First Impression: Vietnam, June,1968
submitted by: Alva Leon Matheson
We were destined for the 20th Tactical Air Support Squadron, DaNang. All we knew about the assignment was that we would be in the right seat of an O-2. The three of us were coming from Air Force ROTC instructor assignments and hadn’t flown operationally in more than three years. We knew almost nothing of the mission of the 20th TASS, or at least what we would be doing.
Edging up to the in-country flights counter in the passenger terminal, we asked about flights to DaNang. “There’s nothing going up there for the next couple of days,” was the response from an NCO on the other side of the counter. “But you can catch a Vietnamese Air Force C –119 leaving tomorrow.” My two comrades readily agreed to take the Boxcar, I hesitated.
With about 1,100 hours in the twin engine monster that I had flown in Germany more than 10 years before, I really didn’t want to press my luck one more time – especially since I was unsure of the skills of the Vietnamese crew. My diary for that day states: “No one seemed to care whether we went to DaNang or not; could spend my whole tour here in the terminal waiting for transportation? But eating at the snack bar might get monotonous.”
I relented. We spent a surrealistic night – bombs blasting in the distance, flares falling from some unknown source in the black, starry sky; constant roar of aircraft engines. At the officer’s club booze kept pouring out to endless numbers of noisy patrons. We finally dragged ourselves to the terminal to board a C-119.
What a shock! The passenger load consisted of one grunt, three Air Force officers, and about 20 Vietnamese—soldiers, wives, children and live poultry. Then it happened: walking to the rear of the Boxcar I was hit by the worst stench I have ever experienced in my life. Mind you, this is in 100 degree heat. There, in the mid-section, was a wooden coffin, draped with a Vietnamese flag. Inside; a decomposing body.
Man, how do I get out of here? The soldier sitting across from us on the web seats sprayed deodorant in the air, to no avail. I had a paper back book, which I kept close to my nose. This was only my first day, and war was closer than I’d ever thought.
Then the doors were closed and we began to taxi. Temperature: 110 degrees. Murder.
As soon as we leveled out, I left my seat to amble up to the cockpit, where I had spent many hours. Another shocker: pilots in black flying suits, one guy flying, the other with his boots atop the instrument panel reading a newspaper. And I still had more than 360 days to go!
DaNang itself, by now, was more or less what I expected: hot, dusty, many loud aircraft engines – and no one to say hello. Finally, a jeep did stop. “Oh, you’re FNGs, just got here, huh?” The driver dropped us at 20th TASS operations, where we waited around for 30 minutes to meet the operations officer. When he finally appeared, looking somewhat harassed, he looked at our wings and blurted, “Not more navigators!”(Later he apologized, explaining he was having a hard day). But to think I could have spent at least another year in central Ohio and Kenyon College, enjoying the academic life instead.
Our sleeping quarters that night were in an old French building with open sides. I slept under a net, perspiring and wondering how I would survive. My final thought, as I slipped into an uneasy amorphous state: It won’t be the Viet Cong that kill me; surely it will be the Americans.
Well, you get used to everything. But my first full day in-country was like no other.