TRAVELS

In a war zone, one is confined for safety to the compound. I grew to understand the feeling of being incarcerated. I relished my escapes to the PX by jeep to shop for inexpensive tax-free booze (one was limited by a ration card), food stuffs, 35mm film, home furnishings, snacks, and gifts for Robin.

We would travel to Hue’s ARVN hospital with the intent of aiding their wounded and sick. Early in my tour at the 85th Evac, a group of four of us hopped on a Huey for a short and scenic ride up north to Hue. Fred, who was regular army, accompanied us and carried an M16. As mentioned previously, docs were not to be officially armed. I asked him, “What is that for?” He replied with a wilting, lifer expression, “You are in a war zone.” It does take a while to change one’s orientation. I have great pictures taken from the Huey. Flying over Hue, one could see the Perfume River traversing the city bordering the zigzagging wall of the Citadel on the north. This ancient holy compound showed persistent and repaired damage from the intense fighting between the NVA and Americans during the Tet Offensive in 1968.

The hospital’s exterior walls were a peeling white stucco supporting a slate roof. At both ends within the rectangle of wall above the wide doors was a thick red cross. The interiors were damp and gray with poor illumination and ventilation. The operating rooms were poorly equipped. Little blood was available. We did bring our outdated blood with us. Anesthetic agents were scarce. As a rule, there was not a trained surgeon available. Surgically salvageable patients were just observed until they succumbed to their wounds. In addition to the vegetables produced in their gardens, the Vietnamese physicians raised chickens, ducks, and pigs to generate income to buy medicines and supplies. We could do little to improve the sad situation. Some of our surgical interventions were successful.

On several occasions, small groups of us returned to Hue, this time armed, in a jeep traveling north along Highway 1. This road was two lanes and blacktopped with asphalt. The air was hot and sticky. Our fatigues stuck to us with sweat. Choking dust billowed as we drove through small hamlets with names similar to Phu Loc. Leaving Phu Bai and driving through the adherent hamlets, there was an almost continuous stream of active humanity, mostly women and children observing us with suspicion. The conical straw head coverings, multicolored Ao Dais, black baggy pants, yokes balancing goods on their shoulders, and bare children’s bottoms were everywhere. Soon, we entered the lush green countryside with rice paddies in the foreground and mountainous terrain in the eastern distance.