China Beach

In the early part of 1967, I was awarded a three-day, two-night “Mini R&R” to China Beach in Da Nang. I wasn’t the only one. Another guy was going along with me, and he had to be lucky. He was a PFC who had only been in country a couple of months.

The first day, we went through some processing and were taken to our barracks. It was a real building, with a ceiling, walls, floors, doors and windows. It had a head with flush toilets, sinks and showers with plenty of hot water. All we were asked to do was to keep the place clean which, to me, was reasonable.

I took a shower and put on a clean set of fatigues. I left the barracks and headed for the PX. The place was jammed. There were soldiers, sailors, Marines and airmen of every rank in there buying everything imaginable cameras, record players, tape recorders, pop, beer, snacks you name it, they had it available for those troops.

I went over to the USO. Maybe, I could catch a glimpse of a few round-eyed cuties. There was a display of the flags of all fifty States and U.S. Territories. I had my picture taken beside the Illinois flag, but I don’t know what happened to it.

On the way to and from the barracks to the PX and USO, I noticed a whole bunch of guys who must have had a lot of free time. They were playing basketball and volleyball on real basketball and volleyball courts. There were guys playing tennis on real tennis courts. Some guys were in swimsuits or shorts carrying towels on their way to the beach or to a swimming pool, which I was told had just been built. There were tons of GI’s every-where, and not one of’em was carrying a weapon.

For dinner, I went to the mess hall. As far as Mess Halls go, it was just like any other mess hall I ate at from Okinawa to Japan to Stateside. You picked up a tray, you had real silverware, paper napkins, and you went through a line. They had bowls for cereal, Jello or pudding, and there was a tray of cake and pie slices for dessert. Sure beat eating C-Rats heated by a heat-tab or C-4 and eating that crap with a dirty plastic spoon; or, if you lost your spoon, with your fingers.

That night, I slept in a real bunk with real sheets and a real blanket and a halfway decent down-pillow. Well, at least I slept soundly. I snore like there’s no tomorrow and had my bunk shaken a couple of times with guys telling me to roll over. It was okay because I slept in late; actually missed breakfast at that nice mess hall.

I was back in the barracks after lunch when a Sergeant walked in. As he walked down the center of the bay, he started picking out guys, in all about six or eight of us. I asked him why. He told us to report back at 1600 hours to go on bunker watch at the airstrip.

Well, hell, I wasn’t about to do that. So, I made myself scarce. Hung around the PX and the beach well into the night. Then, I went back to the barracks and got another goodnight sleep.

After noon, this same sergeant showed up, but this time he had some firepower. An Army lieutenant was with him. I was pointed out, and the LT approached me. He told me that that night I would stand bunker-watch. I told him I had written orders from my Battalion. He told me that it was a direct order. I responded that he wasn’t in my chain-of-command. I told him to use his own people; he had plenty of them, and they weren’t doing anything at night. Hell, it didn’t seem like they were doing anything all day.

The lieutenant ordered me to report back to the barracks at 1600 hours once more. He and his pet terrier, the sergeant, left, but not before that little toady gave me an “I told you so!” look.

1600 came and went. I wasn’t around. I went to the PX and bought a couple of six-packs and some snacks and headed for the open-air theater. It looked like a drive-in minus the cars. I was told that there were movies shown after dark, but not that night. So, I just hung around, drank my beer and ate my chips until the wee hours, watched the night sky and the shooting stars and went back to the barracks.

The next morning was pretty uneventful. Got up. Got cleaned up. Packed my sea-bag and waited for the word on where to find transportation back to India Company.

About mid-morning, the lieutenant and his lap-dog NCO showed up. He had an envelope for me and told me to deliver it to my Commanding Officer. “Yes, Sir”, I replied. He and Sergeant Pissant left. I threw the envelope on my bunk.

I didn’t bother to open the envelope. I knew what was inside. It was one of those “inter-office” envelopes that had the routing boxes on it and holes in it so you could see if anything was inside. It was pretty thick, so I figured there were a lot of copies.

I caught a deuce-and-a-half going down to Chu Lai. I had that envelope in my hands. I waited until we were south of Tam Ky on Highway 1 before I opened it. Sure enough, it was a UCMJ charge-sheet. It had several charges with a whole bunch of specifications very neatly and correctly typed hell of a lot better than I could ever do.

It wasn’t much of a decision. I just tore it up and threw it off the back of the truck. The way I figured it, there wasn’t much of anything anybody else could have done to me that was worse than what I’d already been through from the day I was thrown off the side of a Mike boat on Deckhouse I.

When I got back to India Company, I resumed my duties at the radio shack and at my bunker. A couple of days after my return, Gunny West, our acting First Sergeant, asked me how R&R was. I told him it was fine, even bought a present for my Mom and sent it home. He asked me if I had anything for him, and I told him no. That wasn’t a lie. That envelope wasn’t for him, but for the C.O.

Within a couple of weeks, we were involved in the infamous “Rough Rider”. I was a real “short-timer”  with a horrendously bad attitude. I never worried about the “other shoe dropping” because I never worried about the first shoe.

The first week of April, my tour was up. I came home on leave and never thought about China Beach, other than how pristine and beautiful it was. I was grateful for the R&R.

In the summer of ‘69, I was at Marine Barracks, Clarksville Base in Tennessee. A story broke about the people who ran Special Services at Da Nang and at other places in Vietnam. It seems two Sergeants Major were indicted for running a big scam with the merchandise. Several Officers were implicated. These were the same clowns who ran the R&R program. It didn’t take much to figure out what else was probably going on. From top to bottom, these guys were probably protecting their turf and their little minions, including my accuser lieutenant and his pal, Sergeant Dukey.

What I did was wrong. But, what those clowns in Da Nang tried to pull on me was Worse. I’m not sorry for what I did.

Author/Jerry Czarnowski