For Vietnam, it was a comfortable assignment. As an Army specialist, I had been assigned since May 1967 as a clerk-typist for MACV (Military Assistance Command, Vietnam) Advisory Team 3, which provided U.S. military advisers to the Army of the Republic of Vietnam's 1st Infantry Division, headquartered in Hue, the ancient imperial capital of Vietnam.
It was a beautiful city, and my time there had been made even more enjoyable by the fact that throughout the war–evidently in deference to its historic past–Hue had been treated almost as an open city by the Viet Cong (VC) and North Vietnamese Army (NVA). Although there had been intermittent mortar and rocket attacks on our compound south of the Perfume River, which bisects the city, Hue had seemed peaceful and secure. In fact, Washington Post war correspondent Don Oberdorfer had reported that South Vietnamese army officers 'paid large bribes to be assigned to duty there.'
But all that changed in a heartbeat. An explosion brought me back to reality. This was not a dream–it was Vietnam. I screamed, 'Incoming!' as I always did when the enemy lobbed mortars and rockets into our compound. By now it was automatic. I scrambled out of my cot, ripped away the protective mosquito net, donned my helmet liner and steel pot and slipped on my flak jacket. In a matter of seconds I had my carbine and ammunition and was out the door with my shower shoes on. My fellow hooch mates always made fun of me because I never took the time to put on my uniform. So there I was in combat gear in my underwear and shower shoes. To me, speed was the most important thing–I wanted to stay alive!
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