The Exec: A Vietnam War Memoir by Moir Robert

Author:Moir, Robert [Moir, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Carolina Time Press
Published: 2015-08-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 5

My Tho — Backstretch

24 November 1967 - Friday

The Pan Am DC-6 touched down at 1700 hours Saigon time. It was the same runway at Tan Son Nhut where I had landed eight months ago. We filed out of the aircraft, the “round-eye” stewardesses smiling cheerful goodbyes — just as the sticky late afternoon heat socked us in the face.

I’d needed the week-long escape from the turmoil and violence of Vietnam. I’d needed Bangkok. The place was filled with restaurants, hotels, and entertainment of all sorts. For such an immense, sprawling, bustling city, it was so neat and clean, so well cared for, so civilized. And the Thai people — so warm and friendly, in a genuine way. Except for illegible Thai script on all the signs, some blocks in downtown Bangkok reminded me of Chicago or New York City.

I called home to talk to my parents and sister Nancy. I placed the call at the central telephone exchange at 11:00 a.m. yesterday and sat down to wait. In thirty-five minutes I was talking with Garden City, New York, half the world away, at 11:35 p.m. there. I know it was late, but they didn’t care. It was good hearing their voices again, and I was more than glad to let them tell me about the day-to-day routine of their lives. But yesterday was Thanksgiving — I hardly noticed.

Suddenly I am back here in the war.

Never have I felt so depressed as I did when I walked out the main gate at Tan Son Nhut to hail a cab for the ride into Saigon. It was far worse than my first ride out the main gate, on a rickety Navy bus back in March. The contrast between civilization and Vietnam was never so apparent, and still more than three months to go! Three more months of having my life sucked out of me in this hellhole. The thought was overwhelming.

I climbed into a battered yellow and blue taxi and slumped down in the back seat. The driver wanted 100 piasters. The bastard. I only gave him 80. Still too much.

There were bumps and chuck holes everywhere. Red-brown dust had settled in thick layers on the buildings, the barbed wire, the compound walls which fled by the window. No one had made an effort to clean the crud off of anything. The stink of garbage along the road was sickening. The streets and alleys were jammed with cyclos, motor bikes, Renault taxi cabs — all coughing out unbreathable white fog which hugged the ground. The traffic stops and goes. Horns bleat and toot. There was a kid taking a crap, his bare ass hanging out along the roadside. And I hadn’t been off the airbase more than five minutes. Why do some people live like this?

I finally made it to the Splendid Hotel (BOQ) and scrounged up a room for the night. I wasn’t in the mood for socializing, but I looked up Ted Kramer (from the Dewey ) who insisted we go below to the bar.

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