up. It helps to learn to meditate and a little Zen mantra and a good rational talk with your self helps, but only for a little while. Then the mind is off again, racing towards what end? Who is to say?

It was also the continuous, humorous loud chatter of anxious stressed out young men in the plane that had been non-stop throughout the flight to Vietnam that seemed to be distracting and palliative for my own anxieties. They talked about cars and women and nothing else the entire flight. Then the door to the plane opened and a shrill voice screamed.

“Your, in-country assholes! Lets move it!” (Sorry mom, but it’s the Army and we were young and stupid and I think kinda scared for a moment or two.)

The plane was suddenly quiet. (It is really interesting for me to note that the plane would be absolutely quiet on the entire trip back to the United States, a year from then, no more chatter about women and cars, but, more about that later.)

It was night and unbelievably hot. The arcs of perspiration from my armpits had crept to the midpoint of my chest on my shirt. We were told that there would be a briefing at 22:00 hours. I was with a group of a hundred or so young men and just four or five of us were officers. Once we deplaned we picked up our bags and moved to Long Binh where we were fed a meal from the nearby mess. We ate heartily, with very little chatter.



22:00 hours, “On your feet”, “Atten-hut!” We scrambled to our feet and stiffened, all heads were to the front of the tent. A briefing with a Major General.(two stars)

“Gentlemen, at ease, take your seats.”

He spoke in a deep command voice, using charts with overlays to point out the regions that he was speaking about as he briefed us on the current military events. Things were hot in I (eye) Corp, the military designation for the northern most part of South Vietnam. This was an area of marine Corp responsibility, but the army was adding units to the region. There was lots of NVA activity around DaNang and south of there near Chu Lai on the coast of the South China Sea. A major military operation was taking place and the task force was being formed to operate in the area. It was called Task Force Oregon. The combined military units in this task force were going to be the offensive force to search and destroy the increasing Viet Cong and Regular North Vietnamese units infiltrating into the region. Some of us would be going up country in the morning, to where the action was. A Major took over the podium from the General.

“Your unit assignments will be posted tomorrow morning outside this tent, at 06:00 hours!” I recognized the unmistakable southern drawl, the Major continued,

“Pass out the paper and pens Sergeant. Gentlemen, I want you to write the address of your mother on the envelope you have just been given or if you are married then write the name of your wife and her address on it. When you have that done I want you to write the following on the paper . .

Dear Mom or Honey, whatever is appropriate. I have arrived safe and sound in Vietnam, the army is taking good care of me. I will write again soon.
Sign it, Love, your son . . . and sign your name.

When you’re done, put the letter in the envelope and seal it, then give it to the Sgt. on your way out. We don’t want your mother finding out that you arrived safely three months from now or that you’re dead before she even knows you’re here.”

The next morning I rushed to the bulletin board outside the mess tent. Yep, my name was there…assignment: Task Force Oregon, 544th MP Security Platoon, 196th Light Infantry Brigade, Chu Lai. "Hmm, Up Country!" I muttered to myself. I took a deep breath, more than once.
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The C-123 rattled incessantly and at times seemed to be flying slightly sideways as it flew north and then lumbered into the approach to the Chu Lai landing strip. I was one of only three names on the notice board that morning, going up country. This was to be home for the most part of the next year. Chu Lai along with Qui Nhon, Quang Ngai, Tam Ky, DaNang and of course My Lai were names I had never heard before, but that I would never forget as long as I live. I felt anxious about what lay ahead, but what else could you feel? I have never been in a war zone before. Yet, I was determined to succeed at whatever the undertaking and besides, hecky darn! “I was here baby, no going back now!” I thought to myself.


I sat my bag down in the sand beside the runway and watched the plane taxi and take off again headed to DaNang. There were explosions coming from some distance behind as I looked towards the low line of hills and small mountains in the distance. Several Phantom jets were making bombing runs at the side of one of the hills.

It was even hotter than the night before. My entire shirt was drenched, my underwear and pants felt damp at the waist and in the groin. “Damn, it must be over ninety degrees,” I muttered inaudibly to myself.

I looked off into the distance at two lines of soldiers slugging through the sand along side of the runway. Several helicopters passed overhead making their whip whip, whirly sounds as they sped past and the jets continued to bomb the hills. The reality of where I was began to sink in, with the sounds and smell of war around me for the first time. The slick starched atmosphere of Saigon had faded away.

Two lines of soldiers headed closer towards me. I could see some of the black camouflage markings on their gear. It was a platoon from the 101st Airborne Division.

We were briefed last night that the 101st was in Chu Lai. My cousin Bobby was in the 101st. He was a young Sergeant. I looked hard, “Hell he might be in this group,” I thought, but I didn’t see him. I didn’t even know if he was in the infantry. They were filthy, some of their clothes were torn, sweat ran down their faces and arms. I felt odd sitting there with my clean but damp stateside uniform with creases still in the sleeves and wearing new jungle boots. [My cousin, I learned a few days later, having had his helicopter shot out from under him, twice, had rotated back to 'the world' (home!) the very day before I arrived in Chu Lai.]

(Bobby on his chopper.)

“Damn it’s hot!” a voice rang out from over my shoulder. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!” came a retort from one of the stragglers in the line.

“Close it up back there!” the shrill instruction barked from a very young looking, but stern faced youngster, who slugged along beside the line with the passing troops. The two stragglers closed ranks by trying to jog in response to the sergeant. They carried ammunition and 30 calibers, grenades hung off their flack jackets. They gained a little, he ignored them and the whole line slowly disappeared over a rise in the sand mounds surrounding the air strip.

Everyone was picked up by some unit, but there I sat, waiting. The sweat continued to roll off my body. After some time passed, in the distance a ¾ ton truck slowly made its way down the sand covered road. The windshield was gone on the truck and so was the roof, it was full of dents with no markings on it, except for some faded numbers and letters on the bumper in front. It certainly looked different from the shiny jeeps and trucks I’d seen this morning in Saigon. The truck grinds to a halt in front of the shed, the brakes squeaked and the old man driving did too.



“Are you the Lieut. for the 544th?”

“Heh, Sarg, that’s me. Are you my ride?”

“Yes, Sir, I’m supposed to take you up to meet the Colonel when ya get here, sorry I’m late. Ya, just got one bag?”

“Yea,” I dropped the bag over the side of the truck, “I’m Woodson, what’s your name?”

“Brenner, Sir, but, usually I’m called Pops because I’m the oldest person here and still dumb enough to be in the Army. I retire when I rotate stateside in a couple of months though.”

The truck lurched into gear and circled the shed, headed back the way it came.

“Me and the little lady are gonna get us one of those campers and camp all over the U.S.A. when I get stateside, but we’re not going to any damn beaches.”

“Why not, Sarg?” I chuckled at the old codger.

“Shit, Sir, take a look around, this is a damn sand dune we live on, next to the beautiful South China Sea. Sand gets blown into everything. You’ll see!”

The sweat trickled down my neck. “It sure is hot.” I observed.

“Well, it stays about like this most of the time, about 110 degrees today, but when the monsoons come you can freeze to death in the damn rain if you don’t drown first.”
(Check out the rain scenes from the movie Forest Gump to appreciate what he meant by rain. The Monsoon season is something to behold.)

The dilapidated truck and its human cargo bumped along over the sand drifts on the road. There was a breeze coming from the sea and I enjoyed the cool ride in the open topped truck. The bushes and trees seemed small in the distance, but the jungle encroached on every side, looking dense and I imagined some Vietcong might jump out from behind one of the bushes. But, needless to say, I got control of my fleeting thoughts of danger as the beautiful deep blue of the South China Sea came into view. I kept on talking with ‘pops’ about the sand and the heat and the rains that would come soon enough.


Ten or fifteen minutes passed and still more small talk about the little lady as we made our way towards a row of tents and long wooden buildings. The buildings and some tents had plywood walls which reached part way up and then mesh screen went up the rest of the way to the tin or canvas roofs. They were raised off the ground about two feet. These were the hooch’s and tents where I would live most of the year. This was the 196th Light Infantry Brigade base camp.

Tonight, I face my first moral dilemma, tomorrow 363 days and a wake up!































Everyone was represented here...(left to right) The Marines, Army (yours truly), CIA, Air Force, Navy and a Sea Bee civilian. Xmas, 1967. I suspect we had a good time.




Good Morning Joe,

Welcome home buddy! I know the feeling! You brought tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat this morning while reading your heartfelt rendition of what happened for you. ... Your email set my mind spinning as to what it was like for me when I arrived home from Nam. Here is my story, more or less...

I landed in Seattle, Washington at Ft. Lewis. I remember that our flight home had been so quiet that at times you could have heard a pin drop. (Very different from the flight to Nam, what with all the laughter and macho constant chatter on that trip.) I suppose not only were most of us tired, having been really unable to sleep through the night for sometime in anticipation of going home and that combined with the stress of just wanting nothing to happen, just to be on that plane headed home. I remember two huge cheers, one when we lifted off from Cam Ranh Bay and one when we landed stateside. The rest of the time, it was sleep and eat and sit quietly, lost in thought. Thought about what I can not remember a single thing. When we finally landed stateside and deplaned there were guys laying down on the ground kissing the tarmac in Seattle and whooping it up. There was some chatter on the shuttle bus that took us to the commercial airport, but I do not remember being there nor any part of the short flight from Seattle to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. What I do remember is once I landed and deplaned I picked up my baggage, which included a AK44 rifle that I had managed to acquire while ‘in country.’ (I had processed all the paper work to bring it to Canada with me and had the documents inside my duffel bag and had the rifle in a soft gun case.

I walked to the customs and immigration line which had a conveyor belt in those days and placed my footlocker, duffel and the rifle on it. The conveyor belt inched forward as one person after another in front of me passed their inspection, usually a few quick questions, their name, where they were headed, etc. When I came in front of the officer, he looked at me and said "Welcome home, Sir" and pushed my gear forward for me to pick up without even looking at any of it. I did so and said "Thank you."

At that moment I saw my wife and my little daughter ((2 1/2 years old) standing there in the terminal a little ways beyond the reception area sorta in the middle of a big open space. I walked to them dragging my stuff, then I layed the rifle on the floor as my little girl ran up to me and I picked her up and I fought back the tears, but I lost that one, the tears streamed down my face and my wife put her arms around the two of us and we stood there hugging and saying nothing for the longest time, people just walking around us or standing and looking, smiling at us. The rifle laying on the floor at our feet. When I could see once again, I noticed several other people with tears in their eyes as we finally let go of one another and I began to pick up my gear and the rifle. We whispered our thoughts to one another and then headed for the parking lot. (No one ever asked about the weapon, never asked for the paperwork or anything.)

We drove to tiny White Rock, to my in-laws home, where there was a birthday celebration going on for my wife, as it was her birthday the following week. So several people from her family were there and we had a BBQ in the back yard and I wore my field jacket as it was very cold. (I think it was about 85 to 90 degrees, but the day before it had been 115 in Nam, so I was cold. Everyone thought it was funny, me sitting there in a heavy jacket.) It was good to be home in Canada. Even though within days I left for the good ole US of A, I spent another year on active duty at Ft. Meade, Maryland, as the executive officer to the Provost Marshal and was mostly responsible for riot control in the military district of Washington, D.C. and base security so I got my fill of demonstrators, but while still somehow shielded from them by still being within the military community of the base and other military personnel as our social network at the time.

JW


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NOTE: sometimes, back stateside, a spouse would be invited to a "Silver Tea"...neat eh?

This invite to benefit the drum and bugle corp.