Nam Sense Read Online Free Page B

spitting Grunt had me thinking that any personality problems would come from my squad members. But now, I was more concerned about my superiors. For my survival, and that of the platoon’s, I’d have to find a way to convince the Grunts that I was on their side.
    Lieutenant Bruckner gave me command of the second squad. My fire team leaders were Specialists Stanley Alcon and Freddie Shaw. Alcon was a California beach lover who constantly talked about girls, cars, and drag-racing. However, with jet-black hair and brown eyes, he didn’t fit the blond, blue-eyed surfer boy image. Shaw was black and came from the Virginia Bible belt, so he never swore or used foul language. If he had to shit, he called it a rump dump; to piss was a tinkle. His two front teeth were gold capped, each had a pattern cut out of it so the white of the tooth showed through. One pattern was of a cross and the other was a star. Shaw rarely associated with other blacks. He never said why.
    Our machine gunner was PFC (Private First Class) Jimmy Smith from Kentucky. Smith was tall, quiet, and spoke with a light Southern accent. PFC William Scoggins, a Texan, was the assistant machine gunner. He was also quiet and liked to stay out of everyone’s way. Our pointman was Norman Keoka from Hawaii, who was affectionately nicknamed “Pineapple.” The rest of the squad was a mix of average guys, mostly white and and one other black. Each man had combat experience and they all knew I was a Shake-n-Bake with no combat experience. Naturally, I was worried they might hold that against me, maybe even kill me for it. All I could do was speak honestly to the men and explain how I intended to run the squad until I gained experience.
    “I’m what a lot of people call an Instant NCO,” I began slowly and deliberately. “I didn’t want to come to Vietnam. I wanted to stay in the World. That’s why I went to NCO school, but you can see how well that worked. I’m not a Lifer, I got drafted. The only thing I want out of this war is to go home in one piece and to help you guys do the same. I don’t know shit about Vietnam yet, but I hope you’ll correct me anytime you think I’m doing something wrong. I don’t want anyone getting fucked-up because of a stupid mistake. We’re all in this together with a huge responsibility to one another, so I expect everyone to cover each other’s ass.”
    I thought my little speech was a good icebreaker, but the men gave no reaction at all. They listened and bobbed their heads as if to pacify me. I realized it would take a lot more than talk to gain their respect. I also didn’t want to make the mistake of giving the wrong impression with an ego remark like, “Here I am, and I’m in charge!”
    During my first week, I wasn’t allowed to do much of anything related to the war until I got accustomed to the heat and the platoon’s daily routines. However, I didn’t like sitting back while others went out on patrol or ambush because I stood out too much as it was. I wanted to blend in so badly that I purposely tripped and fell, hoping to soil my uniform to look like everyone else’s. But the weight of my rucksack propelled me to belly flop into the mud. Everyone chuckled as I emerged looking like the victim of a water buffalo attack.
    My dirty look paid off, but not with the old-timers. The next day, when a new guy joined my squad, he thought I was a seasoned veteran.
    “Hi Sarge,” he said, nervously introducing himself, “I’m PFC Howard Siner, but everyone usually calls me Howard. Do you mind being called Sarge?” I thought “Sarge” sounded stupid, but I didn’t say anything about it.
    “Put your gear over there,” I said, pointing to a clump of bamboo. “Where are you from Siner?”
    “The Bronx, New York City,” he proudly announced, “home of the New York Yankees.”
    “And Cousin Bruce Morrow on WABC radio,” I added.
    “That’s right!” Siner beamed. “Are you from the city?”
    “No, central