A Sniper in the Arizona by John Culbertson

Author:John Culbertson [Culbertson, John J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-55982-1
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2012-01-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Liberty in Dogpatch RVN

We flagged down a Marine Corps six-by-six truck and requisitioned a lift to the bustling Da Nang Airbase. After lurching along rutted clay roads from the Happy Valley range, we passed under the shadow of Marble Mountain and turned south to enter the airbase. There we left behind the blowing dust of the countryside and sped along asphalt highways choked with every sort of military traffic imaginable. Convoys of trucks were followed by jeeps crammed full of officers. Huge trucks towing flatbed trailers churned along in puffs of diesel fumes. Artillery pieces jerked along, yoked to the rear of troop-laden canvas-top trucks. As we stared, we compared the chaotic activity with the relative calm of An Hoa.

As we halted at the sentry gate that blocked the entrance to the airbase proper, I said to Bolton, “You know all this gear’s not getting to the rifle companies that are fighting this war. Hell, I already counted a dozen new M-60 tanks along this road, and about all they got back at An Hoa are those old M-48s. Our fucking artillery ain’t exactly blue-chip stuff either. The gunners at the 11th Marines told me their 105-Mike-Mike howitzers are damn near shot out. Jesus, Bolton, who the hell is getting all this equipment?”

Bolton stared down at his white jungle boots. “Come on, man! You know the Corps does the toughest fighting in I Corps. We go on hard-core operations with shit borrowed from the army and obsolete Korean War and World War II gear fished out of some forgotten warehouse in the States. It don’t matter; Charlie knows we’re gonna tear his ass up anyhow.”

A pair of air force Phantom jets streaked over our heads, making conversation momentarily impossible. Bolton pointed upward and covered his ears against the roar. Planes in a long column lined up in twos, then blasted down the airstrip, slicing into the clear blue sky at steep angles. Once formed up, the flights of four aircraft closed up into “fighting four” formations and, climbing slowly, disappeared into the west. We wondered if some outfit in 2/5 had gotten into the shit with the Viet Cong or the ever-growing numbers of North Vietnamese infiltrating the Arizona. We knew we had to return to An Hoa and assume our duties, but before we left Da Nang, we promised ourselves a visit to the giant PX (post exchange). We had heard a trooper could purchase almost any luxury at the airbase PX that you could buy Stateside. After the Spartan accommodations that we had been accustomed to at An Hoa, the existence of such luxury in Vietnam was hard to believe.

Thanking the airmen truck jockeys, we asked for directions, then headed for a giant corrugated tin building ahead in the huge cluster of warehouses and garages moving the military hardware from the rear to the front lines. Crowded with corrugated steel Quonset huts, a side street ran to our flank. The Quonsets were made of gleaming new metal with screened front doors opening onto small porches.

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