My Two Years in Service to Uncle Sam
—Spec 4 Gary Barney
My story begins on December 13th, 1965, the day I reported for induction into the US Army. It was a two year adventure with little or no control over my life except to do as I'm told.
It started with the bus ride to Ft. Dix and being assigned to an old barracks with no heat in December. "Welcome to the Army, Gary. Hope you like your accommodations meathead" I never got too familiar to the place because within two weeks I was placed on a jet heading out to Seattle, Washington and then on to Fort Lewis where I was submitted to a government form of civilian cleansing entitled 'Basic Training'. While enduring this shock to my system, I continued to keep my eyes out for those dreaded 'snow snakes' that I was warned about at Fort Dix, but they must have been hibernating already as I never spotted a single one.
Training was tough for this old Vermont fella. Never could get the knack of basic details like folding my poncho to make it fit in my pack or even how to shine my boots correctly! Needless to say, I became very proficient at scrubbing pans and walking around things in the middle of the night. Things like deuce and a half's, airplanes and buildings with a rifle and one bullet. "Stop, who goes there?" Mom would not be very happy with the sleep deprivation. Dad, would think," They'll make a man out of him." Yeah, right.
I did enjoy firing of all those weapons on the firing range. Heck, this was better than back home shooting. Later on we would learn how to fire our weapons while being shot at, but that training wouldn't come for another year.
Some of the guys wanted to be a sergeant. That was the last thing from my mind. I just wanted to make it through the two years.
As time went by, I was promoted to the very enviable job of being the Company XO's personal driver. Yahoo, I beat the Infantry! That lasted two weeks, all the while the jeep kept breaking down. I was sent back walking again. I assume the XO also walked because I didn't see much of him after that.
After months of hands on, best we can deliver training from Uncle Sam, we boarded the Nelson M Walker for an adventurous 21 day sea cruise. The food was out of this world (or should have been served there). The accommodations were comfy (4 high cots double barreled). Nightly entertainment was provided, (who can forget " Bingo bingo, bingo, tonight on the fan tail, followed by the movie, "Sex and the Single Girl". a moan always followed that along with a chorus of AGAIN?) How about those suds less showers! Carnival Cruise, this wasn't.
Along the way I drew my usual guard duty both on the fan tail and at the brig. No, nobody was going to steal either the tail or the brig. Not while I was there, still with my one bullet, by now getting pretty tarnished. Around this time it occurred to me that many of the men became violently sick from the rocking of the ship in the Pacific Ocean. I never got sick once. "Damn, why didn't I join the Navy?" Too late for that now, as we pulled into the South China Sea.
ARRIVAL VIETNAM
As we took our first 'Greyhound' tour of Vietnam on the back of the deuce and a half we all tried to size up this strange land we were sent to. It didn't take long to come to the conclusion that it got pretty hot hereabouts and everything was out to get you. Things like bugs, leeches, snakes, scorpions and oh yeah, the Vietcong.
I remember the first chopper ride when the pilots knew we were new so they had some fun with us as they flew treetop level and kept banking the chopper left and right. They must have enjoyed us grabbing on to each other to keep from falling out.
As time went by, the serious business of performing in a combat zone kicked into gear and all the inconveniences of our early Army tour became trivial.
I think the worst part of my Vietnam tour was always the dark nights. The sounds that take place in the jungle at night sounds like a Company of enemy was sneaking up on you. On one incident, I was in a OP position with another guy in the jungle and one of our own guys opened fire from behind us.
The night ambushes could be terrifying. I never wanted to be a sergeant in charge of night ambush. I had a lot of respect for all those leaders that took out those night ambush patrols, because of the responsibility that came with the job.
Now, I did my share of being point man. I got good enough or dumb enough ( could be both, 19-20 years old and not overly bright) that when someone got wounded, I got the job of running ahead with the machete to cut a path to an open LZ to evacuate him. Didn't leave much time for looking for booby traps.
One time we had just flew into a hot LZ where we took some rounds. I had point and just started into the jungle and saw a VC base camp at the edge. The rest of the group was waiting to move out. I let them know there was a camp, and then started walking around in it, checking it out. There was a sign, with a skull and bones painted on it , over a fox hole. In the bottom were two live cobra snakes. The VC fires were still burning and I am all alone walking around like I'm in a zoo looking at the animals. I say to myself “ What are you doing ? So I hurry back to wait on the rest.
On another incident, I was on point for the whole company, single file , for a night operation. I never was so glad to see daylight arrive at dawn.
The day I got wounded April 28, 1967, I was on point. About 8:30 AM we came out of the jungle into a VC base camp. I took a couple of steps, watching to see if they were there, when BOOM! a hand grenade, booby trap, went off. Well, I got hit in both legs and could not move. My squad leader, Sergeant Matt, was behind me, was injured from the blast, but was able to walk. I worried that there may still be enemy in that camp and and if a firefight began I would have to return fire while being immobile. It never happened. They were gone melting back into the jungle or going underground. They weren't inclined to engage us that day, and for that I'm grateful.
The medic worked on me and said I would be going home. I couldn't believe that. I figured that they'd just patch me up and send me back. I'd seen it happen time and time again in our Company. Men became casualties, sent to rear areas, allowed to recuperate and returned to A/2/12. One of our men received three purple hearts and because of his leadership skills he was asked to sign a waver to return to the unit. He declined. That's what it took to get out of the field, three wounds. This was my first. No I didn't believe I was heading home. Why should I have? I had no idea how seriously I was wounded. To the guys that day who made a stretcher and carried me to the helicopter, THANK YOU. I gave them hell that for knocking red ants down on me from the trees and looking back at it, it seemed like a foolish gripe. Sorry guys.
So I was carried out of the field to lose touch with all the guys for over thirty years. I always thought that I screwed up and tripped a land mine. Never felt a trip wire.
And then, this year I was greeting guys at the door to our reunion. The first time I see Captain Smith, our CO when I became a casualty, and he says to me. " You got wounded right after I took over the Company. To this day I believe that we had a VC scout following us that day and you were the target when he was ready to take a couple of troops out before breaking from us." Maybe I didn't trip a wire. Just unlucky.
Today, I am a Locator for our men in Alpha Association. I feel as though I owe it to the guys of A/2/12. In a small way I feel as I'm making up for leaving the guys early before they were able to.
PHOTO ALBUM
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