This Is What Hell Looks Like by Stuart Allan Streinberg

Author:Stuart Allan Streinberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781625450654
Publisher: Fonthill Media
Published: 2018-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

9

More Time in Qui Nhơn

On May 19, 1969, six days after being wounded in the ammo dump, I was wounded a second time while still recovering from the mortar round event. I was at the unit Command Post in Phu Tai, and felt good enough that evening to head up to the enlisted men’s club operated by the 8th Transportation Group, whose compound we lived in.

I grabbed my rifle and a couple of clips, and Roger McCormack and I walked up the slight rise to the club, about 200 yards from our quarters. Until then, the compound had not been hit since we moved there in early October 1968. The walk was a bit of a strain because my injured right knee was still sore and tender.

My punctured eardrums had not quite healed, and it felt like wind was rushing into my head; the tinnitus was bad, too. I call it “radio waves from outer space,” but I cannot figure out what they are trying to tell me. Maybe if I put aluminum foil over my head it would stop. The tops and backs of my ears and the back of my neck were still crusted over and painful from second-degree burns. I smeared Vaseline on them, which caused a very creepy feeling when my sweat mingled with it.

Eighth Group was responsible for handling trucking from Qui Nhơn, up the coast along Highway 1 and then west on Highway 19, through An Khê and to Pleiku, and then on to Kontum and Duc Co. They also had routes further north on Highway 1 to places like LZ Uplift and LZ English.

The road to An Khê and Pleiku was particularly dangerous. Eighth Group had three battalions and, during the War, had lost 120 men. Larry Dahl, an Eighth Group driver, won the Medal of Honor for smothering a grenade blast to protect his comrades.

The Group’s units were constantly under enemy attack along their routes and the 8th had a large number of gun trucks mounted with M-60 and .50 caliber machine guns. They even had one truck in the 27th Transportation Battalion mounted with a mini-gun, salvaged from a helicopter gunship. With all this firepower at the Eighth Group compound, we felt pretty safe.

Roger and I entered the club, got a beer and went to the music room, where they had musical instruments—electric guitars, a bass guitar, an old, decrepit upright piano, and a set of really beat up drums. The drumsticks had been made in one of the villages and they were slightly bowed, but the people who played them did not care. They were just happy to jam and drink some beer.

I cannot remember how long we were there, but it was dark when we walked up there and it was dark when we hauled ass back to the CP when the shit hit the fan. Plus, it was raining like hell, and it was chilly.

Our Command Post was at the far south end of the compound, next to the perimeter.

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