The following is a compilation of stories that occurred in 1970. If your youngsters may want to read this, adults please read first to see whether you approve of their reading these stories. The language I use is actually universally known and has been used by those in company, and I am sure by our young, loved ones who may read these stories. The following stories are true. - Bush

 

My first day in company was strange, not to me but to others. When I first saw Wooly Bully 2, I thought is this a real base, or is someone pulling my leg? I shortly found out it was home. That night as I was taking a shower there was an explosion and all kinds of debris was hitting the shower roof. I looked over at another guy who was showing, but he had made like speedy gonzalas and already dee-deed the area. I remembered being told if we got hit I should run to the perimeter and fight. Well, I ran to my hootch and grabbed my rifle and helmet and ran toward the perimeter when a flare went off above me. I was trained to freeze and keep one eye closed when this happened, so, as a good trooper, I did just that. When the flare went out, I continued the mission and made it to the perimeter. I lay in the black dirt waiting for charlie to charge us. Nothing. We waited some more. Nothing. The all clear was finally given. As I stood up, the person next to me asked what the hell I was doing? Others started to mill around us to find out what the commotion was about. I just explained to them what I had been trained to do. One of the long timers said I at least should’ve put some clothes on, as I stood there stark naked.

During the company’s stay at Wooly Bully 2, two miles south of Kontum, Nelon and I left early one morning to go to the sandpits. On our way there, I thought to have some fun by pushing a lambretta, a three wheeled taxi, as it was traveling quite slowly. I really don’t know who took off my engine’s governor, but as I got the Vietnamese taxi up to 60 mph I began to hear loud cheering coming from their vehicle. It excited me to know the vietnamese were having as good a time as I was, and were cheering and waving their arms for me to go faster, so I went as fast as I could without getting out and pushing. We were all having such a great time, even when chicken and duck feathers and all types of fruit went scattering in the wind. As we entered a fog bank, I decided for safety sake to let the taxi go on its own. Due to the fog becoming thicker, I didn’t see where the lambretta went. I continued to the sandpit. When I arrived, I dismounted “Rambunctious,” the name I gave my truck, and went over to Nelon who was standing by the river. As we stood there talking, four cobras flew by at tree top level heading west toward Cambodia. One of the pilots saw us and immediately pulled stick and turned toward the two of us. The other cobras followed suit. Thinking fast, Nelon and I began waving to show we were gi’s not vc. They dipped their noses as if to make a firing run, but seeing us waving they noticed we were gi’s, and they turned westward and continued on their mission. Whew!

After the rest of the trucks arrived, so did the girls. Uncle John was nestled between a couple of sand dunes with one of them. I told a couple of the guys to watch this and pulled the pin from a grenade and threw the frag over uncle John into the river. I didn’t know the river was only a couple of feet deep and a large boom and splash occurred. Uncle John jumped up so fast we all swore we thought the girl’s cheeks and eyeballs were sucked into her head when John pulled out of her. Uncle John was standing there with his flag pole at full staff; we saluted. We began laughing hard when John said he’d pay us back. There was a loud voices upriver and we looked to see what was going on, it came from the villagers who were picking up dead and numb fish caused by the explosion. They ate better than we did that night.

Later that day, we where back at the pits. About eight of us were on the back of nelons’ truck “drag-on-lady.” A shout went out, “Grenade!” We saw a grenade on the bed of the truck and in one motion eight guys dismounted the vehicle by jumping over the sides to a hard landing but to safety. It was then we began hearing uncle John laughing. He had broken off the blasting cap inside the grenade, rendering it harmless, before throwing it onto the truck. He said he would pay us back, and he did. Some of us were seen running to the river to wash out our drawers.

On no particular Sunday morning, a squad and a half of us went out on an excursion into the jungle to lay out sensoring devices for the red legs (artillery). After some time meandering around unexploded ordinance and vegetation too thick to penetrate, we crossed a stream. Once on the other side, half of us began pulling leeches off ourselves, the others pulled guard, and then we switched positions. While awaiting my turn, I noticed a large anthill with ants an inch long going in and out of a hole at the bottom of it. I became intrigued and bent over to have a closer look into the hole. I had my face planted inches from the hole, as it was hard seeing into the dark, and came eyeball to eyeball to one of my greatest fears. I jumped about two feet off the ground and ran to the other side of our circular perimeter falling hard to the ground. My actions caused the others pucker factor to go up to def-con 4, and they immediately went into protective battle mode. When asked what I saw, I could hardly speak as the fright constricted my neck muscles. As I began to relax my voiced squeaked, “spider.” When asked again what did I see, I began to realize the situation I was in, and I didn’t want to be seen as a wimp, I defiantly said in a stronger, though not convincing voice, “big spider!” You see, if it is one thing I am scared of it’s a spider. Some people are afraid of rats, cockroaches, snakes, etc. I am fearful of spiders, and that one was about five inches across. Maybe I should’ve said, “Big fuckin vc spider!”

At Wooly Bully 2 is where Randy Davis got the nickname Bush. When he first arrived in company, he was given a boonie hat one size too small. So Gerard Dion called him “Norton,” after the honeymooner character, because the front of his hat automatically pulled the front flap upward when he put on his small hat. However, it was when Davis took a girl out into the bushes and consequently held up a whole convoy (and afterwards faced the wrath of a pissed off SSGT. Essix) that Davis was nicknamed by Terry Nelon “Bush”. The name stuck so well that some of the guys thought it was his actual name. When Essix left country, he was replaced by SFC Couch. Couch made it a point to make it an article 15 offense if caught with a girl while working. Everyone got a laugh when Couch walked by Bush, who sitting in his truck reading a book at a convoy staging area, checking that no one had made off with a girl. If Couch had jumped up onto the truck, he would have seen a girl giving Bush head. Bush was a professional who knew when there was danger going into the bush.

The company moved from Wooly Bully 2 to Fire Support Base Weight-Davis around March 1970. It was located about 37 miles south of Pleiku. On the base were two artillery pieces. One was a 155 mm howitzer and the other was a tracked 175 mm. When that nasty thing went off at night it shook the hootch, and you could hear the round going out. Yes, it sounded loud, too! Also, were a pair of dusters and four M113’s with a flame thrower on each. It was the ugliest, meanest piece of war weaponry I had and have ever seen. It just reeked of an awful death if you were sprayed by it. It actually looked like something from hell.

One day as we were coming back from chow, we saw a 50 cal on top of a cav unit apc and commented on how rusty it looked. The operator asked us to climb aboard and take a look. We did and he opened the cover to the 50. He asked us what it looked like inside. We said it looked brand new. He said he didn’t care what the outside looked like, as long as the inside was clean. He went on to say that by the time rust gets through the thickness of a 50 he would be back in the world, found a wife, and have had a few kids. He had a point.

One time Shorty, Mac and I were coming back from chow when I spotted Sally (Salsman) going into the shitter. I told the others to watch. I found a dead branch and slowly and quietly lifted the back door where the half barrels were and lifted each until I saw Sally's’ bare ass. I slightly then suddenly stuck him in the keister. He let out a howl. He yelled that he had been bitten and had run out of the shitter scared (pardon the pun) shitless. When he heard us laughing and seeing me holding the stick, he cursed and said he was going to kick my ass. I took off running, but didn’t go far as I noticed Sally's’ pants were around his ankles.

One evening we were motared by charlie and all hell broke loose. There was firing like there was no tomorrow. Finally, the firing stopped and someone yelled if everyone was all right. In unison all you heard being hollered back was, “More ammo!” An nco called into a hootch asking whether anyone needed anything. The reply was a loud, drunken voice, “Three beers and a flak jacket!” I was so pissed that he was drunk and never came out to the perimeter. I really felt like throwing a grenade into the hootch. I laughed about it years later. In fact, years later I told Sally the story and he told me that he was glad I didn’t throw a grenade in as it was he and Moreno in the hootch. Both were so drunk that they never knew we were being motared. The real funny part was the next day we all found out that a certain SSGT put himself in for the purple heart. He said, as we were being motared, he ran down the hill and fell down scraping the palms of his hands. Therefore, he should be awarded the purple heart. He was turned down faster than the speed at which he fell down.

We moved again, this time to to a place called Khanh Duong. It was located half way between Nha Trang and Bam Me Thout. We were given Sunday off and were allowed into the village. Naturally, we found ourselves in the nearest bar where there was plenty of other entertainment. It so happened we had a new guy in company who was small in height and weight. He tried to pass himself off to the girls as a cherry so he could get laid for free. Well, he got lucky, but in short order there was yelling going on in the back. Out came our buddy just livid with a vietnamese girl yelling at him to leave. I took the youngster outside and tried getting him calmed down. He had a few under his belt and wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted to kill the broad. During our discussion, a ROK (Korean) unit pulled up in apc’s. They all entered the establishment. My buddy eyed all the hand grenades on the ape’s gunshield. He said he was going to get a few and get back at the girl. I told him not to even think of touching ROK property without their permission. At that time, a Korean sergeant came up to us and asked if he could help us with anything. My friend told him he would like one of his grenades. He must have overheard us talking because he said, “Wait until my men have their fun and we leave. Then I’ll give you all the grenades you want.” So my friend waited, while I was trying to talk him out of doing anything stupid. We waited and waited, but, finally, being drunk, and standing in the hot sun he became tired and said he was going back to company. The massacre at Khanh Duong never occured.

 

By Randy “Bush” Davis 12/69-11/70The following is a compilation of stories that occurred in 1970. If your youngsters may want to read this, adults please read first to see whether you approve of their reading these stories. The language I use is actually universally known and has been used by those in company, and I am sure by our young, loved ones who may read these stories. The following stories are true. - Bush

 

My first day in company was strange, not to me but to others. When I first saw Wooly Bully 2, I thought is this a real base, or is someone pulling my leg? I shortly found out it was home. That night as I was taking a shower there was an explosion and all kinds of debris was hitting the shower roof. I looked over at another guy who was showing, but he had made like speedy gonzalas and already dee-deed the area. I remembered being told if we got hit I should run to the perimeter and fight. Well, I ran to my hootch and grabbed my rifle and helmet and ran toward the perimeter when a flare went off above me. I was trained to freeze and keep one eye closed when this happened, so, as a good trooper, I did just that. When the flare went out, I continued the mission and made it to the perimeter. I lay in the black dirt waiting for charlie to charge us. Nothing. We waited some more. Nothing. The all clear was finally given. As I stood up, the person next to me asked what the hell I was doing? Others started to mill around us to find out what the commotion was about. I just explained to them what I had been trained to do. One of the long timers said I at least should’ve put some clothes on, as I stood there stark naked.

During the company’s stay at Wooly Bully 2, two miles south of Kontum, Nelon and I left early one morning to go to the sandpits. On our way there, I thought to have some fun by pushing a lambretta, a three wheeled taxi, as it was traveling quite slowly. I really don’t know who took off my engine’s governor, but as I got the Vietnamese taxi up to 60 mph I began to hear loud cheering coming from their vehicle. It excited me to know the vietnamese were having as good a time as I was, and were cheering and waving their arms for me to go faster, so I went as fast as I could without getting out and pushing. We were all having such a great time, even when chicken and duck feathers and all types of fruit went scattering in the wind. As we entered a fog bank, I decided for safety sake to let the taxi go on its own. Due to the fog becoming thicker, I didn’t see where the lambretta went. I continued to the sandpit. When I arrived, I dismounted “Rambunctious,” the name I gave my truck, and went over to Nelon who was standing by the river. As we stood there talking, four cobras flew by at tree top level heading west toward Cambodia. One of the pilots saw us and immediately pulled stick and turned toward the two of us. The other cobras followed suit. Thinking fast, Nelon and I began waving to show we were gi’s not vc. They dipped their noses as if to make a firing run, but seeing us waving they noticed we were gi’s, and they turned westward and continued on their mission. Whew!

After the rest of the trucks arrived, so did the girls. Uncle John was nestled between a couple of sand dunes with one of them. I told a couple of the guys to watch this and pulled the pin from a grenade and threw the frag over uncle John into the river. I didn’t know the river was only a couple of feet deep and a large boom and splash occurred. Uncle John jumped up so fast we all swore we thought the girl’s cheeks and eyeballs were sucked into her head when John pulled out of her. Uncle John was standing there with his flag pole at full staff; we saluted. We began laughing hard when John said he’d pay us back. There was a loud voices upriver and we looked to see what was going on, it came from the villagers who were picking up dead and numb fish caused by the explosion. They ate better than we did that night.

Later that day, we where back at the pits. About eight of us were on the back of nelons’ truck “drag-on-lady.” A shout went out, “Grenade!” We saw a grenade on the bed of the truck and in one motion eight guys dismounted the vehicle by jumping over the sides to a hard landing but to safety. It was then we began hearing uncle John laughing. He had broken off the blasting cap inside the grenade, rendering it harmless, before throwing it onto the truck. He said he would pay us back, and he did. Some of us were seen running to the river to wash out our drawers.

On no particular Sunday morning, a squad and a half of us went out on an excursion into the jungle to lay out sensoring devices for the red legs (artillery). After some time meandering around unexploded ordinance and vegetation too thick to penetrate, we crossed a stream. Once on the other side, half of us began pulling leeches off ourselves, the others pulled guard, and then we switched positions. While awaiting my turn, I noticed a large anthill with ants an inch long going in and out of a hole at the bottom of it. I became intrigued and bent over to have a closer look into the hole. I had my face planted inches from the hole, as it was hard seeing into the dark, and came eyeball to eyeball to one of my greatest fears. I jumped about two feet off the ground and ran to the other side of our circular perimeter falling hard to the ground. My actions caused the others pucker factor to go up to def-con 4, and they immediately went into protective battle mode. When asked what I saw, I could hardly speak as the fright constricted my neck muscles. As I began to relax my voiced squeaked, “spider.” When asked again what did I see, I began to realize the situation I was in, and I didn’t want to be seen as a wimp, I defiantly said in a stronger, though not convincing voice, “big spider!” You see, if it is one thing I am scared of it’s a spider. Some people are afraid of rats, cockroaches, snakes, etc. I am fearful of spiders, and that one was about five inches across. Maybe I should’ve said, “Big fuckin vc spider!”

At Wooly Bully 2 is where Randy Davis got the nickname Bush. When he first arrived in company, he was given a boonie hat one size too small. So Gerard Dion called him “Norton,” after the honeymooner character, because the front of his hat automatically pulled the front flap upward when he put on his small hat. However, it was when Davis took a girl out into the bushes and consequently held up a whole convoy (and afterwards faced the wrath of a pissed off SSGT. Essix) that Davis was nicknamed by Terry Nelon “Bush”. The name stuck so well that some of the guys thought it was his actual name. When Essix left country, he was replaced by SFC Couch. Couch made it a point to make it an article 15 offense if caught with a girl while working. Everyone got a laugh when Couch walked by Bush, who sitting in his truck reading a book at a convoy staging area, checking that no one had made off with a girl. If Couch had jumped up onto the truck, he would have seen a girl giving Bush head. Bush was a professional who knew when there was danger going into the bush.

The company moved from Wooly Bully 2 to Fire Support Base Weight-Davis around March 1970. It was located about 37 miles south of Pleiku. On the base were two artillery pieces. One was a 155 mm howitzer and the other was a tracked 175 mm. When that nasty thing went off at night it shook the hootch, and you could hear the round going out. Yes, it sounded loud, too! Also, were a pair of dusters and four M113’s with a flame thrower on each. It was the ugliest, meanest piece of war weaponry I had and have ever seen. It just reeked of an awful death if you were sprayed by it. It actually looked like something from hell.

One day as we were coming back from chow, we saw a 50 cal on top of a cav unit apc and commented on how rusty it looked. The operator asked us to climb aboard and take a look. We did and he opened the cover to the 50. He asked us what it looked like inside. We said it looked brand new. He said he didn’t care what the outside looked like, as long as the inside was clean. He went on to say that by the time rust gets through the thickness of a 50 he would be back in the world, found a wife, and have had a few kids. He had a point.

One time Shorty, Mac and I were coming back from chow when I spotted Sally (Salsman) going into the shitter. I told the others to watch. I found a dead branch and slowly and quietly lifted the back door where the half barrels were and lifted each until I saw Sally's’ bare ass. I slightly then suddenly stuck him in the keister. He let out a howl. He yelled that he had been bitten and had run out of the shitter scared (pardon the pun) shitless. When he heard us laughing and seeing me holding the stick, he cursed and said he was going to kick my ass. I took off running, but didn’t go far as I noticed Sally's’ pants were around his ankles.

One evening we were motared by charlie and all hell broke loose. There was firing like there was no tomorrow. Finally, the firing stopped and someone yelled if everyone was all right. In unison all you heard being hollered back was, “More ammo!” An nco called into a hootch asking whether anyone needed anything. The reply was a loud, drunken voice, “Three beers and a flak jacket!” I was so pissed that he was drunk and never came out to the perimeter. I really felt like throwing a grenade into the hootch. I laughed about it years later. In fact, years later I told Sally the story and he told me that he was glad I didn’t throw a grenade in as it was he and Moreno in the hootch. Both were so drunk that they never knew we were being motared. The real funny part was the next day we all found out that a certain SSGT put himself in for the purple heart. He said, as we were being motared, he ran down the hill and fell down scraping the palms of his hands. Therefore, he should be awarded the purple heart. He was turned down faster than the speed at which he fell down.

We moved again, this time to to a place called Khanh Duong. It was located half way between Nha Trang and Bam Me Thout. We were given Sunday off and were allowed into the village. Naturally, we found ourselves in the nearest bar where there was plenty of other entertainment. It so happened we had a new guy in company who was small in height and weight. He tried to pass himself off to the girls as a cherry so he could get laid for free. Well, he got lucky, but in short order there was yelling going on in the back. Out came our buddy just livid with a vietnamese girl yelling at him to leave. I took the youngster outside and tried getting him calmed down. He had a few under his belt and wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted to kill the broad. During our discussion, a ROK (Korean) unit pulled up in apc’s. They all entered the establishment. My buddy eyed all the hand grenades on the ape’s gunshield. He said he was going to get a few and get back at the girl. I told him not to even think of touching ROK property without their permission. At that time, a Korean sergeant came up to us and asked if he could help us with anything. My friend told him he would like one of his grenades. He must have overheard us talking because he said, “Wait until my men have their fun and we leave. Then I’ll give you all the grenades you want.” So my friend waited, while I was trying to talk him out of doing anything stupid. We waited and waited, but, finally, being drunk, and standing in the hot sun he became tired and said he was going back to company. The massacre at Khanh Duong never occured.
By Randy “Bush” Davis 12/69-11/70