A Kingdom of Our Own

Chapter Twelve - Arrival

Cam Ranh Bay, South Vietnam

The USNS General Nelson Walker could be seen from the port, lying a good three miles off the shore of Vietnam. It hung there eerily in the distance, a small but hostile grey shadow. On-board were part of the 25th Infantry Division or “Tropic Lightning” as they were commonly referred to. It was on the ship that the troops waited rigidly, until half a dozen LCM-8’s arrived to ferry them along the short journey to land. Their arrival needed to be a speedy one, as other elements of the 25th had arrived earlier on that month, being deployed by air and were ready for combat.

The soldiers swarmed across the gangplanks in their masses and onto the LCM’s. All of them carried large camouflaged backpacks of an identical colour to their uniform, which contained everything they would need in the duration of their stay. Once they had been filled (so full in fact the troops stood shoulder to shoulder), the LCM’s moved off, beginning their short journey to shore. They certainly seemed a sorrowful bunch, chugging slowly across the ocean with sincere faces. Very few of them had volunteered to come and fight out of patriotic enthusiasm; they were conscripts who had been ordered by law to join the army. Most had families, children even; people who relied on them and their deaths here, they were well aware would have catastrophic consequences on their loved ones back home. Who would look after them then?

That’s all they could think about at the moment, the almost certain death they were headed into, fighting for a cause that meant no good. Was this really the purpose of their existence? They had though taken part in a few training exercises prior to their departure from Hawaii, as well as receiving high-quality training in jungle warfare, of the type they were likely to encounter in Vietnam. So admittedly, there still was a little hope for these men yet, not quite being what one would call “condemned souls”. All they had left to hang onto now was hope, hope that fate would go easy on them and their efforts in training would help them prevail.

As the hills became clearer and more domineering, the first of the LCM’s neared the beach and their ramps were quickly lowered. A moment later the dispatch of Lightning Troops was underway, their personal gear being carried ashore, all quickly assembling by units, ready for movement to their camping areas. For any who felt a little lost or uncertain in the situation, a man stood with a megaphone, pointing to where each unit needed to head.

Also on hand was General William Westmoreland, the commander of US forces in Vietnam. He welcomed the commander of the arriving units warmly, along with the men of the 25th. Standing on a mound, with his hands placed seriously on his hips, Westmoreland seemed an almost godlike character to the arriving soldiers. After all his decisions, more than likely were going to decide their fates from thereon.

Normally the General wouldn’t meet with the convoys, as his responsibilities elsewhere (primarily in Saigon) kept him from doing so. But whenever he got the opportunity to talk with the field commanders and troops that he supported, he didn’t hesitate in doing so. Westmoreland wanted to make sure that his customers were happy. Anyone who knew William Westmoreland knew that he was obsessive-compulsive about making sure “his soldiers” were taken care of and had a high level of morale towards the cause. That’s why he was one of the top logistical officers in the U.S. Army after all.

While the troops assembled, their supplies were loaded aboard waiting trucks and shortly after, they themselves took their places on the benches at the lorries’ rear ends. Sitting there orderly, remaining under instruction, the convoy moved out from the beach. The trucks were to take the men to a small air strip, approximately one mile inland from the beach in which they’d arrived.

The ride was a bumpy one, travelling along the deserted open roads, which unlike the wide American highways they were used to were dominated by potholes and liable to ambush by Viet Cong sympathisers. In some cases, if the vehicles were travelling any faster, one may even describe the holes as “perilous” when driven over, nearly throwing both soldiers and supplies overboard.

It was certainly a relief when they arrived at the airstrip and drove onto the smooth tarmac, headed towards five parked C-130’s. Each could carry 75 troops and one by one, the planes filled. It was a slow, uniform process, but it was efficient and as per the schedule, the planes took off in turn from the single runway, with all the troops on their allocated flight.

The planes were to transport the men and their personal equipment to an airport some 14 miles northeast of Saigon. Fourteen days after departing from Hawaii the soldiers were finally nearing their destination. All that would remain on their landing would be the US Army Staging Area, where they would offload and move to the unit assembly areas nearby. It was here that they would wait for assignment to their base of operation. Most of them, God rest their souls, would be dead within the next few months.