Two Guys to a Bag, One Bag at a Time.

I arrived in Vietnam around three a.m. on January 30, 1968. It was, whether by coincidence or poor luck, the same day the Tet Offensive began. I was a radio operator and newly promoted Air Force staff sergeant assigned the six p.m. to six a.m. shift in the communication squadron. By 6:30 most mornings, my troops and I sat down to breakfast or dinner, depending on our preference, then tried to sleep in the hot, noisy barracks before getting up and doing it all again. But the war often required warm bodies for crap details like filling sandbags, riding shotgun on convoys, and any other gritty, shitty job you can imagine. That’s when a runner would wake us from our daytime slumber, and tell us where to go and when to be there. It was a royal pain in the ass, and as a noncommissioned officer, I usually had to lead them.

FROM HERE

-Alemaster