About the last week in Feb, I took a radio relay out on one of our active firebases. Team 1-1 was virtually a nonentity at this time because of wounds and consolidating with other partial teams to make up something that could be sent to the field. This was not a regular mission since we were “secure” on the firebase and we expected to stay out two or three weeks. There were four of us I believe and we would monitor the radio in shifts and read or play cards in our assigned bunker. Pretty boring for us. I would go down to the firebase TOC for their updates and also report to them whatever our teams were doing. They seemed impressed because it seemed like one of our teams somewhere was always into something. We played Hearts mostly I think with some Rummy and Spades.

We received a message from the company one day for “Ed” to be ready for pick-up that afternoon. My official codename was “Rebel” but we didn’t have anyone with the codename of “Ed” and I was the closest to it so I packed my things and went down to the pad. We had only been out about 10 days so I didn’t have any idea what was going on. It turned out that a typographical error had cut my deros by 20 days. When they came down the company just jerked me off the relay as quick as possible and two or three days later I was on my way to Cam Rahn Bay and home.

It took about two days at Cam Rahn Bay to be issued a set of khakis to wear on the flight back to the states and get my name on the manifest for a plane. While I was back in L Company I had developed a infection from an insect bite on my knee. The company doc had dressed it and told me to change the bandage at least every two days. Well, I had about 2 days in the company area, then 2 days at Division outprocessing, then 2 days at Cam Rahn Bay and hadn’t bothered to change the bandage. The night before my flight the knee was really itching so I took the bandage off and was scared when along with the bandage I pulled a long string of pus out of a hole in my knee. The hole was about as round as a pencil and seemed to go straight down for two or three inches. The sight of it was quite enough to get me to a local dispensary. There was a young medic there and he put me up on one of the steel beds and proceeded to pack some cotton strings down into the hole to soak up the pus and then pulled it back out while I tried to bend the edges of that steel bed. He got it cleaned up and again warned me to change the bandage every day. This time I made absolutely sure I followed his directions.

Not much to say about the flight back from Nam, I do remember a general cheer when the aircraft wheels left the ground. It was a civilian plane complete with stewardesses, who took it all with a good attitude. I imagine they flew weekly flights and were used to it. Back to Ft. Lewis, Washington. It was raining when I left for the flight to Nam and it was still raining when I came back. I was there about 3 days on the way to Nam but only 24-30 hours on the way back-one night at any rate. They processed us, fed us a steak dinner and had us back out the door pretty quick. It probably took a little more time for the ones who were processing out of the army instead of just PCS-ing. They recommended we go by the PX and get some civilian clothes for travel. They probably did that because of demonstrations but I was glad to just be able to wear something other than a uniform. I caught a plane to California to see my sisters and spent 3 or 4 days there before flying on to Alabama. I had 30 days leave to spend but was really ready to leave after 2 weeks. I knew that would hurt my parents feelings so I stuck it out for 3 weeks before reporting in early to Ft. Polk, Louisiana. I did not have any problems readjusting to the “real world”. My sleep cycle was messed up and I tended to fall asleep at 2 PM no matter where I was or what I was doing, but that soon passed. There were two times I felt slightly “out of place”. One time was just walking out in the front yard one morning. Perhaps it was the general “green” setting. In Vietnam, Camp Eagle had been brown dust hill and the only time I was surrounded by green I was in the jungle on a mission. Anyway, on walking out into the yard I suddenly had a queasy feeling that “Gee, I sure would make a good target out here in the middle, I should be going around the edge of this open space”. It was just a fleeting feeling and not repeated as I remember. The second time involved the helicopters at nearby Ft. McClellan. I had seen several UH-1s fly over the house and something always seemed wrong with them. It finally came to me that these UH-1s had doors on them. In Nam they always had the doors removed and two M-60s sticking out the sides.

During my leave my dad and I went car hunting. I knew what I wanted; a 1965 Mustang convertible with a 289 engine and 4-speed. We found a 1966 convertible with a 289 engine and automatic transmission. Close enough, I was happy with it and 10 years and 200 thousand miles later I sold it for more than I paid for it.

My time in Vietnam, between missions, was often spent drinking. If you were not on guard, ambush, or waiting to be inserted there really wasn’t much else to do. The whole time of my leave I had not had a drop and really hadn’t thought of it. Dad, although a drinker in his day, now did not allow any in the house and the city of Anniston was still “dry” at that time. After about 3 days of getting settled at Ft. Polk, I decided it was time to get out and see the town. In Nam a common way to drink was to cut the top out of a coke can with a “P-38” can opener pour half into another empty can then put in some ice if available and refill the rest with bourbon. Or what I usually drank was Canadian VO blended whiskey. Jim McLaughlin drank and it was as good as any so that is what I usually drank. While checking out the town I stopped at a little nightspot and having no particular preference just ordered what I was used to; a VO and coke. After a month without a drink of liquor that sudden familiar taste and aroma did, for a instant, bring back the “feel” of Viet-nam and coke cans half full of whisky. Again it was a fleeting feeling not to be repeated.

Although many soldiers reported being abused upon their return, I did not run into any of that. Perhaps it was traveling in civilian clothes, or just that I returned to Alabama which has always been a conservative and patriotic state. Then going on to Ft. Polk, Louisiana, no one to demonstrate there either. Why travel to Ft. Polk when you could demonstrate in much nicer and more comfortable areas.

OK-Finally- that’s it. There’s no more to tell unless I go into my military career, two marriages and what I usually have for dinner- Happy Trails - Ron Edwards