Chapter 20: Up That Hill with Dick

      Mac took one of the first available R&R trips to Australia just a couple of days before his C Company was flown to Sông Bé. He had been very fortunate to obtain this most coveted getaway. People like me had to settle for Bangkok. That break for Mac was long overdue. On returning to Dĩ An after having one of the greatest times of his young life, he learned that his C Company was still located in Sông Bé. Mac knew this first from the clerk working the unit’s supply counter because that was the first place he would have stopped when he arrived back at our battalion area in Dĩ An. There were several other good reasons for stopping at the supply room first. Naturally, he would have wanted to pick up his combat gear and duffel bag, which held all his personal belongings. That duffel bag had been stored there while he was in Sidney. Secondly, the supply clerks could not only tell him where his unit was located but also provide him with important news about his unit that had occurred while he was away.

      After leaving the supply room, he headed for his sleeping quarters, lugging his duffel bag, with an M16 slung over his shoulder. Once there, Mac quickly changed clothes. I remember those sleeping quarters as being nothing more than a World War II vintage canvas tent large enough to house his entire platoon. However, by this late date in 1967, Mac believes that screened-in hooches on concrete slabs had replaced these tents. Whatever the case, this really doesn’t matter to my story. What does matter is that Mac would have been wearing his khaki uniform on the plane flying back from Sidney and also on the one-hour hot bus ride from Tân Sơn Nhất. The bus had heavy meshed wiring on the windows and no air conditioning. It was hot, which meant that Mac would have been soaked with sweat by the time he arrived at Dĩ An. Looking like he had jumped in a river while wearing his khakis was reason enough for Mac to retrieve his gear first before reporting for duty. He certainly was not going to report to the noncommissioned officer on duty, soaking wet and looking anything less than ready for action. Back in his living quarters, after Mac finished getting dressed for duty, the last piece of clothing he put on was his steel helmet. It had a distinct back-to-work look all its own. The well-worn camouflage cover was stained red in places. It was also smelly from sleeping in the mud of War Zone C for way too long. Sure, he could have gotten a new camo cover while at the supply counter. However, this smelly, stained one made a great statement. It and a smooth shave said, “I am back, and I am a veteran fighter more than ready to shoot it out with a Vietcong in the next few minutes if the need arises.” Of course, that was a lie, but that’s the visuals Mac’s appearance now signaled to anyone who would be looking him up and down in that orderly room when he reported for duty.

      Here’s why Mac’s work-worn appearance was lying. Although changing into dry clothes did make Mac feel better, his mind was still not open for business. Changing clothes couldn’t change that fact. Oh, how he wished it could. Doggone it, why did Australia have to be so much fun? It was more than Mac had ever dreamed it would be. Now he was suffering the downside of that grand experience. Mac had grown up a military brat. That meant he had been forced to grow up fast and learn how to fit in quickly because his family moved around a lot. However, on his first night in Sidney, there was no such thing as fitting in at that popular neighborhood bar, which he had randomly selected. On the contrary, with his American accent, he stood out in a way that he could never have imagined. The regular patrons couldn’t stop slapping him on the back and buying another mug of beer even before he had a chance to finish the one already in his hand. All the while, they called him Yank and pointed him out to every new arrival as if he were a celebrity. It was one of the most marvelous, impromptu nights of Mac’s young life, and he couldn’t quite make himself believe it was all happening in the company of strangers. To this very day, Mac would say that there has never been a night like that since. He discusses it further in his book, “Cheerful Obedience.”

      As soon as Mac slipped into his khaki uniform to board his return flight, however, the feeling of lighthearted exhilaration that he had felt throughout his R&R, starting with that first night, was gone. An overwhelming sense of dread took its place. To counter that dread, he told himself all the usual reasons why returning to the most dangerous job in the world was good. He reminded himself that he wasn’t new anymore. He knew his job, and he was good at it. He also knew his people. They were good. His point man, Johnny O., was one of the best in the business, and he was training another man, Tom Mercer, who was likely to be even better. However, Mac was not about to tell Mercer that. Over and over, he told himself that he had been in enough scrapes to know how to make it through, just fine, no matter what came his way.

      However, Mac also knew something else. He had seen that “something” happen to others, just a few days before their time to leave the field. If danger were the criterion, two months in War Zone C was at least equal to that experienced in two lifetimes for the average young American back home. This thought alone meant that Mac’s little pep talk wasn’t working. As that bus lumbered toward Di An, the thoughts that did work were his thoughts of Australia.

      Mac had indulged in those thoughts during the entire flight back to Vietnam. Now, on the bus ride back, he again flipped the switch to those pleasant thoughts, using them like a drug to drown out those more dreadful thoughts creeping into his mind. Also, like a drug, those thoughts of Australia kept growing stronger on that bus ride back to Di An from the airport. They were still in his head as he was approaching the orderly room to report to the duty officer. They were now becoming a little disconcerting. Mac couldn’t find the switch to turn them off. They were now becoming a distraction he didn’t need while reporting for duty. Mac reminded himself repeatedly that they were just daydreams of a fantastic getaway, nothing more. It was definitely not the kind of thoughts that he now had the luxury of entertaining. Yet, he couldn’t seem to shake them. As he drew closer and closer to the orderly room door, Australia continued unrelentingly to loom larger and larger in Mac’s mind. Finally, Mac blurted out to himself, almost audibly, “That’s it. Enough is enough. Dwelling on memories of my trip to Australia is a dangerous distraction. I will have no more of it. Yes, Australia was great, and yes, I am probably going to die—but not now. Now, I must put one foot in front of the other and regain my composure.” With that determined decree, Mac tried one more time to flip that switch back to God, country, and duty, but it was to no avail. That switch was broken. These addictive thoughts were too tantalizing to be denied. Yet, Mac knew that these heavenly distractions had no place in this hellish business. Still, Mac couldn’t shake them. Heck, to make matters worse, tantalizing images of those gorgeous Australian girls were now dancing through his head. They were so open and inviting to a Yank like him. Mac’s conscious mind had now become totally consumed with these enticing memories. They flashed ever more seductively through his head, stubbornly refusing to leave, as he neared that orderly room door to report for duty.