=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Welcome to Vietnam ------------------ We left New York City's Kennedy Airport on a commercial flight on June 28, 1971 - there were many young boys on this flight. We flew to San Francisco, Hawaii, and Okinawa where we transferred to a military transport C-130. As we approached South Vietnam, the pilot came over the broadcast system, "Welcome to DaNang, South Vietnam, it's approximately `105ø outside' and DaNang is presently `engaged in a rocket and mortar attack.' DaNang was the largest military installation in that part of Vietnam. Suddenly, the `top' (Staff Sergeant) screamed at us to "gear up" in preparation to disembark the plane. Just as suddenly, approximately 200 troops jumped up in anticipation, hustling our "rucks" (ruck sacks with gear weighed in at about 60-70 pounds) onto our backs. You could feel the tension build. You could see the "flashes of light" on the darkened tarmac as we made our approach. There was this odor permeating the cargo section of our plane. Guys were "shitting their pants", from the true realization of the impending doom about to engulf us. We touched down and began to taxi away from the buildings where the "incoming" mortars and rockets were being directed. The back cargo door opened and the "top" and other "non-coms" began to frantically yell instructions to us. We lurched forward until we hit the "peta-prime" tarmac (a tar-like substance which stuck to the soles of your boots), and began to run some 100 meters (approximately 300 yards) to the buildings. Before we began to "sprint" across the tarmac with full pack, the heat came up and grabbed us like a "steam vice". Sweat was pouring out of us like a broken runaway faucet. It suddenly dawned on me - today was my "Graduation Day" from high school. Happy Graduation Day - hope you learned a lot, welcome to the real world - Vietnam. While running across the tarmac amid the confusion and chaos, a brilliant flash of light and a deafening sound broke my concentration. As if in slow motion, one of the guys took a direct hit, severing his leg just above the knee. He seemed to float through the air, landing several meters away, from where his leg lay. His screaming from the pain and the frantic calls for "medic", propelled the scene from slow motion to fast forward. Someone grabbed him, then another, and they dragged him the remaining distance. A medic scooped up the remains of his leg and followed them into the barracks. Thirty seconds in the Nam and he was going home without his leg... Welcome to the Nam. Thus, our initiation to the Nam had begun. Within a two hour period, we had our deployment papers and everyone was departing for destinations unknown. The loneliness and fear were overwhelming. There was this "grunt" over in the corner chain-smoking cigarettes. He just sat there staring, at nothing. When he looked up, he had this strange, weird stare, almost like he was looking right through you. (The Grunts in the bush called it the "thousand yard stare"). I would see that look many more times during my tour of duty. In fact, I had that stare for much of my time in the Nam. It was daylight as we approached our new home. We had been traveling for over 36 straight hours and time was a blur. Interestingly, as one progressed through his tour of duty, accuracy in time became more important as we all charted the days left before we could rotate home to the "world". When you were officially "short" (90 days or less before rotating out), you could tell anyone at any time how much time was left on your tour - almost to the minute! We were going to base camp situated next to the village of My Tho. We were in the region of South Vietnam known as the Mekong Delta, assigned to the 9th infantry Division. The base camp had been under attack for over 24 hours, The men were tired, frustrated, and zonked out from the "adrenalin high". The surge of adrenalin that one experiences during a "fire-fight" is amazing. It carries you, propels you, almost magically through fatigue, pain and fear. As new arrivals, we had no idea what we were getting into. We landed and the new guys, also referred to as: "newbe", "new guy", and the favorite "F.N.G." (fucking-new-guy), were greeted by the order - F.N.G.'s load the "bags" onto the chopper before reporting for duty. The bags were body bags which contained the remains of the dead guys going home. While handling this repulsive task, we were reminded that we could be going home any day, in similar fashion. I would one day learn that all of this, and what was to come that first day was part of the process to initiate me into the unbelievable world of the "bush". We reported to the C.O. (Commanding Officer) bunker only to find out that he was dead. The "Top" was acting C.O., so we found "Top". "Top" was a "lifer" (career army soldier), and we realized that he was terribly bigoted and ignorant. We were immediately paired off and given our assignments. Our assignment (myself and a black guy from Chicago) was to "bury the Gooks", who were "hanging on the wire" (concerta wire - strung around the perimeter of the camp). The heat in that region averaged 107ø-110ø daily. The bodies were bloated and decomposing due to this intolerable heat. All I could think of was home - and the amenities I would so desperately miss. Things like a bed, soap, toilet paper, and flush toilets, cold liquids, a shower, hamburgers, and any hot food. We couldn't stand the smell, it overwhelmed us. We began to vomit violently. Naturally, we attracted some attention from the weary grunts watching us. We were entertaining them. After all, anything would be "funny" considering what they had been through. They started to sit around us, relaxing, drinking warm beer (Vietnamese or American), or smoking joints, watching the "show" - the "F.N.G. Show". We couldn't stop, every time we breathed in the odor...and they howled at us - Welcome to the Nam. After the "show" and our assignment completed, we had two more lessons to be learned, unbeknownst to us. "Top" called all of the F.N.G.'s together. We stood in a semi-circle around him and a dead V.C. "sapper". Outside of the semi-circle were some grunts, watching us, "looking through us". "Top" pulled out his "k-bar" (army issued knife) and proceeded to cut open the body right down the middle. Needless to say, this didn't sit too well with "us". He split open the rib cage, put his hand in and said "...these here are guts!". Then suddenly, the grunts grabbed our hands and forced them into the open body. "Get used to them", you don't go out on a "mission" until you can deal with it. Shock, anger, and sickness spread among us like a plague. How could they do this to us? We're here to help them! We were not permitted to wash our hands for the rest of the day and night. Nighttime meant sleep, we wanted to sleep. But first, we had to be "educated" on how to sleep in the bunkers, with the "swamp rats". These rats were the biggest, meanest and hungriest rats in the world. "Don't take off your boots, they'll bite your toes." You slept wrapped in a "cocoon"-like fashion to prevent them from biting you. That night, the rats came out. They inspected each warm body like a precision army. If you weren't tucked in properly, they attacked. Well, my partner that afternoon, "Chicago" wasn't prepared for the assault. A rat bit him on the cheek. He jumped up screaming and all hell broke loose. We thought we were under attack. "Chicago" ran into the compound screaming frantically, when a shot rang out. The shot silenced "Chicago", it almost blew his head off. He was hit by a sniper, probably 300 meters out, from within the jungle. We didn't really sleep for the rest of the night - or for the rest of our tour. Welcome to the Nam - this is your "initiation." Brooklyn, and /´NARCHY =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, Submissions = = Mail: jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) = =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= = To receive new issues through mail, mail jericho@dimensional.com with = = "subscribe fuck". 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